by Mary Bowers
Also, lucky for us, he loved animals. He always made himself available for our Mystery Dinners; he’d just put his two sons in charge of the restaurant, which was really just a little carry-out place. There were no tables and chairs where you could sit down and eat, and when they were sold out, they would simply close for the day, no matter what time that was.
He liked coming to Cadbury House and putting on a show. The great room was a large open space, with a modern kitchen installed at one end, since in the old days the kitchen had been in a detached building. The guests could watch him work, and everybody enjoyed that.
Our other main man for the Mystery Dinners was our events planner, Lorenzo Sforza. He was the father of Ed’s partner on the reality show, Teddy Force. Teddy had translated his last name into English for showbiz purposes. He said he got tired of Americans mispronouncing Sforza, but I think he just liked the sound of Force.
Lorenzo, our events coordinator, had happened to be staying with us the first time we tried a Mystery Dinner, and he found it suited some deep-seated yearning. A television producer by profession, he was semi-retired, and his secret fantasy had always been to own a nice little Italian restaurant. The Mystery Dinners were a harmless substitute that didn’t cost him anything. He had a pied-à-terre in Flagler Beach, just south of us, and he seemed to be spending more and more time there. I think it was so he could preside over more of the Mystery Dinners; he’d even taken to wearing a tuxedo for the occasions, and his Italian accent was getting thicker and thicker.
My other mainstay, unfortunately, would by our housekeeper, Myrtle Purdy. For decades, she had been the Cadbury’s housekeeper, and it had been tacitly understood that she came with the house. She was too old to get another real job, and for all those same decades, she had lived in the house with the family and really had no place else to go.
I say “unfortunately” because Myrtle and I tended to butt heads. And at the same time she was a good worker, her skill set was limited and outdated. Grady found her a nuisance, and she sometimes offended the guests. Normally I kept her out of the way when we were having the dinners, but this time we were going to need the extra helping hands. The good news was that she worshipped Michael, so I was going to make him her supervisor for the night.
“Sure,” he said when I mentioned that. “She’s easy to deal with. And she’ll be a big help.”
I didn’t argue.
(Excerpt from The Santorini Horror, by Edson Darby-Deaver, PhD)
Chapter 9
I offered Willa her choice of comforting beverages or snack items, but she gracefully declined. I was relieved, actually. Beverages are always on hand at my house, but snacks are not. They have dubious nutritional value, and in my experience, just leave you hungry for more; a nuisance when you’re trying to concentrate. Over the years, I have come to count on peanut butter as my staff of life. It’s the perfect food. My pantry is well stocked with it. But no snacks.
Willa had been in my house before, of course. In the ten years I had lived in Santorini, I had opened my door to all my neighbors, past and present. None seemed to favor my office as a place to foregather, which was just as well. Without consultation, Willa proceeded down the hall into the heart of my home, and I followed. All too soon we were seated in the family room, facing one another, alone in a silent house. I found myself searching my mind for a way to begin our conference, and finding that my mind, exhausted, was currently empty.
She saved me the trouble.
Sitting prettily on the sofa, she gave me a little smile and said, “What’s been going on, Ed?” She didn’t seem angry; in fact, she was almost tender, as one talking to a child.
“Oh, I’ve been chatting with the neighbors. Dan in particular, but also Trixie. Has she been spreading gossip?”
She made a graceful gesture with her hand. “Let’s not bother with Trixie. I discount half of what she says and chalk up the other half to pure Southern charm. I’d like to know what you have to say about it. She mentioned that you were thinking of getting married?”
“Ah, she did, did she? Ah hah. Yes, she is one of those ladies to whom the subject of marriage is endlessly fascinating.”
“We’re forgetting about Trixie,” she reminded me.
“Yes. Just as well. Forget Trixie. You want to know what I have been considering. Well, there is an element of truth in what she’s saying, keeping in mind that I was not there to hear it and don’t know precisely what it was she said, but yes, I’ve been turning things over in my mind for these past five days, though it seems longer, and – ”
“Ed,” she said gently. “Forget Trixie, forget Dan, and forget ladies who are fascinated by the subject of marriage. It’s just you and me now, and we’ve known one another for a long time. I think we understand one another. We’re the kind of people who are misunderstood a lot, but I think we ‘get’ one another, don’t we?”
Disarming. I found myself nodding. The feeling of imminent spontaneous combustion subsided. “Yes, Willa, I believe we do.”
“Well then?”
A point of etiquette occurred to me. “Does one still assume a position on one’s knees for this? Well, we’ll bypass that for now. Later, if you wish. Willa Garden, will you marry me?”
I waited for an answer.
She smiled. The moment lengthened excruciatingly. We engaged in eye contact, which became more and more difficult. Especially with her smiling like that. I felt that I had been succinct, but perhaps she wanted clarification?
Finally, I could bear it no more. “Ah, would that be a yes? A no? I’m not following you, if you’re trying to communicate something.”
The smile became bright, wide and affectionate. The eyes sparkled. “No, Ed. I won’t marry you. But God how I love you. Just not that way. And you don’t love me that way either, do you?”
I began to bluster, and this time she did ask for clarification.
“The thing is, Willa, I want to protect you. Against your cousin Harriet. We could stand together against her. United, we could face anyone.” I pushed my glasses firmly up my nose. “Don’t you think?”
“I kind of thought it was something like that.”
I held up an index finger. “This may be as good a time as any to mention that I am not after your money. I have money of my own. I demand a pre-nup.”
“I know you’re not after my money, Ed.”
“Given my modern methods of research and my extensive use of computer technology, you may not have grasped this, but I am an old-fashioned man. I insist on paying, for instance, when we go to restaurants and attend entertainments to which you’d like to be escorted. Out of my own funds. That must be strictly understood.”
Her smile had broadened, but I was deadly serious.
“If you like. It really doesn’t matter, because I’m not marrying you.”
“Ah. I see. Still, if you wish to engage in such activities, allow me to say, I’m your man.”
“You want to go on dates?”
“Yes. Perhaps I should have proposed that first. Dates. Willa Garden, will you be my date?”
For some reason, the woman’s eyes became moist when I said that, despite the fact that she was (still) smiling. Mystifying creatures, women, but delightful, and of rare and exquisite beauty. Of all kinds. Of beauty, I mean.
Encouraged, I leaned forward and clasped my hands across my knees. “The main thrust of my urge to marry you, all along, has been simply to protect you from your cousin. In discussing the pros and cons with Dan Ryder earlier today, I came to understand that a real engagement wasn’t necessary to accomplish our goals. A simple betrothal would do. That would let people know that you and I stand united, and your interests have become my interests, and anybody who annoys you is going to have to answer to me. When and if your cousin ever goes away, we can announce that we are amicably ending our engagement, and that will be that. Faults on both sides. No hard feelings. Something like that.”
“I see. You want to tell everybody we’r
e engaged, but really, we’re not? Ed, don’t take offense, but I want you to be really, really honest with me now. Do a little soul searching and just tell me. I won’t be mad. Are you doing this just to get Trixie to back off?”
I leveled with her. “No. A side-benefit, of course, but purely incidental. The thought never occurred to me. That is, at least not until today when she grasped my knee and wouldn’t it let go.”
She seemed interested in this, but didn’t ask for details. “You’re sure?”
“I swear on Mother’s grave. Now. If you won’t marry me, will you at least allow me to tell people that we are betrothed?”
“No. Let’s not do that. But if you want me to be your date, I will absolutely go steady with you.”
I hadn’t heard the term “go steady” since high school, and it did something visceral to me. Before Taylor had brought the rush between classes before my eyes again, I hadn’t thought about Marla Zaccagnetti for years. Peaceful years, they had been. Now a portal into my past had been blown opened, and I had a sudden, full-body reboot of my teenage sufferings.
In that high-school world where I had swum, a lonely fish, through teeming pools of steady-daters, I had never had a steady of my own.
I took hold of myself.
Holding Willa’s gaze, I nodded. “Agreed. We’ll go steady. Shall we begin?” I consulted my atomic watch. “It’s early for dinner, but I feel that would be a good place to start. Dinner? Any place you like.”
“Yes, Ed, you may take me out for dinner. There’s a great place in downtown St. Augustine that I’ve been dying to try, but I don’t like eating in restaurants alone. Will you take me there? It’s right on St. George Street.”
I stood. “Certainly. I’ll just get my car keys.”
“Ed,” she said, slowing me down, “I’m not going downtown looking like this. I need to go change and lock up my house.”
I became alarmed. “You want to dress? As in, dress up?”
“You look fine.”
I became aware of my khaki slacks and pink polo shirt. Perhaps shoes instead of sandals?
“Don’t bother to change, Ed. I’m the one that needs a little freshening up. I’ll be back in half an hour, all right?”
“Certainly.”
I used the interval to change into a new polo shirt of another color. The one I was wearing was no longer crisp.
* * * * *
The evening was pleasant, conventional, and rather loud. She asked to be taken to a place that had live entertainment, and it occurred to me that perhaps this had been intentional, since it made it impossible for us to talk for long stretches of time. Rather considerate of her, since she must have known I was feeling skittish.
My hamburger was excellent, a refreshing change from peanut butter. Afterwards, we walked along St. George Street in companionable silence, only making occasional observations about the beauty of the night, the magical atmosphere created by the glowing lights of the storefronts along the cobbled street, and the comical nature of some of the tourists. I found myself growing comfortable in her presence.
That evening, after I had returned my steady date to her home, Taylor called me. She wanted to know how my conference with Willa had gone, and, naturally, if any decisions had been made.
I told her no. No firm decisions yet. A very productive talk, though. I didn’t mention going steady with Willa. I found I was becoming proprietary about my business with Willa.
I also found that under-thoughts, if I may call them that, from my subconscious were deeply layered down there during this time. Among those under-thoughts, I discovered, was the decision that I had not asked Willa to marry me for the last time.
Women frequently change their minds about such things.
(From the typescript of Taylor Verone)
Chapter 10
I called Ed that night, but he tried to make light of his conversation with Willa. From this, I assumed there had been fireworks. Not a fight. You don’t fight with Ed; he doesn’t know how. But things hadn’t gone as planned, and I sensed a bit of confusion beneath his firm statements that everything had gone well but no decisions had been made.
I figured she must have turned him down and been very nice about it, which would have been exactly like Willa. Still, there was a little something-something going on there, and I would have been intrigued if I wasn’t so relieved. Ed tends to get himself sucked into vortexes, and whatever his intentions regarding marriage, I didn’t want him starting something that would take him right down the drain.
I didn’t give it much more thought, being busy with the work I already had to do and the extra Mystery Dinner on top of everything.
Saturday night’s Mystery Dinner went smoothly enough, and I was extra observant that night, knowing I was going to have to take on a different role in the next one. At one point in the evening, Lorenzo pulled me aside and told me to relax, I was making everybody nervous, including the guests.
Bastet had been free to attend, but I never did see her. We brought in Rollo from the kennel for a while, but that wouldn’t have kept her away. Bastet sees no reason why she should fear or even acknowledge dogs.
Rollo was a big hit. He’s an adorable double-handful of bulldog puppy, about 20 weeks old, and twice as heavy as he looks. I don’t know why bulldogs are so dense. I mean physically. They seem to be made out of thicker stuff than other dogs. The biggest problem we had over Rollo was saying “no” to a nice little old lady who wanted to hold him in her lap while she ate. I could just see her slipping him bites of Boeuf Bourguignon until he was a sick little puppy, and then I would be the one who’d be up with him in the kennel all night long.
She made noises about coming back and adopting him, but I thought, “We shall see.” By the time he was full-grown, he’d be massive enough to knock her clear across the room without even trying. Bursting with love and not intending to hurt her, of course, but still. If she came back, I was going to try to interest her in a little chocolate mini-poodle (Charlotte) who was a little more mature and very quiet and gentle.
Anyway, dinner went off well and before I knew it, we were prepping for the Santorini Mystery Dinner.
* * * * *
Dan came after all. In a way I was surprised, and in a way I wasn’t. Dan was a warrior. Harriet was a virago. Historically, the viragos tend to win. They’re meaner.
This was the first time I had seen Dan in anything but running shorts, and I was impressed all over again. It’s odd how some people can wear haute couture and look like they’re down on their luck, and other people can wear simple, casual attire and look like they’re worth millions. Dan fell in the latter category, and though he was obviously unhappy about being there, he looked very comfortable in his clothes.
Ed was all wires and synapses. For some reason, he had his briefcase with him, as always. Well, at least he didn’t bring a teddy bear, but the briefcase probably served the same function.
Everybody else was somewhere in between, except for Carr Edgeley, the renter in the house next to Dan’s, and I could see why Ed had decided he had been ordered to rest after some kind of a breakdown. He kept looking startled, no matter what happened, and he picked at his food as if he were at a roadside hash house with a reputation for ptomaine.
The only two men who had worn ties were Carr and Sherman. They were a similar type, only Sherman was older and more haggard, perhaps looking the way Carr would one day, when his youthful sturdiness had worn away.
Kip had come in looking like an explorer just back from an expedition, who had hastily put on clean clothes and was trying to fit back into polite society. Maybe it was the rugged tan and strong facial bones, but it was also the man inside; he just had that look about him. That look of someone who might go off at any moment to follow an ancient map he’d found at a bazaar. Ed had said he was bookish, so maybe the look was all a façade he cultivated for some reason.
Harriet, of course, came in with an air of command and started trying to run things. I ho
ped I could save myself the wear and tear of keeping her in line. She insisted on a stand-up cocktail session, and announced that everyone should bring their drinks while we took a tour of the house. Immediately.
She turned to me. “You may begin.”
Lorenzo stepped in and began with, “Dear lady . . . .”
By the end of his oily but gracious speech to her, I could see his maître d’ manner starting to slip. Also, his Italian accent began to slide back towards the American. Before he was finished, she turned back to me and simply ignored him.
“We will begin the tour,” she said evenly.
“The appetizers are on the table,” I told her, as the last of the small plates were slid into place. “Why don’t you enjoy your cocktails along with your apps. They’re hot. It’s open seating, but Harriet, why don’t you take the head of the table?”
She stood gazing, imperious. She was in a long purple gown and was wearing amethysts everywhere you could strap something on. Of all the guests, she was the only one in formal wear.
She looked like she was going to argue with me, but the other guests were already choosing their places at the table, so after a fierce moment, she backed down and allowed Lorenzo to guide her to the table and pull her chair out for her.
Her houseguest, Sherman, was seated at her right hand, and by default, Dan had had to take her left. He’d been the last one to the table and didn’t have a choice.
Ed was caught between ecstasy and agony, with Willa on his left side and Trixie on his right. I expected he was going to be leaning left all night, but even if he fully turned his back to her, Trixie wasn’t going to be ignored. I noticed that he placed his briefcase on the floor partially over his feet, where he could feel it in place.