“What’s he done now?”
“What do you mean, now?” Was he going after her son, too? She’d have to get rid of him, that’s all there was to it.
“Oh, you know.”
“No, Andrew, I don’t.” Joan patted the sofa, and he sat down at the other end,
“Besides the phone and all. All those phone calls he’s been making. He said you didn’t mind.”
“Did you hear his calls?”
“Not what he said. But I could hear that they were long distance from all the numbers he was hitting. And he used our phone, not a cell phone or anything.”
Probably couldn’t make a long-distance call from Ellen’s. “This was in the middle of the day?”
“Yeah. I didn’t have any classes, so I was home. Upstairs, some, and I had lunch. I kept hearing him hitting all those numbers. Sometimes the phone rang, and he answered. But mostly he was doing the calling.”
“You said ‘all those calls.’ How long do you think he was on the phone?”
Andrew shifted his weight on the sofa. “I don’t know. As I said, I was in and out. Maybe it wasn’t as long as it seemed.”
“Make a wild guess.”
“Couple of hours? Probably not that long. And maybe they weren’t all long distance.”
Well, it wouldn’t break them.
“He didn’t ask, did he?” Andrew said.
“No.” What would she have said if he had? She couldn’t imagine herself telling Dave not to use the phone. But he’d made it sound to Andrew as if they’d at least talked about it. One more reason not to trust him. Again, she wondered whether the wedding gifts were safe up in Rebecca’s room. Joan had already arranged to take Friday off from work, but she couldn’t stand guard here all the time.
“Andrew, you don’t have any plans tomorrow, do you?”
“Nope. No classes now till January—I’m all yours.”
“Good. I’ll have to spend some time with the Lundquists and the Grahams. But one of the family needs to be here, and I don’t mean Dave. Whatever my brother is cooking up, I don’t want Rebecca’s gifts to disappear. I’d already hired someone to be here during the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. But I wasn’t thinking of protecting the house from one of the guests, only from outsiders.”
“Now you are?”
“Now I am.”
“You telling Fred?”
She sighed. “I guess I’d better.”
She put off saying anything until they were in bed, but Fred wasn’t impressed by the phone calls.
“If that’s the worst he does while he’s here . . .”
She thought for a moment about telling him what had happened with Rebecca, but somehow she couldn’t. Had she blown it out of proportion? Part of her wanted to give him another chance. Until now he’d behaved like a gentleman. She’d think about it tomorrow.
“It isn’t the phone calls that bother me. It’s that he lied to Andrew about them. Told him I’d said it was fine.”
“I know.” Fred curved himself around her. “Let it go, Joan.”
“I don’t want to have to be on my guard. Not now, of all times. Can you imagine what Elizabeth would say if he pulled something on her?”
He nibbled her ear. “You want to suggest it, or should I?”
She laughed and relaxed into his embrace. But as she was sinking into sleep, she imagined Dave grabbing Sally Graham, or Kierstin Lundquist. She’d better watch him like a hawk around the other young women at the wedding.
* * *
On Friday afternoon Ellen called and reported that Dave was helping her at the bed-and-breakfast. “I told you he would!” she said. “This morning I had him peeling vegetables for tonight, and this afternoon he and Laura went out in the park with the dog. He’s great with her—says she reminds him of you at that age.”
“That’s what he told me, too,” Joan said. Should she warn Ellen about his behavior with Rebecca? As inappropriate as it had been, it hadn’t suggested that he’d do anything wrong to a child. And there were plenty of eyes in the public park.
“But that’s not why I called,” Ellen said while Joan was still dithering. “The Lundquists have pulled in from Illinois. They’re getting settled in their rooms right now.”
“Great. I’ll be right over.” Fred’s family were the only other family Joan was expecting. She had invited Rebecca’s aunt, uncle, and cousins on her father’s side, but they’d claimed to be unable to come. Maybe it was true, she thought on her walk through the park to Ellen’s place. Along with their good wishes, the aunt and uncle had sent a crystal vase that would be a challenge to transport to New York without breaking, though Rebecca had probably saved the bubble wrap it came in.
By now Rebecca and Bruce must be having their talk with the minister. Joan had no idea where Bruce’s parents were staying, if they would even stay in Oliver. Not at Ellen’s, she knew. So only the bride’s side of the family would be at the bed-and-breakfast, and most of them would be Fred’s family. Very cozy.
She couldn’t help wondering how far her mother-in-law had declined since they’d first met. Helga’s mind had been failing then, even though she was in her own house, in the tiny community of Bishop Hill, Illinois. By comparison, even Oliver would feel huge, and any new place would be hard for her to adjust to. Staying at Ellen’s with the rest of her family ought to help, but the wedding itself could put a big strain on her.
It was one more reason to be grateful that Bruce and Rebecca had kept it simple.
At Ellen’s, it was Laura, wearing an honest-to-goodness dress and tights, who opened the door. No dog indoors today. Good.
“Come in, Joan. Mom’s already got the company working.”
Ellen hurried into the living room, a no-nonsense apron covering most of her jeans and shirt. “Laura! You’re not supposed to tell all our secrets.”
“You already told me Dave was hard at work in the kitchen,” Joan said.
“I mean Mrs. Lundquist,” Laura said, her eyes huge.
Helga. Joan couldn’t think of a better thing to do than let her help with food. “I’m sure she wanted to.”
“She did,” Ellen said. “And the rest of the family seemed relieved. Your brother’s helping her put salads on the salad plates. He’s sweet with her. Of course, it probably doesn’t hurt that Chrissy’s working in there, too. He doesn’t seem to care how old they are, as long as they’re female.”
Deciding the kitchen crew could do without her, Joan went to meet the rest of the family. Oscar, Fred’s father, his shock of hair even whiter than before, if that was even possible, greeted her with a warm hug and a totally appropriate kiss on the cheek. “How’s my boy been treating you?”
“Just fine, Oscar. I’m so glad you were able to come. Ellen tells me Helga’s already in there working.”
“Can’t keep her down. But she’ll fold pretty soon. I hope she can last long enough to eat whatever it is she’s fixing.”
Joan did, too. They wouldn’t start dinner until after the rehearsal, and that was likely to throw Helga. “Would she take a nap, do you think?”
“Nap? Helga? Not on your life. She’d be afraid she’d miss something. Me, now, I’ll drop off first chance I get.”
“You two don’t have to attend the rehearsal, you know. I wouldn’t go myself if I didn’t have to sit where I was told.”
He nodded. “I was kinda hoping there’d be a way to get out of it. She seems right at home here.”
Until Elizabeth Graham roars in and treats her like hired help, Joan thought. But with luck Elizabeth won’t deign to notice the help.
“It should be fine. You take your nap and trust Helga to Ellen. Where are Fred’s brother and his family?”
“Walt and Ruthie are up changing clothes. But I’m surprised their Kierstin isn’t down here asking about your boy. She sure is excited about seeing him again.”
The beautiful Kierstin, younger than Andrew and as blonde as he was dark, had turned out to be a big plus during their visit to Fred�
�s old home. “He’ll be glad to see her, too.”
At least tonight he wouldn’t have to worry about guarding their house from whatever Dave couldn’t resist. Dave would be right here with the rest of them. And it would be no punishment for Andrew to spend time with Kierstin.
Chapter 6
Joan left the Lundquists in Ellen’s good hands and went home to change for the rehearsal and dinner. She found Bruce’s sister up in Rebecca’s room with her, trying on the rose-colored bridesmaid’s dress.
“Mom, this is Sally Graham.”
“Sally, you look lovely,” Joan said. It was true. Rebecca’s design did as much for this slender teenager as for the mother of the bride. And this dress was exactly the right color to enhance Sally’s young features. Like Bruce, she had red hair. Who would have thought rose would look so good on her? But Rebecca had seen beyond the obvious.
“I can’t believe she did this,” Sally said. She, too, was stroking the soft wool. “And it fits me exactly. She didn’t even have a pattern, you know? She just made it up.”
“But we’re not telling your mother that!” Rebecca reminded her.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Lots of times, what Mom doesn’t know makes my life a lot easier.”
Joan could believe it. Was that how Rebecca had felt during the years when she’d kept her distance from her own mother?
“You’re so lucky to have your mother,” Sally told Rebecca. “Bruce told me how much she helped him when he was playing in the Indianapolis competition.”
Joan beamed. “I like him, too,” she said. She’d done what she could, but it was good to know he’d said such a thing about her.
“Time to get ready for the rehearsal,” Rebecca said, and began helping Sally out of her dress. “I’ll bring it to the church tomorrow. Tonight the minister will show you the room they have for the bride and bridesmaid to change clothes.”
Joan left them to it and went to do what she could to neaten her own appearance. As mother of the bride, she wouldn’t have a big role, but she couldn’t help the way she felt about Elizabeth Graham. It didn’t help that the only time the woman had seen her, she’d come straight from that exercise class in sweats that had more than lived up to their name. Anyone else, and I wouldn’t care, she thought. Except maybe Fred, even though Fred would tell me I looked beautiful in them, bless his heart.
* * *
“Don’t you have to be somewhere?” Sergeant Ketcham asked Fred.
What would he do without Ketcham? He picked up his phone and called home. “Joan? You mind going over to the church alone? I’ll be there as fast as I can. Yes, I promise. We’re tracking down—never mind what we’re tracking. Nothing important, but it’s tied me up all day, and I let the time slip away from me.” He shook his head at the pile of folders on his desk. “There’s no way.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ketcham said. “We’ll deal with this. And if Altschuler raises a ruckus, I’ll tell him you—”
“I’ll tell him myself. Thanks, Johnny.” He pulled on his jacket and went down the hall to Captain Warren Altschuler’s office. Altschuler, chief of detectives, was generally a reasonable man, and he and Fred got along well. But Fred knew better than to cross him.
He knocked on the frame of Altschuler’s office door and watched him look up.
“Fred.” Altschuler’s gravelly voice matched his pug-ugly face. “Take a load off. Progress?”
Fred shook his head and remained on his feet. “It’s slow going. Just when we think we’ve nailed these guys down, we lose ’em again.”
“You came to tell me that?” Altschuler’s face was turning red.
“No, sir, I came so my sergeant wouldn’t be tempted to lie for me.”
Altschuler’s eyebrows rose.
“Barring another murder, I have to take off for several hours. You know my wife’s daughter is being married tomorrow.”
“You take as much time as you need tomorrow. But tonight?”
“I have to show up for the rehearsal and the dinner afterward. If I weren’t giving the bride away . . .” Fred knew the red he felt rising up his face would betray how awkward he felt about being honorary father of the bride. Not that he wasn’t fond of Rebecca. Somehow, though, he felt out of place. But her real father was dead. How could he turn her down?
“Then go, man. Get the hell out of here!”
Fred grinned. “Thanks, Warren. Ketcham’s in the picture.”
“Don’t worry about it. This case’ll be waiting for you when you come back. I don’t want to see your face around here till Monday.”
“Thanks,” Fred said again and left.
They hadn’t waited for him, he was glad to see when he arrived at the little church. Reverend Eric Young was talking the wedding party through the service.
“Fred, you’re just in time,” he said as Fred hurried down the aisle. “You’ve already walked the bride down the aisle, and when I ask, `Who gives this woman to be married to this man?’ Rebecca says you’ll answer.”
“Yes,” Fred said. He smiled at Rebecca. “She wants me to say, `Her mother and I do.’”
Rebecca tucked her arm through his and nodded emphatically.
“Then you go back and sit with her mother.”
Fred did, and he thought his part was finished. “Who walked her down?” he whispered to Joan. Andrew was standing up by Bruce, and the redheaded girl by Rebecca must be Bruce’s sister.
“Nobody. So far they’re just talking.”
“You mean they’re going to go through the whole thing again?” He and Joan hadn’t bothered with a full-fledged rehearsal when Eric Young had married them in this very church, with hardly more people than were scattered around it now. He waved to his brother, Walt, sitting near the back door with his wife, Ruthie.
“You’ll live.”
Across the aisle, the woman emphatically clearing her throat had to be the infamous mother of the groom. Fred smiled and nodded in her direction as if the words he was sure she intended weren’t in his vocabulary.
“You’re awful!” Joan whispered.
“I try,” he returned out of the side of his mouth.
Then the unforgivable happened—his cell phone rang. He hit the Mute button, looked at the number on the screen, and slid out of the pew to retreat up the aisle to the back door. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” the 911 dispatcher said in his ear. “I knew not to bother you. But when they said it was your family, I–“
He cut her off. He hadn’t seen his parents in the church, but hadn’t worried until now. “What happened? Where are they?”
“At Ellen Putnam’s. Something about a knife was all I could get. Ambulance on the way, but I thought you’d want to know.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned. It had to be his mother. “I’ll be right there.”
Joan had turned around. He scribbled a note to her and handed it to Ruthie. “Come on,” he said to Walt, who looked surprised, but followed him.
“Carol didn’t make this trip?” Fred asked him once they were outside.
“No, they were glad to get some time to themselves. You know how it is, with Mom and all.” Fred did know. Their sister and her husband shared the care of their parents with Walt and Ruthie, but the demands of Walt’s restaurant meant that Carol bore the brunt of it. Walt looked alarmed. “Is Mom all right? Is Dad? Where are you taking me?”
“Back to Ellen’s. And I don’t know. Whoever called 911 said it was my family, so I figured Mom. Here’s my car.” He’d parked his Chevy smack in front of the church, illegally, knowing no Oliver cop would bother it.
Because the college was taking its break, the streets were empty. They covered the short blocks in minutes that felt like hours. Two squad cars were flashing lights outside the B &B. The ambulance hadn’t arrived when they pulled up, but the siren was close.
Beside him, Walt sat mute and tense.
“Come on,” Fred said, knowing Walt had to dread what they’d find as muc
h as he did. Walt followed him in.
“In the kitchen, Lieutenant.” Officer Wampler pointed the way.
“Hang in there, Walt,” Fred said. “She probably cut herself.” The dispatcher had mentioned a knife, and he had to prepare Walt for that, at least.
But he himself wasn’t prepared for the sight that met them. Her apron and hands covered in blood, Helga stood alone beside a table covered with what looked like individual salads arranged on plates, waving a bloody kitchen knife at all comers. Armed, the police were keeping their distance. Then Fred saw the man’s body crumpled at her feet, face down. The table kept him from seeing the head, but the source of the blood was obvious from what he could see.
“Good God, Mom!”
“Fred. I’m glad you finally got here. Tell these people to leave me alone.” She waved the knife at the police again. “They don’t understand. I had to do it.”
“Do what, Mom?” Churning, he forced himself to ask it quietly.
“Take the knife out,” she said as if it were obvious. “It was going to kill him.”
Taking it out probably finished the job, Fred thought. “We’d better see how bad it is,” he said. “Let’s let the doctors check him, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. Fred went to her side.
“Tell them to come in,” he told Officer Chuck Terry, who nodded and gestured behind him. Two EMTs hurried in and knelt by the body.
“Let’s give them room to work, Mom,” Fred said. “I’ll take the knife.” He reached his hand out to Officer Jill Root. “Evidence bag, Jill.”
“Yessir.”
He held the open bag out to his mother, who put the knife into it without protest. Fred passed it to Root as if it didn’t matter.
“Mom, are you hurt?”
“No, but that poor man. . .” she said, leaning on the table and craning to look.
Fred stood in her way and faced her. “They’ll take care of him now. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He held her hands out to the sink and ran water over them, just in case. No, no cuts. She, at least, was uninjured.
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