by Meg Benjamin
“I’ll second that,” Arthur Craven cut in, stepping up beside them. “I’m going to be doubling my own contribution. In fact, I’m going to suggest we consider this the Docia Kent Matching Fund.”
Craven pulled Bethany into an enthusiastic two-step, while Horace watched with a jaundiced eye. “Trust Craven to turn charity into a competitive sport. Anyway, Docia, I just wanted to tell you, you did a good thing.”
“Thanks, Horace.” Docia cleared her throat. Cal noticed her eyes were suspiciously bright. “I promise never to bring Nico to you for shots again.”
Horace grinned. “Give him to Toleffson, here. They’ve bonded.” He headed toward the wine table where Ken poured him a glass of red.
A woman Cal recognized as Elsa Carmichael, the weaver from Main Street, stepped up and gave Docia a hug. “Nicely done, honey. And I don’t want a refund. Just give it to the library.”
“Neither do I.” Mrs. Grimsby beamed at them, then turned to Cal. “By the way, Doc, Miss Kitty is coughing again. Should I bring her around?”
Cal managed to smile in spite of the image of another one of Mrs. Grimsby’s Persians and its perennial hairballs. “Sure. Maybe next week.”
People drifted up to them in ones and twos, shaking Docia’s hand and hugging her, telling her they didn’t want their money back or that they’d double it and give it all to the library. After ten minutes, Cal noticed that Docia’s shoulders had relaxed significantly, although her lower lip was beginning to tremble.
“Can I have this dance, ma’am?” Cal extended a hand quickly. “I promise not to trip over you more than twice.”
Docia took his hands and pulled them around her waist, plastering her body against his, her eyes still suspiciously bright. “C’mon, Doc, let’s do some dirty dancing. I’ve been noble for fifteen whole minutes now. I’d hate to ruin my naughty reputation.”
Cal wound his arm around her hips and began to slide his feet across the grass. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice sang, Mine, mine, mine!
Chapter Thirteen
Long after everyone else had left, Docia sat with Cal, Allie, Wonder, Janie, Lee and Ken, eating leftover cheese and drinking the last of the wine.
“It really was a great party, Docia,” Janie mused. “I mean, apart from the fact you’re donating all that money on top of paying for the party and all.” Her brow furrowed. “Is that going to be a problem? I mean are you going to have to close down the shop or anything?”
Docia sighed. She’d managed not to think about the TABC for the past hour. “No, Janie, it’s not a problem. If I need to, I’ll get a loan. We should make out all right.”
“I’m donating my end of things,” Allie murmured. “The bread’s on me.”
“Count us in on that.” Lee nodded. “At least as far as the sausage and stuff. I don’t think the restaurant could afford to spring for the wine.” He shook his head. “Who do you think made the complaint? It’s so stupid. Why would anybody try to close the party down when everybody was enjoying themselves?”
“They did enjoy themselves, didn’t they?” A warm little glow began in Docia’s stomach. Of course, the fact that Cal had his arm around her shoulders might have something to do with that.
“Aw, hell, we all know who did it.” Wonder poured the last of some sauvignon blanc into his glass, then turned to grimace at Docia. “It had to be Margaret angels-are-my-middle-name Hastings. As to why, you’d need to ask her shrink.”
“Oh, we also know why.” Allie frowned. “Liddy Brenner is her freakin’ festival and she’s not sharing it with anybody, particularly not you. It’s just spite.”
The warm little glow diminished to a spark. Docia leaned down to pick up a couple of crumpled napkins at her feet. She really didn’t want to think about Margaret Hastings just then. In fact, she didn’t want to think about much of anything except the way Cal’s face had looked when he’d swept her out for the last waltz of the night. “I don’t understand any of this. I hardly know Margaret Hastings—I don’t think I’ve ever said more than a few words to her.”
“You played it just right, honey.” Ken reached out to pat her hand with a sympathetic smile. “Brilliant PR, if I do say so myself. You’ll come out of this smelling like a rose—trust me.”
“She already smells like a rose,” Cal murmured, “in all the right places.”
Docia didn’t think anyone else heard him—her cheeks heated up anyway.
Lee shook his head. “The real question is, what are we going to do about all of this? I’d love to see you challenge Margaret Hastings to a showdown at high noon, but she’d probably find a way to weasel out of it. Like saying the noon sun was bad for her skin.”
“Why should Docia do anything?” Cal’s voice was quiet. “She took care of the problem. Just let it be.”
Docia’s glow began to rekindle again. She turned to look at him. In the dim moonlight filling her backyard, his face was dark, sculpted by shadows.
“The TABC will investigate and find out the complaint doesn’t hold water, and that’ll be the end of it. This is Margaret’s problem, not Docia’s. Margaret’s pathetic. Just let her go. Sooner or later, she’ll trip herself up.”
Cal’s fingertips stroked the back of her neck in the darkness. Beads of heat like electric sparks seemed to flow from his fingers to her skin.
“Idaho, you are an example to us all,” Wonder mused. “One we’ll probably ignore. If nothing else, I intend to see Ms. Hastings doesn’t do Docia any harm through the Merchants Association. And I’m willing to bet Arthur Craven will serve as my ready assistant.”
“How could she do anything to me at the association?” Docia’s eyelids felt so heavy she had to struggle to keep them open. Cal’s hand had moved down to knead her shoulders and she arched against his fingers. “And I repeat, why does she want to? What have I done to her?”
Allie leaned forward to pick up a stray bit of manchego cheese. “It’s the dress, honey. I didn’t want to tell you while all of this was going on because it was so silly. But she’s been calling people all day about that dress you wore to the street dance.”
“Sweet Betsy?” Cal’s hand stopped moving.
Docia almost moaned in protest. “What about Sweet Betsy?”
“You have to follow Margaret’s thought patterns, so hang on.” Allie handed some Stilton to Wonder. “Margaret thought your costume was too sexy. She leaped to the conclusion you were supposed to be Liddy, only an insulting version of her. Liddy as dancehall girl.”
Docia sat forward, leaning her elbows on her knees. Cal moved his hand to the small of her back again. “Liddy didn’t exist. How could I insult her?”
“Okay, you insulted the idea of her.” Allie shook her head. “Or Margaret’s idea of her, anyway. Go along with me here, I’m trying to give you an approximation of her thinking, such as it was. Anyway, Margaret says since Liddy is the Spirit of Konigsburg, you insulted the town itself. She wants you banned from the Merchants Association.”
“She actually told you this?” Docia heard her voice rise to a squeak.
“No, she has more sense than to call me. She called Arthur, and Midge Torres heard his end of it.” Allie reached for the last bit of Amish blue. “Midge told me Arthur had to field some calls from other members this afternoon wondering what the hell was going on. Margaret called as many members as she could reach.”
Docia rubbed her hands along her upper arms, fighting a chill. “Is Arthur going to do what she asks? Am I going to be shunned or something?” All the glow had disappeared, leaving an ice cube in its place.
“Arthur will do whatever he thinks the majority in the association and the town want him to do. Arthur has less backbone than the average amoeba.” Wonder sorted through the bottles, looking for one that still had some wine. Ken handed him some malbec. “Our job is to make sure Arthur sustains the indignation he was running on tonight.”
Lee shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard. From what I saw here tonight, nobody’s go
ing to be too enthusiastic about going after Docia. And Horace can help to keep Arthur stoked.”
“Right.” Allie nodded decisively. “And we can keep him fed. I’ll send him scones on Monday with a note about how much we all enjoyed the party. Remind him how terrific it was and how much money it raised for the library. You give him something special when he wanders in for dinner that night.”
Lee’s eyes lit up. Beside him, Ken groaned. “No, Lee, not the sweetbreads. This is Konigsburg. Make him steak Diane or something.”
“Whatever.” Allie waved her hand. “The thing is, we stuff him with good eats and remind him how nice this wine and cheese evening was. Point out how it’s going to double the library fund, assuming everybody follows Horace’s lead and re-donates. Tell him what a shame it was someone tried to upset things when everybody else was so happy.”
“Okay.” Wonder nodded. “So much for Arthur. How about the rest of the association?”
“We do the same thing with them.” Janie grinned at them all. “Keep reminding them how much fun they had tonight, courtesy of Docia. And how much fun they had last night, courtesy of the town. And what a pain in the patootie Margaret Hastings is. They may follow her lead on a lot of things, and they may not want to cross her, but I don’t think anybody except Ham and Rhonda is really very fond of her.”
“Patootie?” Wonder raised an eyebrow.
Janie shrugged. “I’m a Konigsburg girl, Doc. I call a spade a digging device.”
Everyone was smiling. Everyone was mildly buzzed. Everything tonight had been a triumph. Why do I feel like disaster is looming? Docia sighed and relaxed against Cal’s fingers as they once again traced quick trails of warmth down her back.
—
Margaret poured a trickle of dry dog food into Señor Pepe’s bowl. The one decent thing Cal Toleffson had done was give her justification for not feeding him steak. The change had saved her a lot of money, even if it did feel unnatural. Margaret hoped it wasn’t just some weird vegetarian idea of Cal’s.
Overall, Margaret was still bathed in righteous satisfaction. She’d had a productive day. First she’d bullied Arthur into calling a special meeting of the Merchants Association next week to consider the desecration of the Liddy Brenner Festival, then she’d contacted as many of the members as she could before they went to that drunken orgy Docia Kent was trying to put on in her backyard. They’d done some waffling, but Margaret knew she could whip them into shape.
She’d have that hussy bounced from the Association before she knew what hit her. Then she’d start working on Cal Toleffson. He’d either leave Docia Kent or he’d leave Konigsburg.
Plus, of course, she’d managed to stop that so-called wine and cheese reception. Maybe Arthur wouldn’t step in, but Margaret was sure TABC would take care of the problem. Once she’d dropped them the word about the hussy selling liquor without a license and permitting underage drinking, that is.
Granted, she didn’t know for sure any underage drinking was taking place, but she knew the depths of depravity Docia Kent was capable of sinking to. Margaret doubted she’d shrink from corrupting minors. And she knew Allie Maldonado was actually bringing her young nieces to the orgy. Margaret placed a new pewter angel on the upper shelf of her china cabinet. Maybe she should call Child Welfare next week to check into that.
Her phone rang at nine-thirty that evening, surprisingly late. She hoped it wasn’t her mother calling from McAllen. Whenever she called this late it was always about Daddy. Margaret’s lips thinned. She picked up the phone, checking her watch again.
“Margaret?” Rhonda Ruckleshaus burbled. “Did you hear?”
Margaret gripped the phone tighter. Whatever gossip Rhonda had to pass on probably had something to do with the hussy, even though she was pretty sure Rhonda hadn’t gone to the reception herself. Still, Rhonda’s sources were excellent.
It took her at least twenty minutes, but Rhonda gave Margaret a blow-by-blow account of the whole debacle.
“So she said she’d pay for it, and the TABC guy left and everybody cheered. Isn’t that the limit?” she crowed.
The familiar tightness began in Margaret’s chest, the buzzing in her ears. “How did you hear about all this, Rhonda? You didn’t go, did you?”
“No, honey, of course not. You know I wouldn’t.” Rhonda paused to take a bite of something that crunched in Margaret’s ear. “Edna Lightner just called me. She was there with Buzz.”
Margaret closed her eyes, trying to make herself breathe evenly. Docia Kent. The floozy. She’d gotten away with it. Again.
Even TABC couldn’t be trusted. All because the floozy had boobs and friends and probably Cal Toleffson. All Margaret’s efforts had gone for naught.
“Margaret?” Rhonda’s voice was concerned—and avidly curious. Margaret knew Rhonda would be delighted to tell everybody that she’d had a fit over the telephone.
“Yes, I heard what you said. Well, what can you expect? They’re all men in the association, after all.” That wasn’t strictly true, of course. Allie Maldonado was a member. So was Docia Kent. But not for long, if Margaret had anything to say about it.
Rhonda snickered. “I wonder if she wore that corset thing again. That’d keep ’em occupied.”
Margaret gritted her teeth. “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens with the TABC investigation. If she did anything against the rules, that is.”
“Well, the TABC investigator is a man, too. She’ll probably just shake her boobs at him.” Rhonda’s voice had a certain singsong quality to it, a sign she was settling in for a good long gossip.
Margaret didn’t think she could stand it.
“Listen, Rhonda, thanks for calling but I’ve got to go,” she said hurriedly. “The dog’s scratching on the door, and I don’t want him to pee on the rug.”
Since Señor Pepe had already disgraced himself once on Rhonda’s floor, it was an excuse Margaret knew Rhonda could relate to. “Sure, honey, talk to you later.”
Señor Pepe looked up at her with reproachful eyes. “Oh, stow it,” Margaret snarled. “It’s not like you wouldn’t do it.”
She sat drumming her fingers on the table. So Docia Kent had played Lady Bountiful and pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. Again. Why did only Margaret understand the danger Docia Kent represented? Why didn’t anyone else in town realize what was at stake?
She was going to get away with it—with ruining Margaret’s festival and dishonoring the town to boot. Unless, of course, Margaret could find more ammunition to use against her.
She glanced at Señor Pepe huddled in the corner, chin resting on his tiny feet, and reached for his leash. “Come on, dog, we’re going for a walk.”
—
Everyone else had left around ten, after some desultory attempts at picking up the trash that still littered the backyard. Cal stacked the wine bottles in the remaining cases, surveying the area. The yard was cluttered with paper napkins, plastic wine glasses, and the detritus of a hundred people having a very good time. They’d managed to fill a few plastic bags, but a lot of trash was left on the lawn.
Docia stood in the middle of what had been the dance floor, shoulders slumped.
He put his arms around her, pulling her back against him. “Come on. Let’s go back to the barn. We can take care of all this tomorrow.”
“But…” Docia stared helplessly around at the wreckage of the party in her yard. “There’s a lot to do.”
“There’ll still be a lot if you do it tomorrow. Come on. Barn.”
Docia turned in his arms, resting her head against his chest as he herded her toward the truck.
—
Margaret walked down Main, pulling Señor Pepe by his leash. The fool dog kept trying to stop and sniff things. Margaret always found his obsession with planters annoying. Each time he tried to inspect someone’s petunias, she gave the leash a jerk.
Petunias. Margaret glanced at the purple and pink flowers in the tub outside the Lucky Lady. Another pr
oblem the association had yet to address. There were too many different kinds of flowers and flower colors on Main. They should adopt a policy statement that everyone in town would be required to plant the same thing with perhaps two or three permissible colors. Enough with the pink petunias clashing with the purple crepe myrtles. Didn’t people have any sense?
She stalked along the street, towing Señor Pepe behind her. Docia Kent’s bookstore was dark. Of course, the drunken orgy was over, and no doubt the floozy would pay other hardworking people to come in and clean up after her. She wouldn’t have stuck around to take care of it herself, like Margaret would.
Probably off gloating somewhere. With Cal Toleffson.
Margaret gave the leash another sharp jerk and Señor Pepe’s toenails clicked faster. She turned the corner and headed toward the backyard.
The yard was fenced, like most of the ones on the commercial block. Margaret slowed her pace, looking for gaps.
At the back, she found the gate. Margaret took hold of the handle and started to shove, but it swung open in her hands. She stared down at the lock hanging open at the side. At least one thing had gone her way tonight. Scooping up Señor Pepe, she stepped through.
The yard was a mess, but that was no surprise. Margaret would bet Docia Kent’s apartment was just as bad, if not worse. Probably had clothes thrown around everywhere with a fine layer of dust and face powder. And empty wine bottles.
Margaret prowled around the tables, looking for evidence of something nefarious. Señor Pepe limped along beside her, keeping pace for once. Cases of wine bottles and some empty trays that must have been used to carry glasses covered the tables. The glasses themselves were gone. Margaret felt disappointed, although she wasn’t sure what evidence they could have provided.
Trash still littered the ground, but she found several black plastic bags stuffed full and sealed, waiting for the garbage truck.
So the floozy had picked up after all. For some reason, Margaret found that fact even more infuriating. Her throat felt tight. Her arms itched. Her hands balled into fists.
Beside her Señor Pepe whimpered slightly.
