Rest in Peach
Page 13
“Sure,” I replied, trying to smile through my misery while I eased my feet back into the high heels I’d kicked off en route. I sighed, preferring a clunky pair of field boots any day over these instruments of torture. Still, it was just a streak of luck that I had anything to wear at all. After learning that I’d be going to tea, I had Cade run me back out to the farm. By the time I got there, I only had an hour or so to get presentable. Not an easy feat for a gal with a limited wardrobe selection.
Emily nodded toward the walk where staff members were waiting to escort guests to the party area. “Guess we should head on in, huh?” she asked, making eye contact with a young man dressed in black pants and a white shirt. He skipped over to the truck and opened the door for her.
Another young man was making his way toward my side, but I waved him off and climbed out on my own, turning back at the last minute to grab a small-brimmed black cloche-styled hat I’d borrowed from Hattie a few frantic moments before we left town. I hadn’t known hats were mandatory until I’d already picked up Emily and we were on our way. Luckily, the hat’s large showpiece silk flower was the perfect complement to my all-purpose black dress.
We were escorted up the steps to the multi-columned porch and through ornate double oak doors where Stephanie Wheeler was greeting guests. Despite the heat, she looked cool and fresh in a pale yellow chiffon dress and a vintage straw hat. Several uniformed housemaids stood behind her, peeling off one by one to escort small groups of chortling women through the home and, I presumed, out to the back gardens. I watched in amazement as Stephanie greeted each guest by name, warmly grasping their hands and making pleasant comments about this and that. She was definitely charming—an indispensable asset for a politician’s wife.
As we made it to the front of the line, she reached out and shook Emily’s hand. “Hello, Emily and . . . ?” Her brows furrowed quizzically.
I quickly introduced myself and explained, “Something’s come up and I’m standing in for Emily’s mama.”
“I hope nothing’s wrong,” Stephanie remarked with concern.
Both Emily and I hesitated, unsure what to say. Finally, I mumbled something about Ginny having another obligation, and we moved through the line where a young woman, not much older than Emily, smiled warmly and offered to escort us to the gardens.
For years, I’d admired the Wheeler Plantation from afar, always wondering what lay beyond the impressive white columns, deep porch and magnificent two-story colonnade. Unfortunately, our attendant was moving us so quickly from the foyer and through the main hall, I was getting whiplash trying to see everything. I did, however, slow my pace enough to catch a glimpse of a study with dark-paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Then, a few steps later, we veered off to the right and into a large sunny room with pale yellow walls and airy drapes flanking a row of doors leading to the garden.
“Oh my!” I heard Emily exclaim as she took in the expanse of the room. My own eyes were immediately drawn across the room to a painting hanging above the marble fireplace. It portrayed a formidable man with wavy black hair, a sternly set jaw, and hauntingly piercing eyes that matched the confederate gray of his officer’s uniform.
“I see you’ve met General Aloysius Wheeler,” the young woman said, noticing my interest in the painting. “Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler are so proud of that portrait.”
It reminded me of a scary movie I’d once seen where the portrait’s eyes moved. I couldn’t catch myself before a little shiver belied my feelings about it. I glanced quickly at the housemaid, but with a little grin she leaned in and whispered, “Agreed. I for one would be happier if they hung it in the attic, or someplace where I wouldn’t have to look at it all day. Gives me the creeps.” She stood upright and shook her head. “But, the general is Congressman Wheeler’s claim to fame. You see that framed letter next to the portrait?”
I squinted, noting a faded parchment written in fancy script. The paper itself appeared wafer thin and yellow in spots. “It looks really old,” I commented.
“I’d say!” she enthused. “It’s a commendation from Mr. Robert E. Lee himself. Thanking General Wheeler for his outstanding service to the Confederate cause. Why, the congressman’s practically built his entire political career on the coattails of his famous ancestor.”
I nodded, vaguely recalling General Wheeler from my high school history class. I couldn’t quite remember the whole story, but something about the general thwarting Union forces and saving much of our area from the devastation of Sherman’s torch. Though I now had to wonder if maybe he scared away those Yanks with his steely eyes.
The young housemaid beckoned us through the doors and outside. A large patio of massive flagstone slabs set under the shade of an expansive white pergola was set with a dozen cloth-covered round tables. Two massive flower-filled urns marked wide steps leading down to the lower garden where the debutantes were playing a lively game of croquet. Next to me, Emily raised up on her tiptoes a couple times and anxiously smoothed away invisible wrinkles in her dress.
As if on cue, the other mothers, dispersed about the patio in tight little groups, glanced at the steps to see the newcomers to the tea. The giggly group to my left—I didn’t recognize anyone there—gave us only cursory looks, slight nods and went back to their high-pitched sniggering about who knows what. The cool-looking mothers straight ahead, with their designer dresses, glitzy jewelry and expensive handbags, offered Emily an approving glance then gave a quick inhale at my all-black outfit, which, I had to admit, looked like a black eye in the sea of pastel colors. Off to the right, a small group of whisperers sent darting looks our way; their covert pointing told me they had obviously been awaiting Emily’s appearance, further fuel for their gossip about Ginny. I sighed; at least only that one group seemed aware of Ginny’s current situation. So far.
“Go ahead,” I told Emily, nodding toward the other girls.
She looked at me with a worried look. “I hate to leave you up here by yourself.” She glanced at the less-than-welcoming women. “You probably don’t know anyone here.”
With no children of my own, I wasn’t well acquainted with many of the mothers in town, but I certainly knew a few from the dinner rehearsal at the diner. Like Debra and Maggie, who would both certainly be here with their daughters. And maybe if I got lucky, I could corner the two and gauge their reactions when I mentioned that Vivien’s purse had been found. “Don’t be silly,” I said, waving her away and snatching a glass of iced tea off the tray of a passing waiter. “I can hold my own.”
Emily eagerly nodded and bounded down the steps to join her friends. I stared after her like a mother hen, until I saw her happily involved in conversation with a couple other debutantes. Then, sipping my tea, I scanned the crowd for a group of my own to join; and right in the middle of the scandalmongers stood Debra Bearden—just the person I was hoping to run into today.
“Hey all,” I said, sidling up to the group and doing my best to smoothly insinuate myself. “Isn’t this home just gorgeous? And the gardens.” I sighed dramatically. “So lovely.” I was trying to imitate what my sister, Ida, would say in such a situation. I’d watched her sweet-talk her way through numerous social soirees over the years. She was a master mingler. Unfortunately, my own sweet talk wasn’t winning over this group. One of the women simply raised her chin and moved in closer to the gal next to her, squeezing me out while she bent in to whisper something to her friend. But another stepped forward, her mint green taffeta dress rustling like a snake slithering through grass. “Nola, isn’t it? How nice of you to bring Emily. And at such an”—she cast a sly glance at her compatriots, who now all hung on her words—“well, an awkward time for her family.”
Behind the woman, Debra’s eyes twinkled with devilish delight as I opened my mouth to respond and found no words. I took a sip of tea, something I’d seen Mama do strategically when collecting her thoughts in such situations, then smiled and
said brightly, “I’m just so pleased to be here.” Yeah, right. I thought I’d passed their bait successfully only to see Debra now step forward as well. I braced myself.
I squinted at Debra, wondering if she knew the purse she’d so desperately been looking for had been discovered. Then again, maybe she did know. Maybe she’d somehow found the purse since her desperate conversation with Nate by the fountain, taken what she needed and ditched it behind the diner to frame Ginny. Who knew? One thing was for sure: it burned my butt to know these gals were talking about Ginny with malicious smiles. I drew in my breath, ready to set these women straight, when I noticed everyone gawking at something behind me.
Turning, I saw Stephanie had walked into the patio area, her hand resting on the suit jacket of a handsome man. I’d never met Congressman Wheeler before, but I recognized those piercing gray eyes of his immediately. They were identical to the ones I’d just seen minutes ago in the portrait of General Wheeler.
“Ladies,” Stephanie called out. “If y’all would please be seated, I have a surprise announcement.”
An excited murmur hummed through the crowd as everyone shuffled to find a chair. I immediately homed in on Debra, intent on sitting at the same table so I could pump her for information, but I was waylaid by Emily. “Look,” she said, pointing back toward the French doors. “Belle Jones is here. Let’s sit with her and her mama,” she said. I readily agreed, sliding my eyes back toward Debra, who’d chosen a table with one of her cronies. They were still whispering between each other, casting furtive glances our way. By now, they probably had Ginny tried, convicted and sentenced.
Belle and Emily slipped into easy conversation as we settled at the table. Maggie, not so much. She seemed preoccupied, or maybe it was distracted, as her gaze darted about the room. I noticed her mouth was drawn tightly, lines etching her normally smooth face as she toiled nervously with the edge of the table covering. A waiter brought by two glasses of tea. Without tasting, Maggie stirred in a couple teaspoons of sugar, her spoon clinking against the glass. “Where’s Ginny?” she asked, glancing around.
“Something’s come up and she’s running a little late. I’m just holding down the fort until she gets here. Is everything okay with you?”
Maggie set her spoon aside and sat a little straighter. “Of course. But . . . is there something going on that I should know about?” she asked, touching the brim of her pillbox hat, making sure it was securely fastened over the tightly woven bun at the nape of her neck. “Everyone keeps looking at me.”
Everyone was looking at Emily and me—word about Ginny being hauled off with the sheriff was getting around fast. The ladies who had been whispering in Debra’s group had now joined other mothers at tables, and the gossip was spreading like honey on hot toast. But Maggie and Belle had joined the party at the last minute, so they hadn’t been privy to the latest gossip, and I wasn’t about to tell them. I made a point of looking around before answering, “If anything they’re admiring your beautiful hat. Where’d you get it?”
Maggie ducked her chin modestly, but a slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Up in Atlanta. My husband and I were up there last year for Church Leadership Conference and . . . well, it caught my eye. I’m afraid I splurged a bit.”
“Well, good for you. Everyone deserves a little treat now and then.”
Maggie nodded and smiled politely, her eyes drifting over my shoulder to where Stephanie and the congressman had positioned themselves at the front of the patio. Stephanie cut through the low din of conversation by demurely clapping her fingers against her palm, “Ladies, if I could have your attention please. I’m delighted to announce that my husband, Congressman Wheeler, has decided to take a few minutes from his busy schedule to talk with us today. As soon as he’s through speaking, refreshments will be served.” She flashed a dazzling smile and made a sweeping gesture. “So, please, sit back and enjoy.”
An enthusiastic applause arose from the tables as the congressman stepped forward and prepared to speak. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of two dark-clothed figures near one of the pergola’s posts. I turned my head and squinted. One of them was Hawk. He stood out like a sore thumb, with black trousers and a black T-shirt that clung to his pumped-up muscles. His eyes met mine, and I shot him a quick wave, which he answered by widening his stance and folding his arms across his chest. I swallowed down a round of giggles that threatened to escape.
“It’s an honor to open our home for this year’s cotillion,” the congressman was saying. “It’s just one of the small ways that my beautiful wife, Stephanie, and I”—he paused and cast a loving look toward his wife, soliciting a few “awws” from the crowd—“can give back to our community. . . .” Blah, blah, blah. I sighed. Mama was right. This whole venue was nothing more than a ploy to gain votes. Tuning out his speech, I let my mind wander as I looked out over the yard, which rolled gently down to the Ocmulgee River. Off to the right, an ornately carved bench rested under the low-dipping branches of a massive live oak. For a second, I imagined lovely belles in hooped-skirted gowns frolicking about, their white-gloved hands clasping dainty parasols.
I focused back just in time to hear the congressman wrapping up his speech. He stood with his chin held high and his hands clasping his lapels as he said, “As my great grandfather, General Aloysius Wheeler, would have said, ‘It’s only through kind Providence and the humble spirit of graciousness that I strive to serve the people of this great state of Georgia.’”
A spirited applause erupted from the group. I clapped lightly, glancing around, wondering what all these people saw in the man. Personally, I didn’t trust the guy. I shook my head, feeling guilty about my knee-jerk reaction. What was my problem? I’d never even met the man before. Nor did I disagree with his politics. So why did I distrust him so much? Cade was right when he said that I had trust issues, a habit I’d probably picked up from working as a humanitarian. The thing with emergency relief work is that it’s usually conducted in situations where some sort of evil or natural disaster has broken down all pretenses of civil society. A smiling government official could be the front man for the very powers that were shooting innocent civilians. The willing hands helping to unload relief supplies could be the same hands that would transport them to a black market for easy cash. You had to know who you were dealing with and keep alert at all times. Over the years, I’d learned to be cautious, keep my guard up and trust few. Now I recognized just how much my work had changed me. But I was home now, back in the States, away from the horrors and fears of those years. It was time to change. Yup, I needed to work on that. Starting with the congressman.
I adjusted my attitude and clapped enthusiastically as the congressman tossed us one final wave before disappearing back into the house, Dane and the other security man falling in step behind him.
Then, as if on cue, several pairs of waitstaff, dressed in the same black pants and white shirts as the valets, entered the patio carrying large trays of tiered plates filled with finger sandwiches and petit fours, one for each table. Emily’s eyes gleamed as she took in the fancy arrangement of food. Other waiters then stepped forward, steaming porcelain teapots in hand. They tipped delicately with their right hands, holding the spouts over the white tea towels draped on their left arms. Each filling of a cup was finished with a little lifting of the spout, a flourish and a nod. For a second, I became caught up in the formality of the experience, feeling like a pampered princess. “This sure is fancy, isn’t it?” I whispered to Maggie.
“Yes, lovely,” she mumbled, staring blankly into her tea.
Glancing across the table at the girls and assuring myself that they were fully engrossed in their own conversation, I shifted in my chair and leaned closer to Maggie. “Did you hear about what happened at the diner this morning?”
She looked up with dull eyes. “No. What?”
“They found Vivien Crenshaw’s purse.”
“Ginny found it in the alley behind the diner. The sheriff has it now.” I didn’t bring up the fact that she took Ginny in for questioning.
Maggie’s lower lip trembled slightly as she continued to stare at me for a couple beats before averting her gaze downward to her plate. She grew silent, fidgeting with her untouched food.
“Anyway,” I added nonchalantly, “it may prove to be a break in the case.”
“A break in the case,” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. She pushed her chair back abruptly and started to stand. “If y’all would excuse me for a second, I need to make a quick phone call.” She snatched her clutch off the table and started toward the patio doors.
“Is Mama upset about something?” Belle asked, wide-eyed with concern.
“No, I’m sure everything’s fine,” I assured her, folding my napkin and placing it next to my plate. “But I’ll go and check on her just to make sure.”
I’d just stood and started after her when Ginny appeared in the doorway, wearing a black-and-white polka-dot dress and a wide-brimmed white hat that contrasted with her red hair. Emily let out a little gasp. “Mama!” she cried, jumping out of her seat and rushing toward the patio doors, grasping her mother’s arm and tugging her toward the table. The patio grew silent as everyone turned Ginny’s way. By the look of things, the news of Ginny being hauled away by the sheriff had run the gamut; there wasn’t a single lady, including our hostess, who wasn’t gawking at Ginny like she was some sort of apparition.
Oh boy, I thought, suddenly divided on whether I should take off in pursuit of Maggie or hang back and help defend my friend against the throng of loose-lipped ladies. But I needn’t have worried. In her typical fashion, Ginny bucked the onslaught of caustic glares by straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin defiantly before weaving through the tables with unshakable confidence.