Friends. Countrywomen. Pennsylvanians!

She found widows to be like injured gazelles, so funerals had become her primary hunting grounds.  The aimless little homemakers were always so overwhelmed, even an amateur effort convinced them you were once some figurehead in the life of the deceased.  And when that threshold of trust was eclipsed, all it took was a few drinks and a well-timed rhetorical question before they started spilling the family secrets.  And it never fails, if it doesn’t come out in the first breath, then it’s the second.  Save for the occasional extramarital scandal or distant celebrity relative, the secrets were always about money.  They either owed or owned a bunch.  The ones in it up to their necks to the banks were immediate discards, but the other group?  They had been unwittingly funding Seraphina’s meals and make up for years, but the hauls had really taken off since the War began.  Such a shame that Uncle Sam dropped those two bombs; world peace meant her income was probably going to start drying up.  Hopefully she wouldn’t have to pursue another revenue stream, as nothing had ever paid off like gullible widows.

Seraphina had been grifting in Pennsylvania for years, but that didn’t make her despise the place any less.  The sky was always grey, the ground was always wet and the people were too often penniless.  Nothing but a staging area for the important states surrounding it to carry out their conflicts.  Still, it was better than back home.  Growing up with an Italian mother and a Russian father, they had taken turns selling her fascism and communism.   To their surprise, she rejected both of her parent’s utopian fantasies because that’s what good teenage girls do.  However, she did offer compromise in the form of her sheer hatred for capitalism.  Unfortunately, her parents didn’t discover her compromise until they read it in a letter, the first and last one she ever sent them, after her arrival at Ellis Island.

She had left her parents behind in Europe with nothing in her pocket except for a wrinkled ticket granting her a three week boat ride across the Atlantic.  She didn’t feel a bump the entire voyage, her expectations for the awaiting shores keeping seasickness at bay.  But instead of paradise, she found a cramped queue full of fleas and impatient officers who neither spoke nor welcomed her language.  The land of the free was hardly an American dream.  Nightmarish insomnia perhaps.  Seraphina had spent four days languishing on steamy sidewalks before picking her first pocket, an act of survival at the time, but a gateway drug in retrospect, given her current confidence schemes. 

She fled west after that first summer until she ran out of money, reaching only Easton, Pennsylvania.  Not very far, but these keystoners were so generous! She still hated all of this capitalism, but she could get used to all these capitalists.  Oblivious to nonlethal danger, they rarely kept track of their belongings, even the less affluent folks.  And best of all, they were quick to trust.

Saturday mornings were typically her bag for the week and she expected this one to be no different.  Northern Bucks County, Pennsylvania had no shortage of religious zealots, and pious folks like them loved nothing more than a big long overly dramatic funeral procession.  She had been set up near the town’s busiest traffic light since shortly after sunrise, waiting for an inevitable line of mourners to intrude on everyone’s weekend protocols.  And sure enough, by 11 AM, a train of cars following their hearse of a locomotive came ambling by, and through more than a few of the windows she spotted men in military uniforms instead of black suits.  Perfect.  Conformity reigned supreme in a regiment as boastful as the US military, making it almost too easy to bend spouses to your will and coerce relatives into giving up information. The fear of disobeying an order and being perceived as friction was quite the effective lubricant.

She arrived at the cemetery shortly after the tomb side service began.  Like the record needle on her childhood tabletop, she would start on the outside and work her way in.  A condolence here, a sniffle there, and before you know it, people are practically tripping over each other to help you.  Typically, the folks around the perimeter were barely blood or lonely work associates, rendering them desperate to belong.  Discussing tasks that morphed into invasive questions always seemed to disarm them, often yielding information she appropriated to begin her con. 

When Seraphina was younger and undeniably attractive, she’d had more success cleaning out men for obvious reasons.  Women had been historically reluctant to befriend her, many opting for downright hostility.  But now that she was older and her clothes battled her curves instead of accentuating them, men were no longer so chivalrous and women were suspiciously more cooperative.  How ironic that these rich women accepted her now that they no longer perceived her as a threat.  She saw a short woman by herself saddled in dangling shiny objects offering to hold her umbrella for a man in uniform while he knelt to tie his shoe.  Seraphina waited until he stood back up and focused on the service again before approaching her.  Showtime.

“I just don’t know how many more of these I can take.” 

The woman cast her a sideways glance, but said nothing.  Seraphina waited, hoping the woman would engage. Maybe she had only held the umbrella because it was a man.  Personal agenda.  She could try once or twice more, but then she had to move on.  When people felt coerced, their guards went up.

Seraphina tried a different angle.

“All I see are coffins, not peace.”

“And the news is saying World War Three is right around the corner.  What is the point of all this?”  There it is.  She likes to posture.  She hadn’t held the umbrella because he was a potential partner, she had held it because there was an audience.  Time to squeeze.  Seraphina called upon her whispered tone of grief in response, a demeanor that years of strategic guilt tripping had perfected.

“I heard 200,000.  That’s how many of us women lost fathers in the first and their husband in this one.  They won’t let us leave our kitchens to help on the Fronts, but they’ll cheer while we fill in at their cruddy jobs to make the bullets that will end up widowing us.  What is the point, indeed.”

The short woman warded off an explosive cheer, judging by the agreement on her face.  Her awareness to the surroundings returned and she pulled the brim of her black hat down to cover her expression, her surplus of bracelets spouting off like wind chimes.

“Poor Mariana, I can’t even imagine losing both her father and her husband in the first, only to lose Richard in the second?  Mercy.  How did you know him?” 

She wouldn’t need to speak to anyone else.  This tiny motor mouth was going to give her everything she needed. Seraphina just needed to provide a pinch of remorse.  Terminally empathetic women like this loved to judge those deemed inferior while bemoaning their little smokescreens.

“Mercy, the poor thing.  Truth is, I’ve known Richard for a very long time.  I almost didn’t come, I didn’t want to make his wife uncomfortable.” 

The woman’s eyes darted to Seraphina immediately and then to the closest people standing in front of them.  She looked down at the ground to whisper in response while the joy begging to come out in the middle of a funeral was apparent in the corners of her pursed lips.

“Oh, they weren’t married yet.  Just engaged, right before he shipped off.”  She looked up to meet Seraphina’s gaze, each eye sprouting with mischief.  “I heard she refused to return the ring to the family.” 

Damnit, that’s a big detail to get wrong.  But this woman’s animosity is just itching to surface.  She wasn’t put off by the mistake.  Bitter people were the only group more useful than drunks when it came to truth telling.

“Oh my goodness, the nerve.  Men may change a little, usually just their belt size in my experience, but they don’t change that much, and I know my Richard would’ve wanted it returned to his family.” 

The husband and wife in front of them turned around with matching glares of admonishment to express their disapproval of the chatter.  Neither of the girls cared, the short woman and her noisy bracelets countering as soon as the couple turned back to face the empty flag draped coffin.

“It’s bad enough that his body is still in pieces somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific, but to keep that too?  And a family heirloom no less.”

Seraphina loved Saturdays.  Where there are heirlooms, there’s usually money.  And it sounds like he must’ve been on that battleship that sank near Japan last month.  Terrible way to go for poor Richard, but what a blessing for Seraphina.  This bereaved Mariana is going to most likely be repulsed by anything reminding her of the Armed Forces for quite some time.  So that angle is out.  But if this poor little widow were to meet someone who’s not so enamored with Truman and his troops?  And if she’s the type to brazenly cling to a grieving family’s prize jewels, then she’s not going to go for the Good Little Girl routine.  She needs someone that is going to make her feel empowered while resisting what her nosy peers thinks is best for her.  She needs someone who’s not afraid to break the rules. 

The sound of gunfire snapped Seraphina out of her devious architecture, the three gun salute signaling the end of the service.  She wouldn’t initiate contact just yet.  The widow would be flooded with attention for an hour or two, so it was probably best to try wherever she heads next.  It wouldn’t be difficult to find her again, as the red hair tumbling out from under her little black veiled hat was like a crimson lighthouse beacon.   

Seraphina looked down at the woman next to her, thanking her for the conversation and making it clear they wouldn’t be reconvening any time soon, in her charming way of course, but the woman’s ears were clamoring for more and she kept speaking anyway. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, it sounds like you were a big part of his life.  I’m glad you came, for what it’s worth. His sister made the trip all the way from Kane, got in this morning.  Despite the circumstances, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you.  Come with me, we can make our way over to where she is now.”

Normally that would spell disaster, but yet another beauty of the funeral con – it was easy to evade questions and avoid scenarios that could expose you.  She’d learned how to cry on cue during the month she spent on the streets of Hoboken ripping off johns. 

“I can’t, I just can’t face her right now.  Oh, I told myself I wouldn’t do this.  I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it was such a pleasure meeting you, but I need to go collect myself.”  Seraphina began furiously adjusting the folds of her blouse, her fidgeting and the light rain creating no improvement whatsoever.

“Oh, of course, you poor thing, you’ve been through so much.”  The short woman gave her that look of pity that Seraphina knew she was just begging to showcase before she noticed the woman’s eyes scanning those around her to see who was watching, and more likely, who she was going to gossip to next about what had just happened.  No wonder the little two face was here alone.

The service had been over for a couple of hours, the reception was winding down and the last military vehicle finally backed out of the driveway.  Seraphina needed to get to work.  Timing was typically everything, but this woman and her showstopping red hair looked so lost in thought in the middle of her own living room that now was as good a time as any to commence the manipulation. 

Seraphina casually placed her wine glass on the serving table beside the woman and turned her back to the remaining attendants behind them, cordoning the two of them off as if they were speaking all alone.

“You look like you’re thinking about someplace far away from here.  I hope I’m not interrupting you?”  The woman looked startled by Seraphina’s introduction.  She was wearing the ring.

“Please, you’re no bother, I’m so thankful you found the time to come.  I saw you earlier, and I’m sorry but I just can’t place you.  My name’s Mariana.”  She nodded toward the oversized portrait of Richard resting on the easel beside them.

Maybe it was the hypnotizing hair, or maybe it was the cold depth to her stare, but Seraphina suddenly felt very nervous.  And she realized she had forgotten to come up with a name.  For fear of letting the silence get awkward, she blurted out her own, and it turned out to be the right decision.

“Mariana?  Such a lovely name.  Mine’s Seraphina.  But my friends call me Sarah.”

Mariana’s eyes, puffy from welling up all day, glassed over immediately. 

“That was my sister’s name.”

Sometimes a good con just needs luck.

“I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.  You poor thing.  I know we’re all supposed to be relieved the War is over, but I look around and all I see is pain.  I wonder how this is supposed to be better.”

“How did you know Richard?”  Mariana dabbed her eye with a loose cocktail napkin.

So much for the antimilitary angle.  No interest there apparently.  And Seraphina realized that along with a name, she hadn’t come up with a legend for her character.  Why was she being so sloppy?  Best to keep degrees of separation for now.

“Actually, it was my husband Kenny that knew Richard best.  They served together, although I can’t for the life of me remember where it was they met.  You know how it is with having to always move around.  But I’ve had to listen to my Kenny tell so many stories about Richard from Philly, I feel like I knew him myself.  He wishes he could be here of course and sends his heartfelt condolences.  He’s still making his way back home.  Any day now.”  Sarah crossed her fingers, both pretending to pray while legitimately praying she hadn’t blown it.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.  Richard had been away on duty so much.  In my mind, I know he’s gone, but my heart still thinks he’s just serving and he’ll be home soon too.  Just like Kenny.”

“That’s so tragic sweetheart.  I wish I could tell you that it will get easier with time, but hearts never keep it that simple.  Making up the rules as they go along.”  Seraphina needed to plant a seed and then remove herself.  Here goes nothing.  “I couldn’t bear what you’re going through.  Between you and me, I let it slip to the right set of ears that my husband Kenny failed the swimming exam.”  Pause.  “Anything to keep him off those awful boats.”  Sarah quickly thrust her left hand into her pocket, realizing she wasn’t wearing a ring of her own.  Was this old age?  Why the hell was she so careless this time?

Despite the amateurism, Seraphina could see that her remark had resonated.  Mariana’s eyes suddenly tightened into a sharp focus, relief washing over her forehead and cheeks soon after. 

“I wish I had thought of that.  You know, it’s funny, that’s the exact kind of thing Sarah would’ve pulled when we were younger.”

She’d made her impression.  Her work here was done.  Only one more thing to do.

“Well then Sarah sounds like the perfect sister.  I always wanted one myself.  Listen, I’m sorry but I think all of the stress today made me drink a little too much of your lovely wine you’ve been serving.  And I’m afraid my stomach has had about enough.  Would you mind telling me where your restroom is?  Preferably a rather private one if it’s at all possible.”  She rubbed her stomach for effect.

“There’s one just down the hallway and next to the kitchen for the guests.  But you can use the one upstairs if you like, Sarah.  It’ll be on your right.”

“Thank you so much, and I’m so sorry again Mariana.  I do hope we get a chance to speak again, and under less dreadful circumstances.”

Seraphina excused herself upstairs, opening and shutting the bathroom door from the hallway before mapping out her spree.  The bedroom door was already open, beckoning the suburban conquistador. 

Mariana’s willingness to make exception for her was a very good sign.  It could come in handy at a later date, but for now she was hoping for something quick.  The ring was on her finger, so she couldn’t lift that.  She slowly entered the bedroom, making sure not to let the floors creak for the guests below to hear.  Although dim from the muted efforts of dusk, it was easy to case the room.  Right on her desk near the foot of the bed was a music box.  Could she really be that predictable?  Perhaps she was a good girl.  Seraphina delicately opened it, depressing the mechanism to prevent music from playing.  Nothing of importance.  Good, Seraphina’s instincts were correct.  This woman wasn’t typical.  There was no office or study in the home that she had seen, so some valuables had to be here.  There was a nightstand on each side of the bed.  And since they were only engaged and not officially cohabitating, there probably wasn’t anything of value in whichever side was his yet.  The melt kissed candle on the nightstand nearest the window was half the size of its counterpart, so this must be her side.  Seraphina quietly opened the top drawer and exhaled, her Saturday night a victory.  A rather important looking key with only dust and three letters on it.  FNB.  Had to be a First National Bank safety deposit key.  A potential jackpot.  Not only would there be plenty of emergency funds and family jewels for her to swipe when the banks opened on Monday, but more than likely there would be a garnish in that safety deposit box that’ll do nicely for blackmail.  She snatched the key up and slowly crossed the hallway back to the bathroom, flushing the toilet and running the sink before reemerging again downstairs. 

Mariana was still shepherding out the last couple of attendees as Seraphina paid her a customary nod of appreciation while shuffling past.  It was probably best to exit through the front door with the stragglers, but the getting was too good with this one.  Sticking around for more booty when she had enough wasn’t greed.  It was intuition and experience.

“Mariana, if you wouldn’t mind, let me know where you put the coats and I’ll be happy to grab them for these last few folks here.”  Seraphina made sure to aim the social cue at the party squatters and the folksy cadence toward her target.

“Thank you so much Sarah.  Down the hallway toward the kitchen, the room across from the bathroom.  You’ll see them.  Bless your heart.”

Seraphina walked right past the room and feigned a bit of a confusion as she reached the kitchen, just in case anyone was watching.  She just needed a quick peak.  There was a streetcar & bus schedule affixed to the refrigerator door with the Willow Grove Naval Station line circled.  What a serendipitous little stroke of luck it will be when they bump into one another in a few days.

The coat room welcomed Seraphina like it was her lair, offering an arsenal of ammunition for her upcoming mission.  While the untrained eye would’ve only clocked a love seat suffocating in coats and a hutch full of dusty looking china, a career conwoman knew that treasure was afoot.  First up was the mink laying on the loveseat amongst the remaining jackets.  Up with the window and out with the coat, she’d be sure to recover it after leaving and well before the owner figured out it wasn’t just misplaced.  Great thing about working near cities was that pawn shops were open on weekends.  

She gracefully slid open the drawer at the base of the hutch despite the swollen wood’s resistance.  The paperclipped bundle of money was a no brainer, but she helped herself to the life insurance documents as well.  One of the pages was bound to have her signature and she needed to practice it before visiting the bank Monday.  Not to mention all the medical intelligence and family history that would make her upcoming performance at the bank even easier.  She needed something identifiable too, something like that damn ring, something convincing, and a red wig from the cosmetics department wasn’t going to do it.  That’s when she remembered she was cleaning out a military spouse.  Practically anything would do, like the framed rating badge with the eagle on it that was stoically resting above Richard’s large portrait on the easel in the living room. 

Despite the swift goodbyes, the symphony of riches yielded an encore in the form of petty cash.  The one woman’s purse was gaping so wide it could’ve birthed a child and the man with the obnoxious scarf was begging to be taught a lesson with his billfold sticking that far out of his raincoat’s inner pocket.  Richard’s death was going to be the best thing that had happened to Seraphina in years.

She never got sentimental about her marks, but after she recovered the mink coat strewed over the hedges, part of her wanted to confess to Mariana that there was no swimming exam for the Navy.  Rest in peace, Richard from Philadelphia.