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dressing rooms. I considered. No, I decided finally. I could not go out in that dress with someone I hadn’t slept with.
“I’m not going to wear it tonight, so I still need to find something else for that,” I told Carey. “But I think I’ll buy it anyway.”
Carey became the complete saleswoman. The orange-and-white dress was whisked away to be put on a hanger, and she brought several more things for me to try on. Carey seemed to be determined that I wanted to present a sexy, sophisticated image, and I became sorry I hadn’t gone to Great Day. Finally we found a cotton knit shorts and shirt that represented a compromise. The shirt was scoop-necked and white with red polka dots, and the red shorts were cut very full, like a little skirt, with a long tie belt that matched the shirt. I certainly had a lot of exposed skin, but at least it wasn’t on my back. Carey talked me into red sandals and red bracelet and earrings to match before I called a halt to my shopping.
When I carried my purchases back to the town house, I called Aubrey at his church. “Who’s call- ing?” the church secretary asked, when I wanted to be connected to Aubrey.
“Roe Teagarden.”
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“Oh!” she said breathlessly. “Sure, Roe, I’ll tell him. He’s such a nice man, we just love him here at St. John.”
I stared at the phone for a second before I realized I was being given a boost in my assumed effort to win the heart of their priest. The congregation of St. John’s must think it was time their leader married again, and I must be respectable enough at first glance to qualify as a suitable mate.
“Roe?”
“Hi, Aubrey,” I said, shaking myself out of my thoughts. “Listen, would you meet me tonight at the house on Honor instead of picking me up here at the town house? I want to feed the cat before the party.”
“Sure. Are we supposed to bring anything? A bot- tle of wine?”
“She didn’t want me to bring anything to eat, but if you want to bring a bottle of wine, I imagine they’d be glad.” A nice thought on Aubrey’s part. “This is casual, right?’
“It’s going to be on their sun deck, so I’m sure it is.” “Good. I’ll see you at your new house at seven, then.”
“That’s just fine.”
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“I look forward to it,” he said quietly. “Me, too.”
Igot there early, and pulled my car all the way inside the carport so there’d be room for Aubrey’s. After tending to Madeleine’s needs, I thought of the clothes still in Jane’s drawers. I’d cleaned out the closet, but not the chest of drawers. I pulled one open idly to see what I had to contend with. It turned out to be Jane’s sleepwear drawer. Jane had had an unexpected taste in nightgowns. These certainly weren’t what I’d call little-old-lady gowns, though they weren’t naughty or anything like that. I pulled out the prettiest, a rose pink nylon, and decided I might actually keep it. Then I thought, Maybe I’ll just spend the night here. Somehow the idea struck me as fun. The sheets on the bed were clean, changed by the maid hired to straighten everything out after Jane had gone into the hospital. Here was a gown. I’d just put a little food in the refrig- erator. The air conditioner was running. There was a toothbrush in a sealed container in the bathroom, and an unopened tube of toothpaste. I would see what wak- ing up in my new house was like.
The doorbell rang, announcing Aubrey’s arrival. I answered it feeling a little self-conscious because of ~ 216 ~
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the scoop neckline. Sure enough, Aubrey’s eyes went instantly to my cleavage. “You should have seen the one I didn’t wear,” I said defensively. “Was I that obvious?” he said, a little embarrassed. “Carey Osland says God made bosoms, too,” I told him, and then closed my eyes and wished the ground would swallow me up.
“Carey Osland says truly,” he said fervently. “You look great.”
Aubrey had a knack for taking the embarrassment out of situations.
“You look nice yourself,” I told him. He was wear- ing what would be a safe outfit at ninety percent of Lawrenceton’s social occasions: a navy knit shirt and khaki slacks, with loafers.
“Well, now that we’ve admired each other, isn’t it time to go?”
I glanced at my watch. “Right on the dot.” He offered his arm like the usher at a wedding, and I laughed and took it. “I’m going to be a bridesmaid again,” I told him. “And you know what they say about women who are bridesmaids so often.” Then I felt furious with myself all over again, for even intro- ducing the subject of weddings.
“They say, ‘What a beautiful bridesmaid,’ ” Aubrey offered tactfully.
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“That’s right,” I said, relieved. If I couldn’t do bet- ter than this, I’d have to keep my mouth shut all eve- ning.
From my first glimpse of Marcia it was apparent to me that she lived to entertain. The food even had little mesh tents over it to keep flies off, a practical touch in Lawrenceton in the summer. The cloths covering the tables erected on the sun deck for the occasion were starched and bright. Marcia was her usual well- turned-out self, as starched and bright as the table- cloths in blue cotton shorts and blouse. She had dangly earrings and painted nails, top and bottom. She exclaimed over the wine and asked if we wanted a glass now. We refused politely and she went in to put it in the refrigerator, while Torrance, looking excep- tionally tan in his white shorts and striped shirt, took our drink orders. We both took gin and tonics with lots of ice, and went to sit on the built-in bench that ran all the way around the huge deck. My feet could barely touch the deck. Aubrey sat very close when he sat next to me.
Carey and Macon came in right on our heels, and I introduced them to Aubrey. Macon had met him be- fore at a ministerial council meeting Macon had cov- ered for the paper, and they immediately plunged into an earnest conversation about what the council hoped ~ 218 ~
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to accomplish in the next few months. Carey eyed my outfit and winked at me, and we talked over the men about how good Marcia and the party food looked. Then the couple who lived in the house across from Carey, the McMans, came up to be introduced, and they assumed that Aubrey and I owned Jane’s house together, that we were cohabiting. As we were straightening that out, Lynn and Arthur came in. Lynn was elephantine and obviously very uncomfort- able in a maternity shorts outfit. Arthur was looking a little worried and doubtful. When I saw him I felt— nothing.
When Arthur and Lynn worked their way around to us, he seemed to have shaken off whatever had been troubling him. Lynn looked a little more cheer- ful, too. “I wasn’t feeling too well earlier,” she con- fided as Arthur and Aubrey tried to find something to talk about. “But it seems to have stopped for the mo- ment.”
“Not good—how?”
“Like gas pains,” she said, her mouth a wry twist at this confession. “Honestly, I’ve never been so mis- erable in my life. Everything I eat gives me heartburn, and my back is killing me.”
“And you’re due very soon?”
“Not for a couple more weeks.”
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“When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” “In your last month, you go every week,” Lynn said knowledgeably. “I’m due to go back in tomor- row. Maybe he’ll tell me something.”
I decided I might as well admit wholesale ignorance. Lynn certainly needed something to feel superior about. She had looked sourly on my red and white shorts out- fit. “So what could he tell you?” I asked. “Oh. Well, for example, he could tell me I’ve started dilating—you know, getting bigger to have the baby. Or he could tell me I’m effacing.” I nodded hastily, so Lynn wouldn’t explain what that meant.
“Or how much the baby has dropped, if its head is really far down.”
I was sorry I’d asked. But Lynn was looking in bet- ter spirits, and she went on to tell Aubrey how they’d decorated the nursery, segueing neatly from that do- mestic subject to a discussion of the break-ins on the street, which were being generally discussed. The McMans complained about the police inaction on the crimes, unaware that they were about to become very embarrassed.
“You’re going to have to understand,” Arthur said, his pale blue eyes open wide, which meant he was very irritated, “that if nothing is stolen and no finger- ~ 220 ~
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prints are found, and no one sees anything, the bur- glar is going to be almost impossible to find unless an informant turns in something.”
The McMans, small and mousy and shy, turned identical shades of mortification when they realized that the new couple next door were both police detec- tives. After an embarrassing bumble of apologies and retractions, Carey talked about her break-in—which had occurred when she and her daughter were at Carey’s folks’ house for Thanksgiving two years ago— and Marcia related her experience, which had “scared her to death.”
“I came back from shopping, and of course it was when Torrance was out of town; nothing happens but when Torrance is out of town”—and she gave him a knife of a glance—“and I saw the back window of the kitchen was broken out, oh you should have seen me make tracks over to Jane’s house.” “When was that?” I asked. “Around the time Carey’s house was broken into?”
“You know, it was. It was maybe a month later. I remember it was cold and we had to get the glass fixed in a hurry.”
“When was your house broken into?’ I asked Macon, who was holding Carey’s hand and enjoy- ing it.
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“After the Laverys,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “They’re the people who owned the house you bought,” he said to Arthur. “They got transferred five months ago, so I know they’re relieved not to have to make two house payments. My break-in, and the Laverys’, was like the others . . . back window, house searched and messed up, but nothing appar- ently taken.”
“When was that?” I persisted. Arthur shot me a sharp look, but Lynn seemed more interested in her stomach, which she was massaging slowly. “Oh, sometime about a year and a half ago, maybe longer.”
“So Jane’s house was the only one that hadn’t been broken into until very recently?”
Carey, Macon, the McMans, and Marcia and Tor- rance exchanged glances.
“I think that’s right,” Macon said. “Come to think of it. And it’s been quite awhile since the last one, I know I hadn’t thought about it in ages until Carey told me about Jane’s house.”
“So everyone’s been broken into—everyone on the street?” Was that what Jack Burns had told me? “Well,” Marcia said, as she poured dressing on the salad and tossed it, “everyone but the Inces, whose house is on the two lots across from Macon and us. ~ 222 ~
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They’re very, very old and they never go out anymore. Their daughter-in-law does everything for them, shop- ping and taking them to doctor appointments and so on. They haven’t been bothered, or I’m sure Margie—that’s the daughter-in-law—would’ve come over and told me about it. Every now and then she comes over and has a cup of coffee after she’s been to see them.”
“I wonder what it means?” I asked no one in par- ticular.
An uncomfortable silence fell.
“Come on, you all, the food’s all ready and wait- ing!” Marcia said cheerfully.
Everyone rose with alacrity except Lynn. I heard Arthur murmur, “You want me to bring you some- thing, hon?”
“Just a little bit,” she said wearily. “I’m just not very hungry.”
It didn’t seem to me that Lynn would have any room left for food, the baby was taking up so much. Torrance went through the house to answer the front doorbell. The rest of us shuffled through the line, oohing and ahhing appropriately at the gor- geous food. It was presented in a beautiful way, all the dishes decorated and arranged as if far more im- portant people than we were coming to taste it. Un- ~ 223 ~
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less Marcia had had help, this table represented hours of work. But the food itself was comfortingly homely.
“Barbecued ribs!” exclaimed Aubrey happily. “Oh boy. Roe, you’re just going to have to put up with me. I make a mess when I eat them.”
“There’s not a neat way to eat ribs,” I observed. “And Marcia has put out extra large napkins, I see.” “I’d better take two.”
Just then I heard a familiar voice rising above the general chatter. I turned to peer around Aubrey, my mouth falling a little open in a foolish way. “Mother!” I said, in blank surprise.
It was indeed Mother, in elegant cream slacks and midnight blue blouse, impressive but casual gold neck- lace and earrings, and her new husband in tow. “I’m so sorry we were late,” she was apologizing in her Lauren Bacall gracious woman mode, the one that always made people accept her apology. “John wasn’t sure until the last minute whether he felt like coming or not. But I did so want to meet Aurora’s new neigh- bors, and it was so kind of you to invite us . . .” The Rideouts gushed back, there was a round of introductions, and suddenly the party seemed livelier and more sophisticated.
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honeymoon, and I told him so. For a few minutes, John seemed a little puzzled as to what exactly Aubrey was doing at the party, but when it sunk in that his minister was my date, John took a deep breath and rose to the occasion, discussing church affairs very briefly with Aubrey, just enough to make them com- fortable with each other without boring the non- Episcopalians. Mother and John joined in the food line behind us, Mother sparing a cold glance for Arthur, who was sitting beside his wife and eating while giving her a solicitous look or laying his hand on her shoulder every few seconds.
“She’s about to pop. I thought they just got mar- ried a few months ago,” Mother hissed in my ear. “Mom, hush,” I hissed back.
“I need to talk to you, young lady,” Mother re- sponded in a low voice so packed with meaning that I began to wonder what I could have done that she’d heard of. I was almost as nervous as I’d been at six when she used that voice with me.
We sat back down at the picnic tables set with their bright tablecloths and napkins, and Marcia rolled around a cart with drinks and ice on it. She was glow- ing at all the compliments. Torrance was beaming, too, proud of his wife. I wondered, looking at Lynn and Arthur, why the Rideouts hadn’t had children. ~ 225 ~
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I wondered if Carey Osland and Macon would try to have another one if they married. Carey was probably forty-two, but women were having them later and later, it seemed. Macon must have been at least six to ten years older than Carey—of course, he had a son who was at least a young adult . . . the missing son. “While I was in the Bahamas,” John said quietly into my ear, “I tried to get a minute to see if the house of Sir Harry Oakes was still standing.” I had to think for a minute. The Oakes case . . . okay, I remembered.
“Alfred de Marigny, acquitted, right?”
“Yes,” said John happily. It was always nice to talk to someone who shared your hobby.
“Is this a historical site in the Bahamas?” Aubrey asked from my right.
“Well, in a way,” I told him. “The Oakes house was the site of a famous murder.” I swung back around to John. “The feathers were the strangest feature of that case, I thought.”
“Oh, I think there’s an easy explanation,” John said dismissively. “I think a fan blew the feathers from a pillow that had been broken open.” “After the fire?”
“Yes, had to have been,” John said, wagging his head from side to side. “The feathers looked white in ~ 226 ~