Steps to the Altar (11 page)

“Tell me about Maple Bennett Sullivan,” I said.

Her face froze, her bottom lip, painted the same cotton candy pink as her nails, narrow to a thin, bright slit. “Why?”

“I’m cataloging her trunks for the historical society. They couldn’t get anyone else to do it because of, well, you know . . . her alleged crime. I figured you were around back then and I wondered if you’d heard about it.”

She closed one dark brown eye, as if readying to shoot a rifle. “Alleged crime, my aunt Sadie. Of course I heard about it. She killed her sweet husband in cold blood, shot him in the head and ran away with her lover. What else do you need to know?”

“It was never proved that she actually did it,” I said, still not understanding why I felt so protective of this woman whom I actually knew nothing about. Maybe if I did find out more about her, I’d be as convinced of her guilt as everyone else.

“My girl, who else would have done it? Garvey Sullivan was one of the most respected and loved men in this county. Didn’t have one single enemy far as I know. And the man that Maple Sullivan was spooning with was gone same time as her. Neither were ever heard from again. His best friend and his wife. What an old, sad story.” She closed her eyes briefly and shook his head.

“The man she supposedly had an affair with was Garvey Sullivan’s best friend?” Edna hadn’t told me
that.
Their life was beginning to sound like one of those afternoon talk shows . . . or a soap opera.

“Name was Mitchell Warner. We called him Mitch.”

I stared at her. “As in the sporting goods store Warners?” The Warner family had owned a sporting goods store downtown for over sixty years. They were a prominent local family who spanned five generations. One of the Warner boys, Frankie, was my age. He and I danced to every song at our junior high school graduation dance. He’d gone into the Navy after high school, become a SEAL, then after ten years decided to join the family business. Last I heard, he worked at one of their new stores up in Paso Robles.

“That’s the ones. Mitch was Micah’s younger brother.”

“Micah’s the oldest, right?” Micah was Frankie’s father.

“Yep, he’s still going strong too, I hear. Works at the store in Paso Robles twice a week. Turned eighty-seven last month. Mitch was ten years younger than him. There was six of them, all boys. Mitch was the baby, which is probably why he stole someone’s wife.”

I protested her cock-eyed psychology. “Wait a minute, Nadine. I believe somewhat in the study of birth order, but I don’t think being the youngest makes him more prone to adultery.”

“Spoiled rotten, he was. I ought to know, went to school with him clean through the twelfth grade. Always got what he wanted, and as I heard it, he wanted Maple Sullivan. There you go.”

“Okay, so the rumor was that Mitch and Maple were lovers. Is there any proof?”

“They say she was pregnant when she ran away right after she killed Garvey. Had to be Mitch’s.”

I didn’t add “allegedly” except in my mind. “Who is ‘they’? And why did it have to be Mitch’s? It could have been her husband’s.”

She patted the left side of her stiff hair. “Jemima Smith. She worked for old Doc Goldstein until his business fell off so bad during the war. His wife was pure German from Germany. They moved away about 1944. Winter, I think it was. Just up and left his office and Jemima had to pack it all up without a lick of help. Have to say, though, he did send her some money after the war was over. From Canada, I hear.”

“So she told you Maple Sullivan was pregnant.”

“Yes, ma’am. It was right there in her file. She wasn’t too far along.”

So much for doctor-patient confidentiality, I thought.

“Then that hussy ups, shoots her husband dead, and runs away. Now, why would she do that if it was his? Guess we know where she’ll be spending eternity, that one.” Nadine’s eyes glistened with anger.

I wasn’t about to start discussing eternal justice with Nadine when she was so worked up. I was curious, though, about why this made her so angry.

“Did you know Garvey very well?” I asked.

Her spine straightened just a centimeter. “He ate lunch here every day. Tuna salad and a dill pickle. Iced tea and pie of the day. He liked raspberry best, but would eat anything but rhubarb. Sometimes he ate dinner here too, when his wife was too busy writing away at those stories of hers to be bothered to cook.”

“You remember what he ordered? His favorite pies?”

Her face turned a dull red beneath her pink face powder when she slipped out of the booth for a second time. “I remember what you eat every day too, young woman. I do all my regulars because I’m a good waitress. Now if you’re done badgering me, I’ll get that cheeseburger, fries, and vanilla Coke ready for you.” Her eyes challenged me to say anything more about Garvey Sullivan.

“Thanks, Nadine,” I said and left it at that.

She’d had a crush on Garvey Sullivan, I’d bet my truck on it. That meant I couldn’t believe half of what she told me about Maple Sullivan. I needed to find a more objective source. Of course, with what she’d been accused of doing, killing the town’s favorite son, that might prove difficult.

When Nadine brought me my late lunch, I asked, “Is Jemima Smith still alive?”

She slapped my bill down on the table. “No, why?”

I shrugged. “Just trying to figure out Maple Sullivan’s story. I thought Mrs. Smith might be able to shed some light on it.”

“Sometimes the past is best left in the past,” Nadine said.

“I’m a history major,” I said, opening my hamburger and grabbing the ketchup bottle. I hit the bottom of the bottle and sent a huge surge of ketchup over my steaming patty. “I believe in studying the past.”

“Some things don’t need studying. They are what they are.”

“I don’t agree. Sometimes things aren’t at all what they appear to be. And if something is wrong, if we can understand how it happened, maybe we can keep it from happening again.” But my words, the words of every student who studied history and sociology, even sounded lame and clichéd to me.

She sniffed audibly, letting me know what she thought of my theory. “I’m a lot older than you and I’ll tell you this. There ain’t no figuring out why folks do mean things. It’s just in some of them to do it. She was a selfish, self-centered woman who wanted what she wanted with no regard to anyone else. I think you’d best leave it all alone.”

“Well, I’d like to, except Edna McClun has talked me into cataloging Maple’s personal effects, so as long as I’m stuck doing that, I’m going to do a little research. I think I’ll go to the library after I eat.”

She shook her head and stuck her order pad in the pocket of her pink polyester dress. “You’re as stubborn as a clingstone peach pit.”

“Which reminds me, is there any peach cobbler today?”

“I’ll wrap it up to go,” she said, turning to walk away.

“That’s okay, I have plenty of time.”

“No, you don’t. You’re due over at Beckah’s Bridal Shop for a fitting at three o’clock. Then you have to go to Costume Carnival to pick up your outfit for the dance Saturday night. And they close at six today because Cathy’s going down to Santa Barbara to fetch some costumes she’s borrowing from her sister. Better eat quick.”

“Shoot,” I said, staring after her. I’d completely forgotten about both appointments. There went my leisurely afternoon in the library. I didn’t even bother to ask Nadine how she knew my schedule. That was like asking someone to paint a picture of the wind.

I pulled my date book out of my purse just to doublecheck. It was right there in my handwriting if I’d bothered to check it this morning. I managed to eat half my burger and take a few gulps of Coke before dashing back through the cafe. I handed a twenty-dollar bill to Nadine, grabbed my papersack of cobbler, and yelled out, “Keep the change.” An eight-dollar tip. That ought to buy me back into her good graces.

I was only ten minutes late to Beckah’s. Elvia was already in her wedding gown, standing in front of the threeway mirror, looking so gorgeous she could have posed for a fashion layout.

“You’re late!” she wailed. Her wedding preparations had acquired the overtones of boot camp and I was, no doubt, her most unresponsive grunt. Next to her in an overstuffed pink brocade armchair, her mother, Señora Aragon, glowed. The bridal consultant, Tia, smiled at me and continued fluffing out Elvia’s full skirt.

I blew my nervous friend a kiss, then went over to hug her mother.
“Buenas tardes, Mama Aragon. Como estas?”
I flopped down in the armless chair next to hers upholstered in the same stomach-cramping pink. I shifted from one cheek to the other, trying to find a comfortable spot. I’d sat on concrete curbs that were more forgiving.

“Muy bien
, Benni,
muy, muy bien,”
Señora Aragon said. “Isn’t she
preciosa? Mi bella niña
is finally going to be a bride. Thanks to the Virgin.” She crossed herself, her dark eyes welling up with tears.

“Oh, Mama, don’t start crying again,” Elvia said, swirling around in her dress to pat her mother’s hand. It had a tightly fitted pearl-embroidered bodice, tiny cap sleeves, and billowing layers of netting under the thin chiffon-covered skirt. I wanted to tell her she looked just like a perfect little Latina Barbie doll, except I knew she’d kill me. Emory was going to pass out from joy when he saw her float down the aisle.

“She’s going to be the most beautiful bride that old Mission has ever seen,” I said, shifting again in my uncomfortable chair.

“Oh, you two just stop it,” Elvia said, blushing with pleasure. She took her shoulder-length black hair, twisted it, and held it on top of her head. “I’ve decided on wearing my hair up. What do you think?”

Mama Aragon just wiped away the tears running down her wrinkled brown cheeks and nodded.

“I think that’s a great idea,” I said for at least the hundredth time. She’d waffled back and forth between wanting her hair upswept or down for the last two months. Like a good matron of honor, I agreed with whatever she said.

“Okay, Benni, your turn now,” Tia said. She took my gray silk bridesmaid dress out of its off-white garment bag and handed it to me. It was a gorgeous dress, formfitting, but comfortable with a V neckline with just a touch of lace and cap sleeves that matched Elvia’s. She wanted each of us to wear silver jewelry that reflected our tastes and personalities. I was still thinking about what to wear.

“I forgot my slip and my heels,” I said. When Elvia glared at me, I made a goofy face, trying to make her laugh.

“No problem,” Tia said, her easygoing smile telling me she’d been through this numerous times. “I have a slip in the dressing room and we keep sample shoes here just for that reason. What size shoe and what heel height?”

“Six and two,” I said, grateful to the bottom of my boots. I turned back to Elvia. “
Lo siento mucho, mi amiga,
but I’ve had a crazy day. I get points for making it here, don’t I?”

She tried to look mad, but didn’t succeed. She was just too happy. “It’s all right. I know you have a lot going on right now besides my wedding. We’ll have coffee afterward and you can fill me in on Dove’s wedding and everything else that’s been happening. It seems like I’ve been in a fog these last few months.”

“Wish I could, but I have to pick up my costume for the Mardi Gras ball Saturday night and Cathy closes early tonight.”

“How are things progressing with the ball? I should have helped you. Is there anything you need done?”

“Everything’s fine,” I assured her. “You’ve got more important things to worry about. Just show up with Emory and have a good time. And don’t forget your shower this Sunday. Two o’clock at Miss Christine’s.”

“I won’t forget,” she said, stepping down from the pedestal and waving at me to go try on my dress.

“Has everyone else been fitted?” I called over to the next dressing room, where she was taking off her dress. Though Elvia had no sisters, only six brothers, she’d ended up having ten bridesmaids, not counting me, because she had so many cousins and sisters-in-law who’d waited for this day.

“You’re the last,” she called back. “As usual.”

“Hey, Miss Better-late-than-never. I wouldn’t throw any sharp stones if’n I were you. I’m still two marriages ahead.”

Her uncustomary giggle caused me to smile at myself in the mirror. This was the happiest I’d ever seen her.

During my fitting, one of her brothers, Miguel, came by to pick up Señora Aragon. He was younger than us by ten years and had been a San Celina police officer for over four years now. It was a fact I still had a hard time comprehending. Right now, he was off duty and dressed in Levi’s and a eye-popping blue-and-purple Hawaiian shirt decorated with palm trees and forties-style pinup girls.

“Groovy shirt, Officer Aragon,” I said, turning when Tia told me to turn. “Real Hawaii Five-oh. Book ’em, Dano.”

“Huh?” he said, his square, young face confused.

I made a face at Elvia and Señora Aragon. “I’m too old.”

After my fitting and two reminders from Elvia about our hair and facial appointments tomorrow, we were finally finished. As Elvia and her mother settled some last details with Tia, I joined Miguel out on the sidewalk, where he leaned against his black Camaro.

“How’re things at work?” I asked.

He shrugged his thick, muscled shoulders. “Okay, I guess.” He glanced sideways at me. “Met your husband’s old partner today.” He grinned. “Wish I’d get a partner like her. Man, she’s really hot.”

I leaned next to him and stared at our reflections in the bridal shop window. “Gee, thanks for pointing that out to me, Miguel.”

He quickly backpedaled. “Sorry, Benni, I didn’t mean it the way it sounds. I mean . . . she’s okay . . . I just meant . . .” He cleared his throat. His dark spaniel eyes wore the same troubled glow he’d had when he came to me as a little boy after breaking one of his mother’s dishes.

“It’s okay, Miguel.”

His face looked only slightly relieved. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Forget it.” I wasn’t about to let one of my husband’s employees, not to mention a kid I’d once baby-sat, see just exactly how much it did bother me. “Have you been fitted for your tux yet?”