After a few pertinent questions, she passed the papers back. “I’m delighted that EveLynn’s soft goods sold so well. My miniatures did, too. We can pick up more pillows, totes, tea towels, and throws on our way back from Jupiter Island. Assuming, of course, that you are still interested in visiting Senator and Mrs. Wentworth?”
“Should we call them in advance?”
“Yes, we should call, but no, we won’t call the Wentworths,” she said cryptically. “Pass me my handbag, dear.”
After tapping in a number on her cell phone, she waited. “LaTisha? It’s me, Honora. Yes, yes, I’m fine. Look, I was thinking of paying the Wentworths a visit. I’m bringing along a friend. Uh-huh. Give us thirty minutes, dear. Thanks so much.”
“LaTisha is their helper,” Honora explained. “A marvelous cook, but lately she’s been pressed into service for more than that. I called LaTisha because if Jenny Beth is angry, she might not agree to see you in advance. But now we know they are home, we can show up on the doorstep with flowers.”
“Good thinking,” I said, as MJ came through the back door. She was carrying a huge hot pink umbrella. After I explained where we were going, I handed her the spreadsheets. “You might want to look these over.”
"Will do. I'll also follow up on the nibbles we had last night," she said. “I think we can sell another chest of drawers and a Highwayman painting. Oh, and I had a potential customer for that vintage screen door grill. She said to call her this morning.”
Luna stepped out from under my desk. Sitting down primly, she studied my co-worker.
“Hello. Where did you come from?” MJ fussed over Luna, patting her and telling her how pretty she was.
“Why don’t you take her home with you?” I suggested, as I grabbed my keys.
“No way,” said MJ. “I already have a neon sign over my head that shouts, ‘Crazy Cat Lady.’ The last thing I need is another feline. But here’s what I will do. I’ll run home and grab some kitty necessities and accessories from my supply closet. Did you notice that she’s wearing a tag? Looks like she’s already had her shots.”
“I saw the tag but didn’t read it.”
Skye came tripping down the stairs. She also paused to admire Luna. I gave everybody the short version of Darcy’s visit. The cat seemed to know she was being discussed because she posed like an Egyptian statue, taking everything in. Of course, Jack started to feel neglected. A pitiful whine came from his crate, so I let him out. He ran over and pawed at my leg. Luna stared at him but didn’t move.
“What’s that matter? Are you afraid of Luna? Or are you jealous?” I asked Jack, lifting him for a cuddle.
“Lou’s not going to be happy about Darcy taking off like that,” said Skye. “Not while he’s still investigating Kathy Simmons’ death.”
“You’re not going to tell him that she took off, are you?” I stared at her.
“No way. He’s on his own.”
“I know it wasn’t a good idea for her to leave town, but what could I do? Shout that I was making a citizen’s arrest? Not hardly,” I said. “Anyway Darcy didn’t kill Kathy.”
“You know this how?” asked MJ, crossing her arms over her chest. Raindrops had left dark spots on her coral blouse. “The killer is usually someone close to the victim. Darcy Lahti qualifies.”
“Darcy had no reason to kill her friend. Not when Kathy was paying for everything!”
MJ rolled her eyes at me. "Sounds like a perfect reason to me. Maybe Kathy was tired of having a freeloader as a roommate. Maybe she threatened to give Darcy the heave-ho."
"I don't think so," I said, and I described the tattoo on Darcy's arm. "I have a hunch they were more than just roommates. Darcy told me that Mrs. Simmons didn't care for her. Perhaps I’m making a big leap here, but I got the impression that Mrs. Simmons didn’t approve of their relationship. If you get my drift.”
“But if Darcy loved Kathy, why not stick around for the funeral?” asked Skye.
“For one thing, Darcy didn’t want to face Kathy’s mom. For another, Darcy said Kathy couldn't bear small spaces. Seeing her in a coffin would have been too upsetting."
"Ugh," said Skye. "And here Kathy was locked in a car trunk. Can you imagine?"
"That reminds me," I said. I held up the plastic bag with the photo in it. "Skye, is there any way you can copy this? I'd like to give it to Kathy's mother at the funeral, but I think I ought to keep a copy just in case. Maybe Lou will want to see it."
"Sure," she said, taking the baggie from me. "I can scan and print it. I can even use my deckle scissors to edge the copies so they look exactly like the original."
"Thanks," I said. "Okay, ladies. I'm off to throw myself on the mercy of the Senator and his wife. Wish me luck!"
44
~Cara~
Honora climbed into my passenger seat, pulled her wet umbrella in behind her, and buckled her belt securely. “Go south on A1A until you get to Osprey,” she said. “At that traffic light, turn east.”
I did as I was told. We traveled to the metronome of my windshield wipers and talked about the VIP event. Fortunately, the rain was letting up. By the time we made it to the Hobe Sound city limits, we were traveling under cerulean skies.
“What was my grandmother like?” I asked Honora.
“I figured you’d get around to that. Josephina was definitely Dick’s better half. A lovely woman. Beautiful singing voice. Sweet-tempered. Friendly. You could count on her in a pinch. Always thinking of others. Wonderful housekeeper and mother. She made the best spaghetti sauce! Shared jars of it with everyone. She was a real loss to the community.”
“Sounds sort of bland compared to Poppy.”
“Heavens, no! She had a fabulous sense of humor, loved animals, and she was incredibly protective of your mother. When Dick got out of line, Josephina’d straighten him out with a look. If she didn’t like someone or didn’t approve of them, she would cut them dead. Had no time or patience for fools. I imagine you and your mother got your bright minds from her. It’s a shame that she died while Jolene was still in high school. Dick didn’t really know what to do with a teenage daughter, except to bark at her.”
I mulled that over. My mother had been terse with me. Discussion was not a word in her vocabulary. She expected obedience. She didn’t care about my opinion. Nor was she a particularly comforting person. Dad was the warm and fuzzy one in our family. My mother could best be described as prickly.
“Your grandmother shouldn’t have died so young,” said Honora. “It was a shame. I don’t think that Dick ever got over losing her. Especially given the way it happened. She’d asked him to run out and fetch a few groceries, but he was in one of his moods, so she went instead. He’s never forgiven himself.”
It was hard to visualize Poppy feeling remorse, but Honora’s explanation made sense. In fact, it explained a lot about my grandfather and my mother. He was irascible, quick to anger, and touchy. She had been cold, withdrawn, and reserved. The woman who died—Josephina—had functioned like an electric currency converter, helping Poppy and Mom to interface with each other safely. When Josephina left this earth, she left behind two powerful voltages that sent off sparks when they came in contact.
“I need to pick up flowers for Mrs. Wentworth,” I said, after thinking awhile about my family.
“I haven’t forgotten.” Honora seemed happy to watch the scenery roll by.
“How did you get started in miniatures?” I asked, eager to change the subject. “Did you have a dollhouse as a child?”
“Heavens, no. My parents were too serious for such things. Both were intellectuals who really didn’t understand children. I still wonder why they had me. An accident, I suppose. No, I bought a dollhouse for EveLynn. I had hoped that she’d like it. I thought it might help her work on her people skills, playacting with the dolls.”
“Did it?”
“Not at all, but I became fascinated. I immediately decided that the furniture in that little house had to go. Too ugly by
far. Clunky and cheap looking. At nights, I started crafting this and that. Usually botching the job, but with persistence, I got better. My husband Frank encouraged me, seeing how it took my mind off EveLynn. Of course, back then, no one knew anything about Asperger’s.”
“When did you decide to combine miniatures with recycling?”
“Almost immediately. I found myself looking at everything differently, wondering how I could put common items to good use. One thing led to another.”
“I have to admit, I wasn’t sure about the appeal at first. But now I find myself walking over to your room boxes, staring at them, and losing track of the minutes as they tick by. I wonder what it is that draws me to them?”
“Surely a smart girl like you can answer that question for yourself,” she said with a chuckle. Her suppressed laughter caused the flowers on her hat to sway. Her lavender perfume filled the car.
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Cara, dear, miniatures remind us who we really are. You see, we forget that we are giants. We give away our power. Small problems hamstring us, bring us to our knees. But when we stare into a tiny setting, we reclaim our birthright. We’re rulers of the universe. All our problems are shrunk down to their true size.”
I thought this over. “Yes, I guess I see that. It makes sense.”
“A dollhouse allows us to step into another world, as willing participants. You might never want to live in an old watering can surrounded by flowers, but you can imagine yourself in that setting, puttering around with plants all day. Same with a bakery. You might not want to stand in front of a hot oven or to ice cookies and make cupcakes, but when you look at my tiny bakery, you can put yourself into the scene without any effort, can’t you?”
“Sort of. Mostly, I find myself thinking how charming the tiny pieces are. Especially given Kathy Simmons’ death, maybe I’m hungry for an escape.”
“I suppose your question is age old. Why do we enjoy anything? Especially hobbies or crafts, since these are non-essentials? Human beings have an innate compulsion to collect, hoard, and admire.”
“Hmmm. Perhaps it is because we crave beauty.”
“Yes, that too.”
Once we reached Hobe Sound proper, she directed me to a Publix. I dashed inside and bought a bouquet of flowers, choosing a bunch with star lilies because I find their scent so exotic.
Back on Bridge Road, we turned east toward the island. Immediately, I caught the rich smell of wet sargassum seaweed and brine. Crossing over the drawbridge, I said, “This is where the wealthy snobs live.”
“And all Italians are members of the Mafia,” said Honora.
My gasp was audible.
She turned a sweet smile on me. “Cara, dear, prejudice is prejudice. I expected better from you. Each person is unique. There are wealthy snobs here, as well as lovely people who have worked hard to achieve success. They chose this remote location because they wanted to live quietly, and they wanted their families to be secure. Look there.” She pointed a gnarled finger at a ficus tree festooned with cameras.
“No one can get on or off this island without being recorded. Along with great wealth comes great risk. To ensure the safety of their children and grandchildren, they have installed these cameras. That’s an aspect of life that most of us never worry about—having our loved ones kidnapped.”
Beach Road dead-ended at a tiny park with a tall flagpole and rustic pavilions. Honora directed me to turn right, south.
“The north end of the island is actually more exclusive,” explained Honora. “More newcomers own property on the south side. Since Celine Dion and Tiger Woods built their huge compounds, more gawkers roam Beach Road on the south side hoping to catch a glimpse of celebrities. Turn here.”
We moved away from the main road and deep into the heart of the island.
“The Wentworths don’t own a waterfront home, but they still have the cachet of saying they live on Jupiter Island,” Honora explained.
She gestured toward a pinkish-peach stucco house with fake lions flanking the front stairs.
“Fake lions?” I asked.
“Jenny Beth’s family started with nothing. In her preteen years, phosphate was discovered on their farm. Florida supplies a quarter of the world’s phosphate needs. By the time Jenny Beth met Josiah in college, she was a wealthy young woman. Unfortunately cash can’t buy good taste. Or a pedigree. The Senator can trace his roots back to the Founding Fathers. The marriage was a good match for both of them. Her family money helped the Senator get his start in politics. Once he had a foothold, he found other ways to fund his campaigns.”
“It wasn’t a love match?” I asked, thinking out loud.
Honora shrugged and rang the doorbell. I stood a few steps behind her, with the flowers in my arms. We were greeted by a tall, dark-skinned woman who smelled of gardenias.
“Girl, I’ve been missing you!” said LaTisha, as she threw her arms around Honora’s neck. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
Honora introduced us and LaTisha offered me her hand. I nearly recoiled in shock at how rough her skin was. It felt as if I was shaking the wrong end of a pin cushion. Seeing my surprised expression, LaTisha sighed. “I mop all these tile floors by hand. Mrs. Wentworth insists I use strong chemicals. I’ve tried rubber gloves, but they cramp my style. My poor skin splits and cracks, but there's no help for it."
“Next time I visit, I’ll bring you a jar of skin lotion that we sell at my shop. Maybe it will help,” I said.
“I’ve tried everything,” said LaTisha ushering us inside, “but I’m happy to give another product a chance. Just warning you, ladies. The missus is in one of her moods.”
“Problems with the Senator?” asked Honora.
“He’s the same as usual. Maybe a little worse. Lately I’d noticed his mind slipping. He’s confused a lot. Loses his balance. Talks like he’s been drinking, even though Ms. Wentworth won’t let him have a drop of alcohol. She cleared out all his Jim Beam a couple weeks ago.”
“Is she able to care for him by herself? You can’t possibly be here every minute of the day,” said Honora. “I know that you help out with your grandson.”
“She’s been kicking up a fuss when I take any time off. I’m only supposed to be working forty hours a week, but I’m here nearly twice that. She doesn’t pay me overtime, either. I’m on salary. If there's any heavy lifting, we go get Phil. He used to just walk their dogs, but now he does almost everything for them.”
“The Wentworths have owned Dalmations forever,” said Honora, speaking to me. “They tend to get nippy, particularly if they don’t get enough exercise. How many dogs do they have, LaTisha?”
“Right now, only one, Dotty. Phil shows up every morning at seven and takes Dotty for a long walk. Then he does odd jobs."
"It’s good that you have him to help," I said.
"Huh," said LaTisha. "He thinks he's something special, and so does the missus. She calls him her adopted son. Mainly he struts around like he owns this place. Around three, he takes Dotty for a second walk. Buys the groceries or runs to the post office. When the Wentworths want to go anywhere, Phil drives them.”
“Is that all the help they have?” asked Honora. “No nurses?”
“She says he doesn’t need one. Mrs. Wentworth worked as a nurse’s aide when they were first married. She says that she married the Senator ‘for better or worse,’ and this is worse."
"I never thought of Jenny Beth as such a loving wife,” said Honora. “She didn’t use to be, did she?”
LaTisha hesitated, giving me a sidewise glance.
“You can trust Cara,” said Honora.
“Girl, you are so right. The missus never did seem so fussy about him. Especially after she caught him looking at things he had no business looking at on his computer. Dirty pictures, if you get my drift. My, my, but there was a lot of shouting and carrying on. But then she came back from New York City and suddenly, don’t you know, that man is the love of her life
. La-di-dah, la-di-dah.”
“That’s interesting,” said Honora. “I wonder why she had such a change of heart?”
“Beats me. She came back all fired up to get him to talk about his memories and his career. Dragged out all his old photos and papers.”
“LaTisha? Who you talking to?” called a quavering voice.
“Just answering the door. You’ve got company, Mrs. Wentworth.”
Honora followed LaTisha and I brought up the rear, walking through a dark house with shades pulled into a bright lanai. Everywhere my eye went, I saw clutter. Surface were crammed with gewgaws crowding each other for space. What a hodgepodge! Red globs floated through a lava lamp filled with turquoise water, sitting next to a carving of a turtle, and shadowed by a tired silk flower arrangement in dusty glass vase. A plastic palomino with saddle and bridle stood beside a fake clamshell with fake pearls, a wooden seahorse on a stand teetered next to a nautical candy dish. One wall was entirely taken up by a jaguar on black velvet, framed by plastic palm trees.
Ugly pillows, several with fake fur, had been piled high on wicker furniture. The rug was a thick turquoise pile. A red and orange afghan covered a brown leather ottoman. The ocean could be heard, but not seen, because overgrown sea grapes, stringy and crowded, blocked the view. Right off the lanai was a small swimming pool with green scum around the water line.
The Senator was dressed neatly in a pair of khaki slacks and a golf shirt. An open book rested in his lap. He stared at it, but his eyes weren’t focused. Nor did he look up when we entered the room.
But his wife did. Jenny Beth glanced up from a pile of typewritten papers to glare at us. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
I took this as my cue.
Time to grovel.
Groveling is a fine art that should be taught in school. After all, none of us make it through life without committing a faux pas that requires a serious, heartfelt, breast-beating apology. By rights, Poppy should have been the one to arrive with his hat in his hand. Instead, I stared into Jenny Beth’s cold eyes.
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 106
