by Linda Reilly
“I’m sorry,” Lara said. “I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to pry.”
The actress’ smile instantly returned, as if prompted by a cue card. “Don’t be silly. It was a fair question.” She swallowed the last of her iced tea, then pulled her cell phone out from the tiny purse she’d brought with her. “By the way, you’re both coming to the reception on Sunday, right?”
“Reception?” Lara asked.
Aunt Fran piped in. “I saw something in the paper about it. The Whisker Jog Ladies’ Association is holding a welcome tea and reception for Deanna this Sunday afternoon at the historical society. I’m not a member, so no, we’ve not been invited.”
“Bummer,” Lara said.
Deanna waved a hand. “Never mind that. You are invited, because I’m inviting you. I’ll speak to Evelyn Conley, the coordinator. Besides, I fully intend to support your shelter, and I want to make that known to everyone attending this little shindig.”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you. Thank you,” Aunt Fran said.
Lara’s mind instantly flitted to her wardrobe. As a watercolor artist, she spent most of her days working in paint-splattered T-shirts and denim. She had no idea what to wear to an event like the one to which Deanna had invited them.
But that got her thinking. Gideon, the local attorney she’d been seeing for a few months, had asked her to dinner the following Saturday at a new restaurant just outside the town limits. She’d planned to splurge on something summery to wear, but hadn’t had a chance to shop. Maybe she could find something that would fit the bill for both events.
“Yes, thank you, Deanna,” Lara said. “I’d love to attend.”
“Fine. I’ll see that invitations are hand-delivered to you by tomorrow. As for that application, is it something you can send to my private email address?”
“It sure is,” Lara said. “If you give us your email address I’ll get it right off to you.”
Deanna’s smile was genuine. “I’m so pleased that I came here today. You’ve both been gracious and lovely. And I promise, those kittens will have a wonderful home.”
Chapter 2
The door to the white clapboard building that housed the Whisker Jog Historical Society had been propped open with a large brick. Painted barn red, the door boasted a patriotic folk art flag hanging directly below its brass knocker.
Voices drifted from inside the building. Aunt Fran went in first, Lara trailing behind her.
Lara felt good today, pleased that she’d found a flowery yellow sundress and matching espadrilles at a price she could almost afford. The dress flared at the bottom, and was adorned with two deep but discreet pockets. She’d splurged and bought the ensemble, dressing it up with the chunky gold necklace her aunt had bought at a yard sale a few months earlier. She’d tucked her cell in one of the pockets—just in case she wanted to snap a few celebrity pics.
“I’ve never been in here,” Lara said, gazing around the large entrance that had once served as a meeting room for the townspeople. In one corner, a portable air conditioner struggled to pump out enough chilled air to cool the surrounding area.
“The reception must be in the main room,” Aunt Fran said. “Since we’re early, why don’t you browse here for a bit. Some of the town’s artifacts are quite interesting. I’ll head to the back to see if anyone needs help setting things up.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll do that.”
Lara was glad to see that her aunt was walking far better than she had been before her knee-replacement surgery. And while Aunt Fran no longer used her cane, Lara knew that her right knee still troubled her. Lara looked forward to the day when both her aunt’s knees were back to normal and pain-free.
She wandered over to a large glass case that sat in the center of the room. Beneath the glass was a yellowed map of Whisker Jog, its edges brown and wrinkled. Lara peered at the handwritten paper tacked above the map. It explained how the town got its name.
Originally called Elbern’s Location, the town’s boundaries had once formed a precise rectangle. Then a local farmer had claimed that a narrow slice of land at the southwest corner was actually part of his cow pasture in the adjacent county. Founder Josiah Elbern, the land surveyor who’d painstakingly laid out the boundaries, railed at the farmer, calling him a scoundrel and a heathen. But the farmer persisted, so Elbern brought the matter before a magistrate. To his dismay, the farmer had his ducks—or rather his deeds—in a row, and proved title to the sliver. The boundary line was changed, spoiling the perfectly rectangular town. Livid over the decision, Elbern changed the town’s name to Whisker Jog, deeming the jog in the new boundary line a debauchery created by a sliver of land the “breadth of a cat’s whisker.”
Lara grinned at the story. How had she never known that?
“Lara?”
The familiar voice came from behind her. She turned to see Chris Newman, a local accountant who’d recently taken over as editor of the town’s weekly paper, the Whisker Gazette.
“Hey, Chris, how’s it going?”
Wearing a short-sleeved red shirt over a pair of khaki shorts, Chris shrugged. He held up his camera. “Not bad. I’m covering this little soiree for the paper. How are things at the shelter?”
“Great. And thanks for getting the word out. Those weekly plugs have brought in a lot of donations.”
“Happy to do it,” he said.
The voices in the main room rose to a swell. “I think her car just pulled in!” someone squealed.
“Deanna must have arrived,” Lara said, hearing the excitement in her own voice. “Excuse me, Chris, but I need to catch up with Aunt Fran.”
He nodded and waved, and Lara hurried toward the main room. Three long tables covered in lavender linen formed a horseshoe of sorts at the rear of the room. In the center table, three china teapots sat on a silver tray. Delicate and fancy, each teapot was pale pink with a golden spout, the finial at the top shaped like a butterfly.
Twenty or so eager-looking people, most of whom were women, milled about the room. According to Deanna, each of the historical society members had been permitted to bring a spouse or a guest.
The main room evidently had central air, but in Lara’s opinion it could have been ten degrees cooler. She spied Aunt Fran chatting with a sixtysomething woman in a garish orange muumuu. Her aunt spotted her and motioned her over.
“Lara, this is Joy Renfield. She owns a tea shop in Moultonborough, and she also reads tealeaves.”
The woman, whose graying hair stuck out from a wide purple headband, shook Lara’s hand briskly. “I’ve been following Ms. Daltry’s career for a long time, so I volunteered to supply the teas for this reception. If you enjoy them, and I’m sure you will, I hope you’ll visit my shop one of these days. It’s right on the main drag, in a little strip mall. I also do psychic readings, if you go for that sort of thing. May I give you a coupon for a free reading?”
Lara felt bombarded by the woman’s enthusiasm. “Um, yes, sure, that would be great.”
She knew that her aunt didn’t put much faith in psychics, but Lara had always enjoyed having her tarot cards read. The predictions had always been somewhat generic, but it was fun believing someone might be able to see into her future.
Joy whipped out a pink card from her cross-body leather wallet and gave it to Lara. “I’ll be looking for you, okay?”
“You bet. I’ll try to get there soon.” Lara took the card and slipped it into one of her deep pockets.
Voices around them rose. The actress was walking in their direction.
“Here’s Deanna now,” Aunt Fran said brightly. She tugged her niece’s arm. “Nice meeting you, Joy.”
Joy whirled toward the commotion as if someone had announced the arrival of the Queen of England. Her eyes glittered, and a wide smile split her somewhat plain face. “Oh my, it really is her. And she’s on time,” she
added in a near whisper. “Excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom.” She turned and bolted.
Lara pulled her gaze from Joy’s retreating form and greeted Deanna. “Thanks again for inviting us,” Lara said quietly.
“My pleasure,” Deanna breathed, taking Lara’s hand. Her face was made up to perfection, her silver hair framing her delicate cheekbones in stylish wisps. Wearing a teal wraparound dress that highlighted her trim figure, she leaned closer and murmured in Lara’s ear. “I understand you’ve approved my application. Can you bring the kittens to my place tomorrow?”
“To your place? Oh, absolutely. We’d be honored.”
Lara had checked out Deanna’s references, one of whom was a well-known celebrity who’d nearly made her swoon. She’d stammered over her words, feeling like a silly star chaser. The man had been genial and kind, even if Lara had sounded like a giggling groupie.
Deanna nodded, and then moved on to give Aunt Fran a firm hug. “You’ll come along as well, Fran, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Aunt Fran said.
A stout woman came up behind Deanna, almost bumping into her. Her brunette hair was worn in a style reminiscent of the 1980s, a bit too large for Lara’s taste. She wore a shiny gold dress that strained slightly at the bust, divulging some serious cleavage. An engraved name tag pinned to one shoulder identified her as “Evelyn Conley, Special Member.” Lara wondered what made her more special than the regular members.
“Deanna,” the woman said in a slithery voice, “I think it’s time I gave my announcement welcoming you to our lovely town. After that you can mingle and chat with all the Ladies’ Association members.”
“Nice to see you again, Evelyn,” Aunt Fran said.
Evelyn’s eyes popped wide open. “Oh. I— Do I know you?”
“Your granddaughter, Trista, was in my class the year before last.”
“Oh, yes. I remember you now. Didn’t someone say you quit teaching?”
“Only for this past year,” Aunt Fran said. “I plan to return in the fall.”
Evelyn flashed her a weak smile. “Well, that’s…nice. Deanna, we really need to get moving. Come with me and I’ll introduce you. Not that you need an introduction,” she added coyly, slipping her arm through the actress’s. “I still can’t believe that I, your biggest fan ever, am right here with you in my own hometown!”
Deanna winked at Lara, then followed Evelyn’s lead. The two stood before the center table, blocking the view of the teapots.
Joy had returned. She came up quietly to stand beside Lara. She gave Evelyn a dark look. “I didn’t even get to say hello to Deanna,” she grumbled. “And I’m the one who supplied the teas free of charge.”
“Don’t worry,” Aunt Fran said kindly. “I’m sure you’ll have a chance to meet Deanna in a bit.”
Evelyn’s booming voice made up for the lack of a microphone. Her glossy, cherry-tinted lips moved in exaggerated fashion, as if she’d rehearsed her spiel. After introducing herself, she gave a rousing welcome to Deanna. The guests tittered and clapped, waving their smartphones in the air to capture the moment.
Deanna spoke only a few words. She thanked everyone for the warm welcome but said she would prefer to greet each guest personally. She said nothing about having lived in the area as a child. In Lara’s view, Deanna was the truly gracious woman she’d always thought her to be.
“I’d like to say one last thing,” Deanna said. “I recently adopted two kittens from the High Cliff Shelter here in town. The owners, Fran and Lara, are two of the most delightful women I’ve ever met. They’re completely devoted to their feline charges. For the remainder of the month, I’m offering to pay the adoption fee for anyone wishing to adopt from their shelter—subject to their approval of your application, of course.”
Murmurs filtered through the crowd, and several people clapped. A woman standing behind Lara bleated, “Application? For a cat? How silly is that?”
Aunt Fran turned and graced the woman with a radiant smile. The woman flushed and pretended to search for something in her handbag.
After Deanna concluded her speech, she began mingling with the guests. Evelyn swiveled toward a rear doorway and snapped her fingers. Two teenage boys wearing starched white jackets appeared, each holding a sizeable tray of goodies. At Evelyn’s nod, they began moving through the room, offering delectable-looking delicacies to the guests.
Lara plucked a round of sliced baguette topped with smoked salmon from the tray. She sampled a bite and said, “Aunt Fran, try this one. It’s to die for.”
Her aunt smiled. “I don’t want to go that far, but I’ll take your advice.” She tasted the canape and nodded. “I agree, but I’m more interested in those mini-cheesecakes that other young man is offering.”
“I’m going to amble around, see if I can drum up some goodwill for the shelter,” Lara said.
“Good plan.”
Lara strolled among the guests, nodding and making pleasantries with anyone who offered a friendly smile. A few people asked her about the cats, and she willingly gave a plug to the shelter.
Chris Newman, camera in hand, moved around the edges of the room, snapping pictures. Lara was giving him a tiny wave when a thin, seventyish man with thick white hair and droopy-looking eyes slipped into the room. The man flicked his gaze around, as if unsure if he should join the party. He appeared to be searching for someone.
Lara stepped back slightly and watched him. Dressed in a navy jacket over beige chinos, he wore a nervous expression as he moved farther into the room. All at once, his face froze.
He was looking directly at Deanna.
Wiping his hands on his jacket, he edged through the guests toward the actress. Something about his demeanor made Lara uncomfortable. Not that he looked dangerous or anything. More like jittery or anxious.
Deanna stood in front of the middle table, her hands clasped at her waist. She chatted amiably with an elderly woman and her much younger companion, a man with a brush cut and a freakishly wide smile. Behind the table, Joy Renfield fussed with the teapots. As guests strolled up to her, she poured cups of steaming tea into china mugs.
The newcomer approached Deanna, but before he reached her Evelyn bustled over and touched the elbow of his jacket. “Sir, I’m afraid this is a private event. Are you here with one of the members?”
The man’s face turned a mottled red. “Members? Uh, no—sorry, I’m not, but I was told it was okay for me to be here. I just wanted to say hi to Deen…um, Deanna.”
“As does the rest of the world,” Evelyn said, her smile pleasant but firm. “I’m sorry, but this event is sponsored by the Ladies’ Association, and it’s by invitation only. You need to—”
“It’s all right, Evelyn. I know this person.” Deanna’s voice was silky soft. “How are you, Don? It’s been a long time.”
Evelyn’s mouth opened. “I see. Well, then, I apologize. Please help yourself to refreshments,” she told the man and then hurried off to chat up another guest.
The man’s eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
“It’s been a long time,” Deanna repeated, her smile cautious.
At that point, Lara felt like an eavesdropper. Whatever was going on between the two, the man’s tone made it clear that it was intensely private. She moved closer to Joy. “May I sample one of the teas?” she asked.
Joy nodded and lifted a teapot adorned with tiny yellow daisies. She poured some into a china mug and handed it to Lara. “This one’s blueberry with a hint of lemon.”
Lara sipped carefully from the steaming mug. The tea was the perfect temperature—not too hot, not too cold. The fruity flavor lingered on her tongue. “Wow, Joy, this is delicious. Just right for a summer day.”
Joy’s eyes lit up, then flickered sideways. “Thank you. In my experience, not many people app
reciate specialty teas.”
“There’s nothing more to say, Don,” Lara heard Deanna say in a rising voice. “I think it’s best if you leave.”
“But—”
“Please, Don. You need to go. We’ll talk about this another time, okay? I promise.” Deanna’s voice sounded shaky, sending a wave of unease through Lara.
By then the man had attracted some attention. Evelyn, never far from the actress, had apparently heard Deanna’s plea. She stormed over and hooked one pudgy hand around the interloper’s elbow. “I’ll see you out through the back,” she said, her tone making it clear it would be pointless to argue.
The man’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Red-faced, he allowed Evelyn to escort him out through a rear exit, but not before attempting to press a business card into Deanna’s hand. It fluttered to the floor, landing under the center table.
Murmurs rose through the room like the buzz of a beehive. “Who was that? Is he famous?” Lara heard someone say.
Joy, teapot in hand, exchanged concerned frowns with Lara. She set down the pot, then bent and retrieved the business card. She stared at it for a moment, then came around the side of the table and gave it to Deanna. “Miss Daltry, are you all right? You look a little pale.” She rubbed her beringed hand over the actress’s arm in a soothing gesture. “How about some nice blueberry-lemon tea?”
Trembling, Deanna clutched the business card tightly in her fingers. “Thank you. That would be lovely...Joy, is it?”
Joy beamed. “Yes, that’s right. Would you like your tea sweetened with a touch of local honey?”
“Thank you, that sounds heavenly,” Deanna said. “But first you’ll need to excuse me for a moment, okay?” She touched Joy’s hand lightly, then turned to Lara. “Lara, may I trouble you for a favor?”
“Of course you can,” Lara said.
She followed Deanna through a rear doorway. When they reached a back room that served as the historical society’s small kitchen, Deanna made a beeline for one of the wooden cupboards above the chipped porcelain sink. “Evelyn said my purse would be safe here, but with all these people milling about I’d feel better if it were locked in my car. Would you mind taking it out to my car for me?” She reached up and opened the cupboard door. An elegant lavender clutch sat on a top shelf. Deanna reached for it but her fingertips couldn’t quite grab onto it.
