“Well, there were legal families at the commune—people who were married and had children—as well as all of you trying together to be a family, if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean and you are completely, utterly wrong!” And with those surprising words, the Archangel drew herself up to her full height and swept up the aisle and out of the church.
Susan, startled into inaction for only a moment, gathered up her purse and ran after her.
Maybe the woman was more than a spiritual advisor. Maybe she was a spirit. She certainly seemed to have the ability to vanish into the night. When Susan got back to the parking lot, there was no one—and nothing—there, other than her own car. It was time, she decided, to go home.
Susan realized almost immediately that she was too tired to do anything more complicated than steer her car down the street. She yawned all the way home. And as she parked her car in the garage. And as she walked in the house, past the pile of boxes (contents unknown) on the kitchen table, through the hallway (more boxes on the side table and floor), and up the stairs to the bedroom she and Jed shared.
Clue was taking advantage of the unusual late-night activity to sleep on Susan and Jed’s bed. Since the dog was on Jed’s side, Susan didn’t bother to object. She pulled off her clothes, put on a nightgown, set the alarm to go off in three and a half hours, crawled into bed beside the snoring dog, and fell into a deep sleep.
TWENTY-SIX
Susan woke up with a start, acutely aware of the fact that it was Chrissy’s wedding day. She tried not to remember the image she’d been carrying of this day: the understated elegance, the calm, the celebration. Even her wildest nightmares hadn’t come up with a murdered woman and a lost wedding gown, to say nothing of those damn puppies. She rolled over in bed to consult with her husband.
Only Clue was there, still snoring gently (or as gently as a golden retriever can snore). Susan sat up. Jed, still in his clothing, was asleep, crumpled up on the small love seat in the corner of the room. He’d found the puppies. They were lying on the floor, apparently as exhausted as he after their midnight-and-beyond run.
Susan glanced at the clock radio. It was almost six o’clock. Maybe a nice hot shower would wake her up. Certainly, she decided, passing a mirror, it couldn’t help but improve her appearance.
Susan had always believed she did some of her best thinking while bathing. But today the invigorating spray was merely cleansing. There was, quite simply, too much to do, too much to worry about. She must get organized. But how? And in what order? Did she worry about feeding breakfast to the unknown number of guests who would start arriving at her door in two hours before figuring out how to talk to David about his mother? Should she tell her daughter that the wedding gown was still missing? Should she take the time to blow-dry her hair just in case this was her last moment of peace and quiet all day long? These were just some of the questions jamming her mind as she toweled off and dried her hair.
Clue, as usual, made the decision for her owner. The golden retriever, whose eyes were capable of melting the strongest human being, stood in the middle of the bedside rug, a bright red leash hanging from her mouth, tail wagging expectantly.
“Okay, Clue. First we walk. Maybe the fresh air will clear my mind.” Susan pulled on an old pair of sweatpants, a T-shirt, and sneakers and followed the dog’s swaying hips down the stairs and out the door. As she passed through the hallway, she wondered if the pile of presents had grown overnight.
Then the front door slammed behind her, the sun gleamed off Clue’s now clean (for the wedding) golden coat, the scent of late lilacs filled her lungs, and she realized it was going to be a beautiful, golden day—just what she had always dreamed of for Chrissy’s wedding.
She smiled and followed her dog to the sidewalk.
Clue was the Henshaws’ first dog, bought after years of envying neighbors running beside their animals as the sun crept over the horizon. But Clue just wasn’t a marathoner; the sprint was the event in which the dog excelled, dashing from one interesting smell to another, but demanding long examination periods before starting off again. Anyone walking this dog had lots of time to think.
So Susan thought. She thought about brunch and decided she could rely on Kathleen to bring enough food and on her mother to find fault with whatever was brought. She thought about the wedding dress she hadn’t even seen and decided she could rely on Chrissy’s taste and determination to insure its appearance at the proper time, as well as its undoubted appeal. She thought about the bull mastiff puppies and wondered briefly where they were going to stay while Chrissy and Stephen were on their honeymoon in Bermuda. But that led on to thoughts of Stephen and his strange family, and then to David’s murdered mother and how little time she had to make sure her daughter wasn’t marrying into a family of murderers. Or a family containing one murderer, she corrected herself.
The place to start, she decided as Clue finally did what they had left the house for her to do, was with David. True, she didn’t want to begin Chrissy’s wedding day by announcing to the young man that his mother had been murdered, but she just didn’t see that she had another choice. She tugged on Clue’s leash and they headed back to the house.
Her purse was up in her bedroom, and she smiled as she saw that Jed had awakened long enough to get into bed. The smile faded when she realized that the puppies had followed him. There was a long string of drool being exuded by one of the animals onto her pillow. She grabbed her purse and, wincing from pain as she swung it over her shoulder, left the room. A wet pillow was the least of her problems.
After making sure Clue had fresh water and after leaving a note (she was tempted to address it “to whom it may concern”) on top of the coffeepot so the first person to wake up, at least, would know where she had gone, she got into her car and drove to the Inn.
Chrissy’s wedding guests had booked the Inn solid and, even this early in the morning, workers were bustling around getting ready for what was bound to be a busy day. Susan wandered into the bar, hoping to find Charles. The owner was, she thought, more likely to tell her David’s room number than any of his staff. Instead of Charles, she discovered the young man she had been looking for.
David was sitting at a corner table, grasping a large cup of coffee with both hands. Susan hoped he wasn’t so hungover that he couldn’t comprehend what she had to tell him. She approached slowly. To her surprise, he glanced up at her and smiled.
“Hi. Want some coffee? There’s a pot behind the bar and no one seems to mind if I help myself,” he offered cheerfully.
“I … uh … well, sure. Thank you,” she added, remembering her manners.
“Milk? Cream? Sugar? I can get you anything. This place is amazingly well equipped.”
“I know,” Susan said, sitting down at the table where he had been sitting. “Black, please.”
“There’s coffee cake and doughnuts, too.”
“No thanks.” She was hungry, but didn’t think she should tell him with her mouth full that his mother had been killed.
“It’s good.” David sat back in his chair and took a huge bite from the food on the plate before him.
Susan sipped her coffee. Oh, to be young again. No one over the age of twenty-five would be feeling as good as this young man apparently was after being so drunk the night before. Or as happy after just learning of a relative’s death. She swallowed and plunged in.
“I’m really sorry about your mother …”
He put down the doughnut he was bringing up to his mouth and frowned. “Yeah, I appreciate that. I suppose I’m going to miss her.”
“You suppose so?” Susan resisted an urge to reach out and smack this young man—what way was this to talk about your mother? All those Little League games … the drives to and from soccer practice, the swim team, those hockey leagues … the late-night trips to the library to get information for reports due on the morrow … carpools to Cub Scouts … that horrible camping trip with the sixth grad
e … the sick feeling when he came home late at night …
“My mother was not exactly an integral part of my life,” David stated flatly.
Susan waited, but he didn’t continue. So she did. “Stephen was telling me last night about your youth in the commune.”
“Yeah. We spend a fair amount of time reminiscing whenever we get together, too.”
“I … you mean you don’t go to the same college?”
“We didn’t even go to college on the same coast. I’ve spent the past four years at UC Berkeley—where I still have at least another year to go. Unlike Stephen, I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I started. And every time you change your major, you add another semester—I’m registered for classes this summer, too. I’m flying back tonight. Classes start on Monday morning.”
“What is your major?”
“Psychology. It’s where I started and where I seem to have ended up. I was brought up around so many strange people that becoming a therapist was just too obvious to avoid, I guess.”
“You mean in the commune?”
“Where else? In a state known for its kooky personalities, that commune made everyone else look normal.”
“It didn’t sound awful when Stephen was talking about it,” Susan said.
“It wasn’t. It was fun, actually. There was always something going on. Demonstrations. Rehearsals for the street theater presentations. Writing the scripts was even a blast. When everything is done by consensus, there are always lots of loud discussions. I was the type of kid who loved it all. Probably because I’d already had to adapt to so much in a short period of time,” he added.
“You mean, moving into the commune with your parents?” Susan asked, assuming, in fact, that he was referring to his mother’s desertion, but she didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.
“That and other things. How much did Stephen tell you about my mother?” he asked suddenly.
“Not much. What about her?” Susan had the sense to ask.
“About how she left my father and then reappeared in my life a few years later—during the time we were living at the commune,” he explained.
“He did mention something about it …” Susan intentionally left the statement vague. He certainly didn’t seem terribly upset about his mother’s death.
“Yeah, we were talking about it last night. My mother was like some sort of fantasy to us back then.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she didn’t exactly see eye to eye with my father and the rest of the commune family about a lot of things.”
That didn’t surprise Susan, since the couple had been divorced. “Like what?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
“Meat.”
“What about it?”
“The commune was vegetarian. My mother used to sneak Stephen and me out for hamburgers and hot dogs. And she took us to the zoo and the circus—it was considered politically incorrect to pen up animals by most members of the commune. I know these are the things most kids take for granted, but, for us, it was a real treat—spiced up a bit because we knew we were getting away with something. In fact, Stephen and I used to worry that Wendy would crack and spill the beans to the adults in the commune and it would all come to an end. It’s hard to believe we were so guilty over things as innocuous as going to the circus and eating meat.”
“Wendy is the daughter of Havana Rose and Red Man?” Susan asked, trying to get all the guests sorted out.
“Yup. Our trio of redheads.”
“So Wendy went along?”
“Yup. She was a year younger than Stephen and me, but we didn’t dare leave her behind for fear she would tattle—you know how kids are.”
“Yeah.” Susan thought for a moment. “So no one knew you kids were seeing your mother?”
“No one I knew about at the time. I found out later that my stepmother was aware of what was going on.”
“Really? How did you find out?”
“She told me.”
“Recently?”
“A few years ago.” David stopped talking and looked at her curiously. “Why are you asking me all this? Don’t you have other things to do this morning?”
“Mrs. Henshaw is meeting me for breakfast this morning. Good morning, Mom.” And, to Susan’s great surprise, Stephen, who had just appeared at their table, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
David got up hastily. “I guess I should leave you two alone.”
“No. We’d love some company,” Stephen insisted. “Don’t let me interrupt. What were you talking about so intently?”
“I was just telling Mrs. Henshaw how my mother took us to the zoo and the circus and bought us all hot dogs and stuff like that,” David explained, before Susan had a chance to say anything.
“You’re hearing lots about the good old days,” Stephen commented, helping himself to a cup of coffee from the bar.
“Were they?” Susan couldn’t help but ask.
“Were they good old days?” Stephen repeated her question slowly. “You know, I think they were. Life was simple. One thing about living in a politically active environment—you know who the enemy is.”
“That wasn’t so true for me,” David said.
“No, I suppose with your mother and your father …”
“To say nothing of my stepmother,” David interrupted, a rueful expression on his face.
“Your stepmother is the woman everyone calls Moonbeam?” Susan asked.
“No, my stepmother’s commune name was Wind Song.”
Susan resisted the urge to wonder aloud why someone would name themselves after a kind of perfume, although she supposed that Wind Song was better than Chanel No. 5 or White Shoulders—two other prominent scents from her youth. “I don’t remember which woman she was,” she admitted.
“The shrill one.”
“David, they were all pretty shrill last night. You know how these reunions go.”
“I thought this was the first reunion,” Susan said, remembering a comment someone had made.
“This is the first in … in how long?” David paused and looked at Stephen.
“Almost a dozen years. Everyone got together two years after the commune disbanded—when the building was demolished, remember?”
“Who could forget,” David answered, a wide smile on his face. “I loved every moment of it.”
Stephen saw the confused expression on Susan’s face. “Sorry. Of course you couldn’t know what we’re talking about. The commune lasted for a little more than ten years. But the building it was in wasn’t demolished until two years after everyone had moved out and moved on. There was a reunion the day of the demolition. That was the last time the group was all together—until now.”
“And you all watched the building you had lived in being torn down?” Susan thought it was a fairly strange way to spend a day—and maybe, despite what David said, just a bit sad.
“Yup. We had a huge picnic lunch first. Everyone contributed something. It was just like old times.”
“Except that one or two people were actually eating meat,” David reminded the other man.
“Yes. I remember Wendy getting a big kick out of that,” Stephen said. “And then we all went over to the building and watched it implode.”
“And then?” Susan asked.
“And then everyone went home and tried to pretend that the only reason they’d ever joined a commune was that they were young and foolish,” David said.
“And that isn’t the reason?”
“I think my parents and some others joined so they could justify some pretty nasty life choices they’d made.”
“What do you mean?” Susan asked, curious.
“When I was a kid, my father claimed that my mother had left him because he had a political awakening, as though she couldn’t bear living in the same house with someone with his radical convictions. She told me later that she left him because he was having an affair.”
Well, Susan thought, “
a political awakening” was an original way of describing falling out of love with one person and into love with another. “So you were saying that you became close to your mother while you were living in the commune.…”
“Not really. I mean, I thought I was close to her. But then she just up and left me and continued on with her own life.”
“How awful!” Susan blurted out.
“It was, actually. Really awful. So awful that I broke down and told Red Hair about it. I wanted an adult to help me find her, you see, and I didn’t know who else to ask.”
“We thought about telling my parents,” Stephen interrupted, “but then we decided it might become a commune matter, discussed over and over and—”
“And I wanted to keep it private,” David explained. “That was the worst part of living in the commune: Every personal experience was the common property of the commune members. Every problem became what was called a concern and it was discussed over and over by the entire group. That was very hard on us children.”
“Yeah,” Stephen agreed. “Remember when Wendy wanted to join a Brownie troop? There were weeks and weeks of meetings about whether the group was too structured … or sexist … or I don’t remember what.”
“It didn’t matter what,” David said, chuckling. “Wendy just went ahead and joined and then there wasn’t all that much anyone could do about it.” He smiled warmly. “Wendy has always been a person with a mind of her own—thank God.”
“Still?” Stephen asked, leaning across the table to his friend with a concerned expression on his face.
“Still,” David answered.
“Wendy and David are engaged to be married, but her parents don’t approve,” Stephen explained.
“What business is it of her parents?” Susan asked, with the confidence of someone who was pleased with her daughter’s choice.
David shrugged. “They’re a little flighty, I guess—they seemed to think it was a fine idea and then, all of a sudden … I’m really sure I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Susan, wondering if the drinking had anything to do with Wendy’s parents’ decision, was silent, trying to make sense of everything she was learning about life in the commune and about David’s mother.
Weddings Are Murder Page 20
