Her Brother's Keeper

by Sara Hoskinson Frommer

  “Where have they moved? I’m sure you know.”

  Oh. She was mad because Bruce and Rebecca wouldn’t tell her where their new apartment was. “Please, sit down, and I’ll tell you all I do know.”

  Her face still tight, Elizabeth perched on the edge of the straight chair opposite Joan, who sank onto her own desk chair.

  “Well?”

  “I know they’ve been closing up both their apartments and moving into a new one. Rebecca told me they were spending every spare moment packing and cleaning. She’s getting her first taste of real married life.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t buying it. “And? Where are they?”

  “That’s what they haven’t told me. Where the new place is, I mean.” For the first time, she was glad she’d worried enough about danger to Rebecca that she hadn’t wanted to know.

  “Your daughter hasn’t told you?” Elizabeth’s voice rose with her eyebrows. “As close to you as she seems? Your family is nothing like mine.”

  And whose fault is that? Joan thought, but not entirely without sympathy. What made Elizabeth the way she was? She demanded closeness at the same time she drove her family—and everyone else—away.

  “I’m afraid this is my brother’s fault.”

  “Your brother? I don’t think I remember your brother.”

  You insensitive . . . Joan stopped herself before she said it aloud. “You never had a chance to meet him,” she said between her teeth. “My brother is the man who was murdered at the bed-and-breakfast, while we were all at the wedding rehearsal.” Might as well make it clear where I was, in case she’s still blaming me for coming late. “We still don’t know who killed him, or why.” She gulped. “Or if any of us are in danger, too. So I warned Rebecca and Bruce to keep their distance from us. My husband is a policeman, but even he couldn’t protect my brother. And no New York cops will be watching out for your son and my daughter. I didn’t want anything to happen to them because of my brother.” “How could your brother do anything, if he’s dead?”

  Dead and gone, he’s more of a comfort than you’ll ever be to anybody. “He couldn’t, of course, but whoever killed him might have some twisted reason to want to harm the rest of us, too. Maybe I’m borrowing trouble, but that’s why I didn’t want to know where our children were moving. And I don’t know when I will.” She drew a shaky breath.

  Elizabeth stared at her. “How can you bear it?” Her voice softened, and for the first time she seemed almost human. She leaned forward. “Not knowing. And worrying about something so terrible. But here you are, back at work.”

  “Thank you, Elizabeth. You’re right—I almost can’t bear it, but staying home is just as bad as coming here. Maybe worse.”

  “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  This is Elizabeth? For the first time, Joan had the barest inkling of why the doctor had married her in the first place.

  “I don’t think so, but thank you for asking. And I promise, I understand why you feel so bad being out of touch with our children.”

  “You’ll tell me where they are when you know?” It was a far cry from her original demands.

  “I’ll tell you when I can, but I’m sure you’ll know as soon as I do.” It might even be true. Bruce did seem to share his father’s devotion to her, in spite of not letting her attend his concerts. “So far as I know, they haven’t changed their phone number, so you ought to be able to reach them.” If they answer, of course, she thought. They surely had caller ID.

  Elizabeth stood gracefully. “I’m sorry you’re going through this terrible time. I’ll try not to make it worse for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She turned and left as suddenly as she’d barged in, not even glancing at the people around her, most of whom probably hadn’t missed a word.

  Joan sat, stunned. Hadn’t Elizabeth understood about Dave when it happened? Had she been so stressed by losing her son, as she clearly was at the wedding, that she couldn’t take in anyone else’s troubles? It was a relief to see any part of her that might not poison Rebecca’s future, even if it wasn’t realistic to trust it.

  Should she call her daughter? Surely Rebecca must already know that Elizabeth was after them. It could wait. Time enough to call her after working hours and tell her about the service for Dave, for that matter.

  Shelving her personal life for a little while, Joan tried to dig back into the planning Elizabeth had interrupted, but it was no use. Her shattered concentration refused.

  She was relieved to see Mabel at her door. Annie must have sent her. Mabel, too, was pleased to be invited to Dave’s service and offered to help. No help needed, Joan told her.

  Time to look for Margaret. Then maybe it would be all right to call it a day. At least she had put in an appearance at the center.

  But Margaret, like Mabel, tapped on the door.

  “Annie sent me,” she said.

  “I thought she was doing that. Nice to have an unpaid personal secretary. And it’s especially good to see you, Margaret.” She hugged her before they both sat down. Somehow, with the murder and the wedding, she’d been doing a lot of hugging lately. But it felt right.

  “You doing any better?”

  “About Dave? I think so, but Elizabeth Graham just roared in here and shook me up.”

  “So I heard,” Margaret said.

  “I imagine the whole place heard her.”

  “She does put on a show, doesn’t she?” Margaret smiled.

  Joan managed to smile back. “That’s one way to look at it. At the end, she actually dredged up a little sympathy. I didn’t know she had it in her.”

  “And you’re not sure you believe it.”

  “Exactly.”

  They sat in silence for a bit, and then Margaret got up to leave. “Annie said you wanted to ask me to Dave’s funeral.”

  “Did Elizabeth make me forget that, too? Yes, of course I want you. Thanks, Margaret. Don’t feel obligated, but I hope you can come. Did Annie tell you when and where?”

  “Yes,” Margaret said. “And I’ll be there.”

  Was that everyone? She thought so, when Margaret left.

  Time to go home. She dragged herself out of her chair, said her good-byes, and braved the cold.

  Chapter 24

  This time, Joan avoided the park. Walking home through the familiar streets, she wondered why. Had she done it out of boredom, or because she didn’t want to walk past the house where Dave had died? Been murdered, she reminded herself. Don’t forget that part.

  But right now she wanted to forget. Blot it out of her mind. Pretend it hadn’t happened. As if he’d never agreed to come to the wedding at all. And Rebecca and Bruce had been married in a cloud of joy, not the black sorrow that surrounded her if she let the pretense slip away from her.

  She focused on the snow crystals shining beneath her feet and beside the properly shoveled sidewalks. Looked at the wreaths hanging on front doors and the decorated trees standing in windows. A few were already glowing with colored lights, even though it wasn’t dark yet.

  That was dear of Andrew, to bring home a tree. She wasn’t surprised when she saw the tree lights already lit in their own front window. He must be home.

  She hadn’t told him or Fred yet when the funeral would be. Fred wanted to call Johnny Ketcham. And Andrew would be all over her to call Rebecca. She might as well beat him to it. Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, she paused and leaned against a sidewalk tree while she punched in the familiar number. She’d never caught the knack of talking on a cell phone while crossing streets. Besides, she didn’t want to be in the middle of calling when she arrived home and faced Andrew. And who knew how long Rebecca would want to talk? If she would even be home. But she was.

  “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Are you okay? You’re home early.”

  “I took a few personal hours to work on moving in.”

  “How’s it going? Oh, and I should warn you that Elizabeth is on the warpath aga
in.”

  Rebecca sighed. “Tell me something I don’t know. She’s been wearing us out, trying to track us down.”

  “I tried to explain why you were keeping your location secret.”

  “Thanks, but you know her. Everything is about her, no matter what’s going on. Fortunately, Bruce mostly keeps her off my back, but she’s hard on him, too.”

  “I can imagine. She actually showed up here today. All the way to southern Indiana, can you imagine? Oddly, though, she finally seemed to hear it about Dave. Even said something that sounded like sympathy.”

  “It won’t last.”

  “You may be right.”

  “So, Mom, I hope you didn’t call about Elizabeth. She’s not worth it.”

  What a thing to say about someone in your family. What a thing to have anyone say about you. But Joan didn’t argue. “You okay, Mom?” Rebecca said in her ear. “Oh, sure. I’m only sorry you have to put up with her. But you’re right, I didn’t call about her. I called to tell you we’re having a brief service for Dave tomorrow at one.”

  “Oh, Mom, we can’t possibly come. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I didn’t even want to tell you about it, but Andrew made me.”

  Rebecca giggled and sounded like a teenager. “He made you? My little brother?”

  “You and Bruce aren’t the only members of the family who can push mothers around.” Joan smiled. “Oh, Rebecca, he was so sweet last night.” She told her how he’d shown up with the tree and how they’d put it up and decorated it.

  “I wish I could have been there. Bruce and I haven’t even thought about a tree yet, if we’ll do it at all. We’re still moving stuff into the kitchen. And painting. This new landlord doesn’t mind, thank goodness, because the colors the last people used about blinded us. But it’s a job. And we need curtains. At this point we’re still using bed sheets.”

  “I could . . . if you’d send me the measurements of your windows.” She’d managed to make halfway decent curtains when they’d moved to Oliver.

  “Oh, Mom, I can make curtains! And I know exactly what I want. It isn’t making them, it’s finding time to do everything.” Of course she could make mere curtains. This was Rebecca, who’d made her own wedding dress, plus dressing her mother and bridesmaid.

  “Exactly. And you’ll want to have something that’s just right for the two of you when you finally do get around to it.”

  “Whew. Elizabeth would have given me a hard time about not letting her do anything for her son. Never me or even her children, you understand, but her son.”

  What a burden to put on any son, Joan thought after they hung up. She hoped she hadn’t done that to Andrew, but she wondered what kind of pressures Dave had felt. What had made him turn into the person he was as an adult? Could it have had anything to do with why he was killed? Or was he only in the wrong place at the wrong time? Someone could have broken into that kitchen with who knew what motive. Had Dave possibly protected Fred’s mother from an intruder? Had the police checked the door? Wait a minute—they hadn’t been locking that door—no one needed to break in, and there wouldn’t be any evidence of an intruder. If only Helga could tell them anything useful. No use wishing. While she was at it, she might as well wish there hadn’t been an intruder at all.

  But then they’d be left with Helga. And Ellen, Chrissy, Laura, and the dog. Now I’m getting ridiculous, she told herself.

  Fred met her at the door. “You all right?”

  “That’s what Rebecca asked on the phone just now. Am I giving off not-all-right vibes?” She reached up for his kiss.

  “You looked mighty serious, that’s all.”

  “Suppose I was.” She stomped the snow off her feet. Funny, she hadn’t even remembered walking through snow. Inside the living room, she pulled off her boots and hung up her coat.

  “Well?” He was still waiting. “Is something wrong?”

  “Only Dave. I’ve been calling people about his service. Tomorrow at one—Ketcham’s welcome, if he wants to be there. And Elizabeth invaded us this afternoon.”

  “Tell me she’s not planning to come.” He followed her into the kitchen.

  “Come! She couldn’t even remember about Dave. Squeezed out a couple of words of sympathy when she finally got it.”

  “So why was she here?”

  Joan started washing and chopping vegetables for stir-fry. “She wanted me to tell her where Bruce and Rebecca have moved.”

  “Did you?” He pulled out the wok and set it on the stove.

  “Couldn’t. I don’t know either. That’s when I told her about Dave and why I was worried for them. I called and warned Rebecca she was it again, but of course she’d already had an earful from Elizabeth.”

  “I can believe it.”

  “Oh, Fred, I wish I’d known Helga earlier. She’s such a dear.”

  “What brought that on?”

  “I was feeling sorry for Rebecca and thinking how much luckier I’d been with my mother-in-law. Even considering the shape your mom is in. How much I would have enjoyed her when she was herself.”

  “Yeah.” He put his arms around her and nuzzled the back of her neck. “Dad and I both got lucky.”

  “Aw, g’wan.” But she couldn’t help responding, and chopping vegetables gave way to something more interesting.

  Till the back door slammed.

  “Mom? Fred? What’s going on here, anyway?” Andrew demanded.

  “Caught in the act,” Fred said. “Back to your chopping, woman.”

  Joan laughed and picked up her knife. “You guys better watch it. I’m holding a lethal weapon.” But she wasn’t thinking of Dave when she said it. Only when she intercepted the look Andrew gave Fred did her brother occur to her. And even then, the sadness didn’t return to wipe out the lighthearted nonsense. “I’m okay, Andrew. It’s safe to laugh.”

  He didn’t, but he shed his boots and came over to give her a hug. “Welcome back, Mom. I’ve missed you.”

  “Me, too. It’s going to keep happening, but right now I’m grateful to feel darn near normal. Oh, and Andrew, there will be a service at the church tomorrow at one. Nothing fancy, just a brief memorial service with a few people.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She nodded and peeled the onions she’d set out. If I cry now, she thought, it won’t count.

  Chapter 25

  Waiting in the narthex of the church with Fred on Saturday, Joan could hardly remember having been there for Rebecca’s wedding. Would it come back to her? Or had Dave’s murderer wiped out that day as well as his life?

  People trickled in a few at a time, not that there would be many when they were all there. Ketcham was already there, in a dark blue suit, looking like the friend he was rather than a cop. After shaking hands warmly with Joan and Fred, he’d chosen to sit on the end of a back pew. Probably so he could see everyone else come in without having to turn around, she thought. Alex arrived before the organist began playing. “I don’t want to miss any of the music,” she whispered to Joan.

  Ellen came alone. “Laura decided she wanted to remember him playing with the dog,” she said. “I told her that was just fine.”

  “Good for Laura,” Joan said. She hoped she’d be able to remember his better moments, too.

  Not far behind Ellen were Chrissy and her mother, Patty. Chrissy was weeping openly, and Patty’s face was appropriately solemn. They sat down without speaking.

  Mostly, though, it felt like a reception line. Joan was ready to go in, but she wanted to be sure to welcome Pete and whoever drove over with him from Pontiac. First came several people from the senior center.

  Andrew came to stand with her and Fred. He had polished his shoes and was wearing Dave’s black suit. A thoughtful gesture, Joan thought. And it did look elegant on him. She herself wore her favorite blue wool, if she didn’t count the mother of the bride dress Rebecca had created for her, and most of the other women were wearing colors, too.

  Finally she
recognized Pete’s bald head emerging from a van with two men she didn’t know. She girded herself for the one who’d been scaring her.

  Pete’s big hands surrounded hers. “Thank you for including us.” He turned to the other two. “This is Jeff. He’s the one who had the Elmer Fudd joke going with Dave.”

  “I’m sorry I worried you,” the familiar gravelly voice said. “But not half as sorry as I am about what happened to Dave.” The sweet face of the little bald man with the big eyes matched his words, if not his voice.

  “Thank you for coming, Jeff,” she said.

  Then Pete introduced the other, a tall, skinny fellow. “This is Howard. You let him take over Dave’s apartment.”

  “But I thought you said he was holding down the store today.”

  “He wanted to be here, so I closed the print shop. It was the least I could do.”

  “Oh, Pete.” It touched her. After the three men entered the church, Fred took her arm. “Time to go up front.” She nodded and went. Andrew followed them.

  They’d said nothing about flowers, but someone had set a modest bouquet of white roses on the flower stand. Joan nudged Fred, who shook his head no. Maybe the flowers had arrived early for Sunday’s morning service. She would have to ask and be sure to thank whoever was responsible. Otherwise, the church was decorated only with evergreens and candles, not lit at this hour of the day. Except for Johnny Ketcham, everyone had clustered in the middle of the church.

  “Let’s don’t sit in the very front,” Joan said. So they settled in the fifth row on the pulpit side.

  Eric Young came into the chancel. When the organist stopped playing, he climbed into the pulpit and began by inviting the congregation to join him in reciting the Twenty-third Psalm. Ignoring the new translation that was almost certainly in the pew Bible, he was saying the familiar King James words, and Joan rejoiced silently. Aloud, she was glad to find her voice steady enough to recite with him and to hear the small chorus behind her stumble through it. For a moment, there was silence. When he began speaking, she held her breath, but it was all right.