“You are so welcome,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for offering to help me find a wedding dress.”
“When is Ami coming?” I asked, putting the strap of my own bag over my shoulder.
“The day before the wedding, as soon as her exams are finished.”
Everett’s granddaughter was studying music at the Chicago College of Performing Arts. She was Rebecca’s maid of honor.
“I’m looking forward to meeting your brother,” I said. Rebecca’s older brother, Stephen, was going to walk her down the aisle. Their other brother had died several years ago. “What’s he like?”
Rebecca laughed. “Our mother always said that Stephen and I were as different as chalk and cheese, but I think you’ll like him. He used to spend a lot of time at the library. He loves books.”
“Now I have two reasons to like him.”
“What’s the other reason?” she asked, cocking her head to one side, the gleam in her eye telling me she already knew the answer to her own question.
“He has excellent taste in sisters,” I said.
She nodded. “I’ve been telling him that for years.”
I grinned at her.
“I’m glad Stephen is coming to the wedding,” Rebecca said, “but I really don’t need to be ‘given away.’ For heaven’s sake, it’s not like I’m an old chest of drawers that someone found in the attic.” She sighed. “But the tradition is important to Everett.”
“When my mother and father got married—the second time—I walked her down the aisle,” I said.
My parents had been married, divorced and then remarried after figuring out that living without each other was worse than living with each other.
“The minister asked, ‘Who brings this woman to be married?’ and I said I did.”
“I like the sound of that,” Rebecca said.
I didn’t add that at one point a couple of my parents’ friends had floated the idea that I put my hand on my mother’s hugely pregnant abdomen at the front of the church and answer the minister’s question with “her children do,” since the twins, my brother, Ethan, and sister, Sara, couldn’t speak for themselves.
Mom and Dad knew that I was already cringing with embarrassment over the incontrovertible evidence that they’d been “seeing” each other, unbeknownst to everyone including me, and let the suggestion sink without comment.
“I know you wish Matthew could be here,” I said.
Matthew Nixon was Rebecca’s only child, but he was a geologist looking for oil deposits in northern Canada. Rebecca nodded, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “I do,” she said. “But it’s just too far and getting out of Izok Lake isn’t easy this time of year.”
She leaned over and patted my cheek. “But I have Ami and you and Roma and all of my friends. And did I tell you that darling Ruby is going to make a video of the ceremony so I can send it to Matthew?”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. Ruby Blackthorne was a good friend and a talented artist. I glanced at my watch as I pulled the sleeve of my jacket down over my heavy woolen gloves.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Rebecca said, her grin giving me a glimpse of the young girl she once was. “Roma’s right. It’s going to be fun.”
“I hope so,” I said. “I’ll see you later.” I raised a hand in good-bye to Eric, who was still at the counter, and headed out.
It was cold outside. The air was sharp and dry, but it wasn’t snowing and there wasn’t a cloud in the deep blue sky arcing overhead. I walked quickly back to the library, my breath making me look like a train engine chugging along the sidewalk.
Mary Lowe was at the front desk when I walked in. Since it was December she was wearing one of her many Christmas sweaters. This one was white and a deep forest green with a couple of reindeer heads grinning at me, one on either side of the quarter-size green buttons. There was a little bulb at the end of each reindeer’s nose that glowed red thanks to a battery pack in one of the sweater’s pockets. The sweater made me smile every time Mary wore it. She smiled now and handed me a stack of messages. I sorted through them. Nothing was urgent.
“How was your coffee break?” she asked.
“Delicious,” I said. “I think Eric has perfected his sticky buns.”
“That sounds good,” she said, reaching back to set four picture books on one of the book carts. “Abigail is shelving and Susan is setting up for tomorrow in the conference room.”
“If you can handle things here for a little longer, I’ll put my coat in my office and give her a hand.”
“Go ahead,” Mary said. “It won’t get busy until school lets out and all the kids in Anne Stinson’s history class show up because they finally figured out that she wasn’t joking when she said they have to use ‘real’ books to write their term paper.” She laughed. “The same thing happened last year.”
“Mia will be here to help,” I said. “She was in that class last year.” Mia was our co-op student from the high school.
Mary held up a hand. “I almost forgot. Burtis brought over one of his big coffeemakers and four dozen coffee cups for tomorrow. He said if you need more cups to give him a call.”
One of Burtis Chapman’s businesses was large tent rentals. He could also supply booths if you were having some kind of trade show, or dishes for a wedding reception. He was loaning us the coffeepot and cups Mary had mentioned. I wondered if he knew his ex-wife was in town.
Mary narrowed her gaze at me. “What is it?” she asked.
I gave my head a shake. “Nothing.”
“That’s not your ‘nothing’ face,” she said. “Don’t worry about tonight, Kathleen, or tomorrow, for that matter. You’ve thought of everything.”
“It’s not that,” I said, loosening the scarf at my throat. “I was actually thinking about Burtis. When we were at Eric’s, his ex-wife came in.”
“Dayna Chapman just walked into Eric’s?”
I nodded.
Her eyebrows rose and her mouth pulled to one side. “Well, that’s a surprise.”
“Rebecca said she hasn’t been back in twenty years.”
Mary nodded. “It’s been all of that.” She gave me a wry smile. “You know, there was a lot of loose talk when Dayna left.”
I pulled off my scarf and stuffed it in my jacket pocket. “What do you mean?” I asked.
She patted her gray curls, fixed firmly in place with the heavy-duty hair spray she favored. “One day she was here. The next she was just gone. You know how people are.”
“People actually though Burtis might have done something to his wife?”
“He does have a reputation.”
The phone rang then. I gestured in the direction of the conference room with the message slips Mary had given me. “I’m just going to take a quick look.”
Mary nodded and reached for the receiver.
The coffeemaker was set up on a long table in front of the windows. Burtis had arranged the cups and saucers in neat rows. He’d also brought spoons and a large, insulated stainless steel carafe that we could use for hot water for tea.
Burtis Chapman was built like an oversize hockey goalie. I’d heard all the stories and rumors about his being the area bootlegger and running some high-stakes and very illegal poker games. And I’d found him intimidating before I got to know the man. But now that I did know Burtis, I also knew he was an ethical man. It was just that those ethics were part of his own personal code, which sometimes put him at odds with the rest of the world. I was surprised that anyone who really knew the man would ever have thought he’d have done anything to his ex-wife.
I walked back over to the desk. Mary had started checking in a stack of picture books.
“Mary, did you know Dayna Chapman?” I asked.
“Not well,” she said, turning to put another book on the half-full cart behind her. “Nobody really did. She wasn’t in town that long.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “I only got a quick look at the woman, but—”