Charlie leaned over to watch what the officer was writing, and then glanced over his shoulder to Velveteen, who was putting her sunglasses over her tear-filled eyes. She had hung on this far – made it through the loss of their period townhouse, their fashionable lifestyle, and the lunacy of every day since their move to Coraloo. Hang on Vee. Don’t give up on me yet.
“Name?” The constable studied Charlie over rectangular spectacles.
“You know my name.”
“Name?”
Charlie sighed. “Charlie Price.”
“Address?”
“Thirty-one Odenbon, Coraloo.”
“Right, old lady Toft’s house.” The constable scribbled something on the form in front of him. The room was quiet, except for the occasional sniffle from Velveteen. The cells were empty, and the phone did not ring. “Occupation?”
Charlie leaned forward in the chair. “Do we have to go over this again?”
“So you’re still at it?”
“Yes.”
The constable scribbled some more, set down his pen, and then looked sternly into the tired eyes of Charlie Price. “How’s it working out for you?”
“What?”
“Are you doing well? Taking care of Mrs Price? Are you happy?”
What kind of police station is this? The constable’s questions sounded more like something he would have gotten from a therapist in the city than a man who had just arrested him. Charlie didn’t know which question to answer first. “We do all right. We simplified our life; that makes it easier.”
“But are you happy?”
A lump formed in Charlie’s throat. He hadn’t cried since he was a child, and he didn’t plan on doing it today. Behind him, Velveteen had picked up a very outdated edition of TV Today, which she was now flipping through. They never watched television anymore. It was a pastime the two of them partook in nearly every night in the city – in their former life. After they’d said goodnight to Gideon, they would curl up on the couch together. Charlie struggled to remember what they watched; it was more about the time together than the show. Comedies, they liked the comedies – how they laughed at the people who worked in The Workplace. If those antics actually took place in an office setting, they would all be fired, but it was funny, and it made her laugh. He missed those nights. And the mornings… Velveteen woke early to see Charlie off to work. She would kiss him goodbye and wave until he was out of sight. Was their old life really so bad?
“Mr Price? Is everything all right?”
“I didn’t steal the Kipling.”
“Well, somebody did.” The constable stood up and filed Charlie’s notes in an old wooden filing cabinet behind the desk. Charlie started to stand. “Sit back down. Right now, you’re all we’ve got to go on. Until we run the prints –”
“Mine will be there. I wanted to get a better look. Like I said, it was weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you ask Stephen?”
“I don’t know… caught up in a moment? But I didn’t touch the book – just the case. I wanted to, but I didn’t.”
The constable positioned himself on the corner of the desk. “Mr Price, I’ve been at this desk for twenty years. With the exception of a couple of scuffles between the Tofts and the Blackwells, and maybe having to pull a drunken idiot out of the Beaver’s Beard, you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened around here. But, I’m not convinced –”
“Sir, I’m not a thief…” The word made him think of the feud played out between Danger and Gideon in his living room the night Stephen, Clover, and family came over for dinner – an epic battle between a Toft and a Blackwell.
“I’m not finished yet, Mr Price. I’m not convinced you’ve got yourself together as much as you’re letting on.” Charlie didn’t feel like talking about his personal life anymore. “You’re going anti-clockwise, and I believe you know it, don’t you?” What was it with this town? The constable was sounding like Granny with all her talk of the right and wrong shoes. “I can’t keep you, Mr Price, not without any real piece of evidence. However, I will give you a call if something looks suspicious.”
Charlie held up his cuffed hands as far as the bracelets would permit. “So why arrest me?”
“I needed a reason to get you out of there and attacking my two officers didn’t do you any favors. Mind you, you’ve given Everett and Jasper story fodder for at least a year. It’s my duty to keep this town and its people safe, Mr Price. Shug would have laid you out. Besides, you needed to cool off. At the rate you’re going, you may do more harm to yourself and these people than you realize.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Blackwells don’t normally welcome newcomers, Mr Price. But most of them have taken a liking to you.”
“Shug must not have gotten the memo.”
“Shug’s full of wind. He’s not the whole family. They don’t need any more loss. Are you following me?”
“Not really.”
The constable laughed. “I have a feeling, one way or the other, you will before long.” He scooted down from his perch and unlocked the cuffs holding Charlie’s hands together. “Stay away from the market for a couple of days, at least until we figure this out.”
Charlie offered his hand. The constable shook it. “Thanks.”
Upon seeing movement from Charlie, Velveteen rushed to him, wrapped both arms around his neck, and spluttered a series of questions as they walked toward the door.
He stopped and turned back to the constable, unable to shake off a nagging question.
“Excuse me, Constable? Are you a Toft or a Blackwell?”
The Constable peered over his spectacles. “Blackwell. Mr Price…”
Charlie took a step toward him. “Yes?”
“… it’s a long way down the hill. If you’re pushed, you’ll find yourself lying in a pile of yourself at the bottom. But if you choose to walk down it with your head held high, you’ll see the possibility in front of you. Hold your head high, Mr Price. The hill hasn’t got the best of you yet.”
Charlie forced a smile.
Velveteen leaned in to him. “What was that all about?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it was somehow supposed to make me feel better.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
CHAPTER 25
“Where should I put these?” Charlie stood at the entrance to the kitchen with a tray of cream cheese and ham stuffed mini-Yorkshire puddings in his hands, while Velveteen hurried from one side of the counter to the other, stirring, mixing, and spreading.
“How do I look?” She wiped her hands on her vintage-modern pink and blue apron. In the past month, it had acquired a fair amount of staining. Velveteen called the smudges of grease and splatters of chocolate “badges of honor” – proof she could finally cook.
“Exhausted, but as lovely as ever.” He stole a kiss on her cheek as she whisked by him.
“Will you light the candles, Charlie? The timer on the stove should buzz shortly. The glasses are out. The mini-Wellingtons need to be warmed, and the tree! Oh Charlie, please turn on the tree lights!” Velveteen skipped through the Toft cottage arranging and placing.
Charlie’s phone beeped. He pulled the handheld device from his pocket and checked the screen. He read the message. The French horn had arrived in one piece; however, the buyer was concerned about its authenticity. Charlie had done extensive research and had even listed in the description that the horn had no papers of identification. He told himself he wasn’t worried and would deal with it first thing Monday morning. But a shadow of fear crept over him. What if the buyer wanted a refund?
The little cottage was decorated in an assortment of holly and ivy. Hand-dyed ribbon from Sorcha Blackwell’s shop accented the garlands. Velveteen’s signature scent for the home was replaced by one of Aunt Moira’s homemade clove, orange, and cinnamon candles. Perry Como’s “White Christmas” played in the background as tiny puffs of snow fell outside the windows.
<
br /> “Velveteen, the…” He sniffed the small pieces of bread piled high with turkey, cheese, bacon bits, and some sort of white sauce. “What are these?”
“Baby Hot Browns! Aren’t they adorable! Oh, are you still holding those? Set them anywhere for now.” She flopped down on the sofa. “I’ll find a spot for them in a moment. Let me rest, for just a minute.”
Charlie set the tray on the coffee table beside the sweets. “You don’t look well. Why don’t you go upstairs and rest? We have an hour before the party starts.”
“I’m fine, Charlie, really.” Velveteen laid the back of her head against the couch and closed her eyes.
He rested his hand on the side of her cheek as she breathed, an inhaling and exhaling of peaceful controlled breaths. Despite her apparent exhaustion she was simply beautiful.
Charlie picked up the tray and relocated it to the kitchen where Velveteen had already lined up a few dips. The timer sounded from the stove. He quickly flipped the switch to shut it off and removed the golden brown baked Brie from the oven. It was a masterpiece.
A copy of the invitation lay beside the stove. On the front she had sketched a picture of their cottage and had it copied onto card stock paper; inside she’d handwritten each invite in detailed scrolling letters:
Please join us for our
Christmas Party
December 22nd at 6:30 PM
31 Odenbon St. Coraloo
Regrets only to
Velveteen
She’d had the foresight to reserve six rooms at the bed and breakfast for the acquaintances making the trip. Charlie didn’t know whom to expect. He had invited Stephen and Clover, telling them it would be okay if they brought Danger. Gideon would enjoy having a friend for the first time at one of their Christmas parties. He had also phoned the constable, and not knowing if he was married, encouraged him to bring a guest. He had considered inviting the entire Blackwell clan but feared they would not have enough space to fit everyone. Velveteen said she had only sent out twelve invitations, and while she was disappointed seven of the invitees regretted they had prior engagements, five had accepted. That left one extra room, by Charlie’s calculations.
The phone rang. He tried to answer it before it woke Velveteen, but she’d moved from the couch, presumably upstairs “fixing herself up” a bit. Ten minutes ago he could have marched around the living room banging a pot with a wooden spoon and she would not have awakened.
“I’ve got it!” he called up to her.
“This is Charlie Price.” Charlie listened to the masculine voice on the other end. “Who did you say is calling?… You want to speak to my wife?… I’m sorry, could you repeat your name again? Your room?”
“Who is it, Charlie? Please don’t tell me someone has cancelled on us?” she called down from the second floor.
Charlie didn’t answer her. His heart raced and beads of sweat formed on his brow. “And Mr Walker, what business do you have with my wife?… You can’t say… But you are here at the bed and breakfast for the Christmas party, yes? Are you sure she didn’t mention a party?” Charlie tried to stop his mind from going where it had gone the first time she had said she was going to the city. Heat rose to his face. “And you know her well?… I see. You have an appointment with her tomorrow? Have her phone you? No, I have a better idea, why don’t you talk to her yourself, Mr Walker. Do you have plans tonight? There’s this party…” Charlie went into autopilot as he calmly told the mystery man the essential details, then hung up and felt the sickening truth settle in the pit of his stomach.
How could Velveteen do this to him? Was their marriage a facade? Maybe she was waiting for him to lose it completely before she ran off into the arms of Mr Walker.
No. Think on what’s true, Charlie, he tried to remind himself. Velveteen loves you. If she were going to run off with another man, she would have done it long before Coraloo. But he couldn’t stop his thoughts returning once again to her unexplained trips to the city. It was all starting to add up in a way he never could have imagined…
“Charlie, who was that?” she called again.
Guests would be arriving within the hour, along with Mr Walker.
He could not answer her. He could barely speak. He should confront her now and get it over with. “I can’t believe it; I just can’t believe it,” he mumbled.
“Believe what?” Velveteen Price stood at the top of the stairs in a sparkling red party dress looking as lovely as she did on the day he had married her, but he could not look her in the eye.
“It’s a surprise.” Bitterness welled up inside of him as he plotted to expose his wife’s infidelity in front of the acquaintances.
She squealed with joy. He wanted to throw up.
Stephen and Clover were the first to arrive – ten minutes early. Velveteen assumed when Charlie said he wanted to invite guests that he had meant Stephen, but she had not expected Danger to run in after them.
“I hope it’s all right.” Clover allowed her husband to remove her coat. “Stephen insisted it was okay if we brought him.”
“It’s perfectly fine.” Velveteen didn’t tell the whole truth. It wasn’t really fine. Her parties were meant to entertain her friends – adults. She would have to find a way to explain to Charlie that if they allowed one child this year, next year they would have to invite the rest of them, and then the Christmas party would turn into a nursery school for the Blackwells, potentially making the other guests uncomfortable. However, at least she wouldn’t have to constantly correct Gideon for slouching and moping the entire night. Gideon would never mope around Danger.
The next to arrive were the Lawsons and the Baileys. Velveteen was thrilled they had R.S.V.P.’d. Alice Lawson and Sandra Bailey were not only prominent members of the garden club and historical society but were also charter members of her book club in the city.
Alice leaned in to kiss Velveteen on the cheek. “You look stunning, Velveteen! Absolutely stunning. You’re glowing! And let me guess, the dress is couture. You must tell us who you are wearing!”
Velveteen twirled. Charlie frowned.
“A girl must never give away her sources.” What Velveteen really did not want to tell them was she had bought it at the market. One of the uncles had given her a great deal on it. The musty smell she had fought with over the past two weeks made her certain that it was vintage, but she was sure Sandra and Alice had never heard of this common brand.
Sandra’s eyes examined every inch of visible space. “It’s fabulous, Velveteen. I mean the whole place is positively stunning. Such charm and so unassuming.”
Velveteen disguised her delight with a bashful smile.
“I can hardly believe you did it,” Alice chimed in. “We all said you couldn’t do it, but here you are.”
Sandra leaned in close to Velveteen. “To be honest, Velveteen, we heard Charlie was struggling… financially.”
Velveteen glanced over to where Clover was carrying the cherry trifle in from the kitchen. She was about to tell her where to set it, but Clover carefully and strategically shifted the trays of sweets to set the layered dessert decoratively in the middle.
It’s exactly where I would have set it.
“Who did you use? Brookside House and Associates?”
Velveteen had used the talented decorating group to overhaul Gideon’s nursery. “Actually, I did it myself.”
Both of the ladies gasped as if Velveteen had told them their furs were synthetic. There was another knock on the door.
Velveteen opened the door to find the constable standing with a woman she had never seen before; however, by the look of her make-up, the lady on his arm had been solicited by Sylvia Toft. “Come in, please.” Velveteen could not believe Charlie had invited the constable and some woman that nobody knew.
“Glad you could make it,” Charlie called, making his way through the party to his guests.
“I’d like to introduce you to my… date, Margarette Toft.”
A Toft? That accounte
d for her choice of cosmetics. But she was certain Charlie had said the constable was a Blackwell. A Blackwell with a Toft? Velveteen briefly considered hiding the desserts, then hugged the lady casually and kissed her on the cheek. The pungent fragrance of rose oil and peppermint nearly knocked her backwards and made her stomach a tad unsettled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms Toft.” She passed a concerned glance toward Charlie, but he didn’t acknowledge her.
Velveteen tilted her head toward her husband. “Interesting choice in guests, Charlie. Was that my surprise?”
“No.” He fought the urge to laugh spitefully and say, If only you were so lucky! Here she was flitting around a party he had paid for. He had paid for all of it – the townhouse in the city, her car, jewelry, and expensive clothes. Even in Coraloo, it wasn’t any different – he struggled to make it, and she spent it. The doorbell could not ring soon enough. He couldn’t wait to get this over with. What would follow he did not know. But he’d already decided he would deal with the fallout of the wrecked marriage as he had dealt with his dismissal from Heritage Financial: he’d regroup and start over. But what about Gideon? Would there be shared custody? He’d call his attorney in the morning and figure out how to pay him another day.
There was laughter and eating as Bing Crosby crooned “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” in the background. Velveteen strolled the room in her highest heeled shoes, offering her guests red velvet macarons that perfectly matched her dress. She was in her element, accepting the accolades of the acquaintances and the gratitude of the Blackwells. Her cheeks were flushed from the warmth the fireplace added to the room. Charlie said he had a surprise, but she had one too. It didn’t even worry her that Stephen was talking to Mr Bailey. She had already had enough of the acquaintances to last her the rest of her life. It was a mistake; she shouldn’t have invited them. Charlie was only half right – it wasn’t that they didn’t know the acquaintances anymore; they were exactly as she remembered them. It was that the acquaintances no longer knew her.
The doorbell rang. Velveteen sauntered over to answer it, excited to welcome their next guest. She smiled wide and threw open the door.
The Death of Mungo Blackwell Page 21
