Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way

by Rohn Federbush

  “Why don’t you let John and me question her? She might respond more readily to an arson detective than a police officer.”

  “Do I need to speak to John?”

  “We’ll be glad to help,” Sally replied. “But do you mind asking Tim to join us.”

  “Won’t he put a crimp in Geraldine’s ruffles?”

  “Oh, I hope so.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Montgomery Home in Wayne

  Tim picked up Sally at seven o’clock in the evening for their appointment at the Montgomerys. John still pleaded urgent hotel business. At Carolyn Montgomery’s, her frosty welcome prompted Sally to keep her coat on.

  Tim retained his fur-collared overcoat as well. “We shouldn’t take very much time,” he said as if to explain his decision.

  Geraldine Masters was, indeed, six feet tall. Her white hair was perfectly styled and her clothes showed the cut and taste only three generations of moneyed families guarantee. “I understand I was the last person to speak to Enid.”

  “Could you describe your meeting?” Sally positioned herself in the green armchair by the fireplace, even though she was not invited to sit. The familiar orange cat thought her action acceptable and jumped onto her lap. Sally took out her note pad and pencil, then motioned for Tim to take the matching chair on the other side of the fireplace. “You know Tim.”

  “Unfortunately,” Geraldine said.

  Sally ignored the insult. “Were you expecting Enid?”

  “No, I was not.”.

  “Take your time,” Sally urged. “We’re in no rush.”

  “Well!” Carolyn Montgomery flounced out of the room.

  Geraldine and her husband, Peter, both sat down on one of the couches, perpendicular to the fireplace. Sally stayed where she was. As far as she was concerned they could crane their stuck-up necks.

  “Enid has been calling me, whenever Peter …” Peter patted his wife’s knee. “Whenever,” Geraldine continued, “Peter left for a business trip.”

  “What is your business, Mr. Masters,” Tim asked.

  “None of your…” Peter stopped, thinking better of his tone of voice. “I manage a software company with offices in several states.”

  “Did you find your boarding passes?” Sally asked, knowing full well Peter never traveled to Dallas on New Year’s Eve.

  “No,” he said, hanging his head.

  Geraldine came to his rescue. “You wanted to hear about Enid’s visit.”

  “Yes,” Sally said. “Please, go on.”

  “Enid showed up, uninvited, on New Year’s Day. I was afraid I would miss my flight out of O’Hare.”

  “What time did she arrive?” Tim asked.

  “In the morning, about 9:30, maybe 9:15.” Tim said the house was on fire at ten o’clock. Turning away from Sally and Tim, Geraldine ran her finger along her husband’s shoulder and arm, as if checking for dust. “I fell into the rescuer’s trap with Enid. Victims provide such a wellspring of need. You are getting busier and busier. Matilda doesn’t need daily interference.” She looked back at Sally, “The woman’s shelter soaked up all of my attention. I guess it made me feel valuable. Enid called every day with some new calamity or cause for outrage.”

  Sally speculated on why a Madame would try to pass herself off as an abused woman. “Did you first meet Enid at the country club?”

  “Yes, of course,” Peter answered.

  The other orange cat leaned into Tim’s ankle. Tim wrapped his arms around the cat, after it jumped on his lap. “We would like to hear your wife’s version of the disaster. Do we need to invite her to the station?”

  Peter grumbled but didn’t interrupt again.

  “Enid said she dropped by for a cup of coffee. I told her I was sorry but my taxi was coming within minutes to take me to the airport. She wanted to know if Peter confessed, confessed he was with her whenever he traveled.” Geraldine stood up, as if to divest herself of her husband’s influence on her story. “With her...intimately.”

  Peter squirmed on the couch.

  The cat abandoned Tim’s lap and the room. Its twin on Sally’s lap followed suit, as if deserting the troubled married couple and their secrets.

  “...the first time in the riding stable...” Geraldine choked out.

  Tim interrupted. “She tried to grab me there.”

  Geraldine shook her head. “Enid expanded on her tale to include exploits...” she turned to her husband, grinning slightly. “Gymnastics even, at meetings. I must have supplied her with the dates and cities in earlier casual conversations.”

  Tim said, “I remember Enid leaning in my car window, talking about Matilda’s father’s trips. She was fishing for information.”

  “When I defended Peter’s integrity, Enid insisted my son-in-law, Bret, was her lover since he turned sixteen. I asked her to leave my house.” Geraldine strolled back and forth in front of the fireplace, as she finished the story. “Enid went crazy. She grabbed a candlestick and shook it at me, screaming Peter’s house was her house. I ran out. The cab was there. That’s all.”

  “Was the candle lit?” Sally asked.

  Geraldine sat down again next to her husband. She shook her head. “I do have candles in them for the Holiday’s, but I never light them. Pewter is hard to clean, and they’re very old.”

  “Your colonial grandmother’s,” Sally said. “Your daughter said you rarely touched the heirlooms.”

  “She’s right,” Peter said.

  “Thank you for coming home. We will need to question you further, once the arson report is filed.”

  “There will be an inquest.” Tim stood to leave. “Into the cause of Enid’s death.”

  Chapter Five

  First Friday in January

  On the return drive to Geneva’s police station, Sally and Tim discussed the case in light of Geraldine Masters’ answers. Tim thumped the steering wheel. “I think Mrs. Masters was telling the truth.”.

  “Did Sheriff Woods interrogate Enid’s neighbors?”

  Tim tilted his cap, as he scratched his blond curls. “He said he was familiar with what she did.”

  “But, the neighbors … Then she remembered John would look into who Enid’s movers were. In downtown St. Charles about to turn onto Route 31 toward Geneva, Sally checked her watch. Noon. “Do you mind if we drive out to check with John, before we report in to Sheriff Woods?”

  “No that’s fine. Does John cook?”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I am.” Tim laughed.

  As Tim parked in front of the unattached garage, a strange premonition caused a chill to run up Sally’s back. “Is there another cold wave coming through?”

  “These plains states let northern winds howl across five states before they slam into us.” Tim pulled up the fur collar on his uniform as they walked to the front door, shielding Sally from the worst of the northwestern wind. An impending storm front darkened the winter sky. The house was lit up, except for the bedrooms. They could hear Ginger barking.

  “John’s home,” Sally said, as she opened the front door.

  Bret Armstrong stood inside the front door. He held a small gun in his hand. Standing at the fireplace with one hand on Ginger’s collar, John waved at Sally, as if to tell her to leave. Bret pointed the gun at Sally. “You’ve ruined my marriage.”

  Tim stepped in front of her as John lunged for Bret.

  Bret fired in John’s direction.

  Tim tackled the fool to the floor, quickly disarming him. He rolled Bret on his stomach and attached handcuffs behind his back. John was still standing, holding onto the couch and his throat. Ginger was whining.

  “No,” Sally screamed. “Tim, call 9ll.” She wadded her winter scarf into a bandage, as John slipped down onto the leather couch. “Don’t talk,” she said, scared, too scared.

  With the hand not clutching her scarf against his wound, John reached for her face, but his arm dropped before she felt his touch.

  “John, John,” Sal
ly called louder and louder into his eyes, as they faded into unconsciousness, or worse. “Tim,” she screamed. “Are they coming?”

  Tim knelt next to John, took John’s pulse. “Mrs. Nelson.”

  “No.” Sally tried to stand. Instead, she slipped down unto the carpeted floor, where the blood from John pooled. “No,” was all she could say.

  Ginger was growling at Bret.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him.” Bret said from the floor behind the couch.

  Sally’s anger recharged her energy. She jumped up, lifting the lamp from the end table and smashing John’s killer on his head, twice.

  Tim rescued her from her frenzy. He slipped her coat down to her elbows and pushed her onto the couch where John lay. “Did I kill him?”

  “No,” Tim said. “But he’s out …”

  “Like a light.” Sally suffered no remorse. Her busy mind went blank. Where were the questions she should be asking? What next? “Better get me a drink of water.” Her heart was making those flipping motions warning this was way too much excitement for a sixty-seven year old woman. “Widow,” Sally said out loud before Tim returned with a glass of water. “I’m a widow, again.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  First Monday in January

  Hotel Baker, St. Charles, Illinois

  For the next seventy-two hours, Sally feared for her sanity. Surreal memories of her teen years in St. Charles attempted to crowd the horrible reality of John’s death out of her conscious mind. Violent daydreams meshed with the awful truths in reality during sleepless nights of utter confusion.

  Several days were filled with Tim, James Nelson and his wife, Betty, as well as Sheriff Woods and Gabby keeping constant vigils. Nevertheless, Sally searched the assembled crowd for the man’s face filled with love who would never meet her smile again in her lifetime. Her friends kept reminding her, John was dead.

  On Monday, the funeral baskets of white roses from St. Patrick’s altar arrived at Hotel Baker, where they lined the foyer walls. Unlit candles in giant brass holders were stationed along the main hall to the ballroom. Sally reminisced about being here before, among white roses and unlit candles. “Where is Jill?” Sally asked an usher.

  Dressed in somber black, Tim shook his head.

  An older man pushed Tim aside. “Jill?” Sheriff Woods asked.

  A woman dressed oddly in black for a wedding seemed to have half the answer. “Sally,” Gabby said. “We didn’t think to invite her.”

  “For her own wedding?” Sally tried to laugh but the frowns of the people surrounding her belayed the effort.

  An old person, Sally longed to hug stepped forward. “You’re exhausted, Sally,” James said. “Come and sit down for a minute.”

  “What happened to your head?” Sally judged the top of the man’s head was too hairy to be real.

  James touched his wig. He fished in his pockets for something. The woman next to him also in the day’s fashion of black handed him a handkerchief. He freely applied the white lace to his wet face. Sally looked down at her hands. She touched a wedding ring on her left hand. Who did it belong to, and why did she hurt all over? “I don’t think I’m well,” she said to the youngest person in the group.

  Tim helped her to a cushioned chair in the hotel’s lobby. “You’ve had a shock. Give yourself time to absorb the blow.”

  Sally rested her head against the chair’s soft back cushion. Tim sat down in a chair beside her. “I know you, don’t I?” Sally put both hands to her head. Someone she knew did the same thing whenever he tried to think. John. No. She did not want to think of John. She closed her eyes and searched for Jill in her past.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  December 1958

  Jill had called Sally at work. “I never catch you at home.”

  “Night school,” Sally answered. She hadn’t heard from Jill since the homecoming debacle in Lincoln, nearly four months earlier.

  “I’d like you to be my maid-of-honor,” Jill said.

  “Good Heavens! Who are you marrying, and when?”

  “Next Saturday to Charlie. I picked out your dress for you. I’m paying for it.”

  “Thank you,” Sally managed. “Should I try it on before the wedding?”

  “I’ll bring the dress by tonight.” Jill sounded matter of fact, in control. “Tony won’t leave me alone. My father finally let me invite him to the wedding. Could you ask Art Woods to talk to him? Art and his folks are invited too.” After a pause, Jill added, “Yours are too.”

  Jill was stiff and apologetic when she brought over the dress, keeping her coat and hat on and declining a piece of Sally’s mother’s pie. Sally tried on the flowing, emerald satin gown.

  “Wow,” Daddy said.

  “How should I wear my hair?” Sally asked.

  Jill jumped up hitting her knee on the table. “Ouch. I forgot the hat.” She ran out to the car, retrieving a mammoth hatbox and a wedding invitation. Sally’s mother said they would enjoy coming, as Sally tried to figure out the wide-brimmed hat. “Can you make it down the aisle without your glasses?” Jill asked.

  “I will. I just won’t be able to see who you’re marrying.”

  Jill managed a small smile. “Maybe I could take just a taste of your pie. It smells so good.” Sally’s mother obliged. When Jill took off her coat and hat to sit down at the table, she revealed coal black dyed hair.

  Sally and her mother chorused, “Your hair!”

  “It was red.” Sally explained to Sally’s father. Jill concentrated on devouring the pie. “After Lincoln, I dyed it black. When I first met Charlie, he really liked it.”

  “Does he know you are a strawberry blonde?” Sally asked.

  “Sure,” Jill said, “but he says the contrast with my complexion is striking.”

  “It certainly is,” Sally’s mother said, without too much sarcasm.

  Jill excused herself. “I’ve got to run. So much to do.”

  Rubbing his five-o’clock shadow after Jill left, Daddy said, “She doesn’t look happy.”

  Mother stood at the window, watching Jill barrel out of the driveway. “You know, I read somewhere black hair dye can seep into the brain.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  First Monday in January

  Sheriff Woods asked Tim to let him try to talk to Sally. “Sally, we need you to wake up. People are arriving for John’s service.” Sally opened her eyes wide. Sheriff Woods could read Sally’s frightened bewilderment in her darting eyes. He turned to his wife. “Gabby, perhaps we should let Sally rest upstairs.”

  “No,” Sally said. “I need to be here.”

  “For the memorial service.” Gabby stated, to make sure Sally was completely present.

  “For the wedding.” Sally looked down at her long black dress. “What happened to the emerald green?”

  “The one you wore New Year’s Day?” Gabby asked.

  “No.” Sally plucked at the black linen. “For Jill’s wedding. Did Art get to talk to Tony?”

  Then Sheriff Woods remembered. Jill’s reception was held in the Hotel Baker. He also recalled searching frantically for Tony Montgomery.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  December 1958

  Art couldn’t find Tony in his usual haunts. He finally called him at the farm and set up a lunch at Casey’s Bar. Asking Sally along to cushion any emotional scenes, Art couldn’t imagine what he might say to Tony to help.

  Hiding in a corner booth Tony looked thinner, pale even. “Oh sure, you two are still together and you haven’t even made love.” Tony drained his glass of beer. “Sorry, bonded.” He shook his finger at Art. “I never believed the lies you tried to sell me. Look at her; Sally, the saintly virgin, raises her eyebrows at the mere mention of intercourse.” Sally slid in next to Tony.

  Art seemed to forget how to bend his frame into a sitting position. “You look terrible.”

  “Oh, thanks. No chance Jill sent you to say she changed her mind?”

  “No.” Avoiding
his direct glance, Sally said to her hands. “We will all be at the wedding.” A low moan broke from Tony.

  “You shouldn’t go.” Art waved away the waitress after she sat down three water glasses.

  “I will though, if I can stand up long enough.”

  Sally tried to reason. “You’ll find someone else.” She ventured a look at him.

  Tony’s harrowed glance showed all his pain. “Jill is all I can think about.”

  “What about going back to college?” Art asked.

  “Books?” Tony spread his hands palm up on the table flipping them back and forth, as if they were pages of a book. “Nothing there, when I can’t touch her.”

  Sally put her hand on Tony’s arm. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t?” Tony yelled. He grabbed the back of her hair. Sally’s head had time to bounce off the back of the booth before Art’s fist slammed into the bridge of Tony’s nose.

  “Never touch her!” Art sat back down on his side of the booth, before offering Tony his handkerchief for Tony’s bleeding nose.

  “Sorry.” Tony’s tears mixed with the dripping blood. “I’m insane.” He nodded to Sally. “Sorry.”

  “Lean your head back.” Sally gathered ice from the water glasses into a napkin and then held it to his nose.

  “Shall we order?” Tony made them laugh.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  December 1958

  At Jill’s reception at the Hotel Baker, Tony showed up with an older woman whose close fitting, gold-lamè dress shimmered seductively. Art told Sally her name was Kathleen, Kathy, Krimm. Everyone seemed to know the small blonde. Sally’s parents, Mrs. Woods, Jill’s parents, even the Reddinger clan welcomed her. Sally didn’t remember if Kathy attended the wedding, but the reception seemed filled with twice the number of people St. Patrick’s could hold.

  Tony urged Kathy to dance with him. She held onto the back of her chair, resisting. Tony got louder and louder. Sitting next to Sally at the bride’s table, Jill studied her empty glass. Finally, Kathy gave in, dancing the first dance, the bride’s dance, with Tony. The couple danced all the way to the front table, even after Charles Reddinger stood and motioned for the band to stop playing.

  Tony yelled at a cowering Jill, “First in and first to dance!”