“You two are baking? What about Jamie?” Toots asked.
“She’s busy, especially this time of year. Robert and I are having the little ones over. Abby promised she’d let them help out.”
“That sounds like fun. Maybe Phil and I will join you,” Toots suggested.
“I wouldn’t trust you with a cookie sheet if my life depended on it,” Bernice stated, staring at her former employer. “You can’t cook shit, and you know it.”
They all laughed.
“Then I’ll wash the dishes.”
“And pigs fly,” Bernice added dryly.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! It’s not like I’m without skills! I can do all sorts of stuff in the kitchen.”
Robert stopped at the door and stared at her. As did Bernice. And Phil. Three pairs of eyes focused on her.
“What?”
“I won’t waste my breath,” Bernice said. “I’ll tell you what you can do. You can stay the hell out of our way. Stay home and walk those mutts. Answer your phone. Call Ida dirty names. But the one thing you are not doing is working in my kitchen.”
Toots laughed and held her hands out in front of her. “Any other time, I’d cuss your old ass out. But it’s the holidays, so I’ll be charitable and refrain. But you just wait until the New Year. I am going to chew your ass out like tobacco on a pitcher’s mound.”
“As I said, we had better skedaddle,” Robert interjected. “Bernice and I need to get home and get our beauty sleep if we are going to keep up with those holy terrors tomorrow.” He patted Bernice on the hand, and she followed him out the back door.
“Those two are priceless,” Phil said. “I hope we’re as perky when we’re their age.”
“Perky? Phil, we’re not that much younger than they are. And if you hadn’t performed open-heart surgery on Bernice, she wouldn’t be with us today. Not that I’m not thrilled she’s still with us, but I just don’t think of those two as perky. More like ornery.”
“Speaking of ornery, what’s going on with Ida and Daniel? They’re hardly around these days.”
Toots refilled their coffee cups for the fifth time. It was a good thing that caffeine had no effect on either her or Phil; otherwise, they’d both be awake until they rang in the New Year. Though Phil hadn’t always been so tolerant of the stuff. After hanging with her and the rest of the gang, he’d developed a tolerance, too.
“Ida’s so busy with the Home Shopping Network and decorating their new home, she rarely has a minute to do anything else. At least according to her, she’s getting laid on a daily basis, but who cares? Perpetual honeymoon, she calls it. Truly, I’m happy for the old slut, but don’t tell her I said that, or I’ll have to kill you. She’s thriving. She loves being married to Daniel, even though Bernice detests the idea that Mavis is her daughter-in-law, which I am inclined to think is the funniest part of this whole marriage business.”
“Bernice is too hard on both of them. They’re happy. Their marriage is working out just as well as ours, as Bernice and Robert’s, and Mavis and Wade’s. Age doesn’t make much difference these days.”
Bernice’s attitude toward Daniel and Ida’s perpetual-honeymoon marriage was not the subject she’d hoped to be discussing or thinking about. All Toots really wanted to think about now was the holidays.
Amy and Jonathan were at the most adorable age, and she wanted to experience as much of their three-year-old Christmas as possible. Holidays at their age were memory makers. Anything else that needed to be discussed or thought about could wait until after the New Year.
She grinned. “I really want to spend as much time with the twins this holiday season as I can. They’re only going to be three once. I remember what Abby was like at this age. It was the most exciting Christmas ever. That age, kids still believe in Santa, and they’ll be old enough to appreciate that huge surprise we have for them this year.
“All I’m trying to tell you is, I want both of us to enjoy our grandkids, and yes, before you say anything, it is simply a given, since we got married and even before, that the kids, myself, Abby, and Chris all consider you to be the kids’ grandfather. After all, you are the only grandfather Amy and Jonathan have ever known.”
Phil grinned, his blue eyes twinkling like the Big Dipper. “Did Abby and Chris really say that to you?”
Toots widened her eyes. “Do you think that I would make up something as serious as this? Of course they said that. Amy and Jonathan call you Poppo, or did you forget?”
“No, I just want to make sure they want me in their lives as much as I want them in mine. As wonderful as these two years of marriage have been, and as much as I love those two kids just as if they were my own flesh and blood, I couldn’t help but wonder if they feel the same. And, of course, I know of nothing they have done that should lead me to believe that they don’t. But all the same . . .” His voice trailed off before he regained his composure, and then he said, “And I love you more than you can possibly imagine.”
Without another word, Toots went around to where Phil was seated, sat on his lap, and pulled his mouth against her own. The kiss was sweet, passionate, and most of all, reflected the love she felt for him. Sparks of desire traveled throughout her, even at her age. “Does that tell you anything?” she asked.
Phil’s breath was a bit unsteady. “It tells me it’s time to go to bed.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s call it a night, Dr. Becker, my dearest husband.”
Chapter 11
It was two o’clock in the morning, and Josh had yet to return Abby’s call. She’d asked him to pull out all the stops and see what, if anything, he could find out about Charlotte. She’d given him a brief rundown on their current situation. He was aware of Sophie’s psychic abilities, so he hadn’t questioned her request.
Chris and Chester had gone to bed an hour ago. He’d promised to let her sleep in tomorrow. He was taking the kids over to Bernice and Robert’s so they could bake cookies with the two of them, and Mavis had promised to join them if Wade had not yet returned from his business trip. When the kids had learned of this, they were so excited. Having spent a lot of time at The Sweetest Things, they were always trying to help out. Now they’d get to play with cookie dough, and no one would worry about dirty hands or misshapen cookies.
Abby wanted to call Charlotte’s place again, but it was really too late. If she’d gotten home late, most likely she hadn’t listened to her voice mail. At least Abby hoped that was the case. Still, she couldn’t dismiss Sophie’s fears. Maybe Goebel would be able to track down a family member. His skills as a private investigator were renowned throughout the United States and abroad. He still got frequent calls from all over, asking him to come out of retirement and head up important investigations. And his contacts were legendary.
She decided to make another pot of coffee. She would need the caffeine in order to stay awake. She was as bad as her mother and godmothers in the caffeine department now. When she’d stopped nursing the twins, she’d found the extra jolt of caffeine got her through many late nights when Amy and Jonathan had colic.
Abby thought about her earlier conversation with Blanche Harding. First thing in the morning, at least when most normal people were up—and she knew her mother to be an early riser, but not quite this early—she planned to call and tell her what a witch Blanche was. Knowing her mother as she did, Amy was certain that Blanche wouldn’t be working for many of the Charleston elite when Toots was through with her.
She smiled. By the time her mother was finished, Blanche would be lucky to have a job dusting at Rooms To Go, a big furniture chain in the South. It would serve her right for her cavalier, condescending attitude.
While Abby was waiting for Josh to get back to her, she wanted to peruse that old book her mother had found. She was really getting into the plantation’s history, plus a bit of genealogy, and wanted to learn as much as possible about those who’d called the Clay/Clayton Plantation their home. This was part of Amy and Jonathan’s his
tory. She owed it to them to find out as much as possible about the origins of their family. Sad that Chris had no living family members, she’d wanted him to experience this search into the history of the plantation that bore his name. It had been in his family for several generations.
He had enjoyed restoring the plantation, was thrilled with Dogs Displaced by Disaster’s progress, yet he still had time to volunteer his services at legal aid. Abby was very proud of her husband. She’d won the lottery big-time the day she had become his wife. And it was so nice to have her mother and all three of her godmothers married to the men they loved and living right here in Charleston. And then there were Bernice and Robert.
Holding the old leather-bound volume in hand, she carefully opened it. The pages were brittle and discolored with age, but the handwriting was still legible. It was written in block letters that looked like a child’s scrawl, and she read through the first few pages. Mostly birth records, dates of marriages, and many deaths, so many that Abby found the contents a bit depressing.
She continued to skim through the yellowed pages. Nothing stood out to her except for the deaths of many young children and women. This was before modern medicine. Smallpox had taken the lives of many children. Abby knew from her research that smallpox had been treated by inoculation and isolation. Inoculation was very new in the late seventeenth century and was feared by many, as it involved injecting the infection into the patient. Gross, she thought, but then she remembered the flu shot, and inoculation didn’t seem quite as barbaric. Yellow fever had killed thousands. With South Carolina’s humidity, she could imagine all the mosquitoes that had carried the deadly disease. She carefully flipped through the pages. Many of those who’d died were children, some never making it past their teens.
Depressed, Abby closed the book and returned it to the formal living room, to be displayed again tomorrow night, during the parade of homes. Charlotte had thumbed through its pages. Abby wondered what her thoughts were, wondered if she’d ever be able to question her about them. She liked Charlotte, and were she not so reserved, Abby felt as though they could become close friends. But something held Charlotte back.
The phone rang, startling her. She grabbed the extension in the kitchen. “Hello.”
“It’s me. You have any news yet?” Sophie asked.
“Nothing. I was hoping to hear from Josh by now, but not a word so far. Goebel come up with anything?” Abby asked.
If anyone could, it was Goebel. A former New York City policeman who’d opened a private investigator’s office soon after retirement, he was tops in his field and had connections all over the world. He’d proved himself to all when he’d investigated Ida’s former husband’s death, which originally was written off as simple food poisoning but in fact turned out to be a homicide. During the investigation, he’d uncovered a daughter Thomas had, unbeknownst to Ida, and that daughter had tried to lure Ida to her death in hopes of gaining Thomas and Ida’s hefty fortune. If anyone could find information on Charlotte, Goebel could.
“Nothing yet. He’s contacted a few people by e-mail, made some phone calls, but just like you, he’s not coming up with a thing. He will, though,” Sophie said.
“I should try her number again, but I’m almost afraid to. What if she’s home, sound asleep? She’ll think we’re crazy.”
“Better yet, we could drive back to her place. I can pick you up in fifteen minutes,” Sophie suggested.
Abby considered it for a minute, then said, “Let’s wait until it’s light out.”
“You’re sure?”
“No, right now I’m not sure of anything, but I’m afraid if I don’t do something, I’ll regret it later. I’m going to e-mail Josh, see if he’s come up with anything. Let’s give it another couple of hours.” Abby hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake. Sophie’s instincts were usually right on the money, but even her godmother had her doubts.
“Okay, two hours. We’ll contact one another if we hear anything before then.” Sophie hung up, and Abby ran upstairs, checked on Amy and Jonathan, grabbed her laptop, and returned downstairs.
Quickly typing an e-mail to Josh, Abby knew he was right there at his computer, waiting for that generic voice to announce he had mail. He rarely left The Informer’s offices, as most of the communication between him and the team of reporters consisted of texts, tweets, and e-mails. Facebook and Instagram worked for most of the photos they took of whoever was lucky, or unlucky, enough, depending on the story, to have his or her face splashed across the tabloid’s front page.
Only three minutes later, Abby got a ping, letting her know Josh had answered her e-mail. She clicked on the link and scanned his e-mail.
Nothing. Nada. When there was something to report, he’d let her know.
Abby sighed and exited her e-mail. From the looks of it, they were going nowhere. She would wait two more hours. If she or Sophie or Josh hadn’t heard anything new, she was going to Charlotte’s apartment. And she’d deal with whatever she needed to then.
Chapter 12
Bernice was up with the chickens, as was Toots. Robert and Phil had yet to make their early morning debuts, so the two women were sitting in Toots’s kitchen, as they had for so many years before Bernice married Robert.
Each of them gulped down three cups of coffee before they spoke to one another.
“If you think I’m making you a bowl of Froot Loops, think again,” Bernice said. “That ended when I got married and moved to Robert’s house. So just forget I’m here, and keep serving yourself.”
“Well, aren’t we in a fine mood today? What’s wrong? Robert run out of Viagra? You know, my husband is still a doctor and can still write prescriptions. And, for the record, I don’t want Froot Loops for breakfast. I was going to sample your first batch of cookies. Remember, you’re baking with the twins today?”
Bernice shot her the evil eye. “I’m not suffering from Alzheimer’s yet. I assure you that I do remember. And no, you are not having my cookies for breakfast. Anyway, I am baking the cookies in my own kitchen, not yours. So find something else. Why don’t you try your hand at toast?”
“Okay, Bernice, cut the shit. I’ve known you too long. What’s going on? Did Robert screw up a recipe?”
Bernice took the carafe of coffee from the middle of the table and poured her fourth cup. “Why do you always think that whenever there’s a problem, a man has to be involved? You’re sounding more and more like your slut friend Ida, my dearest, darling, damned, demented daughter-in-law. You know that, right?”
Toots flipped her the bird. “Kiss my old ass. My slut friend just so happens to be boinking your son, her husband. Now, stop trying to avoid my question. What’s wrong? You were fine last night, when you walked home with Robert.”
Bernice rolled her eyes. “If I tell you, you have to promise to keep it to yourself until you hear it from someone else. Can you keep a secret?”
It depends, Toots thought, but she didn’t say the words out loud. “If you ask me not to tell, you know I’ll keep my word.”
“Not even Phil?” Bernice asked.
“I won’t tell a soul,” she promised.
“If you do, I’ll come over in the middle of the night and put Vaseline on all your windows. I know how much you like your sparkly windows.”
Toots shook her head from side to side. “I’m not going to beg you. If you want to tell me, then do it.” Bernice could be such a drama queen, but that was Bernice. Toots was grateful the old coot was still alive and kicking.
Bernice peeked over her shoulder, then looked around the kitchen. “Don’t want anyone to hear this. Daniel called last night.” Bernice did look worried.
“And?”
“He told me that he wanted to tell me first, before I found out from someone else.” She paused. “He and Ida are thinking about adopting a baby. Well, not exactly a baby, but an orphaned eight-year-old. One of Daniel’s clients, a single dad whose wife died while giving birth to their daughter, was killed in an autom
obile accident recently. There are no other relatives on either side. What do you think I should do? It’s one thing to have Ida as my daughter-in-law. But they’re too old to adopt an eight-year-old girl. We’ve got to stop this, Toots!”
This was the very last thing Toots had expected! She didn’t blame Bernice for being upset, but as she always liked to say, “It is what it is,” and there wasn’t jack shit she or Bernice could do to prevent Daniel and Ida from adopting an orphaned little girl.
“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” Bernice whined. “Other than their getting married, this is the worst news I’ve had since my heart attack.”
“I’m surprised. I knew their marriage was still in the honeymoon stage, even though they got married the same day you, Mavis, and I did. But I didn’t realize there was any possibility of children. Did you tell Daniel how you feel about this? Did he actually say that he had started the steps to legally adopt this little girl? Will the state allow an adoption at their age?”
Toots felt terrible for her dear friend, but on the other side of the equation, Ida and Daniel were happy, and what was so terrible about having an eight-year-old child to raise? “I don’t see this as the end of the world. So what? They adopt a child. They’re both competent adults. They can afford plenty of help to assist them. And God knows their house is big enough to raise an entire kindergarten class. I would want Daniel to be happy if he were my son, and if adopting this child will contribute to his happiness, why not?” Toots wouldn’t have chosen Ida as the mother of her grandchild, either, but it was almost comical, given the fact that Bernice and Ida had never been best buds.
“Don’t make out like this is my fault! Of course I want Daniel to be happy. But will adopting a child work for this marriage, which I do not approve of, anyway? Will a child come between the two lovebirds?”
Toots couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. Her eyes filled with tears of pure silliness, and she laughed so hard that her stomach cramped.
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