Fadeout Read online

  Table of Contents

  Fadeout

  Copyright

  Praise for Rolynn Anderson

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A word from the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Fadeout

  The Funeral Planner

  Suspense Series

  by

  Rolynn Anderson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Fadeout: The Funeral Planner Suspense Series

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Rolynn Anderson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2012

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-361-0

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-362-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Rolynn Anderson

  “LAST RESORT is an interesting read that will keep your nose firmly planted in its pages. Make sure you leave enough free time to enjoy this one from cover to cover!”

  ~Long and Short Reviews

  ~*~

  “Overall, this [LAST RESORT] was a truly enjoyable story and one that had me looking forward to other books that are written by this author in the future.”

  ~The Romance Studio

  Dedication

  To my father, a dedicated soldier and family man

  Acknowledgements

  “The children are watching.”

  When I helped my family plan a memorial for my father, I was acutely aware that several children would attend the service. They would witness rituals, hear eulogies, and watch the way adults handled the death of a loved one. What could I do, I wondered, to prevent them from being frightened about death? How would I explain to the little ones that my father, their grandfather/great grandfather, lived a full and happy life, worthy of celebration, when they’d known him as an old man, befuddled by Alzheimer’s? What could they take away from the memorial to bring more vigor into their own lives?

  As soon as I understood the needs of children, our unique, interactive ceremony took shape. We celebrated my father’s adventures along with ours, rededicating ourselves to live more fully. This experience inspired me to write the Funeral Planner series, spiced with suspense and romance, of course!

  Fadeout sharpened from close critiques by Linnea Mattson, Karen Winn, Diana White, Susan Farrell, Annette Wilburton, Barbara Cutshaw, Robert Scalise, Ken and Bette Lou Spurgeon, and my faithful book group: Carol Scalise, Barbara Wyckoff, Sue Ratty-Seeman, Marti Valley, and Kathryn Schumacher. Laura Kelly, my talented editor, pushes and pulls me to craft my best writing.

  Literally hundreds of agents, publishers, friends, and strangers have cheered me on to write the Funeral Planner series. And as always, my husband, Steve, cheered the loudest. Thank you all!

  Chapter One

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you Jan Solvang, the famous channeler?”

  The man’s voice, booming from behind her, had Jan pivoting on her knees in surprise. She dropped a fistful of weeds into her wheelbarrow and straightened her back as a determined-looking man strode across her lawn.

  “I do not speak to the dead. I—”

  “Sorry,” he interrupted with a hand wave that said he was anything but, his hint of a smile barely excusing the jab. He stopped, planting himself next to her flower bed, and crossed his arms to look down at her, his broad shoulders blocking out the sun. “That was a joke. My grandmother said you were a funeral planner. Since I don’t know what that is, I…”

  He shrugged, as if to place the problem on her shoulders.

  “Ah. Roman Keller, Bella’s grandson.” Jan rose as gracefully as she could, uncomfortable about meeting an unexpected client wearing a halter top, shorts, and no shoes. She glanced at her dirty hands and frowned away the possibility of a handshake. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Keller. Did you drive up from Santa Barbara?”

  He yanked a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and held it up. “I’m here about your bill.”

  Just then Jan’s black terrier rounded the corner from the yard, raced to her side and growled at the man. She bent down and patted Elwood’s head to quiet him. “You mean our bill to Bella.”

  “Our?”

  “My father and I work together for—”

  A flash of interest in the stranger’s eyes warned Jan that her halter top gaped at the side, giving the man an inadvertent glimpse of more skin than was already showing. Fighting a blush, she straightened again. “We work for This is Your Life, Inc.” She rubbed dirt from her hands and headed for the porch. “Come on in. Let me wash up and we’ll talk about it.”

  She climbed the front stoop to her house and opened the screen door, Elwood racing ahead into the kitchen, his growl bobbling as he ran. Jan made for the sink, careful not to look at her almost empty living room, a place so unready for clients, and so cold, despite a bathing of California sun. One couch and an end table floated on an ocean of maple flooring. Bare dining room. Naked walls. He’d smell new paint and morning coffee, a noxious pairing of latex and French Roast.

  A good reason for meeting customers in their homes, not hers.

  With a mental shake, she refocused on Keller’s grief, which was probably the cause of his crankiness. After all, his grandfather had died only a week ago, following a month’s steady decline in Arroyo Grande’s hospice care.

  While she dried her hands, she took a fresh look at Roman Keller, investigative journalist extraordinaire, now leaning against the kitchen island. Fit. Broad-shouldered. Without a glower, he might have a pleasant face. Dressed in a bright blue polo shirt, khaki pants, and tan boat shoes, sans socks, he looked like a man primed for a day of sailing. Instead he was forced to deal with the complications of his grandfather’s death.

  “Look,” he said, his gaze drifting to the folding table that served as her desk. He smoothed his thick dark brown hair, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Forget the crack about channeling. When my grandmother told my parents and me about your services, we got concerned. Bella spent a bundle at a funeral home for my grandfather. We don’t understand why she needs an extra ‘planner.’”

  Elwood’s grumble echoed in the almost empty rooms.

  “It’s okay,” she said, assuring herself and Elwood a
s she petted him, this time bending carefully so her halter stayed tight against her breasts. The dog peered at her through his fringe of wiry black bangs, looking cross-eyed. With his mouth stretched to a kick-the-guy-out grimace and his little body shivering in agitation, Elwood corroborated Jan’s view: we don’t like this human very much. Amused, she scratched behind Elwood’s ears.

  Still smiling, she faced the scowling Mr. Keller and said, “Funeral homes focus on traditional features, like cremation, church, and burial services. But folks today, especially baby boomers, want more than what mortuaries offer. A couple of years ago, my father and mother began helping friends and relatives plan unique ‘going away’ celebrations, individualized for families and businesses.” Jan checked Keller’s posture. Still in appraisal mode. “The word spread about their approach, and pretty soon they were turning away clients. When my mother died last year, my father asked me to step in until he could find a replacement. You’d be the eighth client I’ve helped in the last six months.”

  Keller nodded, but kept his arms crossed. His grandmother, Bella, had told Jan that her grandson was a well-known scriptwriter of documentaries. Did he assume she was preying on old people or milking money from grief-stricken families?

  “Your grandparents were friends of my parents as well as neighbors here in Cypress Crest Estates. Did you know that?”

  He bobbed his head in assent.

  “It might help you to know that your grandfather was in on the planning for his send-off. So why don’t we sit down and talk about why Sidney and Bella hired us and how we’re going to honor him?” She gestured toward the sofa.

  Instead, he wandered over to her desk.

  She blinked, taken aback by his lack of manners. “Excuse me, Mr. Keller, but—”

  “Yo!” came a voice from the doorway. “Knock, Knock?”

  Jan waved at the man on the other side of the screen door. “‘Lo, Pete. Come on in.”

  Pete walked into the foyer, swishing his cane before him, stopping at the top of the steps that led to the living room. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I’d like to rent L.W. for an hour if that’s convenient.”

  “Perfect timing. Elwood’s got the growls for our visitor. Pete McDonald, freelance crime investigator, meet Roman Keller, Bella’s grandson.”

  Pete tipped his head toward Roman. “Ah, the famous journalist. I know sweet Bella very well. In fact, we’re co-captains of the block watch. She sees all and I hear all. Perfect partnership.” Jan snapped the leash on Elwood as Pete stepped down the two stairs and stuck out his hand to shake Keller’s. “Sorry to hear about your grandfather’s passing.”

  “Thank you,” Keller answered.

  Jan crossed the room to kiss Pete on the cheek as she placed the dog leash in his hand. “He’s all yours.” Her friend was fresh-shaven with a hint of spicy cologne on his smooth skin. Relishing his warmth, a stark contrast from her frigid visitor, she stood close to him. Pete was a slim man with a runner’s body, a couple of inches taller than her 5’8”, with blond hair and brown eyes matching hers. Though he was two years older than her thirty-three years, to Keller, Pete and Jan probably looked like fraternal twins.

  What she wanted to do was kick Roman Keller out and take a walk with Pete and Elwood, but instead, she turned to Keller. “Pete borrows the dog as a prop.”

  Pete smiled. “L.W.’s a babe magnet. Handsome little tyke, of course, but because he won’t heel, he comes off as a poor excuse for a seeing-eye dog. Raises lots of empathy,” he added, winking. “My big challenge is to teach him to retrieve unattached women.” Pete strolled into the living room, his cane sweeping the area. “Still love your décor, ‘J.’ Perfect for a guy like me.”

  “Pete…” she warned.

  “Touchy, touchy. Just be sure to tell me when you decide to buy furniture so I can learn the layout.” He turned to address her unhappy client. “Seems you’ve added some tension to this house, sir, upsetting both cute dog and pretty woman.”

  “It’s okay. We’re okay,” Jan interrupted. “You two have a good time. We’ll talk when you return.” While she watched them exit, she was more than aware of Keller now unabashedly reading the labels on her case folders.

  “Sidney Keller, Grace Weathers, and Cliff Barker,” he read from three folder tabs. “Whoa. You’re handling the Barker memorial?”

  She nodded stiffly. Of all the nosy…

  “You grabbed the brass ring on that one. Big money-maker, huh?”

  “Listen,” she began, stepping forward.

  “Means you’ve got to work with the mayor and his bent crew,” he interrupted, returning to the kitchen island and leaning against it. Hand held up, he said, “Sorry. I couldn’t do a piece on Barker while he was alive because his cronies are a cunning, zip-lipped bunch. Wouldn’t let me near him.” He paused. “But back to my grandma…Bella.”

  Was it her imagination, or had his expression softened when he’d said his grandmother’s name? It didn’t matter. Ticked at Keller’s unapologetic rudeness, Jan hurried to her desk and repositioned the pile, placing the day’s mail on top of the folders. A fat envelope with an unfamiliar return address caught her eye.

  “Mrs. Solvang?”

  “Ms.,” she corrected, returning her attention to Bella’s grandson. “I understand you’re probably feeling left out of the process. Your grandparents paid their deposit and started working with us a month ago, as soon as hospice was called in. Since you were out of town when Sidney died, Bella held up the celebration for a week.” Pulling papers from under the folders, she pushed them toward him. “Your grandmother has all this information, Mr. Keller, but here’s your copy of our services and prices.”

  When he shifted as if he were uncomfortable, she made a guess. “You haven’t talked to Bella, have you?”

  “No,” he said, his eyes on her golf course view, probably wishing he were out there, playing. He took the papers and homed in on her eyes. “When my parents saw your bill, coupled with the one from the mortuary, they were stunned. My dad faxed yours to me and asked me to deal with it since they can’t fly in until the end of the week. I decided to visit you before I saw Bella.”

  With a hand on her day planner, Jan said, “And here I thought you’d come to make an appointment.”

  “Appointment?”

  “We’re working together. Two hours today, sometime. More hours at a later date, depending on what you and Bella need.” She had a moment’s satisfaction when he looked baffled, and enjoyed the idea of besting such a judgmental guy.

  “We?”

  Did he know he was crushing the papers in his hand? “Your grandmother has you slated to give the family eulogy next Friday. My job is to help you write and deliver it.” When his jaw dropped, she smiled, skirted the desk and walked toward him. “You and I determine who else speaks at the memorial and we help Bella select music and readings. The order of events for the ceremony is up to you, with my dad weighing in on the military salutes, since your grandfather was a Coast Guard vet. Bella and I will organize the lunch and entertainment after the memorial unless you want to be in charge of that part, too.”

  Bella Keller had told Jan her grandson would be surprised to be chosen as MC, but this was classic he-didn’t-know-what-hit-him stuff. Rounded eyes, mouth agape. Softer around the mouth when he wasn’t complaining.

  Jan felt a tinge of satisfaction about taking the upper hand, but she kept her voice matter-of-fact, perfectly professional. Folding her arms to match what seemed to be his favorite pose, she said, “Bella indicated your relationship with Sidney was contentious.” She shrugged for dramatic effect even as she reached for the thick envelope on top of her letter pile. “But she wants you in charge, Mr. Keller. I doubt she’ll take no for an answer. Call me when you’re ready to make that appointment.”

  ****

  Roman Keller loitered in Jan Solvang’s nearly empty house, aware he’d been dismissed. In fact, the woman had ripped open a letter before she’d finished her last sentence. Was
he ready to leave? Not yet.

  He smoothed the crinkled papers in his hand, determined to make sense out of the information they contained. These so-called “planners” were charging Bella a bundle of money and he was determined to find out why. The journalist in him relished the hunt, but even more, he wanted to protect his grandmother. Losing Sidney was tough enough for Bella. If the mortuary and this so-called planner were gouging her, they’d better watch out now that he had them in his sights.

  Hell, if Jan Solvang was new to the job, maybe she’d made a mistake in figuring out Bella’s bill. Once he could sit down and match their prices with their services, he might find errors, but if he had general questions, he knew he should ask them while she was pissed. Sure, she was pretending to be soothing and professional, but he’d caught the flash of anger in her eyes, the slightly stiffened spine and the barely raised eyebrow. After years of interviewing people, he’d learned that when agitated, his subjects usually revealed vital information about themselves and their work.

  Yup, he’d stick around a little while longer and see what she’d spill under duress. Let her think he was leaving, then—

  Suddenly she gasped. He looked up in time to watch her grab on to her desk, her knees buckling and a piece of paper fluttering from her hand.

  Roman bolted forward and caught her around the waist, but as she collapsed she teetered sideways, and slid down his frame to his feet. “Damn,” he muttered, as he guided her head gently to the floor. For a standoff to work, they both had to be upright.

  He knelt next to her body, wondering if she’d faked a faint, but one look at her pallor and pained expression pushed that idea out of his mind. Christ, no one could turn a face bone-white like hers. Was she breathing?

  She was. He palmed her forehead. “Not too hot. Not too cold. Elevate the head, I think.”

  By the time he’d grabbed a pillow from the sofa and placed it under her head, she’d opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as if to figure out who he was and why he was looking down at her. When her hand touched the floor, she looked dismayed and popped up to a sitting position.