17

You have it easy.” Harry wiggled in her seat. “All you have to do is shave, comb your hair, and put on your clothes. Okay, maybe tying the bow tie is difficult, but the rest is easy.”

“You look beautiful.” The line into Poplar Forest, a quarter mile long, demanded patience.

“You like this color on me?”

“Honey, I like every color on you. You can wear anything.”

The full-length dress, adjusted to fit perfectly by a seamstress, felt confining to a woman used to jeans, work boots, and a T-shirt or sweatshirt.

Harry’s mother used to say, “A woman must suffer for beauty.”

Harry’s reply was, “Let someone else suffer. I’m happy to look at her.”

Her suffering wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought it was. She’d never endured plastic surgery, she didn’t spend bags of money once a week for facials and manicures. She’d only once enjoyed a massage. She dabbed on mascara, blusher, and lipstick. That was it. However, she had spent a pretty penny on the gown, and it showed.

So exclusive was the fund-raiser that it was white tie, not black. Years ago, Fair had bought a bespoke suit of tails, two tuxedos, and one white dinner jacket with a satin shawl collar. Like Harry’s mother, his father had sought to prepare him for many of the social functions one needed to frequent. Nothing looked better than clothes cut for you, and if a man kept his weight steady, he need never buy more.

“I didn’t paint my fingernails.”

“I didn’t paint mine, either.” He smiled.

She looked out the window at the sun, forty-five minutes from setting. “I think it’s going to cool down.”

“You have your mother’s fabulous coat.”

“I do. I wish I had my mother’s fabulous style.”

“I like your style: fresh and natural.”

She looked at him. “You must want hot sex tonight.”

He leaned back. “Harry, whenever I’m with you the thought is uppermost in my mind.”

“Do you think men think about sex more than women or do you think it’s cultural? You know what I mean.” Harry wasn’t always the most articulate soul.

“We’ll never know what’s cultural and what’s biological, because science is always in service to power. Even veterinary medicine. What do I personally think after forty-two years of observation? That men think about sex more than women do. However, I don’t think women are that far behind. They display it more discreetly, if they display their thoughts at all.”

“That’s what I think.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Because I’m bored sitting in this line and I’m already crabby about being in this gown. I feel like a drag queen, even if I am a woman.”

“A lady. You’re an elegant Virginia lady of black-type bloodlines.”

“Honey, if you said that to someone who wasn’t a horseman, they’d think you were talking about race.”

“Guess they would.”

Black type in a Thoroughbred pedigree meant the animal had won Grade I races. Obviously, this was highly desired.

“I admire Tazio’s outlook,” Harry said. “Being half African-American, half Italian certainly provided her with insight, not just into race but into culture, people’s petty prejudices, you name it. You know, I have never heard her once utter a remark about race, pro or con.”

“You can bet she heard about it in school.”

“Well, her parents sent her to the most expensive girls’ prep in St. Louis.”

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t brush up against ugly remarks. If anything, rich kids can be even more snide than poor ones.”

“I don’t know about that. Small little minds looking for something to hold against someone else bite you sooner or later.”

“Luckily for her she is beautiful.”

“She really is, and that’s another thing I admire about her: she doesn’t use it. Some women can use it like a whip against men and women.”

“I know.” He smiled ruefully. “Lately, though, Tazio has looked drawn.”

“Carla and Mike. She’s worried about offending Big Mim, too, over this ball.”

He cleared his throat, moved forward a bit. “The whole situation with Little Mim is pretty ridiculous. It’s not Tazio’s fault. And, remember, let us always remember, it was Big Mim who suggested—no, insisted—that Folly chair the fund-raiser.”

“I know and you know that, but it’s still going to be sticky with Little Mim and Blair at Folly’s table.” She sighed. “At least Tazio and Paul will be at ours.”

“There’s a reason I work with horses and not people.”

“I hear you.” She laughed. “Have I told you how handsome you look?”

“You’re trying to soften me up for sex tonight, aren’t you?” He paused. “Soften is the wrong word.”

“I never worry about you.” She smacked his arm. “God, this is taking forever.”

“Look at it this way, the ball is already a success.”

“Tell that to my bladder.”

“Mine, too.”

Another fifteen minutes, amid lights flashing on sheriff vehicles, and the Haristeens had parked.

Harry, holding on to Fair’s arm as would a proper lady from the early nineteenth century, whispered, “There’s got to be Porta-Johns somewhere.”

Since Fair was so tall, he looked around. “Over there. A whole row, before we even are escorted to the festivities.”

They made a beeline—not easy, since Harry was in low heels. Her long dress covered up that she wasn’t tottering in high heels.

Each hurried into adjoining johns.

She heard him laughing.

“What are you laughing at? I can hear you!”

“I’m not telling.”

He emerged first, of course, and waited dutifully. Finally, a red-faced Harry came out, the metal and plastic door reverberating behind her.

A line had already formed for the johns, so she kept her voice low as they walked away. “What’s so funny?”

“I was imagining you trying to balance yourself, hold up all the voluminous material, pull your panties down, and then go. Whew.”

She laughed so hard she had to stop. “At least you appreciate the problem. One of these days, I’ll dress you up and you can really learn what we go through to please you brutes.”

“You’ll never find shoes big enough.”

“Oh, yes, I will. There have got to be drag queens as big as you are.” She glanced up at him, his face baby-smooth, as if he had used a five-bladed razor. “Ever do drag?”

“Hazing for Phi Delta Theta when I was a pledge.” He named his college fraternity. “I actually liked the silk and the colors, and I loved being hairless. You know, I hadn’t really seen my chest muscles or my arms so clearly since I hit puberty. I could see every muscle, plus it felt so smooth. Sexy, really, and then the hair started to grow out. Itchy. Awful. Awful.” He giggled.

“Were you a pretty girl?”

“Not as pretty as you.”

“Right answer.”

A gentleman in attire from the second decade of the nineteenth century held out his gloved hand for Harry, and a young lady in pale-salmon silk held out her hand for Fair.

They walked through a promenade of shaped boxwoods in huge glazed pots, which led to the back lawn. The effect was that of walking through a corridor and suddenly coming into the light.

What light it was. The three hundred guests glowed in the long, slanting rays of the sun, its bottom a few degrees above the Blue Ridge.

Servants in livery opened glass lanterns on wrought-iron stands to light the beeswax candles within, using long tapers.

Small hanging lanterns, strung high, surrounded the stage, and occasional fanciful lanterns suspended from trees added to the extraordinary effect.

Harry could only glimpse the tables beyond the first gathering level. She and Fair would be ushered into the seating area later. But she could just see red, gold, white, and deep-purple floral arrangements.

On a broken Corinthian column in the center of the lawn towered a floral arrangement using the same colors again, with trailing ribbons of silver and gold and one baby-blue ribbon.

Thomas Jefferson would have loved it. The symmetry gave structure to everything and echoed the symmetry of the house. The occasional whimsical items, such as the lanterns or another boxwood carved as a rabbit on its haunches, would have amused him. The animal boxwoods were in large glazed vases.

Could Jefferson have seen Tazio Chappars, in a gown with crisscross chiffon straps over her bosoms, a long waist, and flowing skirts to the ground, all in the palest of pinks, he would have fallen head over heels. Those green eyes flashing above the pink added to her potent appeal.

Paul, sleek in his white tie, noticed every man looking at his date. Well, she was more than his date—he was wildly in love with her and didn’t mind telling her so.

She appeared cooler, but sooner or later Tazio would have to admit that she loved him, too.

The young couple fielded all the praise from people who knew that Tazio was responsible for the look of the evening.

Folly Steinhauser sported an emerald-and-diamond necklace with matching earrings and bracelet, which cost a hefty six hundred thousand dollars if one penny. Her husband, Ron, was by her side and engaged in an intense discussion with Marvin Lattimore. Ron’s gray pallor accentuated his age. He kept a grasp on Folly’s right hand with his left, but he couldn’t follow her eyes since he was talking business with Marvin. Folly could hardly keep her eyes off Marvin.

As for Penny Lattimore, she’d already ditched her husband to talk to Major Chris Huzcko, much to the annoyance of Elise Brennan, herself swathed in diamonds and sapphires.

The first couple Harry and Fair ran into were Marilyn and Urbie Nash. Marilyn’s white gown, pink ribbon wound through the bodice, wider pink ribbon as a sash at the waist, accentuated her good features.

“Stunning,” Harry complimented her after everyone’s initial greeting.

“We both clean up pretty good, don’t we?” Marilyn smiled.

“We’re waiting for the dancing so we can watch you and Urbie.”

The Nashes had taken up ballroom dancing, finding that it kept them in shape, plus they had such fun doing it.

They chatted for a few minutes more, mostly about Marilyn’s animal-rescue work, then moved on to other couples, as is customary in such circumstances.

Big Mim glided up, husband, Jim, in tow. “Harry, you’ve never looked so radiant.”

Fair gently lifted Big Mim’s right hand, brushing his lips over it. “Nor you.”

“Fair, you flirt.”

“Watch it, buddy.” Jim Sanburne, a working-class boy made good, glared with mock anger at Fair.

“We all envy you, Mayor.”

“Well, you don’t envy my job.” Jim laughed and slapped Fair on the back.

It had taken years for Big Mim to realize that the exceedingly masculine Jim would remain, fundamentally, a working-class man. She finally reached the point where she rather liked that. She kidded him that they were beauty and the beast. Jim, being Jim, asked who was whom?

Aunt Tally, silver-hound-handled cane in hand, had a date with a much younger man. Adolfo di Maso degli Albizzi was a count, although Italy no longer considered such titles. At eighty he looked dapper, and everyone called him Dolf.

“Children.” Aunt Tally waved her cane.

“My esteemed aunt wants your attention.” Big Mim smiled tightly as she nodded to Aunt Tally. “She’s on her second martini.”

“We’re safe until the third.” Harry kissed Big Mim, then Jim, on the cheek.

The two pushed through the resplendent crowd to the oldest couple there.

“Signóra.” Dolf bowed low, then kissed Harry’s hand as Fair kissed Aunt Tally’s.

For good measure, Fair also kissed Aunt Tally on the cheek.

“A triumph.” Aunt Tally beamed.

“You, my sweet, are the triumph.” Dolf oozed Continental charm.

“Go on.” Tally lifted her cane ever so slightly. “Isn’t this extraordinary? I tell you…well, I’ll tell you two things. One, that Tazio Chappars has a gift, a true gift. It’s all there—structure, proportion, color, and texture. As for Folly,” she glanced around, eyes glittering, “it would appear her organizing ability is as formidable as that of my beloved niece.”

“That’s why Big Mim selected her for the job.” Harry wondered how often this would come up tonight.

“I suspect she didn’t know quite how formidable Folly’s talents are.” She knocked back the remains of her martini, eyed the glass, then smiled broadly at Dolf.

“Honey, what would you like?” Fair chose to accompany Dolf to the bar under the portico.

This location proved to be the only flaw in the plans, because people could slip into the house. The bartenders had to keep calling them back. The one person whose task was to keep people out of the house was on overload. He couldn’t wait for the supper to begin and the bar to close.

Being as tall and powerful as he was, Fair could run interference for the older, frailer gentleman.

“Tonic water with a twist of lime.”

“Champagne! Bring your bride champagne,” Aunt Tally commanded.

Strolling flute, violin, and lute players walked among the crowd, as did serving girls bearing trays of delicious tidbits.

Aunt Tally reached over as a college student, dressed in period, offered a tray. “Thank you, dear.”

Harry shook her head no. She confined herself to regular meals and tried not to snack.

“Are you going to dance the night away?” Harry smiled.

“I was hoping for more, but Dolf would probably have to lash his member to a pencil.” The nonagenarian, almost one-hundred, popped the hors d’oeuvre into her lipsticked mouth.

“Aunt Tally, you shock me.”

“No, I don’t. I was doing it before you were born. Before Mim was born. By now I should be an expert, don’t you agree?”

“Well…yes.” Harry burst out laughing.

“Where is that man with my martini?”

“Fighting the crows. Hold on.”

Carla Paulson stopped by for a moment. “Aunt Tally, you remember my husband, Jurgen?”

“So nice to see you, sir.” Aunt Tally extended her hand.

He shook it, then repeated the process with Harry.

Carla, with bracelets obscuring her arms, a huge necklace, and enormous earrings of white and black pearls with sprays of diamonds arching over them, presented a contrast to Harry, who appeared restrained. She was wearing her mother’s five-carat emerald-cut diamond ring, along with emerald-cut earrings at three carats each and a matching bracelet.

The diamonds were perfect. Harry knew exactly how to wear jewelry even though she wasn’t much interested in it. She could never have afforded her mother’s diamonds, but once upon a time, before the Great Depression, the Hepworths, Harry’s maternal family, had money.

Aunt Tally wore a diamond choker and two-carat drop diamond earrings, quite subtle but the diamonds were perfect.

In Virginia, less is more.

“Darling, you must get a safety-deposit box.” Aunt Tally smiled at Carla, who missed the point.

Fortunately, before the old girl could further sharpen her tongue, Dolf and Fair appeared.

Dolf performed the obligatory hand kiss, which made Carla titter.

Mike McElvoy passed by, Noddy on his arm. “Good evening, folks.”

“Mike.” Fair smiled at him.

Carla curled her lip, but Jurgen had the manners to wish him a good evening.

“Mike, with all your building inspections, do you ever have time to build for yourself?” Harry asked.

Noddy answered for him. “You should see his shop. Well, he calls it a shed. It’s sacred. I don’t go in there.” She tittered. “It’s where he buries the bodies.”

Mike gruffly replied with humor, “I am banished to the shed because I’ll dirty her house.”

As Mike left, Carla hissed, “I truly hope I see him roasted on a spit.”

“Now, Carla, don’t let that temper get the better of you. Redhead.” Jurgen genially explained her temper due to hair color.

As the Paulsons left to distribute themselves among the throng, Aunt Tally said, “Lucille Testicle red.”

Harry, tonic water in one hand, champagne in the other, decided the only way to survive this evening was to knock back the champagne immediately.

Fair smiled as she did so, placing her fluted glass on the tray as yet another serving girl passed by.

“Another?”

“No, honey. I really will stick to the tonic water, but I needed help.”

“Oh, Harry, loosen up,” Aunt Tally ordered. “A little medicinal application of spirits enriches life.”

“Mutes the harshness.” Dolf sipped his champagne.

A melody of trumpet notes called the assembled to the tables.

As each gentleman seated each lady, then sat down himself, a moment of hush fell over the lawn. The variety of glasses on the table was truly spectacular.

The band of strolling players left the scene, and an orchestra playing period pieces sat near the back of the platform, itself a wonder of ribbons, topiary, and birds. The tableau commenced on stage.

Tazio, next to Fair, flushed from the praise.

He leaned down to tell her, “All deserved.”

Harry noted that Little Mim indeed graced Folly Steinhauser’s table—the Number 1 table, too. Her eyes cast over the scene. She was amused to see Mike McElvoy and his wife seated at a back table with Tony Long and his wife. Folly, no doubt, was working these two over for some grand building plan she envisioned for the future. Might work with Tony, but who knew about Mike?

Will Wylde’s table was filled with his staff and their dates and husbands. Kylie leaned on her date. She wore the gold Rolex, which, being a sport watch, wasn’t proper. However, she wanted the world to view her treasure.

This reminded Harry how generous Benita Wylde was, because “the girls” would not have been able to afford this evening on their own. Benita had told them Will would be horrified if they didn’t attend. He wanted people to live, to enjoy life.

Dr. Harvey Tillach’s table, on the other side of the lawn, was also filled.

Miranda and Tracy, at Harry’s table, which wasn’t all that far from Big Mim’s table, filled it with laughter. Miranda turned into the lively high-school girl she once was in Tracy’s company. Not that she couldn’t be lively on her own, but the years and the loss of her husband, George, had subdued her for a long, long time.

A young man quietly poured the first serving of wine. Harry turned her glass upside down. One glass of champagne was all she could handle. She felt its titillating effects already.

Miranda held up her glass. Cooper, seated beside Tracy, wondered at the nature of Miranda’s toast.

Her deep, honeyed alto voice flowed over the table. “This is the day which the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. Psalm One Eighteen, Verse Twenty-four.”

Everyone joined Miranda’s toast.

The first course, served in a coordinated, balletic fashion, added to the conversation.

Cooper, surprisingly feminine in her bottle-green gown, had a blind date, Lorenzo McCracken, a Nicaraguan. Before the twentieth century, an outpouring of Scots had settled in Central America. The crossing of the Scots with the Spaniards had resulted in some progeny taking the best of both. Lorenzo possessed the square, manly features of a Scot, with intense Spanish coloring.

Cooper, who hated blind dates, was thrilled with this one.

Hard to tell how Lorenzo felt, since his manners were not only perfect but infused with charm.

Cooper kept telling herself, “I know I’m a fool for Spanish-speaking men. On guard.”

Yes, but for how long?

This was a happy, happy crowd. Even Big Mim was happy, so long as she didn’t look over at Little Mim. And at Table 1. That grated.

Herb Jones did his best to keep her distracted. If the good reverend’s genial patter didn’t occupy her, her increasing alarm at Aunt Tally’s alcohol intake did.

Aunt Tally was becoming the belle of the ball. Not for the first time.

Tazio, not wearing a watch—which was wise for a lady in a ball gown—asked Paul the time. Most of the courses had been served. She was getting a little nervous about her upcoming presentation.

“Seven forty-five.”

“What time does the show begin?” Harry asked.

“After dessert, per usual.” Tracy laughed. “If you drink enough wine, you can fall asleep during the speeches.”

“Now, honey.” Miranda winked at him, although he was in scant danger of falling asleep.

“Let me just slip away. I’m going to be on that dais for some time.” Tazio headed for the Porta-Johns out of sight of the tables.

Ten minutes passed.

“She’s taking a long time.” Paul glanced at his watch again.

Cooper said, “Probably a line. She’s not the only one trying to get in ahead of intermission.”

A moment of silence prevailed on the dais, the lovely bit of Mozart completed. The violinist spoke something to the others, picked up his bow again, tapped his foot. Before he could draw it across his resonant instrument, a bloodcurdling yell scared even the birds settled in their nests for the night.

Harry’s eyes opened wide.

Another scream followed.

Cooper rose. “Excuse me.”

“Allow me to go with you.” Lorenzo knew she was a deputy.

“You swore you weren’t going to work tonight.” Harry rose, and Fair pulled her down.

“Let’s hope I don’t have to.”

Wrong.

Cooper hurried to the front of the house. There on the lawn, the twilight wrapped around like a shroud, lay Carla Paulson, her throat slashed.

Standing over her, knife in hand, was Tazio Chappars.