The Double Wedding Ring

by Clare O'Donohue

  “I heard Roger didn’t want the divorce.”

  “He would have done anything to make her happy. And now Ken. It’s just sad,” she said. “On the other hand, a burned-out cop and a broken-down ex-lawyer are not exactly great catches.”

  “Especially for an attractive woman with a successful interior design business.”

  “What fairy tale has she been feeding you?”

  “It’s not successful?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not even sure it exists.”

  Before I had a chance to ask more questions, her husband pulled her away. Anna and Ken might have used her business as cover for an affair, or maybe Anna was just a lousy businesswoman. Either way, she was a liar.

  Ken came walking toward me, and for a moment I thought he was going to attack, but he brushed past, whispered an obscenity under his breath, and kept moving. More out of instinct than any plan, I followed him.

  When he grabbed his coat, I grabbed mine and together we walked outside into what had to be the coldest night of the win-

  ter yet.

  “You smoke, too?” He looked at me with confusion.

  “No. I just needed a break from Anna.”

  He snickered. “She’s all over your boyfriend. I’d do something about that if I were you.”

  “It looked to me like she was trying to make you jealous.”

  “Really?” He sounded optimistic, which made me feel slightly sorry for him. “She knows how to play a guy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s just . . .” He shrugged. “She’s a good woman underneath all that. She just likes attention. She used to wrap Roger around her finger, I’ll tell you that.”

  “He would have done anything for her,” I said, repeating what the cop’s wife had told me.

  “So would I.” It was an unexpected admission, almost as if Ken was in competition with the dead man, and determined to win.

  “You invested in her business,” I said. “I’m sure Roger wouldn’t do that.”

  “The guy was a fool.”

  “Because he didn’t help her? Couldn’t help her start the interior design firm?”

  He took a drag of his cigarette. “Because he’s in a casket with a hole in his head.”

  He looked about to head back inside, but I wasn’t done yet. “Can I ask you something?”

  He stiffened. “What?”

  “Jesse’s daughter is into magic. And you mentioned that you are, too.”

  At that his posture relaxed. “A good hobby for a kid. What do you need?”

  “She was telling me about how you get the audience to look one way when you’re doing a trick.”

  “Misdirection.”

  “Right. Misdirection. She was telling me that real magicians can set off pops or flashes that will make people look away. And in that second or two that their eyes are elsewhere, he does his trick. Is there something I can buy for her to help her do that, even from a distance?”

  He blinked, and blinked again. And then he stared at me. I felt sure he knew why I was asking, but his voice was steady. “It’s a professional’s thing, to do that from a distance, to make a pop. But, you know, a mirror, the right angle, and, say, a flashlight. It would do in a pinch.” He threw his cigarette on the ground and stared at me again. “Glad to hear Jesse’s kid is into magic. It’s a great hobby,” he repeated.

  Then he opened the door to the funeral home and gestured for me to go in first.

  “I guess we should see if we’re still in relationships,” he said with an edge.

  Jesse was still standing where I’d last seen him. And to his credit he seemed completely unaware that he was in a lover’s triangle. While Anna leaned on his shoulder or put her arm around his waist, he stood almost motionless, staring into Roger’s casket. It broke my heart to see him so sad.

  “Hey,” I whispered to him. “Come with me for a second.”

  Anna let her arm drop to her side. “I’m monopolizing him. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling tonight.”

  Jesse followed me from the room into a large hallway. We sat at a bench and held hands. “Are you going back tonight?” he asked.

  “I can stay, if you want me to.”

  He let out a long breath. “I want you to. This is harder than I thought. Seeing everyone and remembering Roger. He made mistakes, but he was a good man. He deserved this,” he said, motioning toward the large group that was mingling at the funeral home. “He would have liked to know that all these people showed up for him, to honor his service. He was a great cop. Best on the force.”

  This wasn’t the time to contradict that, I told myself. “I’m here, whatever you need.”

  Jesse rested his head against mine. “Promise me you won’t leave my side.”

  “I promise.”

  Then my phone rang. As I listened to the frantic voice on the other end, I knew I would break that promise.

  “Jesse,” I said. “I have to go. Now.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Jesse lent me his car so I didn’t have to figure out a train schedule or wait for a car service. He wanted to come with me, but Roger was his friend. He needed to be at the wake and funeral. He needed the support of his old police buddies as they remembered the Roger they wanted him to be, instead of the Roger he seemed to have become.

  When Jesse and I sat on that bench and talked, I realized that he knew. That he had known all along. He saw that Roger was a corrupt cop, or had become one. That was the reason for the fight after Lizzie’s death, the reason they hadn’t spoken. Like everyone else, Jesse must have suspected that Marshall had taken the money, even if it couldn’t be proven. And that Roger—the cop who’d backed Marshall’s story—had been his partner in the crime. It was only Roger’s reputation as a stand-up guy that had kept the suspicion off him. And while Jesse hadn’t brought his doubts to anyone, he severed ties with Roger.

  In the end, though, friendship was stronger than disappointment. When Jesse saw the card for C. G. Kruger, he kept it out of evidence for one simple reason—to protect the reputation of an old friend and give him the send-off he deserved. Would he now go full force after his killer, or would he rather Roger’s memory be intact and his killer free? That I didn’t know.

  And I also didn’t know why Roger was at Jesse’s house that night, or what the payments from Jesse’s account meant. But those were questions for another time.

  I was lucky that the highway wasn’t crowded as I made my way north. I was trying to stay within the speed limit, trying to stay calm, but my mother’s voice kept replaying in my mind.

  “Oliver’s at the emergency room. Looks like a heart attack. Come quickly.”

  “I’m almost there,” I said to myself as I reached the exit for Archers Rest.

  I found my parents in the waiting room, looking tense. The quilt group was there, as were Kennette and Greg, and Oliver’s daughter, Jane.

  “Hey, Nell.” Kennette hugged me. She had her usual mix-match of plaids and stripes, polka dots and flowers. I realized quickly how much I had missed her.

  “I wish we were seeing each other somewhere else.”

  “He’ll be okay,” she said. “I know it.”

  I nodded, holding back tears. “Where’s Grandma?”

  “Talking to the doctor,” my dad said. “Oliver was at the house. We were all having some wine and getting to know his family. Everything was fine. And then Oliver said he had a pain in his chest.”

  My mother jumped in. “He said it had been there on and off throughout the day, but he hadn’t wanted to worry anyone.” Like me, she was doing her best not to cry. “Poor Mom. If something happens to him . . .”

  “It won’t.” Maggie had the same certainty as Kennette.

  “It’s my fault,” I a
dmitted. “Oliver wasn’t well Saturday and he didn’t want Eleanor to know. He said it was his stomach, but I didn’t . . .” I felt stupid and careless. I’d wanted to believe that everything was fine. It was selfish of me. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”

  I sat down next to my mom, who put her arm around me. “You’re not in charge of anyone else’s choices, Nell. If Oliver felt sick then he should have done something himself. If he said it was his stomach, then how could you know it was his heart?”

  She was letting me off the hook, but it seemed like a cop-out. I felt suddenly like a child who couldn’t be trusted with adult things. I wanted to burst into tears, but that felt selfish, too, so I sat there and prayed he’d be okay.

  Eleanor came walking down the hall toward us, looking frail for the first time in my entire life. “They’ve admitted him. They’re doing tests. The doctor said it doesn’t look like he’s had a heart attack, that it could be something else. He won’t tell me.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know,” I suggested.

  She nodded. “I have a list of things I need from the house. Who can get them for me?”

  Greg jumped up. He took the list and Grandma’s house keys and headed out. Carrie and Natalie went to get something better than hospital food for the group. The rest of us just waited.

  Within a half hour, Greg returned with a large brown paper bag filled with the items Eleanor had asked for. Carrie and Natalie had gotten sandwiches, pastries, and coffee from Jitters, and we all began to eat to distract ourselves from the worry.

  Eleanor ignored the food, but she clung to the paper bag. When the doctor said it was okay for her to see Oliver, she got up and held the bag close. “Come with me, Nell,” she said. Her voice was weak and scared.

  We walked down the hall together in silence. When we got to Oliver’s room, she paused, took a deep breath, and went inside. “Hey, there,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “I’d say my chicken dinner was ruined.”

  He smiled but seemed too tired to laugh. Pain medication, Eleanor told me. She put the bag on the floor and took out one item: a large quilt of squares and half-square triangles. It was colorful and bright, made entirely of scraps left over from other projects. She covered Oliver’s bed in the quilt, tucking him in as she went.

  “I started this quilt after I met you,” she said. “And I can look at the blocks and remember the day I sewed this one or that. There are lots of memories of you in it.”

  “That’s lovely,” he said weakly.

  “I’ll bet you didn’t know that when you lay under a quilt, especially when you’re sick, you feel the love of the person who made it, wrapping around you and keeping you safe.”

  He nodded. “I’m going to marry you on Saturday, Eleanor.”

  Her eyes were watery, but she held her voice firm. “Yes, you are.”

  Oliver closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. Eleanor took out the other items—a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and one of the encyclopedias he had brought to her house—and left them on the chair.

  “You need to go home, have a cup of tea, and get some rest,” I said.

  “Maybe I’ll stay just a little while longer.”

  “Then I’ll stay, too.”

  We all stayed. We sat in the waiting room with my parents, Oliver’s family, and the quilt group. We assured each other about his condition and caught up on Kennette’s adventures in London.

  When the conversation lulled and it was clear that Eleanor had begun to let her mind drift back to her worries, Susanne found a new topic. “Did you hear that there’s a new method for dyeing your fabrics?”

  “Really?” Carrie said. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From Mary Shipman. She’s started dying fabrics now and making her own clothes.”

  My mother’s ears perked up. “Isn’t she the lady who lives in that hideous brown house?”

  “She is,” I confirmed. “But the house isn’t brown anymore. She’s painted it to look tie-dyed in shades of blue and orange.”

  My mother laughed. And then everyone jumped in, eating cookies, talking about fabrics, and sharing news about the folks in town. Even Eleanor stuck her two cents in about all the new embellishments out there, and the ways they could be used on clothes and furniture. And when she was done talking, she ate her sandwich.

  After so many failed attempts to get together as a group, we were having a quilt meeting. It was in a hospital, and we had lots of first timers, but it was a quilt meeting, and it felt comforting and familiar to be there.

  CHAPTER 47

  Eleanor had left for the hospital before I woke up. I lingered in bed thinking. Everything that had been important yesterday—finding Roger’s killer, deciding on whether to keep Someday, even what would happen with Jesse and me—paled in comparison to making sure that Oliver and Eleanor walked down the aisle in three days . . . and then had years together as husband and wife.

  My dad was out walking Barney when I finally got up, but my mom was on the couch reading the paper, with Patch snuggled on her lap.

  “Any word?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” she said. “Are you going back to Queens for the funeral?”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t get there in time, and Jesse said he’d come back right after.”

  “Is everything okay with you two?”

  “Now you care?”

  She looked at me. “I just want you to be happy. I want you and Grandma to be with the men you love.” She sighed. “I feel like I’ve missed a lot this last year. You two have gotten so close and I’ve been so far away, so unavailable to you.”

  “That’s my fault, too. I’ve been protecting you from my extracurricular activities.”

  “How’s that going . . . finding the killer?”

  “Frankly, it could be one of several people. They’re all kind of awful, and Roger himself turned out not to be a great guy. If the killer hadn’t also shot up Main Street, I might actually be tempted to just let it go.”

  “So what do you do now?”

  “After everything settles down, I’ll tell Jesse what I’ve learned and hopefully he’ll put it together with what he’s learned and maybe we’ll get the killer.”

  “Everything will settle down.” My mother patted my hand. “When Oliver’s out of the hospital and he and Mom have started their life together, you can start making decisions about your future; about Jesse and Allie, the shop, and your pattern company; and about staying in Archers Rest.”

  I took a deep breath. “I love Jesse. And I love Allie. I don’t want to lose either of them from my life. I just think maybe I’ll always be in second place. I don’t want to wipe out Lizzie’s memory. I just don’t want to have to compete with it.”

  “And the shop?”

  “I’ve been a part-time employee. Grandma has run the place. I help and I’ve had lots of ideas that she’s implemented, but doing it by myself? I don’t know,” I said. “Natalie has a baby and a toddler. Plus she’s now got that longarm quilting business that she runs out of the shop when we’re slow. I don’t see how she can work any more hours than she already does.”

  “And there’s no one else to help?”

  “Not unless you and Dad want to give up Malaysia.”

  She smiled. “I was a terrible employee the first time I worked at Someday. I doubt I’d be much good now. Barney would make a better worker than I would.”

  We laughed, and woke up the cat.

  “So you have no idea what you’re going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m going to see Oliver.” It was the only plan that made sense.

  “You can go upstairs to Room 413,” the woman at the front desk told me. “He’s been transferred there.”

  I took the elevator to the fourth floor. I hadn’t heard from Eleanor, and of course the woman at the help desk didn’t have any i
nformation on his condition. When I got to the right room, I crossed my fingers, said a quick prayer, and entered.

  “Hey there, Granddaughter!” Oliver was sitting up, reading the encyclopedia Greg had brought the night before. Eleanor sat by his bed, working on some hand piecing. “Just in time to see me finish the letter Z. It’s quite an accomplishment. I said I couldn’t die until I did it.”

  “Oliver!” my grandmother exclaimed.

  “It doesn’t mean I have to die right away.” He laughed.

  I came into the room and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re in good spirits.”

  “I’m in more than that. I’m in good health. It was indigestion, just like I thought,” he said.

  “A little more than that,” Eleanor jumped in.

  “The doctor gave it a fancy name. The pain that felt like it was coming from my heart was actually coming from my esophagus. Nothing to worry about apparently. Just some medicine, a bit of a change in diet, and I’m right as rain.”

  “So why are you still in the hospital?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, an old man with chest pains gets almost as much attention from doctors as a pretty young girl gets from, well, everyone.” He smiled. “I’ll be out this afternoon. I got lucky, Nell. I’ve got more precious time with my love. And I don’t intend to waste a minute of it.”

  “So the wedding is on for Saturday?”

  “Just as planned.”

  “Then I have work to do,” I said. “I’ll see you later, Grandma . . . and Grandpa.”

  “I do like the sound of that,” he said.

  As I walked out of the room, I nearly bumped into another visitor, a man with a big bouquet of balloons and a to-go cup.

  “Geez,” I said. “I’m not paying attention. I almost spilled your coffee.”

  “Tea, actually. And my fault. I guess we’re both in a hurry.”

  As he headed off toward one of the rooms, I watched him. Tea. It nagged at me and I didn’t know why.