The small, weathered cottage sat behind a dilapidated picket fence. Pine needles dusted the tin roof, and four spindly candlestick posts held up the rickety porch. The once white paint had grayed, and the shutters had faded to a dull green.
“You live here all by yourself?” Riley said.
“Only for the past couple of months,” April replied. “I have a condo in L.A.”
As Blue took in the silver Saab with California plates parked in the shade at the side of the house, she decided the fashion stylist business was good.
“Don’t you get scared at night?” Riley said. “Like what if a kidnapper or serial killer tries to get you?”
April led them up onto a creaky wooden porch. “There are enough real things in life to worry about. The chances of a serial killer making his way here are pretty slim.”
A flap of screening had come loose from the door. April hadn’t locked it, and they walked into the living area, which had bare wooden floors and two windows draped with shabby lace curtains. Bright rectangular patches on the blue and pink cabbage rose wallpaper showed where pictures had once hung. The room had little furniture: an overstuffed sofa topped with a quilt, a painted three-drawer chest, and a table holding an old brass table lamp, an empty water bottle, a book, and a stack of fashion magazines.
“Renters lived here until about six months ago,” April said. “I moved in as soon as I got the place cleaned up.” She headed for the kitchen, just visible at the back. “Feel free to look around while I find my notebook.”
There wasn’t a lot to see, but Blue and Riley peeked into the two bedrooms. The larger one had a charming bed with a curlicue iron headboard covered in chipped white paint. A pair of old-fashioned pink ribbon-glass boudoir lamps sat on mismatched tables. April had spruced up the bed with an assortment of pillows and a lavender bedspread that matched the nosegays splashed over the faded aqua wallpaper. With a rug and a few more furnishings, the room could have been a magazine layout for flea market chic.
The bathroom with its sea foam green fixtures wasn’t as charming, nor the kitchen, which had worn counters and fake red-brick linoleum. Still, a wicker basket of pears and the earthenware vase of flowers sitting on the out-of-date butcher-block table provided a homey touch.
April came into the kitchen behind them. “I can’t find my notebook anywhere. I must have left it at the house after all. Riley, there’s a blanket in the bedroom closet. Bring it out, will you? We might as well enjoy the pond before we go back. I’ll pour us some iced tea.”
Riley dutifully fetched the blanket while April poured iced tea into three blue glasses. They carried them outside. Behind the cottage, the pond glistened in the sunshine, and the willows lining the banks trailed their leafy fringe in the water. Dragonflies buzzed through the cattails, and a family of baby ducks swam near a fallen tree that formed a natural pier. April directed them toward two dented red metal lawn chairs with scalloped backs that faced the water. Riley studied the pond warily. “Are there snakes?”
“I’ve seen a couple sunning themselves on that tree that’s fallen into the water.” April settled in one chair while Blue took the other. “They seem pretty content. Did you know snakes are soft?”
“You touched them?”
“Not those exact snakes.”
“I would never touch a snake.” Riley dropped her backpack and the blanket next to the chairs. “I like dogs. When I grow up, I’m going to have a puppy farm.”
April smiled. “That sounds nice.”
It sounded nice to Blue, too. She imagined blue skies, puffy white clouds, and a grassy meadow filled with scampering puppies.
Riley began spreading out the blanket. Without looking up, she said, “You’re Dean’s mom, aren’t you?”
The tea glass stilled in April’s hand. “How do you know that?”
“I know his mom’s name is April. That’s what Blue called you.”
April took a slow sip before she answered. “Yes, I’m his mother.” She didn’t try to lie to Riley but simply stated that she and Dean had a difficult relationship and briefly explained the Susan O’Hara charade. Riley understood celebrity privacy issues and seemed satisfied.
All these secrets, Blue thought. She tugged on her BODY BY BEER T-shirt. “I haven’t made it to the shower yet. Although you won’t see that much difference after I do. I don’t care about clothes.”
“You care in your own way,” April said.
“What do you mean?”
“Clothes are great camouflage.”
“With me, it’s not so much camouflage as comfort.” Not exactly true, but she was only willing to reveal so much.
April’s cell rang. She glanced at the screen and excused herself. Riley lay on the blanket and rested her head on her backpack. Blue watched a pair of ducks go bottoms-up looking for food. “I wish I’d brought my sketch pad,” she said when April returned. “It’s so pretty here.”
“Are you formally trained?”
“Yes and no.” Blue briefly outlined her academic career and the highlights of her less than satisfactory experience with the college art department. A soft wheezy sound drifted their way. Riley had fallen asleep on the blanket.
“I reached her father’s manager,” April said. “He promised someone would be here by the end of the day to pick her up.”
Blue couldn’t believe she was sitting with a person who knew how to reach Jack Patriot’s manager. April nudged a dandelion with the toe of her raffia sandal. “Have you and Dean set a date?”
Blue wouldn’t perpetuate Dean’s lie, but she also didn’t intend to clean up after him. “It hasn’t gotten nearly to that point.”
“As far as I know, you’re the only woman he’s ever asked to marry him.”
“He’s only attracted to me because I’m different. Once the newness wears off, he’ll find a way out.”
“You believe that?”
“I hardly know anything about him,” she said truthfully. “I didn’t even know for sure who his father was until today.”
“He hates talking about his childhood, or at least the parts of it that involve me and Jack. I don’t blame him. I lived a totally irresponsible life.”
Riley sighed in her sleep. Blue cocked her head. “Was it really so bad?”
“Yeah, it was. I never called myself a groupie because I didn’t put out for everybody. But I put out for way too many of them, and there are only so many rockers you can take on before you cross the line.”
Blue would have loved asking exactly who those rockers had been. Fortunately, she still had some self-restraint left. But the double standard behind what April had just said bothered her. “How come nobody wags a finger at the rockers who were doing the groupies? Why is it always the women?”
“Because that’s the way the world’s made. Some women embrace their groupie past. Pamela Des Barres has written books about it. But it was wrong for me. I let them use my body like a garbage can. I let them. Nobody forced me. I didn’t respect myself, and that’s what shamed me.” She tilted her face into the sun. “I fed off the lifestyle. The music, the men, the drugs. I let it imprison me. I loved dancing in the clubs all night, then blowing off my modeling assignment the next day to hop on a private plane and fly across the country, conveniently forgetting I’d also promised to visit my son at school.” She gazed at Blue. “You should have seen Dean’s face when I actually kept one of my promises. He’d drag me from one friend to the next, showing me off to everyone, talking so fast he’d get red in the face. It was like he had to prove to his friends that I really existed. That stopped somewhere around thirteen. A little kid will forgive his mother just about anything, but once he gets older, you’ve pretty much lost your chance at redemption.”
Blue thought of her own mother. “You straightened your life out. You have to feel good about that.”
“It was a long journey.”
“I think it would be good for Dean to forgive you.”
“Don’t, Blue. You can’t imagine what I put him through.”
Blue could imagine it. Maybe not in the way April meant, but she knew what it felt like not being able to count on a parent. “Still…At some point he has to see you’re not that same person. He should at least give you a chance.”
“Stay out of it. I know you mean well, but Dean has every reason to feel the way he does. If he hadn’t figured out how to protect himself, he’d never have become the man he is now.” She checked her watch, then rose from the chair. “I need to talk to the painters.”
Blue glanced down at Riley, who’d curled into a comma on the blanket. “Let’s let her sleep. I’ll stay.”
“You don’t mind?”
“I’ll sketch for a while, if you have some paper.”
“Sure. I’ll get it for you.”
“And maybe use your bathtub while I’m at it. If you don’t mind.”
“Take whatever you need from the medicine cabinet. Deodorant, toothpaste.” She paused. “Makeup.”
Blue smiled.
April smiled back. “I’ll put out some clothes you can change into.”
Blue couldn’t imagine anything designed for April’s willowy body fitting her, but she appreciated the offer.
“My car keys are on the counter,” April said. “There’s a twenty in the drawer next to my bed. When Riley wakes up, would you mind driving her into town for lunch?”
“I’m not taking your money.”
“I’ll bill it to Dean. Please, Blue. I want to keep her away from him until Jack’s people get here.”
Blue wasn’t sure that keeping the eleven-year-old away was the best thing for either Riley or Dean, but she’d already been called to task for meddling, so she reluctantly nodded. “All right.”
April had laid out a delicate pink camisole and a frothy little afterthought of a ruffled skirt. She’d hastily modified both garments with some kind of double-sided tape to make them smaller. Blue knew she’d look adorable in the outfit. Way too adorable. The fluff-ball who wore those clothes might as well be wearing a SCREW ME OVER sign. This was the problem Blue always faced whenever she got around to fixing herself up, the main reason she’d stopped doing it.
Instead of the clothes on the bed, Blue appropriated a navy T-shirt. It did little to improve her purple tie-dyed yoga pants, but even she couldn’t stomach appearing in public in her orange BODY BY BEER sleeping T-shirt. Vanity reared its ugly head, and she dipped into April’s makeup—a swipe of soft pink tint on her cheeks, a little lip stain, and enough mascara to make it apparent exactly how long her lashes were. Just once, she wanted Dean to see that she was perfectly capable of looking decent. She simply didn’t care to.
“You look nice with makeup,” Riley said from the passenger seat of April’s Saab as she and Blue headed into town. “Not so washed out.”
“You’ve spent too much time around that awful Trinity.”
“You’re the only person who thinks she’s awful. Everybody else loves her.”
“No, they don’t. Okay, probably her mom. The rest are just pretending.”
Riley gave a faint, guilty smile. “I like it when you talk bad about Trinity.”
Blue laughed.
Since Garrison lacked a Pizza Hut, they picked Josie’s, the restaurant across from the pharmacy. Josie’s was short on charm, the food was lousy, and it lacked employment opportunities—Blue asked about a job first thing—but Riley liked it. “I never ate anyplace like this. It’s different.”
“It definitely has character.” Blue had settled on a BLT, which turned out to be more L than B or T.
Riley pulled a translucent sliver of tomato off her burger. “What does that mean?”
“It means it’s only like itself.”
Riley thought it over. “Sort of like you.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
Riley stuffed a French fry in her mouth. “I’d rather be pretty.”
Riley had left on her FOXY T-shirt, but exchanged the dirty lavender cords for a pair of too-tight denim shorts that squeezed her stomach. They’d settled into a cracked brown vinyl booth that afforded a good view of a bad collection of western landscape art displayed on nauseating pastel blue walls along with some dusty ballerina figurines resting in shadow box frames. A pair of blond, fake wood ceiling fans stirred the smell of fried food.
The door opened and the lunchtime buzz stilled as a formidable-looking older woman limped in, supporting herself with a cane. She was overweight, overpowdered, and overdressed in bright watermelon pink slacks and a matching tunic. Multiple gold chains accented a plunging V-neck, and the stones in her dangling earrings looked as though they might be real diamonds. She’d probably once been beautiful, but she hadn’t permitted herself to age gracefully. The sprayed mass of teased platinum hair that curled, waved, and swooped around her face had to be a wig. She’d drawn in her eyebrows with a light brown pencil but abandoned restraint with thick black mascara and frosted blue eye shadow. A small mole, which might once have been seductive, sagged at the corner of her bright pink lips. Tan orthopedic oxfords supporting badly swollen ankles were the only concession she’d made to her age.
None of the lunch crowd seemed happy to see her, but Blue regarded her with interest. The woman surveyed the crowded restaurant, her disdainful gaze flicking over the regulars, then settling on Blue and Riley. Seconds ticked by as she openly studied them. Finally, she bore down, her pink tunic molding to a formidable set of breasts held high by an excellent bra.
“Who,” she said, when she reached their table, “are you?”
“I’m Blue Bailey. And this is my friend Riley.”
“What are you doing here?” The faintest trace of Brooklyn colored her speech.
“We’re enjoying a little lunch. How about you?”
“I have a bad hip, in case you haven’t noticed. Were you planning to ask me to sit?”
Her imperious manner amused Blue. “Sure.”
Riley’s panicky expression suggested she didn’t want the woman anywhere near her, so Blue slid over to make a place on her side of the booth. But the woman shooed Riley aside with her fingers. “Move over.” She placed a big straw purse on the table and lowered herself slowly into the booth. Riley plastered her body against her backpack, sliding as far away as she could.
The waitress appeared with silverware and a glass of iced tea. “Your regular’s coming right up.”
The woman ignored her to concentrate on Blue. “When I asked what you were doing here, I was talking about in this town.”
“We’re visiting,” Blue replied.
“Where are you from?”
“Well, I’m basically a citizen of the world. Riley’s from Nashville.” She tilted her head. “We’ve introduced ourselves, but you have us at a disadvantage.”
“Everyone knows who I am,” the woman replied querulously.
“We don’t.” Although Blue had a strong suspicion.
“I’m Nita Garrison, of course. I own this town.”
“That’s great. I’ve been wanting to ask somebody about that.”
The waitress popped up with a plate holding a scoop of cottage cheese and a quartered canned pear resting on shredded iceberg lettuce. “Here you go, Miz Garrison.” Her syrupy voice belied the dislike in her eyes. “Anything else I can get for you?”
“A twenty-year-old body,” the old woman snapped.
“Yes, ma’am.” The waitress hurried off.
Mrs. Garrison inspected her fork, then poked at the canned pear as if she were looking for a worm hiding under it.
“Exactly how does anybody own a town?” Blue asked.
“I inherited it from my husband. You’re very odd-looking.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Do you dance?”
“Whenever I get the chance.”
“I used to be an excellent dancer. I taught at the Arthur Murray Studio in Manhattan during the fifties. I met Mr. Murray once. He had a television show, but you wouldn’t remember.” Her haughty manner suggested it was Blue’s stupidity at fault rather than her age.
“No, ma’am,” Blue replied. “So…when you inherited this town from your husband, would that be the whole town?”
“All the parts of it that count.” She plunged her fork into the cottage cheese. “You’re staying with that stupid football player, aren’t you? The one who bought the Callaway farm.”
“He’s not stupid!” Riley exclaimed. “He’s the best quarterback in the United States.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Mrs. Garrison snapped. “You’re very rude.”
Riley wilted, and Nita Garrison’s high-handedness no longer amused Blue. “Riley has very nice manners. And she’s right. Dean has his faults, but stupidity isn’t one of them.”
Riley’s stunned expression indicated she wasn’t used to anyone sticking up for her, which Blue found sad. She noticed the other customers were openly eavesdropping.
Instead of backing down, Nita Garrison puffed up like an angry cat. “You’re another one of those people who lets kids behave however they want, aren’t you? Lets them say whatever they want. Well, you aren’t doing her any favors. Just look at her. She’s fat, but you let her sit there wolfing down French fries.”
Riley’s face turned bright red. Mortified, she dipped her head and stared at the tabletop. Blue had heard more than enough. “Riley is perfect, Mrs. Garrison,” she said quietly. “And her manners are a lot better than yours. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d find another table. We’d like to finish our lunch alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I own this place.”
Even though they hadn’t finished eating, Blue had no choice but to get up. “All right then. Come on, Riley.”
Unfortunately, Riley was trapped in the booth and Mrs. Garrison wasn’t moving. She sneered, revealing lipstick-smeared teeth. “You’re as disrespectful as she is.”
Now Blue was burning. She jabbed her finger toward the floor. “Out, Riley. Right now.”
Riley got the message and managed to squeeze from under the table with her backpack. Nita Garrison’s eyes narrowed to irate dashes. “Nobody walks away from me. You’ll be sorry.”
“Wow, I’m scared. I don’t care how old you are, Mrs. Garrison, or how rich. You’re just plain mean.”
“You’ll regret this.”
“No, I really won’t.” She threw down April’s twenty, which about killed her, since their lunch had only come to twelve-fifty, wrapped her arm around Riley’s shoulders, and led her through the now silent restaurant and out onto the sidewalk.
“Do you think we could go back to the farm now?” Riley whispered when they’d moved far enough past the door.
Blue had hoped to make some more job inquiries, but that would have to wait. She hugged Riley. “Sure we can. Don’t let that old woman bother you. She feeds off being mean. You could see it in her eyes.”
“I guess.”
Blue continued trying to soothe her as they got in the Saab and pulled out onto the main street. Riley made all the right responses, but Blue knew the hurtful words had struck home.
They’d nearly reached the city limit sign when she heard the siren. She glanced into the rearview mirror and saw a police squad car bearing down. She wasn’t speeding, and she hadn’t run any red lights, so it took her a moment to figure out the cop was after her.
An hour later, she was in jail.