Jill Churchill: A Farewell to Yarns

She almost spoke to him in the robing room, but didn't know what to say. It crossed her mind, too, that she had no business questioning him or even revealing that she'd inadvertently caught on to a very private secret. As she hung up her robe and went to repack the sample sale items, she recalled something Fiona had said about someone trying to get Albert to contribute to a project. The gist of the story was how insulted Albert had been at the implication that it was really Richie Divine's money, not his. Jane now understood the painful irony of the incident. Poor Albert must have felt the insult doubly.

The minute she got home, she phoned Shelley. "I made coffee cake this afternoon," she said seductively. "If you'll come over and eat some with me, I'll tell you something that'll knock your socks off."

“I'm not dressed.... Both socks?"

“Both socks," Jane assured her.

A moment later Shelley came in the kitchen door with a long car coat on over her nightgown and robe. She was wearing a pair of Paul's big snow boots, and there were curlers in her hair. "This had better be good.”

Jane peeked around the corner. Mike was watching MTV over the top of his chemistrybook. Todd was building a Lego space station. She knew Katie was upstairs on the phone. She put the coffee cake and plates on the table, and when they were seated, she said, "The National Enquirer would set me up for life for this information, which neither of us are ever going to tell anyone. Agreed? I don't think anybody but one other person in the world knows."

“Has this bazaar baked your brain? What are you babbling about?”

Jane lowered her voice and leaned forward. "Richie Divine didn't die. He's Albert Howard.”

“What!"

“Shhh. I mean it. I stood next to him in the choir tonight, and since I wasn't supposed to sing, I just listened. Suddenly it hit me that I'd heard him before. I swear it's true, Shelley."

“Jane, as your friend—"

“I know, you think I've gone bats. But I haven't. Listen, that plane crash he was in—the plane blew up in midair, and the bodies were never found. Mel told me. His sister had been to the last concert, and he remembered the details.”

Shelley leaned back, nonplused. "But why pretend to be somebody like Albert Howard?"

“I've been thinking about that. There was a story that the mob was after him for testifying against them. Mel told me that, too. I'd either forgotten that or never known it."

“That's why they planted a bomb or whatever on the plane," Shelley said. "I read about it in a magazine."

“Well, if he'd missed the plane for some reason, it would have been logical to go along and play dead. It was the Only way to be safe from them in the future. If they'd known he'd lived, they'd have just kept after him until they succeeded."

“Oh, Jane. I don't know—"

“Shelley, if you'd heard him singing, you'd believe it. His voice is deeper now that he's older, but I swear it's the same man."

“But they don't look a thing alike.

“No, but neither does Sharon Kellick look like herself."

“Who in the hell—? Oh, yes. That woman down the block who had the face-lift, and somebody called the police on her for housebreaking in her own house."

“Remember that show we saw on PBS a year ago about the plastic surgeons who work on severely malformed children? They made perfectly grotesque faces look normal. Imagine how easily someone like that could make a handsome face look ordinary. Richie Divine could have paid for the best doctor and bound him to secrecy. Maybe there was even a federal witness program then."

“I don't know, but they're not authorized to blow up planes."

“I didn't mean they did, but after it happened, he could have asked for help getting a good plastic surgeon."

“Okay, I'll give you that. But what about his hair? It doesn't look dyed, and I've never heard of a way to make your hair grow a different color."

“But it sure looked bleached when he was a star. Nobody who isn't an albino has hair that'snaturally that blond. Maybe this is the color it was all along.”

Shelley nibbled some cake thoughtfully. "Say, this is good. What about build? Albert Howard is sort of dumpy."

“Come on, Albert Howard is fifteen years older than Richie Divine was. Anybody can put on weight, even if age doesn't do it for them. Especially if there's an incentive like saving your own life. I could look like a blimp in a month without nearly as good a reason.”

In spite of herself, Shelley was coming around to believing it. "Think about poor Fiona. All the horrible things the press said about her for marrying again so soon after Richie's death. And she took it all in silence. Now we know why. She wasn't marrying somebody else. She was remarrying Richie. She knows that, doesn't she?"

“She must. They married only a year or so after Richie 'died.' “

They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Shelley said, "That's why Albert doesn't seem to mind that room you told me about. The shrine to Richie. It's a shrine to him."

“Of course! I'd forgotten about that."

“Do you suppose anyone else knows?"

“I'm sure they don't. Unless maybe a plastic surgeon. It's too big a secret to have been kept for so long by anybody but the two people most concerned with his safety. Albert and Fiona wouldn't dare let anyone know for fear they'd tell. It's like I said about The National Enquirer. You and I won't say anything about it, but lots of people would."

“Oh, Jane. I'm almost sorry I know. It's going to kill me to keep this to myself. Just imagine, we know Richie Divine. It's like finding out your kid's guitar teacher is Elvis, risen from the dead."

“Good comparison. I guess Richie could leave all the fame behind but couldn't stay away from the music. That's why he's in the choir."

“That was taking a risk of discovery, wasn't it?"

“Not much. I don't think he ever does solos. And even though I'm absolutely bereft of musical talent, I've got an unusually good ear for it. I don't think many people could have made the connection. It's not as if the choir is ever going to do 'Red Christmas' and feature him. A different kind of music entirely must have seemed safe. And it has been."

“It's a shame we can't ask Fiona about it. Find out how they carried it off. Why Richie wasn't on that plane. How it feels to have a weird secret like this."

“I know. I'd love to talk to her about it. But we don't dare. It would scare her to death that we'd shoot off our mouths to other people. She doesn't know us well enough to trust us."

“I don't know how I'll look at him again without gawking or accidentally calling him Richie."

“You'll manage, Shelley, and so will I. We have to. In a way, we have his life in our hands. And we have to start tomorrow."

“The bazaar! I'd actually forgotten about it for a few blissful minutes. Have you finished the afghan?"

“Yes, come look.”

When they went into the living room, Mike turned off the television and got off the sofa so Jane could spread out her work of art. After Shelley gushed for a moment, he said, "Mrs. Nowack, could I talk to you a minute? In the kitchen?”

Jane made a point of getting busy helping Todd pick up all the pieces of his project. Mike was undoubtedly asking Shelley about sizes for her. In the past, the kids had always consulted with Steve about shopping for her. Amazing how long a time it took to sort everything into new niches when one member of the family was gone. "Here I come!" she said as she headed back to the kitchen.

Mike, grinning, told them both good night and disappeared. "Shelley, do you want to take some of this cake home? I made a double recipe."

“I'd better. I need some reason to explain to Paul why I went tearing off in my nightgown. Other than the real one."