Live to Fly Another Day

by Eliza Watson

  “I wished I’d have participated,” she said. “It always looked like so much fun.”

  Rachel envied the play productions I’d done in the backyard? I’d never seen her so wistful and melancholy.

  Could this day get any weirder?

  Chapter Twelve

  Upon our return to George’s, the sheep were once again blocking the road, munching on shrubs. Rachel laid on the horn, still releasing her anger over Gerry. The animals ignored her. She pressed the horn repeatedly. When they didn’t budge, she rolled down the window and screamed at them. Freaked out by the crazy woman behind the wheel, they raced off, vanishing around the corner. I’d have to remember that tactic.

  The padlocked chain wrapped around the gate poles gave the illusion it was secured to keep out Enid and the sheep. However, the lock wasn’t clamped tightly because Thomas only had one key. I unwrapped the chain and peered around for sheep lurking nearby before opening the gate. Rachel drove in. I put the chain and padlock back in place.

  Rachel hauled a bin of teacups and plates inside while I carried the theater’s costumes. The crushed velvet and satin fabrics, decorative beads, and sequins weighted down my arms. How had the thin women in Downton Abbey worn such heavy dresses?

  Declan, Mom, Thomas, and Mac were admiring Declan’s finished painting on the wall—a woman seated at a desk writing a letter, sun shining through the window. It was so realistic it helped take away the chill in the room. And the smell would be gone before long. A spare bag of charcoal must have been lying around. Mom had placed charcoal-filled tin pans throughout the room. She claimed it was the best natural dehumidifier and removed musty smells. Not only did we need to freshen up the place for the event, but for George’s health so he didn’t end up back in the hospital.

  Would a tray of charcoal get rid of the stinky smell in Declan’s car?

  “The painting bears a remarkable resemblance to the original.” Thomas shuddered. His chill likely wasn’t from the breeze blowing through the open windows, helping the charcoal air out the place. It was from memories of that evening. The same reaction George might experience upon seeing the paintings. “A bit strange having it hang there after twenty years. As if it were recovered and put back in its proper place.”

  “It’s absolutely lovely.” Mom placed a hand on Declan’s shoulder.

  He wore a proud look. “Feels good to be painting again. I’m not as rusty as I’d feared.”

  “It’s awesome.” I gave him a kiss, our lips barely touching before he drew back with a nervous smile.

  Seriously? Now I couldn’t even give him a fleeting kiss in front of my mom? She better not have brought up his housing situation again.

  Mom eyed the costumes draped over my arm. “Did you go clothes shopping?”

  “No, the theater group in town is letting us borrow them. Unsure what would fit everyone, we brought them all.”

  Mom held up a long black-beaded burgundy dress. “Oh, my favorite color. I’ll take this one.”

  Rachel and I turned up our noses at a deep-blue flouncy dress with layers of chiffon wrapped around the neckline.

  She snagged the next dress—champagne-colored satin with clear beads and matching long satin gloves. She held it up in front of her, and the bottom puddled on the floor. “I’ll have to wear some really high heels. I love it.”

  I chose a jade-colored dress with black embroidery and flowing chiffon sleeves. Very Irish. A headband with green poufy feathers hung around its hanger.

  Declan and Thomas checked out the suits.

  “Pants all look a bit wide, I’d say. I best be wearing my black suit with this white bowtie and vest.” Declan hooked a finger around the garment’s hanger.

  Thomas chose a brown tweed suit. Exactly how I’d pictured him dressing before we’d met.

  We dispersed to our rooms to try on our costumes. The jade dress was a bit big, but Mom assured me she could alter it with pins. I positioned the feathered band on my head. A few bobby pins would help keep it in place. Mom looked elegant in the burgundy dress. The only time I could recall her wearing a dress was occasionally to church.

  We congregated back in the library. Rachel’s champagne-colored, size two satin dress fit perfectly except for the length. Thomas’s tweed suit jacket swallowed his narrow shoulders, but he seemed pleased with it. Declan looked insanely hot in his black suit, white shirt, tie, and vest. Big surprise.

  “Reminds me of when you girls used to play dress-up in Mom’s church clothes and fancy hats.” Mom adjusted her hat—black with a gold brooch attached to a burgundy band. “We really should wear more hats in the States.”

  It was reassuring that Mom had a precious memory rather than a bitter one toward her mother. She hadn’t had any of her grandmother’s dresses to wear because she’d never known her.

  “Rachel always wore Grandma’s yellow dress, just like she wore her yellow sunflower apron. I wore her purple apron and dress. Grandma would host tea parties, serving us hot chocolate in the little teacups from her collection. Just think—she likely sat in this very room sipping tea from the Daly china teacups with family and friends.”

  Everyone peered around envisioning the setting.

  “She might have even dressed like us.” Rachel brushed her satin-gloved hands down the front of her dress. “We’ll have to take a promo shot of us in this room.”

  “We should be making a video advertising the event,” Declan said. “That video of the Irish priest singing at the wedding a few years ago went viral.”

  “I can’t sing,” I said. “Besides, how would we get it to go viral?”

  “Don’t need it to be going viral,” he said. “Just needs to be intriguing enough to grab people’s attention. We could promote it on social media, targeting an audience within a hundred-mile radius.”

  A loud baaing noise carried through the library’s open window.

  “What the bloody hell?” Thomas raced toward the front door, and we followed.

  I grasped the sides of my dress and raised it so I didn’t trip going down the steps. I had slipped on a pair of George’s backless slippers. I didn’t want them to go flying off and me to go flying down like I had when running out of a Dublin hotel—in front of Brecker’s CEO.

  The entire family of sheep was at the shrubs. David was missing his private parts, and if the Venus de Milo hadn’t already been missing both arms, she would have been now. Her one leg was toast.

  “I swear I put the chain back on,” I said.

  Thomas ran at the sheep, yelling, his arms flapping, a barking Mac hot on his heels. We women hiked our dresses up to our knees. Me in my slippers, Mom in tennies, and Rachel in black riding boots. The five sheep went in different directions, so we separated, attempting to chase them toward the front entrance. The dress slipped from my grasp. I stepped on the bottom, and the sound of material ripping filled the air. Shit.

  Mac was once again running circles around the sprawling lawn. It was hard to tell if he was chasing the sheep or they were chasing him. Thomas called out to Mac, directing him toward the gate. The dog amazingly obeyed, racing toward the entrance, the sheep following. Mac barked while Thomas scrambled to remove the chain. Once the gate was open, Mac rounded up the sheep and chased them out. As much as I despised Enid, I appreciated the fact that she’d helped Mac find his calling. Of course, I would never admit my gratitude.

  We all bent over, hands on our legs, trying to catch our breath. Moments later a car drove up the road. Slowing down, the driver eyed us with interest. We all waved at the older man.

  “Come back in two weeks,” I hollered.

  Declan smiled. “Intrigued to know more, isn’t he now?”

  Seized with inspiration, I said, “What if we go into towns dressed in costume to hand out flyers for the event? That will get people spreading the word.”

  Declan nodded. “Brilliant idea. And a video of what just happened would definitely go viral.”

  “Hmm…” I pondered.

&nbs
p; Thomas shook his head. “No way in bloody hell are we letting those bastards back in here. This has Cousin Enid written all over it.” He ran off to assess the damage to his shrubs.

  “Ah, well,” Declan said. “Couldn’t reenact that scene if we wanted to, I suppose.”

  We exchanged mischievous glances.

  Could we?

  Mom checked my torn dress.

  I peered over my shoulder, straining to see the tear. “How bad is it?”

  “It’s the seam. No worries. I’ll be able to fix it.”

  We were almost to the house when a vintage sports car drove slowly up the drive—British racing green with a long, sleek hood, chrome grill, and rims. Fanny’s blue hat and eyes were all that were visible over the dashboard, and her white-gloved hands grasped the steering wheel. We stepped onto the grass, and she gave us a wave as she passed by.

  Declan let out a low whistle. “Fanny certainly isn’t after George for his money. That’s an antique Aston Martin. Like the original James Bond car. Worth several hundred thousand pounds, I’d say.”

  Go Fanny.

  The woman parked and opened the car door. She swung her feet out of the vehicle, then slid off the tan leather seat. “Thought I’d bring a few things over to help decorate.” She snatched a wicker basket off the front seat. “And I brought more scones for everyone.”

  I smiled. “Perfect.”

  “Pastor Alldridge didn’t have time to search for George’s baptismal record today, but he promised to do so.”

  Searching and finding were two different things.

  The car’s small backseat and trunk were filled with boxes and two Victorian-style lamps with dainty blue-and-pink floral-patterned shades accented with blue fringe. They’d go perfectly in George’s blue bedroom but not so much the library. Yet, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Declan, Rachel, and I hauled everything inside while Mom and Fanny discussed more menu ideas.

  “Well, I best be going,” Fanny said. “Need to keep spreading the word about the event.” She slipped back behind the wheel of the sports car and puttered down the drive without having commented on our 1920s attire.

  We went into the salon and each opened a box. Mine contained a few dozen perfume bottles, a jewelry box, and several framed photos. In one pic, Fanny wore a long blue dress and white fur stole, reclining on a pink velvet settee, with pink lips and rouge circles on her photoshopped wrinkle-free cheeks. It appeared the prim and proper Fanny had a risqué side. The box contained items you’d find on a bedroom dresser top, including a white lace dresser scarf. Hmm…

  Mom carefully removed a delicate antique doll in a Victorian lace dress with a porcelain face and hands. “There’s at least a dozen in here. I don’t think we should put these out. The collection must be worth a fortune. It should be displayed in a china cabinet.”

  Rachel sniffed a bundle of three purple linen pouches tied together with a purple satin bow. “Lavender sachets. Like for dresser drawers or a closet.”

  Declan held up several historical romance novels with rather provocative covers. “Fanny trying to give George some not-so-subtle hints, is she?” He gestured to the perfume bottles. “Doesn’t she need some of those yokes at home?”

  I smiled. “I think she’s hoping this will be her home when George returns from the hospital.”

  It appeared George might come home to discover he had a new roomie. However, sweet Fanny wanted to move in to care for George, whereas Cousin Enid wanted to move in so she could kick him out.

  * * *

  That evening Mom made platters of finger sandwiches, practicing for our afternoon tea. The bread was cut into various shapes filled with peanut butter and jelly, egg salad, and ham and cheese. She’d saved the crusts to dip in a container of hummus, refusing to waste food.

  She’d just sat down on the library’s couch to eat when her phone rang. “Your father has impeccable timing, as usual.” She answered the call. “Hello, dear.” She took a sip of tea. “There’s no mac and cheese in the freezer. I have no idea what that might be. Have a sandwich. That’s what we’re eating.” She let out a tired sigh and walked out of the room to take the call.

  Rachel was sitting at the desk, wrapped in George’s robe. She’d established an online account to accept credit cards for ticket sales and was now creating the event’s website content. Brecker’s web designer owed her a favor and was building the site. Fanny’s blue lamps provided additional desktop lighting since half the chandelier bulbs were burned out.

  The woman’s historical romance novels filled two bookcase shelves along with her photos and Thomas’s framed articles, documenting prestigious awards for his topiary. Mom had agreed to display the expensive china doll collection on a top shelf, safely out of reach. The rest of Fanny’s personal items were boxed up. She and George could determine their placement.

  I was attempting to write a one-minute promo video. If I was handwriting it rather than typing it on my laptop, the floor would be littered with crumpled sheets of paper. Besides the pressure of the video needing to sell tons of tickets, I needed it finished.

  Tomorrow I had to work my day job, at least a half day. It would take me that long to figure out how to write a request for proposals from hotels in three countries. And I had to take the dreaded plunge into the white binder from hell and verify what documents were missing. That wouldn’t be easy when I had no clue what it should contain. The upside to tomorrow being Monday was that Nicholas Turney was going to the registrar’s office to search for Grandma’s birth record.

  My phone dinged. A text from Zoe. I’d contacted her that I wouldn’t be home today but that she was more than welcome to stay at my place. I’d mentioned the art-mystery event.

  Can’t wait. I’ll play a 1920s American film noir actress. No need to write me a part. I’ve got this. Send me a pic of my dress. Any purple ones? How fun!

  The blue chiffon froufrou dress was likely the only one that would fit her slim figure.

  She included a pic of her cat Quigley at the craft show, modeling their new summer line. A yellow crocheted sunflower hat framed Quigley’s unhappy face. Poor Quigley. I prayed Zoe stuck with pet apparel and never knitted something she’d suck me in to modeling in public.

  Declan walked in and dropped down on the couch next to me, rubbing his eyes. “Done for the night. My eyes are wrecked. All the paint is making me light-headed.”

  “I hope my mom wasn’t meddling again when I went china shopping with Rachel.”

  He smiled. “She’s grand. I’d be hugely protective too if I had a gorgeous daughter living alone in Dublin.” He brushed a soft kiss to my lips. “Need help?”

  I let out a frustrated groan. “I used to put on plays in our backyard all the time, but they were never posted on social media. Talk about pressure.”

  He slipped his phone from his jeans pocket. “Just ad lib. No need for a script.” He started recording.

  “I don’t know if I could do that.”

  “Doing it right now, ya are. And you’re dressed for it.”

  I’d tried my costume back on after Mom had sewed up the tear. It looked good as new.

  Declan stood, offering me his hand. I grasped hold of it, and he pulled me up, directing me to the salon. Mac trotted behind, his claws clicking against the wood floor.

  Declan slipped his arms around my waist and drew me snuggly against him. “You’re wicked hot in this dress,” he whispered in my ear, his warm breath sending a rush of heat through my chilled body. “But I’d prefer to be taking it off ya.” He brushed his lips to my neck and swept a hand up my back. His fingers teased the zipper pull, and my breath caught in my throat.

  I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him until we were out of breath. When I finally came up for air, I drew back slightly. A mischievous glint twinkled in his blue eyes.

  “We might have to find a deserted road to go parking tomorrow or send my mom and Rachel into town on errands.” Mac distracted me, batting around a black object next to t
he fireplace. “What is that?”

  Declan peered over at the dog. “I found some catch-and-release mouse traps in Lancaster today. Hid them around the house.”

  I wanted to rip his clothes off right here in the salon.

  He scolded Mac and tucked the small black cylinder tube next to the fireplace.

  Mac let out a bark, pawing at Declan’s phone in his hand.

  “What?” Declan said. “Want to star in the video, do ya?”

  Mac wagged his tail.

  “Brilliant idea. People go mad over animals in commercials. But no self-respecting dog in the 1920s would have worn a green tutu. Animal lovers weren’t as crazy back then.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “You distract him, and I’ll slip it off.”

  I removed the purple lilacs from the vase on the fireplace mantel. I held them in front of Mac. While the dog frantically sniffed the lilacs, Declan swiftly stripped off the tutu. Mac spun around and growled at him. He jumped up, trying to snag the tulle garment from Declan’s hand. Declan tossed me the tutu like a hot potato.

  “Oh sure, get me involved.” I tossed it back.

  Mom walked in the front door, having finished her call. She clapped her hands, and all three of us jumped. She held out her hand. I gave her the tutu. Mac growled at it.

  Mom gave Mac a stern look. “You don’t talk to your grandmother that way.”

  Mac stopped growling and sat.

  “You really need to teach him some manners.” She walked into the library with the tutu.

  I needed to teach him anything.

  Declan positioned me in front of the two paintings on the wall, next to an empty screw. Mac sat at my feet. Declan started filming, and I froze, seized by stage fright.

  “I don’t think I can act on demand.”

  “Used to produce plays, didn’t ya?”

  “I produced more than acted in them. Pretending like the theft just happened might make people think there was another one. And if I say there’s been a break in the case, they might also believe that.”