“Canceled? Oh no. I got a call from Pearl Johnson this morning, confirmin’. And we can’t miss it, Harley. Michael’s payin’ us too much money to cater this thing.”
“Just let me get my things.”
“Oh, and here’s your uniform.” Tina handed Harley one of the black-and-white tuxedo-style uniforms they used when catering events together. “I know how you love to wear it.”
“I look like a blackjack dealer at a casino.”
“More like Steve Urkel at the prom.” Tina laughed. “Besides, it’s your own fault. You should’ve picked the skirt combo like I did. It’s way cuter.”
“I thought the pants were more practical.”
“You would.”
After Harley closed the store, she and Tina loaded the food and alcohol in the truck bed and made the short pilgrimage to Briarwood and the Sutcliffe’s ancestral home, known throughout the region as Briarcliffe. And if Briarwood was the showplace of this small southern town, then Briarcliffe was its crowning glory.
As Harley’s truck climbed the hill, Briarcliffe’s wrought iron gate rose through a vine of artfully groomed wisteria, the sweetness of summer’s white blossom replaced by autumn’s aroma of woodsmoke rising from the mansion’s chimney.
Harley brought the truck to a rattling stop, her eyes squinting against the glare of the truck’s headlights.
“What a beauty,” Tina said in the passenger seat. “And to think Savanah gets all this.”
Briarcliffe was the town’s oldest property and its most significant, a residence befitting a family of timber barons who had later tripled their wealth in real estate, constructing luxury chalets and hotels in the Smokies. The three-story Georgian home, constructed of butter-yellow limestone hand-hewn from quarries fifty miles north, had rows of large, white-paned windows on each of its three floors, and a wide veranda around the home’s perimeter, its columns tangled with green and red tresses of tumbling ivy.
Harley smiled, gazing out the window, remembering the stories her grandfather had told about Briarcliffe from his childhood. It had been a time of innocence then, he said, those days before one tragedy after another struck the Sutcliffe family.
People packed bathing suits and swam in the creek that traversed the property’s backyard, while others rowed along the peaceful, shimmering currents, pausing in a silent glide of canopying chestnut trees, dapples of sunshine falling warm on their cheeks. It was a romantic time, he said, those sleepy summer days, and he remembered kissing the girl who would later become his wife, Harley’s grandmother. The two had stood awkwardly behind the boathouse, her lips sticky and tart with traces of lemonade, her skin caressed with the perspiration of the day. She had pulled away from him, gently, her eyes smiling, and he had placed his hand to her cheek, knowing he loved her, would always love her.
Then at nightfall, the glass solarium came to life, illuminating the back lawn with hundreds of bulbs of phosphorescence, transforming the lawn into a veritable fairyland, a fantastic site treated with greater reverence than the most impressive of July fourth fireworks. It was a brief taste of the finer life, something the Sutcliffes had not had to share with the town, but they did, a taste that remained on her grandfather’s palette long after those summer parties ended.
At their approach, the front gate opened, and Harley’s truck climbed the long drive before parking behind the house near the servants’ entrance.
Pearl Johnson met them outside. She wore a tailored beige jacket and matching wool skirt with low heels, her blond hair coiffed so that it grazed her jawline. “Harley,” she said, waving from the kitchen door. “Tina. You’re right on time. They’ve just finished setting up the serving platters and stemware in the ballroom.”
Harley stepped from the driver’s side and, after straightening her tuxedo jacket, waved at Pearl.
“You still haven’t found your contacts?” Pearl asked, looking at Harley’s glasses with concern.
“Not yet, unfortunately. I need to replace them, but I haven’t had any time the last couple of days.”
“Understandable.” Pearl scurried over to the truck bed. “Here, why don’t you let me help you carry these things in?”
Tina handed Pearl a tray of hors d’oeuvres. “You sure you wanna help out? I mean, we don’t want you messin’ up your nice outfit there.”
“It’s all part of being a party planner, Tina, even if I am only a volunteer. And, I like to help out Michael any way I can.”
“Where are they anyway?” Tina asked as they walked toward the house. “Savannah and Michael. Inside somewhere?”
“Well, Michael’s still upstairs getting ready, and I don’t know where Savannah’s gotten off to. It seems like she’s always sneaking off somewhere these days.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Just between the three of us, I don’t know if this engagement is really the best idea.”
“Why’s that?” Tina asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Pearl said, shaking her head. “Michael just seems so infatuated with her. So blindly infatuated. He can’t see any of her faults. Only her beauty. Her indifference to him, her apathy, her coldness, he seems to overlook. If you ask me, Savannah’s just going through the motions with him, doing what’s expected of her. It’s not fair to Michael.”
“Have you talked to them about it?” Harley asked.
“To Savannah, no. Definitely not. And I don’t intend to. I did, however, voice my concerns to Michael. After all, I’ve known him since he was a baby. As you know, Michael’s father chose us as his legal guardians before he died. And that’s part of the reason I’m worried about him. He’s vulnerable. Born into all this wealth and privilege but with no real parents to guide him on the right decisions to make. I’m not sure Arthur and I did right by him, sending him away to be educated at those schools in Europe. Maybe we should’ve kept him here, close to us. He has freedom and money now and does whatever he wants—never thinks about any of the consequences. And Savannah Swanson’s bewitched him, I can tell you that. Body and soul.”
“Just tell him to get a prenup,” Tina said as they entered the kitchen. “That’s what a lot of the rich people do.”
“Oh, if it were only so easy, Tina,” Pearl said.
They set the trays of food on the enormous kitchen island and began unwrapping them. “These will go on the buffet tables in the ballroom,” Pearl said. “And Harley, your things will go on the bar. Here, I’ll show you.”
Following behind Pearl, they traveled down a long marble-tiled hallway, the walls covered in a collage of tapestries and oil portraits whose eyes followed them as they passed.
“Creepy,” Tina whispered to Harley.
“Generations and generations of Sutcliffes,” Pearl said, examining the long rows of paintings as she walked. “Many of whom lived here or visited at one time or another.”
“They’re all blond,” Tina said. “Not that I’ve got anything against blonds or anything.” She tossed a peroxide curl over her shoulder. Harley and Pearl were too polite to mention hers wasn’t natural.
Pearl laughed. “Yes, they’re known for it. The Sutcliffes. Glorious crowns of golden hair.”
Near the end of the hallway, Harley paused at one of the portraits, finding herself arrested by the young man’s beauty, the depth of expression in his blue eyes. There was something familiar about him too, something she could not place. “Who’s this?”
Pearl stopped and turned to the portrait with interest. “That was James Sutcliffe. Michael’s father.” Her pleasant expression wilted to sadness. “He died quite young. And tragically. It happened during one of the summer parties they used to host here years ago. Your grandfather probably told you about them, Harley. Anyway, James was terribly depressed after his wife died. Arthur and I tried to talk him out of hosting the party that year, but he insisted, saying it was a Sutcliffe family tradition, that he owed it to the town. He’d been drinking heavily that night, was walking along the cliff out back when he fell. His body—it
was found the next morning, his silk suit tangled in a briar thicket.”
“When was this?” Tina asked.
“Oh, a very long time ago—more than thirty years—before you all were born. Michael was just a baby at the time. I still remember how shocked we all were, how shocked the whole town was. ‘A tragic accident,’ the headlines had read, and ‘How will we survive without our favorite son?’”
Harley imagined James Sutcliffe, handsome and young and lifeless, his fine silken suit tangled in thorns, his beautiful face bloodied and scarred from numerous briar pricks. She flinched and drew her hand to her face. “It is tragic,” she said.
Pearl nodded in agreement. “The Sutcliffes have been tested by one trial after another. What more could possibly happen?”
The darkness of the foyer and the melancholy spell of James Sutcliffe’s death lifted as they entered the ballroom, the crystal chandeliers illuminating gold walls accented by ivory trim and wainscoting.
34
The Son and Heir
Harley gazed around the immense room and to the vintage bar where she would serve cocktails. She couldn’t help but imagine the opulent parties that must have been held there in years past, of men and women in black ties and evening gowns, sipping from champagne coupes and waltzing around the ballroom.
“Now this is somethin’,” Tina said with awe.
“Quite impressive, isn’t it?” Pearl said. “And now that Michael’s back in town, has taken his place at Briarcliffe, I expect we’ll be having a lot more of these parties.”
Not that we would be invited, Harley thought. Not as guests anyway.
“What’ll be you be serving tonight, Harley?” Pearl asked.
“The Seelbach.” When Pearl’s face registered no understanding of the term, Harley said, “It’s a cocktail with champagne, whiskey, Cointreau, and two types of bitters, Angostura and Peychaud. I thought it’d be the perfect drink for a celebratory occasion like tonight’s.”
“It does sound perfect.”
With that, the three of them reported to their respective duties. Harley set up lines of champagne coupes at the bar and prepped each with shots of whiskey. Tina arranged a variety of heavy hors d’oeuvres on silver platters for guests to consume as they mingled about the room. Pearl reported to the front of the house to greet the arriving guests.
However, the first person to arrive in the ballroom wasn’t a guest at all, but the host, Michael Sutcliffe. He wore a dark suit and burgundy dress shoes, no tie, with his blond hair neatly styled in a short cut. Though attractive in a boyish way, his looks paled in comparison to his late father’s, his eyes and features lacking the same depth of expression and masculine character. To Harley, he looked like a prep school kid playing dress-up in an expensive suit.
He gazed about the room, here and there, in search of someone. Not finding that someone, he approached the bar, and not acknowledging Harley, took a champagne coupe and downed the entirety in one swallow. He slammed the glass down and rapped his fingers against the bar top, still not making eye contact with her. Accustomed to being treated as invisible, she merely returned to her work.
Seconds later, Pearl walked in and hurried over. “Michael,” she said, her arms outstretched, “there you are. You look so handsome.”
“Where’s Savannah?” he asked.
“I’m sure she’ll be here shortly. The housekeeper said she went for a walk a little while ago. She probably just needed some air before the busyness of the party.”
“Needed some air? Doesn’t she know how important tonight is?” He straightened his suit in an effort to regain his composure. “I just wish she’d take things a little more seriously. As my wife, she’ll have a lot of social responsibilities—this party being just the first of them. ” He shook his head in frustration. “She’s a beauty queen, for heaven’s sake. She’s made for these kinds of things.”
“Well …” Pearl placed her hand on his forearm. “She did have a bit of a shock with Patrick’s death, as we all did.”
He waved her away with his right hand, the anger returning to his face. “Oh, please don’t bring him up. Not tonight.”
“Well, they were friends, dear.”
“Yes,” he said, tightening his fist. “Friends.” He checked his watch. “Look, I still need to put on my tie. Make sure she’s here before I get back.”
Before Pearl could answer, he stormed out of the room. Moments later, Harley heard his dress shoes stomp up the grand staircase to the third floor.
“Oh dear,” Pearl said, turning to Harley. “It’s just like I said. The whole situation is terrible. How I do feel for Michael.”
Harley felt for Savannah.
“Could you please go check out back?” Pearl asked. “See if you can find her?”
“I will,” she said with reluctance, “but I don’t know if she’ll come back with me.”
“Please just try, Harley. I can’t go myself. Tina’s still busy with the food and someone has to be here to greet the guests.”
“I’ll do it, but just for you.”
Pearl smiled with appreciation, and Harley made her way toward the line of French doors leading out onto the patio.
Darkness had settled over the immense grounds, a wave of muted green and gray lawn rolling past the solarium to the cliffside and navy sky beyond. The Smokies had many such overlooks and mountain trails, but this view was particularly beautiful, Harley thought. A brilliant harvest moon shone overhead, guiding her footsteps as she made her way down the stone path toward the cliffside. It seemed like the ideal place for a troubled mind in need of quiet reflection, and she thought she might find Savannah there.
And there she was, standing near the edge in a red flowing evening dress, her blond hair styled in a chignon, a string of diamonds linked around her long neck. Her back was turned, but Harley could tell she had been crying, her features etched in the same look Harley had witnessed so many years ago on her grandfather’s farm. Did Savannah still remember that day as vividly as she did?
35
Mud Puddles
Second grade had let out for the summer, and Harley had been staying at her grandfather’s and Uncle Tater’s house during one of her mother’s deployments overseas. It was a Saturday morning, and she had invited Savannah Swanson over to play.
Savannah had loved the farm, Harley remembered, and when she hopped out of her mother’s red convertible that morning, she gazed at the rolling fields with wide-eyed wonder, not even saying goodbye to her mother before racing across the barnyard toward Harley.
The two little girls spent the entire day playing, chasing after one another across the endless fields, pausing intermittently to blow on dandelions, to chase after butterflies, or to cool their tired feet in the creek. Then after their baths, they fell among tall strands of grass, waving their arms and legs as if making snow angels, staring up at the endless blue skies and dreaming of their futures.
“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” Savannah asked Harley.
“A writer. I want to write books. Tell stories.”
“I wanna tell stories too,” Savannah said, “but I wanna tell other people’s stories. I wanna be an archaeologist.”
Harley grinned with enthusiasm. “Wow, an archaeologist! Can I come to one of your exhibits?”
Savannah giggled. “Of course, you can. You’ll be the very first one.”
Then Savannah’s expression turned to sadness, and Harley looked at her with concern. “What’s wrong?”
A tear formed in Savannah’s big blue eyes. “I don’t wanna be in the pageants, Harley. I just don’t want to.”
“Then don’t do it then. Not if you don’t want to.”
“But I’ve got to,” she said. “Mommy says so. Says I have to be pretty.”
“Oh, nobody really cares about that stuff. It just seems so silly.”
“Mommy and Daddy care about it. And Mommy says that if I’m not pretty, Daddy won’t love me anymore. That nobody’ll love me.�
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“But people don’t love what you look like. They love who you are. Your soul.”
“No, Mommy says Daddy loves her because she’s pretty, and I have to be pretty, too.”
Savannah Swanson jumped up from her bed in the grass and raced across the fields, not stopping until she found the biggest mud puddle on the farm. Then she jumped into the puddle, full body, rolling around in the mud like a pig, smearing brown goo all over her face, her long blond hair, ruining her beautiful white dress.
Harley ran over and stood over where Savannah lay, expecting her friend’s cherubic face to burst into tears. Instead, Savannah looked up at her with a face full of joy, her smile so big Harley could see the baby tooth she had lost recently. Then, Savannah started laughing, a big belly laugh, throwing mud on Harley in the process.
Harley jumped in the puddle after Savannah, and the two girls slopped around in the mud for the next few minutes, only stopping when Savannah grew suddenly still beside her.
Reality had dawned once again.
Harley searched Savannah’s face, trying to figure out what was wrong. And that was when the tears came, washing away the mud from her cheeks in tiny trickles that ran down her cheeks.
“I wanna go to summer camp, Harley,” she said. “I wanna play soccer. I don’t wanna be in those stupid pageants.”
Harley wrapped her friend in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
“Do you think if I go home with this mud all over me, I won’t have to be pretty anymore, that Mommy won’t make me be in the pageants?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I really do.”
Before she could comfort her any further, Mrs. Swanson’s red convertible pulled into the barnyard, and the horn honked. Harley helped Savannah up from the mud and the two girls walked slowly up the hill, hand-in-hand.
“You’re so lucky, Harley,” Savannah said, squeezing her hand as they walked.
Harley turned to her in surprise. “I am?”
Murder Comes to Notchey Creek Page 13