The Marriage at the Rue Morgue (A Rue and Lakeland Mystery)

by Jessie Bishop Powell

  “What was the other one?” I asked my niece.

  “You sounded so supportive earlier,” she began. Marguerite groaned and Rachel trailed off.

  “I meant it, honey,” I said quickly, trying to drown out my sister’s obvious dismay. “If you don’t want to wear the jacket, your tattoo is welcome to be in our wedding.” Margie groaned again and jerked my scalp pulling back the bangs. “Ouch!” I said.

  She mumbled an apology.

  “Not that,” Rachel said.

  “What is it, Rachel?”

  She started again. “You sounded so supportive earlier. So I called up Lisa and invited her down. I hope it’s OK.”

  Marguerite spat out the bobby pins. They speckled into my hair and down my back. “No, it is not OK!” she told her daughter.

  I cut her off. “Margie, shut up!” I jerked my hair free from her braiding clutch and turned around to face her. “It’s not your wedding, and it isn’t yours to say.” I glared at her for another moment, waiting to see whether or not she would advance her argument. She looked away first and began collecting her bobby pins.

  “Rachel, it’s fine,” I told my niece. “I’m glad you did. If Lisa were your boyfriend, I doubt anybody would have thought twice about it. And if I’d known in the first place, I’d have sent the invitation myself.”

  For an instant, it looked like Rachel might cry. Marguerite exclaimed, “For God’s sake, don’t ruin your makeup.”

  So I hugged my niece instead. “It’s good,” I said. “We’ll talk later.”

  I gave myself over to my sister’s none-too-gentle ministrations, and she dispatched Rachel to make sure everyone else was in readiness. I seriously considered telling her to leave my hair alone. She was still peeved and yanking on me like it was her wedding I was screwing up. The clock on Mama’s wall said six forty-five. We would be an hour late. Not bad, considering.

  With a grunt of frustration, Marguerite let go of me again, swearing under her breath because I was the only person she knew whose hair was harder to work with wet. While she went for the dryer, I pulled my dress off the model and over my head. I could have stepped into it, but if I was putting on the dress ahead of the hair, there wasn’t any reason to do it the other way. Mama had replaced the button loops with a zipper hidden under the row of pearls. It simplified things tremendously to only have a few buttons for Marguerite to hook up above the zipper, which she did as soon as she returned and collected the last of the bobby pins.

  While she braided, I thought hard about the day. Our final discovery had completely collapsed my joy at having captured Lucy. What had happened to Stan Oeschle? Why would the police think he had hidden something in our barn, and what would that something have been? Did they think he had beaten Art to death? Did they still think it, if he had been carried out on a stretcher?

  It would have been easy to get mired in the questions again, and I didn’t want to. I wanted to enjoy my wedding. Margie, hired or volunteered, had put an enormous amount of her own energy into making this wedding come off. It must seem as if I didn’t value her efforts at all. She deserved an explanation for my erratic behavior. Some of it, anyway. She wouldn’t ever understand the shower delay.

  “We found one of the orangutans, Marguerite.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to catch it?”

  “We did catch it. We got it, and it’s safe, and it ran us a little late, OK? I’m really sorry.”

  She turned on the dryer and blew it around my scalp. But she stopped pulling quite so hard on my hair, so I knew she heard me, that I was at least partially forgiven.

  CHAPTER 23

  * * *

  Downstairs, Nana was waiting to approve me before I could go outside. “Yes,” she said, and smiled. “That’s how that dress was meant to be worn. It suits you.” That had been almost exactly my own thought when I first put it on. Good. She embraced me carefully, then pecked both my cheeks. “Now,” she said. “Let’s have a wedding.”

  “No, hang on!” This time it was Brenda, trailing me down the stairs, waving my cell phone.

  “What?” Margie demanded. “We don’t have time for any more hang ons. The men are all in place, and all they’re waiting for is us to come out the door before they start the bride’s march.”

  “Sorry.” By her tone, Brenda evidently wasn’t sorry at all. She seemed to be quite a bit more versed than I was in ignoring my sister’s moods. “Here.” She handed me the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Noel! I’m glad I caught you.” It was Rick on the phone. Art’s forgotten nephew. That was probably who tried to call in the shower, too. “Did you get my message?” he asked.

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  Margie glared daggers and I turned away so I couldn’t see her.

  “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I know you’re trying to get a wedding on. But when I called the sanctuary, they told me you found one of the orangutans.”

  “Yes,” I said. “The female.”

  “Congratulations. I had no idea there were two!”

  “No,” I said. “I suppose at the hospital yesterday we still only knew about the one.”

  “That makes sense. Anyway, I’ll be brief.” I was glad he would. Margie had come around the side to continue sending out malevolent vibes. Rick went on, “I told your friend Christian my little piece, and he said you would want to know too. I should have said yesterday, but nothing was right then.” His voice rose a little, then fell toward the end. I agreed. Nothing was right yesterday.

  “What is it?” Margie or no, he certainly had my attention.

  “I wanted you to know you have somewhere to put her.”

  He did know what Art had been up to! “What do you mean?”

  “You have an enclosure for the female orangutan, once her health is stable. Christian figures he’ll care for her at the Ohio Zoo here at first. But you’ve got room for her. The male, too, if you can catch him.”

  “What are you talking about?” But I knew. We were right. Lance and I were right. “That isn’t mall construction we’ve been hearing!” I said.

  “It is,” he told me. “But not only mall construction. And we’ve been entering the property through the back of the mall to avoid arousing suspicion. We’ve been back there building an orangutan enclosure and new administration building. The admin building’s got to be finished, and we need to get an inspection. But we’re done with the major work. I wanted you to know . . . I know Uncle Art would have wanted you to know . . . if you can catch that other animal, they both have a home.”

  My God, Art. Tears welled and threatened to fall. I held them back largely because Marguerite was still giving my phone and me the hairy eyeball. I had a thousand questions and Rick probably only knew the answer to a hundred. But the joy of finding Lucy, of capturing her alive and still probably pregnant, all rushed back in. “I want to see it,” I said. “First thing in the morning.”

  “You got it,” he said. “Call and I’ll take you out for the tour. Go get married, Noel.”

  “Thank you, Rick. I will.”

  I flipped my phone shut and looked around at the assembled family. Margie rushed in with tissues to dab around my eyes and absorb the tears that still threatened to run down my face and spoil my makeup. “There’s room at the inn!” I blurted out. I tried to explain more, but nothing I said made any sense, and Margie finally took away my phone and steered me to the kitchen door. Outside, she whistled sharply with two fingers, and Bryce materialized to take Nana’s arm and lead her away toward the flower garden.

  Across the way, standing outside the garden, I saw Lance and the minister arranged at the end of an aisle of roses. The space was made for ceremonies, though we all speculated that the ceremonies in question were funerals, rather than weddings. A separate part of my mind, one that refused to focus on marriage, wondered whether we could hold a memorial for Art here, then nixed the idea because we would need to hold it at the sanctuary.

  The rest of me
seemed to be operating without that one part of my brain, which began compiling a list of people we still hadn’t called to tell about Art. I was sure Rick would take care of the people from Art’s personal life and the department secretary would cover the university. But that still left a huge number of professional contacts that Lance and I would be responsible for getting in touch with. And we needed to do it right away. Although Lance and I hadn’t discussed it, I thought we would have to delay our trip to Ecuador until the center’s future was more certain. Especially with a new enclosure.

  A new enclosure. Art! No wonder he had been so secretive about the orangutans. That final piece fell into place for me, now that I was certain about his and Stan’s “big reveal.” No wonder he had delayed their delivery. If he thought they were safe, in good hands, and would soon have a place at his primate sanctuary, then Art would have taken the risk of leaving them where they were.

  More than that, he would have gone down to the enclosure as soon as possible to get it ready for their arrival yesterday. He didn’t go out front at all. He went around to the side and probably tramped up around the mall. I wondered where the new enclosure was located.

  “Noel?”

  We were at the top of the garden, and my father was offering me his arm. Forty years old and my father was walking me down the aisle and “giving me away” to the man I’d been living with for a decade. As Dad and I linked arms, another part of my brain splintered off to wonder about marriage customs and rose garden weddings.

  I barely saw my nieces start in with their mismatched groomsman partners, only had a few moments to feel guilty because I hadn’t said so much as hello to those groomsmen, who had come a long way especially for this ceremony. But Bryce and Poppy started off at a fast walk and the others followed quickly. Long before I had collected my scattered thoughts, the music changed and Dad tugged my arm gently.

  Quickly, I leaned over to peck him on the cheek. “Thank you for the flowers,” I whispered. “They’re lovely.”

  I could see the tents a few feet away, next to the rose garden. Those roses that weren’t lining my aisle filled yesterday’s hastily purchased centerpiece vases under the tent’s white canopy. Simple and old-fashioned, they suited the wedding the way Nana’s dress suited me.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  I nodded. But really, my mind was still scattered over half the countryside, planning a memorial service, mentally apologizing to the groomsmen for being out of touch, and wondering how brides in India balanced the amount of gold their families often loaded upon them by way of bridal attire.

  As Dad and I started forward, I took mental note of my own ceremonial clothing. The dress was both old and borrowed, so that covered two old superstitions. My shoes were painfully new and already rubbing a raw spot on my heel to chastise me for failing to break them in ahead of time. And after she had finished braiding my hair, Margie had presented me with a pair of delicate sapphire earrings. I had feared I wouldn’t be able to get them through my holes, since I only wear earrings on occasion. It’s not wise to give primates anything shiny and inviting to snag, especially not something attached to your body. But my piercings had ultimately yielded to poking and opened enough to allow me something blue.

  My father kissed my cheek and looped my arm through Lance’s as the minister said, “Dearly Beloved.”

  Lance whispered, “Your dress is extraordinary. I shall remember to trust your mother on all such decisions in the future.”

  “You mean you’ll let her pick your next wife’s dress?” I asked him sotto voce.

  “I mean I won’t complain when she decides to outfit you when we renew our vows every year from now until eternity.”

  I tried to refocus and concentrate on the wedding, but my distraction level only elevated. To my left, Bryce fidgeted in his tuxedo, then reached around to scratch his butt in front of everyone. Poppy saw it and started to snicker. I knew Marguerite must be squirming. Sorry, Margie, I thought at her. I’m with Poppy. At least he’s scratching the back and not the front.

  We had planned an extremely short wedding, with most of the evening to be devoted to the reception. Lance and I were much more invested in celebration than ceremony. Before I knew it, the minister indicated that we should face each other and exchange vows. He handed me Lance’s ring and said, “Repeat after me.”

  I did so, but I didn’t even really know what I was saying. My voice was on autopilot while my eyes studied my parents’ street. Beyond the rows of parked vehicles, a sleek black car turned down the lane. It was hard to tell from a distance, but it looked like Stan Oeschle’s car.

  Then I slid the ring on Lance’s finger and Lance repeated the same set of motions, unaware that bad news was driving our way behind his back. Because it was Stan’s car. It crept between the lines of parked cars, its driver significantly less deft than Deputy Greene. Gert Oeschle should have been with her husband at the hospital. If she wasn’t, he was dead. Simple. And if she was at the hospital, then who was driving her car? Natasha? She should be at the hospital, too. Bad news either way.

  As the car finally pulled off the street and added itself to the lines in the opposite lawn, the minister said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Then Lance’s face filled my vision, and he kissed me. It was a kiss like the one he had delivered yesterday morning at the sanctuary. His lips pulled at my schismed mind, uniting me in a way the whole ceremony had not done.

  He swept me backwards, and I leaned into his arm, and we kissed and kissed again. I heard nervous titters from the audience, and Poppy’s snicker progressed into a laugh. I suspected most of them believed a middle-aged couple like us should restrain ourselves to a less ostentatious display. If Margie had been squirming before, she must be writhing now. Her own wedding kiss had been a chaste peck, which was appropriate for a couple who had put a chess king and queen on their wedding cake. But my old-fashioned dress didn’t indicate an old-fashioned attitude about romance. Finally, I righted myself, and Lance helped me regain my balance. If I had retained doubts about getting married, that kiss would have eradicated them.

  I pulled him close to me, and we held each other a while longer. While I breathed in the warm smell of his cologne, the laughter faded in the audience. “Honey,” I breathed into his neck, “Art built the enclosure.”

  “What?”

  “I talked to Rick right before I came out. That’s what he’s been trying to call to tell us. That hasn’t all been mall construction we’ve been hearing.”

  “We were right? Are you telling me we have a place to put these orangutans?”

  “Rick’s words exactly. He’s already talked to Christian.”

  Lance pulled back and kissed me again, even less chastely than before, if that was possible. He laughed out loud and turned to face outward with one arm around me. “That’s the best news I could have imagined,” he said.

  Gert or whoever had driven her car did not appear in the field. Someone who had heard Lance whispered to her neighbor, “Is she pregnant? At her age?”

  I withheld my own laughter. Considering Lucy, I thought, No, but pretty soon, with any luck, I’ll be finding out whether it’s a girl or a boy.

  I scanned the yard. I could see the car, but I couldn’t tell if anyone had gotten out of it. So the person was either sitting there doing nothing or else already out and walking over, hidden by the house. On an impulse, I cleared my throat. The groomsmen and bridesmaids, who were supposed to fall in behind Lance and me for the recessional, all stepped back. I scanned the audience, then made eye contact with my sister. “Marguerite, could you come here a minute?”

  She eyed me skeptically, but bound by the tradition of obeying the bride’s wishes (as long as the bride wasn’t delaying her own wedding), she joined us. I turned her around to face everyone and looped our arms together.

  “First of all, I wanted to apologize for making you all wait so long,” I began. “I’m sure you have heard what a stressful couple of days we’v
e had.” I felt Marguerite’s shoulders tense. This was beginning to sound like a speech, and speeches were supposed to be saved for the reception. I squeezed her gently. “I know it’s getting late, and some of you will have to go before dark.” Margie relaxed. If I was doing this for the benefit of the older generation, then she could understand it completely. Whatever it was.

  “I won’t go into the particulars,” I said, “But I will say this. You may have heard that an orangutan was abandoned at the primate sanctuary where Lance and I work. It was actually a pair of orangutans. Before we got here today, Lance and I participated in the safe capture of one of those animals. And a few minutes ago, I learned that we have an enclosure suitable for housing them.” The audience made appropriate sounds. These were our friends and family, after all. They knew how dear we held the sanctuary. Some of them were volunteers. Trudy and Darnell would have been in their number if they hadn’t been taking care of the apes now.

  I heard an old woman’s voice say, “That explains what was happening at the Grocery to Go today.”

  “Because we have been so distracted,” I continued, “not only yesterday and today, but ever since we got engaged really, other people have had to do most of the work for this wedding. A lot of professionals have put their effort into things like the food and the cake. Mama and Nana sewed my gown. You’ll see Daddy’s flowers in the middle of your tables under the tents.” Marguerite had figured out where I was going, and she had started wiggling, trying to escape to one side. I clutched her elbow with my own and held her still.

  “But the vast majority of the work to make this ceremony a success came from the woman standing with me. Margie, you were working from Cleveland with almost no idea what I really wanted, and you made everything perfect. Thank you.”

  I let go, and Marguerite turned to face me. “Thank you,” she said. And when she didn’t say anything else, I realized she was about to cry.

  Beyond her, beyond the house, the door of the familiar black car finally opened, and Gert Oeschle got out. Bad news, then. Surely the worst.