“Somebody stabbed him. That’s all we know.”
“And the cops don’t care because he’s an ex-con.”
“They care. My husband’s a cop, and he and Dave got along fine.” No point in telling him Fred was excluded from the police investigation, much less why.
“I hope so. For all his troubles, he was my good friend.”
“Pete, I hadn’t seen Dave for so long, I don’t know his friends. I don’t even know who would care enough to come to his funeral.”
“I’ll be there.” Just like that. “Close the shop if I have to.”
She was touched. “Are there enough other people where you live to make it worth putting in the paper there?”
“Probably not. I can tell the ones who know him—knew him. How about the place he grew up in?” Of course.
“Thank you, Pete. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Thing like this—it’s hard to think.”
“Yes.”
“You know when it will be?”
“No. The wedding is today. And they haven’t released Dave’s—body yet.”
“No hurry, honey. You hang in there. Give me your phone number, would you? If I come up with anything more, I’ll call you.”
She told him her number and thanked him. Time to stop. Fred was right about the other calls Dave had made. Pete was the man she’d wanted to talk to. It was good to know her brother still had one real friend in the world.
“Mom?” Rebecca called downstairs. “You ready to go?”
“Almost.” She went into the bedroom and swiped at her face and hair. She wouldn’t mess with changing clothes for lunch. At least the Grahams weren’t expected.
Fred came up behind her and began massaging her shoulder muscles, as she loved. “Feel any better?”
“I mostly got machines.”
“Uh-huh.”
He already knew she would, of course. “I did reach Pete, though.”
“Who’s Pete?”
“The printer who hired Dave. He didn’t know about Dave, so Ketcham didn’t talk to him yet.”
Fred’s strong fingers tensed up and stopped. “You ask him about enemies?”
“Didn’t cross my mind. I asked him about Dave’s friends.”
His fingers relaxed and pressed into her shoulders again. “What did he say?”
“He said he’d tell the ones there—I still don’t know where ‘there’ is—and I ought to tell the paper in the town where he grew up. That’s Ann Arbor, of course. But on Monday I’ll talk to the people here. There’s no way Margaret Duffy won’t know who taught him when we lived here. And I can ask Patty today.”
“Who?”
“She works for Ellen, but she and Dave dated that year.”
“I imagine Ketcham’s already talked to her.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll mention it to him.”
“I thought he wasn’t talking to you.”
“He’s not. You didn’t hear me say that.”
“He wouldn’t have asked her about Dave’s friends. That’s what I’m trying to find out, remember?” She turned around to look up at his face. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Not as far as–“ Swinging her off her feet, he kissed her.
“Mom! Time to go!” Rebecca sounded much closer this time.
Joan was laughing now. “Be right there. You tell Andrew and Kierstin?”
“They already left.”
Fred set her down, and they left the bedroom like an old married couple.
At Rebecca’s request, they drove the short distance. “I don’t want to be rushed right before the wedding,” she said.
“It’s your day,” Fred told her and held the Chevy door for her.
Casual was indeed the word at Ellen’s. The Lundquists were already congregating around the table in the dining room, which had been pushed against the end wall. Chairs clustered near the edges of the room. Last night’s white linen and shining china had been replaced by the table’s gleaming wood and casual pottery plates and mugs. Chrissy and Patty were carrying in trays of sandwich makings and baskets of bread.
“Come and get it,” Ellen announced. “Let me know if you want anything you don’t see on the table.”
“When did they do all this?” Helga asked, her clear voice carrying all the way into the living room. “Nobody asked me to help.”
“We had lots of extra help today,” Ellen told her. “Your family wanted to see you.”
“Hi, Mom,” Fred said, going over to her.
“Fred! Where did you come from?”
“I had to pick up the bride.”
“Are you getting married?”
And they were off. Joan watched Rebecca hug Helga and accept a kiss from Oscar. Greeting them briefly, she filled her own plate and found a corner to sit by herself. She was glad to see Rebecca welcome other people as they arrived. Whatever social graces she herself possessed had deserted her today. At least nobody seemed to expect anything of her. Andrew and Kierstin came in with her parents, all four engaged in lively conversation. Joan was relieved when they, too, let her vegetate in her corner. It wasn’t the way she’d expected to feel on her daughter’s wedding day.
But it wasn’t only a wedding day. It was the day after a death in the family. The day when traditionally people would come to offer comfort and support. And food.
“Did you have enough to eat?” She looked up to see Ellen standing in front of her. Then down at her empty plate.
“I must have. I know it was full when I sat down here. But I don’t remember eating any of it.” Was her memory going, too?
Ellen nodded. “That kind of thing happened to me all the time after . . .”
After her husband was killed, she had to mean. That had to have been much worse than a brother you hardly knew anymore. Joan reached out a sympathetic hand. “Does it still?”
Ellen shook her head. “Hardly ever. You’ll get through this. You don’t know how, but you do.”
“Thanks, Ellen.”
“Want me to take your plate? Maybe bring you another cup of coffee?”
“Thanks.” If she sat there with something in her hand people would be less likely to fuss over her. “Would you tell Patty I have a question for her?”
“Sure.”
Patty brought the coffee. “Black, right?”
“Right. Maybe you can help me.”
“Oh?
“I need to plan some kind of service for Dave, and I don’t know who his friends were. Do you remember?”
Patty frowned. “They’re mostly long gone.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll try.” She looked around. “We’re kind of busy.” “Sorry. I thought this might be my only chance to ask you. I’m in the phone book, if you think of anyone.”
But when Patty went back to the kitchen, Joan wondered whether she’d ever call.
The rest of the day flew by. Rebecca’s nerves were a thing of the past. By the time they left for the church, Joan could feel her daughter taking her in hand, when it should have been the other way around. They dressed together with Sally Graham in the beautiful dresses Rebecca had made. Joan kissed her daughter, and Bruce’s brother, Tom, ushered her past all the people she didn’t know to the front pew during the last Bach the organist played before the wedding march. She remembered to stand when she heard the strains of Lohengrin, and except for not skipping, the rest went as rehearsed, with Fred joining her after handing Rebecca to the groom.
Before the vows, though, they had a surprise. Andrew left his post as best man to bring Bruce’s violin and bow to him from a hiding place behind the pulpit. Bruce checked the tuning of the strings lightly with the tip of the bow and then turned to Rebecca. “For you,” he said, and he started playing.
Elizabeth Graham’s gasp was audible across the aisle, probably all the way to the back of the sanctuary, Joan thought, and it was a good thing Rebecca couldn’t see her face. She recognized the melody Rebecca had tr
ied to hum that morning. It was Massenet’s “Meditation” from Thaïs, beautiful for solo violin, and Bruce caressed it into a love song. When he finished, he handed the instrument back to Andrew, took Rebecca’s hand, and looked into her eyes.
Joan squeezed Fred’s hand.
In no time, they’d exchanged their vows, the organist was playing Mendelssohn, and they all marched back out into the narthex. Joan and Fred followed Andrew and Sally.
Joan kissed her daughter and new redheaded son-in-law. “Welcome to the family, Bruce.”
“Wasn’t it beautiful, Mom?” Rebecca said. “I didn’t know he was going to do that at all.”
“Who’s watching your violin?” Elizabeth asked Bruce, peering back into the sanctuary.
“A good friend.”
Joan could see the minister near the pulpit. Uh-huh.
“He’d better be,” Elizabeth said. Not a word for Rebecca. It was Don Graham who kissed her and whispered something that made her smile.
“We’d better get out of the way,” Fred said. “The wedding guests are trapped in there till we do.”
Joan doubted that would cut any ice with Elizabeth, but she was glad to lead the way down the stairs from the narthex to the basement. She hadn’t noticed the flowers in the church, even though she had ordered them from the florist, but now evergreens and white roses softened the edges of the fellowship hall. And Catherine Turner had come through, after all. A tall white cake, elegant in its simplicity, dominated the refreshment table, though Catherine, if she was even there, was invisible. Rebecca and Bruce had arranged this part of the day. Joan sat in her blue gown at a table dressed in white and let the guests mill around her. She hardly had to do more than smile and nod. She certainly made no attempt to socialize with the Grahams. From time to time someone came over and said, “Lovely wedding” or some such, and Fred stuck close by.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Holler if you need me.”
“Your parents all right?” she remembered to ask.
“They’re with Walt and Ruthie. It’s okay. You can let go.”
“Thanks.”
So she did. As simple a reception as Bruce and Rebecca had chosen, it didn’t last long. They cut the cake but didn’t smush it on each other’s faces. Ellen’s helpers cut the rest of it and served it to the guests. To Joan’s astonishment, Andrew managed to toast the happy couple like a real best man, and Rebecca threw her bouquet to all the young women, but that was it.
They changed into traveling clothes, the guests blew soap bubbles at them instead of rice, they kissed their families, and they were off.
And we’re left to pick up the pieces, Joan thought.
Chapter 13
Not the least of those pieces was dealing with the people who’d been invited to supper, including the Grahams and the many out-of-town guests from their side of the aisle.
Joan hadn’t changed out of her blue woolen dress, and she was pleased to see Sally show up in her rose, too, though she’d parked her bouquet somewhere. Andrew, minding his manners, paid good attention to her, even though it left Kierstin high and dry with her parents and grandparents. He probably didn’t mind; Sally was only a little younger than Kierstin and certainly attractive, especially dressed so becomingly.
Then Joan heard him suggest that they look for the other young people they’d enjoyed visiting with at the rehearsal dinner. Sally responded immediately, with the result that Andrew soon had Kierstin on his other arm. He looked up at his mother and winked.
She didn’t think she could return the wink in the present company, but gave him a motherly smile.
“Slick, isn’t he?” Fred said at her elbow.
“Just doing his job,” she said, but he certainly didn’t make it look like a chore.
“It’s a rough life,” Fred said.
To Joan’s relief, Elizabeth stuck with her own guests. Don, though, came over and thanked her. Again, Joan wondered how he put up with his wife. She hadn’t seen any obvious intimacy between them, but those three children came from somewhere, and they all looked like their father. His graying hair still had a sandy tinge to it, for one thing. He must have been a redhead like Bruce.
“It’s hard on her, losing her firstborn,” he said in answer to her unspoken question.
“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Joan said. “But we’re glad to welcome Bruce into our family, and it’s a joy to see Rebecca so happy.”
He smiled and nodded. “She’s a dear. We’ll try not to give her too rough a time.”
Bless his heart, Joan thought, he was promising to be the cushion between Rebecca and her mother-in-law. “Thank you,” she said.
The supper was far less formal than the rehearsal dinner, but no one would have to go home hungry. The top layers of the wedding cake had been brought over, both to grace the table and to accompany ice cream for dessert, if anyone had space for it.
With no appetite for what looked like excellent food, Joan picked at her plate. Chrissy, carrying a coffeepot around, came over to her.
“You all right? Need any more coffee?”
“Thanks, Chrissy.” She accepted a refill. “You’ve all done a great job. I’m so grateful to you. I’ll have to make a speech to Ellen.”
“We wanted to do our best anyway, but especially the way things turned out. And I’m feeling sad.”
“Oh?” She looked somber enough, but it warred with the cheery-hostess manner with which she was pouring coffee.
“I really got fond of your brother, I mean. So I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. For you, I mean, but for myself, too.”
“Thank you, Chrissy. I appreciate your telling me.” There was no way to hug a woman carrying a coffeepot, and Joan didn’t even have a hand free to pat her arm, but she did her best with a smile.
“I’ve got to keep moving, or they’ll get on my case.”
“Don’t forget to tell everyone how pleased I am.”
“Thank you. I will.” And she moved on, hostess face back firmly in place.
Joan parked her plate on the table and went over to spend some time with the Lundquists. Fred was already back in the bosom of his family, but she’d given them short shrift.
“Joan, come say hello to my parents,” he said. “Mom, you remember my wife, Joan. It’s her daughter who was married today, and her son who is over there with Kierstin.”
“I didn’t know you had any children,” Helga said to him.
“Now I do,” he said, and she accepted that without explanation.
“I’m glad to see you again, Helga,” Joan said. “Oscar.” She smiled at both of them, but was relieved when Oscar didn’t claim a kiss. Helga wouldn’t have appreciated it, she knew.
“It was a beautiful wedding,” he said. “Especially when he played the violin for her.”
“Was I there?” Helga asked.
“You bet, Mom,” Fred said. “We couldn’t have a wedding in the family without you.”
She looked satisfied. “Kierstin will be next. Maybe that nice young man who’s with her tonight. They’d make a beautiful couple.”
“Yes, they would,” Joan said, looking over at Andrew.
“How are you holding up?” Ruthie asked. “I’ve been thinking of you ever since yesterday afternoon.”
“I don’t even know. Today I’ve been trying to get through the wedding. That’s enough. Will I see you all in the morning?”
Ruthie looked at Walt.
“I want to get started early,” he said. “It’s a long drive, and some of us don’t tolerate it well, especially late in the day.” He looked at his mother. “She did very well coming.”
They had arrived in early afternoon, Joan remembered. “Good planning. We’d better say good-bye now, then. I’m usually a night owl, but I’ll probably wipe out soon as my head hits the pillow tonight.”
“You and me both,” Oscar said. “My prayers will be with you, dear.” He took both her hands in his.
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br /> “Thank you, Oscar.” It was the first time she’d ever heard him say any such thing. “Thank you all for coming.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Ruthie said. “Besides, Kierstin was dying to visit Andrew. She’s having a wonderful time.”
Joan was tempted to offer Kierstin a longer stay, but considering what she had to do next, she restrained herself. Besides, gentleman that he was being, Andrew might not want her to decide his social life for him.
“I hoped she would,” she said instead. “I’m glad it’s worked out. Maybe another time, our life won’t be so torn up.”
“Better get you home.” Fred put his arm around her.
Joan surveyed the room. The guests were thinning out, and she didn’t know anyone else she owed a social effort. “I won’t argue. Good night, folks. Have a safe trip.”
“Are we going somewhere?” she heard Helga ask as they left the room.
“I’m wiped out,” Joan told Fred on the ride home, just the two of them. Andrew could find his own way when he was ready. From the look of him, he’d hang around the girls until they left with their families, or Kierstin went upstairs with hers.
Snow was beginning to fall now, the first of the season. It was past time to think about Christmas, which had been low on her list, close as it was, with Rebecca’s wedding to prepare for. But first a funeral.
“I’ll have to call the minister. Find out what I’m supposed to do next.”
“Tomorrow,” Fred said. “Plenty of time.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“He won’t care.”
“I suppose not.” Joan yawned hugely, remembering how many times her minister husband had been called out by sick parishioners or grieving families on Sundays after he’d given his all in the morning. “But you’re right. There’s no hurry. He knows all about it. Might as well let him rest a little.” No way would she call him on a Saturday night. He could even still be writing his sermon, if he left it till the last minute. Ken had always said it was when he took that risk that one of the children would spike a fever and keep them up all night Saturday.
She began thinking of people right there in Oliver who would remember Dave. Her old classmate, Nancy Van Allen, even if she’d been too young to know him, probably would be able to suggest others his age. So would Margaret Duffy, their retired teacher who was on the board of the Oliver Senior Citizens’ Center.
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