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Authors: Jill Churchill

Tags: #Mystery, #Holiday, #Cozy, #Women Sleuths

A Farewell to Yarns (2 page)

BOOK: A Farewell to Yarns
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T w o

" P h yl l i s W a g n e r wa s f r o m
s o m e w h e r e b a c k
East and had come to Chicago to live with an aunt when she was a teenager. When we were both newlyweds, we were neighbors," Jane said, hanging onto the afghan and trying to work without consciously thinking about it. Surely it was possible. Surely a grown woman who could manage the rococo complexities of carpooling three kids could crochet without talking to herself.

“We lived in a ratty apartment building in the city. Mostly elderly people and students. You know the kind of place. Steve was still in school then, and I was working at one of his family's pharmacies."

“Was Phyllis a student, too?"

“No, Phyllis wasn't the student type. And she didn't work either. Back in those days, if you recall, women weren't expected to, unless it was absolutely necessary. As far as I could tell, she spent her days visiting with other people in the building. She brightened a lot of lives. In the evenings she visited me or we went to movies or something. Steve was studying all the time and hardly noticed that I was gone."

“And Phyllis's husband?"

“She'd o nly married Chet Wagner a fe w months before they moved into the apartment building. He was much older. Phyllis was only nineteen or so, and Chet must have been in his mid-thirties. That seemed downright ancient to me then. Chet was never home either. As I recall, he'd lost everything, including his sons and his business, in a divorce and was starting over. That's why they were slumming it with us. He was involved in starting a company that had something to do with computers."

“Not a bad time to start in computers."

“I'll say. He made an absolute fortune in no time. We all lived there for six months or so, then Steve graduated, and I discovered I was pregnant with Mike, and we started building the house. About the same time we moved out here, Phyllis and Chet moved into a little house in Evanston. The next thing I knew, she'd moved into a bigger house. I was there for lunch one day, and it was a gorgeous place. Phyllis and I kept in touch, but sort of loosely. She didn't have any children, except Chet's boys on vacations, and I think that was sort of difficult. I had Mike just after we moved here, and then Katie came along, and I was knee-deep in babies and diapers and sterilizers. I couldn't fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes and couldn't afford nice new ones to fit into her lifestyle. And you remember what it was like, being so absorbed in your babies that you lost touch with the rest of the world.”

Shelley bullied her way skillfully through a knot of cars and said, "Boy, do I remember those days. It always took three people to cram me into the outfit I took to the hospital to wear home."

“Actually, it wasn't that Phyllis would have cared if I'd turned up in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. I'll say that for her. No matter how much money Chet made, she stayed Phyllis. Fortunately—or unfortunately. She always seemed to think the money was sort of nice but didn't quite know why they needed so much of it. Frankly, it made me jealous sometimes. There we were, struggling for nickels, and Phyllis sort of shed cash like water off a duck. It wasn't her fault, and I didn't blame her, but it did create a barrier between us.

“Anyway, we saw less and less of each other and then talked on the phone less often, and finally, when Katie was a baby, Phyllis had some sort of breakdown. I never knew quite why—we weren't ever really close enough to talk about gut-level stuff. I never thought Phyllis
had
a gut level, to be honest. She was such a simple, straightforward person. Chet took her on some sort of cruise to recover, and the next time I heard from her, it was in a letter telling me they'd stayed on a little island in the Caribbean that they loved so much that Chet bought it."

“Bought the whole island?"

“Well, most of it, I think. There was a resort hotel and a little village where the hotel workers lived, but they owned the rest, as I understand. I got the impression from her later letters that they eventually bought the hotel as well and put up a few houses for friends and business associates of Chet's."

“An island in the Caribbean and she comes to Illinois in December? Is she crazy?"

“Homesick, I suspect. I don't know why, after all these years, she'd be so anxious to come back, but she is. We write long letters at Christmas and send the occasional birthday card, but that's all. Or it was until last winter. Somehow she heard about Steve dying—"

“From that distance? Not to speak ill of the dead, but Steve's passing was hardly an international event.”

Jane smiled. Most of her acquaintances went miles out of their way to avoid mentioning Steve and would never refer to his death. Only a true friend like Shelley would speak casually, even lightly, about it. Life, not to mention conversa tion, was so much easier with a real friend.

“I don't know how she knew. I suspect she's always taken the Chicago papers, though, because in her letters she frequently mentions local events as if she's familiar with them. She may do it for the sake of Chet's sons. One of them lives somewhere close to us, or used to. She mentioned him a couple times, and I suppose she hoped I'd make an effort to meet him, but I never did. You don't know any Wagners in the neighborhood, do you?"

“Hmmm, there's a Joannie Wagner with a fourth grader. I worked at the school carnival with her."

“That sounds familiar. Anyway, Phyllis called immediately after Steve died and offered tocome stay with me, since my mother was having that surgery and couldn't be here."

“Oh, I think I do remember you mentioning her. I think I answered the phone that day."

“Could be. Of course, I had you and Steve's mother, Thelma, and didn't need her—

didn't even want her, to be truthful. Phyllis was really a virtual stranger to me by that time. But a month or so later, when I was getting back to being able to think and talk a little, she called again and asked if I'd like to bring the children down to their island for a visit. I begged off, and I must have inadvertently given the impression that I couldn't afford to go. Not that I could have afforded it, but that wasn't the reason. So in the next mail there was a registered letter containing four plane tickets."

“You never mentioned that to me! Why didn't you go?"

“I didn't tell you, because I was afraid you'd make me go. I couldn't pull myself together and figure out what to do about the dog and the cats and clothes and stopping the paper. You know what a zombie I was for a while. Besides, I —we l l , I j us t d id n't wa nt to sp rea d my gri e f around. The only place I felt I could heal was at home.”

Shelley nodded her understanding.

“I sent the tickets back with the gooiest thank-you I could write," Jane went on. "She returned a heart-breakingly sweet letter, very understanding, saying how she'd been selfish to try to get me there, but she'd missed me so much all those years. Of course, I had to write and offer to have her visit here after all she'd done, or tried to do for me. To my astonishment, she took me up on it. Not then, but she said she'd like to visit this winter. So, here we are, picking her up. I don't know why she's not visiting Chet's son and his Joannie instead of me. I don't think they're close, but she'd never indicated that they don't get along. Although, as boys, when she and Chet were first married, his sons gave her trouble. One of them—John, I think his name was—was especially close to his father."

“So what's Phyllis like? Will she be fun or intolerable?”

Jane had the crochet hook in her teeth as she rewound the yarn. She took it out and tapped her knee reflectively. "Just boring, I would guess. She's very nice. Very, very nice. She's the kind of person you absolutely cannot dislike. But it's equally impossible to be crazy about her, and that's always made me feel a little guilty. I feel I
ought
to like her much better than I do. She's a truly good person who deserves the kind of friendship you and I have. I feel obligated, but unwilling, to provide it. She's rather quiet. I remember her as a sort of country girl come to the city, even though she grew up in Boston or Washington or someplace. She had that sort of wide-eyed, half-scared, half-thrilled look most of the time."

“Certainly she's outgrown that by now. I don't think I could stand dewy innocence," Shelley said. "Why is she coming without her husband? Doing a little Christmas shopping or something?"

“Probably so. She's coming by way of New York; I guess she was there for a few days. She'sprobably dropped a couple million already. But I do find this trip odd. She and Chet have always been inseparable. In her last letter there was the merest hint of trouble in paradise. I'd hate to see her marriage go bad. She doesn't deserve that kind of unhappiness and—I guess it's selfish of me, but I don't think I could stand hours of talk about a disintegrating marriage."

“And you think it is? Disintegrating?"

“I hope not."

“How long is she staying?"

“She didn't say. I imagine two or three days. Well, we can get her busy on the bazaar. She'll like that, unless she's changed a lot. She was always making some little ornamental something. She's another of those damned born knitters, and she's the only person I've ever met of our generation who knows how to do tatting."

“Tatting! I thought it was a lost art.

“The year we lived in the apartment she made Christmas tree ornaments for everybody in the building with styrofoam balls and sequins with all this starched, tatted lace. Sounds tacky, but they were beautiful. All those lonely old people in the building were very touched. So was I. I still have mine."

“Then she'll fit right in with the church bazaar crowd. They'll think you imported her especially for their use.

Jane was quiet for a moment. They were approaching the airport, and the sky was full of planes. "Say—the bazaar reminds me of something else. Phyllis was madly in love with Richie Divine. She'll be interested in meeting Fiona —the famous widow. Phyllis has a scrapbook of her favorite stars and another one just for Richie. I thought that wa s strange, b ut sort of endearing, that a grown—well, married woman would keep fan scrapbooks.”

Shelley didn't say anything, just rolled her eyes. Jane looked sideways at her, and added,

"She also did jigsaw puzzles, pictures of pup pies and kittens, and poured glue over them so she could hang them up on the walls."

“Good God, Jane! You can't mean that!" Jane giggled. "No, I just wanted to see if you were paying attention."

“What terminal are we going to?" Shelley asked repressively.

“Damn it, Shelley! I've crocheted the door handle into my afghan!”

Jane didn't recognize the slim, expensively dressed woman who waved at her as she moved forward with the crowd at the arrivals gate. "Is that her?" Shelley asked.

“I guess it must be," Jane said through the side of her mouth. She glanced around to see if perhaps the woman was gesturing to someone standing behind her. But no one was reacting. Jane assumed a smile that was welcoming but not committed enough to embarrass her if this wasn't Phyllis.

The crowd got backed up behind a little girl who had tripped and was screaming bloody murder. Jane had time to study the woman she assumed was little Phyllis all grown up and rich. The Phyllis she remembered had mousy brown hair and an air of perpetual disarray just short of sloppiness. This woman was exquisite;expensively frosted hair swirled around a face that could have graced a magazine cover. This was the sort of beautiful, mature woman who was shown in the high fashion fur ads in magazines Jane flipped through at the bookstore but couldn't afford to buy. Tanned. Gorgeous teeth. Gorgeous teeth? Phyllis had disgraceful teeth back in the old Chicago apartment days. It was the one real drawback to her appearance. As Jane watched, the woman turned to a young man standing slightly behind her. She said something and pointed to Jane. The young man, blond, tanned, smashingly handsome, and unquestionably the most sulky individual in the whole airport, glared.

“Who is that with her?" Shelley asked.

“Dear God! I hope it's somebody she met on the plane," Jane said. She could feel her plaster smile crumbling.

“He couldn't be one of her husband's sons, could he?" Shelley asked.

“Too young. They'd be in their late twenties. That one's not more than eighteen or nineteen. He's probably some flunky of Chet's who was sent along to see her on and off planes.”

The woman who might be Phyllis had shifted her carry-on case and several lumpy plastic bags to her left arm and slipped her right arm around the boy in a clearly intimate gesture. He looked like he was straining to get away.

Shelley asked, "You don't suppose he's her lover, do you?"

“Bite your tongue! I've got underwear older than that boy!"

“Well, he's not somebody she picked up on the plane. Look, their hand luggage matches."

“Oh, shit!" Jane said, hissing. "Am I going to have a middle-aged woman cavorting around my house with her gigolo? Oh, Shelley—what will I do? How could she? He's just a kid. How mortifying. How will I explain it to my kids?"

“You won't have to. They'll catch on right away."

“Don't say that! That's what I'm afraid of.”

“Then don't call her middle-aged. She's our age.”

Jane suddenly felt a wave of sympathetic understanding for the little girl who had tied up traffic and was now sitting, screaming, and kicking her heels on the floor. It was just what Jane wanted to do herself.

Three

Somebody picked up the screaming child, cut ti ng o ff i t s wa i l s . T he cro wd s ur ged for ward. "Jane! Darling Jane!" Phyllis cried, dragging the young man behind her as she fought through the people blocking her. Jane found herself being embraced, her nose tickled by mink and Phyllis's scent—that of very new hundred-dollar bills dipped in Giorgio. One of Phyllis's plastic bags was caught between them, and Jane was being gouged by something that felt like a knitting needle.

“You haven't changed a bit!" Phyllis said, holding Jane by both arms and studying her.

“Yo u have," J ane b lurted o ut, no t sur e whether to be flattered or insulted by Phyllis's remark. Jane had hoped that maturity would have improved her.

BOOK: A Farewell to Yarns
3.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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