Cemetery Silk (13 page)

I bit my lip to keep from crying again. I was beginning to hate Christmas. “She must not have liked the book.”

“Paisley Sterling! What utter nonsense!”

Mother reached over and refilled her sherry glass.

“The world does not revolve around you, you know. Pamela has a life. She is probably off somewhere having a jolly old time and not giving you a second thought.”

I watched wide-eyed as she downed her sherry in one gulp.

“I'm sure you will hear from her as soon as she gets the time to call. It is the holiday season, after all,” she finished breathlessly. She dabbed at her flushed cheeks and the sudden perspiration on her upper lip with another of her endless supply of handkerchiefs. She stood up abruptly and shook out her skirt. Three or four cranberries bounced around on the floor. She stooped to retrieve them.

“Maybe we'd better go to bed.” She put the errant berries in the bowl and picked it up.

“Bring the popcorn in the kitchen will you, dear, or we'll be cleaning up doggie vomit all day tomorrow.”

“Now there's a happy holiday thought.”

When we put everything away in the kitchen I made sure the back door and the screen were locked.

“Do you mind if we leave the porch light on tonight?”

“Why? Do you think your little tree elf will come back?”

“That's not funny, Mother.”

“Sorry, dear. By the way, do you mind going out to the airstrip with me tomorrow afternoon? Mavis's son is flying in with some more fresh seafood from Maine. I want to grab some things before he takes the shipment on to Morgantown.”

“Sure thing. ‘Night.”

Aggie and I waited up for Cassie by the fire. The dog lay docilely in my lap for a change and miraculously let me scratch her ears. It didn't take me long to doze off in the warmth and coziness of the room. I awoke with a start when the phone rang. I grabbed it in a trying-not-to-step-on-the-dog stumble across the room and dropped the telephone on the floor. Aggie barked and I swore. When I finally got the receiver to my ear, all I heard was a man's deep laughter.

“Hello? Hello? This is not funny, you moronic cretin!”

I hung up in frustration.

The phone cord was tangled around my ankles. Aggie pulled at the cord while I tried to unwind. Cassie found us doing our version of the flamenco when she walked in from her date.

“That's real cute, Mom. Did you teach her that tonight?”

“Very funny! How's Dennis the Menace?”

“Daniel,” she corrected. “He's a sweet guy. Chief Atkins is his stepfather. Did you know that?”

“No! Do tell me more.”

She took off her coat, folded it over the back of the sofa, and sat in front of the fire. The dog curled up in her lap and promptly fell asleep.

“Bertram Atkins and Danny's mother were married when Danny was, as he put it, a rebellious little rascal of eleven. He and Atkins fought tooth and nail for a couple of years until Atkins let him win some, and then, they called a truce. He says Bert saved his life. He kept him out of trouble and away from the wrong crowd. Bert taught Danny to love books and sports, then insisted that he go to college. Danny even won a basketball scholarship.”

She looked dreamily into the fire.

“He looks skinny, but he's really quite well built.”

Cassie saw me raise my eyebrows.

She cleared her throat and sat up straight.

“Danny loves that gruff old man. He wants to be just like him.”

She looked me straight in the eye.

“They do differ on one thing, however.”

“What's that?”

“Danny thinks Rae Ann was murdered.”

“Any particular reason, or was he just trying to impress you?”

“I'm serious, Mom. Please, don't make fun. Besides, isn't that your new business, solving murders?”

“Heavens, no! I don't have the stomach for it. And I don't think I could solve my way out of a paper bag. I'm just a writer, honey. I make things up out of my imagination. And tonight I'm not really sure I can even do that.”

Chapter Thirteen

We all got up early the next morning. We were having Horatio and Doc Baxter over for Christmas Eve dinner and there were a lot of last minute things to do.

Mother had decided on a traditional turkey this year, for which I was very grateful. Last year's goose was too close to a gosling friend of Bartholomew's for my emotional comfort. And she was determined to have oyster dressing. She looked out the kitchen window at the grey winter sky as she was getting the bird ready for the oven.

“It looks like it may snow any minute. What if the plane can't land?” she lamented more to herself than anyone.

“Well, then, Mother, we'll just have plain corn bread and biscuit dressing like Grandma Sterling used to make.”

“Yeah, too bad if we can't muck everything up with oysters. What a pity.”

“Cassandra, you liked the dressing last year, didn't you?”

“Well, chestnuts from your own tree is one thing, oysters are another altogether. They just look like tubercular phlegm, Gran. There's no way around that no matter how many herbs and spices you use.”

“Oh, my God, Cassie!”

I grabbed her, none too gently, by the arm and led her towards the dining room. I did not want a fight breaking out today, of all days.

“Cassie, let's you and me make sure the table is.…”

Mother rushed over before I could open the pocket door and grabbed the handle.

“Wait!” she shouted.

“Excuse me!” I was astounded.

A silver curl had slipped down over Mother's forehead and her cheeks were flushed.

“I've already taken care of the table, dear. Everything is all done, just the way I like it.”

She blew the curl temporarily back up. “And you know how particular I am.”

“Did you say peculiar, Gran?” asked Cassie, wickedly.

“Cassie! In the library!”

I knew better than to admonish her. A day with Cassandra sulking was a long day indeed. With Mother's fancy dinner tonight, and my having to forsake my beloved jeans for a dress, it already promised to be a long day.

My daughter surprised me as always.

“Let's open a present!” she begged, eyes sparkling. “Just one tiny little one.”

I laughed and plopped down on the sofa.

“What if you're only getting one tiny little one?”

She sat down facing me and lifted my feet up in her lap.

“I'm not,” she responded assuredly. “I already know you got me a new down comforter. Thank you very much.”

I groaned and looked heavenward for divine help with such a daughter.

“And I suspect you got me something else. It's something small and very expensive, something you can't really afford,” she admonished. “But I'll graciously accept it, anyway.”

She gave my foot a pat. “So tell me where you hid it and.…”

“Just a minute, Toots.” I put my feet down and sat up. “Do you know what your Grandmother Sterling always gave us on Christmas Eve?”

“No, what?”

“This.” I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Christmas Eve gift.”

She smiled and hugged me, my beloved daughter.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

The rest of the morning went fairly smoothly. Aggie woke up and peed in the middle of the hall in front of the tree. It was her first accident in months, though I am absolutely positive it was no accident. The washing machine hose burst and flooded the laundry room and the butler's pantry, and Mother ran out of cinnamon.

Cassie and I gamely cleaned up crisis after crisis and went to three Quickie Marts before finding one that had spices.

By noon, I felt like we had been up for twenty-four hours. I had a headache and wanted to crawl in a hole and hibernate. But when we returned with the cinnamon, Mother had achieved a remarkable calm. The kitchen smelled great. Everything was spic and span. She even had a light lunch waiting on the table and gave us both a hug as we came in and shook off the cold.

“Sorry I was so cross before, darlings. ‘Tis the season you know.”

She was wearing a lovely grey cashmere skirt and sweater and every silver hair was in place. It was hardly the outfit for a busy chef.

“What are you all dolled up for?” I asked between spoonfuls of a delicious cream of spinach soup.

“Why, Paisley, it's Christmas Eve. I hope you'll change, too, before we go to the airport. We, ah, might not have time later.”

I looked at her suspiciously.

“Just what do you want me to wear to go get your oysters, a sailor suit?”

“Oh, that is droll. You're quite the clown, Paisley.”

She fingered her pearls and looked at me critically.

“Why not wear that really sweet velvet pantsuit I gave you last Christmas?”

“Gran! She looks like Little Lord Fauntleroy in that. I think she should wear the beige suede dress with the turquoise belt I brought her from New Mexico.”

“That dress makes her look sallow.”

I sneaked out of the kitchen and let them argue over my wardrobe without me. I took a quick shower and put on some of my city makeup, a greasy paste on my cheeks. I washed it off and settled for a light dusting of blush and just a touch of lip-gloss. I cautiously opened the closet door and peered inside. My old formal gowns winked back at me with a sequined sparkle. I thought for a moment what a wonderful joke it would be to wear one of them tonight, but I could not take all that crinoline and tulle even for a moment.

When I tried on a smart black wool ankle-length Donna Karan I had owned for five years and never been able to get on over my hips, I found that Santa had given me something early. The dress fit with room to spare! This getting dressed up stuff was going to be fun after all.

I rummaged around and found some soft black leather boots and slid them on up to my knees. I went to stand in front of the mirror. The dress looked great but my hair was going to be a problem. It had grown so long, so curly, that it was impossible to style. Finally, I gave up and tied it back with some gold ribbon left over from Cass's “one tiny little present.” I was ready.

It had, indeed, started to snow when we got to the little airstrip. Mother refused to wait inside Watson with me and Cassie and the heater. Instead she paced nervously up and down in front of the Quonset hut that served for an office. When the snow started falling faster, she bullied the airport manager into turning on the runway lights.

“I can't believe Gran is so crazy over some slimy old oysters.”

“She is a obsessing a little, I must admit.”

“A little? You don't think she's getting senile, do you?”

“Cassie, you will get senile before you grandmother does.”

I wiped the condensation from the windshield. “Hey, here comes a plane now. Maybe it's the Seaweed Express.”

We watched as a sleek white private jet came down gracefully out of the winter clouds. It touched down lightly and whined all the way down to the end of the runway before it stopped.

“Gee, Mavis's son must be selling a lot of shrimp. That's a pricey little plane.”

We got out and watched as the pilot taxied back up the runway toward us. Mother waved excitedly and hurried over to the edge of the tarmac as the engines stopped.

The snow was falling furiously now. Five more minutes and Cassie would have been cheated out of her oysters. The door to the cabin opened and the stairs extended to the ground with a faint hydraulic hum. Someone waved from the top and then hurried down in a swirl of purple mink. No one else in the world had a cape like that!

“Pam!”

I went running out to meet her and found myself enveloped in soft fur and a mist of expensive perfume.

“Paisley, love! Merry Christmas. Do you mind if I kiss the ground? I thought we were going to die. Only for you, darling.”

She turned with arms still open.

“Anna, you gorgeous old cow, I made it!”

She gave Mother a hug and then extended her arms heavenward.

“Thank you, God. Anna, have you told her yet?”

“Told who what?” I asked.

“What about me, Aunt Pam? Don't I get a hug?”

“Why, who are you? This gorgeous gal can't be my scrawny little pal Cassandra! Come here, you!”

I suddenly realized my toes were freezing. I had to get this show on the road. The pilot brought Pam's luggage over to the car. I grabbed one not very light bag and heaved it in the back.

“Cassie, grab Pam's other bag and let's go home,” I yelled over the sound of the wind.

We all piled back in Watson and headed for home. Everybody talked at once on the short drive back. We were all too excited to understand anything anybody else said. I could not wait to get Pam alone for some private conversation. I had some questions to ask.

She had been to the farm once before when we were in school, but the house had grown since then. She was delighted with the new additions. “Architectural Digest should see this!”

She turned to Cassie, “Take me to my room, and let me shed these poor little skins before I wilt. Do you know someone actually tried to throw paint on me on Fifth Avenue the other day? A really wrong shade of red, too.”

When we all divested ourselves of our coats and scarves, Pam and I collapsed in the living room in front of the fire. Mother hurried off to check on the turkey and Cassie excused herself and went to release Aggie from her crate.

Pam looked great in a purple satin jumpsuit and matching suede boots. Her long straight blond hair was perfectly shaped and shining with highlights from a very expensive bottle. I fingered my little makeshift gold hair ribbon self-consciously and was really glad I had found the old Donna Karan. I would hate to appear the complete country bumpkin next to my stylish friend.

“So how's my little sleuth?” she asked patting my knee and smiling. “The life here must really be agreeing with you. I have never seen you look so terrific—cheeks pink, eyes aglow.…”

“Cut the crap, Pam. Tell me what you've obviously already told Mother.”

She feigned an innocent look, “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. You've been plotting with my own mother behind my back to soften the blow. Come on, Pam, I'm tougher than I look. I lived through a revolution, for God's sake. Give me the bad news about the book. I can handle it.”

Mother tiptoed in. “May I join you, or is this a private conversation?”

“Of course, you can!” Pam pulled Mother down on the sofa beside her. “I was just getting ready to break the news to Paisley.”

“Oh, thank goodness! I really hated keeping it secret.” Mother gave Pam a mock slap on the wrist. “Don't ever ask me to keep secrets from my daughter again, even for twenty-four hours. Last night I nearly let the cat out of the bag. And this morning she and Cassie almost saw your place set at the table. I even had to lie about the oysters.”

I jumped up, black skirt awhirl and hands on hips to face them.

“All righty then, what is going on?”

“Shall I tell her, Anna?” asked Pam with a wicked smile.

“Oh yes, Pamela, dear, please do,” she answered.

“PLEASE DO!” I shouted in frustration.

“Okay, okay,” Pam held her hands up in mock surrender.

“I have an offer for a contract on your book. Leonard Paisley is a hit! The publisher also wants the foreign rights, and I'm negotiating with him at this moment for the next six or seven books in the series. Ummm, I almost forgot! They also want you to do a screenplay for Camden Films.”

Mother's smile was radiant. “Merry Christmas, Paisley, darling.”

Cassie had appeared in the doorway just in time to hear Pam's astonishing news.

“Oh, Mom! That is so fantastic!”

She dropped the dog and ran over to hug me. Aggie bounded up on the sofa to meet the new person in her life.

“Oh my God! What an absolutely adorable puppy!”

Pamela grabbed her, picked her up, and kissed her on the nose before any of us could get out a word of warning. Then we all yelled at once.

“Careful!”

“She bites!”

“Don't hold her so close to your face!”

But Pam and the puppy were lost in the throes of passionate mutual admiration. We stood and gaped at the two of them. Aggie had finally met her match.

I floated through the rest of the evening with a goofy grin on my face. I had not been so completely happy in a very long time. I kept hugging Cassie, Pam, and Mother. When Doc Baxter and Horatio came, I hugged them.

Edgar Baxter had delivered me and then twenty-two years later, Cassie. He had probably delivered half of the population in Rowan Springs. Horatio, or his father, had buried most of the other half at one time or another. There they sat on either side of Mother, womb to tomb, sharing our Christmas dinner.

Pam spent a whirlwind week with us. She organized me, my work, and my life for the next few months. The publisher was going to rush the book through production to fill a hole in his spring list, so The Neighbor from Hell was due to come out in May. Leonard Paisley had his work cut out for him.

Aggie ignored Cassie completely and doted on Pamela's every move. If Danny had not been there to take up her time, I'm sure they would have been involved in a nasty custody battle over the puppy.

On the second day of the new year, Pam flew off into the bright cold January sunshine in her fancy little chartered plane. Three days later, Cassie left us all standing teary-eyed and miserable at gate sixteen of the Nashville airport when she left for Emory.

Danny offered to drive us over, but I declined. I could never have made small talk with him on the way back. I was too depressed. I would really miss Cassie. Mother and I both leaked a few tears on the way home. Aggie just lay in the back seat and whimpered.

The puppy refused to eat for almost a week. Mother gradually coaxed her back to the joy of living with choice bits of chicken breast and juicy morsels of veal. By the time she allowed us the pleasure of her happy canine company again, she was hooked on the good life and resisted fiercely the return to her normal diet. We had created a monster. Not only did she bite, now she was a carnivore, a Llasaraptor. We did not stand a chance.