Tea-Totally Dead (4 page)

Maybe Bill and Gail didn’t talk because Dru talked enough for the three of them, I speculated.

“And Wayne’s told me all about your business,” Dru bubbled on. “I really love the idea of joke gifts for accountants—”

“Bill Norton is Dru’s second husband,” Vesta interrupted, her shark’s smile back in place. “She killed her first one.”

- Three -

“Now, Vessie,” admonished Ace. “You know that’s not true—”

“You have no right to say such a thing!” Dru suddenly shouted at Vesta. Her voice was high and tearful. And she wasn’t smiling anymore. Without that smile, Dru’s face and Vesta’s showed a strong family resemblance. Dru jutted her head forward to glare at Vesta. Vesta jutted her own glare back. Skeritt brows dueled silently for an instant. Then Dru sighed and shook her head slowly.

“I loved my Raoul,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I would have never—”

“Well you damn well killed him with all your silly prattling!” Vesta snapped. “If that’s love—”

“Now, Vessie,” said Ace, putting up his hands like a referee. “There’s no need—”

“Why do you always have to be so unpleasant?” Dru demanded of Vesta, her own glare back in place. “Why can’t you—”

“What do you mean ‘always’?” Vesta shot back. She smiled her shark’s smile once more. “You haven’t seen me for more than twenty fucking years. Remember? I was locked up—”

“And for good cause—” began Dru.

“Now, Dru,” said Ace. “Don’t you start—”

“The terrible things you say—”

“At least I never killed—”

“Now, Vessie—”

Their voices clashed and whirled like unshelled nuts in a blender.

I felt dizzy with motion sickness just watching them. Finally, I turned away. And came face to face with Dru’s daughter, Gail. Her brown eyes were intent behind her glasses as she stared down at me.

“My father committed suicide,” she told me in a clear, ringing voice.

“Your father?” I asked, glancing at Bill Norton in confusion. His face was still frozen in a vague smile as he watched his wife battle Vesta.

“Bill’s not my father,” Gail explained. Her voice had all the feeling of a robot. But her eyes… I looked closer and saw anger there. Then she stepped past me, toward Vesta.

“Aunt Vesta, why are you acting out like this?” she asked in the same clear, ringing tones in which she’d announced her father’s suicide.

There was a lull in the battle as Vesta, Dru and Ace turned to face Gail. Vesta’s face went slack for a moment; then she glared at the intruder.

“None of your damn business!” she answered succinctly.

“Why did you invite us here?” Gail asked, as if she hadn’t heard the first response.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” answered Vesta. “My own loving family with all their precious secrets…” She let her insinuating words trail off and grinned.

“And?” prodded Gail.

“Never you mind, Little Miss Nosy,” warned Vesta. She poked her long, bony finger into Gail’s face. “All the generations have secrets,” she added. “Even yours.”

It was only then that I remembered Wayne. I spotted him where he had retreated, on a couch against the far wall. His brows were dropped low enough that the eyes were impossible to read, almost impossible to see. His face was blank. It might have been carved in stone. I sprinted over and sat down next to him, laying my warm hand on top of his cold one. Poor Wayne. No wonder he had been scared. This was awful.

Dru pulled her shoulders back and smiled brightly, as if she had heard my thought. She turned to her daughter. “It’s all right, honey,” she told Gail.

“But Mother—” Gail objected.

“Your Aunt Vesta’s been through an awfully hard time,” Dru explained. “We just have to try and understand.” Then she turned to her husband. “Bill and I understand, don’t we, dear?”

Bill nodded carefully and took a sip from a glass tumbler that had magically appeared in his hand some time after I had been introduced to him.

Vesta turned to Ace with a frown.

“As for you, little brother. Don’t think you can get away with—”

Ace hit the floor with a loud
whumph.

“Yow!” he cried in a falsetto. “You sure do pack a wallop, little lady!”

Vesta held her frown for an instant. The room was silent. Then she giggled.

Relief swept the room in an explosion of laughter and movement. I let out the breath I had been holding and watched as spines straightened and smiles blossomed. Gail’s face, though, remained unchanged. She still stared at Vesta unblinkingly. Wayne squeezed my hand. I looked up and saw his eyes gazing back, alive again. The war was over. Or, at least, postponed.

“Buffet’s in the kitchen,” announced Vesta, her voice easy now, free of its earlier rage. “Let’s eat.”

There were no stragglers as she led us through the doorway into the kitchen.

It was a great spread. It had to be. Wayne had arranged for the catering himself. Sliced roast beef, miniature quiche Lorraines, Thai prawns and honey mustard chicken sat side by side with the vegetarian dolmas, herbed tofu-stuffed mushrooms and avocado sushi. Then there were the salads and the pastas. All artistically arranged on spotless white china laid upon crisp white linen that seemed to glow against the backdrop of vanilla-beige walls and teak cabinets.

As I spooned pasta primavera onto my plate, Mandy asked if I was a vegetarian.

“Mrmph,” I agreed, my mouth full of avocado sushi. I swallowed. “And you?”

“Of course,” she drawled. “I’m a complete vegan. Really, it’s the only choice, when you think of the hideous conditions for all those poor little animals.” I squirmed guiltily in my leather Reeboks. “Mom still eats chicken and fish,” she continued, shaking her head.

Lori’s skin pinkened. She sighed and with a great rattling of bracelets returned a chicken breast she had taken from the serving tray.

“I have a really splendid little kitty at home,” Mandy told me. “His name is Catullus, after the Roman poet. I just adore animals. I wish I could have more, but Mom says one is enough.” She sent her mother another look, one Skeritt eyebrow raised over a dark and lovely eye.

“Just think how lucky you are to have Catullus,” Lori advised cheerfully. “I didn’t even have a cat growing up. Dad was too worried about his precious garden for us to have animals.”

Vesta reached for the piece of chicken that Lori had abandoned. “I remember the summer Trent came home after his first year of college,” she told us, plopping the breast onto her plate. “He was more interested in the garden than me that summer.” She winked largely at Trent. “Big Man on Campus. Big deal.”

Trent smiled back coolly and speared a piece of roast beef. The muscle on the right side of his jaw was twitching again. I was glad he wasn’t foolish enough to answer her. I wasn’t ready for another round of arguments.

“Ace, on the other hand—” Vesta purred, turning to her younger brother. “Ace couldn’t give a shit about the garden.”

Ace blushed deeply, but like his brother Trent, he made no verbal retort. Was he embarrassed by her language? I wondered. Or was it something about the garden?

“I garden for a few bucks sometimes,” whispered Harmony. She held an empty china plate tightly by its edges. I hoped it wouldn’t crack. “That’s how I met Vesta.” Her voice took on speed and volume. “I was trimming this bush, right? Right out front here. And Vesta came out, right? Now she’s my best friend. We’re like sisters—”

“God picks your relatives,” Vesta cut in. “Thank God you can pick your friends.” She let out a hoot of laughter and headed out the doorway to the living room.

Harmony tilted her head and stared wide-eyed at Vesta’s back until it disappeared. Then her hand began to twitch across the landscape of crystals and crosses on her jacket.

“Harmony, would you like some pasta?” I prompted gently.

She looked at me blankly for a moment, then held out her plate with the silent gravity of a child. I loaded it up with pasta and salad and dolmas. I had no idea what she usually ate. Or if she ate at all if no one told her to. She took her plate and followed Vesta’s footsteps out of the kitchen into the living room.

“My father gave me Catullus,” Mandy said into the silence. At twelve, she seemed to have the best conversational skills of the group. “He’s an artist actually, really quite splendid.”

“Lance Oliver,” Lori added, flashing red fingernails as she waved her free hand in the air. “You may have heard of him.” I shook my head, embarrassed that I hadn’t. She went on before I could tell her I didn’t follow the art world. “Oh, he’s a truly spiritual man. His paintings are so healing. We’re legally separated, but he hasn’t abandoned us vibrationally—”

“Only financially,” Trent cut in.

“That’s not true, Dad—” Lori began.

I took a deep breath and carried my plate out into the living room. Most of the Skeritts were already there. Ingrid, Dru and Ace were packed together companionably on one black leather couch. Dru was laughing at something Ace was saying as she nibbled on her salad. Vesta leaned back in her easy chair, wolfing down roast beef and chicken, with Harmony at her feet like a large domestic dog. Harmony stared down blankly at her plate of food. Bill Norton sat by himself on another couch, sipping from his glass. His stepdaughter, Gail, was perched on a lone chair near the kitchen doorway. And Wayne and Eric sat eating side by side on the floor. I headed their way.

“You know what, Uncle Wayne?” Eric was saying. “They have these totally weird contests in Alaska where they tie these great big weights to their ears…”

I veered at the last minute and sat down next to Bill Norton on the couch.

I asked him how he was doing. He nodded and smiled. I ate a stuffed mushroom. Bill took a sip of his drink. A couple of prawns and an untouched piece of roast beef seemed to be the only things on his plate. I asked him how the real estate market was doing these days. He shrugged and took another sip, still smiling. I ate my dolmas, pasta and salad, listening to the conversations tinkling and humming around me, then gave it another try. I asked him how long he and Dru had been married. Would Bill stomp his foot for the number of years like a trick horse?

No. He just shrugged again.

“I think I’ll get some more of these great mushrooms,” I said brightly and headed back to the kitchen, passing Lori and Mandy on their way out.

Trent was still in the kitchen, frowning down at his full plate. He was about as chatty as Bill. I asked him about his work as I scooped up mushrooms. He told me that he was to retire soon from his position as the dean of Fulton College. He didn’t ask anything about me in return. He picked up a fork and inspected it closely instead. What was he looking for? Insects? Dirt?

“Nice talking with you,” I murmured and left with my mushrooms.

Back in the living room, I was relieved to see that Mandy and Lori were now seated on the couch with Bill Norton. Lori’s smile was looking strained as she talked at Bill. Silently, I wished her luck. Maybe she could read his aura or something.

“You know what else, Uncle Wayne?” Eric said to Wayne, still seated next to the boy on the floor.

“No, what?” Wayne answered. He even managed to sound interested.

“Tomatoes aren’t really a vegetable, they’re a fruit,” Eric told him solemnly.

“That so?” Wayne commented encouragingly.

“And you know what else…?”

Wayne was an exceptionally good-natured human being. There was no doubt about it. I wasn’t, though. I didn’t want to hear Eric’s parade of amazing facts right now. I looked around and spotted a space consisting of a few inches to Ingrid’s left on the couch that she shared with Dru and Ace. That was enough for me. I trotted over and squeezed in next to her.

“How nice to see you, Kate,” Ingrid said in her resonant whisper. She held my hand for a moment and I found myself feeling inordinately warmed by the friendly gesture. “I was just telling Dru about our library programs,” she went on, her voice full of excitement. “I volunteer at the library, you know—”

The chime of the doorbell cut her off.

“Kate!” Vesta shouted. She waved a fork imperiously. “Get the door.”

My muscles tensed. I stared at the scowl on Vesta’s thin face for an instant of rebellion. Pretend, I reminded myself. Pretend to like her.

I took a deep breath and smiled as I got up and opened the door.

I was glad I was smiling when I saw Clara Kushiyama standing there. Clara was the semi-retired psychiatric nurse that Wayne had hired to look in on Vesta twice a day. And as far as I was concerned, she was sanity incarnate. I looked down at her with special fondness at that moment. Her solid body was the first one I’d seen all night that was shorter than mine. And her wise and gentle Asian-American face could never be mistaken for a Skeritt’s.

“Good to see you, my dear,” she greeted me quietly. “How’s our Mrs. Caruso doing tonight?”

“Is that you, Pearl?” Vesta shouted before I had a chance to answer.

“It’s me,” Clara sang back. She gave my hand a reassuring pat as she walked into the living room.

“You know why I call her Pearl?” Vesta asked the assembled Skeritts loudly. I resisted sticking my fingers in my ears. I already knew the punch line and I didn’t want to hear it again. “Because she’s sneaky, just like all the other Japs at
Pearl
Harbor!” Vesta finished up, shrieking with laughter.