“Too soon to say, but I’m gonna need a DNA sample from you. I’ll send somebody over tomorrow.”
Reid and I both stared at him in bewilderment.
“DNA sample?” asked Reid. “But I told you. We hadn’t been together in months.”
I thought of bedsheets and maybe someone’s toothbrush or shaver in Tracy’s bathroom. Whoever she’d been sleeping with, if she’d had him there in her own place, he would surely have left fingerprints, hair, and God knows what else. “It’s just to eliminate you,” I told Reid. “Right, Dwight?”
“Right,” he said, but he didn’t quite meet my eyes.
CHAPTER 10
Florence Hartley,
Dwight and I had driven over to Dobbs separately, and since I would be holding court in Makely again the next day, that meant we also had to drive back to the farm separately. For once, I didn’t mind. Dwight drives so slowly, I figured I could be halfway through the files that we’d put in the trunk of my car before he turned in to the yard.
I could have, too, if I hadn’t found April there, sitting cross-legged on the floor as she put a second coat of white enamel on the beer tap’s cabinet doors. The clean cool smell of latex paint filled the room.
“You didn’t have to do that today.” I set the first of the storage boxes on the dining table. Although Andrew’s nine brothers up from me, April is his third wife and halfway between us in age. In addition to keeping Andrew and their kids in line, she’s also a sixth grade teacher with lesson plans to fill out and theme papers to grade before school recessed for the holidays next week. “It’s Sunday. You should be home with your feet up.”
Her face was dotted with tiny flecks of white enamel. “No problem. The others will be over tomorrow to put up the rest of the molding, then all that’s left is finishing up the bathroom and painting.” Her tone was innocent but she was having trouble suppressing a grin. “You haven’t heard from Nadine or Doris today, have you?”
“No, why? What’s going on?”
Mischief danced in her hazel eyes. “Promise not to tell anyone?”
“I promise.”
“Doris got some books from the library yesterday on wedding etiquette.”
“Oh no,” I groaned.
She laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s not about you this time. I mean, okay, it might’ve started out that way because Doris wanted to be able to cite chapter and verse if you tried to do something Miss Manners might not approve of.” She stroked her brush across the final door panel and rose gracefully to her feet. “You’re safe, though. She’s been sandbagged by a section on wedding symbols.”
“Which ones?”
“Veils.”
“I’m not wearing a veil.”
“Good! You know what it symbolizes?”
I shook my head. “More fairytale princess nonsense? I never gave it much thought.”
“Well, think about this,” April said. “According to the book, the veil’s supposed to cover the bride’s face until after the vows, when the groom is told he may then kiss his bride. And, of course, he has to first lift off the veil.”
I followed that train of thought to where it naturally led and then started laughing, too. No wonder April said it was good I didn’t plan to wear one. “You’re kidding,” I said.
April was shaking her head gleefully. “No, I’m not.”
“Lifting the veil is symbolic of taking the bride’s virginity?”
“You got it, sweetie! It’s a stand-in for the hymen. Nadine was mortified when Doris read her that.”
And then I realized why she was so amused.
When Nadine’s older daughter got married, Nadine had dressed that—and I quote—“pure white angel” in a full veil and Herman had escorted her down the aisle—this was before he needed a wheelchair. Upon being asked, “Who gives this woman to be married?” he had, as coached by Nadine, replied, “Her mother and I do.” Then he carefully lifted Denise’s veil and folded it back across her head like a halo, kissed her cheek, gave her hand to the groom, and took his place in the front pew next to Nadine, just as they’d rehearsed it all week.
“So symbolically speaking, Doris made my brother deflower their own daughter right there in church?”
“Don’t you love it?”
“Can I please murmur ‘incest’ the next time Nadine gets on my case?”
“Only if you don’t tell them I was the one told you. Doris swore me to secrecy.” April put the lid back on the paint can and gathered up the newspapers she’d put down to catch any drips. One of her short brown curls was feathered white where it had brushed against the door. “She’s almost as embarrassed as Nadine, because remember when Betsy got married six months later? Doris thought Denise and Herman looked so sweet that she tried her best to talk Betsy and Robert into doing it, too, only Betsy didn’t want to walk down the aisle with a veil covering her face and Robert said he was sure his rough hands would get caught in it and he’d wind up pulling it off her head.”
We were still giggling when Dwight came through the door, carrying the other file box, the ends of his tie trailing from his jacket pocket.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
