Shadows on a Cape Cod Wedding (6 page)

Crab.
Hand-colored lithograph (1843) from
Zoology of New York State
, part of five volumes commissioned by the New York State Legislature to provide a geological and natural history survey of the state; published between 1842 and 1844. American zoologist Dr. James Ellsworth DeKay (1792-1851) was in charge of the project. Born in Portugal, he came to the United States when he was two, attended Yale, and graduated from the medical school at the University of Edin­burgh in 1819. More interested in natural history than in patients, he seldom used his medical skills, but made many contributions to the study of zoology. John William Halls provided the illustrations for his books. This crab is beautifully and accurately detailed and colored, and frames well. 7.25 x 10.5 inches. Price: $100.

Gussie had reserved
a round table in a corner of the Wins­low Inn’s restaurant. She maneuvered her scooter so it wouldn’t block an aisle and Jim joined them almost as soon as they’d sat down.

“We stopped at the church on our way here. I wanted to show Maggie where the ceremony would be,” said Gussie. “We ran into Reverend Palmer.” She paused. “Guess who called him yesterday.”

“She didn’t…” said Jim.

“And what would you ladies like to drink today?” asked the waitress.

“Diet Pepsi,” said Maggie. “With lemon, please.”

“A cup of green tea for me, also with lemon,” said Gussie.

“I think I’d better have a Johnnie Walker Red. Straight up,” said Jim.

“She did,” Gussie confirmed. She pressed her lips together. Hard.

Jim sat up straighter, as though preparing himself. “What this time?”

“She’d conferenced in Abigail, the florist. She’s planning to decorate the pews with large pink-and-white bows. And candles. And add an arch at the front of the church covered with more bows. And flowers.”

The waitress brought their drinks. “Would you like to order now?”

“Not yet,” said Gussie.

Jim took a deep swallow of scotch.

“Pink-and-white bows, Jim. An arch in front of the altar.”

“She did mention something about a surprise.”

“You
knew
about this?” Gussie looked across the table as though she couldn’t believe her ears. “You
knew
Lily was planning to decorate the church as though it were a birthday cake?”

“She said she was going to add a little to the flowers you’d ordered. I didn’t know about everything.”

“Well, I can’t have it. I cannot have her going behind my back anymore, changing plans we’ve already made. No more ‘surprises.’”

“All she said was, she’d looked at the church on the Internet and it was a little plain.”

“Plain! It will be full. Of people. Of joy! Not of pink bows! Or of candles the church’s insurance won’t allow! If it hadn’t been for the insurance issue Reverend Palmer might not even have told me.”

“Can’t we keep a little something she wanted?” Jim suggested. “What about the bows?” He looked across the table at his bride-to-be. “Maybe white bows? But it’s your call. I’ll talk to her.”

Gussie sighed. “Oh, all right. White bows. Medium-sized white bows. That
don’t
drape on the ground so anyone would trip on them or they’d get caught in my wheels. And only on the pews. No arch.”

“Maybe you could add a white bow to your bouquet, so everything would match?” Maggie dared suggest.

Gussie glared at her. “I’ll think about it.”

“Would you all like to order now?” suggested the waitress with a smile. “Crab cakes are our special today, but we also have fried clams, or a New York sirloin.”

“I’d like the crab cakes,” said Maggie.

“I’ll have the steak,” said Gussie. “Rare. I want to see the blood.”

Red Astrachan.
Hand-colored lithograph of bright red apple of Russian origin from
The Agriculture of New York
, by Dr. Ebenezer Emmons, 1851. Two views; one sliced in half to show seeds and stem. Both apples upside down. At its publication this book included all varieties of apples produced in New York; today most are considered heirlooms. The sweet Red Astrachan, however, is still grown in New York. Lithograph on heavy paper, toned at edges. Unmatted. 9 x 11.5 inches. Price: $40.

The rest of lunch
went more quietly. Nothing more was said about church decorations, and no one mentioned murders, bodies, or the morning’s visit to Cordelia on Apple Orchard Lane. Jim told some funny stories about growing up in Georgia which ­Maggie suspected Gussie had heard dozens of times before, and Gussie asked her if she’d like to have her hair done before the wedding; she and Ellen and Lily all had appointments at Lucky Ladies on Saturday morning, and she’d had them hold an appointment for Maggie, too.

“I don’t think so,” Maggie said. “My hair’s so long I’ll just wash it, let it drip dry and pin it up.”

When Gussie looked disappointed she added, “But if they do manicures, I could use one of those.”

“I’ll see if I can get you an appointment,” Gussie agreed. “It would be fun to have all of us there primping together.”

Maggie had the distinct feeling Gussie was thinking “safety in numbers.”

By the end of the meal both the bride and groom were a lot more relaxed. “Sorry you had to see that little scene, Maggie,” Gussie admitted. “This getting married has been a true test of love. It’s been something new almost every day since Lily found out about the wedding.”

“She wants to help. She really does,” agreed Jim. “But her system is to push everything one hundred miles further than anyone wants. I’ll call her this afternoon and make nice, and tell her she’s over the top about the church, but offer her the compromise about the bows. I’m sure she’ll retreat. Bows on the pews were probably what she wanted in the first place.”

“Dealing with her sounds exhausting!” said Maggie. “How did you manage to grow up sane?”

“I moved to the Cape as soon as I was old enough to get on a bus,” Jim grinned. “Or something like that.”

“I’m trying hard,” Gussie added. “But I may really explode before the wedding if she comes up with any more of her brilliant ideas. You have no idea how glad I am you convinced her to stay in Atlanta until just before the wedding, Jim. If she were here I think I’d be ready to jump off a cliff by now.”

“I’ll try to keep her busy and under control when she arrives. Not to worry.”

“Jim, what happened with Diana this morning?” Maggie asked. “Is she going to be all right? Do you think she needs a lawyer?”

“I’m not sure. But she did need someone to talk with. I’m now on record as representing her, and I told her not to answer any questions beyond what the police know already. I don’t think that’s a problem; she clammed up right after she got in my car. Her father’s murder scared her. She wouldn’t talk about their life in Colorado.”

“Are you going to follow up with her?” asked Gussie.

“Not unless she asks me to do something specific, or I hear from Ike that she’s part of his investigation. At the moment I think he’s focusing on what Dan Jeffrey was doing here in Winslow, not on what he did when he was Roger Hopkins in Colorado. I’m not sure Ike even knows about that part of the man’s life yet. We have so much to do with the house and the wedding, Gussie, I don’t have time to take on a young woman who needs a surrogate family right now.”

Maggie was silent for a moment. “I’m worried about her. Maybe it’s because I spend so much time with students her age. If you can spare me—” she looked over at Gussie, who clearly wasn’t thrilled with what she was saying—“I know, I just got here, but I’d like to check up on her, and maybe get her out of that house a few times while the police are investigating. She said she’d like to help with the wedding. Maybe she could help us with the move, too. Could we offer to pay her a little?”

“Maggie, why is it you’re always getting involved with young people in trouble of some sort?” Gussie sighed. “But we could use some young muscles at the house. And I have a feeling Cordelia wouldn’t mind if we borrowed Diana. Jim, would that be a problem for any legal reason?”

He shrugged. “None I can think of. If she can help you out, and it keeps her busy, sure, why not? We can pay her a few dollars. That’ll make it look as though we aren’t looking for free labor.”

“We’re going to pack at your place this afternoon, right?” said Maggie.

Gussie nodded.

“I’ll take my car and go back to Cordelia’s and see if Diana’s interested. If she is, I’ll bring her back with me. I won’t be gone long.”

Within twenty minutes she’d pulled her van up to the house at Apple Orchard Lane. Diana’s Volkswagen was still outside.

After several minutes’ wait, Cordelia answered the door. “Good afternoon, Cordelia. Could I speak with Diana for a few moments?”

Cordelia looked surprised, but went to a small table near the staircase where there were several books, a lamp, and a cowbell, and rang the bell. A minute later Diana came down the stairs.

“Oh, it’s you, Maggie. I wondered what Cordelia wanted.”

“Sorry to disturb you. But you mentioned helping with Gussie’s wedding. This isn’t directly wedding-related, but Gussie and Jim are trying to consolidate their households and move into their new home and get Gussie’s shop set up before their wedding. I know you have a lot on your mind, but if you’d like to earn a few extra dollars, we could use some help packing this afternoon.”

Diana looked from Cordelia to Maggie. “Was this Cordelia’s idea?”

“No; but if you’d like to come, I’ll ask her if it’s all right.”

“I make my own decisions. I’ll get a jacket.” Diana ran back up the stairs.

Maggie signed, “Diana’s going to help Gussie and me pack some of Gussie’s things; she’s hoping to finish moving to the new house before her wedding.”

Cordelia nodded. “Good. The girl’s restless. She has nothing to do. Thank Gussie for me.”

Maggie nodded. They’d wanted to help Diana. If Cordelia thought they were helping her, so much the better.

“Let’s go,” said Diana, heading out the door. Maggie waved at Cordelia, and followed her.

“I’ll take my car and follow you,” said Diana. “That way I can leave when we’re finished.”

“Fine.” Maggie headed back to Gussie’s, the VW following close behind.

Was this a good decision? There was plenty to pack; that wasn’t the issue. But with Diana there it meant she and Gussie wouldn’t have as much time alone together as they’d hoped.

She hoped Ike Irons was making headway in figuring out who’d killed Diana’s father. She’d had a few experiences with murder investigations, and usually the “why” came first. That led to the “who.”

The chief certainly should be looking at why Dan Jeffrey disappeared such a short time after his daughter had found him. Could that just be a coincidence? Maggie shook her head. She’d lived long enough not to believe in coincidences.

If Ike Irons wasn’t interested in Dan Jeffrey’s history pre-Winslow, then he wouldn’t worry about Dan’s daughter. The more Maggie thought about it, the more she worried about Diana.

What happened in Colorado that made Diana’s father leave his daughter? A daughter who’d already lost her mother? Starting a new life somewhere else, with a new name, was something people did only when they were desperate, and either they didn’t care about those they left behind, or they needed to protect them.

Diana certainly acted as though she felt her father cared about her.

That only left one other possibility.

By the time Maggie pulled her van into a space in back of Gussie’s shop she was determined to find out whatever she could. And make sure no other bodies were found on the beach, or anywhere else, in Winslow.

EXTRA! PRES. ROOSEVELT DIES!
One page, one side, broadside, issued by the
SCIO Tribune
, Linn County, Oregon, Thursday, April 12, 1945, to announce President Franklin Roosevelt’s death. Paper tanned, but in perfect condition. “The United States and the World was shocked suddenly this afternoon when the news was flashed over the wires—“President Roosevelt dies suddenly!” Death came at 4:35 P.M. Eastern War Time (2:35 Pacific War Time), at Warm Springs, Georgia, where he had gone two weeks ago to rest before going to the United Nations’ Conference called for the 25th of this month at San Francisco.” 13 x 20 inches. Price: $350.

“Welcome!” said Gussie,
as Maggie walked in the back door of her old shop.

Diana followed, looking curiously around her. “I thought we were going to your house.”

“You’re here. I live on the second floor, above the shop,” Gussie explained.

Diana walked around the back room, looking at the inventory items Gussie hadn’t packed yet: boxes of antique doll arms, legs, wigs, and bodies. Dolls’ clothes, one box of hats, one of shoes. Two shelves of china heads, arms, and legs. One box of eyes. She shuddered. “Those are creepy! But not as creepy as the dolls at Cordelia’s house. Now I know why you two are friends. You have weird dolls, too.”

Maggie and Gussie looked at each other.

“I use those parts to repair old dolls. I didn’t know Cordelia had dolls,” said Gussie. “But lots of people collect them. What kind does she have?”

“She doesn’t exactly collect them,” said Diana. “That would be normal for a kid, I guess, but for an older woman—I mean, she must be over forty! It would be strange.” She ignored the half smile Maggie and Gussie exchanged. “She cooks them.”

“What?” Maggie blurted. “Cooks them? Are you sure?”

Diana nodded dramatically. “The first night I was there Dad said he’d get Chinese food for us because we couldn’t use the stove. I thought it was broken, so when he was out I looked at it. The oven was on, and there were two baby dolls inside. In a roasting pan! Now I know she does that all the time. She has parts of dolls upstairs in her bedroom, too, like you have in those boxes. Eyes, and hair, and arms and legs. Clothes, too.”

“Have you seen her working on them?” asked Gussie.

“She keeps the door to her room closed. But I’ve peeked when she was out walking,” Diana admitted. “She has a workbench in there, with half-finished naked dolls all over it.”

Gussie laughed.

“Gussie, I’m with Diana. That’s strange. Roasting dolls? If she has doll parts maybe she’s making or repairing dolls. Okay. But cooking them in the oven? What’s that? Voodoo?” Maggie shivered. “I don’t see what’s funny.”

“No, no, no. I’ve always wondered how Cordelia makes a living, since she stays in that house by herself all the time. Now I think I know. I’ll bet she’s making OOAK reborns. The best get pretty high prices nowadays.”

Diana and Maggie looked bewildered.

“English, please? OOAK? Reborns?” Maggie shook her head. “Whatever that means, it sounds awful. Educate us who clearly have no clue.”

“It’s not awful.” Gussie smiled. “They’re dolls, like Diana said. OOAK means One of a Kind. Reborns are dolls that look like newborns or preemies. People make them by hand. Someone, like maybe Cordelia, takes expensive manufactured baby dolls apart, removes the factory paint, cleans them, and then repaints them, adding real hair, eyes, eyelashes, and fillers to make the doll feel like a real baby. Then they dress the doll, often in real preemie or baby clothes. ­Every OOAK is different. They can be made to look like any race. At several steps along the way the doll has to be baked to set the paint or glue. Making them isn’t simple. It takes patience and time, and only someone who’s really talented artistically can do it successfully.”

“It sounds horrible,” said Maggie.

“Not to a lot of people. A reborn isn’t the kind of doll most children would play with. It’s a baby doll that can sometimes be mistaken for a real infant. People collect them. Some women with emotional issues, especially those who’ve lost an infant, find taking care of them is relaxing. I’ve heard of women who can’t have children who ‘adopt’ an OOAK as a substitute.” Gussie shot a sideways glance at Maggie, who pointedly ignored her.

“Taking care of them?” Diana looked askance. “You mean people act like they’re real babies? Weird!”

“I’ve seen women with reborns in strollers at doll shows. The best are very realistic. One of the artists, as their makers are called, told me she had a customer arrested for child abuse for leaving hers in a car seat in a parked car. Of course, all charges were dropped when the policeman saw her ‘baby’ was really a doll.”

“Talk about embarrassing moments!” said Maggie. “I’ll bet the other cops teased him about that for months.”

“How much do the dolls sell for?” asked Diana.

“At the doll shows they can go over a couple of thousand dollars. If you want a custom-made one, perhaps with the facial features of a specific child, maybe even higher. The last time I looked on eBay they were up to sixteen hundred. It depends. Different styles and races are popular at different times.”

“You don’t have any, do you?” asked Diana, glancing around as though one might pop out of one of Gussie’s cartons.

“No,” said Gussie. “They’re not my sort of doll. I specialize in toys made before 1950, and most of my inventory is nineteenth-century. Reborns are brand new, or made within the last ten years. The collectible doll industry is a diverse one. It’s like teddy bears. Thousands of different teddy bears are made each year, and lots of people collect them. The only teddies I have in my shop are from the early twentieth century, when a stuffed bear was a cute way of remembering that Teddy Roosevelt spared the life of a baby black bear when he was hunting. A couple in Brooklyn created a stuffed bear in his honor in 1903. Then the Steiff Toy Company in Germany introduced a stuffed bear the same year, and most of them sold to the United States. In 1904 President Roosevelt used the teddy bear as one of his campaign mascots.”

“Wasn’t there a
Titanic
connection with teddy bears?” Maggie asked.

“There was. After the
Titanic
sank in 1912 the Steiff company made five hundred black teddy bears and advertised them as presents to give to those in mourning.”

Diana made a face. “Gross. And depressing.”

“There were happier teddies. Like the one A.A. Milne gave to his son Christopher on his first birthday. That teddy was the model for
Winnie-the-Pooh
, published in 1926.”

“I never thought about toys having history,” said Diana.

“Don’t get her started; she hasn’t even mentioned Smokey the Bear,” Maggie pointed out.

“And don’t forget Paddington!” said Gussie. “That’s why I love children’s books and toys. They’re a part of our lives.”

“By the way, Gussie, if you ever want to do an exhibit of special Roosevelt items, like teddy bears, and maybe Theodore Roosevelt games or cards, we could also include prints and political cartoons related to him. And perhaps Franklin Roosevelt, too. Did you know FDR was a major collector of American prints? He started collecting when he was governor of New York State, looking for views of the Hudson River between Hyde Park, where he lived, and Albany. Then when he was Secretary of the Navy he collected American navy prints to decorate his New York City home. Both his collections went with him when he moved to the White House. Today they’re all in his library at Hyde Park.”

“Interesting, Maggie. But right now I’m not focused on history. I’m focused on getting into my new house before my wedding. If we’re going to get everything packed up, we need to start,” said Gussie.

“Got it. Sorry,“ said Maggie. “I get carried away when I’m thinking about history and prints. Where do you want us to begin?”

“Most of my stock is down here in the shop area. It’s already in boxes. I only need to add bubble wrap, find tops for the boxes, and label them,” said Gussie. “I can do that myself because everything’s at a level I can reach. You ladies go on upstairs and start on the closets. Just pack everything.” She sighed. “I’ll go through things when I unpack. Cartons and packing materials are in the living room. Maggie, you can show Diana.”

“Will do, boss,” said Maggie, saluting Gussie. “Come on, Diana. Let’s see how fast we can get this done.”

They started on the two hall closets. “It’s amazing how much can be crammed into closets, isn’t it?” said Maggie. “These seem to be full of Christmas decorations and china. Why don’t you stand on the ladder and hand the china and boxes down to me? I’ll sort, and then we’ll both wrap and box so we don’t mix up the Santas with Gussie’s demitasse set.”

Within minutes they’d finished the top shelves of both closets. “I wish Gussie hadn’t emptied her kitchen first,” Maggie commented, failing miserably to separate tangled Christmas tree lights. “If we had plastic kitchen bags I’d try to put the strings of lights in separate bags.”

“Those are so tangled we’d be here all afternoon trying to separate them,” Diana commented. “I did those sorts of things at my house in Colorado when I had to clean it out.”

“Did the house sell?” Maggie asked.

“Not yet. I left a few boxes in the garage, and some furniture in the rooms. The real estate lady said it would be easier to sell if it looked like a home. It didn’t feel like my home anymore, though. If it sells while I’m away she’s going to have a few things, like the Christmas ornaments I want to keep, put in storage for me. The rest will go to Goodwill if the new owners don’t want it.”

“It must have been hard, going through everything alone.”

“It was hellish. Everything there reminded me of my mother, or my father, or of what my life would have been like if they hadn’t died.”

“What did your dad do in Colorado?”

“I don’t exactly know. He had an ordinary, boring job. He worked for a bank. He didn’t talk much about it, and I didn’t ask.”

“And then one day he just disappeared?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that! He died, or at least everyone thought he’d died, in an awful accident. It was a snowy night. He was on his way home from a business meeting on a slippery road in the mountains. His car went off the road and burst into flames.”

“And there was no doubt?”

“That he died? No! It was his car, and people at the meeting saw him get into it. The car completely burned up. There was nothing left. A policeman knocked on my dorm room door at college and told me.” Diana’s eyes filled up. “There was a death certificate. Someone at the bank helped me plan the funeral. No one ever questioned that he was dead.”

“When did all that happen?”

Diana blew her nose, and then wrapped the last of a group of fragile Christmas ornaments. “A little over two years ago. Somehow I finished the semester and then I took a leave of absence. I had too much to do, and I wasn’t ready to go back to a dorm and focus on books.”

“And you haven’t been back to school since.”

“No.” Diana looked guilty. “Mr. Dryden said you’re a professor, right?”

“I teach at a community college in New Jersey.”

“You probably think I was stupid to drop out.”

Got that right, Maggie thought. “People go back to college at all ages. It’s up to you. You have to decide what you want to do. But college can help you do that,” she said. “Have you thought about your future?”

“Not really. That’s one of the reasons I left Colorado. I decided to just drive. See America. So far I haven’t seen much. I decided to start in Winslow, so I drove straight through. I thought maybe since my family had come from the Cape, I’d feel at home here.”

“But?”

“I found Dad. But he wasn’t happy to see me. He was angry, and I was angry, and then he disappeared, and now he really
is
dead. I guess I should have stayed in Colorado. I feel worse now than I did there. And instead of answering questions, now I have more of them. My dad and I had a second chance to get to know each other, and we blew it. Big time. The little time we had together we argued. I wanted to know what happened? Why he made me go through all that? Why he was here in Winslow using another name?”

Maggie finished folding a stack of holiday napkins and handed them to Diana to fill the carton where she’d stacked boxes of Christmas balls. “What did he say?”

“He never answered anything. He kept saying what he’d done was best for everyone. And that I shouldn’t have come to Winslow.”

“Did Cordelia say anything?”

“She doesn’t talk! Freaked me out when I first met her, but now I’m getting used to it.”

“I mean, how did she react when you arrived?”

“Okay, I guess. I was curious about her, but Dad didn’t tell me much about her. He’d never told me I had a cousin to begin with. He always said we didn’t have any family; it was just us. I thought I was the only one in the family alive. He could sign to her, like you can, though, so I figured he’d known her a long time. It’s all so new, and so strange. He was a different person here. He even looked different. But he was still my dad.”

Diana paused.

“It’s all happened so fast. I drove across the country, feeling free and independent, maybe for the first time in my life. Then suddenly to see Dad again and know he was still alive, but somehow had turned into someone else, someone I didn’t know, and I had a relative, but I couldn’t ask her all the questions I had, and now,
zap
! Dad’s gone again. And here I am, cleaning out the closet of someone I don’t even know, and talking to you about it all.” She looked at Maggie. “I feel as though I’m in a movie or something. As though maybe the last week never happened, and I just arrived from Colorado. Maybe Dad was never here. Maybe I imagined it all.”

“That would make it a lot easier to understand, for sure,” Maggie agreed.

“I don’t know what I should do, now,” said Diana. “Dad didn’t want me to tell anyone I was his daughter, but when he disappeared I figured it wouldn’t make any difference. Now I’m wondering. Do you think maybe it does? People here knew him as Dan Jeffrey. Maybe that’s who he should be.”