the house in the tall grass.
K. D. charged out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Before the kitchen door banged shut, Neesha wailed, “Oh, Tanya, you’ve curdled the remoulade!”
Dinah’s heart went out to Tanya, but she didn’t have the stomach or the standing to get between the chatelaine and her cook.
Alone in the third car, Margaret alighted with a testy hauteur and called out to Wendell. He went back to her and they swapped what seemed to be divergent views. He followed her into the house with an uneasy diffidence, as if fearful she might turn and lob a grenade.
“You were smart to stay here,” Margaret said as she swept past Dinah. Over her shoulder, she said, “Wendell, I’d like to see you in my room. Now.”
Wendell’s face was frozen and impassive. He gave Dinah a curt nod and followed his mother meekly up the stairs.
Dinah continued to hold the door open for Mack and Victor as they schlepped in the groceries. She wondered if she should add “doorman” to her resumé.
Mack was chipper and full of pleasantries. “G’day, Dinah. Beautiful day to lay back and bask in the sunshine, isn’t it?”
“Lovely, so long as a cool drink is within reach.”
“It’s normally much cooler at this time of year. After all my years in London, I’m still getting used to calling June winter.” He scurried off to the kitchen after Victor.
Cleon and Dr. Fisher sat talking together in the fourth car. Neither looked as if he were enjoying the fellowship. After a minute or so, the doctor got out and walked toward the house carrying an old-fashioned medical bag. It must have been weighted with rocks because he listed to the side like a mast in a storm. Cleon followed, head down as if lost in thought.
Dinah couldn’t hack another of the doctor’s sermons on death and, after Cleon’s surliness last night, she had no desire to cross his path before she had to. She crept inside, ducked into the great room, and hid behind the bar, remembering too late Cleon’s proclivity for gin.
He strode into the room and stepped behind the bar. “What’re you doin’?”
She grabbed an ice bucket off a shelf. “Getting some ice.”
He reached for the cocktail shaker. “Well, you’re just the gal I want to see.”
“Why’s that? Am I on your list of people in line for a whuppin’ today?”
“Naw. What makes you think that?” He was all surprised innocence.
Now that she’d admitted to herself that she wanted something from him, it was hard to be completely artless. But she couldn’t bring herself to brown-nose or act as if his bullying behavior was hunky-dory. “You weren’t exactly adorable last night, Uncle Cleon. You should be shoring up relationships with your children, not tearing them down.”
“I know, I know. The boys and I got crosswise of each other, but we’ll work things out in the next day or so. It ain’t no biggie. Now let’s you and me mix ourselves some refreshment and go upstairs. I got somethin’ to show you.”
“I was waiting for Lucien. Where is he?”
“Out vulturin’ up the culture, I expect. Dez removed the catheter and changed the dressin’ on his leg this mornin’ and I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him since.” He sprayed a fine mist of Vermouth into the cocktail shaker, added ice, emptied in a pint of gin and shook twice. “You fetch the glasses and that jar of olives there.”
Holding the shaker in front of him like a lantern, he propelled her upstairs to the second floor. He led her down the hall to a numberless room, adjacent to the room she’d seen Thad and Victor burgle, and opened the door. He turned on the overhead light and pushed aside the flowery chintz curtains over the window. She looked around and again thought, why here? The room was larger than hers or Lucien’s, but a far cry from luxe. The bedspread was a tatty blue, the walls a dingy gray, and the furniture oppressively dark and grimy. On the floor next to the bed was a newspaper and a biography
K. D. charged out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Before the kitchen door banged shut, Neesha wailed, “Oh, Tanya, you’ve curdled the remoulade!”
Dinah’s heart went out to Tanya, but she didn’t have the stomach or the standing to get between the chatelaine and her cook.
Alone in the third car, Margaret alighted with a testy hauteur and called out to Wendell. He went back to her and they swapped what seemed to be divergent views. He followed her into the house with an uneasy diffidence, as if fearful she might turn and lob a grenade.
“You were smart to stay here,” Margaret said as she swept past Dinah. Over her shoulder, she said, “Wendell, I’d like to see you in my room. Now.”
Wendell’s face was frozen and impassive. He gave Dinah a curt nod and followed his mother meekly up the stairs.
Dinah continued to hold the door open for Mack and Victor as they schlepped in the groceries. She wondered if she should add “doorman” to her resumé.
Mack was chipper and full of pleasantries. “G’day, Dinah. Beautiful day to lay back and bask in the sunshine, isn’t it?”
“Lovely, so long as a cool drink is within reach.”
“It’s normally much cooler at this time of year. After all my years in London, I’m still getting used to calling June winter.” He scurried off to the kitchen after Victor.
Cleon and Dr. Fisher sat talking together in the fourth car. Neither looked as if he were enjoying the fellowship. After a minute or so, the doctor got out and walked toward the house carrying an old-fashioned medical bag. It must have been weighted with rocks because he listed to the side like a mast in a storm. Cleon followed, head down as if lost in thought.
Dinah couldn’t hack another of the doctor’s sermons on death and, after Cleon’s surliness last night, she had no desire to cross his path before she had to. She crept inside, ducked into the great room, and hid behind the bar, remembering too late Cleon’s proclivity for gin.
He strode into the room and stepped behind the bar. “What’re you doin’?”
She grabbed an ice bucket off a shelf. “Getting some ice.”
He reached for the cocktail shaker. “Well, you’re just the gal I want to see.”
“Why’s that? Am I on your list of people in line for a whuppin’ today?”
“Naw. What makes you think that?” He was all surprised innocence.
Now that she’d admitted to herself that she wanted something from him, it was hard to be completely artless. But she couldn’t bring herself to brown-nose or act as if his bullying behavior was hunky-dory. “You weren’t exactly adorable last night, Uncle Cleon. You should be shoring up relationships with your children, not tearing them down.”
“I know, I know. The boys and I got crosswise of each other, but we’ll work things out in the next day or so. It ain’t no biggie. Now let’s you and me mix ourselves some refreshment and go upstairs. I got somethin’ to show you.”
“I was waiting for Lucien. Where is he?”
“Out vulturin’ up the culture, I expect. Dez removed the catheter and changed the dressin’ on his leg this mornin’ and I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him since.” He sprayed a fine mist of Vermouth into the cocktail shaker, added ice, emptied in a pint of gin and shook twice. “You fetch the glasses and that jar of olives there.”
Holding the shaker in front of him like a lantern, he propelled her upstairs to the second floor. He led her down the hall to a numberless room, adjacent to the room she’d seen Thad and Victor burgle, and opened the door. He turned on the overhead light and pushed aside the flowery chintz curtains over the window. She looked around and again thought, why here? The room was larger than hers or Lucien’s, but a far cry from luxe. The bedspread was a tatty blue, the walls a dingy gray, and the furniture oppressively dark and grimy. On the floor next to the bed was a newspaper and a biography
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