“Yes?”
“That was Chris I was with last night ... right?”
“Absolutely.” Smiling sweetly, Susan added, “Would we ever try to fool you?”
Just then Susan noticed that a girl about her age with long blond hair and a yellow dress that she recognized from the cover of a recent issue of a fashion magazine was heading in her direction. The girl was wearing a look of determination that instantly made her nervous.
“My goodness! Who on earth is that?”
“Felicia Harris. That’s right; you two haven’t met yet.”
“Uh-oh. I’ve heard all about her.”
“Just remember that Felicia and Chris met on Monday. You two are old friends by now.”
“Hi, Felicia!” Susan said in as friendly a tone as she could manage. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Felicia smiled coldly. “How are you enjoying your reign, Christine? Is it everything you hoped it would be?”
“Oh, yes. It’s lots of fun.”
“And Chris here is doing a terrific job, if I do say so myself,” Jeff interjected. He put his arm around Susan protectively.
“My, my. I see we’re getting quite friendly,” Felicia observed. “Which reminds me. Jeff, how would you like to be my escort for the big fund-raising ball Saturday night? It’s the gala event of Centennial Week, you know.” She tossed her head so that her long blond hair rippled around her shoulders.
“Thanks but no thanks. I’ve already got a date. And I’m afraid that one girl is all I can handle at the moment.” Jeff grinned at Susan and winked.
“Yes, I suppose you do have your duty to perform, being king of Centennial Week and all that.” Felicia turned her attention back to Susan. “So, Chris, you and I haven’t had much of a chance to talk, I’m afraid.”
“Really? As I recall, you did quite a bit of talking on Monday.”
Jeff gave Susan’s shoulder a triumphant squeeze.
Felicia let her remark pass, however. “But I haven’t had a chance to find out much about you! You’re so quiet all the time!”
“Maybe she just hasn’t had a chance to get a word in edgewise,” a male voice said cheerfully. “Because there are so many people around, I mean. I find that Chris is most talkative once you get her alone.” Eric Caulfield joined the other three. ‘ “You two haven’t met, have you?” said Jeff.
“No, not exactly.” Felicia smiled at the memory of the scene she’d overheard between the reporter and Chris—or rather Susan, pretending to be Chris. “Let’s just say I’ve heard about you. Chris here was just going to tell us all about herself. Weren’t you, Chris?”
While Eric’s first instinct was to defend Chris, he couldn’t help being a bit curious himself. He remembered his sense the night before that there was something funny going on.
“One thing I’d like to know more about is the way you spend your free time,” he said. “Besides painting, that is.”
1 never should have brought that up, Susan thought ruefully. And I’m sure Chris would be the first to agree with me!
New she was faced with the problem of how much to say. As Susan, she could talk about art for hours. But what about tomorrow, when it was Chris’s turn to take over again? Susan could feel herself growing flustered.
As if she were using radar, Felicia immediately picked up on Susan’s discomfort. “Don’t be shy, Queen Christine. Tell us all about your artistic abilities. I must say this is something I hadn’t heard about before.”
“She’s kind of modest,” said Jeff.
“But a queen has to talk about herself! The public wants to know these things.” Turning to Eric, Felicia said, “And it’s your job to make sure the public knows!”
“I’m sure Eric and Jeff have already heard enough about this. Why don’t we go over and sit down? I think they’re just about ready to start serving lunch....”
“Yes, let’s go,” Jeff agreed heartily. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
When Eric began to move toward the tables as well, Felicia realized she was defeated. But that didn’t mean she was ready to give up.
“Well, I just had a terrific idea,” she said loudly enough for all three to hear. “I’m going to insist that my father invite Charles Applegate to the gala fund-raising ball Saturday night. You do know who he is, don’t you, Chris?”
Susan gulped. She knew only too well.
“I don’t,” Eric said. He had already reached for his notebook.
“Why, he’s none other than Whittington’s own artist. Quite well known, too, I might add. I’m sure our queen here will find it most stimulating to discuss art, one of her greatest passions, with him. And I, for one, can’t wait to watch.”
“I don’t think ...”
“There you go again, Chris, being Little Miss Modest. I’m sure you two will get along just famously. As you will with Edna Partridge, the town historian. She’ll certainly be at the ball. Now won’t that make for a well-rounded evening? Queen Chris will have the chance to discuss her two specialties—local history and art—with experts in each field. I can’t wait to witness this!”
With her chin held at an arrogant angle, Felicia turned on her heel and stalked away.
Eric was watching her carefully. Then, after a few seconds, he headed for a table. As soon as he sat down, he began to study his notebook, puzzling over the pages and pages of notes he had been taking for the past few days.
Jeff, meanwhile, stayed at Susan’s side.
“Uh-oh. Now what?” he whispered. “I don’t know how she managed it or why she’s even bothering, but the mayor’s daughter has just made it impossible for either of you two to play the part of queen on Saturday night!”
Susan just nodded. She knew only too well that that was exactly what had just happened. As for whether or not Felicia was on to their scheme, she had no idea. There certainly didn’t seem to be any way she could think of that the mayor’s daughter could have found out. But the fact remained that come Saturday night, Chris and Susan Pratt were being put to a sort of test.
And how they would ever manage to pass that test was something she simply could not imagine.
Chapter Twelve
“Hey, Chris, can I give you a ride home?”
It was late Thursday afternoon, and Susan-as-Chris was on her way into City Hall to telephone her fathers. It had been another long day, fun but exhausting, and while she had insisted upon wearing her own shoes this time, her feet were still sore.
When Eric spotted her on her way upstairs and offered her a ride, she was tempted to say yes. It would be so much easier than calling home and then waiting for someone to come pick her up.
Still, she remembered all too clearly the conclusion that she and her twin had come to the night before: “We’d better make sure that Eric Caulfield doesn’t find out!”
“Thanks, Eric. But my parents won’t mind picking me up. I’ll just give them a call....”
“Oh, come on. You live in the north part of town, right? I’m headed in that direction anyway. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to see some more of Whittington. We’ll make the Grand Tour. It seems to me that giving informal tours of Whittington is exactly the kind of thing the queen should be doing.”
Susan could feel her resistance weakening. Taking a drive with Eric did sound like the perfect way to end the day....
“I might even be persuaded to drive by Fozzy’s.” Eric’s green eyes twinkled merrily. “I think a couple of ice cream cones might be just the thing for a hot July afternoon.”
“How can I possibly turn down an offer like that?” Susan laughed. “Let’s go.”
Well, it will keep Mom and Dad from having to pick me up, she argued with her cautious nature as she followed Eric to his ear. They’ve both had long hard days of their own, and I’m sure they’d appreciate it if I managed to get home on my own steam.
A few minutes later, Eric and Susan were driving down Main Street armed with double-dip ice cream cones.
“Umm, this is good. I’m glad you talked me into pistachio,” said Susan.
“I’ll have to remember to include that in my feature article on you. The queen of Centennial Week, Christine Pratt, reports that her main hobby is painting, her best subject in school is history, and her favorite flavor of ice cream is pistachio. How does that sound?”
“Like the very things the citizens of Whittington are dying to know about their queen!” Susan sighed and licked a particularly dangerous drip of ice cream off the side of the cone. “Honestly, wouldn’t you rather be writing about the new elementary school or the town library or something like that?”
Eric glanced over at her. He was wearing a puzzled expression. “You don’t like talking about yourself very much, do you?”
“I guess I just feel kind of funny. . . .”
“Although sometimes you do. Maybe you’re just moody.”
“Well, I do have kind of a shy streak.” Susan was growing uncomfortable. “Being in the public eye must bring it out in me.”
For the rest of the ride, Eric and Susan talked about the layout of Whittington, the benefits of having your own car, and the mild summer they were having. But she couldn’t forget the odd way he had looked at her. And the way he’d said, “Maybe you’re just moody....” She-was beginning to get a funny feeling about Eric—and how much he knew.
But when he dropped her off in front of her house with a cheerful, “Well, good-bye, Chris! See you tomorrow!” it was hard to believe he could possibly suspect anything. He didn’t ask to come inside or insist on meeting her family or try to hang around as if he were sniffing out clues.
See? she thought. And here you thought the only reason he wanted to drive you home was so he could spy on you. You’re starting to become totally paranoid, Susan Pratt!
She skipped into the house, feeling good about Eric. For the moment, even the challenge that Felicia Harris had set up for the twins for Saturday night, only two days away, was completely forgotten.
Eric, however, had not forgotten. As he drove away from the Pratts’ house, back toward Main Street, where the Herald office was, he was deep in thought. He still had a long evening ahead of him. He hadn’t started his feature article for Sunday’s paper yet. But it wasn’t writing it that had him concerned. It was deciding whether or not to tell the readers of the Herald what the queen of Centennial Week had been doing.
Or, more accurately, the queen of Centennial Week and her twin sister.
That day, right before lunch, Eric had figured out what was going on. The combination of Felicia’s odd behavior, Chris’s nervousness, and his own suspicions that something out of the ordinary was going on had finally led him to put two and two together.
Or one and one, he thought with a smile. But this time instead of one plus one equaling two, one plus one equaled ... one!
They’re certainly a clever pair, he thought not without admiration as he drove through the maze of residential streets. Switching off the way they’ve been doing, fooling everyone. Everyone, including the mayor. And me. And hundreds of other people ...
But not Felicia.
How had she ever figured out what was going on? he wondered. Her reasons for wanting to expose them were all too obvious. She was envious, perhaps because she’d wanted to be queen herself, perhaps because she was simply a jealous person by nature. But how did she know? Especially since she, like most of the other people involved, hadn’t even known Chris and Susan Pratt before this week.
Yes, she was a crafty one, all right. Somehow
she had figured out what was going on. And Eric was anxious to know how. What her source was.
Still, he wasn’t too worried about that. He had a feeling that sooner or later, she would come to him, anxious to tell whatever she knew about the Pratt twins’ scheme. After all, she was the kind of person who couldn’t enjoy making trouble for someone unless as many people as possible found out about it.
Was that how he felt, too? he wondered as he pulled up in front of the Herald office. Was exposing the twins, telling the residents of their hometown exactly what had been going on, really so important?
The evening ahead was going to be even longer than he’d anticipated. Before he could proceed with his article, he had to do some hard thinking, make some decisions about where his loyalties really lay. He felt committed to his duties as a newspaper reporter. But he couldn’t just ignore the fact that his growing affection for the charming Ms. Pratt was getting in the way. Even though he wasn’t even sure which twin it was that he was so infatuated with!
But even as he sat down at the desk that had been assigned to him for the summer, there was something gnawing away at him. Yes, he cared about the Pratt twins. And he was open to admitting that he wasn’t being totally objective in his coverage of this story. But the fact remained that this was his first big chance. He had been determined right from the start to show off what he could do with this article.
He was a newspaper reporter, and he had responsibilities. Serious, important responsibilities.
Like it or not, that was the way things were. With a heavy heart Eric put a piece of paper into his typewriter and began to write.
Chapter Thirteen
As Susan floated into the house, she was still lost in dreamy thought. She was replaying in her mind how pleasant it was driving around with Eric, enjoying the cool summer evening and devouring a luscious ice cream cone and feeling as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
But as soon as she walked in, her twin jumped off the couch where she had been reading a magazine and ran over to her.
“How’d it go today?” Chris asked anxiously.
All of a sudden the conversation that had taken place just before lunch came rushing back to her. And her good mood vanished just as quickly.
“I’m afraid we’ve got ourselves into a real jam!” wailed Susan. “One that’s not going to be quite so easy for us to squirm our way out of.”
“Is that Chris?” Mrs. Pratt came in from the study. “Hi, honey. How did it go today?”
Susan-as-Chris cast a rueful glance at her twin. “I was just telling, uh, Sooz here all about it. It was fun. You know, more of the same kind of thing. A few speeches, a nice lunch, a lot of running around to different places. I’ll tell you and Dad all about it over dinner.”
“I’m glad it’s going so well.”
“Actually, one particularly interesting thing did happen today,” Susan couldn’t resist adding, looking meaningfully at Chris. “I ran into Mayor Harris’s daughter, Felicia, at a luncheon given by the Bonne Cuisine Cooking School.”
“How nice! You met her on Monday, too, as I recall. She’s just about your age, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but she goes to a different school.”
“A boarding school,” Chris interjected. “One with horses.”
“Is she nice?” Mrs. Pratt asked innocently.
“Oh, very nice. In fact, she told me she’s making sure her father invites all kinds of people with different backgrounds to the big fund-raising ball this Saturday night so that I’ll be sure to have the chance to meet them.”
“How exciting! Who exactly will be there?”
“I know of two of the people.” Susan paused for dramatic effect. “One is Edna Partridge, the local historian.”
“That’s wonderful! You two can talk about the history of Whittington! Maybe even fill each other in on some obscure details that the other doesn’t know about.”
“Terrific,” breathed Chris. She was beginning to get nervous. “Who’s the other one?”
“Charles Applegate.”
Chris just looked blank.
And then her mother exclaimed, “Charles Applegate! He’s Whittington’s most famous resident! Susan, I can’t believe that you, of all people, have never heard of him. He’s a very well-known artist.”
Chris gulped. “Oh,” she said softly. “That Charles Applegate.”
“Well, if you girls will excuse me, I’ve g
ot a million things to do before dinner. Imagine, my little Chris, mingling with Charles Applegate and Edna Partridge! What a unique opportunity!” She hurried back into the study.
“Why don’t we adjourn upstairs for a little talk, Sis?” Chris suggested, her voice controlled.
“Funny, I was just about to suggest the exact same thing.”
Once the two of them were behind the closed doors of her bedroom, Chris let out a mournful yell.
“Oh, no! Now what are we going to do?”
She flopped onto the bed, mumbling, “We’ve really done it this time. And it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t come up with this stupid, impossible idea ... I mean, it’s one thing to try to fool our friends. But how did I ever believe we could manage to fool a whole town?”
“We did manage to fool the town,” Susan said, rocking gently in the old rocking chair. “Everybody except for one person. Felicia Harris.”
“Unfortunately, one person seems to be all it takes. Whether she knows about the Hot Fudge Sunday Affair or this is just some bizarre, horrible coincidence, the fact remains that on Saturday night, one of us is going to have to come up with some pretty tricky maneuvers.” Chris buried her face in the pillow. “Oooh, Sooz, suddenly I feel like I’m drowning in hot fudge!”
Despite her anguish, Susan couldn’t help laughing. And then Chris started to laugh, too. Before long, both girls were doubled over, shrieking with laughter and gasping for breath and holding their stomachs.
“Maybe it’s not so terrible after all,” said Susan once they’d both calmed down. “You know, we still have forty-eight hours until the fund-raising ball. All we have to do is decide which one of us is going to go, and then the other can spend every waking minute drilling her on whatever subject it is that she’s not quite an expert on.”
“That’s true,” Chris sighed. “Sort of like cramming for an exam.” She thought for a minute. “Well, it seems to me that you should go. You know more about the history of Whittington than I do about art.”
“Oh, Chris! That’s not fair! To quote Felicia Harris, this fund-raising ball is ‘the gala event of Centennial Week.’ I’d hate to have you miss it! Don’t forget, you are the real queen. I’m just the stand-in.”
The Hot Fudge Sunday Affair Page 7
