by Sara Rosett
To one side of our yard, Nadia crouched low as she photographed Nathan in his cow costume. She shifted and focused on her girls. Ribbons streamed out behind her daughters—they were the fairy princesses in shades of pink and purple.
I saw Nita at the wheel of her gold car slowly pull away from the curb in front of Dorthea’s house. She saw me and waved. Dorthea stood with her hand braced on the mailbox, watching the car creep carefully around the hayride trailer, then signal at the end of the block.
I said to Abby, “Do you mind watching Livvy and Nathan for a second? I want to run over and ask Dorthea how Nita’s doing.”
“Sure, go ahead,” Abby said, and I hurried across the street.
“You have quite a crowd over there,” Dorthea said, smiling as she watched the kids.
“Yes. They’re a bit hyper right now.”
“Oh, they’re fine. Let ’em run all they want.”
“I saw Nita leaving. How’s she doing?”
Dorthea gazed up the street and shook her head. “How well can you be after burying your only daughter just a few days ago?”
I nodded. There was only one answer for that. Dorthea turned and I walked with her as she slowly crossed her lawn, climbed the steps to the porch, and took a seat on her glider. She said, “Nita drops in sometimes. I know she walks that gravel path quite a bit. Seems to help her.”
“I’m glad you’re there for her.”
Dorthea pulled a bucket of candy into place beside her and said, “Nita and Gerald have plenty of friends. We’ll keep an eye on them. Colleen checks in on them every few days.”
I took a seat beside her on the glider. “That’s good. Colleen is handling it okay, too?” I asked. Of everyone, she’d been the one person who’d been most adamant in refusing to even consider the possibility that Jodi might not come back.
“Seems to be. I think we all knew, deep down, that the chances of her being alive were pretty slim.”
We were silent for a moment and watched the kids flitter across the lawn. Finally, Dorthea said, “Nita tells me Detective Waraday and Colleen are on the verge of being ‘an item.’”
“Really?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes, seems they both go to the same Starbucks for their morning coffee. They kept running into each other and chatting. Nita says now they’ve added lunches to their morning coffee.”
“I guess that puts Scott out of the picture.”
“Yes. He’s lucky to still have his job.”
“STAND’s board didn’t fire him?” I asked, surprised.
“No. Took him to task, but told him they’d give him another opportunity since he has been a hard worker. I hope he straightens up and flies right, as my daddy used to say.”
“I hope so. He seems like a nice enough guy, but he made some terrible choices.”
“Okay, let’s load up,” Mitch shouted, and the kids scrambled onto the bales of hay. Mitch settled down beside Livvy and encircled her with his arm to make sure she stayed in the trailer. I said good-bye to Dorthea, then picked up Nathan and settled against the prickly hay beside Mitch.
There was a lurch, and then we were off, bumping along. Mitch shifted and encircled my shoulders with his other arm. Nadia snapped a picture of us at that moment.
Two days later, I wiped my hand over the glass that enclosed that photograph. Nadia had e-mailed it to me after the hayride. It was my favorite picture of us. We weren’t posed, smiling stiffly for the camera like a studio portrait. We were looking at each other, relaxed and smiling, a family.
I positioned the frame on the bookshelves in the living room. Our own little circle of family—it still amazed me. Every once in a while when I managed to slow down and look past the minutiae of the everyday routine, I realized how blessed I was. I had a husband who loved me and two beautiful, healthy kids.
Mitch came in from the garage, carrying an empty box. “Ellie, do we have any more black garbage bags?” He was bagging leaves and the kids were “helping.”
“There’s more on the bottom shelf by the door.”
He noticed the picture and said, “Nice.”
“I know.” I smiled. “I just have one more thing to do,” I said as I pushed the chairs back under the dining room table. I put the low glass bowl filled with candy corn in the center. “Okay. That’s it. We’re completely finished straightening up after all the parties. Finally!” I’ll be the first to admit that I get antsy after a party and want to get everything put away and back where it belongs. It had taken over a week to clean up. The backyard alone had taken several days. The concrete patio was now a shade darker, a result of the dousing with the oil, but it was very clean and Mitch had replaced the broken screen.
I walked over and wrapped my arm around his waist. “So how’s it going out there?”
“Not getting a thing done, but they’re having a ton of fun.” He draped his arm across my shoulders as we walked back to the garage. “So, the house is back to normal? Everything’s good?”
“Yep, everything’s good. Now, if I could just find a couple of hours to work on the box room…”
An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Party
Little extras.
It’s those small extra touches that show your thoughtfulness and also let the party roll on without a hitch. Take the time to put fresh towels in your guest bathroom. Light some candles. If you’re entertaining outdoors, make sure you have extra bug repellent and sunscreen. If you’re hosting a children’s birthday party, have door prizes for the winners of the games. Make place cards for a formal dinner. Don’t forget to put on the music. Take pictures, then share them with your guests after the party.
Turn the page for a sneak preview of Sara Rosett’s new Ellie Avery mystery, MINT JULEPS, MAYHEM, AND MURDER, available in hardcover from Kensington in April 2010!
Chapter One
I flinched as a rifle shot fractured the air.
“Good lord, what was that?” Mitch’s aunt jumped and nearly dropped the slice of peach pie she was transferring to a plate.
“Hunters,” I explained, gesturing to the woods behind our backyard. “The neighborhood backs up to a state wildlife area. We hear them quite a bit, especially since deer season opened early this year.” I kept my voice casual, but that shot had been awfully close, much louder than usual. I tensed, waiting for more shots, but the only sounds I heard were the low murmurings of voices punctuated with an occasional laugh from the fifty people gathered in our backyard for the annual Avery Family Reunion.
“Oh dear, I’d love a slice of that chocolate cake, too, but I really shouldn’t,” Mitch’s aunt said as she surveyed the spread on the dessert table. Mitch’s family was from a small town outside of Montgomery, Alabama, and they were a true southern family—they overflowed with charm and friendliness and they knew how to cook. None of the new-fangled sugar substitutes, low-calorie, or low-fat recipes for them. The more butter and sugar, the better, seemed to be the family motto, which I certainly couldn’t argue with, since I have an affinity for sweets myself, particularly chocolate. “Here, I’ll split a piece with you,” I said, trying to cover for the fact that I wasn’t sure if this was Aunt Christine or Aunt Claudia. Or maybe…Aunt Claudine? No, that wasn’t right. As she cut a slice in half, I caught Mitch’s gaze and mouthed the words, “Aunt Christine?”
He gave me the thumbs up, broke away from the men by the grill, and headed across the yard toward us. “Hi, Aunt Christine,” Mitch said as he gave her a peck on the cheek, then ran his arm around my shoulders to give me a quick hug. “How’s Grandpa Franklin doing in this humidity?” he asked her. “Would he be more comfortable inside?”
“I’m sure he would be, but he’d never admit it. He refuses to let anything slow him down. I do try to keep him hydrated,” she said, holding up a bottled water dripping with condensation. “I’d better get back to him.”
We watched her roly-poly figure waddle away. “She takes good care of your grandfather,” I said. “She’s ne
ver been married?”
“Nope, but I hear she’s got a boyfriend. Aunt Nanette says the Walgreens pharmacist is a real hottie for a sixty-year-old and keeps asking Aunt Christine to dinner. They’re both metal detector enthusiasts. They met at a treasure hunt.”
“You have the most interesting family,” I said.
Mitch glanced at me questioningly, and I said, “Don’t get defensive. I’ve got a few quirky types in my family tree, too. I’m the one with the aunt who recycles stray paper clips and used staples. Last time I visited, she’d collected enough to fill a large coffee can. She also makes masks from dryer lint. Cake?”
He shook his head and I devoured the last bites of the rich chocolate and creamy icing. Mitch’s healthy eating habits were annoying at times, but right now I was glad to finish off the cake myself. “You know, a few bites won’t hurt you.”
“I’ve learned never to come between you and chocolate,” he said, the skin around his dark eyes crinkling as he smiled.
I licked the last trace of crumbs from the fork. “Wise man. Now, since I’m fortified with chocolate, I need a refresher on that crash course you gave me on your relatives.” The avalanche of Avery relatives had begun at breakfast this morning and I still hadn’t sorted out all the names and faces. Mitch’s military assignments had kept me from getting to know the whole Avery clan. I nodded to the picnic tables covered with red-and-white checked cloths where the aunts had gathered at the back of the yard in the shade of the loblolly pines. “Aunt Nanette is the one with the Afghan hound at her feet, right?”
“Yes. If you run out of things to talk about, ask about her new Mini Cooper.”
“Really? I saw the black one with the British flag on it in the driveway, but I figured it belonged to one of your cousins. She seems more like a Cadillac type.”
“Nope. She’s an Anglophile who’s into sporty cars. And don’t forget to pet Queen,” Mitch said. “If Queen likes you, Aunt Nanette will, too.”
“Oh, who’s that—the man with the stubble and the phoenix tattoo on his forearm? I couldn’t figure him out.”
“None of us can. That’s my Uncle Bud. You’d never guess that he’s one of the most successful real-estate brokers in Alabama, would you? He still lives in the double-wide he’s lived in for the last twenty years. Aunt Nanette says he doesn’t just pinch pennies, he makes them beg for mercy.” Mitch lowered his voice and leaned closer to me. “Don’t tell anyone, but I know he sponsors one of the baseball teams in Smarr. No one else in the family knows. If it got out, it would ruin his reputation as a miser.”
One of the young cousins threw open the screen door from the house and galloped across the lawn toward Mitch, her pigtails flying and our ringing cordless phone clutched in her hand. The second before the door eased closed, Rex, our Rottweiler, who has a seriously scary bark but a sweet disposition, slipped outside. I’d figured keeping him inside during the reunion was a good idea. It was crazy enough in the backyard without him, but he took off, running in huge, looping circles. Queen hesitated for a second, then shot after him. I glanced at Mitch and he shrugged. “We might as well let them wear themselves out. No way we’re going to catch them now.”
“Thanks, Madison,” Mitch said as he took the phone. He listened, then his posture changed from normal and relaxed to taut. He tilted the phone away from his face. “It’s Abby.”
I could tell from his face that something was wrong. My heart seemed to tumble in my chest, then drop sharply. Abby was another military spouse and my best friend. My thoughts flittered from her to her husband, Jeff, then to their son Charlie. “What is it?” I asked.
Mitch put his hand on my shoulder. “She’s fine. They’re all fine. It’s Colonel Pershall. He’s at the E.R.”
“Colonel Pershall? Your squadron commander?” His words didn’t make sense. Colonel Lewis Pershall couldn’t be more than forty. He was a towering giant of a man. He was a sturdy, broad-shouldered black man with a barrel chest and, oddly, one of the softest-spoken people I knew. Mitch said Colonel Pershall never raised his voice at the squadron. He didn’t need to. Mitch enjoyed working for him more than anyone else he’d ever worked for.
“Okay, let us know if you need anything. All right. Here’s Ellie.” He handed me the phone.
Abby’s shaky voice came over the line. “Oh, Ellie. It’s so terrible and I’m sorry to call you during the reunion. I completely forgot about it.”
“Don’t worry about that. What’s going on?” I asked.
“It’s touch and go right now,” Abby said. “Someone tried to strangle him, Ellie. That sounds strange to say out loud, but that’s what they said happened. He’d finished a round of golf. Another golfer found him unconscious in the parking lot beside his car.”
I wasn’t sure if I’d heard correctly. I turned away from the chatter and laughter. “Did you say strangled?” I asked as I pressed the phone closer to my ear.
“Yes. I know, I can’t take it in either, but that’s what the doctors are talking about—oxygen deprivation and jugular veins and lots of other words I don’t understand, but it’s serious.”
“How’s Denise?”
“Shocked. She’s not saying anything. Just sitting there. They come and talk to her and she nods, but that’s about it.”
“That’s not like her at all,” I said, thinking of the woman who hadn’t been afraid to shake things up at the squadron coffees by daring to ask what the spouses wanted out of their spouse club. The thought that we didn’t have to continue to meet once a month and organize fundraisers nearly caused a revolt from some spouses. Sometimes traditions die hard.
“I know,” Abby said miserably. “Jeff and I were at the park and we saw the security police pull up to their house.” Abby lived in base housing at Taylor Air Force Base and we’d spent several afternoons this summer at that little park situated in base housing, watching Livvy, Nathan, and Charlie clamber up and down the slides. “I went over to check on Denise. The only way I can think to describe her is shell-shocked. She was in a daze. I had to get her purse for her before she left for the hospital. It was like leading Charlie around. Jeff took Charlie home and I came up here to be with her. I’m rambling, aren’t I? I think I might be in shock, too.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re at the North Dawkins Medical Center?” I asked. North Dawkins was the city located outside Taylor’s gates.
“Right, no E.R. on the base anymore, remember? I don’t know if he’ll be moved up to Atlanta or not. I’m going to stay until Denise’s family gets here.”
“We can get away for a while later tonight and come by. Do you need anything?” I asked.
“No. Denise and Lewis are the only ones who need anything. They need prayer. The outlook isn’t good. They’re not giving Denise much hope.”
We said good-bye and I turned back to look around the yard, amazed that people still chatted, the sun still beat down. A blue jay called sharply from the trees above me, then swooped away. Nothing had changed. At least, not for us. I prayed a quick, rather incoherent prayer for Denise and Lewis and took a step toward the house, feeling like I should do something.
I stopped. There was nothing else I could do. Mitch touched my shoulder again. “Are you okay?” he asked, his face concerned.
“Yes. No. Oh, I’m okay, but poor Denise and Colonel Pershall.” I couldn’t even imagine what Denise was going through. “It’s just…news like that…it’s almost unbelievable. I mean, this is North Dawkins, Georgia. People don’t get attacked and…and strangled in North Dawkins. And at a golf course? Was he on base, do you think?” There was a nice course on base.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. He liked to play eighteen holes on Saturday and for the last few weeks he’d been playing there. He was determined to birdie sixteen, called it his nemesis, but I suppose he could have been at one of the other neighborhood courses around here.” We didn’t live in a golf course neighborhood, but there were a few of those scattered around the area.
Mitch had ba
rely finished his sentence when someone slapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over. “Uncle Kenny! How are you?” Mitch asked, and I could see him slip into host-mode, despite the worry he felt.
Uncle Kenny adjusted his University of Alabama baseball cap as he said, “What do you think about the team this year? Did you hear about the new running back? I think we’ve got a real shot at the SEC West.”
I stood by and listened, but wasn’t able to contribute much to the conversation. My thoughts were still with Denise and Colonel Pershall. I put the slim phone in my shorts pocket and pulled my thoughts back to the scene in front of me. Abby would call if anything changed. Right now, I had to concentrate on the reunion.
I tried to remember what I’d learned about Uncle Kenny and Aunt Gwen during last year’s reunion. I knew they’d cornered the market on roadside boiled peanut stands. They loved the Crimson Tide and were extremely competitive. The volleyball game at the reunion last year had been as hard fought as an Olympic match with Uncle Kenny and Aunt Gwen captaining the two teams. I also remembered that Mitch said they’d wanted to paint the trim on their house crimson earlier this summer, but regulations in their subdivision had forced them to limit the crimson to their front door. I was too shaken to figure out how to work any of those topics into the conversation, so I was relieved to see Mitch’s mom, Caroline, walk up with a droopy Nathan snuggled into the crook of her arm.
Caroline was an interesting mixture of reticence and southern charm. She could fold a fitted sheet so that it looked like a flat sheet and that fact alone intimidated me. She wore the same Avery Family Reunion T-shirt we were all wearing, but on her it looked stylish. She’d gathered the hem of the shirt and fastened it through a clip above her trim hip. The clip matched her heavy silver earrings, which set off her silvery-white hair that swung against her jawbone as she swayed back and forth to keep Nathan dozy. Despite the heat, she looked as fresh as she did when she stepped out of the car this morning at the end of our driveway, carrying her famous peach pies and homemade rolls.