by Diane Kelly
When they both made a move to stand, I raised a hand to stop them. “No need to get up on our account.”
“Thank goodness. Getting up gets harder every day.” The movie star stretched out her hand from her seat, the gemstones in her various rings glinting in the firelight. Her fingernails were long and tapered, nearly talon-like, and coated in a glossy plum-colored polish. “Hi, you two. I’m Roxanne. I heard you’ve bought Lillian’s house?”
“That’s right,” I replied, taking her hand. “I’m Whitney and this is my cousin Buck.” I released her hand and raised mine to indicate my cousin.
The silvery woman offered her name and hand, as well, though her hand was unadorned, her fingernails unpainted and trimmed short. “My name’s Mary Sue Mecklenberg. I own the house to the right of yours. Pleased to meet you folks.”
Roxanne reached down to the dog lying between her and her neighbor and gave him a nice scratch behind the ear with her long nails. “This big lump of fur down here? He’s Mosey.”
On hearing his name, the dog opened his eyelids halfway. He raised his head an inch or two to take a look at Buck and me before settling his cheek back on the rug and closing his eyes again. Apparently, he didn’t perceive us two strangers as a threat. He didn’t seem to find Buck and me interesting enough to warrant getting off his warm, comfortable rug, either. Couldn’t say I blamed him. He had the best spot in the house.
Introductions complete, Buck and I took seats on the sofa.
Whether this gathering was intended to be upbeat or mournful, I figured it couldn’t hurt to offer my condolences. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
Roxanne snorted. “Nelda wasn’t our friend.”
My mind whirled in confusion. “Dakota told me you ladies met up to play cards and sew, talk about books?”
“That’s true,” Roxanne said. “But we only included Nelda because it would have been rude to invite all the gals on the circle but her. Besides, she’d have pitched a hissy fit and made our lives miserable if we’d left her out.”
Buck and I exchanged a glance. This woman sure is blunt.
Mary Sue frowned slightly. “Now, now, Roxanne. It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead.”
Undeterred, Roxanne snorted. “Why not? Nelda spoke ill about the rest of us all her life.”
Mary Sue cringed. “You knew about that?”
“Of course! I know what she called me behind my back.”
When Mary Sue merely pursed her lips, Buck cocked his head and eyed Roxanne. “What did she call you?”
I elbowed my cousin in the ribs. We had no business stirring things up. Still, I had to admit I was curious, too.
“She called me a hussy! Can you believe it?” Roxanne shook her head.
Mary Sue tried to smooth things over. “Nelda only said that because she envied you, Roxanne. You were always the beauty of the bunch.”
“And you were always the peacemaker.” Roxanne turned back to me and Buck. “Mary Sue never has a harsh word against anyone. There’s not a mean bone in her body.”
Mary Sue groaned. “There’s not a bone that osteoporosis hasn’t got hold of, either.”
Roxanne waved a dismissive hand and issued a pshaw. “We old gray mares ain’t what we used to be, but we’ve got a few good years left in us.” She raised a glass in salute before taking a generous sip.
“‘Hussy’ isn’t so bad, really,” Mary Sue said. “You could’ve been called worse.”
“True,” Roxanne said. “Gayle and Lillian got the worst of it. ‘Hussy’ is much better than ‘cheat’ or ‘thief.’”
Buck chimed in again. “Mrs. Dolan called the other ladies a cheat and a thief?”
“Sure did!” Roxanne said. “Nelda had some gall accusing Gayle of cheating. We always played with the cards Gayle had given Lillian as a housewarming gift decades ago. Nelda seemed to think they were marked somehow, and that’s why Gayle won so often. ’Course there was no truth to that. Gayle is just good at cards, is all. Wins nearly every game we play.”
My mind went to the box of playing cards I’d seen on Lillian’s coffee table. “Are you talking about the cards in the wooden box? The one with the W engraved on top?”
“That’s them.” Roxanne cocked her head. “They’re still in the house?”
“They are,” I said. “On the coffee table.”
“I’m surprised Wayne or Andy didn’t take them.” Roxanne took another sip of her wine before continuing her tirade. “Anyhoo, why Nelda got her granny panties in such a bunch was beyond me. We play penny-ante poker. The winner gets peanuts. Talk about a sore loser.” She tsked. “Nelda accused Lillian of pocketing her sapphire pendant, too. It was in the shape of a peacock. Carl bought it for her years ago when he was off in the war. Nelda realized the thing was missing after one of our quilting sessions and insisted it had fallen off in Lillian’s house. None of us remembered her wearing it that night. It probably fell off in her own house or on her walk over.”
Mary Sue bit her lip, looking uncomfortable at the direction the conversation had taken. “Nelda could be helpful, though, too. She always made sure the kids got to school on time when it was her day to drive carpool.”
Roxanne scoffed. “You mean when she’d pull into the center of the cul-de-sac and blast her horn? The kids hurried so their eardrums wouldn’t burst. That busybody grilled the kids about our personal business when they were in her car, too. She once asked my daughter whether I’d had a tummy tuck. The nerve of that woman!”
Nelda might have been a busybody, but Roxanne was certainly a gossip. Maybe she shouldn’t be pointing fingers.
Ding-dong! The doorbell interrupted our exchange. Mosey opened his eyes halfway again, but didn’t bother lifting his head this time.
Bertram handed us our tea, strode to the door, and opened it. Carl, Becky, Dahlia, and Daisy filed in, bringing a savory aroma with them. All of the women carried dishes covered in aluminum foil. Bertram handed Carl a glass of whiskey he had at the ready and took the ladies’ drinks orders as they made their way to the kitchen with the food.
Bertram had just headed off to gather drinks for the Dolan women when three quick knocks sounded at the door. Rap-rap-rap.
“I got it, Bert!” Carl called to his friend.
Carl opened the door to reveal Dakota and Wayne. Wayne carried a slow cooker from which a spicy scent emanated. I was guessing chili. The man with the receding ginger hair eased through the door after them.
Roxanne raised her hand and waved. “Hey, Andy! Come meet the folks that bought your mother’s house.”
He stepped over, and during the next couple minutes of conversation, we learned that he was Lillian Walsh’s younger son, in his early forties, and single.
“Don’t you worry, Andy,” Roxanne said. “The right woman’s out there somewhere, just waiting for you to find her.”
“I don’t see how I will,” he replied, “unless she falls into my lap. I’m putting in sixty hours a week or more at the office.”
Wayne, who’d just wandered into the room, waggled his brows. “I’ve heard of places where women will fall into your lap. It’ll cost you twenty dollars, though.” He cackled when Andy blushed and frowned. Turning his back on his brother, Wayne headed over to me and Buck. He fished two sales brochures out of his jacket and forced them on my cousin. “Take a look at these. Whitney said you’re set for cleaning products, but I dabble in other merchandise, too. You’re in the fixer-upper business, so you’ll be interested in our water and air purifiers. Vitamins, too. All that hard labor takes a toll. It’s important to stay on top of your health.”
Buck’s stiff stance told me he found the man’s untimely sales pitch as inappropriate as I had, but my cousin managed to keep his tone cordial. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh.” Wayne gave Buck a too-familiar shoulder squeeze before turning his head to address Bertram and issuing a hoot. “Sure smells good in here. When can we put on the feedbag?”
Gayl
e called out from the kitchen. “It’s ready!”
Bertram waved for the crowd to follow him. Seeming to realize food was in the offing, Mosey pushed himself up off the rug and, true to his name, moseyed after us. We entered the kitchen to find every square inch of table and counter space filled with potluck dishes in charmingly mismatched serving pieces.
Gayle stood next to a stack of plates and brandished a wooden spoon. “Y’all know the rules. No pushing, no shoving, no cutting in line. I catch anyone mixing up the utensils and you will be banned from dessert.” She pointed her spoon at her dog. “That goes for you, too, Mosey.”
Murmurs of “yes, ma’am” sounded all around us. Buck and I added our own. Clearly, this group had gathered often, felt at ease with each other, treated each other like family. Not many neighborhoods like that these days.
Gayle directed that, as the bereaved family, Carl and his progeny should start. “Dolans first.” She waved her spoon as if directing an orchestra. “Dig in.”
Once the Dolans were done, the rest of us shuffled forward, filling plates and bowls with the variety of offerings. Lasagna. Squash casserole. Wayne’s three-alarm chili that made both your taste buds and eyes water. Cornbread baked and served in a heavy-duty cast-iron skillet.
Gayle and Bertram had put the leaf in their dining room table and added extra folding chairs. We crammed in, shoulder to shoulder. Bertram filled Mosey’s bowl and set it down in a corner, where the dog could be part of the event but not underfoot.
Dakota eased in between Becky’s twins, grinning like he’d won the jackpot. Becky cut a glance in his direction. Was it just my imagination, or had a scowl crossed her face as she raised her glass to her mouth?
Andy held a forkful of potatoes au gratin aloft and eyed me and Buck. “You two are professional carpenters?”
Buck dipped his head in confirmation. “My father owns a carpentry business, operates a small sawmill in his barn. Whitney and I both work for him. He’s taught us all the ins and outs of woodworking.”
Andy sipped his tea and returned his glass to the table. “We’re glad you’ll be sprucing the house up. Mom was embarrassed about the condition of the place these last few years, but there wasn’t much she could do on her fixed income.”
Gayle and Roxanne exchanged a discreet glance across the table. What’s that about?
Andy went on to ask about our plans. “I’d love to hear what you’ve got in mind for the house.”
Buck deferred to me. “I’m just the muscle. Whitney’s the designer.”
The group turned their attention to me, eager to hear the details for the renovation.
I gave them a basic list. Replace the carpet with wood floors. Install new appliances and countertops, and add an extension to expand the counter space in the kitchen. Pull out the old tub in the master bath and replace it with a separate garden tub and walk-in shower. “We plan to repaint inside and out, too. We’re going to maintain the black-and-white color scheme on the exterior, but we’ll paint the front door red. It’ll be a nice accent color.”
“Soon as it warms up,” Carl said, “I’m going to get rid of that ugly-as-sin paint Nelda insisted on. I told her the color reminded me of pork rinds, but she wouldn’t listen.” He frowned at the memory before raising hopeful eyebrows. “You got any color suggestions? You’re the expert.”
Though I binge-watched HGTV any chance I could and pored over home and garden magazines, I had no formal training. Still, I seemed to have a natural knack for design. If nothing else, I was good at emulating things I’d seen elsewhere. “What about burgundy?” I suggested. The color would tie in nicely with the other homes in the cul-de-sac while offering its own unique look. “White trim would look nice. Maybe navy blue for the shutters and front door?”
Becky’s face brightened and she leaned forward to address first her father, then me. “That’s a great idea! Can you recommend a painting company?”
“I’d be happy to,” I told her. “I work in property management part-time, so I’ve got lots of contacts.”
Mary Sue leaned forward to get a better view down the table. “How’s college going, girls?”
“It’s going well,” Dahlia replied.
Becky beamed. “Dahlia made the dean’s list last semester.”
After congratulations were offered all around, everyone’s eyes shifted to Daisy, who had yet to reply to Mary Sue’s inquiry. She responded with a shrug. “I didn’t make the dean’s list, obviously. Dahlia’s the smart one. I’m the fun one.” She cut a sideways glance at her sister, a grin playing about her lips. “I’m also the pretty one.”
Dahlia rolled her eyes. “We look exactly the same.”
“Do we?” Daisy gestured to her flashy fringed outfit before holding out a hand to indicate her twin’s demure black dress.
“Okay,” Dahlia acquiesced. “We look the same in the face.” Despite Daisy’s teasing, Dahlia seemed to sense that her sister might feel slighted or embarrassed, and she came to her twin’s defense. “Daisy performed at an open-mic night at a coffee shop near campus. The crowd loved her. The owner asked her to come back next week.”
While praise rained down on her other daughter this time, Becky’s face seemed to tighten. “Will the owner be paying you?”
“No,” Daisy said, “but she’s going to let me put out a tip jar.”
Becky chewed her lip, apparently conflicted. “Just make sure you don’t neglect your schoolwork. Your tuition is costing me an arm and a leg.”
Daisy groaned. “I know, Mom. You’ve told me a million times.”
“Sorry, hon,” Becky said, “but until I get that divorce settlement…” She shook her head, leaving her sentence unfinished and the rest of us to fill in the blank. Until she gets the divorce settlement, she’ll be spread thin financially.
Carl sighed and cut a sharp look at his daughter. “You wouldn’t be having such a hard time if you’d taken my advice all those years ago and held out for a nicer man.”
Becky cut her father a scathing look right back. “You’re really not in a position to lecture anyone on marriage, are you, Dad?”
Whoa. What did she mean by that? Had Carl and Nelda Dolan’s marriage been rocky?
“I suppose not,” Carl conceded, reaching out to give his daughter’s hand a conciliatory pat.
Gayle intervened and expertly steered the conversation in a more positive direction. “Bertram and I are planning a vacation to Gatlinburg this spring. It’s been a long time since we visited the Smoky Mountains.”
“We took the boys there a few years ago,” Wayne said. “Spent most of our time at Dollywood. They loved the Barnstormer ride. Well, all of ’em but Dakota. He was too scared to go on it.”
Dakota’s face flamed bright red. “I wasn’t scared,” he insisted. “Those kinds of rides just make me sick.” His gaze darted to Daisy as if to gauge her response.
She chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t like amusement park rides, either.”
He gave her a soft, grateful smile.
The group continued to make small talk throughout the meal, though surprisingly little of it involved Nelda. Even so, it didn’t seem the neighbors were purposely ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room. Instead, it just seemed the woman’s passing had little impact on those gathered. How sad would it be to pass away so uneventfully, to fail to leave even a temporary void? I hoped there would be lots of people missing me once I was gone.
Bertram uncorked a fresh bottle of white wine and held it up. “Any takers?”
Roxanne was the first to hold up her glass. “Fill me up, Bertram.”
Several others followed suit.
As everyone finished up, I helped Gayle gather the dirty plates and transport them to the kitchen sink. Meanwhile, Becky and Mary Sue carried the desserts and dessert plates into the dining room.
Carl’s gaze moved among the cakes and cobblers, and for the first time, he appeared genuinely sad, his eyes and mouth drooping. “I hate to sa
y it, but these get-togethers just aren’t the same without Lillian’s peach pie.”
Murmurs of agreement went up around the table. I could relate. My aunt Nancy made the best sweet potato pie on the planet. The holidays wouldn’t be the same without it.
“Lillian had quite a collection of blue ribbons on her fridge,” I said. “That pie must’ve been really good if it won awards.”
Carl moaned, as if the thought of the pie brought him pure bliss. “I’d kill for that pie. Best-tasting thing I ever ate in my life.”
“We know, Granddad.” One of the twins rolled her eyes as she teased her grandfather. “You’ve told us ten thousand times.”
Becky’s lip curled up in what was as much a smirk as it was a smile. “It used to make Mom so mad when Dad would fawn over Lillian, tell her how good that pie was. Mom begged Lillian for the recipe, but Lillian wouldn’t give it to her.” Becky turned to Mary Sue. “You were Lillian’s best friend. She never gave you the recipe?”
“Nah.” Mary Sue waved a dismissive hand. “Lillian knew as well as y’all do that I’m better on the stovetop than in the oven. My mashed potatoes and fried okra can’t be beat, but I can’t bake to save my life.”
“That’s not true,” Gayle insisted. “Your cornbread is the delicious.”
“I agree.” Buck put a hand on his belly. “I went back for seconds. Twice.”
Mary Sue sent a soft smile his way. “That’s called thirds, hon.”
Buck shrugged. “I never was much good at math.”
