A Midwinter's Tail

by Sofie Kelly

  He immediately put a paw on top of the severed catnip-filled head. It looked to me like the same Funky Chicken head that had ended up under the TV stand earlier in the week. I’d managed to bat that one free with the broom handle.

  I got to my feet again. “Remember what Eddie said. It’s not enough to have a blistering slap shot. You need some finesse as well.”

  Roma and Eddie had come for dinner—along with Maggie—just before hockey season started. Maggie had picked Eddie’s brain for stick handling tips, while Owen sat at her feet seemingly captivated by the conversation. Mags was a good skater, but as Mary put it, she couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with a puck—or anything else.

  Owen made another crabby murping sound, almost under his breath. Then he picked up the Fred head and stalked toward the living room.

  Hercules kept me company as I got supper ready. I told him about my day, including what I’d learned from Olivia and Abigail about the boxes of chocolate truffles.

  “And Burtis invited me for breakfast,” I said. “At least I think he did.”

  Herc cocked his black-and-white head to one side. I related the parking lot conversation with Burtis.

  “I think I’ll go,” I said. “Dayna’s death doesn’t make any sense. What are the chances a pistachio nut ended up in the one chocolate she bit into?”

  Hercules’s whiskers twitched. He might have been considering my question or he might have been enjoying the aroma of a fat, dill-scented fish cake sizzling on the stove.

  I slid the hot, crispy fish cake onto the whole grain bun I’d just toasted and added sprouts, Swiss cheese and my homemade tartar sauce.

  “Maggie thinks I’m looking for a crime where there is none,” I told the cat as I set my plate on the table. “Marcus all but said the same thing.” I reached for the dish of plain poached white fish I’d saved for the boys. “I just . . .” I shook my head. “I’m not wrong. You know what Old Harry says: If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, you’d better start making the orange sauce. And all I’ve heard since last night is a lot of quacking that hasn’t made me change my mind.”

  My extended metaphor had gone completely over Hercules’s head. But he’d had Harry Junior’s barbecued duck on a beer can, so he knew the word “duck” meant something good and he licked his lips. I decided to see that as a vote of support for my side.

  * * *

  Roma and Rebecca picked me up right on time for our shopping trip. Owen had disappeared again, but Hercules gave Roma a soft meow.

  “Hello, Hercules,” she said with a smile as I pulled on my boots and zipped my jacket.

  The cats had never been that crazy about Roma—after all, she was the person who poked them with needles and warned us all not to feed them “people” food. But over the last few months Hercules and Roma had been inching toward a friendship of sorts. Early in the fall I’d gone over the embankment by the water along the Riverwalk downtown. I’d ended up bruised and scraped, and Roma, without being asked, had shown up to make me dinner, throw a couple of loads of laundry in the basement washing machine and feed Owen and Hercules.

  “I won’t be late,” I said to Hercules. I grabbed my purse and followed Roma out to her SUV, where Rebecca was waiting in the front passenger seat. She half turned to smile at me as I slid along the backseat.

  “Hi, Kathleen,” she said.

  I smiled back at her. “Hi, Rebecca.”

  Roma slipped into the driver’s seat and turned to look at me. “Where are we going first?”

  “Abel’s,” I said.

  “They’re a little expensive,” Rebecca said slowly.

  Roma and I exchanged looks.

  “How much did you spend on your dress the first time you were married?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Rebecca said with a smile. “My mother made over a dress that had belonged to my cousin.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “It was pretty,” she said. I noticed that not only had she not answered my question, but she’d hesitated before telling me her first wedding dress had been pretty.

  “Abel’s,” I said to Roma. Then I leaned back and fastened my seat belt. “Randy says every woman should feel beautiful in her wedding dress.”

  “That might have more meaning if I had a clue who the heck Randy is,” Rebecca commented, looking at me in the small lighted mirror on the windshield visor.

  Roma and I both laughed.

  “Randy is a wedding dress expert on a television show, Say Yes to the Dress,” Roma said as she backed out of the driveway.

  Randy to the Rescue was Maggie’s new favorite reality show. Since her not so secret crush, Today Show host Matt Lauer, had successfully defended his title on Gotta Dance and hung up his dancing shoes, Maggie’s enthusiasm for that reality show had waned. Then she’d discovered Randy to the Rescue. She’d roped Roma and me into watching a couple of episodes of the show, and even the cats had seemed to enjoy it. Randy was a cross between Tim Gunn and Cinderella’s fairy godmother, who dropped in on unsuspecting brides and helped them find the perfect gown. It was a lot of fun, mostly because Randy and the show didn’t take themselves too seriously.

  “So, what’s your wedding dress wish?” I asked.

  Rebecca sighed. “I think that’s the problem,” she said. “I don’t know. Every wedding dress I’ve seen so far looks like it was made for someone who’s twenty-five. Not for an old lady.”

  “You’re not an old lady,” Roma said. “You don’t look it and you don’t act it.”

  “And I don’t have the bosom for a strapless wedding dress, either,” Rebecca said. “That ship sailed . . . and sank.”

  It took a moment for me to realize that she was making a joke. Then I saw her blue eyes twinkling at me in the visor mirror.

  After I’d stopped laughing I leaned forward on the seat and put one hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Okay, no strapless dresses. In fact, how about no wedding gowns at all? Let’s just find you something you like so you can marry the man who’s been in love with you since you were six.”

  Rebecca put her hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. “That sounds wonderful, my dear,” she said.

  “Kathleen, have you talked to Marcus today?” Roma asked. “Have they figured out if it was an allergic reaction that killed Burtis’s ex-wife?”

  “It looks that way,” I said.

  “The police were at Olivia Ramsey’s business most of the day,” Rebecca said. “Earl had to cancel his lunch run.”

  Earl was the Earl of Sandwich, who ran two lunch trucks and shared kitchen space with Olivia’s business, Decadence Chocolatier, and Georgia Tepper’s cupcake bakery, Sweet Thing.

  “So they were looking for what? Nuts?” Roma said, turning right toward Mayville Heights’ downtown shopping district.

  “That’s what Olivia said.” I started watching for a parking spot. “I talked to her this morning.”

  “Heavens! They let her out of the hospital already?” Rebecca half turned in her seat.

  I nodded. “Her reaction wasn’t as severe as Dayna’s.”

  “I’m sorry that Dayna didn’t make it,” she said. “But I can’t help wondering, why now, of all times, did she decide to come back to Mayville Heights?”

  “Maybe she just wanted to see her children,” Roma said. A half-ton truck was pulling out of a parking spot just ahead of us and she slowed to let it out so we could take the space.

  “Maybe,” Rebecca said, though she didn’t really sound convinced.

  I didn’t say anything, even though I’d been wondering the same thing.

  It was busy downtown. I wasn’t surprised. Even though it was early December, I knew a lot of people were doing their Christmas shopping. Thorsten and his crew had spent the first of the week hanging wreaths and twinkling lights, and the entire downtown looked like a scene from an old Christmas card.

  When we stepped inside Abel’s, I heard Rebecca sigh softly. Even if we didn’t find a dress for the wedding, I wanted he
r to have fun looking. I thought about the times I’d gone shopping with my sister, Sara, back in Boston, or with Maggie here. I couldn’t remember what I’d bought on any of the trips, but I did remember laughing a lot.

  I smiled at Avis, the store owner, who was behind the cash register. “We need to look around a little,” I said.

  She pushed her silver-framed glasses up her nose and smiled back at me. “Take your time, Kathleen,” she said. “Let me know when you need my help.”

  We spent about fifteen minutes just looking, Roma and me pulling out dresses and holding them up for Rebecca’s reaction. Very quickly I realized that she didn’t like anything with lace or ruffles. Mostly she twisted her mouth to one side or just shook her head. Even so, I managed to come up with five possibilities.

  I hung them in an empty dressing room. “Try the first one on and then come out so Roma and I can see you.”

  “What if I don’t like the dress?” Rebecca said.

  I put my hands on my hips and mock-glared at her. “Don’t make me come back in here and drag you out, because I will.” I got a mental image of myself trying to pull petite Rebecca out to the three-sided, full-length mirror. It was hard to keep a straight face.

  Rebecca must have been picturing the same thing. “Yes, ma’am,” she said gravely, but her mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile.

  I went out and sat next to Roma on the bench just inside the dressing room area.

  “How did the lecture go this morning?” Roma asked.

  “Very well. We had a full house,” I said. “And when Abigail and I took Vincent to lunch, he offered to come back at some point for another talk.”

  “That has to be good,” Roma commented, pushing her dark hair behind one ear.

  I nodded and rubbed my left shoulder with my other hand. “It is.” I didn’t have to say “but.” Roma heard the word without me speaking.

  “I’m sorry about the fundraiser.”

  “Me too,” I said. “We’re going to refund all the ticket money. Lita will be mailing the checks on Monday. You should get it by the middle of the week.”

  “I don’t want the money back,” Roma said.

  “You gave me a donation,” I said, firmly, wondering if Maggie would have a couple of minutes to use her long, strong fingers on my shoulder tomorrow. “And Eddie arranged for Jazzology. I’m not keeping your ticket money, or anyone else’s for that matter. No one got what they paid for.”

  “Has anyone ever pointed out that you can be really stubborn sometimes?”

  I grinned at her and leaned back against the wall. “Marcus might have pointed it out—one or two . . . dozen times.”

  Roma laughed. “Things are good between you two?”

  I felt my cheeks get warm and I ducked my head. “Very good,” I said, giving her a sideways glance.

  She leaned over and bumped me with her shoulder. “I’m glad,” she said with a smile. “Sometimes I did wonder if you two were ever going to get it together.”

  Rebecca came out of the dressing room then. She was wearing the first dress of the five, an inky navy dress with long bell-shaped sleeves and a full skirt.

  “I feel like I should be conducting an orchestra,” Rebecca said, raising her arm and swinging the sweeping sleeve through the air.

  “I like the dress,” Roma said.

  “But not for a wedding,” we both said at the same time.

  I gestured toward the dressing room. “Next.”

  The second and third dresses weren’t quite right, either, but when Rebecca walked out in the fourth one I was actually at a loss for words for a moment.

  “Oh, Rebecca,” Roma said softly beside me.

  She looked beautiful. The dress was a soft rose color with long, semi-sheer sleeves, a round neckline and a long, slim skirt. It was simple and elegant and very Rebecca.

  “What do you think, Kathleen?” Rebecca asked.

  “I love it,” I said. “What’s important is what do you think?”

  She turned to study her reflection in the three-sided mirror. “It is pretty,” she said. Then she frowned. “But it’s not very fancy. It’s not the kind of dress for the wedding Everett is planning.”

  She held up a hand as if to hold off the words she knew I was about to say. “I know you think I should tell Everett I want to scale way back on the wedding, but it’s so important to him. I don’t want to take that away from him.”

  I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a hug. “You really are the nicest person I know,” I said. “And we will find you a dress. I promise.”

  Rebecca tried on four more dresses, but none of them were quite right and none of them looked as beautiful as that simple, rose-colored dress. We left Abel’s empty-handed.

  “We still have time,” I said as we walked back to the car.

  Roma nodded. “Why don’t we drive over to Red Wing next Friday night?”

  “Shouldn’t you two be spending time with the men in your lives?” Rebecca asked.

  Roma laughed as she unlocked the SUV. “The guy in my life is spending his time with a bunch of smelly, sweaty hockey players. Most of whom don’t have any front teeth.”

  “Hey, mine, too,” I said, grinning at her over the hood of the car. Marcus was playing in the annual Winterfest Hockey Classic, and practices had started the previous Monday night.

  Rebecca shook her head. “I can see I’m going to have to have a talk with those young men,” she said. She tried to look stern but as usual couldn’t quite keep the smile from around her eyes.

  “So we’ll head to Red Wing next Friday?” Roma said, looking from me to Rebecca.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Rebecca hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

  Roma drove us home. She dropped off Rebecca first. The older woman undid her seat belt and turned partway around in the seat. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what I’d do without the two of you. You’re angels.”

  I leaned forward; Roma leaned back. We tipped our heads together and folded our hands under our chins and looked at Rebecca with our most angelic expressions—which probably looked a lot as though our brains had just run out of our noses.

  Rebecca laughed and shook her head again. “You’re also very silly.”

  I straightened up and brushed my hair back off my face. “I know I sound like a broken record, but we will find a dress.” I held up three fingers. “Librarian’s honor.”

  Her eyes flicked over to Roma. “It’s sweet how she thinks I believe that, isn’t it?”

  Roma laughed. “It is.” She leaned over and hugged Rebecca. “I’ll talk to you before Friday and we’ll decide on a time.”

  I reached forward and gave Rebecca’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come for tea on Sunday,” I said.

  “Call me,” she said. She climbed out of the SUV and waved good night. Roma waited until she was safely inside before she backed out of the driveway.

  “Do you really think we’re going to find a dress for Rebecca in Red Wing?” she asked.

  I adjusted my seat belt a little tighter. “I hope so,” I said. “I wish there was some way to persuade Everett to give up on his idea of a wedding extravaganza.”

  Roma waited for a half-ton and a car to go by before she backed onto the street. “I thought it was the woman who was supposed to turn into Bridezilla, not the groom.”

  “It’s not that Everett is Bridezilla—or Groomzilla—exactly. It’s just that he’s got the idea that Rebecca should have the wedding she didn’t have when they were young. And he’s so happy he wants the whole world to know.”

  I caught her smile in the rearview mirror. “It’s really kind of sweet, when you think about it,” she said.

  I nodded slowly. “It is. All those years apart and they’re still crazy about each other.”

  “So, why are some couples like Rebecca and Everett when others end up like Burtis and Dayna Chapman?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Look at my parents. They were married,
got divorced, then got married again. My mother said what she learned was that she didn’t want a man she could live with. She wanted a man she couldn’t live without.”

  “That sounds like your mother.”

  I could see Roma smiling. She’d met my mother earlier in the fall when she filled in as a last-minute director for the New Horizons Theatre Festival.

  She pulled into my driveway behind my truck, put the car in park and shifted around to look at me. “My dad says that marriage works as long as you both don’t want to pour a bucket of water over the other person at the same time.”

  I thought about the bumpy path Marcus and I had followed before we ended up together. More than once I’d thought about pouring my coffee on his shoes. I laughed. “I think your dad’s onto something.”

  I gestured to the house. “How about some hot chocolate?”

  Roma made a face. “I’ll have to take a rain check. There’s a German shepherd at the clinic I really need to check on. But you and Maggie are still coming out for lunch tomorrow, right?”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  I undid my seat belt and slid across the seat. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

  Roma smiled. “It was fun.”

  “Somewhere in the state of Minnesota we will find Rebecca a dress,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She waved and I headed around the house to the back door.

  Marcus called just after ten o’clock. I was curled up in the big chair in the bedroom reading, with Hercules sprawled in my lap.

  “How was practice?” I asked.

  “Good. But I ended up going into the boards, headfirst.”

  I straightened up, disturbing Herc, who sat up as well and glared at the phone. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “My cheek’s a little swollen, and I have a couple of bruises. Brady said it makes me look a little more menacing.”

  “Brady Chapman’s on the team?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I could hear him shifting in his seat and guessed that he was stretched out on the sofa.