Rosemary Run Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  “Coming,” Bea replied to her husband, her voice stronger than it had been in a long time. She climbed down the stairs, one by one, her bravery becoming fortified with every step. When she reached the bottom, she walked through the kitchen and into the living room, ready to meet Officer James Tatum at the front entrance. Only the door was closed. He wasn’t there.

  8

  “Are you serious, Bumble?” Ruth quipped. “This is your idea of dressing nice to dine at Honey Hog?”

  “Come on, Beatrice,” John said under his breath. “Are you trying to embarrass yourself?”

  Bea was confused. Where was Officer Tatum? Why was everyone pretending like nothing was wrong? She cleared her throat. “Who… Um, I heard someone at the door.”

  “It was a work thing. For Dad,” Max explained.

  “Officer Tatum had some business with John,” Lana added. She could see her daughter’s distress and wanted to help. “You remember James Tatum, don’t you, Bea? He was in your class in school.”

  Bea’s mind reeled. She struggled to make sense of what was happening. She had been so sure that she was about to be arrested. “Yeah,” she replied to her mom. “I remember him. What kind of business was he here to discuss?” She wanted to know more. Needed to know more.

  “Nothing for you to be concerned about,” John said.

  “But I’d like to know who was at the door of my house,” Bea said, persisting. “Our house…”

  “I guess it isn’t every day that a police officer knocks on your door,” Lana added with a smile. John was stuck, having to play the role of a good guy since others were watching. Bea was grateful to her mother for chiming in and forcing John to act civil. Lana probably understood more about the dynamics between Bea and John than she let on. She had been there to observe them every single day for a while now. No matter how well John hid it, there were surely signs that things were less than rosy in their marriage.

  “No big deal,” John reiterated. “James was here to talk to me about a sensitive matter which he felt necessitated an in-person discussion rather than a phone call.” John looked at Bea as he emphasized the words phone call and her heart skipped another few beats. Although maybe it was her imagination and John had emphasized nothing at all. The back-and-forth was exhausting. Bea was half tempted to confess and turn herself in just to get it over with. But she would never do such a thing as long as Max was around. She couldn’t. He still needed her.

  “Why don’t you get changed for dinner, dear?” Lana asked Bea. “Everything is okay down here.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Bea said, swallowing hard. “I just… I’m sorry, everyone. I mean… I’ll be right back.” Ruth and Natalie snickered, but kept their comments to themselves.

  Gathering her composure, Bea walked back up the stairs, feeling both grateful for her freedom and a little disappointed that she’d have to remain hypervigilant going forward. It was positively exhausting. She retrieved her phone from the nightstand and then went into her closet again, this time selecting a simple mauve pencil skirt and pink blouse to wear. She didn’t have the desire to try the sexy, off-the-shoulder number a second time. Her mood was deflated. She wasn’t sure that even Travis Earl himself could lift her spirits, had he been there in the flesh.

  When she was dressed, Bea went back downstairs, prepared to play the part of the diminutive, obedient wife. “I’m ready,” she announced. “Shall we all ride together?” John owned a large SUV which would easily hold all six of them. Bea knew her husband liked to drive, especially when he was entertaining.

  “Sure thing,” Natalie said. “The restaurant isn’t far.”

  “John,” Ruth began. “If you don’t mind driving, I think it would be nice for us to go together as one big, happy family.”

  Max smiled. Like all kids, he was a sucker for everyone being together. Bea understood. It was a good wish. She would have liked the same thing if it could have somehow been real and based on mutual respect.

  “It would be my pleasure,” John replied as he gestured towards the back door.

  Following his lead, the group made their way outside like old times. This particular group didn’t get together all that often anymore. But there had been a period back when Max was a baby when they’d had frequent dinner dates. It wasn’t long after Freddy died, and the rest of the family had made a concerted effort to spend time together. Bea felt a pang of sadness as she thought about how things used to be so much better. Even between her and her sisters. She wondered if they could ever get that back again.

  But Max’s mood was cheerful and Bea liked to see her son feeling good. He paused to squat and scratch Marmalade under the chin as they walked past. That’s what this is about, Bea thought to herself. Another day of his happiness. She smiled along with him as they climbed into the SUV and started down the long, meandering driveway.

  As they approached the mailbox at the end of the drive and John began to turn onto the main road, a woman in a little black station wagon pulled out in front and stopped them.

  “What now?” John asked thinly, trying to hide his irritation.

  “That’s Mrs. White,” Max said cheerfully from the back seat. “You know her, Dad. She lives next door.”

  “Ah, yes, I do,” John replied. “But what is she doing here?”

  Myra White was a nosy neighbor with far too much time on her hands. Had her house been closer, she would have probably been peering in the Hughes family’s windows on a daily basis. As it was, she had to do her snooping from a bit of a distance.

  Myra’s husband had divorced her and left a sizable alimony benefit after a cliché fling with his secretary became widely known around town. It had happened a few years ago. Their kids were both in college now and Myra was an empty nester who had spent the past two decades as a homemaker. Not knowing what else to do with herself and stabilized by her ex-husband’s financial support, Myra had hulled up inside her house. Bea wondered what she did in there all day.

  “She probably saw the police car,” Lana offered. Lana had spent more time with Myra than anyone else in the Denton-Hughes household. She sometimes invited her over for afternoon tea and a game of cards.

  “I see,” John confirmed. “I’ll handle this,” he said, putting the vehicle in park and stepping outside.

  Bea noticed herself beginning to perspire. Every interaction seemed to send her into a tailspin today. Danger was around every corner. “She looks upset,” Bea remarked as she watched Myra get out of her car and approach John.

  “The drama!” Ruth exclaimed. “It’s like a regular episode of Cops around here.” Lana shot Ruth a look that said to leave it alone.

  Bea’s mom was a sweet old lady who didn’t get into the middle of conflicts if she could help it. Her laid-back personality meant that she was taken more seriously when she expressed a firm opinion. All three of her girls respected their mother.

  They sat in the car, watching carefully to see what would transpire between Myra and John, who now stood less than a foot apart from one another. They spoke in what appeared to be hushed tones. The conversation must have been intense because Myra began waving her arms around as she talked. She was doing most of the talking and John was listening. Bea’s heart sank further into her chest the longer she watched. She just knew they were talking about her. If the anonymous caller could find her phone number, they could easily find her neighbor’s number.

  “What a day,” Bea mused, attempting to test her voice. It was squeaky and unsure. She could hear it. The others turned to look at her, but didn’t say a word.

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” Max asked innocently. “I’m trying to read their lips, but they keep turning so I can’t get a clear view.” He was curious, the way any teenager would be. Bea thought it funny how Max wouldn’t pay much attention when an adult was trying to tell him something directly, yet he was mesmerized to the point of trying to read lips when a conversation happened that he wasn’t supposed to be a part of.

 
“I don’t know,” Natalie said. “But Ruth is right; it’s all very dramatic. If this isn’t an episode of Cops, it could be one of those shows about housewives.”

  “Oh, even better,” Ruth added with a chuckle. “Real Housewives of Rosemary Run. That has a nice ring to it.” Again, Lana turned and gave the girls a look that told them to let it rest. They did. For the time being.

  Bea’s mind continued to spin as she worked herself into a near anxiety attack, then talked herself down only to begin the cycle again. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to move. In a burst, she opened the door beside her and got out of the SUV.

  “Where are you going?” Lana asked.

  “To see what they’re talking about,” Bea replied.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Lana said.

  Something was different about Lana this afternoon, the same as there was something different about Max. Bea didn’t know what to think about who had been listening in on the telephone line, but she couldn’t have guessed if her life depended on it. It might have been Max. Or it might have been her mother. It also might have been Ruth or Natalie since they were apparently having tea with Lana when the call came in. Not to mention, John might have been contacted. Or James might have been contacted. So it wouldn’t be a stretch to think that Myra might have been contacted. Bea felt like everyone around her knew. And she had no idea what to do about it.

  “Myra, hello,” Bea said as she walked towards her husband and neighbor, ignoring her mother’s warnings. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?”

  “Beatrice, go back to the car,” John said. “I’ve got this under control.”

  “Nonsense,” Bea said to her husband, turning on a little charm of her own. “It looks like Myra has something to discuss. She looks quite concerned. What kind of neighbor would I be if I didn’t hop out to listen and offer my support?”

  Myra seemed to like Bea’s answer. She was a jaded divorcee who almost certainly had ill will towards men at this point. Bea thought perhaps she could use this to her advantage.

  “Hello there, Bea,” Myra said sweetly. “Lovely to see you, too. But it’s nothing to be bothered about, just like your husband said.” Myra shot a knowing glance at John as if they were in on something together.

  John shifted his weight back on his heels and put both hands in his pockets. “Fine. I’ll fill you in. After this afternoon’s rain, there was more water than usual running from our yard into Myra’s,” John explained. “She was letting me know so we could check our drainage situation in case we need to get a landscaper out to make some modifications.”

  “That’s right,” Myra said, unconvincingly. “Now that I’ve mentioned it, I’ll run along and leave you to your outing. Sorry to disturb!” Then she got back into her station wagon and drove away so fast there wasn’t even time to buckle her seatbelt.

  Bea wrinkled her brow. She knew they were lying. No one talked about extra rainwater as intensely as she’d seen Myra and John talking. Besides, Myra was a busybody who usually would have taken time to ask prying questions as she chatted with every last person in the SUV. Something else was going on.

  Did they know?

  “You had better remember your place,” John said coldly to his wife. He wore a smile on his face so the passengers in the car wouldn’t be able to tell how icy his words were, but Bea felt it, sure as a winter’s frost. She hated being scolded like a child, right in her own yard. “Mind your business,” John continued. “You don’t belong in my discussions. You had better hear and believe me. Or else.”

  Bea looked down, losing the momentum she had gathered before she got out of the vehicle. What had she been thinking? John would not let her be privy to any serious discussion. She would have to figure out some other way to learn exactly what he knew.

  9

  Honey Hog was every bit as swanky and gorgeous as Bea had imagined. Exposed wooden beams lined the arched ceiling while elegant pendant lights dangled down towards the reclaimed wood tables set with white cloth napkins, artisan dinnerware, and crystal vases filled with sprigs of fresh-cut rosemary. The new owners had invested a pretty penny to renovate the place from top to bottom. John was right. The revamped restaurant would make a good name for Rosemary Run as news of its re-opening spread far and wide.

  Bea ordered pork brisket for herself and deviled eggs, cheddar biscuits, and gourmet coleslaw to be shared with the table. To wash it all down, the adults enjoyed homegrown Rosemary Run red wine, as was customary. When you live in wine country, you might as well partake in the fruits produced by the region. Every morsel of food and every drop of wine tasted heavenly. At first, Bea hadn’t been sure she’d be able to eat. But once she smelled the food and took a couple of bites, she realized how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was famished. The tremendous stress she’d been under had probably taken a lot out of her body.

  Bea tried her best to relax and enjoy the evening, given the fact that just a few hours prior she had thought she’d be spending it in custody. As she looked at her son and her mother, she was grateful to be with them now. Luckily, Max, Lana, and Bea were at one end of the table while John, Ruth, and Natalie were at the other. Bea was stuck sitting by her husband because it would have looked odd if she hadn’t been at his side. But the positioning afforded her the luxury of turning her attention toward her mother and son for much of the evening.

  The three of them talked about what Max was working on in class and how it compared to when Bea had been his age and a student at the same high school. Lana remembered. She told Max a few fun stories about Bea’s adventures in high school marching band. They laughed together about how Bea could never seem to get her buttons polished brightly enough for uniform inspection, and how she was disappointed to learn that her parents could barely hear her flute in the stands when the band performed from the field. Max had opted out of marching band, but was signed up for the debate team and men's soccer. It was only a few weeks into the school year, but many of the kids Max was in class with had been together since they were little ones in grade school. He was having a good experience so far and Bea was glad.

  “Say, sport,” John offered to his son, trying to get in on the conversation. “How are those grades coming along? You know, now that you’re in high school those grades matter more than they used to. Your GPA will determine what kind of college you get into.” Bea resented John’s prodding. She didn’t believe in putting pressure on kids about grades. And besides, Max wouldn’t be applying to college for a full three years. Did he really have to concern himself with that right now?

  “I know, Dad,” Max said shyly. “You’ve told me a lot of times.”

  “I know I have,” John replied. “I want to be sure it’s at the forefront of your mind. Maybe if you do really well, you can go to my alma mater-- Sanford.”

  “Easy,” Bea said, in a rare warning to her husband. “Let him be a kid awhile longer.”

  Natalie and Ruth looked nervous to see Bea asserting herself. If Bea didn’t know better, she would have thought there was a concerted effort to keep her beaten down. Meanwhile, John glanced at a table on the far side of the restaurant filled with men in business suits. He was grandstanding, hoping they would hear him. Always campaigning, Bea thought. How repulsive.

  “I might, Dad,” Max answered. “I don’t know what I want to study yet. Maybe I’ll go to art school, like Mom.” Bea sat up straight and smiled upon hearing this.

  That’s my boy.

  “Don’t be silly,” John said as he spit out a sip of his wine. “There’s no future in art school. Just look at your mother.” The wine was causing John to let down his guard. As Bea came to think of it, Max wasn’t usually around when John drank. She hoped John wouldn’t say anything that would be too upsetting for their son to hear. But then again, maybe Max could get an even better idea of what his father was really like. It might ultimately be a good thing.

  “Mom paints very beautiful pictures,�
� Max said, sounding defensive. “I like her pictures. Her paintings.”

  “I know you do, sport,” John said quietly, tousling the top of his son’s hair and seeming to reel himself back in. At least a little. He raised his glass and took another big gulp of wine then, he again glanced at the table of businessmen in suits across the room. He raised his voice louder and began to speak once more. “But Max, son, I believe you could have a promising career in politics if we get you the proper education. You could be a chip off the old block.”

  Lana began to speak but then covered her mouth with one hand, thinking better of it. Bea wished her mother would speak up. Max should hear from multiple loved ones on this topic to avoid being forced down a path that isn’t of his own choosing.

  Bea’s blood was boiling now. Her anger towards John was taking her mind off of her other worries. This small comfort made her delve full force into her feelings of rage. “John,” she said sternly. “Max is entitled to make his own decisions about what to study in college when it’s time. I, for one, will support him no matter what he decides.”

  “What a joke,” John said in his most condescending tone. Even Ruth and Natalie looked surprised. Maybe the two of them hadn’t realized just how disrespectful John could be. “Your mother doesn’t have a career,” he continued. “Not a real one that earns money, anyway. Do you want to end up like her? If I weren’t around to take care of her, she’d have to… Well, I don’t know. I suppose she’d have to become a waitress at a restaurant like this one.” It was a calculated insult. Bea had worked as a waitress in high school at this very restaurant, though it was under different management and called Western Steakhouse back then.

  “Wow,” Natalie said. “That was a lot.”

  “You do know Bumble worked at this restaurant back when it was Western Steakhouse, don’t you, John?” Ruth asked.

  Bea thought it odd how the twins always seemed to speak in sets. One rarely said anything without the other echoing some obligatory add-on comment. But she didn’t mind right now. She was grateful to see them feeling protective of her for a change.