Jemina Langdon Mysteries
Part 1

     Jemina Langdon’s eyes swam until she could no longer see the keyboard.  For the tenth time that morning she stopped typing to dry her eyes and blow her nose.  She had been the administrative assistant of Small Valley Funeral Home for almost twenty years.  Working in such an emotional environment should have toughened her up a little.  But Walter Adder had been like a second father to her and the grief she felt was genuine.  
     Even at the age of 80, Mr. Adder had still been active in the day-to-day operations of Small Valley’s only funeral parlor.  Ellen, his wife, had discovered him, having passed peacefully in his sleep.  The memorial service was yesterday with practically the whole town shutting down to attend the service.  Jemina pulled a small mirror from her desk to check her reflection.  Aunt Jane would be arriving any minute to take her to lunch, and Jemina knew the old gal’s soft heart would be upset at seeing her puffy eyes.
     Red rimmed eyes or no, she reckoned she looked all right for a forty-five year old widow.  Mr. Adder had always called her a natural beauty because Jemina never wore makeup.  At the thought of him, quiet tears began to flow down her cheeks again.  With a mild oath, she reached for another tissue.  Hearing a noise she turned towards the office door and saw hovering there Griffin Adder, the only son of Ellen and Walter.  Dashing in a grey three piece suit, the junior Adder looked disturbingly chipper.  
     “Poor Jemina,” said Griffin.  “Are you still in mourning?”  Quickly closing the distance between them, he gallantly offered her the red silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket.  “Father would want us to carry on, you know.  Chin up, and all that other crap.”  
     “Thanks, but I have tissues,” she sniffled, refusing as nicely as possible.  Though Griffin had never been anything less than professional with her, the mere sight of him chaffed her sensibilities.  
     Aunt Jane called him smarmy, yet there were many females in Small Valley who didn’t seem to mind.  As long as Griffin kept them supplied with trinkets and fine meals, they were content.
As much as he aggravated her, though, she needed the job and could not risk offending him.  Ellen Adder had made clear her disinterest in running the family business, and as a result this 40 year old playboy was now Jemina’s boss.          
     Griffin, lips curled in imitation of a cordial smile, refolded the silken square and returned it to his pocket.  
     “It’s always there if you need it.  –My handkerchief and my shoulder,” he said, sounding like a line from a cheap novel.  Jemina groaned inwardly.  
     “Thanks,” she said, wanting badly to tell him what he could do with his handkerchief.  
     “Well, I’m off to lunch.  See you in an hour.”
     He winked at her as if they were best buddies, hurrying back into the hallway and out the front door.  

     From her office window, Jemina saw Griffin nod at Aunt Jane as he crossed Main Street to the opposite sidewalk.  To her merit, Aunt Jane nodded politely and kept walking.  
     “Ugh, that boy,” she fumed once she was seated in her niece’s office.  
     “He’s 40 years old, Aunt Jane; you can hardly call him a boy.”
     “Humph!” She sniffed.  “Being a man requires more than age.”  Even after spending a good part of her adulthood in the states, Aunt Jane retained a light British accent, lending properness to her speech.  
     Jane Bedford, 72, was the younger sister of Jemina’s mother.  Three years ago she had come for the funeral of Jemina’s husband and stayed.  Her own parents being long gone, Aunt Jane was the only remaining family Jemina had left.  
Proud of her pristine white hair and the wrinkles lining her face, Jane called them badges of honor and wondered why women tried to plaster over such things with paint and spackle.  She often reminded her niece that every line represented a lesson learned and that God had put them where she would see them often and never forget.  Her hair was naturally curly, and worn short, just below her ears.  She had twinkling blue eyes that could soothe a frightened child or shrink the bravest of men.  Even at her age, she needed no corrective lenses and her hearing was perfect, thank you.  Aunt Jane’s mind was as sharp without a hint of the cloudiness some of her peers seemed to be suffering.  Never married, she had always lived alone, visiting her sister and brother-in-law often, and spoiling Jemina whenever possible.  
     “Enough about your new boss,” Aunt Jane declared.  “Are you ready for lunch?”

to be continued

Jemina Langdon Mysteries
Part 3

     The funeral home was hosting an afternoon viewing; everyone was busy with their respective tasks.  Even Griffin had little time to loiter.  The remainder of the day seemed to evaporate into thin air and before long the grandfather clock near the front door was chiming six.  Jemina was set to turn off her office light when an elderly gentleman took a wrong turn, ending up in her office.  Escorting the man to Chapel A, Jemina glanced down the long hallway out of habit.  Surprised, she saw Griffin holding open the back door for Shaved Head Man.  In unison they spotted Jemina and scowled, hurrying into Griffin’s office with a slam of the door.  
     She didn’t know why but her gut told her something was not right.  Realizing she may not have a lot of time, Jemina decided to try her luck at eavesdropping.  She crept down the long hallway as close as she dared to Griffin’s office. Praying she would not get caught Jemina listened intently to the men’s conversation.  
     “Is she going to be trouble?”  Shaved Head Man demanded.  
     “Why would Jemina Langdon be trouble?  Unless you’ve introduced yourself, she has no idea who you are.  For all she knows, you could be my cousin Louie from out east!”  
     It was a little surreal, being discussed without them knowing, Jemina thought with a cringe.  Griffin was saying something else, so she refocused her attention.
     “…sort of prudish and mousy, but she’s always been a loyal employee.”  His description chaffed a bit.  
     “I’m not interested in a personal evaluation,” Shaved Head Man said irritated.
     “I’m just telling you—“
     “No, I’m telling you,” he cut off Griffin mid sentence.  Jemina imagined the shade of red that her boss’ face was turning.  “If she figures out what we’re doing she’ll have to be taken care of.”
     Despite her precarious location outside Griffin’s door, Jemina gasped.  She didn’t know what “taken care of” meant but was pretty sure it would not be pleasant.  Jemina took one more step forward and her luck ran out as she managed to find a squeaky floorboard.  Instantly the two men stopped talking.  Jemina’s breath caught as she quickly debated the odds of racing past Griffin’s office before he could open the door.  Instead of sprinting, a plan formed in her mind.  It was lame and would require some pretty fair acting on her part; but it just might work.  
     Jemina squared her shoulders and started toward the back exit, some 25 feet away.  It was very important not to hurry; she had to appear nonchalant.  From behind her, she heard Griffin calling.
     “Jemina, what are you…Jemina?”  He called again a little louder, but she kept on walking.
     “Jemina?” He was almost shouting.  Finally she paused and, seeming a little confused, turned toward him.  She was careful not to look into his office; he had to believe she was unaware of the second man’s presence.
     “Oh, Griffin, did you say something?”  Exasperation flooded Griffin’s face.
     “Didn’t you hear me calling?”  He asked crossly.
     “What?”  Jemina inclined her head as if trying to hear him better.  
     “What’s the matter with you?”  He shouted, no longer pretending to be polite.
     “I’m sorry, I can barely hear you,” she said, gesturing toward her head.  “Both of my ears clogged up over lunch and I haven’t been able to hear a thing since…must be my sinuses acting up.”  Skepticism flashed in his eyes.  He lowered his voice to a notch just under a normal level before speaking again.
     “Isn’t it time for you to go home?”  Jemina furrowed her brows as if baffled by his words.
     “I’m not going to Rome,” she insisted.
     Griffin sighed in frustration, seeming to be satisfied with her charade.  As if dealing with a child, he waved his right hand up and down, mouthing the words “bye-bye”.  
     Smiling, Jemina waved back and headed once more for the back door, all the while holding her breath.  She didn’t feel completely safe until she’d pulled into the driveway at home and dead-bolted the door behind her.

     Aunt Jane was relaxing in a recliner with a crossword puzzle and a cup of tea beside her.  Immediately she noticed her niece’s paler than usual face.  Jemina collapsed on the sofa, quickly telling everything she’d heard.
     “Oh my,” Aunt Jane exclaimed with one hand to her breast.  “And did he believe your little fib?”  
     “He must have; he let me leave.”
     “Jemina, you must be careful.  That man has a bad aura about him.  I think he could be dangerous,” said Aunt Jane warily.  Ever the sensible one, Jemina expressed her doubts.
     “I don’t know, Aunt Jane.  What if I misunderstood the conversation?”
     “If the men were discussing legitimate business, why would you have to be...how did he put it?  --Taken care of?”  
       “My emotions have been all jumbled ever since Mr. Adder died.”  She looked away.  “…Ever since David died, really.  What if I’m simply letting my imagination run away with itself?”
     “My dear, you are one of the most logical and reasonable people I know.”  Aunt Jane sipped her tea.  “No, if you suspect Griffin Adder of doing something unscrupulous then chances are he is.”

to be continued

Jemina Langdon Mysteries
Part 5

     The next morning Jemina arrived at the funeral home early in order to snoop.  The other employees usually arrived at 8:00, with Griffin lucky to make an appearance by 9:00.  If all went well, she would have plenty of time to poke about Griffin’s office. 
     Jemina used her key to unlock the front door, entering an access code to shut off the alarm.  She refrained from switching on the overhead lights, instead using the muted back-up lighting to find her way.  Opening her office door Jemina couldn’t help but shriek when she saw someone sitting in her chair. 
     “Who—who’s there?”  She called out, her voice cracking with panic.  When no answer came, she boldly switched on the lights, shrieking again.  Shaved Head Man occupied her chair, his face a frozen death mask of pain.  Jemina’s breakfast threatened to come up, and she turned away from the horrible sight. 
     Jemina stumbled to the waiting room, down the corridor from her office, where she dialed 911, explaining in clipped tones why she needed help at the funeral home.  She wanted desperately to wait outside but that would have involved seeing the dead man again.  Instead she sat on the couch in the employee break room; head drooped into her hands, listening for the sound of a siren. 

Jemina Langdon Mysteries
Part 7

There was not much to tell, Jemina said.  She discovered the bleeding body in her office when she had come in early to work.  No, she didn’t know the dead man’s name; didn’t know what he had been doing here.  And no, she hadn’t touched anything except the telephone used to dial emergency. 
     “…and then you and your deputy showed up,” she said, noticing the coffee was now ready.  Jemina got two clean mugs from a cupboard, filling them both with coffee. 
     “Cream or sugar,” Jemina asked.
     “Nope, just black,” Sheriff Kassell said, inhaling deeply before taking his first sip.  He sighed, closing his eyes for a brief second, enjoying the feel of caffeine coursing its way through his body. 
     Jemina almost laughed.  “Better?”
     “You have no idea,” he assured her. 
He took another sip of the hot stuff, braving a burned tongue to get more caffeine into his system.  Jemina stayed quiet as he flipped back through a few pages of notes.
     “Misses, um, Jemina,” he corrected himself, sending a cordial smile her direction.  “Your call came into the 911 center at 6:06 AM.”  He trained diligent brown eyes upon her.  “Is that your normal arrival time?” 
     “No,” she admitted in a level tone, dreading the next question.
     “Why were you here so early?”
Stalling, Jemina blew on the coffee in her cup, sipping as slowly as possible.  Should she tell the sheriff the truth; that she had come early to snoop for evidence of her boss’ shady wrongdoing?  Jemina reckoned at this point that the truth would do more harm than good.  She hated lying, though, and answered with a half-truth.
     “I came in early to look for something,” Jemina said carefully, hoping her face had not turned pink with the fib.
     Sheriff Kassell narrowed his eyes.  “Did you find what you were looking for?”
     “No, I found him instead.” 
     “Hmm,” said the Sheriff.  He kept studying her, until Jemina wondered if he could read her mind.  Afraid he could see into her soul, she averted her gaze.  The deputy popped back into the room just then, breaking the tension.
     “Coroner’s here,” she announced efficiently, disappearing just as fast as she’d appeared.  Sheriff Kassell stood up, heading for the coffee pot to refill his cup. 
     “Great coffee, the best I’ve had in years,” he declared.  “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here a while longer.  I know you’ve had quite a shock, but there are certain procedures—“
     “I know,” she interrupted him for the second time that morning.  “I’ve watched enough murder mysteries on television to understand the drill, Sheriff.”
     “Call me Nick,” he insisted. 
     “All right, Nick,” she repeated, trying out the name.  “I know that, since I was found at the crime scene, I’m your number one suspect.  I have to remain here until the coroner performs a preliminary examination of the body, and until you’re satisfied that I won’t skip town.” 
     He chuckled at the image of this well-mannered lady “skipping town” as she put it.  “Actually, I just want to make sure you have a ride home.  Let me give my deputy some notes, and I’ll drive you.”
      Bristling slightly as his weak perception of her, Jemina stuck her chin in the air.  “I can drive myself, Sheriff.”
     “Ah-ah, Nick,” he reminded her.  “And I insist on driving you home—no arguments.” 
     “Fine,” she said barely disguising the irritation in her voice.  “I’ll just sit here and drink my coffee like a good little girl.” 
     “You do that.”  He said and went to find the deputy.