by Ellen Riggs
Color flooded her face and seemed to build pressure until she started laughing helplessly again. “I do wish I could share this story,” she said.
“What story?” someone asked behind us. “Edna, are you all right? You look like you’re going into cardiac arrest.”
Gertrude’s sharp eyes ran over us top to bottom, searching for clues.
“It’s my fault, I’m sorry,” I said. “I was just telling her about an accident I had with manure recently. Would you like to hear it?”
“No, I would not,” Gertrude said. “But I would like to know why the police are coming down your lane. We value our privacy.”
That set Edna off again and she collapsed onto the swing fanning herself before the police SUV was even parked.
Chapter Four
There was a time in my past when the sight of a police car generated moderate anxiety. Depending on what I was doing at the time, I may have wondered if I’d been speeding or had inadvertently cut someone off. Or I’d wonder if there’d been an accident or a crime. Boston had no shortage of reasons for police cars to cruise into view.
Now, just two months into my move to Clover Grove, the arrival of a squad car flooded me with a strange mix of emotions. Warm fondness, because my brother, an officer, spent a lot of time on the farm. Worry, in case something else had gone wrong around the farm. And now, most predominantly, a fizz of excitement. As much as I loved my brother, I wanted it to be Kellan Harper behind the wheel. Taking that one step further, I wanted Chief Harper to be visiting as regular civilian Kellan, my former high school sweetheart and new-again friend.
“Ivy,” Gertrude said. “Snap out of that trance. I know you’ve got your eye on Kellan—every red-blooded woman in town does. At least if they favor tall, dark and handsome over your beach boy brother. But we booked your inn for the privacy, and we don’t want cops hanging around.”
“I’m sure it’s a social visit,” I said. “We don’t have police business at the moment.”
“You always seem to have police business,” Gertrude said. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this, Edna. Discretion is of the utmost importance during a tournament.”
The police car stopped near the barn and Kellan got out. He raised his arm in a wave and flashed white teeth in a way that suggested the visit wasn’t anything too serious. I waved back, trying to keep it casual. My heart had started jumping like the three baby pygmy goats in their pen. They were always hopping around their playset as if jacked up on drugs. I’d seen creatures do some strange things since moving here, but nothing was crazier than baby goats. Just thinking of them made me smile.
Keats smiled too, because he loved practicing his herding moves on Kellan, much to the chief’s dismay. Kellan wasn’t a fan of animals, which was definitely a sticking point between us. I was sure he could be converted eventually.
“Wipe that smile off your face,” Edna said. “Never give away your entire hand like that. Now Kellan has the advantage.”
“I was thinking about baby goats,” I said. “Have you been down to see them? I dare you not to smile.”
“That’s a dare you’d lose,” Edna said. “Anyway, control your merriment and keep the man guessing.”
“Get rid of him,” Gertrude said. “If we wanted exposure, we could have just used the bridge club building in town instead of paying for—”
“Privacy,” I said, pronouncing the word her way, as if it had an extra v. “I don’t understand the secrecy, Mrs. Boxton. It’s a high stakes game with skilled players. Unless it requires a human or animal sacrifice, there’s nothing to hide.”
Gertrude sniffed. “You understand nothing about our world, Ivy. We’re pillars of the community, so we can’t afford gossip.”
“What’s to gossip about?” I asked, wondering why Kellan was staying near the barn instead of coming up to the porch.
“You do realize my son-in-law is the mayor of this town,” Gertrude said. “There’s more pressure on me to behave with propriety than most people. Some might say our tournaments are extravagant and wasteful.”
“It’s your money. You should be able to spend it as you like.”
“Indeed,” Gertrude said. “But you more than anyone should understand what the grapevine is like around here.”
I sighed. “Yeah. How about I go down to see what Kellan wants and hurry him along?”
“You do that,” Gertrude said.
“No fawning,” Edna added. “Treat men like dogs, Ivy. Just a little reward here and there to reinforce good behavior. In fact, you want to randomize it, so they never know if they’re going to get a smile and keep working. Consistency is necessary with children but the reverse is true with grown men.”
I started down the stairs, shaking my head. The day I took romantic advice from Edna Evans was the day I surrendered the farm. In other words, never. “Why don’t you ladies head inside and get settled?” I called back.
Gertrude actually did as I asked, but Edna sat down on the swing yet again.
“And leave you alone with the police chief?” she said. “I don’t think so. You need a chaperone.”
She pushed off with one Mary Jane, and the very first swoosh brought her suitcase crashing down.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “A chaperone? I’m thirty-three years old.”
“With a brain permanently stalled in puberty,” Edna said. “I was your school nurse, remember? I saw how you hung off Kellan’s every word, as if he were chief already. He knows he can get away with sprinkling a few crumbs for you, when you should be demanding the entire cake.”
Turning, I went back up the stairs. “Miss Evans. Please keep your voice down. I appreciate commentary on my innkeeping skills. Beyond that, I’m good.”
“Oooh, snippy,” Edna said, pushing off again. “Just trying to offer perspective from someone who learned from heartbreak. But if you can afford to lose Kellan again, by all means ignore me.”
“Deep breaths,” I said aloud as I started back down the stairs. “Keats, give me strength.”
“I wouldn’t chat so much to your dog, either,” she called after me. “Men like Kellan don’t like crazy women.”
“My mom said otherwise.” I regretted the words the moment they were out. Before my concussion I would never have blurted something like that to someone like Edna. Or anyone else for that matter. The specialists had said it would take a minimum of a year and a maximum of never before the “insult” to my brain healed. So I’d just have to do my best with my flawed impulse control.
“Did she now?” Edna called over the squeak of the porch swing. I’d have to get Charlie to come up with some oil. That squeaking and squawking would get old fast. “Well, Dahlia is quite a success story with men, isn’t she?”
I winced as my feet hit the flagstone walk. Defending my mother didn’t come easily. She’d been single a long time after my deadbeat father left her to raise six kids on her own. A series of low-end jobs that she kept losing didn’t give her much leisure for romance, even with my eldest sister Daisy shouldering most of the parenting load. Now that Mom was free as a bird, however, she’d taken up what she called “rotational dating,” and had become the talk of the town. Even more so than usual. All the term meant was that she had a “stable” of eligible men with varied interests and could be busy every night of the week if she chose. One man in her stable was none other than my silver fox farm manager, Charlie, which made me more uncomfortable than the idea of the bridge club gigolos earlier. It was just too close for comfort.
“Miss Evans, let’s leave my mother out of this, shall we?”
“You brought her into it, Ivy. I’m just pointing out that following her example might not bring the results you want with Kellan.”
I crossed my arms and turned to seize the bait. “And following your advice will? You were complaining about being single this very morning.”
“I’m single by choice, young lady. I had my opportunities—I was a very pretty girl—but sad
ly, I lost the one I truly wanted. My soul mate, as it were. Everything after that was just slumming as far as I was concerned so I didn’t bother. Tell me that wouldn’t be the case for you with Kellan, and I will happily stand down and let you take your chances with Dahlia’s advice.” The squeaking stopped suddenly. “Why, speak of the devil.”
“No!” I turned so fast my hair swung into my face and obscured my vision. When the dark cloud settled, I saw my Mom’s ancient yellow Volvo coming up the lane at a sedate pace. “What is she doing driving?”
“I thought they took her license away,” Edna said. “I heard Asher was a laughing stock because of her antics behind the wheel.”
Indeed, Mom’s scattered focus had resulted in the premature death of a few stop signs. With fines piling up and the threat of an actual body count to follow, Kellan had assigned Asher to seize her plates. As far as I knew, the car itself was stashed with one of Asher’s buddies. It had been like a pet to Mom so he couldn’t bear to sell it.
When the yellow car swung up in front of the house in an elegant arc, I knew Mom couldn’t be behind the wheel. In fact, her face was pressed to the passenger window and the door opened quickly. Asher leapt from the driver’s side and circled at a run, but Mom was like a cat—swift, agile and graceful. She’d taken up yoga a year ago at the behest of an attractive young instructor who may well have been in her rotation.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” I said, heading back up the stairs once more to act as a human shield to my guests.
She swept up the stairs as if they were her own personal catwalk. Indeed, she was dressed to impress in a formfitting knit dress in red—her signature color—accessorized with a black cashmere cardigan, and black patent heels. “Is that any way to greet your mother, Ivy? You were always the sweetest of my girls. I don’t know what happened.”
“Getting bashed on the head is what happened,” Edna offered, as the swing started squeaking again.
“You may be right, Edna,” Mom said. “How are you? You look a little tired.”
“And you don’t look tired at all,” Edna said. “Which is surprising.”
It was the delicate art of jab and parry that Clover Grove girls learned early, at the skirts of their mothers. At least most did. I seemed to have taken most of my life lessons from my next sibling in line, namely Asher.
He came after Mom now, mouthing “sorry” to me.
“My guests just arrived, Mom,” I said. “So I don’t have time to chat.”
She smiled up at me. At barely five feet tall, she had nonetheless produced good-sized humans. I was the tallest of the girls and Asher was well over six feet. “Darling, maybe you’ll find time for your mother when you discover she’s come bearing gifts.”
Her hands were empty. “What gifts?”
Kellan was now nearly at the stairs, aided in his journey—or impeded, depending how you looked at it—by a black-and-white whirlwind. Keats had apparently left tiny punctures in every pair of Kellan’s uniform pants. Meanwhile, Asher’s uniforms went unmolested.
“Leave it, Keats,” I said, and the dog fell back, his tail drooping in disappointment.
“Mom is giving you Buttercup,” Asher said, grinning.
“Lending you Buttercup,” Mom corrected. “Chief Harper is concerned about your driving, Ivy. I’m afraid the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. So Asher suggested we bring Buttercup out of retirement for the good of the community.”
Heat rose from the pit of my stomach, and I circulated my glare from Mom to Asher and finally to Kellan. “I do not need an old yellow jalopy, thank you very much. My stick handling is quite good now.”
“You stalled twice this morning,” Edna said, over swing squeaks. “I was afraid for my life.”
“You should be afraid for your life if someone is spiking your driveway with nails,” I said.
“Spiking her driveway?” Kellan said, his brilliant smile fading. “What happened, Miss Evans? And why hasn’t this been reported?”
“It was just an hour or so ago,” I said, gesturing to an old tin can sitting near the corner of the porch. “There’s the evidence.”
Edna pushed herself off the swing and there was a little wobble in her walk. I wondered if Jilly had already served her some vodka medicine. “I’m quite sure those nails were intended for Ivy,” she told Kellan. “She’s the one using my driveway all the time.” She buttoned her bridge club blazer. “Maybe they wanted to take your truck out of commission, Ivy. I can only hope they’ll be kinder to Buttercup.”
Mom turned on Asher. “You told me my car would be in safe hands. I was worried about something like this happening. Ivy is a trouble magnet.”
“I manage to keep dozens of animals alive, Mom, so I’m sure I can keep Buttercup safe, too.” I looked down at the old sedan and sighed. I liked to fly under the radar and that was difficult enough before Buttercup. There wasn’t a more conspicuous car in town.
The screen door opened and the four Bridge Buddies, followed by Jilly, joined Edna and Mom on the porch. I noticed the ringers had been kept inside. Perhaps they were stashed in closets to avoid gossip.
“Why, Dahlia, we were just talking about you,” Gertrude said. There was a slight edge to her tone to let Mom know nothing pleasant had been said. “We were commenting that it seemed impossible you produced six children. And now look at you. No one else your age could get away with a dress like that.”
“Wherever did you find it?” Joan asked. No doubt they knew full well that Mom’s fashion finds came from secondhand stores around hill country. She avoided buying locally in case she happened to show up at an event like this wearing someone’s castoff, skillfully altered.
“I never could wear something like that,” Annamae said, sounding genuinely admiring. “You look lovely, Dahlia.”
“Scarlet certainly is your color,” Morag finished, with a sly smile.
“Thank you so much, ladies.” Mom’s fixed smile confirmed she felt the barbs but that her defences were holding. “You look lovely, too. Those uniforms are so sensible. You never even need to think about what to wear. It must be so freeing.”
I winced and Kellan noticed. His head swivelled back and forth with each volley from the ladies, whereas Asher seemed oblivious to the politics. With Jilly nearby, my brother had a hard time focusing at the best of times. He gazed at her raptly now and she finally tore her horrified gaze away from the sparring women to give him a quick smile. He stood a little taller and his shoulders went back. Maybe Edna was right about a little going a long way with men. It wasn’t a strategy with Jilly, however. She had a natural ease with men and hadn’t been single for such a long stretch since we’d met in college. Having committed to helping me get the inn off the ground, however, she wasn’t going to be diverted by a handsome man. She had all the focus my brother lacked, and that would stand him in good stead if he played his cards right.
“Who’s doing your hair now?” Gertrude asked. “I know you had to part ways with Robbi at Crowning Glory. I’m sure it’s been difficult.”
“It’s an interesting new look,” Joan said.
“Lovely and unique,” Annamae added.
“I’ve never seen a color quite like it,” Morag finished.
“Ladies, you do flatter me,” Mom said. “And while I love that, I heard you shut me out of Crowning Glory. Apparently I took one of your standing appointments once too often and suddenly, I was on my own holding a box of hair color.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gertrude said. “Although I am unhappy when I can’t get my weekly set. I’ve been seeing Robbi for more than a decade, and she does treat her regulars like gold.” She turned quickly. “That reminds me, Edna. You pushed Annamae out of her regular spot with an impromptu permanent yesterday.”
Edna flushed a maroon almost as deep as her club blazer and touched her tight curls. “It was a last-minute decision. I didn’t realize it bumped you, Annamae.”
“It was fine,” Annamae
said. “It doesn’t hurt me to do my own hair now and then.”
“Yes it does,” Gertrude said. “You have arthritis, Annamae. When it flares up from overuse, your game suffers. I’m sorry to say that, but Edna needs to know the implications of her sudden whims.”
Now Annamae flushed as bright as Edna, no doubt feeling she’d let down the team.
Morag shook her head. “No one gets perms anymore, Edna. What were you thinking?”
“I just wanted it to be low maintenance this weekend,” Edna said. “A perm is set-and-forget.”
“You’re not even playing,” Gertrude said. “But now Annamae’s performance could decline.”
Edna rose from the swing and walked over to the group. “Well, what are partners for?”
There was a collective gasp among the fearsome four, which made Kellan, Jilly and me jump. Asher continued to smile happily, as if social annihilation weren’t underway. Mom, on the other hand, had a small, sly smile, delighted the heat was off her.
In the momentary silence, Keats circled Kellan, trying to rope him into doing something. Kellan’s handsome face had a horrified expression I’d never seen before. Clearly he was new to the politics of the Clover Grove female old guard. They were the meanest of mean girls, with the power associated with their husbands’ wealth.
We exchanged a helpless glance and I shrugged slightly to let him know there was nothing the chief of police could do to stop the massacre. Annamae dabbed at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief but Edna was stoic. Only the fact that her lips were pressed in a firm seal, rather than a pucker of disapproval, gave her distress away.
“Mrs. Galloway, we really must be going,” Kellan said. “We’ll leave Buttercup in Ivy’s capable hands and drop you back at your place.”
At Keats’ urging, Kellan walked up the stairs and offered my mother his arm. She took it, saying, “You can leave me at The Tipsy Grape, if you don’t mind, Chief Harper. I’m meeting a friend.”
You had to know my mother well to realize the throwaway comment was an act of true kindness to me. Gertrude, Joan and Morag all turned away from Annamae and Edna to exchange disgusted looks over my mother’s wanton ways. It gave them a new focus instead of Edna’s perm, which really didn’t look bad at all. Perms had come a long way.
