One Foot in the Grove (10 page)

I turned the handle to the secret door in the wall. The door opened silently to reveal a freakishly tall, bald, Lurch-looking manservant with a long nose, sallow skin, and sunken eyes standing in a grandiose hallway. When he saw me, he skulked toward the door and mumbled something about Miss Precious telling me to stay in bed. With oversized, boney hands, he ushered me back toward the bed where he poured more steamy, hot tea into the tiny Limoges cup. Then he shambled away. The door clicked shut.

I felt like a prisoner. I needed to find out what happened, I needed to find Dolly. And I wanted to get home. Lurch's raspy breathing echoed from the other side of the door. My heart stopped. I held my breath, listening to Lurch, listening to me.

An eternity passed.

Finally, I heard his footsteps thump slowly down the hall.

Knowing Lurch was roaming about the hallway complicated my escape. I slipped out of bed. “Ow!” Then I inched to the big window to check out my options. Happily, the window wasn't a window at all. It was a French door that
led to a balcony outside. I turned the key to unlock the door. It clicked. The door swung inward with a creak.

It never occurred to me that there might be some sort of alarm. Or camera.

I heard the sound of rushing water. I limped outside into a smothering blanket of muggy morning haze. The humid air was at least twenty degrees hotter than the air-conditioned bedroom. Like a fish out of water, I gulped for breaths in the oppressive mist. I tiptoed awkwardly to the balcony's edge and peered over the massive marble railing.

This was definitely Greatwoods. The ground was a
long
way down. Below, a garden with evergreens, flowering shrubs, and perennials wrapped around a patio decorated with giant, cherub-festooned fountains gushing with falling water and the most grandiose, turquoise, Gatsby-like pool I'd ever seen. I'd climb down the woody wisteria vine and drop into the garden, sneak across the pool area, climb the iron fence, navigate the lawns, and slip into the woods before heading home.

Ironically, I'd had a good deal of experience with this type of situation. Late nights, back when I'd been a teen, I'd snuck out of my bedroom on the second floor of the big house, crossing the veranda roof before climbing down a dogwood tree to where Buck waited for me in the garden. From there, we'd embark on our late-night trysts, moseying and hanky-pankying about the farm.

One time, we'd been misbehaving in the old cabin by the pond when my dad and his friends stopped by after some late-night fishing. Like the slaves whom my family helped hide a century and a half earlier, Buck and I had thrown open a little trapdoor disguised in the floorboards and dove down into an underground chamber. Buck had held me reassuringly while Dad and his friends chatted, cleaned fish, drank beer, and smoked cigars above us. I was scared to death we'd get caught. Finally, after the fishing party had broken up, Buck and I'd clambered out of our hiding place and headed quickly and stealthily home, where he hoisted me up into the dogwood tree and I'd climbed to the roof,
then through the window, back into my room and to bed. No one ever knew.

“I can do this,” I chanted under my breath, trying to psych myself up. “I am stealthy.” I peered over the edge of the massive balcony. It looked to be more than 30 feet down. The ancient wisteria vine twisted around one of the pillars. I thought of the dogwood tree outside my room back home.

“I can do this. I am stealthy.”

There were acres and acres—miles, actually—between where I was on the balcony and my cottage behind the big house. Even so, I was sure that once I'd hit the ground, I could be home through the woods in less than an hour. Unless something went wrong.

Suddenly, the hallway door clicked open.

Lurch!

Without thinking, I grabbed the massive marble railing and threw myself over the balcony.

“Wow, Eva, what happened to you?” Pep raised her eyebrows over big smoky gray eyes. “And what are y'all doin' here? Aren't y'all supposed to be resting at Greatwoods?”

She took a stack of plates from the dishwasher and set them on the red laminate countertop. Standing in black leather biker boots, her flawless pale skin and short platinum hair were a stark contrast to her all-black teeny leather skirt and fitted sleeveless tee. Her nails and lips were painted a deep plum color. A silver skull earring dangled from one ear.

“Eva, sweetie, it is good to see you up and about. We didn't expect to see y'all today.” Daphne opened a drawer, pulled out a handful of spoons, and handed them to Pep. “Pepper-Leigh, be a
dahhwr-ln'
, please, and set the dining room table for breakfast while I finish ironing.” Daphne's “ironing” sounded like “
ahhr-wrunun.
”

I stepped into the kitchen from the back porch. The clock above the sink read nine fifteen.

“Well, lookee who the wind blew in!” Precious Darling stepped out of the walk-in pantry near the back door. She
gave me a big wave and a toothy white smile. “I told y'all that Doc said to stay in bed and rest today.”

Precious looked mammoth compared to my two sisters. She pulled open one of the doors in the range. Studying the contents of the oven, she looked like a giant peering into a mouse hole. She shook her head and shut the oven door.

“Eva, is that some sort of tree growing in your hair?” asked Daphne.

I reached up and grabbed a small branch from my hair before picking pine needles off the front of my
GEORGIA VIRGIN
tee and tossing them all out the back door, in the general direction of Daphne's garden. I hobbled into the kitchen and plunked down onto the caned seat of an antique pressed-oak chair at the table—it was the same oak table and set of Larkin chairs that I'd grown up with as a girl. Only they looked better than I'd remembered, because Daphne had used some of her divorce money to have the wood refinished and the seats recaned.

“What happened to the pastry guy?” I rubbed a sore shoulder. My ankle throbbed and my arms and legs were covered with cuts and scratches. My ribs hurt. “I can't find Dolly. Has anyone seen Dolly?”

Daphne, standing behind an ironing board, pressing and folding creamy linen napkins, answered brightly, “Miss Precious told us that y'all said you knew Leonard from Boston. How did y'all know each other? Did y'all date up North?”

My sister wore a crisp white linen blouse and a pair of white designer jeans with a skinny yellow belt and yellow slingback Kate Spade pumps. The blotches and swelling on her willowy arms and hands had disappeared completely. Still, loosely wrapped around her head was another oversized silk scarf. It had horses, bits, and leather straps printed on it and fell over her shoulders. Hermès, no doubt. Daphne's gold charm bracelet jingled as she vigorously worked the iron across the linens.

“Leonard? The hunting guide? I don't know Leonard.”

“Of course y'all know Leonard, Eva. He works for us here.” Daphne looked at me sideways, trying to sound casual. Still, her voice was higher pitched than usual. She was trying to hide it, but I knew she was eager to hear my answer.

“Daph, you mean Leonard
used
to work for us,” said Pep, rolling her eyes. She pulled open the refrigerator and scanned the contents.

“I've still never met Leonard,” I said. “Remember? He was out on a fishing trip when I got here. I just keep missing him. Anyway, I wasn't talking about Leonard. I was talking about the pastry guy from Boston. The dead man. In the woods.”

“Exactly, the dead man in the woods. Leonard.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Honestly, I can't believe I'm doin' this,” Daphne murmured under the scarf head wrap as she sprayed in inordinate amount of starch on a napkin. “I'm talking about the man in the woods with y'all last night. Leonard.”

“You mean, the pastry guy.”

“Pastry guy?” asked Pep.

“Eva, what in the world are y'all talkin' about?” demanded Daphne.

“I'm thinkin' head injury,” said Pep.

“Well, yes, I suppose we could take her for a CT scan.”

“Doc says it's her heart, not her head.” Precious tossed an ice-filled plastic baggie into my lap. “There ya go, Sunshine. Put that on your ankle. You shouldn't be on it like that. Glad to see my elastic wrap held up.”

“Thanks.”

Pulling another chair close to me, I set my foot on the seat and draped the ice baggie over my sprained ankle. The cold compress felt good. Daphne came around the end of the ironing board. She looked at my ankle. Then, the rest of me. I sat hunched over, as my ribs were killing me.

“Don't y'all have clean clothes? A pretty little sundress, perhaps?” asked Daphne. She sounded exasperated. “And
look at your feet!” cried Daphne. “Why, they're positively filthy, Eva. What happened to y'all? Where are your shoes?” She sounded as if she were scolding an unruly child. Daphne shook her head and crossed to the laundry room near the back door, across from the pantry.

“I couldn't find my shoes.”

“They melted,” said Precious. “Did Mister Lurch bring you home?”

I turned to her. “Mister Lurch?
Lurch?
You mean that's actually his name?
Lurch?
” I pinched myself. “You've got to be kidding.”

“Of course that's his name. Why would I be kidding?” asked Precious. She actually looked serious.

“Look, you guys, it took me more than an hour to get here this morning—and without my sneakers. I had to jump off a balcony. Climb through strands of electric fence. Disentangle myself from barbed wire.
Barbed wire!
Why is there barbed wire next door? It wasn't there when we were kids.”

“Sunshine, a whole lot has changed since you were a kid,” laughed Precious.

“If only,” snorted Pep.

The dryer door in the laundry room slammed shut, and Daphne reappeared, heading for the ironing board, carrying a wad of linens.

“Eva, if y'all are well enough to be jumpin' from balconies and running through the woods in your bare feet like a savage banshee, you're well enough to help us with the guests. Except, y'all can't serve the guests or be workin' in the kitchen in your filthy bare feet, wearing that nasty ‘virgin' shirt and those teeny cutoffs. We have board of heath rules to consider. Honestly, I know you're not one hundred percent, but did you even bathe today?”

“Speaking of which, what happened to that shirt?” asked Precious. “I
know
that I washed and pressed it. It was spotless when I laid it out on the bench.”

“You
pressed
a tee shirt?” asked Pep incredulously.

“Of course.”

Precious stomped her four-inch spiky yellow heels past
me on her way to the pantry. She looked so tall that I imagined her having to duck under doorframes.

“Ya know, Sunshine, Mister Lurch would've given you a ride home,” said Precious. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Yes. Mister Collier and his staff have been most gracious and accommodating. I daresay, he may even have saved your life, Eva. Such a
lovely
man.” Daphne swooned. “And frankly, dear, it looks to me like they took better care of you than y'all do yourself. Y'all looked positively radiant and rested earlier, all tucked into your beautiful gold-leaf bed surrounded by luxurious, silky linens and gorgeous antiques. Honestly, you haven't looked that good in
years
!”

“Thank you,” said Precious.

“I'll second that,” Pep said, scuffing across the floor toward the Sub-Zero. “But what a difference now. Maybe a CT scan wouldn't be a bad idea. Eva, you look scary.”

“That says a lot, comin' from Pepper-Leigh,” said Daphne.

Pep scowled at Daphne. “And you look ridiculous, Daphne—with that scarf wrapped around your head. Why can't you just be yourself, for once, and let people see who you really are?”

“If your face were disfigured like mine, you'd not be lettin' folks see you. Why look at a bloated woman when you could look at Hermès? Besides, you're no fashion goddess yourself, Pepper-Leigh!”

“Like me,” said Precious with a smile.

I rolled my eyes.

“Honestly, Pepper-Leigh, who wears black leather in the summertime?” Daphne asked.

“Let's be real, here, Daphne. Your face is a little puffy,” said Pep. “Not disfigured. I mean, really, just look at Eva. She's scratched, bloody, and bruised, and her clothes are torn and smeared with disgusting debris. Still, she's obviously fine with
her
wracked-up appearance.”

I glared at both my sisters while Precious sniggered as she stomped her four-inch spiky yellow heels on her way to the pantry.

“We don't have time for chitchat,” said Daphne, looking exasperated. “We're late with breakfast on account of your, er, accident, Eva.”

“Plus Daphne's shorthanded again. The twins are out today,” said Pep.

“And the detective and his deputies woke everyone early and interviewed us before they scurried all over the property, snooping for heaven-knows-what. We've heard nothin' but ATVs buzzin' back and forth to the spot where they found you and
that man
. We're
all
tired and cranky. And we have six guests, the foursome from New York and two young women from Tallahassee who came in this mornin' after the accident business on the interstate.”

“And,” said Precious, “the bus for the antebellum tour is comin' soon.”

“Exactly. Eva, the guests will all be down any minute. They're scheduled for the antebellum plantation tour today, and they've got to eat breakfast first. A wonderful breakfast. So, please, pull yourself together. Try to look cheerful. Now that y'all are here, we need your help.”

“And, don't forget, Boone Beasley is comin' with a delivery,” said Precious.

“I can't wait to see Boone Beasley.” Pep smirked. “He was at the Roadhouse all afternoon yesterday. Hopefully, he's slept it off.” Pep rolled her eyes.

“Pepper-Leigh, no sarcasm, please. Boone has worked hard at his recovery. It's when folks won't give him a chance that his soberness becomes problematic. Besides, his spicy sausages are heavenly, and he gives us a deal on them.”

“Ahhh! The man has wooed you with his spicy sausage!” said Pep. She broke out into little pig snorts. Precious let out a chuckle.

“That's disgusting, Pepper-Leigh.” Daphne shot Pep a stern look.

“Daphne, with five kids, you can't be half the prude you pretend to be.” Pep kept snorting as she checked out the contents of the cupboard.

“Eva,” continued Daphne, ignoring Pep, “please, go to
the back door and put on my green Wellies. In fact, y'all can consider the rubber boots yours; I have another pair. At least your feet and legs will be covered, which—judging from their condition—will be a blessing, and we won't be in violation of any health codes. I daresay, some of my homemade olive oil salve and a nice pedicure are in order, and right quick. Y'all can go tomorrow. I'll even pay for the pedi.”

I ignored my sister's offer. I wasn't in the mood to think about going to Tammy Fae's for a pedi. Not in this century, anyway.

“Can someone please tell me what the pastry chef from Boston who made my wedding cake was doing, here in Abundance, lying next to Daddy's olive grove? Was he hunting?”

“Mornin', good folks of Knox Plantation!” called a man from the front of the house. “Missus Bouvier, are you somewhere about?”

“We're in the kitchen, Boone!” Daphne called cheerily. Then she turned, gave us “the stare,” and waged her finger. “Now, y'all listen up,” she whispered. “We'll hear no more about this dead-man business in front of the guests, or while Boone Beasley is here. Not a word! Boone's the biggest gossip in town. And since we don't know what really happened to poor Leonard, it's business as usual. If anyone asks straight-out, we say it was a terrible accident. If we don't nip it in the bud, this type of scandal will
kill
our business.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” I whispered. “Are you guys telling me that Leonard, the hunting guide, is dead? And he's the same guy who used to work behind the counter at Anthony's Awesome Pastries in Boston?”

No one said a word. Then, almost in unison, they all looked at one another, raised their eyebrows, and shrugged.