Authors: Mariah Stewart
“Oh, I have regrets, my dear, but none relative to my career. A life without some regret is probably a life that wasn’t lived to its fullest.”
It was on the tip of Dallas’s tongue to ask what regrets her aunt did have, but the phone rang again.
“Dear me, it’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it?” Berry said as she rose to answer it. “I suppose the word is out.”
“Sorry,” Dallas told her.
“Don’t be, dear.” Berry patted Dallas’s shoulder as she passed by. “We could use a little excitement around here right about now. It’s been a dreadfully dull summer …”
Dallas spent most of the morning putting clothes into the old dresser that had served this same purpose for her for many years. Earlier, she’d opened all the curtains and the shades to let light flood in, but soon the sun would be beating down, and by midafternoon, the room would be stifling hot despite the central air-conditioning Berry had had installed when she moved back to St. Dennis for good. She changed into shorts and a T-shirt and slipped into sandals and headed down the steps.
At the landing, she found Cody staring up at the portraits that lined the wall all the way from the second floor to the first, and continued from there throughout the center hall.
“Who’s that?” He pointed to a painting that hung above him.
“That, I believe, is my great-great-uncle Lloyd Worthington Eberle.” Dallas stood back to admire the man in the full-dress uniform of the Confederacy.
“Is he related to me?”
Dallas nodded. “He’d be your great-great-great-uncle. Or that could possibly be four greats back, I
don’t remember. To each generation going back, you add one more great.”
“Like Aunt Berry is your
great
-aunt and my
great-great
-aunt?”
“Exactly like that.”
“She is a
very
great aunt.”
“She certainly is.” Dallas smiled. She’d often thought that very same thing.
“That lady there.” He pointed to the next portrait. “She looks like Aunt Berry.”
“Sweetie, that
is
Aunt Berry.”
“Why is she holding a snake?” Cody looked closer.
“She played Cleopatra once in a movie when she was very young,” Dallas explained, “and she liked the costume so much that she had her picture painted in character.”
Throughout her career, Berry had had her portrait painted in the characters of all her favorite roles. It had confused the hell out of Dallas and Wade as children because those portraits were hung on the walls interspersed with those of real relatives.
“How about that one? Is that Berry, too?” Cody moved on to the next frame.
“Helen of Troy,” Dallas told him.
“And that one?”
“That’s great-grandmother Lorelle Stevens.”
“She sort of looks like Aunt Berry,” he noted.
“There is a resemblance,” Dallas agreed.
“That one? She’s wearing a funny hat.” He pointed to a woman in a black gown.
“That, my love, is Mary Tudor,” Berry announced from the bottom of the stairs. “One of my greatest roles. I was a
magnificent
Bloody Mary.”
“When I was little, I thought she was an ancestor,” Dallas said. “I told everyone in school that we were related to the Queen of England.”
“Merely an accident of fate that you were not, dear. If my great—I’m not sure how many
greats
aunt Hermione would be—if she’d been less cautious, well, who knows …?”
“I don’t remember a Hermione.” Dallas went down the steps to join Berry.
“Oh, she was quite notorious in her day. She was said to have …” Berry glanced at Cody, who was leaning over the rail at a point midway between the landing and the first floor and hanging on every word. “To have kicked up her heels a time or two. She was quite the scandalous girl in her day.”
“Do we have a portrait of her?” Dallas looked around the hall.
“Unfortunately, no. But I’ve no doubt that she was quite glorious.” Berry leaned closer to Dallas and whispered, “Family lore says she left some very steamy memoirs. I’ve never seen them, but at one time, a distant cousin in the UK claimed to have had them in her possession. Wouldn’t they make a juicy little read?”
Berry was in one of her nostalgic moods. There was every chance that by dinner, she’d be in costume if any still fit her and delivering lines from any one of her favorite roles. Dallas’s mother had been annoyed as hell whenever Berry decided to relive her glory days, but Dallas and Wade had loved it.
“Marie Antoinette,” Dallas murmured, remembering.
“So sorry, dear, but I won’t be doing her again,”
Berry announced. “After all these years, moths finally got into the box and ravished the wig. Sadly, I had to toss it. And try finding an authentic reproduction these days.”
“Pity.” Dallas bit back a smile.
“Indeed.” Berry watched Cody attempt to slide down the banister. “Dear me, no, child. You’re going to land smack on the newel post.” She pointed up to the top of the steps. “Try going from the top. The round post at the landing makes for a much better stop.”
Cody did as he was told, and found the ride sufficiently satisfactory. He repeated it several times.
“So …” Berry turned to Dallas. “What’s on your agenda for today?”
“I don’t really have one. I’m thinking I’d like to lay low for as long as I can.”
“No, no, that’s impossible, dear. That cat has left the bag. You can’t stop word from getting around. I suspect that by tomorrow, the photographers will have invaded. The best you can do at this point is hope there’s still enough time to build a solid defense.”
“A defense? Against reporters? Photographers? Paparazzi?” Dallas scoffed. “There’s no such thing.”
“Wrong, dear. You forget that this is a small town. You have to make it work for you.”
“I’m all ears,” Dallas told her. “How do I do that?”
“Hide in plain sight, as they say.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There are only two types of people in St. Dennis, Dallas. There are tourists, and there are townies. Tourists are free game—townies are off-limits.” Berry
started toward the kitchen and Dallas followed. “You used to be a townie. You have to remind people of that while there’s still time.”
Berry poured two glasses of iced tea and handed one to Dallas.
“What are you suggesting I do?”
“Make yourself very visible. Let people see you, talk to you. Act like you belong here. Shop in our shops, eat in our restaurants. Remind them that you are one of them. Get them on your side.”
“You seriously think that parading around town and making nice with the local folks will keep the tabloids away?” Dallas took a sip of tea. It tasted exactly the same as she remembered, with just a hint of lemon and mint.
“Of course not. But the more you try to hide, the more effort they’ll put into trying to find you. It’s a game, you see. If you’re out in the open, accessible, acting like you belong here, the attitude in town to outsiders is going to be, ‘Move along, nothing to see here.’ When reporters do show up, no one will talk about where you’re staying or where you shop or what you do or take money to take pictures of you lying on the dock in a bikini.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to find out any of those things, especially when it’s no secret that you’re my aunt and this was once my summer home.”
“True enough. But no one is going to be looking for Beryl Eberle, which is how I’m known here. ‘Beryl Townsend, the actress,’ has no listings.” Berry sighed dramatically. “Even at the height of my career, I could come and go here as I liked. Why, last year when
Beautiful Dreamer
was rereleased as a tribute to
David Gaston and his last and greatest role and there was an upsurge in interest in
moi
and so many photographers descended on St. Dennis looking for me, there were no ambushes.”
“I saw lots of photos of you walking the streets of St. Dennis, Berry,” Dallas reminded her.
“All on my terms, my dear. No one took a picture I didn’t want taken.” Berry took a seat at the table. “When I got a heads-up that someone from this rag or that was in town asking about me, I got myself together and went into town on a casual errand. I was photographed going into the bookstore and into the coffee shop—you have to try their iced lattes—and several other places. The photos were taken on my terms and the photographers left town thinking they’d caught Beryl Townsend off guard and unsuspecting. Of course, I looked lovely in every shot because I planned it that way.” She took another sip of tea. “So if you don’t want anyone snooping around hoping to find you with no makeup and looking like a fright, my advice is to get yourself out there today and make nice. Become part of the community again, and the community will protect you. Every time a photographer or reporter leaves his card with someone in St. Dennis, that phone on the wall is going to ring to let us know.”
“Well, it’s certainly a novel approach,” Dallas said thoughtfully. “And I suppose sooner or later we will have to go into town. Might as well make it today and test your theory.”
“Good. Get dressed—something casual, but nice. Put on a little makeup—not too much, mind you—and we’ll go to Captain Walt’s for lunch.” Berry stood.
“After that, we’ll get ice cream, then we’ll walk up to Charles Street and stop at some of the shops that are new since your last visit. By the time we come back home, everyone in St. Dennis will be buzzing about how nice it is that Dallas MacGregor hasn’t forgotten where she came from.”
“You really do think this is a good idea, don’t you?”
“Dear, when J. D. Salinger died, there was an article in the paper about how his neighbors and friends in that little New Hampshire town where he lived protected him from outsiders. They were quite proud of never having given him up to the curious.” Berry paused in the doorway. “Just as my friends here in St. Dennis have always protected me. I’m certain they’ll offer you the same courtesy if you give them the chance.”
“Well then, give me fifteen minutes to get ready.” Dallas glanced out the window and saw Cody kneeling at the edge of the river, the water lapping up over his thighs in the waves generated by a passing boat. He was soaking wet from his shirt to his bare feet. “Better make that thirty …”
“Well, now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Berry leaned on Dallas’s arm as she stepped from the threshold at Captain Walt’s onto the wooden boardwalk. “Lunch was delicious and Walt and Rexana were thrilled to see you. All in all, it was worth the hour, don’t you agree?”
“It was very nice to see them, too. I always liked Rexana, and I’d forgotten how wonderful their food is. So no, it wasn’t difficult at all, and very definitely worth the hour.” Dallas allowed her aunt to continue to hold on as they walked along the dock. “Berry, are you having trouble keeping your balance or are you hanging on because you’re playing the part of an old woman today?”
“Hush your mouth, Dallas MacGregor.” Berry straightened her back and stuck out her chin. “I was just thinking that I must look somewhat stately—perhaps even
elegant
—strolling along the Bay like this.”
“Stately, eh?” Dallas mused. “It must be the hat.”
“It is quite something, isn’t it?” Berry touched the wide brim of the white straw from which a profusion of white roses spilled over.
“Oh, it’s something, all right.”
“Mind your manners,” Berry admonished.
“Is that the ice-cream store?” Cody, who’d been skipping ahead, turned and pointed to the small structure near the end of the boardwalk.
“It is.” Berry nodded.
“What does the sign say? One what?” he asked.
“It says, ‘One Scoop or Two.’ That’s the name of the shop,” Berry told him. “Although most of the time, people from St. Dennis call it simply Scoop.”
“Scoop,” Cody repeated. “That’s a fun name.”
“I agree.” Berry nodded. “And it’s a very fun place. The owner makes her own ice cream.”
“You said we could have ice cream for dessert,” Cody reminded his mother.
“Yes, I did. Would you like it now, or later?” Dallas asked.
“I would like it now.” Cody took off for the shop. Still on his best behavior, he turned and added, “Please.”
Cody was already at the door and waiting when Dallas and Berry arrived at Scoop. Outside, several tables were clustered, their umbrellas open against the afternoon sun. Inside, round tables that could seat four were placed by each window, and two long coolers ran the length of the building. There was an old-fashioned cash register on a granite counter sitting atop an antique dresser, and the walls held brightly colored drawings of ice cream in cones and in small dishes that appeared to have been drawn by childish hands.
Dallas and Berry stood near the door and read that day’s flavors from a chalkboard.
“Oh my, there are almost too many choices,” Berry declared.
“They had me at peach pecan.” Dallas sighed. “That sounds like perfection.”
“That certainly does.” Berry continued to scan the board. “But pineapple coconut macadamia fudge ripple sounds positively sinful.”
“Cody, would you like me to read the board for you?” Dallas asked.
“No, I know what I want.” He went directly to the case and pressed his face to the cold glass.
“Go ahead and place your order, then.” Dallas touched his shoulder as she joined him at the counter.
“I would like one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of strawberry, and one scoop of—”
“Whoa. Hold it right there.” Dallas laughed. “Two scoops is a lot. Three is out of the question.”
Cody stuck out his bottom lip as silent pronouncement of his displeasure.
“Pick two, buddy,” Dallas told him. She stretched her neck to address the blond woman whose face was hidden by the counter. “While he’s deciding, I’ll have one scoop of peach pecan, please.”
“Excellent choice,” the woman behind the counter said. “I just made it this morning. Bowl or cone?”
Dallas debated. “I’m going for broke here. Might as well put it in a cone.”
The blonde scooped the ice cream into a cone, then stretched over the top of the case to hand it to Dallas. The woman’s eyes widened when she realized who she’d just served. Before she could react, Berry stepped up to the counter.