Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  Standing in the foyer, Sandy dropped her overnight bag and looked around, her nose wrinkling. She went in the kitchen and began opening and closing cabinets and drawers, the corners of her mouth turning downward.

  I wandered into the living room, covertly sniffing the air. She was right. There was something—eau de young male—the vague scent of marijuana, dirty socks, and cheap aftershave. Despite the cold, I opened a couple of windows. The sills were dappled with gray fingerprints and graced with dead flies.

  For a case of beer, Ryan’s friends had cleaned the floors and repainted a few walls, and a cleaning service had supposedly gone over the rest of the house. He and Jessie had stripped and laundered the bedding, and whatever towels had been left in the linen closets.

  Edie wandered in from the patio. “Nice little place, but it needs work.”

  “There’ll be one more person spending the night here,” I said, “a young woman from Jessie’s office. She’s going to watch the kids.”

  Sandy’s eyes flickered with interest. “Will the children be staying here with us?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The light in her eyes went out, and she carried her bag down the hall.

  AS I APPLIED THE FINAL touch to my lipstick, I had to smile. I looked like a million bucks. I’d opted for my usual LBD and heels, fancied up with a diamond necklace and earrings borrowed from Jessie. I grabbed my phone and went into the kitchen for Sandy to take a picture. I would send it to Curt, later tonight.

  In an homage to Colorado’s silver-rush history, Sandy and Edie were dressed like old-time saloon keepers with black slacks, white long-sleeved blouses with arm garters, burgundy vests, and string ties. Edie’s long gray ponytail was pulled into a bun. She stirred a sauce on the stove while Sandy removed a pan of appetizers from the oven and carefully transferred them to a warming tray. At my request, she took the picture, clicking a half-dozen extras as insurance.

  “Hey, good work, you two. The house looks fantastic.”

  At Ryan’s voice, we turned, and Sandy drew in a breath. In the doorway stood her daughter, lithe and commanding in a shimmery black bandage dress and sky-high heels. Her white-blond hair was arranged in a braided chignon. Her black-rimmed glasses added class and sophistication.

  Sandy started forward, then stopped. We all froze as she and Jessie stared at each other.

  Jessie turned on her heel and left the room.

  For a long minute, Sandy stared at her daughter’s retreating form, but when she noticed us watching her, her expression went flat. She crossed the kitchen to the bank of ovens, checking on the roasting quail.

  I slipped into the dining room, sad for both of them. Sandy had worked her heart out for this night to be perfect. She’d decorated the long table with winter-themed centerpieces and placemats. Gold-rimmed plates stood waiting in navy-blue chargers, with gold flatware arranged to their top and sides. Water and wine glasses stood waiting.

  “Karen.” Sandy stood in the doorway with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. “Want to test one?”

  I shook my head. “Too nervous.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Sandy’s eyes glanced around as if making one last check of the room.

  “Don’t worry. It looks perfect.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I’d hoped to be able to see the children before they went to bed, but I guess they’re in for the night.”

  “Not quite, but close. And that’s probably a good thing. You wouldn’t want Christopher barreling around.”

  She smiled, and I saw the grandmotherly humor in her eyes.

  “I’d better get back to work,” she said. “Thanks again. For everything.”

  I raised my glass. “Break a leg.”

  THE GUESTS BEGAN ARRIVING at six. Jessie and Ryan, along with Christopher and Sunshine, greeted them as they came through the front door. The kids were whisked away, and the grownups got comfortable around the roaring fireplace in the living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a sunset view of the Rocky Mountains.

  As I joined the group, the conversation was heating up. Ryan had invited an eclectic group of professionals. Near the fireplace stood a chubby young hipster with a full beard and horn-rimmed glasses, attached at the hip to his beret-wearing girlfriend. Ruling the roost from a leather club chair was a barrel-chested older man wearing cowboy boots and a bolero tie; next to him sat his pantsuited wife with big hair and a generous smile. A tall, thin man occupied territory on the sofa, legs crossed, one ankle resting on the other knee. As he spoke, he gestured broadly, eyes like lasers on those who listened. Nearby perched his leather-clad young boyfriend, admiring the statement bracelet of the blond society woman sitting next to him.

  Everywhere I looked, I saw multi-carat diamond rings and earrings, the flash of Louboutin red soles, the elegant glimmer of pricey watches. The bouquet of expensive perfume nearly overpowered the vanilla candles Sandy had arranged around the room.

  We were nineteen in all. I counted, in case Jessie was too nervous to remember. She was courteous as she worked the room, but I knew her little tics. The strand of hair being repeatedly tucked behind an ear, the darting glances, the smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  Ryan, however, was in his element, listening thoughtfully and answering questions. Again and again, he threw his head back and laughed. He took drinks from Edie’s tray and handed them out. Gone was the geeky cyber-savant, and in his place stood a proud, young man, pleased with his lavish surroundings and the attentions of a gorgeous wife. A couple of times, he slid his arm around Jessie’s waist and pulled her in for a quick squeeze. The first time, she reacted with surprise. After that, she stuck by his side, smiling and chatting with their guests.

  I worked my way around the room, schmoozing. Although my back would ache by the end of the evening, I wanted to support Ryan and Jessie, and it was more effective to flit from guest to guest. So flit I did, making nice and trying to contribute to the evening’s warm ambiance.

  The chiming of a bell caught our attention. Edie stood in the living room’s entryway holding up a small triangle, similar to a bunkhouse dinner bell. “If y’all would come in and take your seats, please.”

  In the dining room, we found place cards, each name written in calligraphy. Sandy and Edie carried in dinner plates laden with stuffed quail surrounded by glazed carrots and pearl onions. Ryan announced the wine choices, having teamed with Sandy to select several different labels from his cellar. The two of them had an easy familiarity. By contrast, Jessie had avoided Sandy during dinner preparations.

  “I love these potatoes,” said the big-haired older woman. “Is that truffle oil?”

  “I believe so.” Jessie stuck her fork into the corn casserole with sundried tomatoes, tasting it and nodding thoughtfully. I caught her eye and smiled. We had pulled it off.

  As dinner progressed and the genial conversation ranged from business to families, to vacations, to a smattering of politics, she seemed relaxed, even laughing out loud a couple of times. Ryan, sitting across from her, beamed. All the while, Sandy and Edie refilled glasses and removed dishes with subtle grace.

  Sandy had seated me between a courtly old banker and the international investor. The investor, having traveled the world countless times, was interesting. He was telling me about the Sami people of northern Europe having a thousand words for reindeer, when his wife caught Jessie’s attention. “Hon, you’ve done a fabulous job on dinner, and your house is absolutely gorgeous.”

  The rest of the table chimed in with compliments. Jessie blushed and thanked them. The kitchen door swung open, and Sandy emerged with a fresh bottle of sauvignon blanc.

  “Delightful,” said the society wife. “You and Ryan are to be congratulated.”

  Sandy tipped the bottle toward Ryan’s glass.

  “Would you mind introducing us to your caterers?”

  Jessie looked at me, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape.” Ryan glanced up at Sandy. Shaking her head imperceptibly
, she finished the pour with a delicate flick of her wrist.

  He pushed back his chair and stood. “All in good time,” he said. “But first, I want to say something about the business. At various times over the past few months, each of you has expressed interest in my concept. You’ve asked the hard questions and held my feet to the fire. As a result, we now have a banking model that can withstand legal scrutiny and serve the needs of a growing industry.”

  “And make us all rich,” said the hipster.

  At that, the players began rehashing Ryan’s proposal. I glanced at Jessie. She expelled a breath and shook her head in relief.

  Sandy retreated into the kitchen.

  “Forget about marijuana and money,” said the woman. “Jessie, I want to know who your caterer is. Such quality is hard to find. I mean, if you don’t mind sharing.”

  “With us, as well,” said another guest.

  Jessie took a long slow sip of wine.

  “She’s not going to tell us,” said the boy in leather. “She’s keeping them to herself.”

  “Not a problem for me. I’ll just go on in there and ask.” The older woman with the big hair folded her napkin next to her plate.

  I realized I was clenching my teeth. If anyone saw me, they’d wonder, but all eyes were on Jessie, who’d locked eyes with the woman.

  Who backed down. “I guess it’s a state secret.”

  “Jessie’s just being smart,” said the boy. “Most really good caterers are, like, permanently booked. I don’t blame her.”

  “It’s the same problem in L.A.,” said the hipster’s girlfriend. “You’d give out your bank account number first.”

  Some of the guests chuckled, but I felt anxious for Jessie, who looked completely stressed. She glanced at Ryan for help. He gave her a look that seemed to say, Up to you.

  She took a breath, pushed her chair back, and without a word, disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen.

  Silence fell across the table.

  I wondered what was going on behind the door. We could hear the murmur of voices rising and falling. It sounded as if they might have been arguing.

  The voices stopped.

  All of us turned as the door swung open and Jessie emerged ahead of Sandy. The two of them stood at attention, stone-faced.

  Jessie clasped her hands in front of her. “Thank you all for your kind words about our dinner tonight.” She took another breath. “The caterer is Sandra Larson, my mother.”

  The folks around the table burst into applause. Sandy smiled briefly. “Thank you.”

  “I thought there was a resemblance,” said one of the women.

  “But I figured sisters, if anything,” said her friend.

  “I want her to cater my spring fashion show.”

  “Forget catering,” said the friend. “I want to know who her trainer is.”

  “If any of you want to hire her, I won’t stand in your way. She’s a really good caterer.” Jessie looked at her mother for a long moment. “Pretty good mom, too.”

  Several of the guests chuckled, but Sandy didn’t smile. She and Jessie, as still as statues, stood and looked at each other. And then, very slowly, Sandy opened her arms. Jessie moved inside their reach and allowed herself to be enfolded.

  Sandy closed her eyes.

  I felt the strangeness of it. This was not a normal, congratulatory hug. This was a commutation.

  When they broke apart, Jessie accepted a napkin from one of the nearby guests and carefully wiped her eyes. “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal and the decorations. I would be remiss not to mention that my mother pulled it all together with less than twenty-four hours’ notice.”

  “Not alone.” Sandy brought Edie out of the kitchen, and the three women stood together, holding hands and smiling. From the applause, you’d have thought it was the end of a Broadway show. Eventually, we retired to the living room for brandy and desserts.

  I caught up with Jessie in the kitchen, where she was speaking with her mother. Sandy caught my eye and smiled.

  “You did a great job, you and Edie,” I said. “Congratulations.”

  Jessie tucked her arm through mine. “A total success, thanks to the three of you.”

  I looked at her, my eyebrow raised. She smiled, reached for a bottle of cognac, and poured four tiny glasses. “To hard-working women and the people who make them successful,” Jessie said. “I see now it’s a team effort.”

  Sandy raised her glass, first to her daughter, and then to me. “Salud.”

  We all drank. Edie collected our glasses.

  “It was beautiful, Mom,” Jessie said.

  Sandy nodded. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat and returned to business, grabbing a cloth and wiping the counters. “Edie and I’ll finish up here, and then we’re going to head back to the bunkhouse.”

  Jessie and I returned to our guests, the conversation continued until well after midnight.

  I stumbled into bed around two, exhausted but happy.

  IN THE MORNING, SANDY, Jessie, and I gathered around the kitchen table for coffee. We talked quietly, excited about last night’s success. Ryan was already hard at work.

  Jessie yawned.

  I stuck a slice of bread in the toaster.

  Sandy started to say something but was interrupted by the sounds of little feet pounding down the hallway. Christopher, in his pajamas, climbed into Sandy’s lap. She kissed the top of his head.

  Sunshine, always more reserved, sat in a nearby chair and opened her library book.

  “Let’s go swing,” said Christopher.

  “It’s too cold outside,” said his mother.

  “It’s too early,” said his grandmother.

  “When?” The little guy gazed up at Sandy. “Will you play with me?”

  I turned to hide my smile.

  “I have to go home pretty soon,” said Sandy.

  “Why?”

  “I have to go to church.”

  “Why?”

  “Christopher, stop.” Jessie poured two glasses of diluted apple juice. “Church? Since when?”

  “A while now. I started when I was—a few years ago.”

  “I remember you went every Sunday when I was little.”

  Sandy watched Christopher drink from his cup, holding it with both hands. “At first it was strange, going. Everything was different—all the rituals—but time passed, and now it feels like home.”

  “Well, after church, you could come back,” said Sunshine.

  “I live a long way from here.”

  Christopher patted Sandy’s hand with both of his, trying to claim her attention. She turned to him. “What?”

  “Grandma, do you have a car? You could drive.”

  “Yes, honey, I could.” Sandy glanced up at Jessie. The two women looked perfectly miserable.

  Sunshine looked up from her book. “Hey, you could live in our guest house.”

  The kitchen fell silent.

  Jessie leaned over and brushed a strand of hair off Sunshine’s forehead. “She already has a home.”

  “SHE COULD MOVE,” yelled Christopher.

  I flinched.

  “Yeah, Mommy, she could,” said Sunshine.

  “I don’t think she wants to, sweetheart.”

  “But maybe she does. Maybe we could ask her.” Sunshine peered up at her mother’s face.

  My heart stopped. I couldn’t imagine what Sandy was going through. I couldn’t look.

  The toast popped up.

  Jessie cupped Sunshine’s chin and gazed into her daughter’s eyes. “Maybe we could ask. Why don’t you?”

  “Okay!” Sunshine nodded eagerly, put down her book, and went to stand right in front of Sandy. “Grandmother,” she said with solemn, precise diction, “would you like to come and live in our guest house? It would be very smart because then you could be here all the time and not have to drive from far away every single day to see us.”

  Sandy, her arms around Christopher, studied her gra
nddaughter’s face. Her eyes found Jessie’s.

  Waited.

  Jessie nodded.

  Sandy reached for Sunshine’s hand. “I would very much like to come and live in your guest house.”

  “YIPPEE!!” yelled Christopher. He jumped off her lap and ran around the kitchen, making a putt-putting noise with his tongue and pretending to be an airplane.

  “Good.” Sunshine leaned against Sandy, who encircled her with an arm.

  “Good,” said Jessie. She reached across the table for a paper napkin and blew her nose.

  Good, I thought, imagining Curt welcoming me home.

  Chapter 26 – Karen

  THE CAB DRIVER GAVE a little salute before driving off in his silent, electric cab. My breath huffed out clouds in the late-afternoon cold as I dropped my suitcase and golf clubs on the front porch. It was good to be home.

  I crossed the driveway to the barn, anxious to see the mare and her new colt. Our neighbor had looked after them while I was gone, so they were well cared for, but I’d missed my crazy Looney Tunes.

  Rolling open the barn doors, I felt around in the darkness for the light switch.

  “Hey, girl. Hey, Looney,” I called out, alerting her to my presence.

  She stuck her head over the half-door of her stall, her ears swiveling forward and back as if trying to place me.

  “Looney Tunes, I’m back,” I said, this time in a singsong voice.

  She tossed her head, snorted, and backed up into the darkness of her stall.

  I’d only had her a few months before leaving for Palm Springs, but the chilly reception made me feel like a stranger.

  Their feed bins were full, so Alice had probably just finished the evening chores. I reached into my pocket for the peppermint candy I’d filched from an airport café, unwrapped it, and held it out to Looney Tunes.

  She hesitated, stepped forward, arched her neck as far as it would stretch, and delicately took the treat off the flat of my hand. Backing up, she returned to the corner, her jaw muscles rippling as they pulverized the candy.

  However, my overture hadn’t won me any points. The two of them remained in the far corner of the stall. Her two-month-old colt was handsome, tall, and a bay like his mother. I wished I could have been here for his birth so we could have bonded. Having no sense of me, he hid behind his dam. I wondered how much I’d have to work with him to win his confidence.