by Irene Brand
“You go on in the card shop and look around,” Rissa said. “I have to buy a few items, so it may be a while before I join you.”
The pharmacist said he could fill the prescription within fifteen or twenty minutes, so Rissa wandered up and down the aisles of the store while she waited. She ran into Barbara Sanchez, her father’s executive assistant, when she turned up an aisle.
“Hello,” Barbara said, and Rissa greeted her warmly.
A widow in her forties with two children, Barbara had worked at Blanchard Fabrics for years and seemed almost part of the family. Barbara and her family were always invited to important events at Blanchard Manor, and Rissa had often heard her father say that he couldn’t run the business without Barbara. Her mixed heritage was evident in her olive skin and ebony eyes that she’d gotten from her Hispanic father.
Her eyes were compassionate as she took one of Rissa’s hands in her own. “I’m so sorry for all of you, and I want you to know that you’re constantly in my prayers.”
After thanking Barbara for her condolences, Rissa said, “I suppose I’m still in shock. It’s difficult for me to comprehend what has happened. I’d believed for years that my mother was dead. Then a few weeks ago we were told that she was alive, and now she is dead.”
“I hope you won’t blame your father too much for what he did. He was only trying to protect you. Poor man! He goes around the office like he’s in another world. Working so closely with him all of these years, I’ve known that he has always been in love with his wife. I’ve heard from Winnie that she was a lovely person. I can understand why he felt that way.”
Through the years, Rissa had heard suggestions that more than a business relationship was between her father and Barbara. Rissa had never noticed any sign of this when Barbara and Ronald were together. Now, considering Barbara’s reaction to Trudy’s death, she discounted the suggestion as a groundless rumor and nothing more.
The pharmacist called her name over the intercom. Rissa thanked Barbara for her kind words and went to pick up the prescription. As she left the pharmacy, she wondered again what could have happened to the medication she had brought from the city.
When she reached the card shop, Portia was sitting at a table with a humongous book in front of her. “They don’t have much in stock, but they can order anything in this catalog.”
She pushed another large book across the table to Rissa. “That catalog is from a different company. You check through it and see if you find anything interesting. Then we can compare notes.”
Weddings hadn’t been a part of Rissa’s life. Delia was the only one of the sisters who’d gotten married, but that had been an underage elopement, which her father had annulled. She had no idea how to plan a wedding, but she did what Portia asked and dutifully turned the large pages, making a list of items and where they could be found.
After Rissa closed the book, Portia asked, “Have you found any good ideas?”
“There are several pretty invitations and napkin samples. Some of the favors are clever—bags of birdseed to throw instead of rice, small bottles of bubbles to shower on the bride and groom when they leave the church. And there are some wrappers with the bride and groom’s names printed on them, which can be put around candy bars and given as favors to the guests.”
“I’ve seen several clever gift ideas, too. My mind is completely muddled.”
The proprietor must have heard them talking, because she stopped by the table. “Most people look through our books to see what’s available and come back later to place their orders after they’ve have time to consider all their options.”
Giving the woman a wide smile, Portia closed the book and stood. “That’s what we’ll do. But thanks for letting us look.”
Leaving the card shop, Portia looked at her watch. “I told Mick we would meet him at the Clam Bake Café. It’s only a short walk, so let’s leave the car parked here.”
They reached the café in a few minutes. A police cruiser was parked in front.
“Mick is on time for a change,” Portia said. “That’s one bad thing about dating a police officer—you never know whether he’ll be able to keep a date. I can’t imagine what it will be like to be married to one. Mick is married to his job, too, so I hope I don’t come in second place most of the time.”
“I’m sure he’ll find time for you,” Rissa said. The thought crossed her mind that a woman who married Drew would have the same problem. “There must be a lot of downtime in a small place like Stoneley.”
“I’m sure there is. I just happened to become engaged to Mick when a crime wave came along involving the Blanchard family.”
Portia pushed open the door to the café, and Rissa was impressed by the bright, airy dining room.
“I believe my fiancé already has a table,” Portia said to the hostess. Delighted by the nautical decor of the restaurant, Rissa paused inside the door, looking at a large mural of a fleet of fishing boats. She considered the picture a fitting tribute to the industry that had been important to Stoneley since its founding in the seventeenth century. She had just discovered that the nautical theme was carried out in the tables shaped like captain’s wheels, when Portia said, “Well, well! Mick brought a guest with him.”
Portia slanted an amused glance toward Rissa, who looked up quickly. Drew sat at the table with Mick. Rissa’s pulse accelerated, but she hoped her inner feelings weren’t apparent. In spite of her resolve, however, she felt her face getting warm, and she thought of the kiss they’d shared last night.
Both men stood, and Mick said, “You know Drew, don’t you, Rissa?”
“How could I have avoided it when he’s been underfoot for the past few days?” she said, smiling to take the sting out of her words. “But it’s been comforting to have him on guard.”
She reached across the table and shook hands with him as though they were casual acquaintances rather than close confidants. “Can’t you escape the Blanchards on your day off?”
“He didn’t try very hard,” Mick said. “I only had to twist his arm a time or two to get him to join us.”
The waitress hovered nearby with menus and the four of them sat down. After they gave their beverage orders, Rissa said to the waitress, “Give us a few minutes, will you? This is my first time here, and I want to check out all the entrées before I order.”
“Let’s not talk about the murder while we eat,” Portia said.
“Suits me to a T,” Mick said. “I’d like to escape it for a little while.”
Because the other three had eaten at the café many times, they suggested their favorites to Rissa.
She listened to their comments, but she said, “I noticed none of you mentioned the blackened shrimp Caesar salad. I’ve had that a few times in the city. That’s what I want.”
“It’s only been added to the menu recently,” Drew said. “It sounded spicy to me and I wasn’t interested in it. But since you recommend it, I’ll order that.”
“If you don’t like hot dishes, maybe you’d better not. It has Cajun spice in it.”
“I’ll risk it,” Drew said. He gave his order to the waitress, adding, “I want a big glass of water, just in case.”
Portia and Mick also ordered the salad. They nibbled on crackers and talked about Mick’s work with the youth group at Unity Christian Church while they waited to be served. In a short while the waitress brought their order.
Mick protested loudly when he took the first mouthful of the spicy Caesar salad, and he downed half a glass of ice water. Rissa couldn’t tell if the food was too hot for him or if he was joshing her. But her companions must have enjoyed the salad as much as she did, because they ate everything but the bowls.
For a short time Rissa was able to forget her nightmares, her depression and the unhappy situation surrounding her family. She listened eagerly to the others chatting about the everyday life of Stoneley—the way the shops were gearing up for the tourist season and the efforts of the local merchants to retain
the atmosphere of the past.
Rissa thought about her childhood, when it had been an adventure to visit the five-and-dime store, the general stores and the old-fashioned movie house where Aunt Winnie had often brought her and Portia. She had been eager to leave this area, and she would never want to live here again. In fact, she couldn’t imagine how Portia, after living in the city for four years, could actually be happy to return to the slow pace of Stoneley.
“Hey!” Mick said. “We aren’t giving Rissa equal time. It’s your time to talk. Tell us about your hectic life in New York.”
“Unless you’ve lived in a large city, you wouldn’t know that you’re actually more alone in New York than you are here in Stoneley. I walk along the streets crowded with hundreds of pedestrians for days on end and never see a familiar face. I have my own small circle of friends and we keep in touch, often by e-mail, but I like the privacy of a city.”
“It would suffocate me to be among so many people,” Mick said. “I like the wide, open spaces.”
“Not me,” Drew said. “I’ve always lived in places where my life is an open book for everybody in town to read—where everybody not only knows their neighbors’ business, but makes it theirs, as well. It can get a little tiring having few personal secrets. New York sounds like my kind of city. Tell us some more.”
Rissa wasn’t always comfortable talking about herself, but she could tell that Drew was interested.
“When I’m working on a new play, or have a deadline to meet, I might spend a week or two in my apartment without going out. When Portia lived with me, we would have dinner together, but she spent long hours in her shop so I had the apartment to myself.
“Sometimes I spend the day in Manhattan, ogling the skyscrapers like a tourist. It still amazes me how many people pour off and on the subways, especially at the beginning of the workday or the evening rush, when workers who live in the suburbs head home.”
Drew knew instinctively as Rissa talked about her lifestyle that she was no longer sitting in a tiny café in a remote section of Maine. Her thoughts transported her to a place she loved and where she would always want to live. That fact would be of prime importance to him, if he were considering a relationship with Rissa, but he put a halt to his thoughts. Rissa Blanchard could never be a part of his future, and he had to realize that before his heart got completely involved.
Still thinking of her city life, Rissa said, “When my creativity needs stimulation, I spend the day wandering around Central Park, observing all the people I see. I’m inspired when I see people of all ages walking, playing musical instruments for handouts, or watching artists draw pictures in front of my eyes. I particularly enjoy watching families having a good time.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you. As you might guess, I’m eager to go home.”
It was obvious to Drew that Blanchard Manor would never be “home” to Rissa again.
“Hey!” he protested. “Who said we were bored?”
“No, I’d like to hear more,” Mick said, “but we have to go. Thanks for helping two lonely cops forget their problems for a while.”
Driving back home, Portia slanted a curious glance toward her twin. “Do you like Drew?”
Without meeting her sister’s eyes, Rissa said, “I have certainly liked having him around the house for protection the past few days. But I hardly know him. Give me a break, twin! Just because you’re jumping into marriage, don’t expect me to do the same. I’m married to my profession—you know that.”
“Maybe,” Portia said skeptically. “But I think Drew likes you.”
Her sister’s words served as a stimulant to Rissa’s jumbled emotions but she didn’t answer.
Humming contentedly, Rissa climbed the stairs at Portia’s side.
“I want to get Miranda’s opinion about a scarf to wear to the funeral. I’ll be back soon,” Portia said.
Rissa entered the bedroom feeling better than she had since she’d found her mother’s body. She opened her dresser drawer to put away the few purchases she had made in the drugstore. Her contentment faded immediately.
The picture of her mother, Portia and herself had disappeared. In its place was a picture of a tombstone.
Rissa knew then that her troubles were not over. What would happen next?
TEN
Rissa heard Portia’s steps behind her. She piled some garments over the picture and quickly closed the dresser drawer. Her heart pounded in her chest and she struggled to catch her breath. She kept her face hidden so Portia wouldn’t notice her discomfiture.
“Miranda wasn’t in her room,” Portia said, “but Aunt Winnie waved to me, and she wants to see us.” Portia led the way down the hall where their aunt waited by the door of her room. The expression on Aunt Winnie’s face did not indicate good news.
Miranda was slumped in a chair upholstered in white fabric. Her eyes glistened with tears and she twisted a handkerchief in her hand.
“Now what?” Rissa said as Aunt Winnie motioned them to sit on a couch that was upholstered in bright floral fabric.
“You’ll never believe what your father is proposing now.”
“Try me,” Rissa said. “I wouldn’t put anything past Father.”
“Sit down,” Aunt Winnie said. “Towering over me like you are makes me more nervous than I am already.”
Rissa and Portia exchanged sharp glances, and they sat side by side on the couch.
“He’s turning Trudy’s funeral into a big spectacle. He’s proposing to have her body here in the house for viewing. He intends to hold the funeral in the country club because it’s more roomy than the church. And in his opinion, there’s no minister in Stoneley with enough dignity to conduct a worthy funeral for Trudy. He’s having a more prominent preacher come from Portland.”
“But we have such a small family,” Miranda wailed. “We don’t need a large place.”
“There may not be many mourners,” Winnie said, “but there will be a large crowd. Curiosity, if no other reason, will prompt the local residents to see the Blanchard family on display.”
“I agree there will be a lot of people if it’s an open funeral,” Rissa said. “We have to remember how many people around here owe their jobs to the Blanchards, and they won’t want to offend Father. I’m for having a private funeral—family members only. As far as I’m concerned, it’s time for someone to stand up to Father. He can disinherit me if he wants to, but I will not attend a funeral at the country club, and if he makes a public display by bringing our mother’s body here, I’m going back to the city.”
“You’re the main witness to this murder,” Miranda reminded her. “The police won’t let you go away.”
Rissa hoped that, with Drew on the force, the authorities wouldn’t detain her. “They will unless they put me in jail, and in that case, I still won’t have to be involved in any of this foolishness.”
“I feel the same way,” Portia said, snuggling close to Rissa. The twins had often presented a united front to the rest of the family.
“Then shall we meet with your father and tell him our sentiments?” Winnie asked.
“The sooner the better,” Rissa said.
“But one thing bothers me. I don’t mind if the funeral is public, but I would like to have it in the church,” Winnie said. “If we agree that the body can be in the church for an hour, he might agree to the memorial service. Your father won’t be easily intimidated, so we may have to compromise.”
“Is he home now?” Rissa asked.
“Yes, in his office, of course,” Miranda said.
“Then let’s go down and lay our cards on the table. I don’t like to prolong unpleasant situations,” Rissa said.
The four women walked downstairs two abreast like a trained army going to war. Their brave stance dissipated somewhat when they reached the office door. Everyone hesitated, and summoning her courage. Rissa stepped forward and knocked forcefully.
“Who is it?” Ronald growled.
Without answering, Rissa opened the door and walked inside, with the others crowding close behind her. She stopped in amazement when she saw a wedding picture of her parents prominently displayed on Ronald’s desk.
“What do you want?” he said, quickly turning the picture facedown.
“We want to talk with you about the funeral. Do you think it’s your right to make all the plans without considering our wishes at all?” Rissa demanded.
“I do what I want to do.”
“We’re aware of that, and I suppose I’m just like you. For in this matter, I intend to do what I want to do.”
“Such as?” Ronald said, sneering.
“Unless you stop all of this ostentation and plan a private funeral, I’m leaving for the city as soon as possible.”
“We all feel this way, Ronald.” Winnie tried to reason with her brother. “We won’t go to the country club nor do we want another preacher brought in. I believe the service should be held in Unity Christian Church with Reverend Brown in charge.”
“This is my household, and you’ll do what I say.”
Rissa was surprised when Miranda defied her father. “This isn’t the Dark Ages, where men owned the women of their family body and soul. We’re not slaves anymore. In case you haven’t heard, women have been liberated. You’ve already hurt us enough by telling us that our mother was dead when you knew very well that she wasn’t. Can’t we at least have a decent funeral to mourn her passing?”
“I wash my hands of the lot of you. Don’t you think I’m grieving, too?”
Rissa shook her head negatively, and she sensed that Aunt Winnie and her sisters did the same. A look of guilt flitted momentarily across Ronald’s face.
“Have you considered,” Winnie said, “that this lavish display of grief will only confirm in the public’s mind that a member of this family killed Trudy and that we’re trying to cover it up?”