by Nancy Martin
“I know. That’s why we need a man along! And since that sweet Henry Fineman is busy—”
“What’s he doing?”
“Looking after the children.”
“Henry’s babysitting?”
“With the help of that charming man in the sarong who’s not allowed to leave the house now that Mama and Daddy are back from the hospital.”
Emma took a deep breath and pulled her head out of the bag. “Libby flirted with him.”
“Who? You flirted with Oscar? What happened to Jacque Petite?”
“Nothing whatsoever.” Libby was huffy. “I have always struggled with the societal pressure to be monogamous. I find both men attractive—each in his own way. Tierney, aren’t you drawn to more than one partner at a time?”
Tierney looked at me. “Is that a trick question?”
“Slow down,” Emma begged. “Or I’m gonna hurl.”
I said, “Daddy’s out of the hospital?”
“He was discharged this afternoon. He and Mama are having some quiet time in their bedroom.”
“God, I hope she doesn’t kill him.”
The city flew past the windows as Libby roared up the avenue, heading for Fairmount Park. Streetlights sputtered to life as the sun sank below the river. A knot of teenagers hung around the circle at the foot of the museum. A man selling Italian ice began closing up his truck for the night. But Libby kept her foot firmly on the accelerator, and we plunged into the park. Emma burped.
We passed a parking lot full of cars and people preparing to watch the pre-weekend fireworks.
Libby hauled the steering wheel hard to the right, then barely missed the bumper of an oncoming SUV. We thundered around a hillside and entered a long stretch of road covered by an arch of trees.
“Where’s the plastic bag?” Emma cried.
My phone rang in my handbag. I pulled it out hastily. “Michael?”
“Aunt Nora!” Rawlins yelled. “Is my mom with you?”
“Yes, she is. Do you want to speak with her?”
“God, no,” my nephew said. “Do you think you could convince her that I should go to Hollywood with Chad and be part of his entourage? He says I could finish high school at Beverly Hills and meet Rod Stewart’s daughter.”
“Rawlins, darling, you don’t want to be in anybody’s entourage but your own.”
“But it would be really cool! Even Shawna would think so.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be the star of your own life?” I asked.
Sounding sulky, he said, “Delmar’s going.”
“Delmar is going to Hollywood? With Chad Zanzibar?”
“I think so,” Rawlins said. “Of course, things might change once Chad figures out Delmar’s not Mick.”
“That might be a problem,” I agreed.
“Anyway, Delmar’s probably going to break Chad’s face pretty soon.”
“Good grief, why?”
“Chad made a rude crack about his grandmother, and Delmar got upset. He says nobody should be disrespectful of grandmothers. It’s like grandmothers are sacred or something. So I think he’s gonna end up hurting Chad.”
“So maybe the Beverly Hills trip isn’t going to happen.”
“Yeah, maybe not.” Rawlins sighed. “Henry says to tell you that Brandi Whoever isn’t using her real name, by the way. Her real name is Cadwaller, and she’s from someplace in California.”
I gripped the phone with both hands, not sure I had heard correctly. “Rawlins, is Henry there? Can I talk to him?”
“No, I’m at work. He was playing Joan of Arc with Lucy when I left. Look, the other thing is that Mr. Cavendish, the dead guy?”
“Yes?”
“His real name was Cadwaller, too.”
“What?”
“Henry thinks maybe they were cousins or something.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Does that mean anything?”
“I’m not sure what,” I admitted. My mind raced. Brandi related to Hoyt?
“So about me going to Beverly Hills?”
“We’ll talk later.”
“That usually means no.” Rawlins disconnected.
I closed my phone, not sure how to interpret the new information. What did it mean? Brandi and Hoyt were related? He had helped her get a job in the city, helped her join an influential board? And then what? They hardly seemed friendly with each other, let alone family.
Over her shoulder, Libby said, “I don’t like Rawlins’s new girlfriend. She’s very demanding.”
“Needy,” I said, distracted. “That’s different from demanding. Shawna was demanding. She challenged him.”
“I never liked Shawna, either. She was very forward.”
“Sound familiar?”
From the front seat, Emma suddenly said, “That’s Hart’s car.”
A silver Porsche sat parked under the lee of a rock formation, and Libby blasted past it. “Hunch down, Em, in case they’re still inside!”
I took a look at the car as we whipped beyond it. “It’s empty.”
“They must be on their way up to the gazebo already,” Libby said. “Hang on, everybody!”
The minivan bucketed over a pothole and took a curve almost on two wheels. Libby cut the lights as we raced over a flat stretch of road planted with flowering bushes on either side.
“I know all the best hiding places in this park,” Libby announced. “One summer I had a boyfriend who worked on the maintenance crew. He took me to every secluded glen and we—oh, he was a wonderful kisser. His name was Ramon. He only had one nipple.”
Tierney said, “I was better off an only child.”
“Nonsense.” I patted his knee. “You’ll learn to love us.”
Libby slid the minivan between two fragrant pine trees and killed the engine. “Okay. Who’s got a plan?”
“We thought you had a plan!”
“It was more of a general concept, really—”
Tierney tried reasoning with her. “Why don’t we find a place to have dinner and think this through? I haven’t eaten since I found some cold pizza in the refrigerator. And I haven’t had a cheesesteak in years.”
“Don’t mention food!” Emma groaned. “I’m out of ginger ale and throwing up! I’m sick! I’m disgusting! I haven’t washed my hair in two days! And this is how I’m supposed to tell somebody I’m pregnant with his stupid baby?”
I handed her the second bottle of ginger ale, which she snatched from my grasp.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Libby opened her door. “It’s not very hard to plan an ambush, is it?”
Emma glugged half the bottle, then opened her door reluctantly. “I need fresh air anyway.”
We all climbed out of the vehicle and found ourselves in a hidden glade where the minivan wouldn’t be seen by passing cars. We regrouped in front of it.
“Well?” I glanced around and kept my voice down. “Where’s the gazebo from here?”
Libby pointed up the knoll. I could see the only way to reach it was a twisted path through the trees.
I noticed that Libby wore camouflage Capri pants and sneakers in addition to her T-shirt. She looked like a commando who shopped at Lane Bryant.
I said, “I’m not dressed for a hike in the woods.”
“I have a pair of gardening boots in the van.”
Libby opened the hatch of the minivan and rummaged around until she found a pair of green rubber boots. She handed them to me. Next she wrestled out the step stool and heaved it at Tierney.
Tierney stared at the stool. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Emma said, “I have to pee.”
“Big surprise, after all that ginger ale.”
My cell phone rang.
“Shhhh!”
I grabbed the phone and hit the button before it could ring again. “Hello!”
Michael said, “Jeez, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just under a little sisterly stress at the moment. I’m w
ith Lib and Emma. Are you out of custody?”
“Yep. But I’ve got to take care of something. Are you all right on your own for a while?”
“Of course I am.”
He promised to call me later and said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I closed my phone and found Tierney staring at me. I smiled. “He’s not as scary as he looks.”
Emma and Libby emerged from the bushes. They were both zipping up their pants.
Midzip, Emma froze. “Shh! I hear voices.”
I stopped in the act of pulling on the boots. We listened, straining in the darkness. Nobody moved. Nobody drew a breath. I began to wonder if I could hear music, sounding tinny in the open air.
At last, Tierney said with disgust, “Oh, my God, it’s Celine Dion.”
Emma burped. “Hart loves Celine Dion.”
“How could you sleep with a man who loves Celine Dion? That’s just wrong.”
Libby said, “I love Celine Dion, too.”
Tierney said, “Then I’m definitely not related to you.”
I grabbed Emma’s arm. “Don’t get distracted. Focus. You need to tell Hart he’s going to be a father before he makes a dreadful mistake. You’ll be saving him from a life of Celine Dion, not to mention bad sex. Don’t blow this, Em. And hurry up, will you? I still have to make it to the Chocolate Gala.”
Grimly, she clutched her ginger ale and nodded. “Okay, okay. Let’s do it before I lose my courage.”
I threw my shoes and handbag into the back of the minivan. Libby had dug into the glove compartment and come up with a weak flashlight.
“Turn that thing off,” Tierney said. “We’ll see better in the dark without it. Save the battery for an emergency.”
Libby surprised me by obeying without an argument. “Are you getting into this?” she asked.
Tierney sighed. “I’m a sucker for a love story. So sue me.”
The four of us eased across the road and onto the path. The rocks and dirt underfoot were very dry.
“If we sneak around this way,” Libby said in a hushed voice, “we can get right up to the back of the gazebo and see what’s going on. We can pounce whenever things get too—”
“No pouncing,” said Emma. “There’s not going to be any pouncing.”
We edged our way around some exposed sandstone, picking across a rough trail before reaching a small stand of maple trees. Instinctively, we all stayed close to the tree trunks to avoid being seen. Heading cautiously up the slope, Libby suddenly slipped. She gasped as her feet nearly slid out from under her. Tierney caught her arm. Emma, on the path below, reached up and steadied Libby, too.
“Stop pinching,” Libby hissed.
“Keep moving, will you?”
“Shut up!” Tierney listened again. “This is the end of the song.”
“How do you know it’s the end?” Emma demanded. “Do you listen to Celine Dion?”
“I had a girlfriend who had this CD. She played it a thousand times a day.”
“Oho,” said Emma. “So you know all of Celine’s songs?”
“That’s not a crime if it was forced on me.”
“Right.” Emma slugged more ginger ale.
I couldn’t help noticing the level of ginger ale was getting very low in her bottle. I realized I should have purchased several.
“This way,” Libby hissed. “Don’t lag behind or you’ll get lost.”
In the falling dusk, she hotfooted her way across an open glade and led us through some overgrown bushes and across the bed of impatiens that had been planted by the park service. Tierney lugged the step stool, and behind him Emma staggered unsteadily.
“Em?”
She handed me the empty ginger ale bottle. “Damn!”
“Shh!” Libby hugged a man-made cliff built of rugged stones. She pointed upward. “They’re right above us!”
We could hear Celine crooning more clearly. And Hart’s voice rumbled along with her, barely keeping the tune.
Tierney said, “Is he singing?”
“Shut up.” Emma glared. “He likes to sing.”
“Come on,” Libby said. “Put down the step stool. Here, see? And climb up on it, Tierney.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you’ll have to boost us up there!”
“But—”
“Nora, you go first.”
“Why can’t it be Emma?”
Because Emma was upchucking in the bushes.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Shhh!” Libby said. “Keep it down, can’t you?”
Emma tried to muffle her retching.
Tierney climbed onto the step stool and put his hand down to me. “Upsy-daisy.”
“This dress is worth thousands,” I told him as I grasped his hand.
He pulled me up onto the stool, and the two of us teetered there, clutching the rocks to stay upright. In my ear, he said, “Put your foot in my hand, and I’ll boost you up.”
I followed his instructions. A second later I stifled a yelp as Tierney heaved me upward. I scrabbled for a handhold and felt my dress catch on something. But then Tierney put his hand squarely on my butt, and the next thing I knew, I was up over the wall and clutching the ground. Silently, I pulled myself to a kneeling position.
There, I had a clear view of the gazebo.
It was a lovely spot for a proposal, I thought at once. The picturesque structure overlooked the lights of the city. The surrounding flower bed overflowed with the fragrance of burgeoning rosebushes. A slight breeze rustled in the trees overhead.
“Ooof!”
Libby landed beside me.
“You okay?”
“Damn, I think I just deflated one bra cup!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I bought one of those new bras with the little inflatable thingies. You know, to balance myself out a bit. After nursing Maximus, I’m a little—uneven.” She heaved herself to her knees and began to give her bosom a tentative squeeze when she caught a glimpse of the tableau in the gazebo. “Oh, is that Hart? He’s very good-looking these days, isn’t he? Do you think he goes to a gym?”
The two of us peered over the roses at the couple about fifteen yards away. Hart wore a crisp dress shirt and the trousers of a suit, no tie—as if he’d come from the office. The woman with him was an ethereal blonde in a yellow sundress.
“She’s very pretty,” Libby whispered. “She doesn’t look like Eva Braun at all.”
“She has great legs.”
“Not as great as Emma’s.”
“You’re right. Are they holding hands?”
The blonde appeared to be wheedling Hart, swinging his hand in hers flirtatiously. As we watched, Hart slowly took her into his arms and began to dance to Celine’s singing.
Libby sighed. “He’s so romantic! My first husband proposed to me at a Burger King.”
“I thought your first husband was a vegetarian.”
“He was. We were protesting their inhumane treatment for slaughtering animals.”
A second later, Emma scrambled up beside us, snapping over her shoulder, “I don’t care who you are—get your hand off my ass!”
“Shhhh!”
Grumbling, Emma peered over the rosebushes. “What’s going on?”
I said, “I think they’re kissing.”
“I could throw a rock,” Libby offered. “I used to be a softball pitcher.”
“If anybody throws rocks, it’s going to be me.” Emma sounded dangerous. “Has he proposed yet?”
We squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of Miss Haffenpepper’s left hand.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Oh, man.” Emma crumpled back to the ground. “I’m gonna be sick again.”
Libby said, “What happened to the ginger ale?”
“I drank it all!”
“It’s all in your head. You’re just sick because you’re scared.”
“Either way, I’m gonna v
omit.”
“Take it easy,” I said. “Libby, don’t you have something else to drink in the minivan?”
She frowned. “There might be a Diet Coke under the backseat. Sometimes I mix it with a teensy bit of rum when the twins are in detention at school.”
Emma croaked, “Ginger ale’s the only thing that works.”
“I don’t have ginger ale!”
In another instant, she was barfing into the roses.
“Shhh!”
I said, “I’ll go look for the Diet Coke. It might help. But don’t wait for me. If Hart goes down on one knee, somebody has to do something to distract him.”
“Like what?” Libby asked. “Bird calls? Coyote howls?”
“No, something that will stop him from proposing! Emma needs to talk to him first.” Although Em hardly looked capable of communicating at that particular moment. “I’ll be right back.”
Tierney caught me climbing down over the wall. Awkwardly, we wrestled with each other until I found my balance. When he set me on the ground, I said, “I’m going back to the car for a minute. If you hear coyotes start to howl, don’t be frightened.”
“I couldn’t get much more frightened than I am right now. You three are truly terrifying.”
From above, we heard Emma making inhuman sounds and Libby trying to shush her.
“Hurry,” Tierney advised.
I slithered down the path and headed for the minivan.
Libby had left it unlocked, so I heaved open the rear passenger door and stuck my head down under the seat to look for the Diet Coke. The dome light was too meager to see by, so I groped around until my fingers struck the smooth surface of the can. I dragged it out and stood up.
Just as a large vehicle pulled quietly to a stop behind Libby’s minivan.
I froze.
“Nora?” A voice called through an open window.
Cautiously, I edged out from behind the pine trees.
The vehicle turned out to be a large white van decorated with the multicolored logo of a local television station. Taking a step closer, I peered through the windshield to identify the driver.
“It’s me. Brandi Schmidt.”
I went to the passenger door and looked through the open window. Sure enough, the driver was Brandi. She blew a cloud of cigarette smoke and tossed the still-smoldering butt onto the street.
“Hi,” I said. “This is a surprise.”