Jane confirmed that it was.
“Did you know these are linen sheets? We had to charge extra."
“Linen sheets?" Shelley asked. "The real things?"
“Genuine antiques," the deliveryman said.
Jane ran and got the checkbook Livvy had set up to pay for wedding expenses. As the truck pulled away, Shelley said, "Somebody has or had a lot of money. I wonder what's going to happen to the linens when the house is torn down."
“I imagine they'll get an antiques dealer in before then," Jane said.
“I wouldn't mind having some of those sheets," Shelley said, having opened one of the packages. She was greedily stroking a soft linen pillowcase.
Another vehicle was coming up the drive. This, too, was a closed white van, but was painted along the sides with a colorful garland of flowers. A willowy young man with shoulder-length blond hair, perfectly faded jeans, and a violently vivid Hawaiian shirt hopped out and strode toward Jane, his arms outstretched. "My darling Jane, I have finally arrived. Traffic was positively deadly, but I persevered for your sake." He folded her in a careful embrace.
Once Jane was released, she said, "Shelley, this is Larkspur. Larkspur, Shelley Nowack — my best friend who's helping me pull this wedding off."
“You've mentioned her. I'm charmed to meet you, Shelley. What wonderfully Pre-Raphaelite cheekbones you have, my dear.”
Shelley touched her face. "Oh. . have I really?"
“Divine. If I were a painter, I'd paint you," he proclaimed. "I must see the gardens first."
“I don't think there are any," Jane said, glancing around.
“The ghosts of gardens, I should have said," Larkspur explained. "I saw the tiniest glimpse of a bleeding heart right over there and where there's bleeding heart, there has been a garden. The old heirloom plants are so much better than some of the new varieties, don't you think? I wouldn't think anyone would mind if I just dug up a few little plants, would they?"
“I'm sure it would be fine," Jane said. "It's doomed to become a golf club this year anyway.”
He threw his hands in the air dramatically.
"Horrors!
Horrible old men in light blue polyester pants traipsing around acres of boring grass. Then I must rescue some of the abandoned darlings that have survived the neglect. It's a sacred duty. And maybe I'll find time to search for the secret treasure as well." He laughed merrily.
“Secret treasure?" Jane asked.
“You don't
know
the story?" he trilled. "Then I shall have to tell you all about it, but I must explore the gardens first and see what poor, neglected plants are here." He wandered off, making happy little exclamations to himself.
“Is he Larkspur Smith or Bob Larkspur?" Shelley said, smiling.
“I have no idea. He refuses to be called anything but Larkspur. It takes a little getting used to."
“I wonder what Pre-Raphaelite cheekbones are," Shelley mused.
“I don't know, but you've got a couple of them, it seems.”
They hung the first quilts. "We need one of those old-fashioned tennis racket-like things to knock the dust off," Shelley said.
“A carpet smacker?"
“I'm sure that's not the technical term, but I know what you mean," Shelley said. "Another arrival.”
A rather old red compact car came up the drive and a young woman got out. "Is one of you ladies Mrs. Jeffry?" she asked in a soft voice. She was lovely — with a slim body, long legs, and a mass of dark hair pulled into a ponytail. She was dark-skinned. Perhaps part Indian or Spanish, Jane thought, but had startlingly blue eyes. She was wearing jeans and a white shirt with the tails tied at her waist.
“I'm Jane, and you have to be Layla Shelton," Jane said.
“How could you know?" the young woman said with a smile.
“I've seen your dress. It couldn't possibly fit anyone else. It's done, except for the fringe on the shawl. Don't worry. I have Mrs. Crossthwait here under lock and key to make sure they get done in time."
“Are you sure? I felt bad when you called and I tattled that she didn't seem to be getting along very quickly."
“I'm glad you did tattle. We'll have everything done in time," Jane said, hoping she wouldn't have to eat her words. She introduced Shelley and then said, "There's supposed to be a handyman to help with your bags, but I think he's run away from home."
“I don't need help," Layla said. "But it looks like you might. You're airing those quilts?"
“We're just going in for the next batch," Jane said.
Layla came along, seemingly eager to help. "I hope you don't mind that I'm very early," she said. "I don't suppose Livvy's even here yet. But with two children to escape from, a smart woman gets while the getting is good. I'll probably miss them by this evening, but the prospect of freedom went to my head.”
They discussed Layla's children while putting the freshly cleaned linens on the first four beds. They were four-year-old twins, a boy and girl,and Jane and Shelley were amazed to learn their total birth weight was over thirteen pounds. Layla's waist nipped in and her stomach was as flat as a breadboard. Further proof that Life Isn't Fair.
“Have you known Livvy long?" Shelley asked.
“In a way. We were friends in high school, and kept in touch during college, but I hadn't heard from her in a good seven years until she called and asked me if I'd be her bridesmaid. I was surprised, but so eager to have a little vacation from my family that I accepted."
“Maybe she just wanted to renew the friendship," Jane said. "You both live in the Chicago area."
“Oh, yes. But I haven't heard from her again since she called."
“That's very odd, isn't it?" Shelley asked, expertly making a hospital corner with a sheet.
“It would be odd for me, but not so much so for Livvy. She's always been dead set on being a good businesswoman and never socialized much. I don't even remember her having a single date in high school. She was always studying."
“What business is she in?" Shelley asked.
“Her family's, I imagine," Layla said. "At least that was her aim then. She's an only child whose mother died when she was very young. She used to be determined to be both daughter and son to her father. I never met him and she never said anything outright, but I got the impression he was very demanding and never quite let her forget that she was a mere girl, something of a disappointment.”
Jane nodded. "I've only met with her four or five times to work out wedding details, and I never asked about her personal life, but I can well imagine that what you say of her is still true. She's remarkably bland and self-controlled. Almost entirely detached from the wedding planning, really. And the only suggestions I made that were rejected were because 'Daddy wouldn't like that.' In fact, her wedding dress is a very simple style because Daddy doesn't like ruffles and lace."
“I wonder if Daddy likes the groom?" Shelley said.
Jane shrugged. "I've never met either Dad or the groom."
“Then you're not a relative?" Layla asked.
“I'm hardly even an acquaintance," Jane admitted. "She just hired me to take care of all the details. She mentioned having a couple of aunts, but when I asked why they weren't helping her, she just said they weren't suitable." Actually, Livvy had said they were a couple of old bats, but it didn't seem tactful to repeat the exact wording.
Shelley cocked an eyebrow. "Unsuitable aunts? That's a bit scary. Say, Layla, the florist mentioned something about a treasure here. Do you know what he meant?"
“A treasure? No, I don't— Oh, maybe I do. Letme think. I believe her grandfather was extremely wealthy. This was his place, you know. A bunch of us were invited here once in high school for a dance not long after the grandfather had died and somebody asked her about a treasure. Livvy pooh-poohed the idea. Apparently he hadn't left as much money as her aunts expected and they'd been telling people he'd hidden the rest of his fortune somewhere." Layla took another sheet out of its packaging and snapped it open. "At least, I think that was the gist of it. I only remember that much because I was sixteen and this seemed the kind of spooky place where there might be a hidden treasure. I guess I'd read too much Nancy Drew as a child.”
They finished making the bed and Layla added, "Oh, I know who could tell you about it. Livvy's father and his best friend and hunting buddy both had daughters the same age. I can't remember her name at the moment, but Mrs. Crossthwait mentioned her as being one of the other bridesmaids. Mrs. C. was complaining about all the fancy stuff on the dress."
“Oh, that's Eden Matthews," Jane said.
“That's right," Layla replied. "Livvy sometimes whined about having to spend so much time with Eden because their dads were friends. Eden is a bit on the earthy side, I assume."
“She complained about her and still picked her as a bridesmaid?" Jane asked.
Layla laughed. "My bet is that she was another decision that Daddy made.”
Shelley fluffed up one of the limp pillows and stuffed it into a pillowcase. "Why do I have the feeling that we're not all going to be real crazy about Daddy?”
Three
Mr. Willis, the caterer, arrived just before noon. Jane had begun to teeter on the brink of panic again because there was hardly a scrap of food in the house and she had no idea where to even find burgers and fries for Mrs. Crossthwait, Layla, Larkspur, Shelley, and herself. Uncle Joe, wherever he'd taken refuge, certainly had food and probably wouldn't have shared it even if they'd begged for crusts.
Mr. Willis was a tubby little man with a big round head like a pumpkin, perched on top of which was a tottering chef's hat. Jane wondered if he didn't have to glue it to his sparse fair hair to keep it in place. He was probably only in his late twenties, but was stuffy and formal enough to have been much older. He had a spotty teenaged girl assistant who looked like she could step right into the role of Victorian skivvy. He didn't bother to introduce her.
“This kitchen," he exclaimed, investigating his domain, "is a disgrace."
“I did warn you that it might be," Jane said rather than argue with him.
Actually, the kitchen was the only place Uncle Joe seemed to have done much to. The old-fashioned six-burner gas stove was reasonably clean; the big double ovens were ancient, but had only a dusting of crumbs on the bottom. The refrigerator, which was empty except for a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk, was huge and old enough to qualify as an antique. There was also a smallish, more modern freezer, entirely empty, but recently defrosted. There was a very unattractive brown and cream linoleum floor, but the big, deep sinks almost made up for it. Except for a coffeemaker, there were no modern appliances, but Mr. Willis had brought his own favorite gadgets anyway.
The skivvy dragged in a Cuisinart, a blender, a box full of very expensive-looking utensils and truly wicked knives. Then she went back for pots and pans, some of which Jane guessed were worth a good deal more than most large pieces of furniture.
“What about dishes?" Mr. Willis asked, impervious to the skivvy's puffing and panting.
Jane opened a series of cabinets across the room. The house had been built for entertaining and feeding vast numbers and there was a generous and surprisingly high-quality selection of plates, bowls, silverware, and glasses. She had expected Mr. Willis to be impressed, but he just sniffed, "They'll all have to be washed."
“I suppose they will," Jane said mildly and thought,
If you think I'm doing it, you're doomed to disappointment.
The skivvy was now hauling in food in grocery bags and coolers while Mr. Willis gazed about disapprovingly. Jane noticed a neat pile of
Field and Stream
magazines stacked in the pantry and an ashtray with what looked like a fairly fresh cigar stub in it. The kitchen, she figured, was probably Uncle Joe's favorite room.
Jane and Shelley made their escape as quickly as possible. Layla was sitting in the main room, idly flipping through a magazine. "It's so quiet here," she said, smiling. "No children. Do you suppose there's a jigsaw puzzle somewhere?"
“I wouldn't be surprised," Jane said. "This place was meant for leisure activities." With a little searching, they found a cabinet full of entertaining items. Jigsaw puzzles in abundance, packs of playing cards, board games, checker and chess sets. Even a Ouija board. They'd have to make sure Mrs. Crossthwait didn't learn about that and go off on auras again.
“I'm so glad I had to come early for my last dress fitting," Layla said. "I can hardly remember the last time I had Nothing To Do. I'm loving it."
“Have you had the fitting?" Jane asked. "Is your dress nearly ready?"
“Yes. Mrs. Crossthwait is buzzing away up there on her sewing machine. She's a bit short on the social graces, isn't she? Jumped all over me for having the wrong shoes and underwear and then went off on a tangent about being careful of bad auras.”
There was a sudden loud "Bong!" which startled all of them.
“What was that?" Layla asked.
“Either the doorbell, or someone announcing the end of the world," Shelley said.
The woman at the door was not so much overweight as stocky. Short, but with a big-boned look. With that figure and the oddly crimped short hair, she reminded Jane of the field hockey mistress at a school she'd attended in England when she was a teenager. "You must be Mrs. Jeffry," the young woman said. "I'm Kitty Wilson."
“Bring your things in, Kitty, and please call me Jane." Jane introduced her to Shelley and Layla and said, "I'll show you where your room is, then we better get you up to Mrs. Crossthwait for your last fitting."
“Are Livvy and Dwayne here yet?" Kitty asked as they made their way to the corridor with the monks' rooms.
“No, they don't arrive until tomorrow. There are lots of rooms, but they all share a bath with someone. I've put you and Layla together. Is that all right?"