Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way (9 page)

Sally continued to nod at the details of their service experience. Drinking to excess, walking through screen doors, and urinating into their Sheriff’s beer seemed to comprise the gist of their endeavors. One strange story about a broken transformer on a small island in the Philippines drew her attention. The natives fixed the equipment by encircling the area with miniature tomatoes to keep the midget spirits from playing games. Manna-who-knees, he called the south-sea leprechauns.

Sally caught a glimpse of her father standing at the Woods’ table. Mr. Woods didn’t look friendly. However, Mrs. Woods stood up and offered Sally’s father her chair. Mr. Woods reached up to detain her, but she ignored him, joining Sally’s mother at her table. Wishing she could read lips, Sally turned back to the best man’s deep grumble.

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Art Woods stayed close to Tony and Kathy. Kathy seemed more interested in Art than Tony. Art kept shaking her advances off, while trying to slow down
Tony’s drinking. Tony’s conversation increased in coarseness as the evening progressed. The lug at the main table was talking Sally’s ear off. She turned toward Art, sensing his gaze. She smiled and gestured with her chin for him to come over. Without looking back at Tony to gauge his condition, Art rushed to the front table rescuing Sally from the hulking ghoul at her side. Sally stood, before Art reached out his hand for the dance. Then they were in each other’s arms on the crowded dance floor.

“I met your mother,” Sally said as they danced.

“What did she ask you?” Art stiffened under her hands.

“If we were friends.”

Art moved closer, as if relieved. “We are. And you are more beautiful than the bride.”

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Sally hoped the comment was half-way true. Maybe being in Art’s arms made her shine. They hadn’t danced since homecoming. She stayed close to his body, matching his movements. The world certainly forced them to consider mature subjects. Sally reacted to Art’s guilty glance at
Tony’s table. “How’s he taking it?”

Art missed a step. “He’s drowning his sorrows.” He tightened his grip on her waist. Sally clasped their hands to her chest. They were with each other for now. They seemed to be thinking the same thought, holding eye contact until the end of the dance.

Kathy tried to cut in. “I get him for the next dance.”

Sally held on. “No. I’m not giving him up.”

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Back in the safety of the dancing crowd, Art whispered, “Thank you for saving me.”

“You’re welcome. And remember, I’m never going to stop loving you.”

Art grinned. “Never?” He accepted her love without thinking of the need to return the affection. His mother loved him, he generally beat off women, like Kathy. And, he appreciated Sally loving him. A qualm hit his stomach. Now all he needed was a career to support her. Maybe
DuKane would keep them gainfully employed. Or, maybe they could travel around the world, get married by a sea captain. Sally questioned his change of mood with a look. “You cheer me up, Sally.” He moved her hand to his lips. “Expound on my good points. Why will you love me forever?”

Sally laughed, catching Mrs. Woods’ attention. “You’re modest, trustworthy, loyal friend. And, you’re ugly.”

“Ugly?” Art frowned.

“Beautiful. You were paying attention,” Sally said, as they stepped in time to the quickening music. “We’re getting pretty good at this. What did you think of the ceremony?” Sally planned a simpler wedding in her head.

“A bit overdone. I looked back down the aisle for the string of circus elephants needed to properly cement the union.”

“Jill was terrified.”

“Rightly so. I doubted the universe would keep silent during such a match.”

“See, why I love you to distraction.” Art kissed her then, right in front of his father’s table. Sally spotted Father Fitzgerald and introduced Art to him with. “This is a priest concerned for each person’s soul.”

“Have you read Crusoe?” Art asked the clergyman out of the blue.

“Priest craft? Yes, he mentioned my profession,” Father Fitzgerald said. “You two have a lot in common.”

“Books and crazy friends.” Sally agreed.

Father Fitzgerald said, “I’m reading Stendhal’s book ‘On Love.’ I find my main enjoyment in literature. Stendhal promises, if I keep reading, in ten years my intelligence will be doubled.”

“Marcus Aurelius would tell you to give up your love of books or you will die murmuring.” Sally blushed, embarrassed to be showing off in front of the priest. “Could it be a sin to act as the witness to a wedding, when the bride doesn’t love the groom?’

“Scruples can be troublesome,” Father Fitzgerald said. “I can tell you are Marie’s daughter. Did you confront Jill?”

“No,” Art and Sally both said, as they reached for each other’s hands.

“Well, it’s too late now. God will handle their problems,” the priest said.

When the band took a break, Sally went off to help Jill mend a rip in her hem.

Art escorted Tony outside to sober up. They walked to the middle of the
Main Street bridge. The lights of the hotel ballroom sparkled on the gathering ice jam at the dam. A north wind blowing off the river caused both young men to pull up their collars. The triangular roof skylight of the Art-Deco bus terminal on the other side of the bridge turned from blue, to green, to yellow, orange, and red, and then purple. Tony spoke quietly, “Let’s go back inside.”

“Tony, I don’t know what to say; except she’s wrong.” Art tucked his hands deep into his coat pockets away from the cold. “Especially in feigning affection. Have you read Desiderata?”

“White.” Tony held onto the cold stone railing for support. “White, like Jill’s dress.” He turned away for a moment watching the black water pooling beneath them. Against the sound of the falls and crashing ice, Art strained to listen to Tony. “The void I can’t broach is not being allowed to love.” Then he pounded Art’s back. His voice regained its authority. “White holds all the colors.”

Art nodded. “And black is the absence of all colors. No, Tony, that’s the opposite of the truth.”

“It’s okay, Pal.” Tony stumbled as they headed back across the icy bridge. “It’s over, really.”

“I’m glad.” Art wanted to believe his friend.

“I better let Kathy drive me out to the farm.” Tony forced a smile. As they stamped their feet inside the hotel doors, Tony’s icy hand gripped Art’s. “Make sure, Jill is okay.”

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First Monday in January

In the Hotel Baker’s ballroom memorial service, where friends of John Nelson were extolling the virtues and naming the values he held dear, Sally tried to hold herself together. Sheriff Woods heard her tell Tim, who seemed permanently tied to her hip, “Harper Lee has Atticus say, ‘…before I can live with other folks, I’ve got to live with myself.’”

After the eulogies and before the crowd of mourners surrounded Sally and Tim, Sheriff Woods observed Sally and Tim bow their heads in agreement, or prayer.

Second Tuesday in January

Sheriff Woods and Gabby seemed to realize the full extent of Sally’s pain. Gabby carried a box of stationary and addresses into Sally’s suite of rooms at the Hotel Baker. “I thought I would spend the afternoon with you, if you’ll let me.”

Sally sat in front of her hotel bedroom’s Victorian vanity, brushing her white hair. “Thank you, Gabby. But you surely have more interesting places to spend your time than in a drippy widow’s rooms.”

“Sally, I would love to help you send out your condolence thank-you notes.”

“I’ll have to include the wedding present thank-
you’s, too.” Sally laid down her brush and moved her aching body into the sitting room to examine the boxes Gabby brought. Stepping through the doorway out of the bedroom seemed to relieve a heaviness from Sally’s shoulders. “I can’t remember too much of the memorial service. She sat on the sofa facing the tea table loaded down with Gabby’s box. “Did I behave badly?”

“You were very gracious.” Gabby lied. “We all understood being widowed five days after your wedding, at your age, was a terrible shock. Reverend Warner said it was a miracle you survived.”

A spark of anger ignited Sally’s stomach. She laughed, then explained for Gabby. “It is a miracle to feel any life at all in these old bones. Thank God for sparing me for whatever purpose He has in mind.”

The unspeakable truth was the first real feeling Sally experienced of primal anger at poor Gabby, who was only trying to be of service. A miracle at her age,
indeed! Sally thanked the Lord she was conscious enough not to react negatively during the service.

Sally’s conversation with Grace, her AA sponsor in
Ann Arbor, helped her accept her widowhood. Now she could thank God. At least she recognized where home was. Neither St. Charles nor Ann Arbor counted as final destinations. The good Lord always showed His abundant love to her restoring her peace, more than any mortal could.

She went to the hotel’s desk phone and ordered room service to provide high tea for the two of them. Her mind catalogued her recent contacts with death. She already came to terms with Danny’s death. And Danny
Bianco was her life’s grand passion. She loved him as much as Tony Montgomery ever loved Jill. Nevertheless, Sally owned the good sense to survive. Robert Koelz’s death was painful to bear. There was nothing else to do but continue, in spite of her real loss of his steadying friendship.

In a way, John Nelson was a still a stranger. Naturally, he was a very dear stranger; but she’d only known him for a year. Poor John loved her since high school. Even so, Sally wasn’t privy to the information until her search for Mary Jo
Cardonè, the missing abused wife, brought her back to St. Charles. John’s help with the Leonard university drug scandal mystery was invaluable and the reason for their marriage, really. If John had failed to stay in Ann Arbor to help solve the Leonard case, she would hardly have considered him a friend, more less a partner in the detective agency, finally a husband, and an endearing lover.

“I suppose Sheriff Woods is working on Bret’s case as well as
Enid’s?” She asked Gabby, as she began to sort through the addresses, which included notes describing the various gifts.

“Yes, but Art specifically told me to wait until he arrives to discuss either of the cases. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course. Will Tim be coming along, too?”

“I think so.” Gabby busied herself with arranging the condolence card addresses alphabetically.

Sally redialed the hotel’s service desk and doubled the order of guests for tea, before attacking her social obligations. The thirteen wedding gift cards now seemed a paltry amount of work compared to the 150 or more sympathy cards needing acknowledgement. “I’ll write the notes and sign them, if you could help me address the cards.”

“We’ll make short work of it.” Gabby promised. In fact, they completed the wedding thank-you notes and were half-way through the sympathy cards, when James arrived with a waiter and the tea service.

“Could you move your stationary to the desk?” He asked.

Gabby jumped up to comply, but Sally raised her hand. “Nonsense, James, your man can set up the tea on the desk.” She touched Gabby’s arm. “Gabby, spent two hours getting me organized.”

James sat down on the couch with Sally. He craned his neck to watch the waiter arrange the tea things. “Sally, did you ask for tea for four?”

“I did,” Sally confessed, feeling annoyed again at James’ interference. The stages of grief she’d been counseled during her grieving process for Danny: here was free-floating anger for being deserted by her lover landing on everyone and everything within a country mile. “Is my controlling nature over-asserting itself? My world seems extremely uncontrollable, so I snap at everyone.”

“No explanation needed.” James started to rub his head the way his twin brother often did. He stopped the action, when he noticed Sally’s shocked expression. “I know John always buffed that bald head of his. I’m probably as touchy as you are. I feel as if half of me disappeared.”

Sally touched James’ face. “I know you’ll be lost without him.” She continued to stare at James, wondering if she could ask him to take off his wig. But she didn’t want to see the closer resemblance to her John, quite yet. Nevertheless, the wig always bothered her. “James?” She touched his knee. “Have you thought about not wearing your wig?” Sally rushed on, hoping he wouldn’t contradict her. “Nobody will mistake you for John. And, John was so much more attractive. I mean. He didn’t need to cover his gorgeous head.”

James laughed and whisked off the horrid wig. Sally drew in a quick breath, then relaxed. James wasn’t John. There was no love light in James’ eyes, no warmth for her.

Just then, James’ wife knocked on the open hotel door and entered. Betty dropped her purse, but quickly picked it up. Her own black wig slipped half-an inch to one side. She flopped down on the other couch where Gabby sat, knocking askew a pile of carefully stacked thank-you notes. The cards tumbled to the floor. “Oh, no,” Betty shouted, and then apologized. She was sobbing.

Sally understood too well. Betty missed John, too. “Never mind.” Sally ushered Betty into the bedroom and shut the door. “Betty, I know you miss him, too. Don’t you?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” Betty continued to sob. “Until I saw James without, without his hair.” She sat down at the vanity and straightened her long black wig.

Not fully understanding her motivation, Sally tried to comfort the rival. “John loved you, too. He said you always arranged everything.”

“Did he?” Betty stopped crying. “I didn’t think he even noticed me.”

“You were an important person in his life.” Maybe it was true, Sally didn’t even know John well enough to judge how great a part his sister-in-law played in his prolonged single life. Sally grasped one thing; this woman loved John Nelson as much as she had. Of course, Sally didn’t imply they were lovers, but Betty owned a real affection for her brother-in-law.

“Do you think it’s all right, if James doesn’t wear his wig?” Betty asked, with all her defenses down. “Won’t people laugh at him for mimicking his brother’s looks?”

To Sally the whole subject was suddenly comical. She tried not to laugh and managed to keep her smile in check. “James is an identical twin, after all.”

“Right.” Betty turned away from her reflection in the vanity’s mirror.

“What color is your real hair, Betty?”

“White.” Betty turned back to the mirror. “I look one hundred years old. James disagrees. He’s always pulling at my wig.”

“Is your own hair long?”

“Do you want to see it?” Betty slid off her wig.

Sally was astounded to see a spiky, modern cut of thick, beautiful white hair. “It’s glorious!”

“Really?” Betty smiled at herself in the mirror. “I do like it and I hate this wig, but I want to stay stylish for James.”

“Let Gabby see you. She’ll tell you how great and up-to-date you look.” Betty dropped her rat-colored wig into the wastepaper basket. “Betty,” Sally hoped she didn’t seem cold-hearted to ask, “Could you pack up my clothes from John’s house. I don’t think I can bear going out there again.”

“I’d be glad to.” Betty stopped, realizing she seemed all too eager to shed John’s house of his wife’s belongings. “Is there anything of John’s you would like to have?”

“Could you bring Ginger to me? Is she okay?”

“Thank you. She’s fine. I’m not really a dog lover.” Betty preceded Sally into the living room.

“Betty,” Gabby said. “Never wear that wig again. You look fifty.”

“Really,” Betty said, all smiles.

James hugged his wife. “She wouldn’t listen to me.”

Gabby rescued the cards from the carpet and stacked them by zip code. “Most of these people live on the same two roads in
Wayne.” She pointed to the largest pile.

Sally placed the stack on her lap. “All these people recognized Enid.”

James, with his bald head shinning and his arm around his snazzy wife, said his goodbye. Betty, with her happy mission to clean Sally’s belongings out of John’s home and shed herself of dog-walking duties, left without partaking of the tea.

Sally was in the process of pouring a cup of tea for Gabby when Sheriff Woods and Tim Hanson arrived. “Hello, boys,” Sally said, maybe too cheerfully.

Sheriff Woods looked at his wife, as if asking her assessment. “Sally’s doing fine. We got some work done, too. James and Betty just left, without their wigs. Sally’s going to stay at the hotel, instead of going back out to John’s place.”

“Good idea.” Tim took the cup of tea Sally offered after filling a small plate with sweets from the tea tray.

“Did you talk to Enid’s neighbors, yet?” Sally asked Sheriff Woods.

“Why is it so important?”

Sally shook her head, glad the brain cells were finally starting to make connections. “We don’t know the full extent of Enid’s shenanigans. Gabby was just showing me how many people came to John’s memorial service. The majority of them probably were acquainted with Enid.”

“Why?” Sheriff Woods asked his wife, who shrugged her shoulders.

“They all live in Wayne. They, no doubt, belonged to the riding club where Enid worked, where she honed in on potential customers or her victims for blackmail.”

“She’s back.” Tim crowed, then sheepishly filled his mouth with more sweets when Sheriff Woods scowled at him.

“I’ll bite. I’ll question every one of these.” Sheriff Woods reached for the envelopes with Wayne addresses. “You and Tim scour Enid’s neighbors and see what you can find.”

Sally’s mind approached a painful subject. “Do we know what set Bret Armstrong off? I was under the impression Matilda was not going to reveal her lover.”

Gabby’s attention zeroed in on Sally. “Who was Matilda’s lover?”

“We’d rather not say,” Sheriff Woods said.

When the tea tray was depleted of everything edible, Tim and Sheriff Woods left with Gabby. Sally picked up the phone to call Grace in Ann Arbor.

“Thank God you called,” she said. “I’ve been praying for you. Are you able to attend a meeting?”

“God knows I need one.” Sally laughed. “I’m feeling like my old crazy self. Do you think I’m going to be okay?”

“Self-pity is a cruel hook. Alcohol just loves grieving widows.”

“I’ll go tonight. Grace, thanks for being there.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t forget to thank our Maker. His mercy endures forever.”

Sally called the hotel’s front desk to find out if the Honda was parked nearby or if she would need to call a cab. When she slid behind the wheel of John’s car, she thought about driving all the way to Ann Arbor. Instead, the numerous loose ends concerning Enid Krimm’s death convinced her to search out the Bethlehem Lutheran’s AA meeting place. The modern flagstone façade was adequately labeled with a low sign near the street; however, none of the doors were open.

Consulting her pocket calendar, Sally recalled the
Lutheran Church held a Monday night meeting, not a Tuesday night. She repeated her third step prayer as a substitute for the meeting. “Lord, I offer myself to you to do with me and to build with me what you will. Save me from the bondage of self. Free me from my present difficulties so that I may bear witness to those I’m trying to help of Thy power, Thy love, and Thy way of life. Help me to do Your will always.” She also promised herself to attend a Thursday noon meeting at St. Mark’s in Geneva.

Sally slept well Tuesday night. The two cases needed solving in the morning and she needed her rest. The ghosts surrounding her could wait their turn for her attention.

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Second Wednesday in January

When she woke, a list of questions filled her mind. Did they find Geraldine’s ring in the Masters’ blackened fireplace? Who set the fire? How long was Enid in the house alone after Geraldine left? Where was Peter Masters at the time? Who laundered Enid’s linens? Did John find out who the movers of her furniture were? What was her destination? Most importantly, who triggered Bret’s ire enough to want to kill her? She tried not to dwell on John’s death. How many people had been blackmailed?