by Ann Yost
“Are you cold?”
“I’m just glad to get out of there. Did I tell you we have a ghost?”
Alarm bells set off in Nick’s head. Again. “A ghost?”
“Maybe more than one. Last week Daisy heard some shuffling noises through the laundry chute upstairs. She went down to check it out but there was nobody there.”
“She went down there alone?”
Junie made a face. “Daze isn’t afraid of anything.”
Except someone who could hurt her sisters.
Nick’s gut tightened. Goddammit. Someone else was hunting. Who? How? Had Theo told someone else about the loot?
He’d need to work fast to protect the Bowman family name.
“Nick? Are you okay? You look a little pale around the gills.”
“I’m fine. I’ll get those coffins cleared out Monday.”
“Awesome,” Junie said. She spotted her sister. “Oh, there’s Stevie.”
Nick followed her gaze. A small, dark-haired child dressed in a tiny beefeater’s costume had his arms around Daisy’s neck.
“Daisy’s practically his second mom.”
Nick looked away from the pair. He wasn’t interested in the Budd family relationships. He changed the subject. “Who is marrying Lord Codpiece?”
Junie giggled. “Cherry Ann Wilfinger. Quentin met her when she took his class ‘Tapestries and Tights.’ It was love at first sight. She’ll be Stevie’s stepmother.”
“I thought Stevie was Caroline’s son.”
“Mais, bien sur. Caro was married to Quentin for five years.”
The fussy re-enactor married to one of the beautiful Budds? There had to be a story behind that. Not that it was any of Nick’s business.
“I’ve got to greet the guests,” Junie said. “Meet you back at the butterflies?”
He grinned at her. “Absolument.”
****
“I don’t know where you want me to put my scepter.” The voice roller-coastered in an annoying whine. “Here?” His honor planted the staff next to his feet and scowled at Daisy. “Or here?” He moved it an inch to the left. “Or here?” He moved it again. This time, two inches to the right.
Mayor Floyd Hotchkiss was not a happy Henry-the-Eighth but Daisy had to admit the man had captured the English monarch’s off-with-their-heads attitude perfectly, although, he looked more like the chief potentate of Munchkinland with his short, round stature and rosy saddlebag cheeks. Too rosy. Despite the soaring temperatures the mayor continued to wear his heavy crown and velvet robe.
Daisy placed her hand over the mayor’s on the scepter’s staff. “This,” she said, “is the perfect spot.”
She handed him a bottle of cold water she’d hidden in the fruit ice cooler. The liquid splashed all over the mayor’s flushed face as he guzzled it, greedily.
“What on earth?” Daisy could barely hear Quentin’s outraged shriek over the clanking sound of his armor. The gray tights bagged and the sun gleamed off the bald spot on the back of his head. She gaped at the enormous bulge between his legs. At least Junie had taken care of the codpiece problem.
Quentin waved his finger in Daisy’s face. “Do I have to remind you there was no plastic during the Renaissance?”
Daisy ignored his ire. She hooked her hand around the chainmail that covered his thin arm and guided him away from the overheated mayor.
“You look fantastic, Quent,” she pointed out. “Cherry Ann’s knight in shining armor.” Daisy prayed her sister would be able to close the zipper on the bride’s dress. After much debate over her costume Cherry Ann had finally chosen a Juliet-style gown. Even with an industrial-strength corset, zipping up required extraordinary determination.
Daisy gazed around the courtyard with contentment. There were men in tights and tunics, ladies with laced bodices, jesters juggling and troubadours strumming their lutes. Guests strolled and chatted and sat together on the stone benches by Cupid. The scent of roast turkey legs filled the air as did the freshly baked, honey-drenched pies. Nadine Pfluge, owner and proprietress of the Buttered Biscuit, had provided most of the food, with Junie’s help. Daisy hoped she could convince Nadine to continue to cater for Happily Ever After.
She hoped today’s wedding would launch the boutique on the road to success. Business was beginning to trickle in but Daisy needed a flood to cover the mortgage, renovations and salaries. The Renaissance wedding had a lot riding on it.
“What on earth is Caroline wearing?”
Quentin’s irritated voice recalled Daisy’s attention to the present and she glanced at her elder sister. Caro had occasionally been compared with Grace Kelly except the hair that cascaded in silky waves down her back was lighter. A Renaissance gown would have looked sensational on her tall, slim figure but she’d chosen to wear a crisp, emerald golf shirt and khaki Bermuda shorts. Her hair was pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head. She looked more like a suburban yuppie on her way to the links than a princess bride.
“You know she’s not a fan of re-enactments,” Daisy reminded Quentin. “But just look at Stevie. He’s a perfect miniature tower warder.” Her eyes connected with those of her nephew. The boy grinned and waved. Daisy was almost knocked over by the tidal wave of love that swept through her. “Look, Quent. He’s waving at you.”
Quentin lifted a gloved hand.
“Why don’t you go say hello?”
“I’ll see him next weekend. We’ll be at Mackinac Island just a few days.”
Daisy hid her disappointment. She could take Quentin’s pomposity but his indifference toward the little boy never failed to squeeze her heart. She peered at Quentin. There was something wrong. His face was twitching. Moisture poured out of his eyes.
“Where are your glasses?”
“I decided to wear contact lenses for the ceremony. More authentic.”
Daisy refrained from mentioning that his wedding day was probably not the best time to experiment with contacts. Quentin never listened to anybody and, besides, it was too late. The high school trumpet player she’d hired to announce the bride’s arrival let out a series of blasts.
“It’s show time,” he muttered. He shifted his tunic allowing Daisy a closer look at the huge bulge. Daisy choked back a laugh. There was an atmosphere of excitement and joy in the courtyard today. It was hard to believe that somewhere a stalker lay in wait, perhaps plotting his next anonymous letter. Or something even more sinister.
The bugle blared again and Daisy hurried over to stand with her elder sister and nephew to watch the bride arrive on horseback. She squeezed Caro’s hand.
“Your first wedding appears to be a triumph.”
“Our first wedding,” Daisy reminded her.
“Huzzah!” Someone yelled. Soon all the guests were cheering. “Huzzah! Huzzah!” Daisy squinted against the sun. She focused on the thick stand of trees. A moment later the bride emerged on her white palfrey. The little creature, festooned with ribbons and roses, gasped for breath as Cherry Ann’s plump thighs squeezed its sides.
“We should have gotten a bigger horse.”
The cheering stopped abruptly, like a baby’s cry when he falls asleep.
Stevie’s voice rang out. “Look at Cherry Ann! She’s not wearing any clothes!”
“Cherry Ann changed her mind about the gown,” Daisy said.
“Yeah.” Caro’s grin reached from ear to ear. “Looks like she went with Lady Godiva.”
Chapter Three
Daisy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the mounds of majestic, rippling flesh that dripped down Cherry Ann’s body like butter cream frosting on cake left out in the sun.
“She’s stark naked,” someone shouted.
“It’s a body stocking,” Quentin squealed. He waved his arms wildly. “It’s a body stocking!” He clanked through the archway, planted his feet and extended his hands to assist his bride to the ground. The crowd when Cherry Ann launched herself at her knight and shrieked “Excelsior!”
Quentin wobbl
ed with the impact and, for a second, it looked as if he would be able to maintain his balance but the combination of unwieldy armor, the enthusiasm of his beloved and the effect of gravity overcame his efforts and Cherry Ann landed on what looked like a pile of scrap metal.
“This moment,” Caro murmured, “almost makes up for five miserable years of marriage.”
Several guests hurried to aid the couple. After some initial hesitation Mayor Hotchkiss removed his ermine robe. Quentin wrapped it around his unabashed bride. Red-faced, Quentin screeched at Daisy.
“Where are the butterflies? There are supposed to be butterflies!”
Daisy’s eyes caught Junie’s eye. Her sister nodded at Nick who stooped to open the wooden box. Daisy’s eyes caught, momentarily, on hard muscles that shifted beneath the khaki shirt. She watched as he got to his feet and glanced in her direction. The ice gray eyes sent a clear message: you may not want me here but your sister does. She tried to ignore the knot in her stomach.
“One miserable swallowtail,” Caro said, as a lone survivor lifted into the air. “We should get a refund.” Suddenly Caro’s jaw snapped and her blue eyes narrowed into mean slits. “What,” she hissed, “is he doing here?”
The fury in her sister’s voice shook Daisy enough that she almost failed to detect the other emotion beneath it. Fear. Daisy studied her sister’s white face.
“I should have told you he was in town,” she said, apologetically. “He assures me his business won’t take long though. You know Junie. She convinced him to help with the wedding.
Caro’s peach-tinted nails bit into Daisy’s wrist. “Why was he even talking to you? Listen, Daisy. You’ve got to keep him away from all of us. Especially Junie.”
“I’ve already warned him about that.”
Caro’s bitter laugh made Daisy’s heart twist. “He won’t pay any attention. The guy’s lethal. And Junie, well, she’s always her own worst enemy.”
“I won’t let him hurt her. I promise.” Daisy wished she’d been able to keep Caro from getting hurt all those years ago.
Caro refused to be mollified. “He has to be here for a reason. He wants something from us.”
“The house. He wants the Gray Lady.” Despite Nick’s denial, Daisy was sure of it. He had decided he wanted to get back into the family and he figured the Gray Lady was his ticket.
“Give it to him,” Caro pleaded.
The suggestion shocked her. “Over my dead body,” she said.
Caro’s beautiful face was a study in pain. “You don’t know Nick. It may come to that.”
Daisy squeezed her arm. “We’ll be fine as long as we stick together. Trust me on that.”
****
The sun was an orange ball balanced on the hazy horizon when Nick finally piloted his rented Malibu up the twisting road to the Bowman Mansion.
The revulsion he’d felt about Mayville had faded during the hours at Happily Ever After but it had returned in full force tonight. His gut tightened as he parked in the circular drive and stared at the pillared monstrosity before him.
The plantation-style manor house would have graced the banks of the Mississippi. Here, in southern central Michigan where the nearest body of water was Trout Lake, its wide porch, grandiose portico and massive presence seemed a mirage. Theo had built it in the late fifties as a symbol of Bowman’s Biscuits projected prosperity. For the first time Nick wondered if dirty money had paid for this pseudo Tara. A man who could steal valuables looted from Holocaust victims would be capable of anything.
Nick shook his head. Honesty and responsibility had been Pops’s defining characteristics. None of this made sense.
None of it added up.
Nick dropped the brass lion’s head knocker. The door opened immediately.
“Welcome home, Mister Nick.”
“Finch.” Nick nodded at the butler.
The old man still possessed thick, white hair but the broomstick curved at the shoulders and his face was a roadmap of crevices and gulleys. Hell, the guy must be a hundred. Had he stuck around to take care of Theo?
“How’s Charles?”
The butler gave a short, glowing recital of the accomplishments of his son and grandchildren after which he announced that Arthur was in the study.
Nick nodded. “He’s expecting me.”
So was Aunt Isabelle. But neither relative knew precisely why he was there.
If all went well, they never would know but Nick knew there would be questions about his homecoming.
No. Not homecoming. Mayville was no more his home than the Bowmans were his family.
Memories attacked him in the wide corridors that led through the house. The portraits that lined the walls were someone’s ancestors but unconnected with the Bowmans. He and Buzz had spent hours concocting tales about the costumed strangers.
His gaze lingered on the curving banister of the grand staircase. On rainy Saturdays he and his brother had bodysurfed the smooth surface when no one was looking. They’d used the freshly waxed hardwood floor as an impromptu ice rink, too. Pain, sharp and unexpected arrowed through his heart. Buzz.
Nick knocked on the door to the study and then entered without waiting for an invitation. The same green-shaded banker’s lamp sat on the massive walnut desk and the same smell of old books pervaded the room. An ivory and onyx chess set rested on the window seat waiting for two players who would never return. A boy and his grandfather. The only change in seven years was the occupant of the heavy desk chair.
Arthur Sneed rounded the desk and reached out a hand. The attorney’s fingers were as thin as chopsticks and there were deep, purple crescents beneath the eyes under those pop-bottle lenses.
Theo’s illness had taken its toll on his loyal factotum.
“Welcome back,” Arthur said.
Nick inhaled the scent of gardenias and he turned to smile at his Aunt Isabelle. He kissed her cheek.
“Nicky, dear.”
Isabelle Bowman looked different. For as long as Nick could remember she’d worn a series of interchangeable, ill-fitting housedresses that were appropriate for her duties of running the mansion and handling her father’s correspondence. Her trim navy pantsuit and jaunty red scarf were a decided change as was the stylish frosted hair. He’d corresponded with Isabelle for seven years but she hadn’t once mentioned her new look. She appeared vibrant and happy. And then he remembered.
“Belated congratulations on your marriage.”
Isabelle smiled at Nick and then at her husband. The union between his aunt and his grandfather’s attorney made sense from a business standpoint but Nick wondered about the passion. If there were sparks between them wouldn’t they have ignited earlier in their thirty years of acquaintance? Of course both had been dedicated to Theo and his company. They had that in common.
“Thank you,” Isabelle said. “Arthur has been our rock. Along with Alice.” She smiled past him and Nick realized there was another person in the room.
“Hello, Nick,” she said, extending a large, hand. Alice was tall and raw-boned but her straight dark hair swung forward in a stylish cut and her pale blue summer sheath was complemented with real pearls. Her smile revealed strong white teeth, the canines narrowed into sharp points. “You may not remember me. I’m Alice, Buzz’s wife.”
Buzz’s wife. Had he even known his brother had a wife? He searched his memory as Alice brushed her lips across his cheek and he smelled something citrusy. A cologne with a bite. A masculine scent. Nick could not imagine his brother with her and he was woefully aware he’d failed to hide his surprise. Awareness was apparent in the pale close-set eyes.
“Have we met before?”
“Just once. We were all three sheets to the wind.” Her laugh reminded him of a hiccup gone wrong.
He forced a smile. “Nice to see you again. Where is Buzz?”
Alice’s smile held but the canines disappeared. “Buzz is in rehab, dear,” Isabelle said. “He checked himself in several weeks ago.”
&nbs
p; “Rehab?” Another shock. His brother had been a social drinker seven years ago. “He’s an alcoholic?”
“He developed a problem,” Alice explained. “Too much stress.”
Nick read the criticism between the lines. The stress had been caused by being left alone to run the company. Nick reminded himself it was not his problem.
“Arthur has taken the reins for the time being,” Isabelle explained.
So now the older man was running the place alone. No wonder the attorney looked like death.
“Alice helped nurse Father through the final illness and she helps out in the office, too. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”
Isabelle’s words died as the outer door opened to admit another tall woman. Judith Bowman’s youthful beauty had not worn well and, with her long striped hair, oversized earrings and the diaphanous blue-green garment she wore, she resembled an aging flower child.
Nick took her hand and pecked her on the cheek.
“Shalom, Shoshanna.”
She made a face.
“That’s all over. Judaism was a little too Wailing Wall for me. I’m called Harmony Lime now. I’ve found a charming little group in Windy Falls.”
Judith’s defection from another of the major religions was not a surprise. Nick’s stepmother routinely jumped from one trend to another. Each time she believed she’d found her true calling and she changed her name, accordingly.
Judith Bowman was the total immersion type.
“A group of what? Fruit worshippers?”
“Wiccans, dear.”
“You’re a witch?” Why was he surprised?
“A white witch. That’s right. Alice and I.”
Nick glanced at his sister-in-law. She sent him an expressive look using only her eyes. Nick grinned at her. His impression of Buzz’s wife improved.
At precisely eight o’clock the Bowman family took their seats at one end of a twenty-foot table in the cavernous dining room. Something small, slimy and unidentifiable appeared in front of Nick. He ignored it and drained his glass of the excellent Chablis. Judith talked. As they worked their way through the hors d’oeuvres, the soup and the salad, food disappeared from her dishes and yet she never stopped talking. Finally she lifted her glass to sip the wine and Arthur seized the opportunity to speak to him.
