by Gayle Roper
“Mrs. Weldon, don’t say that, please!” My heart was racing and the chicken divan I’d made for Curt was rolling around uncomfortably in my stomach. “Mac’s a nice man and a good boss. I like him. He’d never hurt anyone.”
“If you say so, dear.” She patted my hand, obviously having decided that my judgment had been turned by the trauma of the explosion.
“Mac hasn’t been accused of anything.” I tried to keep my voice level, but it was hard when I wanted to scream at her for saying something so unfounded. “And I don’t think he’s done anything wrong.”
“I heard it was just a matter of time before they come and cart him off in cuffs.” Rob Ramsey, a slim but strong man who played the biggest, deepest bells, was eager to add his information to the mix. “They’ve got a diary and she had that tattoo. Mac’s guilty.”
I went cold. “What diary? How did you hear about a diary?”
“See? I told you,” Rob said to Jeni Whitman, who played the F and G to Maddie’s left. “There’s a diary. And Mac’s name is in it.”
“I didn’t say that!” How had people heard? Who had leaked the information? Was William going to think it was me? “Where did you hear that, Rob?”
He frowned as if he was trying to recall. Finally he shrugged. “Everyone knows.”
Several people nodded. “Yeah, everyone knows.”
“Haven’t you heard of innocent until proven guilty?” I demanded.
“Mac has a reputation,” Jeni said, looking worried though I wasn’t sure whether she was concerned for me or for herself because she expected Mac to track her down and do her in.
“It’s a long way from being a womanizer to being a murderer,” I said, quoting Curt. “And besides, he has an alibi.”
“Oh, my dear,” said Mrs. Weldon kindly. “Don’t you know that alibis can be arranged? There are always people who will say anything for money, just like the vile men at Jesus’s trial.”
Everyone nodded, and I thought, Hello? Do you hear how ridiculous you all sound? So the rich rulers paid men to give false testimony at Jesus’s trial. What did that have to do with Mac? There were no rich rulers in his life, no trial, not even any legal action.
“Be sure your sins will find you out,” Rob said pompously.
Thankfully at this point of the discussion, Ned clapped his hands. He was puffing and he’d deposited a tennis racket on a chair by the door. “Sorry I was late, people. Let’s get to our places.”
I was seething and I was scared as I took my place. As a result I had a hard time concentrating. Usually I could push everything out of my mind and focus on the bells, but the stark reality of what people were saying and thinking about Mac wouldn’t stay conveniently tucked away. I was so bad that Ned finally stopped us midsong and said, “Merry, you’re so off beat that you’re making all of us crazy.”
And you’re all so off base about Mac that you’re making me crazy.
“Let Bailey try my part,” I said, stripping off my gloves. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”
I didn’t pause long enough for Ned to respond. I just marched out of the practice room and into the ladies’ room. There I sat and struggled with my emotions.
These people in bell choir were nice people, but they were saying appalling things. If they were talking like this, what about the rest of the town? Was everyone ready to hang Mac? For the first time I understood why certain trials were moved to new venues. If jurors were selected from the choir tonight, they would all be prejudiced against Mac, even Maddie.
My eyes filled with tears. I would have expected better of her.
But, I reminded myself, she and all the others were only repeating what they had heard somewhere. The real issue was, where had these rumors originated, especially about the diary? That was supposed to be a secret known only to the police and the person who dropped it. And me. I knew I hadn’t told anyone, even Curt. Certainly William hadn’t. So who?
Oh, Lord, how did this gossip get started? And what should I do about it?
And what should I do about Mac? As I thought about him and prayed for wisdom, I realized that there was nothing I could do for or about him short of finding the murderer. Like I had a chance to actually do that. It seemed nothing less would clear his name.
Oh, Lord, I give Mac to You. Please take care of him and clear his name.
Ten minutes later, I walked back into the practice room, calmer for having put Mac in God’s hands.
Bailey was reluctant to give up the bells, which I considered a good sign for the future. I wasn’t sure I wanted to play with these people anymore, anyway. Let her fill my slot.
I slid my protective gloves back on and checked my music to see where we were. I picked up my bells. Then I looked at everyone in the line of bells, finishing with Ned standing in front of us. Some looked back at me and some stared at their music rather than meet my eye.
“I apologize for throwing things off tonight, Ned,” I said. “I was just taken by surprise by what people were saying about my boss. I like him and I trust him. I ask that all of you—” and here I looked up and down the line again “—not jump to conclusions based on hearsay. I also ask that you pray for him. It’s a very difficult time for him, especially if he knows what people are saying. I’ve been praying about Mac’s relationship with the Lord for some time and he seems to be showing an increasing interest. I would hate to think that anything we at Faith Community Church did would keep him from truly knowing Jesus.” I took a deep breath. “I’m ready, Ned.”
For the rest of practice I was able to concentrate, but I was exhausted by the effort when we finished. We were all putting our bells back on their cases when Maddie said loudly enough for everyone to hear, though she was looking at me, “Merry, Doug and I want to invite you and Curt to come to dinner Saturday night. I’ll give Mac and Dawn a call and ask them, too.”
“Really?” I looked at her and knew she was taking a step of faith based on my belief in Mac. “We’d love to come. It sounds like a great evening.” I leaned close to her and whispered, “You’re wonderful, girlfriend. I knew you wouldn’t fail me.”
She gave me an understanding smile. “That’s what friends are for.”
“How did Bailey do?” I asked, looking over at the girl. She sat at the upright piano in the corner, moving her hands back and forth above the keys as if she were playing some phantom melody.
“Very well.” Maddie grinned. “You’d better watch it or she’ll put you out of a job.”
Little did Maddie know.
Suddenly Bailey’s phantom music became real as she gave in to the temptation to actually play. Notes rippled and flowed, danced and raced, tiptoed and thundered. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing, astonished by the glorious music coming from the nail-bitten fingers of the awkward girl who no longer looked awkward but graceful as her hands chased each other across the keys.
“She told me she played a little bit of piano,” I muttered to Maddie.
“She’s wonderful!” Maddie began clapping, as did everyone else when as suddenly as she began, Bailey stopped. She sat, head bowed, body tense, teeth gripping her lower lip. Slowly she rose, face pale, eyes full of burdens I couldn’t imagine.
I put my arm around her and Curt and I took her home.
SIXTEEN
Police drove past my place all night, their lights making patterns on the ceiling of my bedroom as they passed. I hoped they weren’t keeping Mrs. Anderson awake, but I did feel safe even if I couldn’t sleep soundly. I kept picturing the burning car and reeling with the thought that I’d almost died.
Early Friday morning William showed up with one of the bomb squad men, and they went over my rental car thoroughly before they let me near it.
“It’s clean, Merry,” William said. “You’re good to go.”
“You’re sure?”
The bomb guy grinned at my hesitance, held out his hand for the keys, and climbed in the car. The engine turned over smoothly.
�
�There you go,” he said, holding the door for me.
Curt drove into the lot just as the cop shut my door. He climbed out of his car, leaned in my window and gave me a good-morning kiss.
“You’ve got circles under your eyes,” I said.
“Couldn’t sleep. I kept having this recurring nightmare.”
“Yeah, me, too.” I waved goodbye to William and the bomb cop. “You can’t come with me now, you know.”
“I know, but I can at least see you get there safely.”
So we drove in a small parade to Primrose Bridal Salon where I had an appointment for the final fitting of my wedding gown. I rang the bell as Leslie Ingles had told me since the salon didn’t open for another hour and a half. As I waited for her to let me in, I waved goodbye to Curt, who was reluctantly pulling out of the lot.
In spite of yesterday’s traumas, I felt like turning cartwheels. One week from tonight was our rehearsal dinner. One week from tomorrow I’d become Merrileigh Carlyle, Mrs. Curt Carlyle. I said the name over and over in my mind. Sweet.
Leslie waved at me through the plate glass door as she unlocked it. She reminded me of a sparrow, hopping busily from project to project, her energy never flagging.
“I’m all ready for you,” she said. “Your gown’s in the fitting room and it’s so beautiful. Go on in and I’ll be right there. I want to get the coffee and sweet rolls.”
I went into the fitting room and there it was, hanging on a hanger, the loveliest thing I’d ever owned, the loveliest thing I’d probably ever own. Mom had come to visit shortly after Curt and I got engaged and we’d gone shopping with Jolene, Maddie and Dawn. Maddie, Mom, Dawn and I all said, “Yes!” as soon as we saw this dress, but Jo had held out for more bling.
“Sorry, Jo, but I’m more Charlize Theron than Cher, more grace than glitz.”
“What’s wrong with glitz?” she demanded, looking down at her rhinestone-studded jeans. “And I’m graceful.”
“Yes, you are,” Mom said diplomatically. “You’re beautiful and you wear glitz and bling with great panache. However—” she smiled lovingly at me “—Merrileigh is tailored in taste.” She glanced at my head. “Except her hair.”
Mom still hadn’t recovered from when I’d chopped off my hair, almost as long as Bailey’s, though not as gorgeous. It had been almost a year, but then she didn’t get to see me every day and hadn’t gotten used to my spiky appearance.
“And I have no idea what we’re going to put on your head,” Mom said with a worried frown.
“Ah,” said Leslie, “I do. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”
And she produced the perfect veil. Even Jo had to admit it looked great.
Now Leslie bustled in with the food and drink and set them on a counter well away from the gown and the raised fitting stand. Then she helped me lower the gown over my head and did me up in the back. Then she stepped away and let me stare.
I looked elegant. I never look elegant. I couldn’t stop smiling.
Sheer fabric covered my arms and shoulders, joining the silk in a straight line above the bodice, which was row after row of tiny horizontal pleats. The skirt fell softly with only a hint of my shoes showing and it swished as I turned this way and that before the three-way mirror. Seed pearls and Swarovski crystals twirled and twined about the hem. I loved the way the slight train would catch up into a bustle after the ceremony.
“Here.” Leslie held out my long veil, which fell from a circle of flowers touched lightly with seed pearls and Swarovski crystals like those on my gown. She fastened it in place. I grinned at my reflection. I might not be bridal-magazine beautiful, but I thought Curt would be impressed when he saw me.
I hated taking the dress off. Maybe if I called Curt, he’d grab Pastor Hal and we could do the deed today. We’d had our blood tests and had the license already in hand. I grinned when I thought of what my parents’ reaction would be to that.
“Are you crazy, Merry?” Dad would yell. “All that money down the drain!”
“Don’t worry about it, Phil,” my mom would say. “We’re still having the party. After all, Merry doesn’t want to give back all those wonderful gifts.”
I grinned, thinking of them.
Lord, let us move to Pittsburgh so I can be near my family, not North Carolina, where I’d be even farther.
Curt and I would wait until next weekend for the wedding and all it signified, just as we’d planned, and not because of the gifts. We wanted our friends and family with us and, besides, I wasn’t rebel enough to flout expectations. My brother didn’t call me Marshmallow Merry for nothing.
Leslie put the dress on its padded hanger and swathed it in protective sheeting and plastic. The dress wouldn’t dare get dirty after all that care.
“You look absolutely wonderful in this,” Leslie said as she laid the veil in a box, using sheets and sheets of tissue paper to keep it from wrinkling.
I knew she said that to all her brides and it was probably true of them all. Still, it was good to hear.
“Make sure you keep them away from that cat of yours,” Leslie said as she carried the veil’s box out to the car.
As I followed her with the gown held in my arms like a lover might carry his beloved, I didn’t even regret the huge hole in my savings account that it represented. Sometimes the outrageous expense was worth it.
I drove straight home where I hung the gown on the back of my bedroom closet door and laid the veil box on the dining room table, the only flat space besides the kitchen counter long enough to hold it.
When I finally made it to work, I was still humming a happy tune. The tune soured somewhat as I opened my e-mail and almost immediately received an instant message from Tony Compton asking for another meeting “to make the information in the article as full and compelling as could be.” He suggested meeting in the afternoon at four or, better yet, the evening at six.
I’ll treat you to dinner for your kindness. You pick the restaurant.
I had too much to do in the office to meet in the afternoon, though I was tempted to take him up on the dinner suggestion and select the most outlandishly expensive place I could think of. The thought fled immediately. I knew there was no way I wanted another dinner with him. Besides, I was planning on moving more of my stuff to Curt’s.
Can’t do this afternoon or tonight, I IMed back. How about Monday?
3:30? he suggested.
It’s a date. I cringed as soon as I sent it. That’s what happens when your fingers fly faster than your brain.
A date? Then let’s make it 6:30, and we’ll talk over dinner.
3:30 it is, I typed, wanting to add an exclamation mark but knowing that was overkill. And unprofessional. Monday, 3:30. And I hit Send and signed off as fast as I could. I sat back in my chair and stared at my screen. Tony was charming, but he was also pushy. And I wasn’t going to be pushed. I stamped a metaphorical foot for emphasis.
Jolene eyed me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Hah. You, Miss Perky, look ready to snarl.”
“Miss Perky?” Now I really wanted to snarl. “Perky rhymes with turkey, you know.”
She looked at me like I was crazy.
“Perky is like cute,” I said. “You’re supposed to outgrow both.”
“Well, I hate to tell you this, but you’re definitely both.” She looked at me with her typical smugness. “Perky as a black-eyed Susan and as terminally cute as Johnny-jump-ups.”
Great. Now I was flowers.
Her eyes lit up as a new thought crossed her amazing mind. “By the way, your wedding bouquet will look absolutely beautiful.” She and Reilly had insisted they assume responsibility and costs for all the wedding flowers. As Reilly put it, “It’s our thanks for all you did for us when Jo was in such danger last winter. And flowers are Jo’s thing.”
I had agreed when I realized how important it was to them. I knew the expense wouldn’t make a dent in their resources and Jo did know flowers.
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“No bling, remember?” I could see my bouquet dripping with rhinestone-encrusted streamers and feathers.
“No bling, but wonderful color. I’m taking Friday off and Reilly and I are going to the flower mart in Philly to get everything we need. You’ll love it!”
I would. Her taste in clothes might be a bit overwhelming at times, but she was a genius with flowers. “Thank you so much. I know it’ll all be beautiful.”
She looked humbly at her feet; her royal purple toenails matched her fingernails which matched the purple capris and the sequins splashed across her lavender top.
“But,” I said, “no purple nail polish at the wedding.”
Jo looked at me in disbelief. “Our dresses are coral. No way would I be gauche enough to wear purple with coral.”
“That is a great relief,” I said as I grabbed my purse.
Jo glanced quickly at Mac, hunched over his desk. “Are you having your weekly lunch with Dawn?”
I nodded.
“Sergeant Poole was here again this morning before you got in.” My stomach, which had been looking forward to lunch, suddenly soured. “I’m scared for him, Merry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” And she didn’t even know about the diary. “People are talking, saying all kinds of terrible things. But he’s got an alibi for the car thing.”
“Innocent people get set up all the time,” she said.
Maybe not all the time, but it did happen.
She glanced at Mac again. “I asked him if he had an alibi for Martha’s killing.”
“And he said?” I already knew the answer.
“No.”
Of course not. If he had one, he’d be off the police’s radar. Thank goodness he had one for my car.
“He said he slept alone the night before the killing, got up and ate alone and came into work early. He saw no one and no one saw him.” She wrinkled her nose. “Almost seems too bad that he’s dating Dawn.”
“What?” Talk about a non sequitor.
“You know what I mean.”