“Let me get you two a glass of wine,” Deborah said.
“You wouldn’t have a beer, would you?” Bruce said.
“Yes, we do—”
“Honey, a glass of wine is just fine. Beer is for baseball games.” Ruby patted Bruce’s arm. She knew at least five members of the Carsonville Women’s League would be there that night, possibly including the League’s president. “Thank you, Deb. I had no idea you’d—you’d had such a vision.”
“I just got started, and I don’t know what happened. One thing led to another. I had a talk with the florist, then the caterer, and, well—” Her eyes widened. She was, Ruby saw with some relief, still the same Deb. “But don’t worry about the cost. Louie and Grandpa are paying for the whole thing. Besides, I sold another fifty tickets.”
Ruby smiled. Tonight was going to be something special, she could feel it. Those biddies who hustled to her salon, then bragged about slumming? The ones who wouldn’t let her join the Women’s League? They’d see who had class. Her mother would get that plaque yet.
* * *
Deborah’s gaze swept the crowded room. She smiled. She’d spent way too many evenings alone in the big old house, and the riot of noise, color, and people jostling their way through the entry hall to the dining room was surprisingly soothing. People seemed to like it here. She’d already had half a dozen people ask her who’d painted her entryway.
And she loved her new haircut. It was terrifying at first. She’d insisted on the haircut right away, not even going home to change. They drove straight to Ruby’s salon. Her heart pounded as chunks of hair fell to the floor. When, at last, Ruby spun her chair to the mirror, a thrill rocketed through her body—a thrill much bigger than lifting a Rolex from a half-drunk businessman.
She felt light, free. What happened when Louie came home and found their house transformed, she didn’t know. But tonight it was as if she’d been reborn, and this time into the right world.
“Oh, Mrs. Granzer—” started a thin brunette with an improbably placid forehead.
“Call me Deborah.”
“Deborah, then. I just love your house. What a wonderful party. Why haven’t we seen you down at the Women’s League?”
“I’m not much for clubs, although I’m sure yours is nice. Besides, I’m already part of the Booster Club.”
“Let me give you my number. We could have lunch at the League, and you can tell me about this Booster Club. I’ll show you around, introduce you to the girls.” The woman rummaged through her purse and drew out a small gold pen. In the background, old man Granzer’s voice roared something about engine size.
“Deborah,” said another woman, this one with white-blonde hair. “Louie has been hiding you away. Where is the son of a gun, anyway?”
“Birdwatching,” Deborah said serenely. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to the caterers.” The caterers were fine. She just wanted the excuse to step away and luxuriate in the moment. She’d never hosted anything this big before. Louie had insisted on a small wedding, and they rarely had guests for dinner.
If only he were here. He’d be so proud of her, and if he really thought about the Rizzio kids, he’d understand why this was all so important. A hand flew to the short hair at the nape of her neck, and uncertainty set in. As long as she hadn’t gone too far.
In any case, the guests were enjoying themselves. Not surprisingly, Claudine hadn’t arrived yet. She’d probably slip in at the last minute and stake out a spot near a wall. Again she wondered what Claudine’s night job was, when she wasn’t at the Scent Shoppe. Carsonville wasn’t far from San Francisco or even Los Angeles by plane. She might jet down and carry off a few hits. Bringing guns on planes was nearly impossible now. Maybe she used poisoned darts.
“For Christ’s sake,” a voice behind her said. Deborah turned to see Joy Ellen, ex-beauty queen and Grandpa Granzer’s occasional consort, resplendent in rhinestones and a frosted wiglet. “I feel like I landed at a convention of Cougar Barbies. Have you ever seen so much Botox in all your life?”
Deborah suppressed a giggle. Now that she’d mentioned it, the ladies of the crowd did cast an air of aging sorority house. “Did you get yourself a drink?”
“Right here.” Joy Ellen tapped a glass sitting on a nearby table. “I love what you did to your hair. Suits you. Me, I try to maximize my ’do. The volume works to balance the girls, you know what I mean?” She looked down at her chest.
One of the so-called Cougar Barbies, this one with shoulder-brushing earrings, crossed the room, dragging the arm of a more elegant woman, this one wearing a pearl necklace and pristine white pantsuit. “There you are. Come here. You’ve got to meet Louie Granzer’s wife. Deborah, right? This is Eleanor Millhouse, president of the Carsonville Women’s League.”
Deborah shook the new woman’s hand. Something about this woman’s laser gaze unnerved her. She pulled her hand away and managed a weak smile. “Pleased to meet you.”
Someone else jostled for attention. “I’m Amy, and this, come here, honey—” She pulled a dazed man forward “—is my husband, Ned Rossum.”
“Commissioner Rossum,” the long-earringed woman added.
Deborah stood, stunned. The evening’s thrill drained out of her like water from a tub. She had this man’s watch in her basket upstairs.
* * *
Claudine hesitated at the door as a maid took her coat. Hugo had already been to the house, and he ambled to the living room, undoubtedly to search out a waiter with something to feed him. They were a bit late because Father Vincent couldn’t find a clean collar when Claudine picked him up to go to the firehouse to babysit. The kids insisted they didn’t need a babysitter, even without Hugo, and it took Claudine another fifteen minutes to convince them otherwise. Then Hugo wanted to stop at a burger place on the way.
She stared at the colorful hall before slipping into the living room. The hall wasn’t at all like that on her last, surreptitious visit weeks before the Booster Club began. She remembered a coat rack and silk Persian carpet, but that was it. She checked the gilded mantel clock, a 1940s reproduction of a Louis XVI not valuable enough to lift. If the evening was on schedule, it should be about twenty minutes before they made their pitch. Ruby, her husband at her side, paused her rounds to come over. Her husband was just what Claudine had anticipated: plump, good-natured, and clearly devoted to Ruby.
“Hi, Ruby. Hugo’s getting something to eat,” Claudine said. “You must be Bruce.”
He extended a hand and glanced with adoration at his wife. “This sure is a nice event. I’m so proud of you, honey.”
Ruby, searching the room, didn’t respond.
Claudine stepped in. “I wish I could say I had something to do with it. Ruby and Deborah planned it all.”
“I sold a lot of tickets, but most of these people won’t take the time of day to say more than hello to me,” Ruby said.
“Who cares about them? You got them here, didn’t you? This is about the kids, remember,” Bruce said.
Claudine smiled. That’s right, Bruce didn’t know about his wife’s extracurricular activities and likely didn’t know about the Rizzio kids’ heritage.
“I’m going to get a drink. I saw a tray on the buffet.” Claudine turned toward the dining room, then stopped short. Standing between her and the dining room was a couple, both wearing regulation architect eyeglasses and pointing to the spray-painted flowers in the entry hall. She forced a smile and nodded at them as she passed and reminded herself that they didn’t know her. She’d done a job for them the year before where she’d stolen a Cy Twombly and a Pissarro for the insurance money. As always, Larry the Fence had made the deal. Claudine only knew them from their wedding photo in its place of honor in their living room.
There must be a hundred people tonight. Nice turnout. A hundred people times a hundred bucks a ticket was a cool ten thousand dollars for the kids. Not bad. Across the room, Deborah appeared to be trying to edge away from a short man with an Amazonian wi
fe. One of the county commissioners, if she wasn’t mistaken. More interesting was Deb’s new short haircut. It suited her—emphasized her elfin features.
Claudine felt a tap on her shoulder. “Hey, babe, is that real silk velvet?” asked an elderly woman with enormous hair and a halo of White Diamonds perfume.
“It might be.” Of course it was. “I’m Claudine.” First name only.
“Joy Ellen. Pleased to meet you. I used to have a silk velvet cape to match my tiara. I was a pageant gal before I married Winston, rest in peace. Queen of the Cattleman’s Court in Norman, Oklahoma. Nineteen-fifty-five.” She gazed into the distance and smiled. “All the Cattleman’s Court married well that year. What do you do?”
She might have used Hugo as an excuse to escape, but he was engrossed in the corner popping shrimp hors d’oeuvres in his mouth. “That sounds fascinating,” Claudine said. Distraction. “Tell me about it.”
“Oh, no, darling. I asked you what you did. Who wants to hear about an old beauty queen?”
Claudine downed the rest of her champagne and deposited the glass on a side table. “I work at the Scent Shoppe. Boring. I’d better check out what Hugo is up to—”
The woman grabbed her arm. “The Scent Shoppe? You don’t know that charming Mexican man, do you? Don’t tell Granzer” —she lowered her voice— “but he slipped me his number.”
“Attention, everyone,” came Ruby’s voice from the living room, accompanied by a brief squeak of the microphone.
“I’d better go,” Claudine said.
She hurried to the living room. Ruby and Deborah stood by the fireplace with Hugo, a sausage roll in one hand, next to them.
“First, I’d like to welcome everyone tonight. I wish Louie could be here, but he had urgent business out of the country,” Deborah said.
Ruby took the microphone. “We’d especially like to welcome special guests Commissioner Rossum—”
The commissioner took a bow from near the front of the room. Although Ruby had introduced him, he kept his gaze on Deborah.
“—and the president of the Carsonville Women’s League, Eleanor Millhouse.”
Eleanor Millhouse’s chignon glinted as she turned to face the audience. Perfect teeth mirrored her perfect pearl necklace.
Heat, then cold, washed over Claudine’s face. The risk of running into a robbery client faded into the background. Here was Eleanor Millhouse, or, as Claudine had known her, Ellie Whiteby. The girl who had ratted her out in high school.
* * *
“Step up, Hugo,” Ruby said.
She looped an arm around the boy, who was wiping crumbs from his fingers with surprising delicacy. Deborah was at their side. On cat’s feet, Claudine had settled in the corner, near the entrance to the hall, as if she wanted to be able to make a quick escape. Her face was gardenia-white against the dark paneling. Something clearly bothered her.
Deborah spoke first. “Can I have your attention?” Even with Deb’s soft voice, remarkably, the room quieted. “Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming. I hope you’re enjoying yourselves tonight.”
Leaving Hugo leaning against the fireplace, Ruby stepped forward. “I’m Ruby Reed. Deborah and I, with the help of others in the Booster Club” —she barely looked toward Claudine— “plan to establish a shelter for families and kids. A dear friend recently passed away, and her four children were sent to foster homes. Different foster homes. The children had just suffered an awful loss, and now they stood to lose each other, as well.” She turned toward Hugo. He kept a stoic expression. Deborah took his hand.
“It’s hard to believe,” Deborah said, “but there’s nowhere kids can stay together in Carsonville. Sure, some families foster a few children, but it’s almost impossible to find someone to take more than that. Maybe you saw the story on the news earlier this week.”
A murmur rose. Brenda, in full anchorwoman make-up, nodded. She’d dropped by after the five o’clock broadcast.
“We’re going to do something about that. We intend to buy the old firehouse in the warehouse district and convert it into a family shelter,” Ruby said. She wouldn’t mention that the Rizzio kids already lived there. No use attracting the attention of Child Protective Services.
Deborah gave Hugo a little push, and he stepped forward.
“Hi. I’m Hugo, and it’s me and my brother and sisters Ruby and Deborah are talking about.” He gave the fact a moment to sink in. “When Mom died, we needed each other. We didn’t have a home together in the foster care system, so we made our own place on the street. Now the Boosters want to turn the firehouse into a home for people like us.”
A voice came from the rear of the room, not far from Claudine. “Who are the Boosters?”
Ruby straightened. “The Booster Club is a group committed to the public good. Deborah and I belong.” She touched Deborah’s arm and smiled. “Other members prefer to remain anonymous. Unlike some organizations, the Booster Club isn’t about making a public show, it’s about changing Carsonville for the better.” Let them chew on that, suckers. She leaned against the fireplace and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“It was through an exhaustive search that we located the firehouse as the site for our shelter,” Deborah said. Dang it if she didn’t discreetly cross her fingers.
“So you kids just ran away from your foster homes?” someone asked.
Ruby’s glance shot to Hugo, but his expression remained placid. “We didn’t have a choice. I owed it to Mom to take care of all of us. Given our options, this was the best of a bad situation.” The kid had real talent for this sort of thing.
“What about adults? Don’t you have adults to help you—you know—make decisions and things?”
“I’m an adult,” Hugo said. “I’m eighteen.”
“The point is,” Ruby rushed in before anyone could question his age, “the land belongs to the county now. The structure needs work, too, obviously. We—the Booster Club—plan to buy it, once we have the county commissioners’ permission.”
“And to that end,” Deborah said, “I have a special announcement.” The crowd parted to let her stand behind old man Granzer on the couch. She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Do you want to say it, Grandpa?”
“Save the firehouse,” the old man said. “I’m ninety-six years old. That’s no joke.”
“And?” Deborah prompted.
Ruby watched with rapt attention. They would take her seriously now.
“One million dollars,” he said. “Ding ding!”
“What Grandpa means is that he’s pledging up to a million dollars to turn the firehouse into a family shelter. We’re hoping the county will grant the land to us. Then we’ll use the money for renovations and staff costs. Grandpa’s pledge means that the shelter can become a reality.”
“Firehouses are the backbone of a town,” Grandpa Granzer added. “Everything burns down, you got no town. Fire engines are fine vehicles, as well. Take for instance the 1974 Mack pumper. They call it the ‘bulldog’ of fire engines. One thousand gallons of water that truck holds. One thousand.” He shook his head in amazement.
Deborah patted his shoulder. Next to him, Joy Ellen beamed.
“Waiter,” Deborah said. “Champagne for everyone.” Three wait staff, already holding trays of full champagne flutes, fanned through the room.
Ruby rushed to Deborah’s side, and they hugged. “I can’t believe it. He’s serious, isn’t he? I know you said he’d make a donation, but I never expected this much.”
Deborah was flushed with happiness. “Oh, yes. The Granzer men are passionate about their hobbies. Grandpa has been obsessed with fire engines for years. He’s a little, well, outspoken at his age, but he’s very serious about money.” Deborah nodded toward Claudine, still near the wall, and smiled. “I wish she didn’t have to hide.”
“She might have more reason to than we have.” Ruby swiped the champagne flute from Hugo’s hands just as he was lifting it to his lips. “Not for you, my friend.”<
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“What do you think she does?” Deborah whispered.
A voice cut through the celebration. Eleanor Millhouse, president of the Carsonville Women’s League. Ruby straightened. “I applaud your efforts.” Where Deborah’s sweetness had silenced the crowd earlier, Eleanor’s commanding tone silenced it now. If Ruby ever made it into the League, she’d talk to Eleanor about trying a more youthful hairstyle. She was too young for pearls and a chignon. “But you can’t renovate a firehouse you don’t yet own. Commissioner Rossum is here tonight. Why don’t we see what he has to say?”
On the face of it, Eleanor’s words were harmless, but they sent a chill through Ruby’s body.
Eyes shifted to Ned Rossum, whose gaze, in turn, was fixed on Deborah. Deborah looked unusually nervous about it, too. Ruby glanced at Rossum’s wrist. Deborah didn’t…no, couldn’t have. Rossum’s wife nudged him, and he snapped to attention.
“Oh. The firehouse. Yes, well, we can’t ignore the needs of Carsonville’s youth.” A murmur of appreciation swept the room. “And yet, the firehouse’s land is valuable, set as it is on the edge of the warehouse district. The county could sell the property to a developer. In fact, we’re entertaining a proposal right now.”
Ruby’s jaw clenched. This was it. The developer Brenda had mentioned. “Who wants to buy it?”
“They want it for a business. Or condominiums. I can’t remember. Anyway, it’s an offer the county can’t afford not to consider.” A solemn look came over his face. “Of course, our city’s youth are our number one priority, and we have a moral responsibility to look after them.”
“I can’t help but express my concern that children are living alone, too,” Eleanor said. Ruby wondered why the woman’s champagne hadn’t frozen in its glass. “Something should be done about that now.”
“Something is being done,” Deborah said. “We’re taking care of them.”
“That’s good,” Eleanor said. “We wouldn’t want them to have to steal to get by. We don’t need to be nurturing juvenile delinquents.”
The Booster Club Page 8