There were a few families in the marble floored hallway, but most people had already left or were on their way out of the grand entrance. Fran made a cursory glance around for Emily or Anna but didn’t see either of them. Clutching her lemon meringue pie, which for some reason felt like her grip on sanity, she walked out of the mansion and headed back toward Mrs. McCabe’s place. So was the end of her very first party—perhaps the most disastrous to-do anyone could have planned.
Chapter 9
The afternoon sun sent golden slats of light falling through the railings and onto the wooden porch floor. Percy, who by now looked like the king of the manor in his new farmhouse home, was curled up in a sunny spot, his eyes squeezed shut. The end of his furry gray tail kept flicking this way and that as he slept, and Fran wondered what he was doing in his dream as she sat in one of the rocking chairs. She’d always thought, and always with a quiet chuckle to herself, that Percy was probably a human in his dreams. A stuffy old Englishman from Victorian times, with a rotund belly, a monocle and a top hat, perhaps. Or maybe a military dictator, waging war on some mouse-like nation. Or perhaps an ancient Chinese emperor, imperious and ever so powerful, being revered by thousands.
“Lemonade to go with lemon meringue pie,” Mrs. McCabe said with a laugh. She poured a glass for Fran, then one for herself. “You know, everyone in my family thought my mother was crazy for wanting a big porch like this. Especially my father. He had a foul mouth, you know, and he was doing nothing but cuss cuss cussing as he built it, saying why on earth would someone in this climate want a big old southern style porch? But you see, my mother, she was well traveled.” A proud smile spread over Mrs. McCabe’s face. “Her family took her all over the place when she was a little girl, and if there was one place she loved, it was South Carolina. I haven’t been there, even to this day, but the way she described it to me lingers on in my mind and I’ll never forget it. You ever been there?”
“Can’t say I have,” Fran said. “Maybe someday.” She took a sip of the lemonade, but still hadn’t worked up the stomach to eat anything yet.
“My father finished building the house at the beginning of the fall. He was still moaning about how much extra lumber he’d had to haul about for the porch. And just about everyone else in the family took his side. But by the next summer, boy, they had to eat their words.” Her blue eyes lit up, and she looked ten years younger. “Hm. Every afternoon, mom would set our dinner out on the porch, and we’d eat with the breeze on our bare legs and going through our hair, and the air feeling all warm around us. Even father couldn’t be in a bad mood. He wasn’t the saying sorry type, but he might have grudgingly told my mother she may just have been onto something with that porch idea.”
Fran smiled. “That sounds like a good memory.”
The joy drifted away from Mrs. McCabe’s face. “Yes,” she said with some sadness. “This place is full of great memories. That’s why Leon sticks around with me. He loves it as much as I do.” She sighed deeply, then perked up when she looked down to see the pie. “Ooh, yes, I think I’ll try some. Thank you, dear, for bringing some back.” She took a bite and nodded appreciatively. “Goodness. You’re talented, huh?”
Fran smiled modestly. She found it embarrassing to get compliments sometimes. “I try.”
“Terrible what happened today,” Mrs. McCabe said. “Just horrible.”
It was only then that Fran realized two things. One, that she hadn’t even told Mrs. McCabe herself, and two, just how cheerful Mrs. McCabe had been just moments before. She must have been a strong lady not to be at all rattled. Fran guessed it was all those years of living a full life, still working to the max at a ripe old age. Maybe that kind of experience insulated her from the worst of the shock.
“I just don’t get who would have done that,” Fran said.
Mrs. McCabe pushed her lips out like a duck for a moment, looking out over the fields. “Well, I couldn’t say. Probably a business associate, I would have thought. Leon told me all about it. He found out from one of the neighbors as he was doing their gardens. They came back from the party all shook up. A gun with a silencer, they said. That’s got to be a professional hit.”
Fran nodded. “It does seem like it. I don’t really know anything about his business, other than—”
“My advice is you keep it that way, dear,” Mrs. McCabe said firmly. “Now your role here is over. Just pick up your check from that wife of his and be on your way. You certainly don’t want to get dragged into all of this high society drama and what-not. Where was it you live again?”
“Michigan,” Fran said. “But actually, Mrs. McCabe, I’m staying a while. Delilah… Oh, I forgot her last name.”
“Forthstrup,” Mrs. McCabe said, then took a sip of lemonade.
“Oh yes, that’s right. She asked me to do a celebration party. Her little boy Oliver got the all clear from leukemia.”
“Fantastic!” Mrs. McCabe said, clapping her hand to her lemonade glass and sending it sloshing. “Oops. Aw, that poor family. I’m so glad he’s all right.”
Fran smiled, thinking perhaps it wasn’t the end of the world after all. “He wants a superhero party. His mom said pretending to be a superhero really got him through the worst times.”
“I can imagine,” Mrs. McCabe said. “Oh, that’s lovely, so you’ll put on a great celebratory party for them.”
Fran’s smile came from somewhere deep within. That was the kind of party that made her work seem worthwhile. “I hope I can make it really special.”
“I’m sure you will, dear,” Mrs. McCabe said kindly. “But my advice still stands. I wouldn’t go poking around any of this society business. Your best bet is to leave well enough alone. It all looks pretty on the outside, but when you pick it apart, you’ll have a whole can of wiggling worms on your hands. No, maggots. Poisonous maggots, at that.”
Fran nodded. “I understand. I won’t get involved at all.”
“Is your friend all right?” Mrs. McCabe asked. “Emma, was it?”
“Emily.” Fran bit her lip. Since her mind had been swimming so much, she hadn’t thought much about her friend. She had seemed cheerful enough as she’d scarfed down cupcakes and peanut butter cups, but who knew how genuine it was? Emily had always been the kind of person to hide her emotions behind a screen of being, “Just fine.” Fran was guilty of that too, sometimes, but Emily was a bonafide master of it. “I don’t think she’ll have the best night. I don’t think anyone who was at the party will, to be honest.” She looked over at Percy, who was still basking in the sun, without a care in the world. “At least I’ve got Perce for company. Anyway, I’ll go see Emily first thing tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll be fine for the night.”
But actually, Fran couldn’t have been more wrong.
The next morning, Fran could hear a ruckus at the mansion before the building itself had even come into view. She walked up the front drive, her view of the enormous home blocked behind the majestic trees that graced the immaculately tended landscaping.
The early morning sunlight had delicately brought everything to life, and the air had felt fresh as Fran walked over. Birds tweeted sweet songs at her from the trees, and she felt that even though everything had gone so wrong yesterday, there was hope for the future. She was to help little Oliver party in superhero style. So even though there had been death, there was a newly healthy life to celebrate.
It was on that walk, between Mrs. McCabe’s B&B and the Stratford mansion, that she reconnected with the purpose behind her party planning business. The memory was always in her mind, but it was a long time since she had really reveled in it and really felt the feelings that had run so deep when she was a little girl. Ever since that moment, she had known exactly what she had wanted to be: a person who put on parties and gave great joy to everyone by doing so.
Fran, being the oldest in her family, and her little brothers Harry, Dominic, Alex and Tucker being quite a lot younger than her, always felt a sense of responsibility. At th
e time of the party, Dominic had just been born and Harry was still in diapers. But it had not turned out to be the rosy, cozy family time Fran had dreamed of when her mother was pregnant. Instead of nights curled up by the fireplace, laughing and playing games together, it had been nights of Fran throwing the bedcovers over her head, trying to block the sound of her mom and dad fighting out of her ears. Dominic was colicky, while Harry was smack bang in the middle of a major tantruming stage. What with everyone in the household screaming the place down too, Fran felt she was living in a war zone.
But in that dark time, one single day stood out like a shining light, so brightly that Fran was sure she’d remember it for the rest of her life.
A little girl from school, Sabrina, had invited her to her birthday party, and the rest was history. Fran had gone along in one of those beautiful party frocks that were popular for little girls in the early 90s. It had been Fran’s absolute favorite, and when she wore it, she felt like a princess. It was cream, the full skirt falling gently to her ankles. Rose buds climbed on a fabric stem across the bodice, criss-crossing into a beautiful swirling pattern. The puffed sleeves and full collar would have dated it badly in the present day, but at the time, it had been the height of princess-style party wear, as was testified when all the little girls gathered around Fran, saying how she pretty she looked.
To be fair, she garnered so much attention because the rest of the time, she lived in overalls and scuffed tennis shoes, her dark hair pretty much unattended to apart from a couple strokes with a brush. Her mom had suffered with bad morning sickness, and she was never one for hairstyles in any case. But she’d made a special effort on the day of Sabrina’s birthday, and had parted Fran’s hair down the middle in the zig zag parting Fran had once seen an older girl at school get admired for. Then she’d braided each side into a pigtail, and tied a white lace bow around each.
Although the whole ensemble was memorable for sure, that was not what had made the day stick so indelibly in Fran’s mind.
It was the sheer and utter joy of having unlimited fun with her friends, and the joy and grace and friendliness of the lady who was running the party. Fran still remembered her name, Clarissa, and how impossibly elegant that name sounded. And Fran remembered Clarissa’s thick waves of dark hair, and the way her face lit up when she talked to each one of the children, like just being with them gave her joy.
All the games—the musical statues and the piñata and the pin the tail on the donkey—all blurred into one hugely happy memory. It was more than happy. It was like on the stormiest darkest day, the clouds had parted and a tiny piece of heaven shone its golden light down, bathing Fran with it until she’d forgotten what rain on her skin had felt like.
Every night for weeks afterward, she’d run the party over and over in her mind, tasting that chocolate birthday cake again as it melted in her mouth, laughing at one of Clarissa’s jokes with her friends, winning a prize and making a shy curtsey at the front, then clutching the little tin of pencils to her chest as if it were solid gold.
That was why she’d always wanted to become a party planner. And through the uncertainty and the fear and the debt, that was the feeling that had kept her going. If she could make one kid feel like that, like the world still had good things in it and one day everything was going to be okay, she would feel like she had done her job. Just one kid.
So by the time she had reached the front drive of the Stratford mansion, Fran was feeling inspired. There was nothing she could do about the past. It was very tragic what had happened to Byron Stratford, she told herself, but there was nothing she could do about it, and in truth, it was none of her business. She’d take Mrs. McCabe’s advice and stay well away from the situation. Soon enough, Emily would get a new nanny placement and the whole Stratford situation would just be a memory.
Hearing the argument from so far away only served to make her more determined about not getting mixed up in any drama. She strode along the path toward the mansion, head held high. In the light of a new morning, everything looked straightforward. Easier.
…if only things stayed that way.
Chapter 10
The scene Fran was met with at the mansion was certainly not what she had expected. Vanessa, quiet timid Vanessa who had looked like swatting a fly would be difficult for her, was clutching onto Waverly’s wrist and screaming, her face as red as her sweater.
On the other end of this outstretched child was Sandrine, her blonde curls flailing everywhere as she pulled Waverly’s other hand and screamed just as loud.
Waverly’s dark eyes were as wide as saucers as she looked between the women, but she didn’t say a word. Perhaps even Waverly had been out-tantrumed.
Fran ran the rest of the way up to the doorway. “Hey, stop!” she called out. “What in the world is going on?”
“You stay out of this,” Sandrine snapped. “And you.” Her voice turned to venom as she spat her words out at Vanessa. “If you don’t let my daughter go right now, I’m calling the cops and they’ll haul you to jail, just like they did Emily.”
“What?!” Fran said, feeling like her heart had collapsed in on itself. “What do you—”
“I don’t believe Emily killed Byron for one second,” Vanessa said, her head held high as she gripped onto Waverly’s wrist. “I think I know who did, though. And let’s put it this way, Waverly is safer here. Emily will get out of jail once they realize the truth, and come back to look after Waverly.”
“Over my dead body,” Sandrine said.
They’d stopped pulling and screaming, but somehow the impasse was eerie. Each of them stood quite still, holding one of Waverly’s wrists and staring at each other with murder in their eyes.
“You just couldn’t let him live in peace, could you?” Vanessa said in a low voice, her laser gaze locked onto Sandrine.
One of Sandrine’s styled curls fell down in front of her face and she hooked it away with a manicured nail. “You are such an innocent little flower, aren’t you? Or maybe you just regretted signing that prenup, hmm?”
Fran was at a total loss for what to do. Waverly looked up at her with her big brown eyes, as desperate as if she were drowning. Fran’s heart sank. Poor girl. First, to see her father, murdered. Then to have her nanny taken away to jail—Fran still couldn’t get her head around that—and then to have mother and stepmother fighting in such a way? Fran couldn’t even begin to wonder what was going on in poor Waverly’s head.
“Can’t you see how upset she is right now?” Fran said, her voice unexpectedly full of emotion.
“It’s her fault!” Vanessa said, pointing at Sandrine. “Coming around and trying to snatch Waverly away while she’s playing.”
“She’s my own daughter!” Sandrine raged.
Just then, Matt tapped Vanessa on the shoulder and she jumped. No one, not even Fran, had noticed him approach from inside the hallway. He’d had on huge padded earphones in a lovely shade of teal, and he drew them down to hang around his neck. He was in another lightweight linen suit, in navy this time, and it suited him to a tee. A folder was tucked under his arm. After a quick glance in Fran’s direction, he sized up the situation. “Is this getting out of hand?”
Both Vanessa and Sandrine burst into accusations and explanations.
Fran cared about Waverly’s plight, but all she could think of was her friend. “Emily got arrested?” she blurted out to him.
He gave her a bewildered look, shaking his head. “I’m not even sure who Emily is. I was just picking up some papers…” He looked between the three women and the girl before him, then sighed deeply. “I really have to get to a meeting.”
Vanessa turned to him, about to speak, and Sandrine seized her chance. Within moments, she’d grabbed Waverly’s wrist and jerked her over to the white Mercedes at lightning speed. Vanessa began to run after them, but she made a misstep and went plummeting down to the gravel. Sandrine shoved Waverly in the car, then swung in herself, and started the car careening down the drivew
ay as fast as it would go, filling the air with dust and the sound of screeching tires.
“Sandrine!” Vanessa said furiously, shaking off Fran, who was trying to help her get to her feet. “That utter witch!”
Fran stood there, biting her lip and not knowing what to say. She had no idea if Waverly was better off with Vanessa or Sandrine, or whose side she should be on. Sandrine gave her an uneasy feeling, sure, but Vanessa didn’t exactly seem the nurturing motherly type.
Matt looked awkward, too, his hands stuffed down into his linen suit pockets. “Um, thanks for letting me in, Vanessa. As I said, I’ve really got to go for this meeting now.”
“It’s all right,” Vanessa said, not meeting his eye. Then she went back inside the house, murmuring under her breath.
Matt watched her leave then gave Fran a half-smile. “What are your plans, Fran?”
“I’m going to the police station to see Emily,” Fran said. The words sounded surreal as she heard them. “I don’t know where it is, though. Are there any buses or anything around here?”
Matt gave a soft laugh. “No. All the mansions get their staff bussed in privately. Either that or they have live-in staff.”
“Oh man,” Fran said, thinking about how far the nearest police station could be. Could she get a ride from Leon? She was sure he would oblige, but there was no guarantee he was even there. He often went out on errands, or selling farm produce, or helping other people with their gardens.
Matt was walking to his car, a relatively humble, but still sleek, Hyundai in a silver that glinted in the sun. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“Would you?” Fran said. “You said you had a meeting, though. I don’t want to put you out.”
“Get in the car,” he said darkly, furrowing his brow and glaring at her through squinted eyes. Then, at her look of surprise, he slapped his hand to his forehead and leaned against the side of the car. “Oh man, can we just pretend that never happened? My sense of humor is bad at the best of times. When I’m under stress, it takes a big old nosedive, I’m afraid.” He looked directly at her with his lovely gray eyes. “Forgive me?”
Murder in the Park (Fran Finch Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 6