Lily of the Springs (35 page)

I put on a pair of navy pedal-pushers and a button-down red polka-dot blouse over the swimsuit, kissed Debby Ann goodbye (luckily, we’d got Lori, the teenage girl down the street to baby-sit), and grabbed the picnic basket of chicken I’d fried up for the potluck supper. According to Jinx, this summer barbecue/pool party at Lute Dawson’s 40-acre estate northwest of Glasgow was almost as popular as the annual Christmas party. Just about all the employees and their wives showed up, she said. Kids were welcome, too, but most everybody left the younger ones at home because the party tended to go on well past midnight.

I’d been relieved to hear we weren’t expected to bring our kids. I couldn’t think of
anything
more horrible than having to keep an eye on Debby Ann near a swimming pool in a big crowd. That was a challenge I certainly wasn’t up to.

The drive to Glasgow took about 45 minutes, and by the time we pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of the Dawson estate, it was almost seven. A guard at the gatehouse checked off Jake’s name on a clipboard, and waved us through the elaborate gates. I caught my breath as we drove up a winding stone driveway toward a huge stone Colonial perched atop an emerald-green knoll.

“Oh, Lord! Would you look at that mansion!” My stomach tightened with anxiety. I wasn’t used to going to places like this. What if it was too highfalutin’ for me?

“Yeah,” Jake said, his lips twisting in a smirk. “Old man Dawson sure knows how to live…while barely paying his employees enough to get by. Guess he figures a couple of parties every year will keep everybody happy.”

I glanced at him in surprise. For the first time since we’d been married, we actually had a little money in a savings account. So why did he sound so bitter?

A man in a uniform directed Jake to park the car in a field past the horse stables. To me, it looked like a sea of cars were already parked there, and the butterflies in my stomach started having a field day. This was a much, much bigger deal than I’d expected.

It was a long trek back up to the house, and the red high-heeled sandals I’d chosen to go with my swimsuit kept sinking in the spongy ground. Once we got to the paved driveway, it was easier going, but I quickly realized I should’ve bought the next size up. A blister was already forming on my right little toe. And it was awkward carrying the big basket of fried chicken.

The sounds of merrymaking, live country music and splashing water grew louder as we approached the high stone wall that surrounded the manor house. The delectable aroma of grilling meat carried on the evening breeze. Instead of making me hungry, the smell had the opposite effect. I felt nauseous. Nerves, of course. Whatever had made me think this was going to be a down home kind of barbecue for ordinary folks?

“You think we should go around to the front?” I asked, uncertain of what to do.

“Nah, there’s probably nobody in the house,” Jake said. “There’s got to be a gate somewhere.”

I spotted a bouquet of brightly-colored helium balloons floating lazily with the evening breeze. “I’ll bet it’s right there.”

I was right; below the floating balloons, I saw a black wrought-iron gate, a smaller replica of the one at the road. Jake opened the gate for me, and I moved through, my feet protesting in agony and my arms aching from carrying the basket of chicken. Who knew that three cut up chickens would weigh so much?

Once through the gate, I came to a stop and stared, my jaw dropping. Beside me, I could feel Jake’s astonishment, too.

Why, it looked like something out of a Hollywood movie! Straight ahead stretched a stone walkway leading to a Japanese lantern-strung gazebo in front of the biggest pond I’d ever seen on a private property. It was much, much bigger than our pond back in Opal Springs. The back of the manor house was to my right, with three tiers of stone steps leading up to a huge stone terrace where a four-piece country band entertained the guests.

On the far side of the steps, a wisteria-curtained arbor perched on the lawn near an ornamental water garden complete with a small curved bridge and a romantic-looking bench made out of black wrought-iron.

On my left, and three wide steps down, the gigantic kidney-shaped pool with its rock waterfall was just about the most refreshing sight I’d ever seen. The deck surrounding it was made of the same beautiful, varied-colored stone that led to the gazebo and made up the tiers of steps to the terrace. And as if a water garden, a big pond—or lake—and a pool wasn’t enough, on the near side of the pool, close to where me and Jake stood, a stone fountain topped with twin lion heads spurted arcs of water that cascaded into three basins. Beyond the pool deck, a gorgeous expanse of lush emerald grass stretched for probably 100 yards, ending in a grove of apple trees. It was just the most amazing back yard I’d ever seen—more like a park than a back yard.

The party appeared to be in full-swing. A bunch of people were in the pool, and they seemed to be having the time of their lives. Especially the men playing volleyball in one section. The game looked awfully rough to me. In fact, they looked like they were in danger of drowning each other. I decided then and there I wasn’t about to get in that pool as long as those crazy men were in there. Swimming was one thing I’d never learned to do, and I didn’t cotton to trying it with a bunch of maniacs around.

Dozens of tables had been set up around the pool, decked out with colorful umbrellas—each one a different color, pink, purple, red, blue, and yellow. Right now, they were coming in handy because the summer sun was still strong, even this late in the evening. Each table had six chairs, and most of them were filled with people eating and chatting and having a good time. Ladies in crisp, black uniforms circulated among the tables, delivering drinks and picking up used dishes.

Lah, it’s so fancy, I thought, my stomach churning.

Alongside the stone wall, industrial-sized grills had been set up, and men in white aprons and chef hats were busy flipping big thick steaks—the source of the stomach-turning char-broiled smell. I glanced down at the dishcloth-covered basket I carried, wondering who on earth would want fried chicken when they saw those big steaks. Should I take the chicken up to the kitchen, I wondered? Where had everybody else put the food they’d brought?

Jake was no help. He was staring around, just as slack-jawed as I was. He’d never seen nothing like this, either. I felt so darn out of place, sort of like the bull that wandered into the china shop. Especially since people were now giving us odd, sidelong glances like they were wondering who let the riff-raff in. Not a soul lifted up a hand to greet Jake and call him over.

“Don’t you see anybody you know?” I muttered, shifting my weight to ease the pain in my feet.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Well, I’ve got to find something to do with this chicken. I can’t stand here and hold it all night.”

I caught the gaze of a tall, slender brunette sitting at one of the nearby tables. The woman stared at me for a moment, one perfect black brow arched in curiosity, then stood and came toward us. She moved graciously through the crowd, almost as if she were skating instead of walking in her outrageously spiked stiletto sandals, at least an inch higher than mine. The pleats of her red and white-checked halter dress swirled around Betty Grable-slim legs, so tanned I suspected she’d just got back from the tropics.

“Hello!” Smiling, the woman stopped in front of us and stuck out a slender hand adorned by movie-star length crimson nails and a diamond ring big enough to choke a python. “I’m Roxanne Dawson, and who might
you
be?”

Up close, the woman looked older than she had from the table. I guessed she was in her mid-40’s, judging by the tiny crow’s feet at the corners of sapphire eyes rimmed with false-eyelashes. And that was
definitely
not a Kentucky accent she had. More like from somewhere further south--not hillbilly—but a cultured southern accent.

I adjusted my grip on the basket so I could shake the woman’s hand. “I’m Lily Tatlow, and this here is my husband, Jake. He works for your husband.”

“Hello, ma’am,” Jake said politely, looking decidedly uncomfortable as he stuck out his hand.

Roxanne Dawson looked at Jake, and I watched her turn into a sex kitten right in front of us. She took his extended hand, her gaze flicking over him, drinking in every detail of his tan dungarees and crisp short-sleeved shirt, then lingering for an obvious moment on the gap at his neck that gave her a tantalizing glimpse of chest hair.

Her lips parted in a seductive smile and her voice lowered to a purr, “Hello, Jake. I’m so glad you could come to our little pool party. It’s especially nice when we have new faces here.”

Her expression of obvious appreciation told me it was the new
male
faces that made the most impression on Mrs. Roxanne. Why, the woman was almost drooling.

“Uh, what would you like me to do with this?” I asked in my nicest voice, gesturing with my basket of chicken.

The woman drew her hungry eyes from Jake long enough to look and see what I was talking about, and slowly released his hand. “What is it, dear?”

I saw right through her phony smile. The woman was annoyed at having to turn her attention away from a potential conquest. “Fried chicken,” I said, and then added pointedly, “It’s
my husband’s
favorite recipe--a family specialty.”

Roxanne Dawson looked at the basket in my hands as if it were a rattlesnake, coiled to strike. But she recovered quickly. “How nice! But you shouldn’t have bothered! We have plenty of food.” She turned toward one of the men grilling steaks and called out, “James, come here!”

I frowned. Jinx had told me to bring a potluck dish. I was sure of it.

A beefy, red-faced man hustled over, still holding a barbecue fork in one gigantic hand. “Yes, Mrs. Dawson?”

She gave him a cool smile, nothing at all like the chili-peppered one she’d bestowed on Jake. “Please take this lovely fried chicken our guest here prepared and add it to the buffet table. No doubt it will be appreciated by those that don’t care for red meat.”

With relief, I gave up the basket of chicken to James.

Closing a possessive hand around Jake’s upper arm, Roxanne Dawson cooed, “Come, both of you. Let me introduce you around.” And drawing Jake with her, she towed him over to the table she’d just vacated. Gritting my teeth, I followed behind, feeling like an unwanted puppy dog.

I had a feeling it was going to be a long, uncomfortable evening.

***

“Would you look at that, Jinx? Have you ever seen anything so outrageous in all your life?”

“No, I haven’t,” agreed Jinx. “And if it were
my
husband, I swear, I’d jump in that pool, and pull him out of there by his damn balls!”

I looked at her in astonishment and could just make out the outraged look on her face in the fluttering light of the Japanese lanterns hanging under the umbrella at our table. Why, Jinx was as mad as a hive of wasps.

“Well, I’m not about to make a scene,” I said lightly. “And I don’t think
you
would either if that were Lonnie she’d latched onto. After all, she
is
the boss’s wife.”

“Humph!” Jinx snorted, taking a sip of the Mai Tai a waitress had placed in front of her. “She’s a Jezebel! And everybody knows it. You know where Lute met her, don’t you? In a New Orleans cathouse. She’s nothing but poor white trash!”

I looked over at the pool where Jake was engaging in flirtatious horseplay with Roxanne Dawson. He grabbed her by her sleek, tanned shoulders and playfully tried to dunk her as she squealed and tried half-heartedly to escape his clutches. He’d certainly lost his initial shyness with the woman, I thought dryly.

It was after eleven, and the party had quieted down a bit. The people who’d brought kids had gone on home, leaving only the serious party-makers to finish off what was left of the food and the still plentiful flow of alcohol. I hadn’t thought that me and Jake would be in that company, but when I’d tried to get him to leave about ten o’clock, he’d flat-out refused, saying the party was just getting started. That was about the time he’d had enough booze to make him strip down to his trunks and jump in the deep end of the pool.

Not more than five minutes later, Roxanne Dawson got up from the table where she’d been watching Jake like a hungry lioness. She untied the waistband of her pleated skirt, allowing it to fall to the stone patio, and with a flick of her wrist, released the back of her halter top, and it, too, went fluttering to the ground. By this time, the woman had an audience watching her. Every eye in the vicinity, male and female, was glued to her…or rather, to what she had on.

It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. And I’d thought
my
new bathing suit was daring! Roxanne wore a two-piece swim suit in a red and white check print, and the bottom was shorter than even the short-shorts those European women wore in the magazine ads Betty had recently sent me—they were cut pretty low at the top, too, because Roxanne’s belly button was clearly visible. The top, though, was just pure scandalous, revealing so much of Roxanne’s cleavage that it was durn-near indecent. And as if she knew—and reveled in—the appreciation of every man near the pool, Roxanne lifted one magnificent leg, placing her foot on the bottom of the chair and leaned down to unbuckle the strap of her stiletto sandal, giving everyone who wanted it a perfect view of her firm backside. Discarding her shoes under the table, Roxanne turned, her gaze seeking out Jake in the pool. Locking eyes with him, she tucked her hair beneath a rubber swimming cap, and with everyone watching, jiggled her way over to the edge of the pool nearest him. She eased down onto the deck, and slipped her feet into the water, making coquettish squeals as to how cold it was.

Me and Jinx both watched in astonishment as she playfully kicked water at Jake and did everything short of begging him to pull her in. And of course, he did. And they’d been in there fooling around for over 45 minutes now.

The only lights in the area were the Japanese lanterns and the blue-green glow of underwater pool lights. And sometimes, Roxanne and Jake disappeared into the far end of the pool near the waterfall where it was darker, and I tried not to think about what could be going on there. But surely even Jake wasn’t brazen enough to cavort with another woman right under my nose!