“You gonna get out?” Earl stood outside the pickup, holding the door open for her.
“Sorry.”
He gave her a look, as if to say, “What’s with you tonight?”
“Hey, Cousin. Kathryn, glad you could make it,” Hank greeted them inside the Grange Hall. He patted Earl on the back, and was about to shake hands with Kathryn when his gaze settled on the ring. He took her hand and held it up to the light. “Well, well, ain’t that a beaut! You didn’t tell me you two were getting hitched.”
“We’re not,” Kathryn said quickly. She glanced at Earl. He frowned at the ring. Before she could explain, he brushed past her and disappeared into the crowd.
Hank stared after him. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
“Looks that way. You see, Earl didn’t give me this ring. Emily did. It belonged to someone a long time ago.”
“So why’s he mad?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
Kathryn made a move to leave, but Hank caught her by the elbow. “Speaking of Em,” he said, lowering his voice, “you heard any more from the Spitzers or their lawyer?”
His tone was casual but he seemed intent on her reply. “Not since they came to the house after Gordon was killed. How about you?”
“No, and I think that’s a good sign.”
“Why?”
“Could mean they’ve realized they don’t have a case against her. Gordon had no business going over there and scaring the daylights outta her. He brought it on himself. That’s what I believe and that’s what most folks are gonna believe no matter what the Spitzers and their hotshot lawyer say.”
He looked Kathryn in the eye, as if he expected her to agree. But she balked at giving the nod to this overly pat version of Gordon’s killing. “Do you think Diana Farley brought it on herself, too?” Whoa! Now where had that come from?
“What’s Diana got to do with it?” He lowered his voice even more.
“She confronted Brian Russo like Gordon confronted Emily, and both of them were killed. Of course, neither Gordon nor Diana knew the people they were going after would be armed. If Brian was armed.”
“Who said he wasn’t?”
“Joey Babcock.”
“Well, Joey . . .” Hank shook his head dismissively. “This isn’t the time to talk about that. Now if you’ll ’scuse me, I see someone I need to have a word with.” He walked over to a man Kathryn didn’t recognize.
Talking about the night of the killings clearly made Hank uncomfortable. Because he was related to two of the suspects? She doubted she’d get an answer to that question tonight. What she could do, though, was locate Earl and find out why the ring bothered him. She scanned the crowd. Not seeing him in the hall, she poked her head into the kitchen. Millie stood at a table with her back to Kathryn, slicing a loaf of bread into perfectly even pieces with a large knife. She marveled at Millie’s speed and dexterity. “Have you seen Earl?” she asked.
Millie turned, knife in hand. “He passed through here on his way outside a few minutes ago. Looked grim. Is something the matter?”
Kathryn explained about the ring.
“He probably thought some other guy gave it to you. That’s so Earl to shoot first and ask questions later.”
An alarm went off inside Kathryn. “Really?”
“Just a manner of speaking. But he does have a way of jumping to the wrong conclusion. Good luck getting it sorted out.” Millie went back to her slicing.
Kathryn walked out the back door. A small knot of men were gathered around kegs behind the Grange. She spotted Lucas Rogers, but no Earl. She started walking around the building. A shadowy figure stood relieving himself in the bushes. “Earl?” she called. He zipped up and stepped into the light. “It’s me, Wayne.”
“Oh, for a moment there, I thought you were Earl.”
“People often mistake us. It’s only when they get close, they see the difference.” He smiled shyly, a man most at home, she suspected, stretched out beneath the body of a car or truck. In social situations, he seemed content to remain in the shadow of his wife Suzy and his older brother.
“Thanks again for fixing my car a couple of weeks ago.”
“Glad to oblige.”
She continued around to the front of the building. People were still arriving but she saw no sign of Earl, so maybe he’d gone back inside. Before going in herself, she decided to complete the circuit.
On the far side, two men stood at a distance from the hall, their backs to her, facing a clump of trees. At first, they kept their voices low, but then she heard Roy exclaim, “Snap out of it, Son! This one’s a keeper. Not like the other one.”
“I thought you liked Diana,” Earl said.
“Did in the beginning. Thought she was one helluva foxy lady. But when I saw how she drove you crazy, swinging back and forth between you and her husband, I changed my mind. She was a vixen, that one.”
Vixen. So that had been Roy’s nickname for Diana.
“I’m glad you’ve got a nice little doe this time. So don’t you be doubting her. Anyone can see she’s wild about you. But if you think it would help, I could . . .”
She didn’t catch what followed. The next thing she knew, Roy took Earl by the arm and guided him toward the hall. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, she turned and slipped quickly through the front entrance.
Inside, she stood at the edge of the crowd. Earl and Roy spotted her and moved in her direction. The DJ put a CD on and people began to dance. Millie approached Earl and said something in his ear. He glanced at Kathryn, then back at Millie. After a moment’s hesitation, he took Millie in his arms and they started dancing.
It was a fast dance with the twirls Kathryn had never mastered. Millie, however, was expert at them. Her cheeks turned pink and her face broke into a smile as Earl spun her away from him, then reeled her back toward him—so close their bodies blended. In, out, in, out. Around and around they went, making ever wider circles and claiming more and more of the floor until the other dancers retreated to the sidelines. Their dancing was both flamboyant and perfectly controlled. Kathryn was sure they’d won their share of contests in high school and afterward. The chemistry that had brought them together still clearly existed.
In, out, in, out. They were so well attuned to each other that when Earl removed his jacket, the gesture was choreographed into the dance. Millie helped him slip his arms from the sleeves when she was near, then cast the jacket aside on her next spin-out. Earl, meanwhile, used his free hand to undo the top buttons of his shirt. His face and neck glistened with sweat and his eyes shone.
Kathryn felt a stab of envy; she’d love to be able to dance with him the way Millie did.
“Why don’t you cut in on her?” Roy stood by her side.
“I can’t.”
“You love my boy, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“The ‘but’ have to do with this?” Roy took her hand and examined the ring.
“What do you mean?”
“He thinks the guy you were with before him gave you the ring.”
“That’s crazy. Why would I wear another man’s ring when I’m with him?”
“Told ’im it didn’t make sense. Pretty ring, though. Where’d you get it?”
“Emily. It was Marguerite’s engagement ring. Emily insisted I take it.”
“You tell Earl that?”
“I was going to, but he stalked off before I could.”
Roy shook his head. “That’s my boy. Let’s get this straightened out.”
On previous occasions, Kathryn had noticed that while Roy enjoyed an easy camaraderie with men, around women he behaved like a hyperactive herd dog, nudging and nuzzling, poking and prodding, patting and even pinching the fanny of any female within range. Now he used his poking, prodding moves to s
teer her over to Earl and Millie.
The dance ended with a burst of applause, as Earl brought Millie twirling back to him. He dropped to the ground, and she did a graceful back bend over his knee.
“That was quite a show,” Roy remarked when the dancers resumed upright positions. “But now it’s Kathryn’s turn. You seen the ring Em gave her?” he asked Millie.
“Um, yes, it’s lovely,” Millie replied, her face still aglow. To Kathryn, she said, “I didn’t mean to steal your man, but when the music started, I couldn’t resist.”
Roy did a herding maneuver that brought Earl and Kathryn together, then cutting Millie from the pack, he led her away. For a long moment neither Kathryn nor Earl spoke. He stared doggedly at the ground. She glanced around the room. “Did Em really give you that ring?” he asked finally.
“Yes. You don’t believe me, ask her.”
“No, no, I believe you. But where’d she get it? And why’d she give it to you?’
Kathryn explained as best as she could.
“If that’s so, why’d you hide your hand when I came to house? And later in the truck, you weren’t paying attention to a word I said, just kept fussing with that ring and staring into space.”
“I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. But the business with Emily was so strange. It didn’t occur to me you’d think the ring came from Alan.”
“Who else could’ve given it to you? Not me for sure. I couldn’t afford to buy you something that special. Made me crazy knowing he could and I couldn’t.”
“But now you know the truth.” She stroked the snake tattoo on his arm, where he liked to be touched, and felt him relax. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Roy called. “Finish kissing n’ making up ’cuz Marsha and Fred are about to cut their anniversary cake.”
Even as Roy spoke, people moved to one side of the room, where a table with the anniversary cake stood. The cake was a three-tiered extravaganza, frosted white with a fat pastry-tube-fed swirl of aquamarine around the circumference of each layer. Pink rosettes and faux pearls decorated the swirls. On the top layer, spokes of rainbow-colored sprinkles, M & M’s, and Reese’s Pieces led inward to the center, where the plastic figures of a bride and groom stood under a canopy.
The figures struck Kathryn as hokey, but also touching in the hopefulness they projected. They perched atop the snowy eminence like climbers on a mountain summit, winded but exuberant, reveling in the vista their endurance had won them. As well they should: it was no mean feat to stay married forty years like Marsha and Fred Lapsley. Her own parents’ marriage had only lasted a few years. She wondered how many other married couples in the room would reach the forty-year mark. Roy and June were probably almost there. Wayne and Suzy had a solid marriage, so they seemed likely candidates.
Earl handed her a glass of champagne and she raised it mechanically. What about those who’d tried and failed at marriage? Earl and Millie, for example. And Cheryl, still in her teens and already a widow. Then there were those who’d never married. Hank was a bachelor, and she remained single. Should she take Marsha and Fred’s success as a hopeful sign? Her gaze settled on the plastic bride and groom figures. Had the person who’d designed the cake put them there to affirm her own belief in the possibility of happiness within marriage? Or had she simply thought they looked cute?
The guests cheered and applauded when Marsha and Fred, careful not to disturb the figures perched on top, cut the cake and shared a piece. Then slivers of the aquamarine-and-white confection were distributed among the crowd. When a rosette-and-faux-pearl-studded slice reached Kathryn and Earl, he scooped it from the plate and held it for her to take a bite. A light flashed as Suzy Barker caught the moment on her digital camera. “There’s a sight for sore eyes!” Roy bellowed. “Gotta get a copy of that one.”
Kathryn peered at the image on the screen. Her head was bent and her jaw hung open like a trap about to shut on the morsel of cake Earl held. She looked foolish but also happy. The expression on her face reminded her of Millie’s in the wedding candid. She glanced around, wondering if Millie had seen this. But Millie had vanished. Instead, her eyes met Pete’s. He held her gaze a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, turning on his heel, he left the hall.
Chapter 54
Kathryn had checked in with Gertrude Braithwaite, her boss at the Lyceum, on a weekly basis since the beginning of her stay in the Berkshires, and each time Mrs. B. had assured her everything was under control. Today, though, Mrs. B’s voice had a note of urgency. “Do you remember Mrs. Winship?”
“The woman with the collection of early nineteenth-century lithographs she was trying to decide whether to donate to us or to Harvard?”
“Correct. Mrs. Winship is still trying to make up her mind, but she seems to be leaning toward us now. She’s requested another meeting. I would like you to be there, Kathryn. You know our collection better than anyone, and you can explain to her how her lithographs would complement those we already have. You inspire confidence, Kathryn, and you know how to make the right impression, whereas your assistant . . .” Mrs. B’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s just say she lacks both your expertise and social skills. The acquisition of the Winship collection would be a real coup for us. We must be careful not to do anything that might jeopardize the proceedings. Mrs. Winship needs to feel complete confidence in the Lyceum as the best repository for her precious lithographs.”
“Of course. When is the meeting?”
“Tomorrow, actually. I know it’s short notice, but Mrs. Winship just called today. You know how she is: Things need to happen when she wants them to, or she gets upset. And in this instance, I don’t want to upset her. Please tell me you can make it.”
Kathryn hesitated. “All right,” she said finally.
Now all she had to do was to let Earl know she was going to Boston. That shouldn’t be difficult, but she knew in her heart it would be, because to Earl, Boston meant Alan. Alan who could afford to give things he could not—like the ruby and diamond ring that had come from Emily.
*****
“My boss at the Lyceum called today,” Kathryn told Earl that evening after he’d had a few beers and begun to unwind.
He stiffened. “And?”
“She wants me to come to a meeting in Boston, so I can convince an old lady to give her collection of lithographs to the Lyceum instead of Harvard.”
“When’s the meeting?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. But that’s when the prospective donor wants it, and her collection’s important enough to us that we let her call the shots.
“Then I guess you’ve got to go.”
She could tell he wasn’t pleased, even though he said nothing more about it the rest of the evening. But waking toward morning, she found him propped on an elbow staring at her with a gloomy expression. She sensed he’d been watching her for some time, and it made her uncomfortable. “Something wrong?”
With his free hand, he stroked her cheek then feathered his fingers down the side of her face and onto her breastbone. He tugged gently on the chain of the St. Christopher medal he’d slipped around her neck the first night they’d made love.
“When you’re in Boston, you won’t forget you’ve got a man back here?”
“Of course not. How can you even think that?”
“Guess I just needed to be reassured.” He paused, fingers continuing to pull on the chain. “Because I’d hate it if you did, Star,” he said softly.
Chapter 55
“Well done, Kathryn!” Mrs. Braithwaite said, as they left the restaurant where they’d taken Mrs. Winship for a lunch that had lasted into the late afternoon. “I knew that together we could pull this off.”
“The martinis helped,” Kathryn said.
“Perhaps. I wanted to be sure Mrs. Winship felt completely at ease.”
Two sheets to the wind was more like it. But she couldn’t deny she’d made a convincing case for Mrs. Winship’s donating her collection to the Lyceum. So convincing that Mrs. Winship had promised to have her attorney draw up the appropriate papers the next day.
Mrs. Braithwaite spotted a cab and hailed it. “Good-bye now. Have a safe trip back.” Kathryn hurried to the parking garage to get her car, hoping to avoid the worst of rush hour traffic.
She had no such luck. Rush hour traffic, combined with an accident on the Massachusetts Turnpike, added an extra hour to the trip from Boston to the Berkshires. It was eight-thirty by the time she reached Stockbridge, a half hour away from her final destination. Main Street was decked out with boughs of holly, pine wreaths and Christmas lights in readiness for another holiday a la Norman Rockwell. The picture-postcard perfection of the scene made her smile. This was the image of the Berkshires that drew tourists by the thousands. Even on a weeknight in December, visitors strolled along the sidewalks or sat, bundled in fur and down, on the porch of the Red Lion Inn, sipping hot chocolate and hot buttered rum.
But it was the other Berkshires she was traveling to—the Berkshires of lonely towns perched high on hills, of narrow back roads whose winding darkness come nightfall never ceased to amaze an urban dweller like her. She’d been away less than a day, but already she’d half forgotten what it was like to turn off the main thoroughfare and plunge into a world of blackness, broken only by the lights of an occasional house, or if the sky was clear like this evening, a crescent moon and a pinprick pattern of stars. Past experience had taught her to drive these roads with care, because you never knew when a deer might dart out, or when rounding a bend, you might find yourself on a collision course with a wrong-sided vehicle.
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