Half Past Mourning (15 page)

“Crusty old codger, isn’t he?” Peter said in a low tone as the sheriff stormed out of the office and out of sight.

“Slow to get started, but a bulldog if he thinks he’s caught somebody in a lie,” she answered.

“Look, sweetheart, I know you’re knotted up inside from all of this. The trip to Barlow seems to have created more questions than answers. The sheriff won’t need to talk to you for a while, if at all. How about lunch? A quiet drive along the river? A break from the case of Danny Wilson for a few hours?”

Nina felt the weight of the last few days pull at her. Weary beyond measure, disillusioned and dispirited, she couldn’t summon the energy to deal with any of Peter’s suggestions. She shook her head and sighed. “You’re sweet to suggest it, Peter, but I don’t think I’d be decent company for a polecat, much less a good friend. Thanks anyway. I’ll go home and talk to Sinbad. His life is much less complicated than mine.”

She could sense Peter’s reluctance to accept her choice. He rested his long fingers on her shoulders, his grey eyes darker in the afternoon shade. “Listen, you, you’re a pretty important person to a bunch of fourth graders and to a man whose life is lived from a wheelchair and to a stodgy professor who has just discovered how much fun life can be. So go home, talk to that fleabag cat if it will help, and let everything go for a while. You’ll probably hear from the sheriff soon. He may solve this whole mystery for you, once he wrings Mrs. Marigold Wilson out like a wet towel. I hope so. Whatever comes of the visit to the Wilson household, I’ll be at your door at seven this evening. You put on a pretty dress, powder your nose, and decide where we’re having dinner.”

In a way, his high-handed approach was a relief to Nina, but at the same time she wondered where he thought he’d been given the right to take it. She brushed his words aside.

“No, no, I don’t think so, Peter. If the sheriff does come by, no matter what answers he brings, I don’t think I’ll be any better company for dinner than I would be for lunch. Let’s talk later in the week, after we see if anything new comes to light.”

Barely finished with her refusal, Nina found herself wrapped in Peter’s arms, her head tucked against his shoulder as if he thought it belonged there.

“No dice, Miss Kirkland, you don’t brush me off that easily.” His long fingers were gentle as they stroked her hair back. “Nina, you’ve been running on sheer willpower since I met you in the college parking lot. I know you’re not sleeping. The dark circles under your eyes tell me that. And I don’t think you’re eating. This thing with Danny has taken over your life, and it’s draining all the joy, all the ‘Nina-ness’ out of you. You aren’t looking after yourself, sweetheart. Let me look after you a little bit, will you? You’re pretty special, you know? Who will pitch the fourth grade softball game if you make yourself sick?”

The half-teasing, half-cajoling tone in his voice reached down to Nina’s tired and battered soul. She felt safe, sheltered in the curve of his arms. Her head, suddenly heavy as a windblown daisy, rested with ease against his wide shoulder. She drew a long breath and released it.

“You win,” she murmured. “Dinner at seven.” It might have been her imagination, too stressed by the uncertainty that held her, but she thought she felt the brush of Peter’s lips against her hair. She knew the steady beat of his heart and the haven of his embrace were tempting, far too tempting in her present state of mind, but for a moment she couldn’t move.

He tilted her chin up a little so she could look into his eyes. “See,” he whispered, “it really isn’t hard to let someone be a friend. You just have to stop running for a moment, darling.”

This time she was sure. His lips did brush her forehead. Then he stepped back, held the car door for her to slide in, and moved away so she could pull the woody out of its parking place.

Through the window she saw him mouth the words, “Dinner, seven o’clock.”

****

“Telegrams?” Peter’s bewildered expression mirrored Nina’s feelings when Sheriff Hayes told her the result of his visit with Marigold.

“Telegrams, about one a month, and extras at Christmas and birthdays. That’s how Marigold’s been hearing from Danny.” Nina rolled a shoulder and tried to stretch to ease the tightness in her neck. “As unsatisfactory as that sort of communication has to be, I guess if it keeps Danny away from me, she’s willing to go along with it.”

“Telegrams,” he said again, shaking his head, but Nina heard doubt as well as exasperation in his tone. He put a casual hand on her bare shoulder. “So the sheriff’s trying to trace Danny by using the telegrams as a guide?”

Wishing she could just close out everything, sit back in her chair and listen to the breeze, Nina cupped her hands over her eyes. “Something like that,” she said at last and rubbed her eyelids like a fretful child. “I don’t know, he’s talking about checking with the police in Florida, and getting with the law firm in Dallas, and...” Her voice trailed off.

Her hands still covered her eyes, so she didn’t see Peter move behind her, but she felt his presence. His hands, warm, gentle but firm, settled on her bare shoulders. With kneading, circular pressure his long fingers began to loosen and ease the tightness in her neck. “Mmmmm,” she murmured feeling her muscles release their tension. “You could do that all evening and I wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re so tense you could bounce quarters along your spine, sweetheart.” As Peter continued his efforts, Nina felt the stiffness relax, the weariness fade. “Better now?”

Forcing her eyes to open, Nina sighed. “So much better, thanks.”

“Ready for dinner?” Peter held out his hand, and she took it as she forced herself to rise from the comfort of her chair. “There’s a little Italian place near the San Felipe campus that’s pretty good. And with school being out, we shouldn’t have to compete with the students for a table. Sound okay?”

For the first time in several weeks, food actually appealed to Nina. “Italian? I’d love it. Sounds wonderful.”

The restaurant, tiny, family owned, and off a side street behind the campus, wasn’t much to look at. The tables were mismatched, the lighting dim, but the aroma in the air was intoxicating. Nina and Peter were welcomed by an apron-draped elderly man who quickly settled them at a corner table, lit the candle in its raffia-covered wine bottle, and scurried off into the depths of the kitchen.

“We don’t order,” Peter explained. “Papa will bring out whatever Mama decided to cook tonight, and it will be marvelous.”

As Peter predicted, the lasagna was wonderful. Nina mopped up the last of the sauce with her final bite of crusty garlic bread and sighed in satisfaction. “I don’t think I could swallow another crumb. My compliments to the cook. And how did you find this place? I’ve been on the campus any number of times, and I never heard a word about an Italian restaurant nearby.”

“Faculty secret.” Peter chuckled. “I wouldn’t know about it if my landlord hadn’t told me. He’s on the faculty at San Felipe, too, and he sort of took me under his wing when I came. Brought me to dinner here the first night I was in town. I’m in here at least a couple of times a week.”

Nina started to answer, but her attention was drawn to another couple coming into the dim room. At first she wasn’t certain, but as the couple drew closer, Nina saw the woman was her friend from school, Paula King.
That must be the man she’s going to marry.
Nina took a second look at the man, an attractive man in his mid to late forties, she thought, and wondered again if Paula, who was not yet thirty, would be happy with a man so much older. Paula turned, and as she did, Nina could see Paula had recognized her, as well. She said something to her companion and sidled through the tables to greet Nina. Her floating white chiffon skirts brushed the tablecloths and rustled past the chairs, while her gleaming blonde hair caught the light from the candles along the way.
She’s so beautiful, in the true, classic sense.
Nina couldn’t help contrasting her own yellow-print sundress and wayward curls to Paula’s pale gold-and-white sophistication.

“Nina, I’ve been trying to get by to see you for a couple of days,” Paula said. Nina heard stress and a degree of intensity in her friend’s tone.

“I’ve been gone, in and out,” she answered. “Did you need something?”

“Any word of Danny? I thought maybe you’d heard something.” Paula bit down on her lower lip, her eyes not quite meeting Nina’s.

“Nothing, really,” Nina told her. She waited, trying to pinpoint the sense of disquiet, almost apprehension, that shrouded Paula.

“Look, can I join you for a second? There’s ...something...there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” Paula began. Peter pulled a chair from the table nearby and seated her. Paula seemed to search for words and finally blurted out, “You may never speak to me again, but I have to get this out in the open.” She picked up a napkin, folding and refolding it. “I don’t want to, but Barry...” She gestured to the man sitting at the table across the room. “That’s Barry, my fiancé.” Nina glanced at him, and the man nodded. “Barry said I have to do this. He’s right. I feel so guilty, and I just can’t go on that way. Sometimes I think I’ll choke with it.”

Bewildered by Paula’s rambling and concerned for the agitation she displayed, Nina put out a hand. “I’m sure there’s nothing you need to be so worried about. Why did you want to talk to me?”

Paula picked at a loose thread in the napkin. “I’m the woman, Nina.” She looked up, her china-blue eyes swimming in unshed tears, then ducked her head. “I’m the one.”

Nina put her hand over Paula’s. “What woman, Paula? I don’t understand.”

Paula’s face flushed deep red, and her eyes looked anywhere but at Nina. “The woman with Danny, Nina. I was going away with him.” She drew a breath and then went on in a rush as if she had to say her piece before she lost her nerve. “Danny and I were seeing each other. It started right after Fred and I broke up. At first Danny was just being a good friend, you know, concerned and trying to cheer me up. I went to some of the car events, met him there, when you couldn’t go. One thing led to another and then...then somehow we were more than friends. We, we just couldn’t stay away from each other. So he had it all worked out. To keep our secret, he’d go along with the wedding plans, then tell you it was off, a day or so before the wedding. Give you some excuse about not being a burden to you all your life, his health or something, so it wouldn’t bring me into it. We’d slip out of town together. With Marigold so caught up in trying to break up your wedding, she’d never realize what was really happening till it was too late. We’d fixed the time as the day before your wedding. I was suddenly to come down with something, something bad like pneumonia, so nobody would expect me at the wedding, and Danny would tell you he was calling it off. Then he’d meet me, and we’d head out of town. He told Marigold the wedding was off, he went to tell you, and I was waiting at home for him to come over after that. He never did. I sat up all night, and he never showed.”

Nina gripped the edge of the table, trying to take in all Paula was telling her. Her mind refused to accept it. Paula and Danny? No, not even possible, not her best friend and Danny.

Paula gripped Nina’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Nina, so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I was out of my mind. Couldn’t face the idea that Fred had up and left me. And there you were, wide-eyed in love, with no idea of the kind of man Danny Wilson really was. I knew what he was, but I didn’t care. He’d get me away from here, where everyone knew I’d been jilted. And he had all that money. We’d travel, he said, see the world. Never come back to Santa Rita or see Marigold or anyone here again. But he didn’t come for me. And then he was gone—gone but not with me.”

“He never came because he was at the church with me.” Nina felt the clouds of confusion closing around her. “And he made the same promises, in almost the same words, to me.”

Paula twisted the napkin between her fingers. “I don’t understand, Nina. I never did. Why did he go through with the wedding? He said he didn’t love you. Swore I was the girl he’d always wanted.”

Did I ever really know this woman? I know Danny fooled me. Now Paula, too? Can I believe anybody?
Paula had been her friend, an ally, a confidante. Nina buried her face in her hands. She could barely breathe through the fresh pain sweeping through her. Betrayed again!

“Nina,” Paula’s voice was barely a whisper, “Nina, can you forgive me?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, the icy calm of her voice denying the misery gripping her. “I just don’t know, Paula, but right now I can’t deal with it.” She looked into Paula’s pale, troubled face. “The sheriff is determined to locate Danny. When he does...”

Paula interrupted. “When, or if, he does”—she straightened to face Nina—“I hope you’re able to see what he really is. Danny wasn’t worth your love, Nina, or mine either. And what I had with him wasn’t worth losing your regard and friendship. Barry’s helped me to see the real value of self-respect and integrity. Whether you can forgive me or not, I’ll have a hard time forgiving myself.” The unshed tears finally trickled down Paula’s cheeks, though she brushed them away with an impatient hand. “I knew telling you was going to be tough.” She swallowed hard. “But Barry made me see that I might have information that could help. I did see Danny the afternoon before your wedding. We talked, and then he went off to have dinner with you. I expected him back before midnight, but...”

Too much pain flooded Nina for her to see how Paula’s story could help. One more woman had thought she held Danny Wilson’s heart, only to find she’d been misled by his boyish charm and honeyed lies.

“Paula,” she began, but words failed her. She pulled away from the woman’s touch. “I...I don’t know what to say. I keep learning things that describe a man I didn’t know. I guess, in some way, I can see how it happened.” She tried to keep the quaver out of her voice. “I said I wanted to hear the truth, but now I don’t know if I do. Maybe ignorance is bliss, in some cases.”