Authors: Charlotte MacLeod
“Do you need help with your bandage?”
“No, the knee’s pretty well scabbed over by now, a Band-Aid or two should serve the purpose. I’m going to wear those gray stockings again, I wish I’d had sense enough last night to wash them.”
“That’s okay, I rinsed them out and dried them in front of the oven. They’re on your bed.”
“Oh, bless you!”
Sarah took a quick and chilly shower, the plumbing in the cottage being adequate but only just, and put on the by now thoroughly antiqued gray flannel suit. She didn’t try to do much about her face, the hat brim and the sunglasses would hide most of it. She’d got away just in time; as she switched on her blinker for the turn onto the highway, she spied a far grander car than the one she was driving, waiting to make the turn into the narrow road that led to the lake. In it were Miriam’s likeable sister-in-law-to-be, whom Sarah had met once or twice, and a regally upright blonde with an impressive hairdo and a hoity-toity expression.
Thanks to Davy’s early rising call, she’d had time to do the things she’d wanted and still make it to Ireson’s Landing within a reasonable span for a picnic lunch. As she’d expected, Anne was right out there among the chrysanthemums, wearing the relatively new blue jeans that she’d bought after having donated her old ones to the unfortunate man in the rhubarb leaf. She had this pair pretty well broken in by now; after a few good soakings in detergent and bleach she might even be able to get the smell of fish entrails out of them.
Hearing the car come up the drive, Anne stripped off her canvas gloves and came over to Sarah. “How nice, I was hoping you’d come again. What would you think of massing white, yellow, and rust-colored mums in separate little free-form plots among those birch saplings down by the road? Just a sort of natural effect, but enough color to make a statement.”
“What a marvelous idea!” Sarah replied. “If you keep on at this rate, we’ll have tourists lining up to buy tickets. I hope you haven’t eaten your lunch yet, Miriam packed us a basket.”
“How kind of her. It’s too bad she wasn’t able to come with you.”
Anne didn’t mean what she said, she was just being polite. Miriam was too intellectual and far too liberal for Anne; neither of them actively disliked the other but they had virtually nothing in common. Miriam was not a whit interested in horticulture but wouldn’t have minded talking about cooking as a fine art. To Anne, food was merely fertilizer for the human plant. All one had to do was administer the correct amounts of the proper mixtures at appropriate times. How the mixtures tasted was a matter of no great importance.
Anne did not balk, however, at eating the lioness’s share of Miriam’s excellent chicken salad, enhanced with chopped apples, celery, walnut meats, and Miriam’s own special hand-whisked mayonnaise dressing, the recipe for which she intended to give Tracy as a wedding present. The corn muffins were from a mix, but Miriam allowed herself some latitude when on vacation.
They ate out on the deck overlooking the ocean. Even here, Sarah kept on her wig, her purple hat, and her sunglasses in case somebody might wander around behind the house; she didn’t even want Mr. Lomax to know she’d been home. She was wearing the heavy old walking shoes that she’d got thoroughly banged up walking along the stony beach; she’d dropped the horrible blouse in the hamper, put on a cotton shirt that buttoned up almost to her chin, and added a scarf to hide the fact that her neck wasn’t wrinkled.
Sarah even had Theonia’s purple gloves handy to put on if anybody came, but nobody did. The cousins lingered over their meal, ate the sweet grapes that Miriam had put in for dessert, and drank big glasses of iced tea instead of hot, the day having turned out warmer than the weatherperson had predicted. Even Anne was in no hurry to get back to her chrysanthemums.
“I must remember to put in some mint for you, Sarah. Perhaps down by the carriage house. Mint’s awfully grabby about nutrients, though. Maybe Mr. Lomax wouldn’t mind bringing us a few more fishheads.”
A person might have thought Anne was drinking something other than tea; this sudden burst of sociability was going to her head. Sarah wondered how Percy was taking it, then decided he wouldn’t mind, particularly if Max should prove amenable to signing on with Kelling, Kelling, and Kelling as a client. Which brought her, by a somewhat circuitous route, to Elwyn Fleesom Turbot. She chose the obvious opening.
“Those stodgy flower beds of the Turbots’ would look awfully sick beside what you’re doing here. I don’t suppose you’ve ever tried to drop a hint that there are better ways.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Anne was deadly serious. “Elwyn would go up like a rocket if anybody ever criticized anything he’d done, no matter how stupid it was.”
“Lala must have a hard life of it then. Though she certainly didn’t act afraid, from the way she was talking to him.”
Anne permitted herself a chuckle. “I don’t think Lala’s afraid of anything, she’s been through too much of that. Her first husband committed suicide. He told her he was going to kill himself, then deliberately ran his car into an abutment and smashed it all to pieces, himself with it. A brand-new Porsche; Lala was dreadfully upset for a long time. She told me the insurance company was quite nasty about settling, she never understood why. But they finally came through after she’d got a really mean lawyer, so she went on a round-the-world cruise and met this nice older man who owned a chain of furniture stores. Jules, his name was. They got married aboard the ship in Yokohama Harbor and just traveled around wherever they felt like going until one night in Venice when he’d had a little too much to drink and decided he’d go out for a walk to clear his head.”
“Good heavens!”
“As they say, every street is Canal Street in Venice. I suppose the servant who opened the door thought Jules was just going to sit on the steps and have a smoke or hail a gondola or something. Jules was always inclined to be impetuous, Lala said. His real name was Julius, but she thought that was too stodgy for a man like him. Lala told me what attracted her to Elwyn was that he reminded her of Jules, but she didn’t know then about the polled Herefords.”
“How long has Lala been married to Mr. Turbot?” Sarah asked, not that she really wanted to know.
“About three years, I believe. Lala confessed to me in private that she’d had one or two little flings on the side when she was between husbands. I suspect it may have been more than one or two but there’s no sense in trying to be judgmental these days, is there? Of course I’d never mention Lala’s little flings to Percy, particularly since she doesn’t seem to have got much of anything out of the extras. She made out very well with her settlements from Lambert and Jules, but she’s inclined to be extravagant. You did notice all that gold jewelry, I expect, Sarah.”
“How could I not? She was clanking like Marley’s Ghost every time she moved her arms. Which she did very gracefully, I noticed. I wonder if perhaps she’s been a model or a showgirl somewhere along the line.”
Anne shook her head. “Nothing would surprise me about Lala. What did you think of that outfit she had on?”
“I thought it must have cost old Elwyn a pretty penny, since you asked. It did seem a bit much for a luncheon in the country; you looked just right in that daisy-print dress, Anne. But then, you always do.”
“Why, thank you, Sarah. Percy told me so too. At least he said he was glad I didn’t have foolish notions about dressing up like a circus horse to go and look at some cows. Percy can be quite witty, you know, though he doesn’t care to have it mentioned outside the family. One knows what to expect with Percy, which is a great comfort. Can you imagine what it must be like for Lala, having to train one husband after another—oh, Sarah, please forgive me. I’d forgotten about poor darling Alexander.”
“That’s all right, Anne. Aunt Caroline had Alexander trained long before he married me.” Not that theirs had been much of a marriage, but Sarah was not about to go into that. “And Max didn’t need any training, it’s been more a case of his training me. But getting back to Lala, can that be her right name?”
“Now that you ask, I have no idea,” Anne confessed. “We don’t see a great deal of each other, actually, and when we do get together she never mentions her family. I have the impression that she comes from around here somewhere even though she looks and acts so New Yorky, and I know darned well she’s a lot older than she lets on. Even Percy admits that. To tell the truth, he’s not exactly crazy about Lala and I can’t say I am, either. She’s—oh, it’s hard to say. Different. I shouldn’t be talking like this about a client of Percy’s, but I know you won’t repeat a word to anybody and I must say it’s a relief to let one’s hair down once in a while.”
“I’m glad you mentioned her age, I was wondering too. I’m also wondering how much longer that marriage is going to last. Have you any thoughts on the subject?”
“Why, I really can’t say, I’ve never thought about it. I’m so used to people who stay married, you see. I don’t recall a single one of the Kellings ever getting divorced. Even that silly business of Cousin Lionel’s wife and that crazy woman she paired up with petered out fast enough once he’d made it clear that Vare wasn’t going to get another cent of his money as long as she stayed with—Eeyore, was it?”
“No, Tigger,” said Sarah. “Tigger’s in a mental health care facility now and Vare’s helping Lionel and their ghastly children spend Aunt Appie’s fortune. Getting back to other people’s marriages, what about Elwyn Turbot? Surely he must have had a previous marriage if he and Lala have only been together for three years. I can’t picture him not wanting somebody around to browbeat.”
Anne was giggling again. “I don’t think Elwyn browbeats Lala much. I do remember Percy saying something about the first Mrs. Turbot’s being drowned, but he didn’t elaborate and I wasn’t all that interested anyway. It wasn’t as if I’d ever known her. If I remember correctly, she’d been dead awhile before Percy got the Turbot account.”
“How long ago was that?”
“I’d have to ask Percy. I’m a National Landscape Judge for the Federation, you know, and have had to do quite a lot of traveling from time to time. What with that and trying to keep our own garden in some kind of shape and Percy in clean shirts and socks and underwear, not to mention Emily’s two youngest having all those visits to the orthodontist, I’ve never given much thought to what was happening at the office. I mean, Percy doesn’t come and help me judge the gardens, so why should I interfere with his adding machines? He understands. I can’t say he’s thrilled about coming home to an empty house and a TV dinner sometimes two or three nights in a row, but he does understand. Emily’s good about inviting him over to dinner once a week or so, and Percy enjoys his grandchildren, in small doses.”
“But you’re not judging this year?” Sarah asked her. “I hope you didn’t give it up for me.”
“Oh no. I’ve done a little, mostly at flower shows. I do prefer to judge the landscaping but it takes a lot more out of one, so I thought I’d let some of the other judges fill in for a while. I wonder who’ll get to judge this place.”
Anne cast a wistful glance at some flats of barely opened mums that needed to be got into the ground. Sarah took the hint.
“I must be getting back to the lake, Anne. It should be safe enough now, the ladies from Rehoboth will be on their way home. That’s quite a drive, you know, almost to Fall River. And I do want to get in some more time with Davy because I’ll probably have to go back to Boston tomorrow. Oh, one thing I forgot to ask. Who was that young fellow in the colonial getup who served the luncheon on Sunday? He wasn’t the cook, was he?”
“No, the cook is his twin brother, if you can believe it. Tommy and Timmy, I think they’re called. They tend Elwyn’s precious cows and pinch-hit as household help when they have to, though they don’t seem to like it much. They’re some kind of relations of Elwyn’s. Or Lala’s, I’ve never been quite sure. Most likely Elwyn’s, because of the cows. Between you and me, Percy thinks they’ve been in some kind of trouble and are out on parole, lying low. He also suspects they’re Elwyn’s own sons, resulting from what one might call extracurricular activities either before or after the first Mrs. Turbot died.”
“How old are they?”
“I can’t say for sure. Twenty-five or thereabout; Percy might know. Lala doesn’t like having them in the house; they have to sleep in the barn, which isn’t so bad as it sounds. Elwyn’s had a couple of rooms partitioned off with a bathroom and space heater and all that. Lala has housecleaners during the week but they won’t come on weekends because that’s the only time they can be with their families and all go to church together, which I think is rather nice. I don’t see why the Turbots have to entertain at home on Sundays, Lala looks like the type who’d much rather be taken out to a good restaurant. That’s what Percy would do. Percy’s not a bit mean, you know, just careful.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” said Sarah. “Speaking of careful, you know that odd little episode I had on Sunday with the gray Toyota after I’d picked up my car at your house—and, by the way, I don’t know if I ever thanked you properly for that lovely bouquet, what with all the to-do about Dolores Tawne’s turning up dead. Well, I had noticed at the Turbots’ that the twin who served us was not at all happy about having to do it. I’m wondering now if those fellows might have been the twins working off a bit of spite against the one member of the party they thought would be the most vulnerable.”
“I wouldn’t put it past them. Shall I ask Percy what he thinks?”
“Please do. He might know what sort of car they drive, assuming they haven’t lost their licenses. He may even remember the registration, he has such a phenomenal head for figures. Maybe Percy wouldn’t mind phoning me at the lake this evening. I did give you the number, didn’t I? Have him reverse the charges, of course.”
Sarah gave Anne a peck on the cheek, made sure she hadn’t left any of the bright plastic plates and cups or the bamboo-handled cutlery out of Miriam’s elegant picnic basket, let her gray stockings bag a little more, and got back on the road.