14
On Saturday, Mom insisted I go with her to meet Amy at Ethereal Events to finalize the decorations, table favors, and timing of events. Forty-two days to go until the wedding. Adam gave me Saturdays off until the wedding—unless he needed me for something last-minute. I should have probably been a little more nervous about our upcoming marriage since we hadn’t sorted out the rest of the details with Pastor Gaines at New Horizons where we went to church, or personalized our vows, or music. We’d get to it. The ceremony was at the church—short, I planned. Two-o’clock p.m. the last Sunday in June. Sunday might be considered left field for a wedding, but it worked for us, and who said weddings had to be Saturday-only affairs? Lots of people were scheduling Friday weddings too.
However, I would prefer the ceremony to be normal. Traditional. Adam and Janet, his late wife, had written poems, he’d told me in one of his candid moments sharing quietly about his marriage. I suggested the typical vows and we started a list of favorite hymns and contemporary worship music we both liked. The printed programs should have the regular, familiar, boring info—like names of the parents, wedding party. The bridesmaids were Addy, and Marie, Adam’s sister; Jeff, Marie’s husband, was Adam’s best man, and—surprise! Virgil was standing with them. Taylor and Timmy Robbins were our flower girl and ring bearer. Martha had already gotten their outfits together, a floral dress that matched the dusky rose and fern color scheme Mom and I agreed upon, and a matching bowtie and vest for little Timmy.
“You and Addy are going to Colby next Saturday, right, sweetheart?” Mom studied me across the table over coffee and oatmeal.
I came back to the moment instead of listening to my mental aural interpretation of the “Wedding March.” “Ye-es?” She hadn’t wanted to come, had she?
“Good.” Mom smiled slightly. “Virgil and I are going with the Seeds to clean and tidy up at the Thrifty Nickel. Then we’ll have lunch and a tour of the new exercise store. Fit’r U. Did you hear about that? They may even hold a sit and fit class for seniors if there’s enough interest.”
“That sounds great, Mom. You planning to teach those seniors?”
She chuckled.
I rose and kissed her cheek on my way to set my mug and bowl in the sink. “I did read about the store. I might sign up for a membership. Adam, too. Yes, that’s the day we’ll pick up my dress.” I grinned at her. “I mean, pick it out.”
“Don’t wait any longer in case you need alterations.”
“I won’t. Thanks, Mom.” I went to get ready for the day. Virgil had sent me his bill. One hundred dollars and forty hours of community service. It wasn’t like jail time, and I could easily work with the Seeds to fill the hours. Virgil’s Core of Good Seeds was the senior volunteer group he’d founded after his real retirement. He’d needed to keep active and in touch with his friends, and what better way than to provide volunteer service to benefit others? I took an envelope of two fifties to him after tracking him down at the library, knowing he might “forget” to cash a check. Profuse thanks, some hugs, and a blush with acceptance when I asked him to join us for supper on the weekend—tonight, actually—were his responses. He was so cuddly and kind. Mom liked him, and he’d be good for her. She had turned sixty-five last fall and brought up retiring, but worried about how to fill her time. She loved her work teaching at the college, but she also deserved to relax. I was pretty sure seventy had come and gone for Virgil.
“Are you ready yet?” Mom yodeled from the hall, jingling car keys.
Her idea of what it meant to relax was very different from mine.
I didn’t mind sitting in the passenger seat for the ride out to Ethereal Events. It would be humid, so my hair would be in uber-frizz mode, but the sky was cobalt and who could find fault with that? Already the temperature rising outside was the typical norm for May. I’d hauled out my summer wardrobe and washed it but felt awkward exposing my pasty shins to the world.
When we arrived, Amy was outside with a watering can, dousing the several varieties of blooming geraniums. The spicy aroma of their fragrance muddled with warm cedar mulch, feeding my excitement for our special day. Maybe I should change my mind about our wedding bouquets. I could see the three of us marching up the aisle with our personal pots of amethyst geraniums nestled in cedar, ferns trailing down the sides. Dusty rose bows around the pots, of course. I inhaled. Way more soothing than lavender.
“Hi, there, friends!” Amy called. “Come on in. It’ll be a sticky one today.” She looked critically at my hair.
I shrugged and followed her voice and Mom down the cool hall of Ethereal Events to her office.
“I have this great gel…”
Yeah, what did she know? Her long blonde hair probably never dared to stray out of place. She looked as if she’d just prepped for a magazine shoot today, a study in avocado and coppery swirls decorating a skirt and flowing light jacket which shouldn’t have worked that well together. Then I smiled. The colors reminded me of Elvis’s eyes and hair. And she was sweet to think of me. I needed to practice my empathetic side.
An hour later, we wrapped up the final details, dusky rose tablecloths and paper napkins with Adam’s and my initials in gold, and the date. Mom only blinked when I said I wanted potted geraniums for table centerpieces. Amy grinned.
“With that cedar mulch,” I told her. “Unless it’s against the law or something to have it so close to food.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find some that isn’t treated with pesticides...” She bit her lip and took a deep breath.
Mom put her hand over Amy’s. “Pah! We don’t believe for a minute there’s anything out of order here. Even if there were a few silverfish, it only means damp wood somewhere, and who doesn’t have a little dampness in this climate? They probably came from outside.” She sat back and fanned herself with a brochure.
“Mrs. Pressman is only seeking ways to share her pain,” I said slowly, wondering where that came from.
Mom looked at me with a surprised eyebrow lift and her little glistening, celestial sunset pink smile.
“You two are so sweet,” Amy said. “My grandmother mostly raised me after my mom passed away when I was ten. I think my dad died of a broken heart when I was in high school. He was never the same after she left us.” She met my eyes with her sweet blue ones. “You are so blessed to have such a great mom who loves you so much. My mom loved me, and so did Grams, but it’s not exactly the same as when you grow up and you need someone to…I don’t know, teach you about boys in the twenty-first century instead of granny-era etiquette.”
We chuckled. Amy kept glancing toward the blinking light on her desk phone even as she faced us. “Anyway, I have truly enjoyed getting to know both of you better, and it’s my pleasure to help you with the wedding.”
I nudged Mom and we stood. “Thank you,” I told her and hugged her tight. It would almost be like having a sister around, since I considered Elvis as close to a brother as I’d ever have. I moved away and glanced back when I got to the door.
Mom stood close to Amy, holding her hands and speaking earnestly.
Amy nodded and glanced my way.
My cheeks grew warm and I turned around. Were they talking about the wedding or me? I put my hand up to touch my hair. Maybe Mom had been giving her some advice about Elvis. I couldn’t scrounge up an iota of jealousy over that. Mom had always been there for my friends. Her students called all hours for help and advice, as did her friends and acquaintances at church. She was everything Amy said, and I burned with shame over taking her granted.
Mom slipped her arm around my back as she joined me in the reception room. Coat racks, bathrooms, cute and comfy chairs and side tables made this a welcoming and entry.
“We’ll have a pictorial display of you and Adam and the kids over there…”
She pointed and my mind went fuzzy. The kids… “Whoa! Mom, wait up. We don’t have any kids.”
Mom smiled and pulled me outside. “The cats of course. Memnet and Isis. Did
n’t they bring you two together?”
Of course. I heaved a relieved but tremulous sigh and was embarrassed to grow teary. We got in the car, but Mom didn’t start it right away. I struggled for composure. “Amy was right,” I choked out. “I am blessed to have you. I’m sorry if I don’t act that way enough.”
Mom stared at the steering wheel before enveloping me in an awkward hug from the driver’s seat. “There were times I wondered if I could raise you by myself after we lost your father. He and I didn’t find each other until we were in our thirties, and when we had you, you were the answer to our prayers. But you made being your mother easy and special because of who you are.” She leaned away to touch my cheek. “My heart shriveled those years you waited for Stanley. I could have committed murder when he didn’t respect you enough to call off the wedding before the rehearsal. But when you moved away…” She touched her eye and sniffed. “Look at you now! I’m so proud, so very proud. I always have been.”
I really started to wail.
She patted my back. “Ivy, darling, what are you really afraid of?”
“That I’ll never be as good a mother as you!”
~*~
On Tuesday right after lunch, Yolanda Toynsbee, editor of the Apple Grove Gazette, slipped into Mea Cuppa. Once she saw we were quiet and Martha and I were alone, she held up a copy of the paper. “It’s ready to be delivered. I didn’t even do this for you, Ivy, when Adam was elected mayor, or you, Martha, when Dale got the Firefighter of the Year award.”
I looked at Martha, and she stared back for a puzzled second. Yolanda meant she’d never shared a final edition earlier than public distribution. We both lunged for the paper.
“It’s gotta be good!” Martha said.
“I haven’t heard about anything unusual,” I complained.
Martha reached Yolanda first. Yolanda, her long gray hair pinned like a crown on top of her head, grinned at my discomfort. Martha had developed better hand-eye coordination chasing after the twins even though she was two years younger than me.
Her whistle got my attention. “Sneaky Hackman!” She handed the twice-weekly Gazette to me. “How did you pull that off? Getting an exclusive from the police chief.”
Yolanda folded her skinny arms and shuffled from one blue jean pull-on tennis shoe to the other. She nodded her head and winked.
I hoped I had half her energy and coordination when I was a grandmother. I unfolded the paper to catch up on sneaky Hackman. My whistle didn’t quite match Martha’s, but I impressed myself.
APPLE GROVE GAZETTE
Apple Grove, Illinois
Tuesday
Cyanide Cause of Death for Radio Celeb
by Yolanda Toynsbee, Editor
Apple Grove Chief of Police, Gene Hackman, age 53, released the official toxicology report on the cause of death for the late Ivanna Lynn Pressman, age 29, of Apple Grove, Illinois.
“Dangerous concentrations of cyanide entered through her skin,” Ella Moon, coroner, stated in her report.
“Detectives are following up on several leads,” Hackman stated when this reporter asked about progress on the case. “There is no need to panic. There is no evidence available at this time to suggest that Ms. Pressman was the victim of foul play. Cyanide is used in many applications, some common household products.”
The chief did not have any advice for the citizens of Apple Grove to protect themselves other than to “keep poisons away from children, in a locked cabinet, preferable high out of reach.”
Ms. Pressman was found last March…
I wasn’t about to read about myself in the paper, so I thrust it back toward Martha who grabbed it with disgusting eagerness.
“Good work as usual, Yolanda,” I said.
Martha turned absent-mindedly away to rest the paper on the sales counter and lean over it on her elbows, absorbed in the story.
“The chief didn’t have much to say about the progress on the case,” Yolanda said and sniffed. She turned to look out the door of the shop. “He refused to say it was more than a potential accident, even though North Star candy was right there on the floor. What else could she have touched that would kill her dead, right then and there. I mean, at least she finished her morning show.”
I frowned. “But it was Featherlight on the floor. A cube of Featherlight Confectionaries in a pretty lavender foil wrapper, partially unwrapped.” The harder Yolanda shook her head, the louder my voice became. “The paper had wings printed on it. I didn’t recognize the flavor, but I was there. I almost—almost…touched…”
The shake turned back to mute nods, as if the acerbic reporter couldn’t bring herself to say the words either.
“Was it the candy?” I squeaked, my fingers tingling and going numb. Next, I’d feel a choking sensation… “But who would replace—”
“Not the candy,” Martha said, looking up. “No evidence of cyanide in the candy.”
I blinked, still confused. “She only got it partially unwrapped. I didn’t look that close. I was pretty scared, but I don’t think she bit into it. Why would they say it was North Star candy? Was that a mistake?” I turned to Yolanda, who had that tough glitter in her eye.
“Mistakes? Not me. That’s what Hackman said. I got it on tape. Gotta get back.” She turned and stomped toward the exit. She bestowed an acerbic glance at the overhead chime before straight-arming the door open.
“Thanks, Yolanda! You’re a gem!” I called before the tune blared.
She waved over her shoulder.
“That was nice of her to bring a copy,” I murmured.
“It was!” Martha glanced at the clock. “Almost after school crowd time. It’s not the same in the summers.”
Was she changing the subject on purpose? I saw her glance at the raspberry chocolate fudge cubes wrapped in lavender foil with Featherlight’s characteristic white wings. Yeah, she probably was. I couldn’t help an echoing shudder and moved to put the apothecary display jar full of them under the counter out of sight. I rearranged other jars and boxes so the empty place wouldn’t look obvious.
Martha nodded her approval and we got ready for the rush.
Some students had taken to commandeering the couple of tables and the stuffed sofa in front of the electric fireplace for noisy study time. Finals and end-of-school reports were coming up.
A couple of ladies asked about book club meetings, and Adam was all for it.
We were also considering after hours special events when things settled down. If that ever happened.
I glanced up when the door chimed. Expecting a herd of giggling teens, I was bemused by the sight of Roberta Murphy shuffling in. Ruby was probably there right now watching the flower shop for her aunt and I was stuck here at the other end of the block, unable to grill her on her partnership at Fit’r U and her supposed late BFF’s money.
“Hi, there!” Roberta waved and sort of rolled her round self toward me. Had she gotten more roly-poly while her niece toned up?
I realized I was frowning when she stopped. I quickly turned my lips in the opposite direction.
Roberta was busily checking out the display of clear glass candy jars. She put her hand over her heart and whiffed a breath which ruffled her ebony bangs. “Oh, good.”
“What?”
She pushed her rolled-up copy of the Gazette at me. “Here, here. I thought you should be warned before customers come in. Or get upset when they see…” She studied the jars again.
“We only have Featherlight, Roberta. You know that.”
Normally cheery and talkative, all she could do was nod, clearly winded by her hustle presumably to warn me about the report on poisoned candy. I was touched.
“Well, yes, of course. But…” She waved her hands, palms up, at the paper in my hands. “Look, look!” Roberta seemed to lose her customary expressiveness.
“You mean the report about—”
“Candy. Poison. Yes, yes.”
“Roberta, you are so kind. Thank you. Why don’t you
let me get you something to drink? You didn’t leave Ruby all alone—”
“Oh, my stars!” She raised her hands as if allelujahing and rushed her black crop-pants and black and white checked shirt-clad self out, sidestepping the first wave of backpack-wearing high school girls.
“Follow the money,” I whispered as I reached for the first to-go cup of the afternoon.
~*~
Two hours later, Martha left by the back door and I rushed out the front after flipping the sign to closed and locking up. I was sure I’d missed Ruby at the flower shop, but still…hope sprang eternal, or so I believed. Thank heavens Adam was at some speech or another that evening. I started down toward the flower shop, but another thought whisked me toward the new storefront—Fit’r U, which was across Main to the north two blocks and left. I didn’t have to, but I walked past Tiny’s. A whiff of french fry grease would have to make do for supper for now. I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and hustled along the sidewalk. I passed a pony-tailed young woman in a Fit’r U pink shirt and neon yellow and while chevron patterned yoga pants. OK, so yoga pants looked good on some people.
I reached the glass doors of my target and peered inside. There she was, leaning over a middle-aged woman who bulged in all the wrong places and puddled across a weight bench.
I opened the door.
Ruby glanced up.
Then she bolted down the back hall.
What? I should run after her?
15
Of course, I started hotfooting it after Ruby and her flame-streaked hair. I was in front of Fit’r U with its big glass doors and windows and at least five fit young things watching me. What else could I do? I chucked my purse in the bushes knowing at least one person who knew me—Amy—had been watching, albeit with wide, shocked baby blues—would make sure it was safe.
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