by Gayle Trent
“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your Thanksgiving with your family.”
“Dream of it,” I said. “You’d be doing me a favor.” I felt my conscience kick at that one, but I truly dreaded facing my mother tomorrow.
*
Driving back home, I wondered if the person who’d trashed Yodel Watson’s house had been looking for her journal. Had Annabelle not been so adamant about the book, I’d have thought the break in had been engineered by junkies or perhaps vandals who’d read about Mrs. Watson’s death in the newspaper and knew the house would be empty. But it appeared nothing valuable had been taken. Plus, whoever tore up the house had been angry. I felt the fury involved the instant I saw the broken dolls. Most of the dolls appeared to be collector’s pieces. A thief or a junkie would’ve pawned the dolls, not destroyed them.
Was Annabelle right? Had someone murdered Mrs. Watson and later learned about her diary of iniquities and come back to get it? I shuddered, thinking of Annabelle in the house alone . . . wondering if the killer would try to break in again in order to get the book.
Thanks to Bill and Joanne Hayden, it would quickly become common knowledge that I’d gone to Mrs. Watson’s house on Tuesday to pick up something for Annabelle. Would the killer correctly surmise that the item I’d picked up for Annabelle was her mother’s journal? Would he think I still had it? With a gulp, I realized I’d better find out what had happened to Yodel Watson before I shared her fate.
As I was putting the key in my door, I heard a rustle in the bushes. There I stood with absolutely no weapon whatsoever. I fumbled and dropped my keys. How stupid! I felt like the heroine in a horror movie. Next, I’d start to run and then trip and fall, giving the crazed maniac ample opportunity to kill me.
Keeping my eyes on the bushes, I bent and picked up my keys. It was still daylight—barely. Would someone actually attack me on my porch before it was even dark?
The rustling grew louder.
I jammed the key into the lock. Before I could turn the door knob, I heard a plaintive meow.
I felt my limbs go weak with relief. “Am I glad to see you!”
I opened the door and went into the kitchen. After a quick look around to make sure everything was as I had left it, I put some food out for the cat. She waited until I’d gone back inside before she’d come and eat. She, too, knew it paid to be cautious.
I went into the living room and sank into my favorite chair. This week had been too much for me so far, and it didn’t show any signs of improving.
I dreaded seeing Mom and Dad tomorrow; Mom for the obvious reason, and Dad because I was afraid I might cry when I looked at his sweet, gentle face and knew what she’d done to him all those years ago. I still felt a need to share at least some of this burden before tomorrow. I got out my address book and phoned Uncle Hal. Aunt Nancy answered.
“Hi, Aunt Nancy. It’s Daphne.”
“Hello, darling. How are you? Enjoying the new home?”
“I love it. I want you to stop by and see it the next time you’re down this way.”
“You know I will.”
“Listen, is Uncle Hal around? I have a question for him.”
“No, dear. Actually, he’s in your neck of the woods right now.”
“He’s . . . he’s here?”
“Sure is. I’m surprised he hasn’t been by to see you. He’s been there since this past weekend.”
“Since the weekend?”
“Yeah. He’s been down there with some of his hunting buddies. He’ll be home tonight.” She paused. “Is anything wrong?”
“No . . . no, I just had a question about . . . uh…you know . . . getting the house ready for winter.”
“Oh.”
“And I wanted to tell you guys to have a happy Thanksgiving.”
“You, too, darling. Give everybody our love and tell ‘em we’ll see them soon.”
“I’ll do that, Aunt Nancy.”
As I hung up, Aunt Nancy’s words replayed in my mind. He’s been there since this past weekend.
CHAPTER SIX
I awoke Thursday morning with dread pinning me to the bed like a three-hundred-pound wrestler. I wondered what time it was but was afraid to look at the clock. It might be later than I thought. I might not have time to lie here and visualize every possible scenario that could take place at Violet’s house today . . . none of them pleasant.
I burrowed deeper beneath the covers. I’d slept fitfully last night. I wondered about Uncle Hal being in town. It was deer season, so it was plausible that he’d spent the past few days hunting with friends. But I hadn’t known he was here, and Violet hadn’t mentioned anything about it either.
Was it possible there was something more damning about Uncle Hal in Mrs. Watson’s book? Something I’d overlooked? Something he’d kill to avoid having revealed?
I gave myself a mental shake. Now I was being ridiculous. Even if Uncle Hal had been involved in Vern March’s accident, that took place a long time ago. What difference could it possibly make after all these years? A tiny voice inside my brain whispered, “There is no statute of limitations on murder.”
I bolted upright. I had to get up and get over these foolish imaginings. Uncle Hal was not a murderer. I’d always seen him as a big, strong teddy bear . . . a protector . . . a guardian angel who’d never let anyone hurt me. Why, when he’d heard that Todd had taken a shot at me, he threatened to . . . to kill him. Of course, that was anger talking. If anyone hurt Leslie or Lucas, I’d be out for blood myself. That doesn’t mean I’d actually take someone’s life. Right?
I said a quick prayer for strength and got out of bed.
*
I had dressed cautiously, choosing black silk pants, a maroon satin shirt, black flats and a string of grey pearls. I felt comfortable but knew . . . okay, hoped . . . I looked nice enough to pass Mom’s scrutiny.
I carefully took the cake I’d brought from the passenger side of the car. Thankfully, it was gloriously sunny so I didn’t have to worry about rain. I bumped the car door shut with my hip and walked slowly up Violet’s walk.
Lucas and Leslie, their blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, flung open the door. They’d apparently been watching for me.
“We’re so glad you’re here!” Lucas shouted. “We’ve been waiting for you all day!” He appeared ready for the day’s football games in a Virginia Tech jersey and running pants.
I laughed. “But I’m early. It’s not even eleven o’clock.”
“We know,” Leslie said, looking like a miniature pop star in her flared jeans and lacy top. “But it seemed like forever. Can we see the cake?”
“Yes. Come on, and I’ll put it on your mom’s cake plate.” I glanced around the living room and saw Dad sitting in Vi’s plush blue rocker watching the parade. In his tan cardigan and brown slacks, he looked alone and sad and pitiful . . . even though he broke into a huge grin upon seeing me. Okay, he actually looks like normal; but knowing what I know makes him appear sad and pitiful to me. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, honey. You look like best-in-show at the county fair. Whatcha got there?”
“It’s a chocolate cake with white icing.”
“Hmph. I might have my dessert first then.”
“Plus, this cake is gorgeous, Grandpa,” Leslie gushed.
I smiled. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”
“Still, I know it’ll look as great as it tastes.”
“Nuh-uh.” Lucas shook his head. “I think it’ll look good, Aunt Daphne, but it’ll taste best.”
“Well, stop arguing over it and give me a hunk of it,” Dad said. “I’m starving.”
“Oh, you are not,” Mom told him, coming out of the kitchen. She looked at me. “I was beginning to worry about whether or not you were coming.”
To me, this woman I’d seen every day for the first twenty years of my life suddenly looked like a stranger. Her red lipstick seemed garish and her makeup too “done.” Although she’d always preferred V-neck sweaters, t
he spice-colored one she wore today appeared to be a bit too low cut. Okay, she, too, looks absolutely normal; but knowing what I know . . . .
“I need to put this down,” I said, with a nod toward the cake in my hands.
“Yeah,” Leslie said. “Come on.”
I followed the twins into the kitchen where Violet was adding sage to the dressing. The smell brought back memories of our grandmother mixing up dressing every Thanksgiving while I stood by her side and waited for a test taste.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I said.
“Happy Thanksgiving! Cute outfit!” She smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “As soon as you get the cake set down, would you taste the dressing for me? See if I have enough sage in it?”
There it was. The test taste. “I’d be honored.”
Our gazes locked.
“I miss her, too,” Vi said softly.
I put the cake on the table and sampled the dressing. “It’s perfect.” I took the glass cake plate from atop the buffet.
“You might have to wash it off,” Vi said.
I scoffed. “As if.”
Lucas, unable to stand the suspense, opened the cake box. “Cool! But I still say it’ll taste even better than it looks.”
“Ooooh, it’s so pretty,” Leslie said. “I love the flowers!”
I lifted the square cake, on its doily and cake board, out of the box. “I thought you would. I also thought you might want to take the pearls and make necklaces for your dolls or something.”
Leslie threw her arms around my waist. “Thanks, Aunt Daphne!”
“I want the piece with the most icing,” Lucas said.
Mom came into the kitchen. “What’s all the fuss about?”
“Daphne’s cake,” Vi said. “Isn’t it pretty?”
Mom looked at the cake. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Is there anything I can help with?” I asked.
“Not now,” Mom said. “Your sister and I have everything taken care of.” She flicked another glance at the cake. “I’ll put this on the counter out of the way.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to make it obvious I was gritting my teeth. “I guess I’ll take cleanup duty. In the meantime, I’ll go in here with Dad.”
“Yeah,” Lucas said, “and watch the parade.”
“Yeah,” Leslie said. “They’re gonna be showing horses in a minute.”
We went back out into the living room. Jason, Violet’s husband and the twins’ dad, had joined Dad in front of the TV.
Jason is a sweetheart. With his red hair and boyish freckles, I used to say he was “Ritchie Cunningham, all-American boy next door.”
“Hi,” he said, getting up to give the couch to me, Leslie and Lucas.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“I do if I don’t want these guys climbing all over me. When you’re around, everybody else takes a backseat.” He sat down in a floral armchair that matched the sofa. “How’s business?”
“Pretty good,” I said, not wanting to go into the gory details of the past few days.
“Have you got some business cards?” Dad asked. “I’ll take some home and hand them out up our way.”
“I’ll get you some out of the car before I leave,” I said. “Thank you. I really appreciate your support.”
“What? I’m proud of you.”
“By the way,” I said, “I spoke with Aunt Nancy last night.”
Dad nodded. “Hal get back home all right?”
“He hadn’t got there when I was talking with her. She said he was on a hunting trip.”
“Yeah, he and the Duncan brothers went hunting out on Old Man Boyd’s land.”
“Is Mr. Boyd still living?” Jason asked. “He was old when I was a little boy.”
Dad chuckled. “The Lord’ll have to knock that one on the head on Judgment Day.”
“Look, look, look,” Leslie squealed. “Here come the horses!”
While we were all expressing our admiration for the horses, Mom came in and announced that she and Violet had lunch ready. Still, I knew who my allies were, and I sat right there with Leslie and Lucas until the horses went by. After all, it was only a few seconds. Then Jason turned off the television, and we filed into the kitchen.
Dad said the blessing, and we sat down around the table. I’d planned to sit next to Dad, but the twins put me between them. That was fine, too. I don’t get to spend enough time with these sweet little people.
Unfortunately, I was directly across the table from my mother. Every time I looked at her, I thought of Vern March. I simply tried to avoid looking at her, but it was still an awkward meal to get through.
After everybody had eaten all the main course we could hold, Jason retrieved the cake and presented it with a flourish. He picked up his fork and pretended he was about to dive in. “Thanks, Daph, but didn’t you bring anything for the rest of the family?”
“Dad, don’t make me come over there,” Leslie said.
Jason laughed as he got dessert plates and a server.
“I get the first piece,” Lucas said.
“Nuh-uh. I do,” Leslie said.
“I get the first piece,” Jason said.
He served the first slice to himself and then wisely cut two slices so the twins could be served simultaneously. He gave the next slice to Dad. He intended on serving Mom next.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll just have a cup of coffee. I’ve had too much of this wonderful food to eat another bite.”
She hates me. She’s always hated me.
“I’ll take it,” Vi said, getting up to get Mom some coffee. “It looks yummy.”
“It is,” said Lucas, who’d already plowed through half his slice. “Can I have Grandma’s piece?”
“Eat what you’ve got,” Jason said, “and if you’re still hungry, you can have more.”
“Me, too?” Leslie asked, icing at the corners of her mouth.
“You, too.” Jason grinned and handed me a plate. “Good thing you don’t bring cakes over here every day or we’d be the roly-polies.”
“Not me,” Lucas said. “I get lots of exercise.”
I put my arms around him and his sister. “Can I take these people home with me?”
“Yes!” Leslie cried. “Can we? Please, Mom?”
“We don’t have school tomorrow,” Lucas said. “And we don’t go to Grandma and Grandpa Armstrongs’ house until Saturday. And we’ve never got to spend the night at Aunt Daphne’s new house.”
“Please?” Leslie asked again.
Vi and Mom exchanged looks. Mom appeared to be livid.
“But, guys,” Violet said, “your grandparents are here.”
“So?” Lucas swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “We’ve been with them since yesterday, and we’ll see them tomorrow when we get back home.”
“Yeah,” Leslie agreed.
I almost laughed out loud. When the twins team up, you’d better watch out.
Violet sighed. “Daphne, are you sure it’s no trouble?”
“It’ll be a pleasure,” I said. “Besides, it’ll give you and Mom a chance to hit those early-bird sales.”
“Without dragging us along,” Lucas said.
“Yeah,” Leslie said. “We can stay in a nice warm bed instead of getting dragged out into the cold with all those crowds of people who have diseases we could catch.”
At that, I did laugh out loud. And Dad did, too.
He loves me. He’s always loved me.
After dessert, I quickly went to the kitchen. I opened the dishwasher and returned to the dining room for dishes.
“We’ll help you, Aunt Daphne,” Leslie said.
She, her brother and I each carried a stack of dishes into the kitchen.
Mom followed us. “You children didn’t help your mother and me with clean up yesterday evening.”
“That’s because you all didn’t have anything else to do,” Lucas said. “We’re helping Aunt Daphne so we can get out of here and go
to her house.”
With a look of irritation thrown in my direction, Mom announced she was going upstairs to read for a while.
“Come on,” Lucas told me. “Let’s get on the stick.”
*
“Let’s make Grandpa a bitty cake,” I said when we got to my house. “He can take it home with him tomorrow.”
“Can we make us a bitty cake to take home with us tomorrow, too?” Lucas asked.
“Of course.” I smiled. “Let’s get washed up.”
Four little feet thundered down the hall to the bathroom. I lagged behind and patiently waited my turn. I was hoping to set a good example; but as Lucas and Leslie jostled each other shoulder to shoulder and got water all over the vanity and the floor, I’m not sure they even realized I was there.
“Bitty cakes” are what I call six-inch round cakes. Often used for the last tier of a round wedding cake, six-inch single-layer cakes are perfect for small, intimate occasions, “just because” gifts, or little pick-me-ups. The children love them.
The kids dried their hands and turned to me with a triumphant and expectant gleam.
“Go into the kitchen and put on your aprons. I’ll be right there.”
I keep two red canvas aprons hanging in the kitchen on pegs next to mine. My junior bakers fill my heart. My apron is white. It camouflages the icing well . . . the white, anyway.
I wiped up all the water, washed my hands and joined the children in the kitchen.
“Leslie, what job would you like?”
She smoothed her apron. “I wanna do the borders.”
“Great. Lucas?”
“I wanna do something radical like Chef Duff from Ace of Cakes.”
“No saws in my kitchen, mister.”
He laughed. “I wanna paint with one of those sprayers.”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t have an air gun, but I do have spray frosting.”
“Awesome!”
“Can I try some, too?” Leslie asked.
“No,” Lucas said. “I’m doing the paint. Besides, you already said you were doing the borders.”
“Maybe you can paint the borders,” I suggested to Leslie.
“But her paint will get on mine!”
