A Little Sweet Revenge

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The neck was stiff, and the head wouldn’t turn. But the pillow beneath it was soft, and Lillian pushed it down far enough to get her hands in there. God, was that woman cold. She fumbled for the clasp of the necklace with her eyes closed. Looking at that face with all its make-up was just a little more than she could handle. Make-up looked so fake on a corpse. Besides, it didn’t do a thing for a woman who was ugly to begin with. Now what was wrong with that clasp? Come on! Come on! What was the matter with it? Why didn’t it come loose? God, finally.
She ripped it off the neck and slipped it into her coat pocket. Or rather, half of it was in, half of it out, and it dropped. She bent down to pick it up and hit her head on the bier. Damn, she thought, can’t anything go right just once? She made sure the baubles were deep in her pocket this time before she turned to the bracelet which came off easy. And the ring was a breeze, Aunt Josephine’s hands being so skinny. Like chicken claws, Lillian thought and shivered. And why was it so hot in that room? A body could hardly breathe, the air was so stale.
She turned to tiptoe out and nearly tripped over a cloud of red roses that stood by the coffin. She let out a muffled scream and covered her mouth.
“Watch where you’re going, Lillian,” she whispered and couldn’t help but read the pretty note that was pinned to the roses. “Love,” it said, “will unite us, my Darling.”
God, how corny! Now who would send red roses to a cranky old woman? And call her darling to boot? Lillian pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. She took a step toward the door and froze. Where was that squeaking coming from? She held her breath and strained to hear.
A door. A door opened somewhere down the hallway. To the right somewhere. And voices! First, a man’s. Sort of smooth and slow and soothingly oily. And . . .oh, God, her parents!
Lillian looked around wildly. Now why did they have three lamps in this room? She made a dash for the light switch and flicked it which instantly turned off all the lights in the room. She sent a flash prayer of thanks to the guy who designed that lighting system and made another dash toward the door that was propped open by a tall, fake topiary. She squeezed her hip in there behind that door anyway--thank God, I’m skinny, she thought. Damn, that topiary! It must be made of cement. It moved just enough and just in time to get herself into that thin space behind the door. God, was that tight! And there she stood, with her toes awkwardly turned outward and her head sideways, and her body tight against the wall, holding her breath.
“So that’s how we will line up,” the smooth, oily voice said. “And I would think that, if you come a little early, we can arrange everything beautifully and iron out any confusion as to the proper order of the procession.”
“Will do,” Lillian’s father said. He was standing right in the door now, not a foot away from her who couldn’t hold her breath any longer and let it out in short, soundless puffs.
“Did you want to say a final farewell?” the oily voice asked. Lillian’s heart stopped and then started beating again like a drummer gone berserk. Through the crack in the door, she could see a hand fumble for the light switch.
“We do. We do indeed,” her father said. “But before we do, I want to emphasize once more that we are not very happy about the business with the roses. You will take care of that, Mr. Stoneburner. That’s very important to us.”
The hand stopped moving and then removed itself from the doorjamb. Lillian slumped with relief as best she could in that tight spot.
“We’re awfully sorry, Mr. Kessler. I apologize. Mr. Horn will tend to it just as soon as he’s free.”
“And the . . . hem . . .,” her father lowered his voice, “personal effects of my sister . . .”
Lillian could feel her father looking around to make sure no stranger was near to hear what he was about to say.
“ . . . will they be safe?”
“Mr. Kessler, I beg you. We’ll put them into the safe just this minute. And I do want to remind you that this is a funeral home. We’ve been in business forty years. Nothing here has ever been taken. Nothing, I assure you. Besides, who’d do such a thing? No one in their right mind would do such a thing.”
Lillian smiled. There’s always a first time, Mr. Stoneburner, she thought.
“And forgive me,” he continued. “Most people wouldn’t even think they’re real. These beloved things will go to the grave with her. Just as she wished. You want to take another look? Make sure everything’s still in order?”
Lillian’s heart did another crazy number. If I don’t get some air soon, she thought, I’ll pass out.
Her mother piped up now. She sounded embarrassed. “Let’s go, Albert,” she said. “It’s late. They’ll be fine. It’s been a long day. They’ll be fine. We could check in the morning. Before they close the coffin. Let’s go now.”
There was a pause. Her father obviously didn’t like this business with leaving the jewels here and unattended.
“Now why she wanted to wear those jewels for her viewing, I’ll never know,” he grumbled.
“Because she wanted people to see her in them, Albert.” Her mother’s voice sounded a little exasperated. Sometimes men didn’t understand a thing. “Let’s go now,” she said.
“Well, good night then,” he said, finally. But now there was another noise. Someone sniffled.
“Thank you so much,” a sweet voice said.
There hadn’t been a peep out of goody-two-shoes Marge all this time. But she’d be here, of course. Yes, Aunt Josephine! Of course, Aunt Josephine! What may I get you, Aunt Josephine? Dear, sweet Marge who was so pretty and helpful and decent. “Aunt Josephine,” her mother had said more than once, “simply can’t do without Marge,” looking significantly and reproachfully at Lillian. Which was one of the reasons Lillian couldn’t stand her sister. But she had better things to do with her life than to take care of a mean, old woman.
Of course, that mean, old woman just left Marge twenty thousand bucks while she, Lillian, didn’t get a dime. And that was, of course, where they all came from. Money. That’s where they came from, and that’s why they had cozied up to the old witch. But so what? That jewelry in her pocket was worth at least fifty thousand. If not more.
Everyone finally walked away from the door. “Good night,” she could hear them say. “Good night.” “Good night.”
Good night and good riddance, Lillian thought. She was badly in need of air and movement. And that damn door kept inching forward.
“Good night,” Marge piped up again sweetly. Lillian poked her tongue out in the direction of that voice.
She heard a door open and then close. A bolt turned, and footsteps walked once again toward her room. Lillian, watching through the narrow space between door and jamb, saw a hand reach around and fumble for the light switch. The light came on just as a phone started ringing, muffled, somewhere in the building. The light went off again. The footsteps walked away and disappeared, and then the hallway light was turned off, leaving Lillian in total darkness. The phone stopped ringing.
Lillian took a deep breath and let it out in soft puffs. She waited, straining to hear. Not a sound anywhere. Cautiously, she felt her way out of her corner and around the topiary, her body tighter than a drum. She felt her way to the open door and listened. Not a sound. Cautiously, she stuck her head out the door.
The EXIT sign above the front door gave off enough light to make a dash for it, but just as she tightened her muscles for the sprint, the light in the hallway came on brighter than a million halogen bulbs.
Blinded, she took a step backwards, nearly falling over the topiary. But it was solid enough not to topple, and she was once again safe in her narrow space behind the door.
Damn, she thought, don’t these people ever go home?
Slow, weary footsteps came shuffling down the hall, closer and closer, and finally stopped at her door. She could hear a man’s labored breathing not a foot away. Then the light came on in the room. She drew in her breath and held it. The footsteps shuffled right by her hiding place and went on toward the coffin. Halfway there, they stopped.
“Holy Moses!” an old man’s voice said. “Holy Moses!”
There was a moment of silence, and the footsteps shuffled out again, quicker this time, and shuffled hurriedly down the hall and disappeared.
Lillian was out from behind that door in a flash, and around the topiary and into the hallway and at the front door and fumbled with the dead bolt and got it open and ran down the steps and down the dark, empty, foggy street all the way to her car as if the devil were after her.
Panting, she fumbled inside her coat pocket for the car keys and pulled out the necklace instead, put it back and found the keys, finally, and opened the door and fell into the seat, locking the doors, and sat, exhausted, with her head back, breathing deeply to calm herself. Damn, that was close!
But then she smiled. She had the jewels. Every single one of them! And no one was the worse for wear. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. Someone must have, just must have, looked out for her. She put the key into the ignition and drove off, slowly now, and she smiled all the way to the hotel where she’d made reservations for the night.
She hadn’t even planned on going to either the viewing or to the funeral. It was a two hour drive and, as far as she was concerned, Aunt Josephine wasn’t worth the trip. Besides, it was a dreary, foggy day. October already, and it got dark so early and rained all the time. But she had changed her mind. Maybe some of the money her father had just inherited would rub off on her if she showed up and made a good impression.
She had spent nearly all day getting ready, putting on her make-up just right, and just the right clothes to let people know that she was successful in her modeling career. Which hadn’t taken off yet, but nobody needed to know that.
The viewing went till eight, and it was five minutes after when she got there. The parking lot behind the funeral home was full. Who were all these people? And why would they came to see a dead old woman they could get nothing out of since she was dead? It made no sense.
She drove off in search of a parking place. By the time she found a space three blocks away and walked back, the viewing was over, and the funeral home was deserted and deathly quiet. Walking in the front door, she found herself in a long, bright, empty hallway. All the rooms that went off that hallway were dark except for one a little further down, close to the backdoor. Through the glass in the door she could see that the parking lot was nearly empty though some people were still standing there, talking. Another hallway went off to the left to someplace.
She stood listening for a minute, but all was quiet. What a bummer. Here she was about to do the right thing, and nobody was there to see it. Now what? She shivered and gingerly walked down the hall.
Discretely decorative name tags with the names of the dearly departed were stuck in frames beside the doors. She glanced at them quickly and away again, cautiously making her way down the hall toward the back door . Maybe some of her family were still out there. And if not, at least somebody from the funeral home so she could prove that she’d been there. She walked by the room that was lit, threw a quick glance inside, and found herself face to face with her aunt Josephine, laid out in her silk-lined coffin, all in pink, including the silk. Lillian jumped back. God, that was scary! But then her eyes opened wide. Was this a sparkle or was she seeing things? She tiptoed to just inside the room to get a closer look and found herself all alone with the dearly departed and thousands of dollars worth of jewels.
She couldn’t believe her luck and didn’t have to think twice. What good did those jewels do a corpse buried six feet under? She could make much better use of them, being up to her neck in debt. Of course, touching that woman would be like touching a snake. Then again, a chance like this would never come again, and she better take it, or she’d be a fool.
But that was history now. Driving toward the hotel, she imagined herself in the clothes she’d buy. And the apartment she’s rent. And she’d go to a first class photographer for some great shots for her portfolio.
The clerk at the hotel desk was grumpy, but that didn’t matter. She was in a splendid mood and decided to splurge, which she could now afford, and changed her previous reservation--a cheap, dingy room--to a suite. On the way to her new accommodations, up the elevator, down the hall, the hummed a happy little tune. Sometimes, she thought, life is just gorgeous.
The suite was enormous and elegant, and she felt at home the moment she walked in and turned on the lights. She locked the door tight with all the locks it had and drew the curtains, making sure not a soul could peek inside, even though it was on the tenth floor. But you never knew. A helicopter could come by, and the pilot could peek in. Oh, stop that, Lillian, she said to herself and sat down on the bed, so big and soft and luxurious, she had to resist the temptation to jump up and down on it.
Almost reverently, she took the jewels out of her coat pocket and arranged them neatly on the dark bedspread like a jeweler would in a velvet display case. The necklace and the bracelet were made of a chain of gold roses. In the middle of each rose sat a ruby, an emerald, and a diamond. Lillian put on the ring, a single rose, and it sparkled in the lamplight when she moved her hand back and forth. God, was that pretty! Aunt Josephine would turn in her coffin if she knew that Lillian, of all people, ended up with her most priced possessions.
Aunt Josephine’s husband, who had made tons of money in real estate, had given the set to her on their silver wedding anniversary. Showing it off to the family once, Lillian, who was twelve then, had reached out to touch the bracelet. Faster than a viper, Aunt Josephine had slapped her hand. From that moment on, Lillian had hated that woman. It wasn’t like she was gonna steal something with all the family looking on. She only wanted to see what real jewels felt like. But Aunt Josephine never had any patience with children.
After that slap, Lillian stole something from the old lady whenever she they went over there to visit. A piece of fashion jewelry, or money out of her purse, or a Hummel figurine. Aunt Josephine knew what was going on and watched her like a hawk, but she could never prove a thing.
Lillian weighed the necklace in her hand to get a feel for all that heavy gold. When she put it on in front of the bathroom mirror, the diamonds sparkled in all their glory. A shame, a darn shame, she had to sell it all!
. . .
At the funeral service the next day, her mother took her aside. “I’m glad you didn’t come to the viewing last night,” she whispered. “Somebody stole Aunt Josephine’s jewelry.”
“What jewelry?” Lillian’s eyes were round and innocent.
“You don’t remember? They were made of gold roses with diamonds and emeralds and rubies. She slapped you once when you touched’em.”
“She did? I don’t remember. She had so much stuff.”
“Well, anyway, somebody took it. Can you imagine the nerve? And off of her corpse!” Her mother shivered.
“I guess she had more enemies than she had friends,” Lillian said.
“You shouldn’t talk about the dead that way, Lillian! And something else . . .” Her mother lowered her voice to a whisper, pulling Lillian aside a little more. “Nobody knows. Nobody! So don’t breathe a word. The police want this to be kept quiet until they . . .”
“The police?” Lillian blurted out.
“Of course, the police! That’s a hundred thousand dollars worth of jewels! Anyway, they got somebody here today to see if someone looks suspicious. They said the thief will come for sure.”
Damn! Lillian scanned the room. A detective would be looking around, sort of discrete, of course, and he wouldn’t look like he was grieving or something.
But nobody stood out as far as she could tell. Absentmindedly, she returned a sad smile that came to her from some strange woman in the crowd of mourners. In her mind, she went over everything she did in that room. Did she touch anything except the jewels? She couldn’t think of a thing. But, maybe, she should show a little grief and a sadder smile not to arouse suspicion. A few tears rolling down her cheek wouldn’t hurt either. And she should say something kind about Aunt Josephine.
“Well, actually, this is pretty terrible,” she said, therefore. “I mean, the burglary. Nobody deserves that. Not even Aunt Josephine. If I liked her or not.”
Her mother, consolingly, patted her arm.
Looking over at her sister, Lillian added: “And Marge looks good really good today.” She almost choked on the words, but Marge couldn’t hear them, thank God. Besides, words don’t cost anything.
After the funeral, everyone that was considered family was invited back to her parents’ house for a little something to strengthen themselves after the ordeal. As they sat around eating and talking--most everyone talked about Aunt Josephine’s quirks--a detective arrived to ask some questions.
Lillian’s mother was a little shocked. Now everyone would know that something was wrong. Lillian could see the shock and the surprise in their faces as they stopped talking and started gawking. No one wanted to appear nosy, but they were all about to explode with nosiness.
Lillian’s mother took the detective to the spare bedroom where it would be easier for him to talk to people. Lillian watched them walk down the hall.
How sweet that everyone but herself was a suspect. All these people had been at the viewing except her. Was that sweet or what? Watching everybody gleefully, she munched on a ham biscuit, and, done with that, helped herself to some chicken breast. Her mother’s always made the best fried chicken.
The first person the officer called was Marge. Lillian smiled a fake, encouraging smile as Marge walked by. Marge smiled back, a little surprised. Around her shoulders, she wore the scarf Aunt Josephine used to wear all the time. Lillian couldn’t think of the designer right this minute, but she’d cut off both her arms to have that scarf. But then she thought, Hey, what’s the matter with me? I can buy ten of these now if I want.
Her feet comfortably stretched out in front of her, she munched on the chicken breast and listened to what people said about Aunt Josephine, though they seemed a little distracted now.
When someone stumbled over her feet, Lillian remembered the roses and said out loud: “I wonder who her lover was?”
The room grew instantly quiet. She knew she said something outrageous, but why not bring the old lady’s love life out in the open? It was the least she could do to get a little sweet revenge for having been left out of the will.
“What do you mean?” her father asked, his eyes narrow.
“Oh, came on, Dad. Who’d send red roses? And that corny little note. Love will unite us, my Darling.” Lillian laughed a hilarious little laugh.
She felt like a million bucks. What hypocrites! Aunt Josephine’s reputation, it seemed, wasn’t the only thing that needed a little fixen’ in her family. All these hypocrites needed a little airing out too. Including her dad. If he said it once, he said it a thousand times, “Lillian,” he’d say, “you must be nice to your aunt Josephine. She has nobody but us. Remember that. And all that money could easily go to some charity. So, watch your step, Little Miss Uppity.”
Hypocrites. All of them. At least she, Lillian, had never cozied up to that woman.
“What’s everybody staring at me for?” she said, haughtily. “So the old girl had herself a little fling. What’s the big deal?”
Her dad’s voice was very, very soft.
“Those roses were put into your aunt Josephine’s room by mistake. Mr. Horn took them to the right room while we waited for the police to get there. How would you know about the roses when you weren’t there last night?”
“Marge told me.”
Boy, that was quick thinking. She took a bite of the chicken breast. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the detective came back with Marge. For an instant, she thought it was Aunt Josephine with her scarf draped around her. It gave her a jolt, and she took a deep breath which, for some reason, made her eyes pop open wide. She jumped up and clutched her neck and then started waving her arms like a madwoman, making strange, wheezing, gurgling sounds, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.
Her father hit her on the back as hard as he could. The officer did the Heimlich maneuver. Everybody else watched horrified with their hands to their mouths.
But that piece of chicken, it seemed, had grown claws. It refused to budge.

***

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Home If you want to write The Good American Short Stories Various Info Memories of VMI

All Short Stories copyright Ursula Maria Mandel