Daughter of Deceit

by Patricia Sprinkle

  “Hollis,” Katharine warned.

  In a few minutes, Kenny appeared in the doorway carrying a bouquet of yellow and white daisies, purple liriope flowers, long liriope fronds, and a single yellow rose. “That was such a perfect rose, I couldn’t resist it,” he told Katharine, holding it out. “I’m partial to yellow.”

  “Did you finish the bookshelf?” he asked Hollis while Katharine put the flowers in water.

  She shook her head. “The instructions don’t make sense. I think they were badly translated from Chinese.”

  “You want me to help you?”

  “No, Kenny, I do not want you to he’p me. You can’t do it, either, unless you understand Chinese. None of the pieces fit.”

  “I might be able to figure it out,” he said mildly. “My family builds houses, so I’m kinda handy with a screwdriver. Besides, I’ve put together a lot of shelves these past few years.”

  She thrust a screwdriver at him. “Have a go, then. It’s all yours.” She wiped her palms on the seat of her pants as if to wipe away all responsibility for the results.

  Katharine said quickly, “You don’t have to do that. We’re going to eat pretty soon.”

  “This shouldn’t take but a few minutes.” Kenny headed to the study.

  Hollis followed him, and Katharine heard her ask, “Aren’t you even going to read the instructions?” Her voice was as icy as the dregs of Coke in the glass on the drain board.

  “These things are pretty much all alike.” Kenny began to whistle a Chopin prelude. Savant sidled out of the utility room and into the hall. Phebe followed.

  Hollis entered the kitchen breathing so heavily, you’d have thought she was related to dragons. Katharine shut the door to the hall and switched on her new CD so Kenny couldn’t hear their voices. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

  “I can’t stand show-offs.” Hollis screwed up her face. “‘My family builds houses. I’m kinda handy with a screwdriver.’ Hick!”

  “That’s no excuse for being rude to a guest. I’ve never seen you like this.”

  Actually she had. As a child, Hollis could be insufferable to Posey’s snootier friends, but only if they were rude to maids, yard men, or others who served them.

  When Hollis didn’t answer, Katharine demanded, “Where did you meet him, again?” She was grasping at straws, trying to understand.

  Hollis did not meet her aunt’s eye. “Around. With Jon.”

  “Well, whatever has been between you is your business, but I don’t want blood flowing down my hall. Do you understand? So be sweet.”

  “Yuck,” was Hollis’s inelegant reply.

  “Make the salad while he’s assembling the shelves.”

  Hollis started slicing tomatoes like she’d rather have Kenny’s neck on the cutting board. Katharine tried to remember why she had ever thought this dinner party a good idea.

  Kenny knocked hesitantly on the kitchen door. “I’m finished. They look real nice.”

  When Katharine opened the door, he wrinkled his forehead at the music.

  “I’m sorry you don’t like bluegrass,” she told him. “It keeps me sane when I’m cooking. Besides, this is a really good group, don’t you think?”

  “It’s okay.” He sounded cautious, like he didn’t want to offend.

  “It’s better than okay,” Hollis blazed. “That group is great. You grew up in the mountains. You ought to learn something about bluegrass so you can recognize good stuff when you hear it.”

  “I know bluegrass, I just like classical better. You all want to see the shelves?”

  Katharine and Hollis followed him to the study. While they examined the shelves, he bent over and picked up Savant, cradling the cat in his arms. An unmistakable purring filled the room.

  Katharine stared in astonishment. “You are the only person I know who can hold that cat, and I’ve never heard him purr.”

  “Maybe he’s partial to short, good-looking men.” Kenny tugged the cat’s ear and Katharine could have sworn that crusty old cat smiled.

  “You like cats?” Hollis sounded like she might be willing to grant Kenny one point in his favor, but he rejected her olive branch.

  “Oh, we kep’ a few around the barn when I was growin’ up, you know?” Kenny bent and put Savant down. Crouching close to the floor, the cat slithered toward the utility room.

  Kenny nodded toward the finished set of shelves. “Where was it you wanted them, ma’am?”

  Hollis answered before Katharine could. “Upstairs in Jon’s room.”

  “You want to get the other end?” he asked her.

  She started toward the shelves with a determined look in her eye, but Katharine stopped her. “She can’t. She was shot last month, and she isn’t supposed to lift anything yet.”

  His jaw dropped. “Shot? What the Sam Hill were you doing?”

  “I wasn’t doing anything,” Hollis said sullenly.

  “She was trying to defend their beach house from an intruder,” Katharine explained. “And she was very brave. She could have been killed.”

  Kenny shook his head in disbelief. “You all certainly lead exciting lives. Tell me where you want the shelves. I can probably carry them up myself.”

  Hollis led the way, admonishing him not to hurt the newly painted walls. Katharine was delighted to have a few minutes to herself. She took stock of dinner. At the rate she was going, she wouldn’t have food on the table before nine.

  When the two young adults trooped back downstairs, she said, “Okay, somebody needs to finish the salad and somebody needs to set the table.”

  “I’m making the salad,” Hollis reminded her, although so far only the tomatoes were chopped.

  “I’ll set the table,” Kenny offered.

  “Are we planning to eat down by the pool?” Hollis asked. “The dining room isn’t usable and I hate to eat in a kitchen.”

  Katharine tried to remember the last time she’d seen Hollis eat anywhere else.

  She gave the window a dubious look. “Don’t you think it’s too hot out there?”

  “There may be a breeze. Let me check.” Kenny stepped outside the kitchen door and went to the far side of the patio, lifting his face to the sky. Hollis fetched a tray and started filling it with pottery plates, stainless-steel utensils, and cloth napkins.

  Katharine asked softly. “Now who’s trying to show off?” Hollis knew good and well she usually used plastic place mats and paper plates and napkins down by the pool.

  Hollis gave her an evil grin and added a round cotton tablecloth and the vase of flowers to the tray.

  “It’s cooled off some, and there’s a little breeze,” Kenny announced.

  “Good.” Katharine ran water into a bowl and handed him a sponge. “You’d better wipe the table before you set it. It hasn’t been used lately.”

  He headed out, whistling.

  “What are you trying to prove?” Katharine demanded when he was out of earshot.

  “Lighten up, Aunt Kat. He’ll probably think using real plates and cloth napkins down by a pool is cool. It’s not as if we went out and bought stuff to impress him. We’re using what you already have, right?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “You’ve got it, so use it. It’s a party.”

  Katharine headed to the fridge. If they were going to be festive, she’d serve wine. Maybe a couple of drinks would mellow them into decent dinner companions.

  She was setting wine, a pitcher of iced water, and glasses on a tray when Kenny came back. “I’m ready for the dishes. And do you have any citronella candles? The mosquitoes are whining.”

  “We’ve got citronella torches. Hollis, show Kenny where they are in the garage.”

  They fetched the torches and Kenny headed back toward the pool. “Do you need matches?” she called after him.

  “I got matches,” he called back.

  “He was probably a Boy Scout,” Hollis said derisively.

  “You were a Girl Scout,” Katharine remi
nded her. Hollis had been a particularly zealous scout up through middle school.

  Hollis chopped vegetables and didn’t reply.

  When dinner was ready, Katharine filled one tray with salad, pasta, and shrimp, and called for Kenny to come carry it out. She picked up the tray of wine, glasses, and water, and told Hollis, “Bring the bread.” She didn’t want to make an issue of it, but she didn’t want Hollis carrying anything heavy.

  Katharine motioned for them to be seated, but Kenny moved to stand behind her chair. “May I help you, ma’am?”

  She ignored Hollis’s smirk, slid into her seat, and unfolded her napkin. “I hope you don’t mind, Kenny, but we usually pray before we eat.”

  “We ask a blessing up home,” he said easily.

  “So why don’t you ask it?” Hollis challenged him.

  Katharine expected him to decline, but he said, “Sure.” He looked out over the lawn with his eyes wide open and said, in the tone of one addressing a friend, “God, this sure is a great evening and a beautiful place. If this dinner tastes half as good as it looks, we will be truly blessed. But even as we enjoy ourselves, we remember that there are those who don’t have enough. If there are ways we can help them, please let us know. Amen.”

  Katharine was touched by the prayer, but she lifted her head to see Hollis wrinkling her nose. Was there no pleasing the child? In high school she had made a faith commitment and stuck with it. She had built houses in Mexico and rocked infant orphans in Romania, had stayed active in church during college when most of her peers slacked off, and was still active. Yet she couldn’t look more disgusted with Kenny if he had flung off his clothes and begun some wild, blasphemous rite.

  Hollis’s disgust turned to smugness when Kenny grew stiff and formal after the prayer, so conscious of minding his manners that Katharine was tempted to beg, “Relax. We aren’t giving you a grade.”

  As she started pouring wine, she looked inquiringly at Hollis to see if she wanted any. Hollis seldom drank wine—not on principle but because she disliked the taste. However, she was being so unpredictable tonight that anything was possible.

  Instead of answering her aunt’s unspoken query, Hollis said, “Kenny will want water. He doesn’t drink.”

  “Wherever did you hear such a thing?” he demanded. “I’d love some wine, please.” Katharine filled the glass a little fuller than she had intended and handed it to him.

  Hollis reached for the next glass and, ignoring her aunt’s surprise, took a large gulp. “Um–good choice, Aunt Kat.” Kenny gave her a sharp look, then bent his head and started buttering his roll. “What?” Hollis demanded. “What?”

  “I didn’t say a thing.” He bit into the roll and chewed slowly.

  Hollis took such a big swallow, she choked. Katharine felt like she was watching a bizarre episode of reality TV. She regretted the wine. It didn’t seem to be improving things. Why wasn’t she eating alone in her kitchen with a good book?

  She racked her brain for a subject—any subject—they could discuss without quarreling. “How’d you wind up at Tech, Kenny?”

  It was a good choice. He was a born storyteller and didn’t mind embellishing the facts to get a laugh. “By the seat of my pants and the help of a saintly woman. Nobody in our family ever went to college. All the men are builders except Uncle Vik, who works on cars. I like cars, so I’d figured on taking a technical degree and going to work with him, especially the computer part. However, my high-school counselor pulled me out of class one day, which liketa scared me to death, wondering exactly which of my infractions of the rules she had found out about.” His gaze slid toward Hollis, but she was gazing over the pool as if she were alone at the table, enjoying nature and a solitary meal.

  “All the counselor wanted, though, was to tell me she’d noticed I wasn’t applying to college. She said with my grades and test scores, she thought I should. We both knew what I’d major in. I’ve loved computers since I got my first one when I was eight. She recommended Tech and even helped me fill out the application, to make sure I did it right.” He gave a self-conscious little laugh. “She made me apply for a Hope scholarship, too, but when I got home and told Daddy, he was madder’n a coon dog that’s sat on a hornet’s nest. Said our family has never taken charity from the government and wasn’t about to start.”

  “Hope scholarships aren’t charity,” Hollis protested. “They’re the only good thing to come out of the Georgia lottery.”

  “I know that, but Daddy still felt like it was something he didn’t want or need. Granddaddy figured a way around his objections, though. He told Daddy that after all the money our family has spent on lottery tickets over the years without ever winning more’n a few dollars here and there, it was high time we got some good out of our investment. When Daddy looked at it that way, he agreed I could take the scholarship. But I think he still expects me to pay it back someday. And I know he wonders why I’d rather sit in an office, when I could be building houses or fixing cars.” His grin was so infectious, Katharine laughed. Even Hollis’s lips twitched before she tightened them.

  “Does your mother work?” Katharine asked.

  Kenny gave a curt nod. “She used to keep books for granddaddy’s business. Now she does some singing engagements.”

  “What kind of music?” Hollis demanded.

  “Bluegrass and gospel, mostly,” he admitted with a grimace.

  Katharine wondered if he was always ashamed of his mother’s singing, or only because of what Hollis had said in the kitchen about mountain people and bluegrass music. He looked like he’d rather discuss anything else, but the sense that mothers ought to support each other made Katharine say, “When she is singing sometime, I’d like to come hear her.”

  She was glad when the meal was finally over. As a fitting end to a nerve-wracking evening, Savant streaked out the front door as she held it for Kenny. Kenny dashed down the drive after him and grabbed the big cat before he reached the street.

  “You stay here, kitty.” He stroked him as he carried him back. The cat struggled to get free, but gradually grew calm in his arms.

  “You can have him if you want.” Katharine hoped he’d take her up on it.

  “They won’t let me keep pets where I live.” He tried to put it in her arms, but the cat writhed and bucked. “Is there somewhere I could confine him for you?”

  “Put him in the utility room off the kitchen and close the door.”

  He came back sucking one hand. “Got me,” he said cheerfully.

  “You’d better watch that,” Hollis warned from where she was propped against the doorjamb to Katharine’s study. “Cat scratches can fester.”

  “I’ll put something on it. Thanks for a lovely evening, Miz Murray. You are as easy to talk to as Granddaddy said you were.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My granddaddy, Lamar Franklin. He said he keeps running into you at the history center.”

  Lamar Franklin. A construction worker from the North Georgia mountains with a passion for genealogy and history. She’d run into him twice. Each time he had helped her solve a genealogy problem. The prior month he had seemed to know enormous amounts about Civil War naval history. And he was the one who referred to the Civil War as “the War of Secession.”

  “I thought you reminded me of somebody.” The young man in carefully ironed khaki pants and an oxford-cloth shirt bore little resemblance to the tanned old hippie with his gray ponytail, callused hands, black jeans, in-your-face T-shirts, and scuffed boots, but the profile and the deep blue eyes were the same.

  “Yes, ma’am. Folks say we resemble.”

  “He seems to know a lot about genealogy. I’m amazed at the long words that roll off his tongue.” She could have bitten her own tongue. Did that sound condescending?

  If so, Kenny didn’t seem to notice. He laughed. “They ought to. He practically haunts the history center when he’s not working, trying to trace our family back to somebody important. So far the best he’s
come up with is Daniel Boone, and that’s not real certain, but he keeps a-trying. And he’s gotten so good at that genealogy stuff, he gets a lot of invitations to talk about it to groups all over the South. Last time I saw him, he bragged, ‘I’ve hep’ed Jon Murray’s mama out a couple of times.’”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “How did he know I’m Jon’s mom?” Of course, Lamar was a far better detective than she, his skills honed by years of genealogical research.

  “I pointed you out to him at the symphony last winter. Granddaddy and I both love symphonies, so for Christmas these past few years, Mama and Daddy have given us season tickets. Last February, we were a few rows behind you and another lady, so I pointed you out and told him you were Jon’s mother, since he’d met Jon not long before. He never forgets a face, like me.” His gaze slid over toward Hollis. She bent and picked up a speck off the floor.

  Kenny went on smoothly. “So when he saw you at the history center, he recognized you right away. He called me later to ask whether you were staying out here all by yourself. He said he’d heard something that made him think your husband’s out of town a lot. I said I thought he works up in Washington most of the time. Is that right?”

  Katharine nodded reluctantly.

  Kenny spoke in the tone of all youth when confronted with the foolish prejudices of their elders. “Granddaddy doesn’t think a woman should live on her own.”

  “I’m used to it,” she assured him. “And I have an excellent security system.”

  “And our family isn’t far away,” Hollis chimed in behind her. “Good night.” There was no misinterpreting her tone.

  Before Kenny left, he leaned close to Katharine and whispered, “I take it Hollis is dealing with her problem. That’s good.”

  She had no idea what he meant, but she wasn’t about to say so.

  “Hollis is fine,” she assured him.

  “I’m sure glad to hear it.” He looked over Katharine’s shoulder and said louder than necessary, “I’ll be going then. You all have a nice evening.” He ran lightly down the steps.

  “Ah’ll be goin’, then. Y’all have a nahse evenin’,” Hollis mocked softly. She shifted her big shoulder bag and said, “I put the dishes in the dishwasher. I thought I ought to stick around while Kenny was here.”