by Kelly Lane
As I hiked to the top of the hill from the pond, I heard Coop, the paper company’s corporate lawyer, laugh. Then he said, “Spencer, looks like you’ve just kissed good-bye the fifty grand that you loaned Dex.”
Tall, with dark hair and tanned skin, the boyishly handsome Coop laughed again as he ran his fingers through his bangs, brushing them from his forehead.
“Looks like he screwed more than just one of us.”
Spencer, a small, weedy man with bad skin, greasy black hair, round black glasses, and a red bow tie (of all things), said in his high-pitched voice, “Yeah, looks like it. Still, you know what? I don’t even care, ’cause payout from his share will more than compensate my loss.”
What?
“Que sera, sera,” chuckled Wiggy, the burly, brown-haired, bearded acquisitions asset and operations manager—a fancy title that meant he was the guy who took charge of a property, just after it’d been purchased by Perennial Paper. He was dressed in a brown safari shirt and shorts. Most likely new purchases from L.L.Bean, I thought. I chortled. He looked like Smokey Bear.
“Do you know what happened to Dex?” I asked the group. “Did you all have a party down at the pond last night?”
No one answered. Wiggy smirked. Then he handed his iced tea to Dex’s right-hand gal Claudia, the only woman in the group, before tucking a paper map under one arm. He reached into his pocket for a lighter and his meerschaum pipe. While I waited for someone to say something, I saw that the map under Wiggy’s arm was an Abundance County tax map . . . not exactly the kind of map you’d expect a group of “birdwatchers” to be poring over.
Wiggy puffed quickly on his pipe before answering with a sneer, “Why, Eva, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes in your little baby blue bathing suit.” He slid the lighter into his pants pocket. “Shows off your titties real nice.”
Trying not to let my expression show my utter mortification, I crossed my arms over my chest as he puffed a couple more times. Typical Wiggy, I thought. Crass to the max. The pipe smoke billowed up in my face. It smelled like cherries.
I remembered the time when Dex had given Wiggy the pipe, a collectible antique, not long after Dex had returned from a business trip to Turkey. Dex’d given Coop and Spencer each a leather vest, and Claudia had gotten a small, handwoven Turkish wool rug. Meanwhile, I’d received a macramé key chain with an evil eye charm on it, along with some soap and shampoo that Dex’d stolen from his hotel.
I should’ve known then . . .
“I’m so sorry to shock you, Wiggy,” I said, waving the smoke away with my hand. “When I set off for my relaxing afternoon at the pond an hour or two ago, I hardly expected to see anyone, let alone Dex floating dead in the water, followed by the entire Abundance County rescue squad here in the yard. Not to mention the likes of you,” I said sarcastically. “I’ll dress more appropriately next time.”
I’d let Wiggy’s pompous attitude get to me. I shouldn’t have.
He laughed. “Well, well, well! Looks like our little Southern belle has found her big-girl voice. Of course, you certainly had your say last night . . .”
He puffed contentedly on his pipe.
“Forgive me,” I said. “It’s been a stressful day. I don’t mean to sound sharp.” I made no apology for the previous night.
I turned to go.
“Can’t go anywhere without making a scene, can you, Eva?” Wiggy shot back. “Although, I must say, I meant to tell you last night—before you left the party so abruptly—that you’re much more womanly and interesting to look at than you were when you were Dex’s little puppet all those years ago. Now that Dex is outta the way, if you want to get a taste of what it’s like to be with a real man, stop by my room later.”
Claudia stifled a gasp.
I turned back to roll my eyes at him. He leered.
Wiggy hadn’t changed a bit in the one and a half decades since I’d last seen him. Always trying to get a rise out of people. Catch them off guard. Make them feel uncomfortable. I’d decided long ago that he played his mental games to buoy his own low self-esteem.
So much for my apology.
I turned to Coop, the boyishly handsome lawyer.
“I thought you all had an appointment to go on a nature walk this morning. Didn’t anyone miss Dex when he didn’t show up for the walk? Was he at breakfast?”
“To tell you the truth,” said Coop with a wicked smile—his baby blue eyes twinkled—“we figured that ol’ Dexter was with you this morning.” He looked at Wiggy and winked. “Especially after all that sexual tension between the two of you during the party last night. We assumed you two must have been snoozing in after some sort of explosive encounter down at the pond, working out your years of pent-up frustrations.” The men chortled.
Claudia made some sort of grunting noise.
That was tactless, I thought. Especially for Coop. Somehow, he’d become more jaded in the years since I’d known him. More like Wiggy. Like Wiggy, Coop was dressed in a safari shirt and matching shorts. Except the brown was closer to tan and the styling was a bit better. I wanted to tell him that he reminded me of a faded UPS driver.
I held my tongue.
Coop had always had a cheeky way about him. Born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, like Dex and the others, he was a Dartmouth College grad. And the Boston Brahmin had been the consummate playboy when I’d first met him at my Mount Holyoke College friend Bibi’s fancy wedding in New York. That was the same wedding where I’d first met Dex. Then later, shortly after I’d left Abundance and arrived in Boston, New England socialites were shocked when bad-boy Coop married a working-class girl named Heather, from Boston’s Dorchester neighborhood. They moved into a refurbished row house in Boston’s prestigious Back Bay. An attractive art gallery manager, Heather was a smart, funny redhead who’d worked hard to get where she was in society. She’d gone to Wellesley College on a full scholarship, and in her own words, marrying a rich Brahmin like Coop had been quite a coup for someone with her working-class background. Some of the cattier women I’d known had even accused Heather of being a gold digger.
Anyway, Dex had always wanted us to spend “couples” time with Coop and Heather. They were Boston’s ultimate young, up-and-coming power couple, he’d said. He’d talked about them incessantly—Coop and Heather did this; Coop and Heather did that . . . Coop and Heather bought this; Coop and Heather bought that . . . Let’s get a car, like Coop and Heather; let’s get a town house, like Coop and Heather; why can’t you be more like Heather . . .
“You’re ridiculous, Coop.”
I turned to look at the third man on the hill, Spencer.
Standing next to Wiggy was his sidekick, geeky numbers guy Spencer. With his iced tea on the ground next to him, the little greasy man seemed to be playing some game on his smartphone, which he held up in front of his face as his thumbs bounced over the screen.
He must have sensed that I was looking at him.
Spencer pulled the phone away from his face and winked, pointing a little finger at me. Then he fingered his glasses up his nose while he made a click-clicking sound with his tongue and cheek.
Like he was übercool.
Only he wasn’t even close.
“We knew better than to disturb the mighty Captain Ahab while he was busy spearing his mighty whale last night,” he chirped, elbowing Coop good-naturedly.
I shook my head as he pointed a finger toward me.
“That’d be you, you little hotheaded hussy.”
He winked. Then he held the phone back up to his face and began playing the game again.
The guy had never had any social skills. Whenever he opened his mouth, no doubt trying to be like Wiggy—it baffled me why anyone would want to emulate Wiggy—it always went wrong. He said the stupidest things. I couldn’t even take his intended insults seriously.
I laughed.
<
br /> Standing off to the side holding two iced teas, Claudia gave Spencer a dirty look as the men chortled again.
“You guys are gross,” I said, turning to Claudia. “I don’t know how you can stand them, Claudia. If you had three hands you’d be holding three iced teas. And none of them would be yours.”
Claudia’s pinched expression matched her gaunt features. The straw-haired blonde with high cheekbones had once been a lovely beauty . . . Dex used to brag that he had the most attractive assistant in the entire company working at his side. However, standing on the hill, the Smith College grad appeared so thin and worn that she was a mere shadow of the luscious, elegant woman she’d once been. And the impression was made worse by the fact that her new outfit—a one-piece safari-style, short jumpsuit that was more like a romper, really—hung over her like it was three sizes too big. Of course, it probably was. I doubted they made many safari jumpsuits in size zero. She opened her mouth to say something, but Wiggy interrupted.
“Don’t get mad at us, Miss High and Mighty,” said Wiggy. “When Dex didn’t come to breakfast, it was natural to figure that he’d overslept, after ‘making up’ all night long with his dear, devoted, long-lost fiancée.” Wiggy laughed. “Are you telling us that you and Dex didn’t [he used a profane word] last night?”
“Don’t be such a pig,” Claudia hissed. “Even if they did it, you don’t have to shout it out to the world that way. It’s disrespectful to Dex.” She glared at me. “Get out of my way, you slut,” she seethed. The iced teas sloshed wildly as she marched up the hill.
I held Wiggy’s eyes as I yanked up my baby blue swimsuit by the straps and stuck out my chest.
“I assure you, boys, that I was not with Dex last night. In fact, he’d be the last man on earth I’d ever be with. Except for the three of you, of course.”
Wiggy threw his head back and laughed again. I pointed to the binoculars hanging around his neck.
“Nice prop. Wiggy, you’re the same egocentric, pompous ass you always were,” I said.
Wiggy raised an eyebrow, then he laughed some more.
I spun to face the other two men. “Spencer, congratulations, you’re as obtuse and out of the loop as ever. And Coop, I don’t know what happened to you. Heather must be completely fed up with you by now.”
Coop made a croaking sound and he had an odd, surprised look on his face, like someone had just smacked him. Wiggy and Spencer burst out laughing.
Finishing the laundry will be a pleasure, I thought, marching off toward the big house.
“Don’t sweat it, guys.” I heard Wiggy whisper loudly from behind me. “Dex didn’t tell her, so she doesn’t have a clue. It’ll just end up being more for each of us.”
CHAPTER 4
I never managed to have a decent working relationship with any copy machine. Regardless what size, what brand, or what specific type of machine, it always managed to break down mid-job. So, of course, that’s exactly what happened when I was using the copy machine in the library at the big house.
It jammed.
Larger than most home-use machines, this one sat in the corner of the library, against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves next to a great big oak desk that had been Granddaddy’s. The gray, industrial-looking machine was in stark contrast to the tattered books and worn, traditional furnishings in the room. Daphne’d gotten a deal on the copy machine after it’d been reconditioned following years of use in the local school. She’d purchased the bigger-than-needed machine because she wanted a “reliable workhorse” for our own business use, but also so that visiting guests could use it, as well as the computer on Granddaddy’s desk. That’s why the machines were in the library, which was off the main parlor room, always open to guests.
I looked down at the copier. Sitting on four wheels, it was nearly as tall as my chest. It featured two drawers, low down in front, to store stacks of paper. And up top, it had a sorter. You could either feed the paper via the tray at the top of the sorter, or open the sorter and place your original on the glass platform. I shook my head as the obnoxious red ERROR light on the front panel flashed on and off . . . on and off . . . on and off . . .
Of course, I followed all the instructions—opening this door, then that door. Checking this paper feed, then that paper feed. Taking out the stacked paper. Fluffing the stacked paper. Searching for the problem so that I could rectify it.
And as always, it was all for naught.
The machine hated me. There was no paper jam. There was no part in need of replacement. The ink was fine. The toner was fine. Nothing appeared broken.
Not yet, anyway, I thought.
No matter what I did, the blasted blinking light on the machine wouldn’t shut off. And the machine wouldn’t copy.
A little bell tinkled from the kitchen.
“Eva,” Daphne’s voice trilled, “are y’all nearly done? I’m in dire need of those copies, please.”
I knew quite well that Daphne wasn’t in any sort of “dire need.” The copies were to be of her handwritten calligraphy menu for the evening’s “special” dinner. When they showed up for work—if they showed up for work, that is—the twins, Darlene and Charlene, would place one copy of the menu, along with a purple-beribboned olive sprig, at each guest’s place at the meticulously set antique dining table in the formal dining room.
Daphne’d announced that she wanted dinner to be extra-special that night, “an exemplary experience,” to make up for Dex being found floating dead in our farm pond. Of course, I’d said, if she’d really wanted to host an “exemplary” experience, Daphne should’ve handwritten a separate menu for each guest, rather than having me make copies. Daphne’d retorted that she didn’t have time to write individual menus because a dead man had turned up in the pond, completely ruining her precisely planned schedule for the day.
Fine.
Of course, Daphne’s notion that a dining experience of any kind, let alone an “exemplary” one, could somehow wipe away the shock and grief of a dead friend seemed completely harebrained to me. However, it wouldn’t be the first time that I thought a notion of Daphne’s was ridiculous. Nor would it be the last. And it really didn’t matter, I reasoned. Dex’s longtime coworkers and friends hadn’t seemed to miss him much, anyway.
And what was that Wiggy had said . . . about “more for each” of them?
There was definitely something fishy going on.
Meanwhile, the hubbub outside at the pond had mostly subsided—I’d slipped into my cottage and changed into a tee and cutoffs before returning to the big house, where I’d basically hidden out in the laundry room so I didn’t have to see or hear what was going on from my cottage overlooking the pond. Or run into the Boston crowd. Finally, Daphne’d announced that the Bostoners had gone to the Palatable Pecan in the village for a late lunch. And that’s when she’d handed me the menu to copy.
“Eva? Do y’all hear me?” called Daphne from the kitchen.
“Be right there,” I called back from the library.
Shoot.
I kicked the stubborn copier.
That’s when the behemoth machine rolled just a couple of inches back toward the bookshelves. And I discovered a paper on the wooden floor, peeking out from under the machine.
I reached down and picked up the paper.
What’s this?
It looked like a legal document of some sort. PERIENNIAL PAPER LLC was printed at the top.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me, and before I could turn, someone bumped me from behind, snatching the paper out of my hands.
“You!” screeched Claudia Devereaux. “How did you get this?” She studied the paper in her hand.
“It was—”
“This document is proprietary!”
Claudia waved the paper in the air, shaking it with her bony fist. Her watery blue eyes bugged out from their sockets. Without masca
ra, her pale eyelashes were barely visible, and she looked like an angry flounder.
“You have no business with this! What are you doing?”
“I—”
“Are there more papers here?”
She didn’t wait for me to answer. Like a mad person, Claudia started clawing at the machine, opening and slamming all the drawers and doors.
“Claudia, I assure you, I was just trying to make some copies when I found a page on the floor—”
“Shut up. Do you hear me? Just shut up.”
She jerked the machine away from the wall and checked the floor.
“Really, Claudia, I’m sure you’re upset about Dex. Especially since you’ve been with him all these years at the paper company. I understand—really, I do. It must be quite a shock. I’m so sorry. Everyone is sad and upset. Still, there’s no need for—”
“What do you know about it?” she snapped. “You didn’t give a rat’s ass about Dex. I know all about it. You never did care about him. And you humiliated him in front of everyone last night! I know. You didn’t just run away from Dex all those years ago. You hated Dex!”
She was positively seething. Then she shoved her face right up to mine.
“And I know why!”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she’d already turned, and her scrawny legs were fast-walking out of the room. Flapping from one fist, the paper Claudia’d snatched from me was a wrinkled mess.
She slammed the library door behind her. I was amazed it even latched. It’d probably been a hundred years since the last time anyone had shut that door.
The good news was she’d somehow managed to reset the copy machine. The ERROR light was off.
CHAPTER 5
“Here are your copies, Daph,” I said, handing the menu papers to Daphne in the kitchen.
Daphne was seated in one of the Larkin chairs at the round oak family table. A steaming teapot and an empty teacup and saucer with tiny pink flowers patterned on them rested on the table in front of her. Daphne lifted the teapot and poured the amber liquid into her teacup before she grasped the cup by its delicate handle. With her manicured pinkie pretentiously extended, she raised the antique vessel to her lips. Then she stopped.