Shadows on a Cape Cod Wedding (5 page)

“Cordelia doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t understand how I feel. She’s not used to having me here. I can’t talk to her; I just write her notes, and we point. And now the police are going to start asking me questions. I just know they are. That’s what happened in Colorado. They’ve already searched his room.” Diana looked up at them. “How can he put me through this again? It just isn’t fair! I hate him! You’re the first people who’ve come today who haven’t just handed food in at the door and left. We need friends right now, and I don’t know what to do!”

“Diana, I don’t know what your father was here for, or why he was using another name, but I’m sure you’re right. The police are going to want to talk to you again. It might help if you had a lawyer with you. My fiancé is a good lawyer,” said Gussie. “He’s very easy to talk with. If you’d like, I’ll call him right now, and get him to come down here.”

Maggie signed that suggestion to Cordelia, who nodded, and signed back, “Yes, please. For Diana.”

Diana nodded. “I guess so. I don’t know what’s important and what’s not. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I don’t know what my dad was doing here.”

“Exactly,” said Maggie, as Gussie called Jim on her cell phone. “It would be good if you talked with a lawyer. For your own protection.”

“Like on television programs, right?” said Diana, brightening a little. “Lawyers aren’t only for guilty people; lawyers help protect people who’re innocent, too.”

“That’s right,” said Maggie, as Gussie talked quietly on her phone.

“Thank you.” Diana sniffled again, and blew her noise noisily on the Kleenex. “I really want to find out why my father ran away from Colorado and came here, and why he was using another name. He let me, and everyone he knew in Colorado, think he was dead. It was awful.”

“What about your mother?” asked Maggie.

“She died when I was ten,” said Diana. “Breast cancer. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I had to cope with everything. I’d begun to feel I had it under control: the legal mess, the paperwork, the ­finances: everything. And then this week it all started again.” She was trying very hard not to start crying again.

“Jim’s on his way over,” said Gussie. “He’d be happy to represent you, Diana. And, I’m sorry, what’s your last name?”

“Diana Hopkins. My dad was Roger Hopkins,” Diana said. “And, thank you.”

Maggie looked over at Cordelia, who’d been watching them all closely. “Jim Dryden, Gussie’s fiancé, is going to come here to talk with Diana,” she signed. “He’s a good lawyer. He should be able to help. Would you like to talk with him, too?”

To her surprise, Cordelia stood up and signed, “No thank you.” She walked toward the stairs to the second floor. As she reached the lower stairs she turned around. “Your friend can talk with Diana, but not me. Go. Leave. I need to be by myself. I don’t need a lawyer.”

“Allow Me To Examine The Young Lady.”
Winslow Homer wood engraving, an illustration for a story in
Harper’s Weekly
, February 18, 1860. A young woman, appearing distressed, is being addressed by a man (perhaps a judge?) standing on a platform. In back of him other men at a desk are checking large books and taking notes. At the time this was published, twenty-four-year-old Winslow Homer was living in New York City and supporting himself by providing illustrations to
Harper’s Weekly
and other newspapers. Occasionally he illustrated fiction as well as news stories. Homer did not sell his paintings until the mid-1870s. 4.5 x 4.5 inches. Some foxing. Price: $70.

Maggie looked at
Diana and Gussie. “If Cordelia wants some quiet time by herself, that’s understandable. Gussie, how long will it take for Jim to get here?”

“He should be here any time,” she answered. “Diana, why don’t you get your purse, or anything else you need, and meet us outside. We’ll wait there for him.”

Diana nodded, and ran up the stairs after Cordelia.

“We seem to have found another issue to deal with,” Gussie said quietly, as she and Maggie headed out the front door. “She seems very young, and lost somewhere between grief and anger.”

“And very alone. It’s strange her father lived here for two years, and then was killed a few days after she arrived. He may have told her not to tell anyone who he was, but she told us right away. Who else might she have told? And why was he here in the first place? I can’t imagine why he’d leave a daughter her age and let her believe he was dead.” How could anyone desert their child? Under any circumstances.

“We don’t know anything about their life in Colorado. Maybe she knows something that puts her in danger, too,” said Gussie. “That’s why Jim should be involved. He’ll know how to handle this from a legal perspective.”

Diana joined them, a small backpack slung over her right shoulder. A couple of minutes later Jim’s car pulled up. Maggie went over to him and gestured to Diana to join her. “Jim, this is Diana Hopkins, Dan Jeffrey’s daughter. She’ll tell you the details. Could you take her to your office to talk, and then bring her home here?”

“Sure. No problem.” He held out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Diana. I’m Jim Dryden. Sorry about your dad. I’ll do what I can to help, and make it as easy as I can for you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Dryden. I’d appreciate that.”

“And I’ll see you two ladies for lunch in about an hour and a half, right?” said Jim.

“Right! I’m looking forward to checking out the Winslow Inn in person after that delicious dinner you had them make for us last night,” Maggie said.

“And we’re looking forward to showing off the reception site to the maid of honor. And, Gussie? Not to worry. I made sure the dresses were FedExed back to Georgia this morning, first thing.”

“Maid of honor?” said Diana. She looked from Gussie to Jim. “You’re getting married soon?”

“One week from tomorrow, unless there’s an earthquake or volcano,” said Jim. “Yes, ma’am.”

“How wonderful!” said Diana. Her tone of voice showed she’d put aside her grief for a moment and was in full young-woman-in-love-with-weddings mode. “If I can do anything to help, anything at all, please ask me! Doing something for a wedding would keep my mind away from everything else that’s happening.”

“I’ll see if we can think of anything,” said Gussie. “There are always last-minute details that need taking care of.”

“Please, do. Don’t forget.” said Diana, as she got into Jim’s car. “I really would love to help!”

As the car drove off, Gussie grinned. “Sounds as though the best way to get that young woman to stop crying is to hand her a centerpiece to arrange or a bunch of ribbons to tie. Let’s hope Jim decides she’s fine, legally. We could use an extra pair of hands for a few days, and I suspect Cordelia would appreciate our keeping her busy.”

“You’re right. There may not even be a funeral until Chief Irons decides what direction to go with his investigation.”

Gussie shook her head. “Even writing her father’s obituary will have its challenges, since he had two names. I wonder whether he might even have a third name floating around somewhere.”

“In the meantime, where to?”said Maggie, settling herself in Gussie’s van.

“Post office. With us between residences, so to speak, they’re holding our mail there. Jim’s been picking it up, since it takes him less time, but if you don’t mind hauling?”

Maggie shook her head. “I’m here to be of service.”

“That’s what I counted on. I knew Jim would be tied up at his office this week, so I told him we’d do the mail runs. Especially since he agreed to take care of the dresses. He’s warned Peggy at the post office you’d be coming in.”

“They’ll let me pick up your mail?”

“When we’ve already signed that you can do it. And when you come in with my post office box key to prove it’s you,” said Gussie, pulling in to the parking lot. “Plus, Peggy’s a dear. I wouldn’t even bother with the mail except for the wedding RSVPs and the gifts coming in. I don’t want us to get too far behind on them.” She handed Maggie a key. “My post office box is number 457. Just go in and open the box and get the mail. If there’s a yellow package slip inside, give it to Peggy at the window and tell her you’re Gussie’s friend, come to get her mail, and that I’m in the parking lot.”

Maggie saluted. “Got it!” She was back three minutes later with a handful of envelopes and two packages. “Two packages. Peggy says they look like wedding gifts. I could tell she was dying to know what was inside.”

“I’ll tell her next time I see her. Now,” Gussie said, pulling out, “let’s stop at the church; I want to check in with Reverend Palmer, and then we’ll go straight to the restaurant. It’s only two blocks from the church.”

“The advantages to being in a small town,” said Maggie, as they headed toward the center of town.

The center of Winslow was a lot busier than it had been earlier; almost every parking space on the street was filled, and Maggie noted quietly that it was handy Gussie could use the handicapped van spaces in the church parking lot.

“Reverend Palmer doesn’t mind,” said Gussie. “Only four of us in town have vans with wheelchair lifts, and all of us attend his church, so he optimistically made sure there were plenty of spaces for us in the church parking lot. The chances we’ll all be downtown at the same time, other than for services, is pretty minimal. That leaves the other handicapped spaces in the area for visitors to town.”

The church was, as Maggie assumed, handicapped-accessible, with a ramp from the parking lot to the front door so anyone who wished to or needed to could avoid the steps. Maggie pushed a button and the heavy doors opened in front of them.

The sanctuary was classic New England: a center aisle lined by white pews, and high clear glass windows on each side. Small round stained glass windows picturing scenes of the sea set above the tall pillared windows were the only decorations. The pew cushions were dark blue, as was the carpet which led to the simple pine altar raised two steps at the front of the church. A gold cross above the altar was the only other ornament.

“It’s beautiful, Gussie. Elegant. I hope your wedding day is sunny, like today.” The sun pouring in through the clear glass brightened the whole room.

Gussie smiled at her. “I hope so, too. But the chandeliers,” she pointed at classic brass fixtures hanging from the ceiling, “are also lovely. And we’ll have candles and a flower arrangement on the altar. Come; I’ll show you.” She led Maggie down the aisle. “The ceremony will take place here on the floor, in front of the altar. You and Ellen will stand over here,” she pointed at her left side, “and Andy and Ben will be with Jim on the other side. All very traditional.”

“Music?” Maggie asked.

“The woman who plays the organ for services on Sundays is going to be here. We chose a Mozart piece we like, his Piano Sonata in A, for while people are coming in, and then we’ll have the traditional processional.” Gussie shrugged, almost in embarrassment. “Ben’s been humming ‘Here Comes the Bride’ since we announced we were getting married, and we didn’t want him to be disappointed.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Maggie.

“Now I need to find Reverend Palmer,” said Gussie, heading toward a door on the right side of the front of the church. She was about to knock, when a tall, good-looking man in jeans and an orange WINSLOW BASKETBALL sweatshirt opened it from the other side.

“I thought I heard voices! Gussie, I’m glad to see you. I was going to call you later today.”

“Then I’m glad I stopped in. This is my friend, Maggie Summer. She’ll be my maid of honor. Maggie, Reverend Palmer.”

They nodded at each other.

“I wanted to make sure everything was set. No last minute problems or such. But since you wanted to get in touch with me, I’m assuming something
has
come up.”

“Well, actually, yes,” said the Reverend. “Shall we sit a moment?”

“Of course.” They moved back and Maggie and the Reverend sat in the front pew.

“I’m sorry to have to bother you with this, Gussie, but I thought you’d decided on a simple ceremony, with no decorations in the church except flowers on the altar.”

“That’s right,” said Gussie. “The church is perfect, just the way it is.”

“And you haven’t changed your mind? You can, you know. But I need to know ahead of time, so we can schedule time to decorate, and there are certain fire regulations that need to be followed.”

“Fire regulations?” said Gussie.

“And insurance stipulations.”

Gussie sighed. “Let me make a wild guess. Has Jim’s mother, Lily Dryden, contacted you?”

“She called yesterday,” admitted Reverend Palmer.

“What does she want to do?”

The Reverend looked around, as though he was afraid he’d be overheard. “I’m in a bit of a pickle here, you understand. She implied you knew what she was doing, but I had a feeling.… I’ve known you and Jim a long time, Gussie, and it didn’t sound like anything you would have wanted.”

“Just tell me. What is she planning?”

The Reverend looked like a little boy telling tales out of school. “Big, double, pink-and-white bows tied on the aisle ends of each of the pews. With ribbons that touch the floor. And in the middle of each of the ‘bouquet of bows,’ she called them, she wants tall candles to be lit right before the ceremony starts.”

Gussie’s eyes took on a hard, glazed look Maggie’d never seen before.

“And she wants a high trellised arch erected in front of the altar. You and Jim and I would be under it during the ceremony.”

Gussie put her hand out, as though to stop the Reverend’s words. “And—don’t tell me. I’m seeing it all now. This arch would also be covered with giant bows.”

The Reverend nodded, slowly. “Flowers, too. And ivy, I think she said. I wasn’t listening too closely at that point. I was still trying to figure out how she was going to arrange all this in a little over a week.”

“Did she happen to mention
who
was going to do all this?”

“Abigail from Floral Fantasies was conferenced in. I suspect she was taking notes like mad.”

Gussie nodded. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll talk to Lily. And Abigail. Today.”

“You understand. The bows are…”

“Horrible!”

“They may be. But horrible can be done. Has been done. Weddings are…weddings. Some are pretty over-the-top, and bows on the pews are not a catastrophic idea so far as I’m concerned, as long as you take them down before services Sunday. But you can’t have candles lit that close to ribbons without a special rider to the church’s insurance contract, and it’s too late to get one now.”

“Did you tell Lily that?”

“I did. But she kept saying I was a darling man and that what the insurance people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.” Reverend Palmer shook his head. “I tried to get through to her. I did. But I don’t think she heard me.”

Gussie patted the Reverend’s arm. “Not to worry.
I
get it. No candles. No matter what. As it happens, Maggie and I are having lunch with Jim. I think we just put church decorations on our agenda.”

“I’m sorry to complicate your life, Gussie. I know you’re in the middle of a move.”

“Don’t worry. I’d rather hear now than an hour before the ceremony.” Gussie turned. “Maggie, let’s get going. We’re going to have an interesting lunch.”