by Krista Davis
In a remarkably calm voice, Matt said, “I’m moving the buffet to the side of the house and the ice cream sundaes and watermelon to the porch. I will not serve people back there where it stinks.”
He walked off, and I didn’t bother stopping him. I was in full agreement.
Just before four o’clock, the musicians I had hired strolled onto the grass strumming their guitars. The trucks drove out, and notes of “Sweet Caroline” reached me as the drone of the engines diminished.
Mindy stomped toward me ready to start World War III. “They’re not spreading the mulch! They said they can come back in the morning. I told them not to bother ever showing their faces around here again.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I swear we’re moving. I can’t put up with this rotten old house and this park of a backyard. We’re moving, and that’s that. I cannot entertain here. I thought if I paved it over with concrete and put in a swimming pool that it would be… tolerable. But this is the last straw.”
That was Roscoe’s problem, not mine.
The face painter and the magician arrived. A team of kid’s party game pros set up croquet and sack races on the front lawn, and waitresses began to circle with trays of icy drinks. I relaxed a little bit. The odor was the only real problem, and Mindy had no one to blame but herself, even if she did try to blame me for it. I hoped the wind would shift.
It didn’t. My ex-husband, Mars, showed up with Natasha. He looked terrific in shorts and a black cotton polo shirt with tiny red and white stripes and the Dior bee logo. I knew he still ran every morning, because I saw him jogging by my house with Daisy on the weeks he had custody of her. I’d been avoiding him since we shared a romantic moment that left me shocked to my core. I’d been so sure everything was over between us. I was perfectly happy dating Wolf, and I knew I didn’t want to be the other woman with my ex-husband! The mere thought was enough to send me over the brink—even if he hadn’t married Natasha yet. She had done everything possible to put a ring on her finger, but Mars had managed to dodge her. They continued to live together, though, so as far as I was concerned—they were a couple.
“Is that cow dung?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“I haven’t smelled anything that bad in years. Can’t you do anything about it?” Natasha’s robin’s-egg-blue dress skimmed her perfect shape. I had managed to break two nails setting up the party, but hers shone like she had just come from having them done. She wore a matching blue hat with a brim that curled up at the edges to reveal a white side underneath. Natasha and I had grown up together, competing at everything, except the beauty pageants she adored. We both wrote newspaper advice columns on domestic matters, which irritated Natasha, since we had different styles.
I couldn’t help tweaking her. “We’re asking everyone to pitch in and shovel mulch over it. You don’t mind, do you?”
She stared at me in horror.
At that precise moment, a towheaded little boy who looked like a blue-eyed angel ran by chanting “Poop, poop, poop!” and swiped his dirty hand on Natasha’s silk dress.
She stood stock still except for her trembling hands. “Mars, take me home to change clothes.” She swung around and marched out.
Mars sighed. “We’ll be back.”
I followed them out to the front porch, pleased to see that the rest of the party was in full swing and going well. Francie and Nina walked up the steps. A blue cotton jacket topped Francie’s long dress, a floral print the colors of the ocean. She wore anklet socks that revealed just an inch or so of her bare legs, and chunky white running shoes.
“I thought you weren’t coming!”
She leaned toward me and whispered, “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t spy and report back to Olive?”
She must have noticed me looking at her shoes because she said, “I have to be able to sneak around!”
Roscoe rushed up and held out his arms. “Francine Vanderhoosen! Darlin’, you have made my day by coming. You don’t have to be a stranger. I didn’t divorce you, you know!” He embraced her, but I could see her mouth twist to the side. She halfheartedly patted his back.
“Mindy!” he bellowed.
She sidled up to us.
“Honey,” said Roscoe, “this here is Francie, one of Olive’s and my best friends.”
The mention of Olive’s name wiped a pretend smile off Mindy’s face. She maintained her composure, but there was no mistaking the frostiness in her tone when she greeted Francie.
“Y’all come on in,” said Roscoe. He waggled a finger in front of Francie’s nose. “I’ve got somethin’ to show you that’ll turn you plumb green.” Roscoe motioned them inside. We wedged through the throng of people and followed him into the foyer.
A waiter passed by with a tray of drinks. “Which one’s the sweet tea?” asked Roscoe.
The waiter politely pointed at different colored drinks in highball glasses. “Sweet tea, lemonade, Arnold Palmers.”
Roscoe plucked a glass of tea off the tray and cocked his head at us. I went for an Arnold Palmer, a refreshing blend of half tea and half lemonade.
We followed Roscoe to the left, through a sprawling but comfortable living room furnished with a mix of 1970s furniture and stark antiques with simple lines. He showed us into his den and barked, “Audie! How many times do I have to tell you that you’ll get that desk and everything that goes with it soon enough?”
Roscoe’s son, Audie, didn’t seem upset by Roscoe’s outburst. I’d seen Audie at a lot of chic Old Town functions, but if I hadn’t known who he was, the similarity between him and Roscoe would have told me they were related. Comfortably midforties, Audie looked like a slimmer version of Roscoe with a little bit more hair.
Cricket, Roscoe’s assistant and Audie’s fiancée, who would have been perfectly at home on Hugh Hefner’s arm, sat on the desk, her legs crossed seductively. She had a figure like a Barbie doll and waves of cascading copper tresses. Audie waved a hand at his dad and led her out a back door.
Roscoe shook his head at his son. “Well, Francie? Do you see it?”
I gazed around.
Old paneling lined the walls, giving the room a dark feeling—cozy in winter yet a welcome, cool respite from the blistering sun of summer. The scent of burned wood lingered from the brick fireplace. Bookshelves covered one entire wall. Duck decoys and statuettes of hunting dogs dotted the shelves between books.
Tan leather furniture looked to be soft and cushy from years of use. Outside the window, next to a mini meadow of daisies, Audie wrapped an arm around Cricket.
“Soph?” Nina’s voice held a tinge of impatience.
“Sorry. I was admiring your garden.”
Roscoe sipped from his tall glass of iced tea. “That was my Olive’s pride and joy. She lived for that garden and it still shows. People tease about having a green thumb—I swear that woman has green fingers and toes. She never did meet a plant that wouldn’t grow for her. Now ladies, not a one of you sees it? You know, they say the best place to hide something is right out in the open.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Dear Natasha,
I would love to have a gazebo, but my funds don’t stretch that far. What can I do as a focal point in the middle of my garden?
—Hostess in Willow Springs, Missouri
Dear Hostess,
Build an outdoor floor out of treated lumber. It should be large enough to accommodate an umbrella table and chairs. Paint a rug on the floor, and make some bright cushions for the chairs. Place a potted spiral topiary on each corner. Voilà! An elegant outdoor space!
—Natasha
“Roscoe!” Francie spoke his name softly. “It’s the Havell. The mallard Havell!” She shuffled closer to the bookshelf and focused on a print of ducks in a simple gold frame about three feet wide and two feet tall. Two male ducks with the hallmark emerald green heads of mallards and two plain female mallards were depicted in a marsh-type setting. At the very bottom, the words Mallard Duck were printe
d in a scroll font.
I looked over at Nina, who shrugged.
“Does Olive know about this?” Francie’s tone had become harsh and accusatory.
Roscoe laughed heartily and placed a hefty arm around Francie’s tiny shoulders. “You’re a good friend, Francie. You bet Olive knows about it. After the divorce, she bought herself a new house, and I bought myself four ducks.”
Francie snorted her disapproval.
“Roscoe.” The voice was low and clear. Not demanding or insistent. Simply there.
I turned and found Violet in the room with us. I hadn’t heard her enter, and calling his name was the first time I’d ever heard her speak. She stood by the door, her mouth set in an angry slash of a line, her dark eyes blazing with a fury that I hadn’t heard in her voice. Hair the color of coffee grounds was pulled back into a tight bun.
Roscoe nodded. “Excuse me, folks. Y’all go on out and help yourself to our finger-lickin’ chicken.”
When Roscoe headed for the door, Francie spoke up. “You’re not going to leave the mallards unguarded with all these people roaming around, are you?”
Roscoe gazed fondly at his print. “It’s a little bit big to stick in a purse or under a coat. Good to see you, Francie. Don’t be a stranger.” He walked by me and paused for a nanosecond. “I’d like to talk with you privately. How about lunch day after tomorrow at noon?”
He didn’t wait for an answer and walked out the door in a rush. Violet flicked a disapproving look over me and Nina before turning and following him.
His failure to wait for my response didn’t bother me. He probably needed to set up another event.
“Was it just me, or did that woman remind you of Mrs. Danvers?” asked Nina.
I smiled at her apt reference to the dour and sinister housekeeper in Rebecca. Just like Mrs. Danvers, Violet lurked about, casting her critical gaze on people. With one glance she reduced them to insecure children about to be scolded.
“That’s just Violet. She’s been with Roscoe for ages.” Francie took a close look at the print again and sighed. “You can bet I wouldn’t leave something like that out for anyone to take.”
“At the risk of seeming supremely stupid, what’s the big deal about the mallard print?” I asked.
Francie clucked at me. “I suppose you don’t know, either?” she asked Nina.
“It’s just an old print of some ducks.”
“It’s a two-hundred-year-old hand-colored engraving of an Audubon—worth roughly one hundred thousand dollars. Possibly a bit more. It’s in excellent condition.”
“I knew Roscoe had money, but that’s twenty-five thousand dollars a duck!” Nina marched up to the print and peered at it.
Francie scratched her head. “I always liked Roscoe. In spite of his wealth, he’s so down to earth. An everyman’s man. Did you know that each office in his headquarters is the same? The corner rooms with extra windows are conference rooms, lunchrooms, things like that, which everyone uses. He and Olive could have moved to a fancy place, but they stayed right here, in the house Roscoe’s parents bought before he was born.”
“Like throwing a low-key picnic for families instead of a formal event at night,” I murmured.
“Exactly. It was a huge disappointment when Roscoe dumped Olive for that minx Mindy.” Francie’s tone emphasized her bitterness.
I opened the door Audie had used earlier, and we stepped out onto the slate patio.
“Whoa!” Nina cupped her hand over her nose. “That’s brutal.”
“Manure.” I sighed. How many times would I have to explain?
Francie smiled. “I think it’s wonderful!”
“At a party?” I asked.
Her smile grew.
“Why do I think you might know something about this?”
“Me? Don’t be silly.”
In past years, the picnic had been held in the expansive garden. This year, only a few brave souls wandered out to the pond in the back.
Nina waved her hand in front of her face. “This is terrible. Where is everybody?”
We followed the sound of voices to the far side of the house. Matt had set up the buffet in the grass. Not an ideal location, but the breeze didn’t seem to carry the stench to that part of the lot. Old oak trees offered shade, but I worried about what might drop onto the food.
The clang of a cowboy triangle dinner bell rang out, and the crowd turned to look at Roscoe and Mindy, who stood on the porch overlooking the side yard like they were the king and queen holding court.
“First, I want to thank you all for coming, and I apologize for the strong farmyard scent,” said Roscoe. “I’m grateful to all my employees for another banner year, and I’m equally grateful for the friendship everyone here has extended to me. This picnic is always the biggest highlight of my year.”
Mindy nudged him.
“Oh! I guess this year the picnic has to be the second highlight. Marrying Mindy takes first place.”
Laughter rippled through the guests.
“Now, you know I’m not one for speechmaking, but there’s been a lot of speculation about my retirement. Audie there can’t wait to move from heir apparent into my seat. But I want you to know that I’m not planning to retire just yet. I’ve got a new wife to support! However, I have been listening to my new sweetheart and Audie, who keep telling me it’s time for me to take up golf and leave work behind.”
I looked around at the faces. Audie focused on his dad expectantly.
“I bought a retirement home! Yup, and I want all of you to come visit with us. We won’t be there full time yet, but I know you’re all going to love it, and there’s room for plenty of visitors.”
Mindy’s mouth dropped open. “Sweetheart! Did you buy the house in Palm Beach?”
“I did you one better, honeybunch. I bought us a five-hundred-acre bed-and-breakfast lodge in the best hunting and fishing wilderness in the mountains! We’re headed there later this week.”
Clearly not adept at hiding her initial reactions, Mindy looked as though she had taken a bite of a luscious éclair only to find glue inside. Her head bobbed with shock. She recovered quickly, forcing her thin lips into a smile as the crowd applauded and whistled.
An elbow poked me in the ribs. Nina stood beside me and cocked her head toward the woods in the back of the house.
A woman had dressed to blend with the dark greens and shadows of the trees. Oversized sunglasses and a dark straw hat concealed her face. If the sun hadn’t reflected off a shiny belt buckle, I never would have seen her there.
“Think it’s Olive spying on the party?” Olive generally avoided black-tie events and anything involving a crowd. The hat and sunglasses prevented me from identifying her, but I couldn’t imagine that anyone else would want to linger on the fringes of the party.
Nina nudged me and whispered. “Look again.”
Behind the royal purple spikes of a butterfly bush, I spotted a man dressed to blend in with the trees. His dark green T-shirt and trousers hid him well. Only his sandy hair gave him away.
“Not there!” hissed Nina.
How many people wanted to spy on Roscoe’s picnic? My eyes breezed past the man in green and the woman in the hat until I picked up Nina’s target.
Mona’s colorful outfit almost blended with the huge blue and purple blossoms of a cluster of hydrangeas. “You don’t think she’s following us?” I asked.
Nina heaved a sigh. “It’s a little peculiar that she happened to turn up here, don’t you think?”
I thought exactly that. I knew she would turn out to be one of those dogged people.
When we were indulging in ice cream sundaes, mine sweet pink peppermint with heavenly fudge sauce, Nina ever so casually asked Francie, “So how is Olive?”
“She can’t believe that business about the bed-and-breakfast. That was her dream, not Mindy’s.”
I grinned at Nina. Evidently it was Olive whom we saw lurking in the woods behind the house. “That explains Mindy
’s horror. It’s probably not the life for everyone.”
After most of the guests departed, I took a little stroll through the gardens collecting trash. Why would anyone throw paper napkins on the lawn? I paid little attention to murmuring voices until I heard a sob. Through a cluster of bamboo, I could see into a private garden. Two white wicker chairs sat comfortably side by side, adorned with seat cushions that matched the blue delphiniums and hydrangea behind them. Although Roscoe never served alcohol at his picnics, a pitcher and drinks that looked suspiciously like mint juleps dominated a white table spread with a Battenburg lace cloth. An ice cream sundae melted next to a slice of watermelon. I imagined Olive had spent many happy hours there. She probably never dreamed that she might someday find her son there—with his arms around Mindy, his new stepmother. Yet I could swear that’s what I was seeing.
Waves of guilt pelted me for spying. Whatever was going on was none of my business. Feeling like I’d seen something I shouldn’t have, I lowered my head and tiptoed away.
I took a long, hot shower that night to wash the dreadful stench out of my hair. Poor Roscoe and Mindy would have to live with the smell. It was after midnight when I wandered out to my own garden wearing flip-flops and an oversized T-shirt that came to my knees. I carried a cool, refreshing lemon drop to drink and had Mochie on a leash. At the table where Nina and I had sat in the morning, I relaxed with my feet up and watched Mochie sniff nighttime delights. He pawed at fireflies while Daisy explored and I basked in a balmy summertime-and-the-livin’-is-easy atmosphere. The manure nightmare was over, and except for lunch with Roscoe, I had two blissful weeks of nothing to do. I drank in the scent of lavender.
But my thoughts kept veering to all the little tasks that needed to be done. I could finally tackle the renovation of my bathrooms. No! I deserved a couple of weeks of lounging. No major projects. No drudge work. I would take in a movie. Even better, maybe a play. I could finally spend some quality time with Wolf. We could take some short trips to the mountains or the beach. It seemed like Wolf and I were always in a hurry. Being too busy for each other had led to the eventual demise of my marriage to Mars. I wasn’t going to let another relationship go down that path.
