could play this game. “Excuse me a minute.” Louise went and got herself a notebook and pen out of her Windsor desk, collected her vodka and tonic, and sat near Tessie.
She drank for a moment in silence, thirstier than she thought, downing about a third of the tasty drink. “Okay, Tessie, when you get through asking me questions, can I ask you some?”
“About?”
“Everything I don’t know about the Perennial Plant Society, and the perennial plants of the year, and how they’re chosen. And how you people get that way, anyhow.”
Much later, the Perennial Plant Society people were tucked in their beds and Louise stood alone in the silent living room. Actually, she felt safe and well fed, and was grateful for the company, since Bill was gone and so were most of her neighbors.Nora’s somber warning had stuck in her mind. Though it was easy to discount the spooky side of Nora’s nature during the daytime, it was harder at night, especially with strangers hanging around her house.
As she went around locking up the house, she couldn’t help giggling. Her three women visitors had taken over house, kitchen, and garden. They had discovered almost everything about her home and yard, including the toolshed and its contents, and the existence of a fake rock near the front door that held a door key. They learned a few things about her husband, her children, and her farming ancestors, including her darling old grandmother. And it turned out these P.P.S. people knew how to clean up a kitchen. They made hers shine as it had never shone before, following a delightful dinner served stylishly at ten on Louise’s best china—an appetizer of delightfully sautéed morel mushrooms, chicken Florentine, a salad with tiny, fresh garden vegetables, plus a tart from heaven: there were ground-up black walnuts in its buttery dough, and it was filled with mangos and fresh apricots.
She hadn’t worried about Jay McCormick all evening, and before she threw herself in bed at one, she looked out the front window at the Mougeys’ far across the street. The house was dark. Good: The man was getting some rest.
Twelve
“Y O , L OUISE!” CRIED THE FRISKY John Batchelder, his big smile showing as he waved at her from across the Hilton’s lobby: her cohost was a happy man. She walked over and joined him and Marty Corbin and the Channel Five crew. They had just arrived and were standing with their camera and sound equipment, ready to get to work. She had just done her duty by having brunch with the officers and board members of the P.P.S., hopingthey considered her a worthwhile choice for “Perennial Plant Person of the Year.”
John had been lukewarm about this show, but his spirits revived when he heard from Marty that he was interviewing the koi doctor. Slouching gracefully like a statue of the young David, John looked down at Louise with dark-fringed hazel eyes reminiscent of the young studs roaming the squares of Rome or Florence. “I like this Gil. We got together for breakfast this morning and have things pretty well worked out. I bet I know everything there is to know about koi.” For her part, Louise was glad John would not be accompanying her on the shoot in the exhibition hall, which involved talking about dozens of special plants that growers had brought with them; it would have been awkward to have the two of them exclaiming about every new variety they came across.
“So, how are your houseguests? Pretty nice people?” In spite of his exotic looks, John was a person from plain midwest origins with plenty of common sense. Illinois was a place where being “nice people” counted. When he broke up with his last girlfriend, Cheryl Wilding, a manipulative Washington TV newswoman, Louise knew that he was on the right track as a human being.
She gave him a droll look. “Actually, those gals remind me of you. Remember how you visited our house and suggested we topple about half the trees in the yard?”
“Yeah, but I
She drank for a moment in silence, thirstier than she thought, downing about a third of the tasty drink. “Okay, Tessie, when you get through asking me questions, can I ask you some?”
“About?”
“Everything I don’t know about the Perennial Plant Society, and the perennial plants of the year, and how they’re chosen. And how you people get that way, anyhow.”
Much later, the Perennial Plant Society people were tucked in their beds and Louise stood alone in the silent living room. Actually, she felt safe and well fed, and was grateful for the company, since Bill was gone and so were most of her neighbors.Nora’s somber warning had stuck in her mind. Though it was easy to discount the spooky side of Nora’s nature during the daytime, it was harder at night, especially with strangers hanging around her house.
As she went around locking up the house, she couldn’t help giggling. Her three women visitors had taken over house, kitchen, and garden. They had discovered almost everything about her home and yard, including the toolshed and its contents, and the existence of a fake rock near the front door that held a door key. They learned a few things about her husband, her children, and her farming ancestors, including her darling old grandmother. And it turned out these P.P.S. people knew how to clean up a kitchen. They made hers shine as it had never shone before, following a delightful dinner served stylishly at ten on Louise’s best china—an appetizer of delightfully sautéed morel mushrooms, chicken Florentine, a salad with tiny, fresh garden vegetables, plus a tart from heaven: there were ground-up black walnuts in its buttery dough, and it was filled with mangos and fresh apricots.
She hadn’t worried about Jay McCormick all evening, and before she threw herself in bed at one, she looked out the front window at the Mougeys’ far across the street. The house was dark. Good: The man was getting some rest.
Twelve
“Y O , L OUISE!” CRIED THE FRISKY John Batchelder, his big smile showing as he waved at her from across the Hilton’s lobby: her cohost was a happy man. She walked over and joined him and Marty Corbin and the Channel Five crew. They had just arrived and were standing with their camera and sound equipment, ready to get to work. She had just done her duty by having brunch with the officers and board members of the P.P.S., hopingthey considered her a worthwhile choice for “Perennial Plant Person of the Year.”
John had been lukewarm about this show, but his spirits revived when he heard from Marty that he was interviewing the koi doctor. Slouching gracefully like a statue of the young David, John looked down at Louise with dark-fringed hazel eyes reminiscent of the young studs roaming the squares of Rome or Florence. “I like this Gil. We got together for breakfast this morning and have things pretty well worked out. I bet I know everything there is to know about koi.” For her part, Louise was glad John would not be accompanying her on the shoot in the exhibition hall, which involved talking about dozens of special plants that growers had brought with them; it would have been awkward to have the two of them exclaiming about every new variety they came across.
“So, how are your houseguests? Pretty nice people?” In spite of his exotic looks, John was a person from plain midwest origins with plenty of common sense. Illinois was a place where being “nice people” counted. When he broke up with his last girlfriend, Cheryl Wilding, a manipulative Washington TV newswoman, Louise knew that he was on the right track as a human being.
She gave him a droll look. “Actually, those gals remind me of you. Remember how you visited our house and suggested we topple about half the trees in the yard?”
“Yeah, but I
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