by E. Joan Sims
“Did she ever get caught?”
“Only once. All the stores here in town knew what she was doing, but no one ever said a thing. Her husband would go around each month and pay for what she took. Then one fine day the Five and Dime got a new manager. He saw her swiping a bottle of Evening in Paris cologne and called the police. He insisted that she be arrested.”
“Was she?”
“You’ll have to ask Gran exactly what the details were. All I know is that the dime store had another new manager the next week, and Millicent never spent a night in jail. Her husband was very rich and powerful. Nobody wanted to have him for an enemy.”
“Little town politics.”
“You got that right! Tony Grazziani donated the money for the new high school gymnasium, the gazebo grandstand at Big Springs Park, and half the fire trucks in Lakeland County.”
Cassie laughed merrily. “Which at the time must have been one!”
“Right!”
Cassie burped. “I wish I hadn’t eaten those last three marshmallows.”
“Let’s go to bed. You’ll feel fine in the morning. You have youth and beauty on your side. I, on the other hand, will have bags under my eyes big enough to store half my wardrobe.”
Cassie got up from the floor in one graceful motion. I pulled half the covers off the bed in my struggle to get to my feet.
“Mom, you have to start jogging with me again. You were in such great shape six months ago. What happened?”
“Leonard’s latest, that’s what. Sitting on your butt ten hours a day doesn’t do much for the figure.”
“Let’s start tomorrow morning at.…”
She looked at my raised eyebrow and smiled.
“Tomorrow evening when it gets cooler will be great.” She bent over from her height, which was four inches above my five feet six and gave me a good night kiss.
“Love you, Mom.”
“Me, too, Cassie. Sleep tight.”
I closed the door behind her and went back into the library to lock the French doors.
A faint pink tinge hovered over the horizon. It was almost dawn. The morning birds were beginning to wake up and sing their welcome to the sun. It was time for me and the lonesome owl to go to bed.
Chapter Three
I forgot about Mother’s hen party until I got up late the next morning and stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast. Plates of dainty finger sandwiches, iced and decorated petit fours, tiny biscuits with country ham, and jam-filled teacakes covered every available countertop. The creator of this culinary magic was seated at the big country kitchen table hulling strawberries.
“My lord, Mother! Just how much food can a bunch of little old biddies eat?”
“You’d be surprised, Paisley, dear,” she answered with a smile. “And besides, some of them like to take a little snack home for later.”
I sneaked a strawberry while she wasn’t looking and poured myself a cup of hot tea. “Got anything you can spare for your poor starving offspring?”
She cast an appraising eye over the excess of gourmet goodies. “There’s a container of broken biscuits and ham silvers in the refrigerator. You can finish whatever Cassie left. She practically flew through here an hour ago on her way to the animal clinic.”
“Aggie under the weather?” I asked, adding, “One can only hope,” under my breath.
“No, thank goodness. The groomer had an unexpected opening and so the puppy’s having her hair clipped.”
“Wish they’d file down her teeth,” I grumbled.
“What’s that, dear?” asked Mother. “By the way, Paisley,” she continued without waiting for my answer. “Thank you so much for helping me serve luncheon.”
“What? I never said…”
“I know you didn’t, dear, but when Mable called and said her youngest wasn’t feeling well, I knew you would want to jump right in and volunteer.”
“But, but…”
“Thanks again, darling,” she insisted firmly.
“What about Cassie? Can’t she…”
She turned and gave me a warning glance. “And please do something about your hair. We don’t want stray red curls in our fresh shrimp salad, now do we?”
“Shrimp salad?” She knew that was my favorite. “Where are you hiding it?”
“And do wear something nice, dear. I want to show off my beautiful daughter.”
“Then call Velvet and tell her to get her fancy little butt over here to prance around in the latest Chanel.”
“Anything but jeans and those dreadful moccasins, dear. And you know perfectly well that Velvet is in Mykonos with…with her new husband.”
“Ah, ha! You can’t remember his name either! How many husbands has my dear sister had now? Four? Five?”
“Anthony,” she decided. “It’s Anthony, or Alexander. One or the other—I’m almost positive. And don’t be ugly, dear. It’s so unbecoming the way you prattle on about Velvet’s romantic foibles.”
“Foibles, foibles? And what about marriage vows, Mother? What about forever?”
“We can only hope she’s found the right one, dear. She’s positive she has,…well, almost positive, anyway. And don’t forget, dear, no jeans.”
Mother’s fiesta went off without a hitch, unless you count my accidentally dumping a plateful of shortbread cookies in the ample lap of a jolly lady who grabbed as many as she could and stuffed them in her pocketbook before I could come back with the broom.
By the time the last car left the driveway and the last flower-bedecked little hat bobbed out of sight, I was exhausted. My cheeks ached from the smile plastered on my face, and my pinched toes screamed in agony. I kicked off the dress-up shoes my mother had forced me to wear and grabbed a bottle of Australian Riesling from the refrigerator. The shrimp salad had disappeared before I even got to taste it, so I settled for a plate of fruit and cheese and headed out to the patio just as Horatio drove up in his Bentley.
“Afternoon, my dear,” he said with a smile on his tanned aristocratic face. “One might surmise from that sour look that even though your mother’s extravaganza was a complete success, you are not in the best of moods.”
“You got that right!”
“And by the way, you look very nice, my dear, even barefoot. I sometimes forget how truly lovely you are.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, but I couldn’t help enjoying the affirmation. It had been a
long time since a man had paid me a compliment.
“I thought you’d be busy arranging Madame Grazziani’s wake,” I asked to change the subject and cover my embarrassment. Horatio was the owner of our town’s one and only funeral home. He had passed most of the responsibility of day-to-day management on to his nephew, but when someone of note or fortune passed to the great beyond, Horatio usually was the one who made all of the arrangements. His taste was impeccable and his august presence leant an air of elegance to even the most dismal of occasions.
He shook his head and frowned ever so slightly. “That has me puzzled, my child. I had, of course, expected that she would make that stipulation in her last wishes, but young Hawkins, her lawyer, called me this morning after her will was read and told me Millicent wanted to be cremated without further ado.”
“And no wake, no funeral, no nothing? But, I thought…”
He smiled. “You’ve heard the coffin story, too, I suppose.”
“Of course,” I laughed.
“Well, it is true that she came in five years ago and ordered the most expensive casket on the market. I, too, was aghast when I found out she was using it for a coffee table,” he chuckled.
“You gotta admit, it makes for a great storyline. I used it in Dead Bones and Bloody Bodies.
“My goodness, Paisley! Our Leonard is a lurid fellow!”
“That he is,” I agreed with a clownish grin.
I heard the screen door to the porch close and Mother’s footsteps on the walkway. I leaned in closer to whisper, “Please don’t mention that you like
my outfit to Mother. I don’t want her to think…”
“Don’t want me to think what, dear?” asked Mother as Horatio rose to offer her a seat.
“How much it would disturb you to know our late friend Millicent did not want us to join in communion to offer our last condolences,” said Horatio.
“That’s definitely not what Paisley said,” laughed Mother. “But considering how much work she did today, I’ll let it pass. And that really is astonishing news, Horatio. I would have assumed the dear old thing would have wanted an extravagant affair to mark her passing.”
Mother had brought two more wine glasses. I filled them while Horatio told her about the Millicent’s will.
He finished with, “And the ‘coffee table’—I guess he inherits that along with the house and all of her antiques.”
“Wait just a darn minute! He, who? Billy—her hairdresser?”
“Paisley!”
Horatio laughed and took a sip of the chilled wine. “Where did you hear that, my dear?”
The country club—yesterday afternoon, from Agnes Wallace and her friend, what’s-her-name.”
“Ah, locker room gossip, I presume.”
“Yep! And they also said he murdered her.”
“For goodness sake, Paisley. You shouldn’t repeat something as tacky as that!”
“Now, now, Anna, Paisley is simply stating what’s on everyone else’s lips. And from what I understand there may be something to the accusation, considering the arguments the two of them used to have in public.”
“Ohhh, do tell us more, Horatio. Sounds like a good story.”
“Paisley, common gossip is quite unbecoming of southern lady.”
“Oh, Mother! Give me a break! Remember, I served luncheon to fourteen little blabbermouths with twenty-eight eager ears this afternoon. Don’t think I don’t know what their favorite pastime is. Sunday school class, my hind foot!”
“Horatio,” she said, casting an icy glance in my direction. “I put some lovely shrimp salad aside for you. When you’re ready to eat, join me in the kitchen where it’s not so hot and unpleasant.”
Horatio barely managed to smother a chuckle when I stuck my tongue out at her retreating and totally disapproving back.
“Now!” I said, as I topped off our wine glasses and winked at my friend, “What arguments?”
Chapter Four
Billy Arlequin and Millicient Grazziani had fought frequently and very publicly—too many times for Horatio to remember. They had arguments over money, cars, clothes, when and where to eat, and Millicent’s health. Some of their worst battles had taken place at her doctor’s office and had been broadcast by the receptionist who, because of all the secrets she knew, enjoyed a certain level of fearful respect in Rowan Springs. She had once confided to Horatio’s nephew that Billy had walked out and left Millicent with no way to get home except the town’s one and only taxi. And this was after screaming, “I hate you—you hideous old hag!” at the top of his lungs in the waiting room.
When Billy had called the police department and had the old woman’s driver’s license revoked on her last birthday, Millicent had gotten behind the wheel of her ancient Silver Cloud and chased him through the neighborhood—uprooting shrubs, destroying flowerbeds, and ending up with a cracked and smoking radiator against the trunk of a big oak tree. Billy had escaped without a scratch except for his bruised dignity, but the neighbors who had gathered to watch reported later that he had sworn he would “get even with the bitch.”
“So you think he killed her” I asked, as he rose in preparation to join Mother in the kitchen.
“You should hardly jump to that conclusion, my dear. After all, these things were said in anger—something we all do every day.”
“We? Do you shout at people every day, Horatio? I don’t, even though I’d love to strangle Mother right about now. She’s teased me with that shrimp salad all day long. I feel like Pavlov’s drooling canine.”
“Speaking of canines—where has your mother hidden Cassie’s resident beastie? I assume she wasn’t invited to the party?”
“To be honest, I don’t know. Cassie took her to the groomer’s this morning and they’ve both been gone all day.”
“Then I know where they are,” he stated with a knowing smile. “There’s a new vet in town—Dr. Huntley Haverstock. He’s working on a joint project with the university extension service—something to do with the “hoof and mouth” epidemic in the British Isles.”
“A Brit?”
“A very handsome young Brit, if I do say so. I met him at a Chamber of Commerce luncheon. I must admit I would have informed Cassandra of the new blood right away, if it hadn’t been for…”
I laughed. “What’s he got? Two heads?”
Horatio chuckled along with me, “No, but he’s at least one head shorter than our dear Cassandra.”
Cassie came home shortly after Horatio joined Mother in the kitchen to feast on my shrimp salad. Aggie bounded out of the car and ran to my side, eager to show off her new hairdo. I “ohhed’ and “ahhed” appreciatively, and reached down to pat the soft fluffy fur. I just managed to jerk my hand back in time to avoid a vicious nip.
“You rotten little…”
“Doesn’t she look adorable?” called Cassie.
My daughter was a beauty, all right. I admired the glossy straight brown hair and the ivory oval of that perfect face as she cross the grassy expanse of yard to reach me. Her legs were long, tanned and slender, and her figure firm and athletic; but her best feature was the total lack of awareness of her natural good looks. She was a true American beauty—North and South.
“Trish took special care with her today.”
“Meaning that she wore her stainless steel gauntlets?”
“Mom, don’t be mean! Aggie has never bitten Trish.”
“How about Patty, and Maud, and what’s-her-name—the one from Cincinnati.”
“They…they were not as professional as Trish,” stammered Cassie. “And Aggie could tell. They made her nervous.”
I slid back down in the chaise with a smirk on my face. “So, when’s the big date with the little vet?”
“Ohhhh! You can be soooo…I’m in a hurry, or I would…”
The two of them—dog and daughter—managed to portray the same amount of disdain as they tossed their heads and marched off towards the house. I laughed again and poured myself another glass of wine. Cassie and I had been home for just a little over three years, and yet she had worked her way through almost all the eligible bachelors in Rowan Springs. There weren’t that many—true, but they didn’t last long either. She had gotten really mad at me last summer when I asked her if she wanted us to install a revolving door.
The evening was soft and beautiful—with that quiet majesty that accompanies approaching twilight. Across the wide horizon, the sky deepened to orange and red, then blue and purple, and objects in the distance could be seen with increasing clarity as the dust settled.
I loved this time of the day and eagerly awaited that one majestic moment when the sun sinks below the tree line and the stars make their first appearance in the deep blue of the heavens. I breathed a sigh of contentment as Venus came into view, and quietly thanked God once again for allowing me to come home to Meadowdale Farm.
Sometimes, admittedly, I missed the hustle and bustle of our busy lives in Manhattan—mostly when I had a yearning for a really fresh bagel. And certainly, if I allowed myself to think about it, I missed our happy life in San Romero; but I had resigned myself to being alone, just as Mother had until quite recently. I was fairly certain that, unlike her, I would never marry again. With few exceptions, the only men in my life were “Leonard” and his nefarious henchmen—and that was only when I sat down at my father’s desk to work on a book.
Horatio had to call my name twice, and was almost at my side before I shook off my musing. “Wha…what did you say?”
“My nephew has called from the, er, office. Someone made a mistake
and started to embalm Madame Grazziani. Thank heaven Archibald stopped them in time, but not before something very disturbing was uncovered.”
“What?” I repeated again—parrot fashion.
“I’m not sure, my dear. But I think you may want to come along with me. From poor Archie’s babbling, I think it may be something grisly enough for one for your books.”
Chapter Five
This wasn’t the first time I had been to Horatio’s place of business, but it was the first time I had ever been invited to view a body. Despite my repeated hints that Leonard needed to do some research, Horatio had steadfastly refused to allow me within the confines of the clinical end of his enterprise until now. I was surprised to discover that my first impression was a reminder of “Biology 101” and the infamous frog dissection. The place reeked of formaldehyde and other noxious odors. When I asked how he was able to keep the stench away from the quiet elegance of the public rooms, Horatio pointed to several large air ducts scattered about the suspended ceiling.
“Forced air system,” he answered abruptly.
In this place of death, Horatio seemed different: quiet and determined—as though he had hung his debonair persona on the coat rack in the hall along with his natty umbrella. I fell in with his solemn mood and kept the rest of my inane questions to myself.
Horatio’s nephew had other business to attend to and had therefore left the mortal remains of Millicent Grazziani alone in the mortuary. With a quiet reverence, Horatio approached the long stainless steel table where she lay, pausing for a moment before he lifted the pristine white sheet to look into her sightless eyes. He smiled gently—inexplicably, as if in apologetic greeting and then pulled the fabric back below her waist. My startled gasp echoed against the white tile walls of the laboratory and triggered the little response in my nervous system that makes your goose bumps rise.
