by Sonia Parin
“We need to heal,” Abby said under her breath quoting Joyce.
This would be her first trip out to the lake. She’d been told there were several designated picnic areas for people who enjoyed swimming and boating. While it had comfortable amenities, it remained an exclusive spot for locals, only occasionally attracting tourists trekking out from the city.
Following the road sign, Abby made a turn into a winding road. “Okay, we’re heading into the forest. Just thought you might want to know.”
Doyle stirred and yawned in response.
“Not interested? I’m told we might encounter wombats.” Doyle remained disinterested. “That’s right, you’re a local and I’m not. Well, let me tell you, there are no wombats in Seattle, but we do have rain.” She leaned forward and peered up to catch a glimpse of the blue sky. “Do you realize it hasn’t rained since I arrived? I’m almost beginning to miss it.”
She wove her way through the forest until finally the road straightened. “There’s a clearing up ahead.” Slowing down, she caught the first glimpse of the lake. Then, she reached the picnic area entrance and had a full view of it. “Wow. It’s actually bigger than I thought it would be.” She drove in and parked next to another SUV. “Okay, this is it. Get ready to stretch your legs. Come on, no grumbling. You’re an honorary reporter. You need to be ready to leap into action and catch that scoop.”
Abby smiled. When she’d first arrived in Eden, Joyce Breeland had told her the locals liked to create their own excitement. Not much happened in a small town, so they had to make the best of it.
As a new arrival, Abby had become the main attraction, in a good way, Abby thought. She knew she’d been given a ‘fair go’. Almost like a trial period to see how well she’d fit in.
So far, she’d managed to skate around any subject that might become controversial. From the start, she’d realized the Lamington saga would require delicate handling. Taking Joyce’s lead, she’d remained impartial, sticking with facts and doing a write up about the history of the chocolate and coconut covered sponge cake without divulging her preferences. Although, secretly, she preferred the varieties with strawberry jam in the centre and she’d drooled over the ones with marmalade filling, a variety most purists frowned upon.
Living so far away from her friends and family would take some getting used to. However, the locals were making it easy for Abby. Everyone she’d met so far had been friendly and most had surprised her with their unique quirkiness and… kookiness.
“And these ones are no exception,” Abby murmured as she spotted the couple who’d volunteered to pose for her photo.
They were both dressed in period costume from the 1920s. Kitty Belmont had an eggshell colored outfit. She’d matched a skirt cinched at the waist with a blouse with a sailor style collar. “That must have been a trend back in the day. I’m sure I heard Joyce describe her outfit in a similar way.” Kitty also wore a cream colored hat shaped like a helmet, something else that had been quite fashionable at the time, Abby thought remembering seeing photos of her great grandmother wearing a similar hat.
Gordon Fisher looked quite comfortable in his cream trousers and sweater. Unlike Bradford, he didn’t seem to have a problem with his straw hat.
Abby waved to them.
Kitty had set up the picnic blanket and basket on a light slope near the shore with a low hanging tree in the background.
“I thought this might be a good spot,” Kitty called out. “Gordon tied a couple of boats to the tree. I hope you can get them in the shot.”
“I’ll do my best.” Faith hadn’t been wrong. Kitty was all efficiency.
“You’ll have to tell me how to position my parasol so I don’t block any of the pretty scenery. Gordon is about to strike a pose and look at me with adoring puppy eyes.”
Without looking down at Doyle, Abby sensed him rolling his eyes. She watched as Kitty tucked her feet under her and sat primly, her back ramrod straight, while Gordon stretched out beside her, his head slightly tilted up as he gazed at Kitty with adoration.
“How’s that?” Gordon asked.
Abby was about to answer, when the sound of another car pulling up drew everyone’s attention.
“No. No. No.” Kitty’s exclamation struck like a lightning bolt. “How dared Miranda Hoppers show up here?”
Gordon tried to soothe her. “Calm down, Kitty. You don’t want this to blow out of proportion.”
“Calm down? Look at her. She’s even wearing the same outfit I am. And who’s that with her?”
“I don’t recognize the gentleman,” Gordon said.
Abby smiled at Gordon’s tone. Hearing him fully embrace his role, she suspected he too belonged to the Eden Thespian theater group.
“An outsider. She’s brought an outsider.” Kitty surged to her feet and stormed toward the new arrivals.
Gordon mouthed an apology. “Kitty will have this sorted out in no time.” He rose to his feet and strode toward Abby.
“I take it there’s some sort of rivalry between them,” Abby said.
“It’s a McCoy/Hatfield feud,” Gordon explained. “At least it’s headed that way.”
“With or without the mortality rate?” Abby asked.
“So far, there have only been shouting matches and snubs. Miranda Hoppers is a new Eden Thespian member. We have rules of precedence. As a founding member, Kitty retains first right of refusal for any leading role that comes up. Now Miranda is trying to undermine her authority… Excuse me, I think I need to break them up before it gets out of hand.”
Abby stood back and watched the altercation unfold. Fingers were being pointed, parasols waved, but the two women were keeping an arm’s length distance.
Losing interest, Doyle trotted off, his nose to the ground as he sniffed out new smells. Abby followed him along the shoreline toward the rowboats that had been tied up. “That looks like an expert sailor’s knot. Gordon must have been a boy scout… or a sailor. I’m guessing boy scout.” She took a couple of photos and managed to talk Doyle into hoping on. “Smile for the birdie.” She laughed as Doyle lifted his chin and his paw. “Ahoy there. You look like a seasoned seafaring captain.”
Looking into the distance, she saw houses on the opposite side of the lake. Someone had mentioned Eddie Faydon lived there with her fiancé. A compatriot, Abby thought and tried to recall which state he hailed from when a piercing screech broke her concentration.
“You poked me with your parasol. You all saw that. She poked me,” Miranda yelled. “I will have you removed from the Eden Thespians. They will strip you bare and have you paraded along the main street…”
“Wow, talk about histrionics.” Doyle shifted and leaned against Abby. “Yeah, she’s scary. I thought Kitty’s reputation preceded her, but Miranda is giving her a good run for her money.” Abby raised her camera only to hesitate. “What do you think? Should I. This is a scoop of sorts. We could start a gossip column.”
Doyle whimpered.
“No? You don’t think I can compete with the Eden grapevine? Are you a betting dog?” She took a couple of extra shots, snatching one just as Kitty’s parasol swooped through the air. “Priceless,” Abby murmured. “And since we’re the only witnesses, I think I stand a good chance of being first in with the news. How does Battle of the Thespians sound?”
Chapter Two
“The day of the picnic dawned bright and beautiful,” Abby said as she strode into the Eden Rise Gazette office, her parasol in hand.
Faith’s mouth gaped open. “Blimey! Get a hold of you.”
Abby smiled. “What do you think of Doyle’s little cap? It came from a teddy bear. It was the smallest I could find.”
“I think it’s cute, but going by Doyle’s woeful expression, I’m thinking he doesn’t share the sentiment.”
“No, he grumbled all the way here.”
“What’s with the mincing steps?” Faith asked.
Abby put her foot forward. “My shoes are a size too big so I have to
tread with care.” She raised a monocle eyeglass to her eye. “You’re looking splendid.”
“I don’t think I’ll pass muster. The dress is too loose. In the photos you took, Kitty’s skirt looked tight around her waist.”
“That’s because Kitty didn’t get it right. Her clothes are early 1900s. In the 20s, women did away with their corsets and the dress waistlines dropped. Are you ready?”
Faith nodded. “What’s with the eyepiece?”
“I thought it might add character but I’m about to abandon the idea. The thing refuses to stay in place.”
“I have to say, I’m surprised you went along with the whole dressing up rule.”
Both Doyle and Abby looked at her. “Really? What do you think would happen if I’d turned up in regular clothes?”
Faith grinned. “Joyce Breeland would bar you from the café.”
“That’s right, and where would I be without her coffee?”
Faith shivered. “The thought is too scary to contemplate. I hope Joyce doesn’t ever realize how much power she wields over all of us.” Faith didn’t bother locking the office door, something that still made Abby smile.
When Faith turned, her mouth gaped open again. “What on earth… Where did that come from?”
“This is an original 1920 convertible. I assume you know Charles Granger.” The owner of Willoughby Park, a local deer farm, tipped his hat.
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” Faith said.
Abby did the honors.
“Ladies, your carriage… or rather, your touring car awaits you,” Charles Granger said.
Abby clapped her hands. “Isn’t it fabulous. Joyce is going to be green with envy.”
“When did this become a competition?” Faith asked. Before Abby could answer, she raised a halting hand. “Just because she beat you to the scoop?”
Abby frowned. By the time she’d returned from taking the promotional photographs at the lake, news had already spread about Kitty and Miranda’s exchange of harsh words.
How?
It should have been her scoop. She’d driven straight back to the Gazette and yet Joyce had already passed the information on to anyone who would listen.
“I’d like to put all that behind me, please.” Abby made a breezy gesture with her hand. “I know this isn’t a competition, but I believe I will win. Did I tell you Charles collects these beautiful cars?” She’d met him a few days before when she’d been expanding her horizons and scouting around the area to become better acquainted with her new stomping ground. Born in England, the eccentric landowner lived on a large estate a few miles outside of town and had introduced deer farming to the area.
Abby clapped her hands again. “I can’t wait to see Joyce’s face when we arrive.”
Half an hour later, Faith turned to Abby. “When exactly are we going to arrive?”
They’d been chugging along the road at twenty miles an hour. If they’d been driving in a normal car, they would have arrived in five minutes.
“We’ll make a grand entrance,” Abby said.
Charles Granger tipped his hat at a car overtaking him.
“It sets a different pace,” Abby remarked. “It’s lovely to actually have the time to appreciate the scenery.”
Faith chortled. “You’ve seen one cow, you’ve seen them all.”
“Would you ladies like to listen to some music?” Charles asked. “It’s a perk I had installed and I packed an old gramophone in the trunk.”
The sounds of a jazz tune wafted around them. “The 1920s is known as both the Jazz Age and the Roaring Twenties,” Abby said. “The older generation considered the music immoral and threatening to old cultural values which goes to show, very little has changed.” Hugging Doyle against her, Abby leaned forward. “Did you know Jazz became known for including a lot of improvisation because the original jazz musicians couldn’t read music?”
Faith shook her head. “I guess we’re in for a detailed article.”
Abby sat back and shrugged. “It helps to be thorough. At least I’m not killing off chocolate.”
“So much for making a grand entrance. Where are you going to park the car, Charles?” The place was packed to capacity.
“No matter. I’ll simply make my own space.” He drove to the end of the gravel path and right onto the grass area. “I think everyone will see us now. We could even set up our picnic by the car. I’ll take care of it.”
“Wave,” Abby said. “People are noticing us now.”
Charles Granger hadn’t been the only one to bring music along with him. Abby spotted a couple of gramophones with the most impressive one taking center stage at Joyce Breeland’s picnic. The sounds of the early jazz era weaved around, mingling with the buzz of conversation and laughter.
Abby took out her camera and began taking snapshots. The entire town had turned up. She even noticed a few faces she didn’t recognize and assumed they were people from the surrounding farms who rarely came into town because they normally worked from dawn to dusk.
She saw Kitty by the edge of the picnic grounds and took a photo of her. Scanning the grounds, she continued taking pictures. Moments later, Kitty appeared in another shot. Abby kept taking photos of her as she wove her way toward Gordon. They’d set up their picnic on the same spot they’d chosen for the promotional photographs. When Abby smiled at them, Gordon waved her over.
“Care for some champagne?” he offered.
“A sip would be lovely, thank you.” Abby sat down on a plump cushion and gazed out across the lake. “All this makes me think of The Great Gatsby. I believe Jay Gatsby would have approved. Everyone looks sensational.”
“Cucumber and lobster sandwich?” Kitty offered.
“Yes, please. What a treat.”
“I placed a winning bid on a Joyce’s Café basket. She donates a basket every year. Hers are always the best.”
Abby nibbled on the delectable sandwich. “Is everyone here?” She specifically wanted to know about Miranda Hoppers but thought Kitty wouldn’t appreciate being reminded.
“Everyone who matters,” Kitty said, her lips pursing slightly as she adjusted her skirt. Appearing to find something wrong with it, she searched inside her small bag and continued adjusting her skirt.
Abby decided she needed to attend the next Eden Thespians rehearsal night. Sparks were bound to fly and she would get her scoop. She could sense something other than the mere exchange of words brewing between the two women.
When Abby saw Joyce Breeland meandering her way toward the flashy touring car, she excused herself.
She arrived just as Charles popped a champagne cork. Giving a small wave hello, she said, “Joyce. You look superb.”
“So do you, Abby.”
Abby smiled although Joyce’s tone suggested she knew something had been set into motion. A rivalry, perhaps? Abby decided to play it safe and offer a few more compliments as she twirled around. The cotton dress she’d selected in plain white had a tiny bow on the collar to match the one on her hat. The white shoes were a size too big for her but she’d been able to adjust the strap to keep them in place.
“This event would be nothing without you,” Abby offered. “Faith told me how much money you raised last year. I’m sure you’ll double it this year.”
“Really?” Joyce’s eyebrow curved up. “You brought your own basket. You’re supposed to bid on one.”
No, she hadn’t brought a basket, but Charles had come fully prepared. “Oh… Yes, of course. We’ll all be bidding.” Abby shrugged. “Just as well Charles thought to bring one. It looks like we might have missed out.”
“You haven’t. There are still some left.” Joyce leaned against the car. “By the way, nice touch. I wish I’d thought of it.” She sent her gaze skipping around the picnic grounds. “I’m already tweaking the event for next year. I think we should have it at twilight and set a Great Gatsby theme with formal wear. Tuxedos for the gentlemen and evening gowns for the ladies. I’m picturing Ch
inese lanterns and… Oh, it’ll come to me.”
Abby bit her lip. She could have kicked herself. She’d only just been entertaining a similar thought. Once again, Joyce had managed to beat her to it. Abby wondered if she’d also considered hiring a live band. That would be a splendid idea. She savored the words and could imagine Joyce giving one of her rare smiles that suggested they were on the same wavelength. Yes, a live band with everyone wearing cream colored tuxedos.
Charles handed the champagne glasses around. “You could also hire a live jazz band.”
Joyce frowned. “Why didn’t I think of that? Thank you Charles. You’re a treasure.”
Faith sidled up to Abby and whispered, “I think you’re trying too hard and it’s showing.”
Abby whispered back, “I thought of the live band idea and was about to tell her when Charles beat me to it.”
“What’s going on with you?” Faith asked.
Abby pursed her lips.
“Is this still about Joyce beating you with the scoop about Kitty and Miranda?”
“No,” Abby huffed out.
“I think it is. I had no idea you were so competitive.”
“I’m not. It’s just that…”
Faith grinned. “You can’t stand it when someone beats you at your own game?”
Abby lifted her chin. “You’re forgetting about our mode of transportation. No one else thought of doing that.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t rain,” Faith murmured.
“I’m going to place bids on our basket.” Or else, she’d never hear the end of it. Moments later, she returned carrying a basket.
“That was quick work,” Faith said.
“Yes, well… This was the last one.”
“Which one did you get?” Joyce asked.
Abby looked at the label. “The Queen Alexandra.” Whatever that meant. Strawberries and cream came to mind. Lobster sandwiches. A quiche or a terrine fit for a queen…
Joyce smiled. “Oh, I nearly placed a bid on that one. It’s Harriet Newton’s special.”
