by M E Harmon
"Aw, don't be so judgmental without meeting anyone first. Most of the members are very nice people and have these sort of shindigs all the time. Someone here can end up being a regular customer of yours."
I cast her a sidelong look and nodded. "Me? Judgmental? Never. Except the last time I was at a party full of well-to-do people, someone ended up murdered."
"I'm sure nothing like that will happen today."
I tried not to smirk and headed to the rear of the car where Francois unloaded my boxes. The driveway was a flurry of activity. People walked hurriedly to and from other delivery vans.
I lifted a box, and followed my aunt and mother’s pastel clad backs inside the house. The foyer was straight out of Architectural Digest. An enormous floral centerpiece, so tall the man arranging it had to use a stepladder, exploded with exotic yellow, blue, and pink flowers looking as if it had spontaneously sprung out of the glass table under it. The three of us stood there for a moment taking it in.
In direct opposition to the serene beauty of the flowers, the din filling the foyer was chaotic. Though we couldn't see anyone, I could tell most of it was coming from a nearby kitchen.
A woman with a clipboard came around a corner. She wore an ivory, sleeveless dress with matching flats. A peach pearl choker graced her outfit's neckline. Blonde hair bobbed around her ears.
She took one look at my face, saw the box, and started to point behind her. Then her eyes took in my dress, and she paused as if confused.
Aunt Bitsie jumped into charm mode, “Anna dear, I see the wheels in your head just working their little gears off. Relax, darling. We bring pastry. This is my niece, Ali and her mother Elizabeth. Ali is the wonderful baker who has come to your rescue this fine morning. And I also invited her to join the festivities as my guest.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Ali and Elizabeth, meet Anna Carter, the organizer and host of today's party and auction.”
Now, one look at myself and Aunt Bitsie, it’s easy to tell we are not blood related. Nor are we related in any other fashion than my mother and her being best friends since college. But never-ever has Bitsie referred to me as anything other than her niece.
I gotta admit, Anna's recovery was smooth. Her face went from directing the hired service people to supreme hostess in half a second.
“Of course, Ali the gourmet baker. I can't thank you enough for the save. This crowd always talks about watching their figures, but if I don’t serve something sweet, I’ll have a revolt on my hands.” Anna came over and performed the air kiss ritual, without touching any skin, on either side of my cheeks. Up close, the woman's makeup was immaculate. The shade of subdued tawny-gold eyeshadow made her hazel eyes almost glow.
“And Beatrice, you look like perfection as usual.” Both my aunt and mom got the air kiss before Anna turned back to me. “First, the fire at the bakery, now the caterer's oven's generator is having issues, and another gennie is on the way, but in the meanwhile they're using my kitchen. It's a zoo in there, but I'd like about half of the cinnamon rolls heated, they are so much more tasty warmed, aren't they? I'll have them make space for you in there and then you can find the woman in charge of the serving staff down at the catering tent. She’ll help you from there. Sound good?”
I nodded, “Yes, Mrs. Carter.”
“No, no. It's Anna, I insist. Beatrice is one of the Children's most charitable donors, and I won't have her niece being so formal.” She smiled while waving me to follow. “Beatrice and Elizabeth, you're a little early but head on outside. My daughter, Jenna, is out there, handling some last minute details.”
Francois had caught up to us by then, and we followed Anna to her exceptionally large kitchen. My little green monster of envy flared the smallest bit. The place was only a notch or two below a professional kitchen. Every top brand name on my wish-list decorated every accessory from the food processer to refrigerator.
But it was very busy in here. Men and women in blue aprons and black chef pants stirred, whisked, and flaked. Anna secured me a spot and left on other errands, hair bobbing as she walked. Wow, now that was a good blow-out.
No one had mentioned warmed cinna-minis but luckily I'd brought my own gear. After another fifteen minutes, I had about a quarter of the rolls warming. That left me with nothing much to do except my favorite thing — people watch.
A kitchen island, which may have been larger than my sofa, dominated the space. I pulled one of its canary-yellow, leather upholstered stools into a corner that I felt had the best view.
From my perch, I could see through the glass patio doors and windows. Outside in the backyard — Ok, it wasn't a back yard per-se, it was more like the acreage in the rear of the house. Two white tents had been erected. Inside one, staff put on the final touches to round banquet tables and chairs. A podium and microphone stood on a small dais near the front.
The second tent sat a short distance, about thirty yards, away from the first. Flaps hid the interior, but I guessed that was the caterer’s area.
Guests started to arrive. Ladies in large, bejeweled dress hats gave air kisses to one another and milled about on the lawn. Men in light-weight beige jackets and seer-sucker suits trailed behind the women looking only moderately bored.
People arriving were my cue to get my cinna-minis out front and center. I loaded up a large tray and made my way down to the tent intended for the caterers.
It didn’t take long to find the person in charge, and I handed off the tray with promises to replenish their supply in about a half hour.
I strolled out of the catering area wondering what to do next. Social situations like this made me feel awkward and silly. I usually was thankful to have a cake table between me and the customers in these types of gatherings.
Despite feeling I should find a quiet corner and read a book I’d downloaded, I scanned for my mother and Bitsie.
They were just inside the larger tent near the podium. When I walked up, my mom and her best friend chatted with a woman that could’ve easily been a mini-me version of the blonde hostess who’d greeted us.
Bitsie turned and smiled when she saw me. “Here she is now. Ali, meet Jenna. This is Anna’s daughter.”
It was like Anna had sculpted her likeness out of clay, kissed it to life, and named it Jenna. The only difference was age. Jenna was about twenty-five. The daughter wore a white A-line dress with a blue sweater. She even had on the same peach colored pearls as her mother.
She may have been a younger carbon-copy in appearance, but her greeting was genuine. Jenna offered a hand to shake as she said, “Your aunt has been raving about your pastry. I can’t wait to try them.”
“I just dropped them off. The waiters should be bringing them around soon. And I overheard something about pastry being served with mimosas?” I said shaking her hand. She had one of those delicate lady handshakes that’s a little on the limp side.
“Oh, yes, we found out years ago that the earlier we serve alcohol the better the bidding is. Speaking of which, did you three get your bidding cards?”
My mother said, “No, where are they being given out?”
Jenna brows furrowed, “I’m not sure what mother decided about how they were going to be distributed.” She scanned the area just as a woman in a dress suit entered the tent near us. “Hold on, I’ll ask someone. Mrs. Plimpton?”
The woman had been looking down, watching her footing, but smiled warmly when she saw who called her name. Jenna went through the requisite air-kissy ritual then brought the new-comer to our little circle.
Jenna said, “This is my boyfriend’s grandmother, Mrs. Nora Plimpton.”
Mrs. Plimpton reminded me of my fifth grade English teacher, Mrs. Yard. Like my teacher, this woman possessed a brittleness about her, as if a tap on the hand would break her into pieces.
Her facial features were delicate yet pointed like a bird’s in an attractive way. Fine lines decorated the skin along her mouth. Yet the wrinkles seemed more like a badge of honor, as if she had lived a l
ife worthy of those stripes. Her hair was straight and fine, still sporting black streaks among the dominant gray.
“You know Beatrice,” Jenna continued and then introduced my mother and me.
I watched as the muscles around the woman’s mouth tightened ever so slightly. I got the instant understanding Mrs. Plimpton didn’t like something she saw. Yet, what came out of her mouth was polite enough. Next to me, I could feel my mother stiffen, and we shared a glance.
This all went unnoticed by Jenna. She pointed to what Mrs. Plimpton held. “Where did you get the bidding card?”
“Oh, there’s a greeter registering guests where drivers are dropping off people. She gave me the card and the auction guide. So I’m going to find a seat to give my legs a rest and study this brochure to see what I can snap up this year.”
“Yes, we won't keep you, so all of the items are on showcase inside the house. They should start doing the tours in a little bit.” Jenna put a hand over her heart. “And I can't wait to see your brother-in-law to thank him for the donation. He really saved us this year.”
“Of course, dear. He'll be along shortly.” The other woman replied moving off, but after a half step she paused and turned. “Max donated this year?”
Jenna's mouth downturned as if surprised. “Yes, you didn't know? He donated before his health changed. It's a Revolutionary War captain's journal. All his battles are logged in there. It's been a great draw for this year's auction.”
Mrs. Plimpton had already lost interest and waved a hand over her shoulder. She walked away on legs that seemed hardy to me. “Very good, Jenna. I’ll be the first on line for the viewing.”
Someone called Mrs. Plimpton’s name, and she pivoted toward another group of women. The sound that erupted as the women greeted one another was similar to a flock of chickens.
Aunt Bitsie said, “Nora there is one of the founding members of the Children of the Revolution chapter in this area.”
“She was sort of grandfathered in based on her husband’s lineage, from what I hear,” Jenna whispered. “My boyfriend, Ethan, tried to trace her side of the family and had the hardest time because all her birth documents were lost in a fire.”
“I see,” Mom said and shot me another knowing look. I tried not to smirk.
Two men, one older and being led by a younger man, walked around the side of the house.
Jenna said, “In fact, there’s Ethan and his Uncle Max right now. Ethan’s uncle had a bad spell and hasn’t been himself ever since. I’m going to go help get them settled. Let me know if you need anything else.”
The minute Jenna was out of earshot, Bitsie turned to us. “All right you two, what were all those side glances about?”
Mom and I sighed simultaneously. My mother spoke first. “I haven’t come across someone like her in forever.”
Aunt Bitsie’s face went blank, and she snuck a look at Nora who thumbed through the auction brochure. “What? She’s super old or something?”
“No, dear. It’s so cute after all these years of hanging with me you have no clue.”
“Elizabeth, if you don’t tell me I’m going to find something in my purse to hit you with.”
On that note, I interrupted. “Ok, ladies, before you two go all mixed martial arts, how about I go get us all registered while mom gets you up to speed.”
They waved me off the minute I’d said it, and Bitsie pulled Mom towards a vacant table.
As I headed towards the front of the house, I doubted my aunt would believe the truth. Mrs. Plimpton had a secret she’d likely been hiding for years.
Gone Missing
3
Anna Carter took the podium. Despite the slight humidity of the day, and likely running around all morning, she was the epitome of composure.
She tapped the microphone and squealed when feedback made the speakers screech. “Oh, ok, this thing is on. Good. Hello everyone, hello and welcome to the annual Children of the Revolution Charity Auction. Is everyone enjoying brunch? Ok, I’m not going to interrupt your meal for long, but the auction is going to start soon, so if you’d like to see the items that’ll be on the auction block today, now is the time to give them one last look. Just go around to the left side of the house and enter through the side patio doors. Ok? Thank you. Enjoy.”
As Mrs. Carter was up on the podium appeasing the crowd, her husband flirted with my aunt. To my surprise, we’d been seated at the head table with the Carters. Aunt Bitsie sat to the right of Dorrick Carter, Anna’s hubby. And from the dirty looks the big-haired lady at the next table gave us, I think some last minute changes had been implemented to fit me and mom in.
Dorrick Carter sported tapered light brown hair and the softened though still-toned physique of a former athlete. I would bet money he’d been the starting quarterback in high school and his wife the head cheerleader. How interesting. I’d finally made it to the popular kids’ table.
“So, Elizabeth,” Dorrick gestured with his juice glass, “Beatrice claims she isn’t on the hunt for husband number three.”
“Claims, yes. But I think when the next guy catches her eye, he’ll be walking down the aisle before he knows what’s happening.”
Dorrick grinned. “I know. She’s a woman who knows her mind. I have yet to charm her into joining my fund.”
Mom said, “What is it you do?”
His eyes darted to the podium as he said, “Investments.”
“He’s been asking me to join his hedge fund since my last marriage.” Bitsie stabbed an asparagus spear with a fork. “But I’m immune to his charms.”
The man’s lips pinched shut before he gave a half-hearted chuckle. “We’ll see about that, Beatrice. We’ll see. So, how did you girls meet?”
“We, girls,” my mother said putting emphasis on the last word, “met when we were in college.”
“You went to Sarah Lawrence, too?”
“No, Columbia. But we met at a Grateful Dead concert when a boy we were both unknowingly dating at the same time, thought he could put one over on us and bring us both to the same event without the other one finding out.”
Dorrick leaned in. “How’d that work out for the guy?”
“Not good.” Mom shrugged, noncommittal. “I ended up with a new best friend, so it worked for me.”
“Ah, c’mon. I want details.”
Both Mom and Beatrice developed a sudden interest in their fingernails.
I said, “Good try, Mr. Carter. I’ve been trying to get them to tell me what happened for years. I think he’s in a shallow grave somewhere.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” Bitsie retorted. “Ali is being dramatic. Anyway Dorrick, how’s your partner Max recuperating?”
I watched as Dorrick’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He said, “He’s better. Thanks. A stroke is a terrible thing, terrible. You know Max had a brilliant mind for business, but now it’s like that part of him hasn’t come back. He barely speaks and when he does, it’s not much more than gibberish. But his family has really rallied around him.” He glanced over his shoulder at a neighboring table. “But I think he’s having a good day today. Stop by and say hello. I’m sure he’d like that.”
A waiter appeared at my shoulder, leaned over and whispered, “People really loved the cinnamon buns, if you have more, my boss would like to add them to the dessert platters that’ll be coming out soon.”
“Oh sure. They’re up at the house, I’ll bring them down. Heated?”
“Yes, if you can warm them, that would be great,” he said. “You may use the oven in the house.”
I nodded and promised to bring them as soon as possible. I polished off the last of my spring vegetable, ham, and cheese frittata and excused myself.
***
The kitchen was empty of people when I stepped into the house. The back-up generator must’ve arrived. But the place was a mess. It was as if a whirlwind made of flour, veggie bits, and wax paper had cycloned its way through the Carter’s home. A large trash bin sat near the kitchen island.
“Excuse us.” A woman’s voice said from behind me. I turned to look, and three people in the caterer’s uniform peered at me expectantly. “We have to finish cleaning up.”
“Sure.” I got out of their way and then did my best to work around the clean-up crew while heating the remainder of the cinna-minis.
As I waited, I pulled up the stool again. The people-watching wasn’t as good since everyone outside was finishing brunch.
Not much was happening at the tables, but the bar received a steady stream of visitors. A tall man approached fingers spread out in a V, asking for two of something. The bartender shook his head and put a single filled tumbler on the bar top. The man must’ve not been happy with that because he started slapping his hand against the top of the bar.
Heads turned at the commotion, and I spotted Anna Carter weaving her way around tables making a beeline for the bar. But at the same time, another man, thin and built like a scarecrow, moved across the lawn at a jog headed in the same direction. I’d met him earlier; his name was Chapman. He was the auctioneer hired to run today’s event.
Chapman’s back was to me, but whatever he said when he reached Anna made her face go rigid.
The oven’s timer dinged. Fudge it! Something was going on and I had a ring side seat to watch the drama. Just then one of the caterers dumped a dustpan into the bin sending up something that smelled awful.
“Whew. What’s that stench?”
The woman, plump and about thirty, said “A bad batch of asparagus.”
I glanced into the bin, wondering if now was my chance to see the first vegetable that had decomposed enough to become a different life form. I also questioned how good this caterer was if they didn’t know they were toting around vegetables that had gone so very bad. Peering in the bin, I didn’t see a new life form nor the suspect asparagus, but did spot the big red numbers of a bidding card. Someone had thrown their card away? Odd. The cards were necessary to participate in the auction. Maybe someone wasn’t impressed with the merchandise this year.