I didn’t care. I rather hoped I did fall. My crumpled body, found lying in a pitiful heap on the sidewalk outside—that’d show him!
Rather anticlimactically, I made it safely to the street level, where a brisk gust of wind immediately braced me.
Dear Lord, what did I do wrong? I prayed as I hitched my purse over my shoulder and moved sadly down the street.
The wind twirled red and orange leaves in a merry dance before me. I sighed.
The realization came to me all at once. I didn’t consult You, that’s what. Just forged ahead without even offering a single prayer. Never asked what You thought. A tear ran slowly down my cheek. I’m sorry, Lord.
I walked a little more. The trees really were beautiful this time of year.
But what do I do now?
Immediately, at that very moment, I knew what I was supposed to do.
Forgive Gil.
Even though he would now never be a part of my life, I must forgive him.
As I walked, I shook my head in answer to the idea. God had given me similar instructions with His still, small voice before, but this was too much.
“Oh, hello, Amelia, what brings you here?” I quoted Gil’s mocking voice.
That miserable so-and-so, that giant jerk, made fun of the very cry of my heart! He doesn’t deserve forgiveness.
Even as I thought the thought, the response emerged from deep inside me: None of us does.
Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those . . . The words of the prayer came back to me.
“I can’t do it on my own,” I prayed aloud. “You’ll have to help me.” Even as I spoke, I knew He would, as He had so many times before.
“All right, I’ll forgive Gil,” I said aloud without an ounce of sincerity. “I’m not really willing, but I’m willing to be willing.” Another Bible verse popped into my head: O taste and see that the Lord is good.
I couldn’t see how it applied to the situation until . . .
A large hand gently clasped my shoulder from behind. “Amelia, honey! Oh, honey!”
It was Gil. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” He turned me around and pulled me into his arms. “I’m so, so sorry!” He hugged me tightly.
“Gil,” I observed, my face in his chest, “you’re not wearing a coat.” I looked up at him. “And your chin is bleeding.”
He ran an impatient hand over the wound. “I don’t care. I tripped on my way down the steps. I just had to get to you before you were gone—oh honey!” He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me soundly.
“My feelings were a hurt because you didn’t accept my proposal right away. I was being a giant . . . jerk. Amelia, can you forgive me, honey? Can you?”
I laughed. “Oh, Gil, of course I can!”
The violins resumed playing with great enthusiasm, allegro di molto.
A half hour later, blushing slightly, I made my way to Marie’s church, found a seat in the sanctuary and whispered a prayer.
Father Frontenac performed Marguerite’s service with sweet dignity. There were few flowers. Marie had requested that donations be made to the church instead, but a huge basket of daisies—marguerites—stood at one end of the casket.
“Nobody knows who it’s from,” I heard a woman whisper.
Halfway through the service, I glanced up at the empty balcony. Etienne LeBow’s grave face stared down. I detected a faint nod, returned it, and turned back to the prayer book.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Leave it to you to have your wedding in the middle of the Christmas season,” Lily whined as she helped Marie LeBow carry poinsettias into the soon-to-be-opened bed and breakfast, Chez Prentice.
“I had to, Lily,” I said. “This way, Gil and I can go on our honeymoon and I won’t have to miss any school.”
“Well, I think it’s romantic,” declared Marie LeBow, shutting the big front door firmly. “There. That’s all of ’em. No, Mrs. Burns, we’re putting these in the dining room, next to the tree. Gotta keep ’em out of the draft.”
“Got the food under control, Marie?” I asked.
“Oh, sure, piece of cake, you might say,” she said, and dimpled. “By the way, speakin’ of cake, Val’s just finished with it in the kitchen. Wanna see?”
“Of course!”
Valerie’s wide round face was glistening with a combination of heat and excitement as she backed away to show us her handiwork. “Turned out real good, if I say so myself,” she declared. She pushed hair out of her face with the back of her wrist and wiped her hands on her apron.
“It’s exquisite! Valerie, I had no idea you were so talented!”
“Oooh! Can I have a taste?” asked Lily, reaching, but one of Valerie’s blistering do-it-and-die looks restrained her.
My wedding cake was a small one, as wedding cakes go, but it was a work of art. Every surface was covered with tiny, lifelike flowers: pink rosebuds, delicate violets, lilies of the valley, tiny scrolling vines of ivy. The cake was a riot of discreet pastels, blending perfectly with the pale pink poinsettias that would bank the cake table.
“Exquisite, that’s the word I was thinkin’ of,” said Marie. “There now, didn’t I tell you, Val, Amelia’d come up with a ten-dollar word for your cake?”
Val nodded and beamed at her sister. “You sure did!”
Marie turned to me and said confidentially, “Val’s always been good at bakin.’ That’s why I’m gonna get her to make all our bread ’n muffins ’n things at her place. Her boy can bring ’em across the lake every couple days or so.”
“Sounds good. And now that you’ve lined up Hester Swanson as the regular cook, you’re set.”
Marie consulted a clipboard. “Looks like it, if we can keep from killin’ each other.” Ever since agreeing to take over management of the B&B, she had shown an amazing aptitude for organization, making shrewd and frugal use of the generous advance Etienne had invested. “If they get the upstairs bathrooms done on schedule, we can open just like we planned on New Year’s Day. You think this Trechere guy’ll come to the grand opening? I’d like to meet him sometime.”
“Um, I think so. But you’ll meet him sooner than that. In fact, I know for sure he’ll be at the wedding tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” Marie said.
She had come a long way in the last seven weeks. The complicated work of remodeling Chez Prentice had helped direct her attention away from her grief.
Against my unsolicited advice, Etienne had seen fit not to intrude on Marie’s recovery, but had insisted on being the silent partner, at least for the time being. As time went by and Marie became stronger, I began to see the wisdom of his forbearance. Approaching her when she was at her most vulnerable would have been unfair somehow.
The doorbell rang. “Marie!” I said. “It’s fixed! You’re turning Chez Prentice into a showplace!”
Marie smiled modestly and scribbled something else on her clipboard.
Lily answered the door, stepping back in surprise at the sight of Dennis O’Brien.
“Miss Prentice, can I speak with you? Privately?”
“Of course, Dennis.” While Lily and Marie gaped, I led him into Dad’s old study, now converted into Marie’s office, and directed him to take a seat. “How about some coffee? We now have one of those single-cup coffeemakers.”
He smiled. “No thanks, Miss Prentice. I can’t stay but a minute. What I want to tell you will probably be in the news before tonight, but after everything, I thought you deserved to hear it from me.” He ran an embarrassed hand through his thick hair and continued, “They’ve found the rowboat. The Fields’ rowboat, although I guess you might call it your rowboat now.”
I leaned forward. “And Sally?”
He shook his head. “Still no sign. They found the boat capsized over on the Vermont side. It must have drifted all this time. Surprisingly, it’s in pretty good shape. Want me to see that you get it back?”
“No, thank you, Dennis,” I said quickly, then paused. “No, I take
that back. I told Gil I’d take a swimming course at the Y. We might have a use for it yet.”
Dennis smiled at me. “Hey, way to go, Miss Prentice. Put the bad stuff behind you.”
“Still, I can’t help thinking about Sally.” That was an understatement. I’d had half-a-dozen disturbing nightmares since the whole thing happened. “Do you think she’s just hiding?”
He shrugged. “We’re still looking into it, but I don’t think so. That water was pretty cold, and even if Mrs. Jennings was as good a swimmer as you say, she still couldn’t have lasted long if the boat turned over. What’s puzzling is how that might have happened. The lake was calm that night.”
“So you’re saying we’ll never know what happened.”
“No,” he said, “I’m not saying that for publication, anyway, but that’s probably the way it’s going to turn out.”
“And Barry won’t be prosecuted.”
“There’s no proof he had anything to do with his wife’s crime, but he has closed up the business and left town, you know.”
I nodded. “Yes. He’s at a rehab clinic out in California.”
Dennis chuckled as he stood. “Now how did you know that?”
“I have a reliable informant—and her initials are Lily Burns.” I turned to another serious subject. “Dennis, what’s going to happen to Derek Standish?”
Dennis paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Well, since Mrs. Dee won’t press charges, that pretty much takes him off the hook from our end. As far as physical rehab goes, I don’t know much about it. Last I heard, he was learning how to talk again.”
We sighed together.
“I don’t suppose you found my purse in that boat?”
He shrugged and shook his head.
“Oh, well, I already replaced the credit cards and things. I just hated to lose that purse. It was my mother’s.” I escorted him out. “Please tell Dorothy how much I appreciated the fish slice,” I told him at the front door.
“The what?”
“It’s a piece of silverware. Your wedding gift. I told her once that it’s what all the characters in PG Wodehouse gave as wedding presents, and she remembered.”
“She’ll be glad you liked it. She hunted for it all over the Internet. I just didn’t know what you called the thing. This wedding is big news in our house, you know. Meaghan’s pretty excited about tomorrow.”
“She’ll be a perfect flower girl. She proved it at the rehearsal yesterday.”
“She did that,” he admitted. “And tell Gil that having that rehearsal dinner at Danny’s Diner was a terrific idea. Great fun. Well, see you tomorrow.”
He galloped down the steps just as Father Frontenac was mounting them. They exchanged greetings and I let the priest inside.
“It’s time, huh?” I said.
He nodded. “Now or never. Where’s Marie?” he asked, looking around nervously.
“Out in the kitchen, I think,” I told him. “Where’s Etienne?”
He jerked his head in the direction of a dark car, parked out front. “I’ve got to talk to Marie first, though.”
“Marie!” I called. “Could you come into the office a minute?”
The hour that followed was difficult for me as I tried to ignore the closed door of the study and what was happening behind it. I tried to keep busy. I helped Valerie stow the wedding cake in the new restaurant-size refrigerator. I dried while Lily washed the cake-making utensils. I re-polished Mother’s silver candlesticks and counted the already-counted crystal goblets that stood in waiting formation on the buffet table in the dining room.
At last, Father Frontenac emerged, his eyes bright. “Tell him to come in,” he said tersely and disappeared back into the study.
I stepped out on the front porch and waved to the car parked at the curb. The man who responded to my beckoning gesture was not the self-assured Steve Trechere, prosperous real estate mogul and Millionaire from Montreal. No longer did he bear the slightest resemblance to the jaunty Louis Jourdan. Even before he was halfway up the sidewalk, he had his hat in his hand. In the other hand, he carried a nosegay of pink baby roses. The desperate, anxious look in his eyes caused answering tears to spring into my own, and I blew my nose as the study door closed behind him.
“What on earth is going on here?” Lily demanded behind me. She held two stemmed glasses in her hand and thrust one at me. “Here. It’s ginger ale. I helped myself from the six cases you have out on the back porch. Marie says she got a good deal on it. Wasn’t that your millionaire friend?” she asked, her eyes bright. She glanced in the hall mirror. “Oh, look at that! All my lipstick’s worn off. Where’s my purse?”
“Yes, that was Steve Trechere, but I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to explain why he’s here,” I said stiffly.
“Well, excuse me all to the hot place!” Gazing in the mirror, Lily applied lipstick liberally and mashed her lips together. “There, that’s better. Boy, I’m bushed. Come on, let’s take a break.”
She headed for the parlor and I followed, tossing uneasy glances over my shoulder down the hallway lest anyone should emerge from the office.
Lily pulled off her apron and wiped her face on it. “Whew! That Valerie is a real slave driver. I’m glad I won’t have to work here. And don’t even get me started about Marie.” She pulled a tiny box of toothpicks from her purse, extracted one with a delicate gesture and began chewing. “Want one? Mint flavored. Best part is no calories. I gained three pounds with those stupid jellybeans. And those carrot sticks were a nuisance. Somebody actually tried to light one for me in a dark restaurant the other night.” She sighed. “Worst part is I’d still give anything for one of those nasty, stinking, coffin nails.” She thrust the toothpick box forward. “Here, take one.”
“No thanks,” I said, remembering my mother’s strong aversion to the things.
Still, Lily had managed to remain almost completely smokeless for two and a half months. Whatever works.
I took another sip of my ginger ale. “Lily, why are you here? You know Marie’s got everything under control. You should be at home, resting up and getting your hair done for tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Amelia, I’m quite aware of my duties as matron of honor. My beauty will approach, but not exceed, that of the bride; I will patiently hold your bouquet during the ceremony; I will keep the groom’s ring warmly and safely stashed in my ample—”
“No, what I mean is, why aren’t you at home? You can’t be having any fun here.”
Lily leaned forward and looked in the direction of the study door. She batted her eyelashes.
“Don’t be too sure. No, really, Amelia, I’m just hanging out here to get away from my one-man fan club.”
“But I thought you liked Alec.”
She lay back and massaged her eyes with thumb and forefinger. Her toothpick bobbed rapidly in the corner of her mouth.
“Like is such a strong word. Tolerated, perhaps. Endured, certainly. But it’s all become so tiresome.”
I was reminded of Marlene Dietrich, languidly singing about how men cluster round her like moths around a flame.
“You didn’t seem to think it tiresome when he took you to see the road company of Wicked. Or night-clubbing in Montreal. Or—”
“Okay, we had a good time there for a while.” She sat up. “But irregardless, all that whistling is starting to get to me. And besides, he overstepped the bounds of good taste.”
I was so astonished, I forgot to correct Lily’s wording. Sweet, gentlemanly Alec, overcome with passion to the point of boorishness? I just couldn’t picture it.
“Lily!” I said breathlessly. “What did he do?”
She pulled her toothpick from the corner of her mouth and snapped it in half. “He proposed! Ring in the little velvet box, bended knee, the whole nine yards.”
“And that offended you?”
“Not that, exactly, but I just don’t find him . . . that is, he just doesn’t make me . . . he doesn’t ring my chimes, okay?” She
frowned. “Stop looking at me that way. It’s not like you think. The guy has been such a perfect gentleman he never even kissed me goodnight. All we’ve ever done is hold hands.”
I sighed. “Poor Alec.”
“I don’t know why you keep sticking up for him all the time. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Gil ought to be jealous.”
I smiled, but didn’t answer. Lily was partly right. Alec and I had become closer friends ever since I had confided in him about my strange experience in the lake.
“You know, Alec,” I’d told him cautiously, after we ran through the salient facts, “I think my experience in the lake was a little, um, different from Lily’s.”
Alec had stopped taking notes, raised one shaggy eyebrow, and scratched his head with his pencil. “By that, I take it yours isn’t fiction?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know precisely what I mean.” He laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. She never fooled me with that ‘woo-eee’ business.”
“But why—I mean, it’s such a rotten trick—why do you—”
“Why do I pretend to believe her?” He turned to a blank page and began doodling in his notebook, sketching a cartoon. “Well, Miss Amelia, y’may have noticed that I have a bit of a soft spot for the lady.” I watched his pencil move. He sketched a long, dinosaur body with a curving tail. “And in the best tradition of unrequited love . . . ” He added a long neck and topped it with a small, simpering face. “I take my opportunities where I can . . . ” In the monster’s flippers he put a tiny bow and arrow. “And in this way, you might say, my monster becomes . . . ” He drew in a pair of ridiculously tiny wings and held the pad out to me. “ . . . my own personal Cupid.”
“Poor Alec,” I said again, remembering the wistfulness in his eyes. I blinked away the memory.
“Don’t ‘poor Alec’ me, Amelia,” Lily said. She located her coat on the parlor coat rack and pulled it on. “I’ve given that man some of the best weeks of my life. But don’t worry. I’ll let him down easy.” She heaved her purse strap over her shoulder and headed for the door. “Gotta go. I’m getting my hair done at Gladys’s.”
Irregardless of Murder (Miss Prentice Cozy Mysteries) Page 23