War and Peas (5 page)

“You can, but I don't think there's any need," Shelley said. "The rest of them in the trailer were treating him like he was Typhoid Mary. I don't think there's any love lost on him at the Snellen."

“But there might be elsewhere," Jane said quietly. "Get a load of that.”

She gestured with her shoulder. Derek Delano was approaching the booth with a woman on his arm. She was the essence of the country-club type: stylish clothes that were once called "preppie," a golf tan, costly sunglasses, a surgically enhanced figure and face, and expensively streaked blond hair. And in spite of it all, she looked just old enough to be his mother, though her clinging posture and eyelash batting weren't the least maternal.

“Georgia Snellen," Shelley muttered under her breath.

“Same family, I assume?" Jane hissed back. Shelley nodded.

“Closing up shop, I see," Georgia Snellen said as she released Derek and leaned casually against the corner post of the booth.

Shelley didn't bother to make the obvious reply. "I'm Shelley Nowack. We served on the Philharmonic Committee together a number of years ago."

“Not too many years, I hope," Georgia trilled girlishly. "Are you one of the Evanston Nowacks? Lovely family.”

Shelley didn't bother to deny it. She introduced Jane.

There followed an interrogation of Jane's social antecedents, during which Jane let Georgia make some unfounded leaps of belief, and Jane ended up related to both a highly respected family of Harvard philosophy professors and an early, though entirely mythical, Arctic explorer (Shelley's contribution).

“And what relation are you to the gentleman I met yesterday?" Jane asked.

“Georgia is Caspar Snellen's sister," Shelley said wickedly.

But Georgia had learned to deal with this unfortunate circumstance. "Poor old Caspar," she said sadly, but didn't elaborate. It was an effective dismissal of the blood tie, and Jane had to give her credit for it. It managed to imply, in three harmless words, that they all had their crosses to bear, that Caspar was hers, and no doubt Jane and Shelley had batty old aunts who lived under bridges eating canned spaghetti, or a cousin in Leavenworth.

“You girls will be at the groundbreaking ceremony, won't you?" Georgia asked. "Derek and I are just on our way over. You could walk along with us."

“We'll be right behind you," Shelley said. "I have one more box to store.”

Derek and Georgia drifted off, she firmly attached to his arm again. Jane laughed. "Shelley! You actually know that awful woman and never told me about her?”

Shelley grinned. "I didn't think you'd believe it. Honestly, I'd forgotten all about her until I saw her draped all over Derek."

“I should have told her I was related to Teddy Roosevelt on his mother's side," Jane said. "Are you really?"

“No. But it wouldn't matter," Jane said. "She'd have loved it."

“What I don't 'get' about her," Shelley mused, "is that she's so stereotypically nouveau-riche acting, but she does come from very old money. At least three generations old, which should be enough. And she had a rich husband, too. Maybe he accounts for it."

“How's that?"

“Well, somebody on the Philharmonic Committee told me her husband was a self-made man in the plumbing-fixtures business. Has some kind of patent on portable-john elements or flush handles or something."

“But he was a Snellen, too?"

“No. When they divorced, she apparently took back her maiden name, of which she's inordinately proud.”

Jane nodded. "Rather the granddaughter of the Pea King than the ex-wife of the Toilet Bowl Prince, huh? I'm not sure I wouldn't feel the same way.”

In the distance, an unskilled but enthusiastic band struck up a tune. "Oh-ho, we better get over there. Sounds like the ceremony is about to start," Shelley said.

“What about the other carton?”

Shelley looked at her pityingly. "Jane, there is no other carton. I just didn't want to trail along behind Georgia and Derek like spear-carriers at the opera.”

The site of the new museum was across the road from the festival area. The ceremony was to be the closing event of this year's Pea Festival, and in spite of Regina Palmer's death, the museum staff and volunteers did their best to create a celebratory atmosphere. Rows of folding chairs were set up in front of a raised platform where the speakers were to sit. Around the perimeter, stakes with colorful bunches of helium-filled balloons sported the Snellen Museum name and pea-pod logo. Another booth like the one Shelley and Jane had manned was set up as well to give away brochures and an artist's rendering of the new museum and to sell Snellen mementos. The ground-breaking at five o'clock was conducted with great decorum and mercifully short speeches. Jane was surprised at how many supporters of the museum actually turned up. Of course, the free ice-cream cones promised at the end probably had something to do with it.

Georgia's and Derek's roles were confined to sitting on the raised platform and being introduced, Derek as assistant director and Georgia Snellen as a member of the board of directors. Babs and Jumper Cable were likewise introduced as president and vice president, respectively, of the board. Lisa Quigley was the first to speak, giving a brief history of the museum in a weary voice in spite of her attempts at sparkling intonations. She lauded architect Whitney Abbot's highly creative and yet practical plans for the new museum and added that he wished her to express his extreme regret at being unable to attend the ceremony. At this, she paused as if she'd lost her place for a moment, then quickly took her seat.

Babs McDonald stepped up to the podium and again welcomed everyone, then made the only reference to Regina Palmer. "Only yesterday, the Snellen Museum lost its guiding hand, but not its guiding spirit," she said in her surprisingly young, musical voice. "In great part Regina Price Palmer, the director for the last ten years, was responsible for us all being here today. We salute her memory and her dedication. And, of course, we also salute Miss Daisy Snellen, whose very generous bequest has made it possible for the Snellen Museum to move into the new century in a new home. We hope everyone has enjoyed the Festival this year. I've seen many familiar faces here from years past. And we fervently hope to see all of you next year at the Festival, when we will be celebrating the opening of our new museum.”

It almost sounded like a song, or a battle hymn, the way she said it.

Babs descended from the platform on Jumper's arm — he was clad now in a museum Pea Pickin' T-shirt and khaki trousers, not as formal as the occasion might demand, but certainly appropriate — and the two of them arranged their hands on the shovel handle to lift the first, symbolic bit of earth from the ground. They held the position while photos were taken for the local papers and the museum's newsletter and archives.

Somebody behind them sniffled and Jane turned to see Sharlene. Jane moved over to take an empty seat and gestured at Sharlene to come sit between her and Shelley. When Sharlene quit blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, Jane said, "Sharlene, I know it's awfully soon to say this, but you must keep in mind that this is a new, exciting era for the Snellen. I know you're very sad about Ms. Palmer, but think how pleased she would be if she were here today."

“I know. It's not so much that I miss her, even though I do. It's Mr. Abbot I feel so sorry for."

“The building architect? Why?"

“Because they were engaged."

"Oh, that's right," Jane said.

“Well, not exactly engaged. I mean, they'd been sort of engaged a couple times, but I think they were planning to announce at this ceremony that they were really and truly engaged. And now she's dead and he couldn't even stand to come." She dissolved in tears again.

Jane patted her shoulder helplessly. Shelley said, "Sort of engaged? Why 'sort of'?”

Jane handed Sharlene another tissue. Sharlene mopped her eyes and said, "I don't know exactly. They'd dated off and on ever since they started working together. Business lunches and things at first, then real dates. And once, they even went up to Wisconsin for the weekend. But after that they didn't see each other for a while except at the office. At least I don't think they did, and I kept Ms. Palmer's schedule for her. Even her personal meetings."

“What was the problem?" Shelley asked bluntly.

Sharlene shrugged. "I don't know. But it made Mr. Abbot awfully unhappy. Anybody could tell that."

“Didn't you ever ask her?" Jane asked.

Sharlene was horrified. "Oh, no! I would never have done that! It was personal.”

Jane thought for a minute. "Maybe she was just reluctant to give up her freedom, do you think? I believe a lot of professional women with good jobs are."

“Maybe," Sharlene said. "But I don't think Mr. Abbot would have expected her to quit working. He was really proud of her.”

Shelley had been listening silently, but now asked, "Did you tell the police about Ms. Palmer's schedule book?"

“No. Why would they care about that?" Sharlene replied.

“Because," Jane said gently, "somebody shot her. Maybe somebody in that book.”

Jane
arrived at the museum at ten the next morning. Normally she and Shelley would have shared a ride, but Shelley had an early-morning dental appointment. Jane used her friend's absence as an excuse to avoid going directly to work and strolled around the ground floor of the museum for a few minutes before reporting in. She'd been there before, of course, but only as a room mother — a.k.a. unpaid security guard — accompanying various grade-school classes. On those visits her attention had been fully on the children — keeping them from getting lost or handling things they shouldn't touch. She hadn't had time to notice the exhibits.

It was quite a charming place, now that she was able to really look at it. The museum was badly overstuffed, but she liked old-fashioned museums that were crowded with alcoves and dead ends full of surprises. There was, no doubt, a lot to be said for the more modern facilities with plenty of open space and displays featuring a single, well-explained item, but Jane personally preferred the garage-sale look.

As she was examining a Victorian Hair Wreath, which was both fascinating and revolting, she noticed Casper Snellen standing in the doorway of the room. He was obviously looking for someone, but his gaze passed over her as if she were merely another dusty display. To her relief, he turned on his heel and left. A few minutes later, Sharlene came into the room carrying a posterboard. Jane oozed around behind a piece of farm machinery out of sight. She wanted a few more minutes of just looking around before starting to work. Sharlene was intent on making a bit of room for setting up the poster and didn't even look in Jane's direction.

“Hello? Do you work here?" an older man's voice said.

“Yes, sir, I do. Can I help you?”

Jane peeked out from behind the machinery. The man was a dapper elderly individual in a retirement "uniform" — golf shirt, polyester trousers, and a soft khaki hat.

“Well, no. But I wanted to talk to someone here. My wife and I are doing a little traveling. Got a brand-new mobile home, you see. Visiting our daughter and her kids while they're out of school for the summer. And I've always wanted to come here."

“How nice," Sharlene said with apparently sincere warmth.

After a rather lengthy monologue on the joys of motor homes, retirement, and grandchildren, with a mercifully short excursion into Medicare injustices, the elderly man got to the point. "See, I was a boy in Arkansas during the Depression and have never forgotten Snellen's Little Beauty."

“Little Beauty?" Sharlene asked. "I don't think I've heard of—"

“Oh, you wouldn't have. You're much too young. But old Snellen sold it back in the early thirties. My old man was a farmer then. He got a couple bags of the seed and tried it out. It was the funniest-lookin' pea plant you ever did see. Supposed to be a bushy variety, but it just laid on the ground. Real green and pretty and had lots of peas, but you couldn't harvest the damned things without crawlin' around on your hands and knees. Mind you, in those days we didn't mind too much crawlin' for food."

“I'm sorry to hear that," Sharlene said politely.

“Don't be. Wasn't a complaint. See, that's not the end of the story I wanted to tell you folks. My old man ordered three or four bags of seed, but forgot one of them and left it in the barn. Next summer he planted potatoes instead and came across this one bag of peas left over from the year before. Too dry and old to eat, but he wasn't one to let anything go to waste. It was dust-bowl days, you know. And those durned peas really grew like mad even in dry ground, which is odd for peas, so after he got his spuds in the ground, he threw the last bag of peas around 'em. Just to hold the soil down, don't you see? Well, I tell you, little lady, we had the biggest, best potatoes in the world that year.

You could make a fine meal on just one of them. I can still remember how great they were. We didn't have any butter — my mother would make gravy with a dab of bacon drippings. Never had as good a spud the rest of my life. Well, my old man didn't know much about science, but he could tell a good crop when he saw one. He figured the peas had something to do with it."

“And did they?" Sharlene asked.

“I dunno. But he had all us kids out in that field that fall on our hands and knees picking every last pea. Three years in a row he used those peas for ground cover. Put 'em around beets and turnips and carrots and they grew like crazy. Saw us through bad times, those Little Beauty peas did. Then we lost them."

“Lost them?"

“Late frost. Killed every last plant before it could set flowers."

“Oh, no! Why didn't he get some more?"

“He tried. Boy, oh, boy, did he ever try. Went around to neighbors he'd shared a few seeds with, but theirs had all died, too. Even wrote to old Mr. Snellen himself, telling him about them and asking for more, but he got a letter back saying the company had quit selling them when folks had complained the first year about not being able to pick the things."