Stardust A Novel (34 page)
I
spent extra time with my hair and makeup and slipped on the tangerine dress Aunt Cora said went with my complexion. Spending an evening without children or an emergency to clear up made me giddy in anticipation. When the office bell jangled, I kissed the girls and thanked Mary Frances for being a dear, then went out to greet Peter. He smelled divine and had on dress slacks and a pale blue shirt the same shade as his eyes.
“Ready?”
“Yes, but nervous since you’ve not told me what’s going on.”
“You look nice. Makes me wish we could dump Sweeney and find us a place to go dancing.”
“What’s stopping us?”
“You’ll see.”
We rode in Mr. Sweeney’s car to the Cypress Lodge on the Longview highway. Sally had told me it was one of her favorite places to eat and had promised we’d go to lunch there one day. One day had never come, and I made a note to call her, to ask if we could get together since things had settled down.
Mr. Sweeney asked for a quiet table, and the waiter led us to one overlooking a small pond where ducks swam happily in circles. The setting sun gave a golden glow to the water. Peter sat to my right, Mr. Sweeney across from me.
After we’d ordered and had sweet tea to sip, Mr. Sweeney cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for all the intrigue. I’ve wanted to talk to you for several days.”
“My life’s been rather complicated lately.” I hoped Malcolm hadn’t told him I suspected him of kidnapping the girls, but he’d been friendly and hadn’t mentioned it the few times I’d seen him.
“You’re charming, you know. As is the Stardust.” He toyed with his tea glass. “I should probably confess something to you before we begin.”
The waiter brought salads and set them before us, but my hand shook when I picked up my fork. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just an observation.” And I was certain he didn’t want to know about my dramas with Mary Frances and the girls. “What are you confessing?”
“I didn’t mean to make it sound alarming. It’s about your friend Applegate.”
“What’s he been up to now? Sorry, I know he’s your agent, but he gets carried away sometimes.”
“So I noticed. My confession, though, is for something I did. When I answered Applegate’s ad in the Nashville paper looking for new clients, it was the Mayhaw address that captured my attention. When he agreed to meet me, I found him to be earnest and thought I would encourage him by signing on with him. The truth is I’ve made a lot of money in investments and hardly a plug nickel in the music business.” He took a bite and chewed slowly, seeming oblivious to the knot growing in my stomach.
A knot that told me to be careful.
“I told Applegate from the beginning I only performed occasionally and mostly for charities, but he got the impression I wanted to revive my career, maybe sign a recording contract. I was ready to tell him no when he mentioned the Mayhaw Festival. I remembered coming to it years ago when I was with a touring group. We had a vaudeville act with comedy, a few singers. I did a solo segment with a top hat and a cane I twirled around. The girls in the audience loved it.”
“Is that what you’re doing for the benefit?” Maybe he didn’t have enough material and needed Peter and me to help out. Bobby Carl had no doubt exaggerated my experience and talent.
He laughed. “Not too enticing, is it?”
“I don’t know. People like sentimental shows. And it sounds fun; I’m looking forward to hearing you.”
“I’ve updated the act, of course. Added some jazz tunes and a nice band. All that to tell you that one of the things I’m most interested in is finding places where I can put my investments to work for another of my passions.”
“So music isn’t your passion?”
“It’s only one of them. My sister in North Carolina contracted polio seven years ago. Thankfully, she survived but remains in a wheelchair.”
“I’m so sorry. It’s a dreadful disease.” The waiter came and removed our empty salad plates. “So you signed up with Bobby Carl because of the polio benefit here? I’m still not sure what Mayhaw itself has to do with it.”
“I’ve become aware of the need for families of polio victims to have a place to get away for a week or two and spend leisure time with their families in a pastoral setting. Often they’re confined for long periods of time in nursing centers as they recover. These provide a great service but don’t afford much in the way of atmosphere or privacy.”
“I thought FDR built a place like that in Georgia.”
“Yes, Warm Springs, and it’s a wonderful place. Unfortunately, it’s not always possible for families to travel there, so my dream is to see retreat centers built on a smaller scale in other regions. I think the Stardust would be an ideal location.”
I appreciated Mr. Sweeney’s enthusiasm, but something eluded me. Some detail I knew was missing.
The waiter brought out steaming plates with our entrées and placed them before us. Steaks for Peter and Mr. Sweeney. Spaghetti and meatballs for me. We ate for a few minutes in silence, and I agreed with Sally—the food was superb.
Peter asked how my dinner was, and I licked my lips and told him it sure beat the pants off turtle legs.
Mr. Sweeney laughed. “I knew from the minute I saw you that I was going to like you. I’ve talked to your pal Peter here and want to propose something that involves both of you.”
Peter’s eyebrows raised, but I had a feeling I was the only one in the dark, that they’d already had this conversation. He winked at me. “Remember you owe me one.”
“When did I say
that
?”
“When you said you didn’t know how to thank me. I told you I’d think of something. Only Sweeney’s the brain behind this. I hope you’ll give him a fair shake.”
I looked at Mr. Sweeney. “Okay, I have the feeling I’m fixing to be railroaded, and it has something to do with me being the owner of the Stardust. I’m all ears, but before we get too far into the conversation, you need to know one thing. The Stardust is not for sale. It’s part of the terms of Paddy Palmer’s will. I have to run the Stardust for five years before I can do anything with it.” A niggle came into my brain. Was the five years to give me time to find out the secret lurking there? Hmmmm.
Mr. Sweeney made an O with his mouth. “That’s even better. We weren’t sure what the terms were. You see, Peter and I have come up with a rough plan.”
Peter pulled a piece of notepaper from his pocket. “I’ve drawn some preliminary sketches. Van thinks we could expand the Stardust in the back as you and I had originally discussed. With help from the investors, we could add a swimming pool, a playground, a couple of units outfitted for the special needs of polio victims, and a small multipurpose building with a kitchen and space for families to gather.”
“Goodness, you’ve certainly been busy, planning all this behind my back. What happens to my regular customers? The vision I have?” The dream I had of the Stardust being a beacon for weary travelers now seemed small, like wishing for an ice-cream cone when I could have the whole ice-cream parlor.
Mr. Sweeney reached across and patted my hand. “We’re not trying to take away your dream. And there would be no cost to you for the improvements. We would hire Peter to be the foreman of the building projects and then give him a salary to make improvements and do the maintenance. In turn, your cottages would be perfect for families of polio victims. Mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles, cousins. They would be your regular customers. Recovering patients are no longer contagious, and the rental income would be more steady as reservations would be made ahead of time. It would only expand your original plans.”
“What about Ludi and her kids? I can barely afford to pay her. Who would pay for additional help?”
“We would. Some details have to be worked out, but for now, we want to know if you are interested in letting us pursue this.”
“It sounds exciting, but it’s a lot to take in. I’d have to talk to my attorney.”
Mr. Sweeney rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s one other thing.”
Ah. Something about his hesitancy made me wince. I twirled spaghetti on my fork and waited.
“It’s your aunt Cora. She’s not keen on the idea.”
“No great surprise there. She’s never been crazy about me running the Stardust. And I’m sure Peter’s noticed she never comes around.”
Mr. Sweeney frowned. “Has she ever said why?”
“A family disagreement, I think. Paddy Palmer, who left me the Stardust, is a distant relative. No one even remembers what the fuss was about, but Aunt Cora won’t budge. Why do you need her approval?”
“I don’t
have
to have it to proceed with the plans. But I wanted to announce it at the benefit, and she won’t hear of it.”
Bobby Carl’s conversation now made sense. “And you want me to talk to her?”
He nodded. “Having her approval would mean a lot.”
“She’s not an easy woman to persuade. Once her mind is made up…”
“It’s one of the delights I’m discovering about Cora.”
“Delights? That’s an odd way to put it.”
Peter leaned over and whispered to me. “Van Sweeney has a crush on your aunt.”
This time, Mr. Sweeney’s neck reddened all the way up to his eyebrows. “Peter’s right. When I walked into the first committee meeting and saw her, I nearly passed out. She’s hardly aged a day since I met her all those years ago.”
“You met her before?”
“She was one of those girls on the front row. We did three shows, and she came to every one of them. I figured she’d be married and matronly by now.”
“If she heard you say matronly, she’d never speak to you again. And married? There’s not a man alive who’s ever suited her, so if you’re the first, I’ll be the one who’s shocked. Maybe you should’ve invited her to this dinner.”
“I did.”
“And what was her reason for declining?”
“She had to shampoo her hair.” He laughed. “Yeah, I know, it’s the oldest excuse in the book.”
“I’ll talk to her and see what her objections are. Since she’s so dedicated to finding a cure for polio, maybe she’s looking at it from a different angle.”
“Thanks, that’s all I can ask.”
The waiter cleared our empty plates. “May I offer you dessert? We have fresh peach cobbler tonight.”
“Not for me,” Peter and Mr. Sweeney said in unison.
I smiled and said, “No cobbler, but I’d love a dish of ice cream.”
M
ary Frances and Malcolm sat at the kitchen table playing cribbage when we returned from dinner. I’d asked both Peter and Mr. Sweeney to come in for coffee, but only Peter had accepted.
Mary Frances played a double run of three and counted out loud as she moved her pin along the board to win the game.
Malcolm threw down his cards. “I can’t beat you no matter what.” He grinned at us. “I’ve never seen anyone so lucky.”
Mary Frances rolled her eyes. “Lucky? It’s pure skill.” She put the pins in the compartment on the back of the cribbage board. We chatted about the dinner while the coffee perked, and Malcolm told Mary Frances they’d have to try the Cypress Lodge some night when she wasn’t on duty.
Doreen’s letter again flashed through my mind.
Malcolm might shed some light on your situation.
It looked like the only thing Malcolm was capable of was flirting with my mother-in-law.
I pulled coffee mugs from the cupboard. “Coffee, anyone?”
Malcolm yawned. “None for me, thanks. I’ve got an early morning engagement with a fishing pole.”
Mary Frances gathered her things and said she was ready to turn in, too.
My skin itched to say something, but whatever Malcolm knew might be so insignificant he didn’t remember. I took a chance. “Say, Malcolm, I got a letter from Doreen Palmer today.”
His face brightened. “How is the old girl?”
“She sounded fine. Said to tell you hello.”
“She and Paddy were two of the finest people I’ve ever known. They were crazy about you.”
“You must’ve thought it strange for a child to be visiting old people.”
“Paddy said you were a relative, if I recall. Guess I never gave it much thought.”
He picked up the cribbage board and offered his arm to Mary Frances. Halfway out the door, Malcolm turned around. “Sure do miss swapping fishing stories with Paddy.”
“He was a character all right.” I thanked them for watching the girls and held the door for them.
Peter handed me a steaming cup of coffee and invited me to sit by him on the divan. We talked briefly about Van Sweeney and his plans for a retreat. Then Peter surprised me by asking what my aunt Cora was like.
“It depends. As a volunteer, she’s dedicated and tenacious. Nothing stops her once her mind is made up.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
“You mean Mr. Sweeney? He seems more diplomatic—”
Peter looked at me, his eyes full of laughter. “No, I meant you. You’re one determined girl… a lot like your aunt, I’d say.”
“We are nothing alike. Trust me, I’ve always been her cross to bear.”
“I doubt that. So tell me, how old were you when you came to live with her?”
