CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEENThe last thing I needed to be doing on the Saturday night one week before the Cannon Ball was playing bridge. I had too many other things on my mind. Will McFarland and his investigation. The approaching date of the Cannon Ball. My humiliation-slash-revelation at Henri’s hands.
I had spent the rest of the day after Jim left canvassing limo services, taxi companies, and even the local school system for buses to serve as shuttles for the ball. My attempts to find someone to handle the valet parking had fared slightly better. I’d bribed, cajoled, and otherwise unduly influenced a handful of Connor’s friends to help me out, although they were little more than a drop in the proverbial bucket. And though I’d blackmailed Jim into buying me a dress, I hadn’t found a spare moment to actually shop for one.
The only bright spot had been the total silence from Roz. I thought maybe our confrontation at Harris-Teeter had subdued her until Linda told me she was simply out of town. Roz had gone to New York City for a final fitting for her gown for the ball. This news made me feel more than a little like a sooty Cinderella.
One other bright spot, too, had been the FedEx envelope that arrived at my doorstep early that afternoon. It contained a nice big check from The Triumph Group. Apparently when Henri was properly motivated, he could get the Italians in accounting to move quite swiftly.
Despite all these complications and a preference for climbing into bed and pulling the covers up over my head, by seven o’clock Saturday evening I found myself ringing Linda’s doorbell, a plate of still-warm-from-the-oven blondies in hand.
“Hi, Ellie.” Linda let me in and relieved me of the blondies. “We’ve got big plans for tonight.”
“Big plans?” It sounded like about the last thing I needed.
“Don’t frown. We’re just excited because we’re going to talk about slam bidding.”
“What’s that?”
“When you bid at the highest levels. Very exciting stuff.”
And it actually did turn out to be pretty exciting.
“There are two kinds of slams,” Linda explained as the four of us sat down at the table to play. “Little and grand. With a little slam, you must take all the tricks but one.”
“And a grand slam is all thirteen?”
I was glad to have something else to concentrate on besides all my current life complications, even if the pressure at these stratospheric levels was enough to give me a nosebleed. The ladies walked me through bidding slams in a trump suit and in no-trump.
“If you’re bidding a slam in no-trump, you have to account for all the aces, so you have to ask your partner how many she has.” Once again, Linda sat across from me with Grace on my left and Jane on my right.
“I thought you weren’t allowed to talk to each other like that.”
Linda smiled. “You ask by bidding. Let’s say you have two of the four aces in your hand and enough high card points and support from your partner to know you might have a slam. Then you need to know if your partner has one or both of the two remaining aces.”
“Why do you need to know about aces?”
“You need to know what kind of support you can count on from your partner. In no-trump, all the aces are winners. If your partner only has one of the two missing aces, you can only bid a little slam. But if your partner has them both, you can bid a grand slam.”
“So how do I ask for aces?”
Like just about everything else in bridge, it turned out to be a matter of understanding the carefully coded language. If I bid four no-trump, then I was asking my partner how many aces she had. If she responded with a bid of five clubs, it meant she either had none or all four.
“How will I know whether it’s one or four?”
Grace chuckled at this. “Well, if you don’t have a couple of aces in your own hand, you wouldn’t be bidding four no-trump to begin with.”
I laughed and nodded. “Point taken.”
“If your partner has one ace, she’ll bid 5?. If she has two, it’s 5?. Three would be 5?.”
“And then I’ll know if we have all the aces and can bid a grand slam?”
“You’ve got it.” Linda smiled. “And six weeks ago you were telling us you were hopeless at cards.”
Well, six weeks ago I’d assumed I was hopeless at almost everything. These three ladies, though, had shown me just how wrong I’d been. True, my life was far from perfect. But at least it was mine. Although it would be nice if life could be like bridge and I could ask for aces so I’d have some idea if I held all the cards I needed to make my very own grand slam.
Sunday morning found me not out in the backyard pulling the last remaining weeds, but on my way to Cumberland Farms & Stables to negotiate for the exercise and feeding of Cupcake. Part of me knew I was sacrificing too much to hang on to the past the horse represented, but another part of me didn’t know if I could live with the guilt of telling Courtney that Cupcake had to go. If nothing else, it was a beautiful morning for a drive, and so I headed south, grateful for a reprieve from my worries over the Cannon Ball and avoiding Will, the love-struck cop.
I’d known Greta Price for years, since the day Jim bought Courtney her first pony without consulting me. He’d gotten the hugs and kisses and sparkling looks of adoration from a young Courtney. I’d gotten the task of chauffeuring her to and from the stables several times a week. As I pulled into the gravel driveway, Greta, fresh-scrubbed with hair stuffed into a ponytail, appeared from around the corner of one of the barns and gave me a jaunty wave.
“Morning, Ellie.”
I returned her greeting and joined her in the sunshine. “How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” Greta was one of those women who was either drawn to horses because she resembled them, or she had come to resemble them after spending so much time around them. She wasn’t unattractive. On the contrary, she glowed from the combination of sun, wind, and work-induced sweat.
“Thanks for taking the time for me.”
She smiled. “No problem. How’s Courtney? College going okay?”
“Well enough that she only calls home when she needs money.”
“Good.” Greta turned and started walking toward the barns, and I fell into step beside her.
“I guess you know Jim and I are divorced.”
“He mentioned it when he called.”
“Neither of us really has the means right now for Cupcake’s upkeep.”
Greta nodded sagely. “Do you want me to let folks know he’s for sale?”
“Well, actually, I was wondering if we could trade services, so to speak. I think Jim mentioned that to you.”
“He did. What is it your new company does?”
“It’s called Your Better Half. We do all the things you’re too busy to do yourself.”
“Like muck out stables?”
It took me a moment to realize she was kidding. “I’m afraid not,” I said with a laugh. “More like errands, shopping, hostessing events, things like that.”
She stopped and turned toward me. “I’d like to help you out, Ellie. You and Jim have been good customers all these years. But I just don’t need that kind of help.”
My stomach fell to the tops of my ancient running shoes. “You sure?”
“Yep.” We’d reached the door of the nearest barn. Greta opened it and motioned me inside.
The interior of the barn was cool and dark. No horses whinnied here, though. Instead, it was more of a carriage house. “What’s all this?”
Greta led me down the center of the barn toward a lighted room at the back of the building. “Carriages, wagons, pony carts. I started collecting all this stuff a few years back. Don’t get much call to use a lot of it. Folks will hire out a wagon for a hay ride or a carriage for a wedding. Pony cart for a birthday party. That kind of thing.”
“There must be twenty of them in here.”
Greta ducked her head sheepishly. “Guess I went a little bit overboard. But I’m just partial to horse-drawn travel.”
“Oh my gosh. That’s it!” The idea kicked me in the head like one of Greta’s horses. I turned toward her, and my face was probably bright enough to light up Nashville. “Do you have enough horses to pull all of these?”
“At the same time?” Greta’s brow furrowed.
“Yes. Do you have enough horses?”
She smiled. “Well, what I don’t have I could probably borrow or rent from some of the other stables in the area.”
“How much?”
“To do what?”
“To rent all of these for one night.”
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and maybe I had. But I was giddy with excitement.
“I don’t know. Including drivers? And would you use them here on the farm?”
“No. In town.”
Greta thought for a moment and then named a figure that stole the color from my cheeks. The number was sky high. It was also almost the exact amount of the check I’d received from Henri in the FedEx envelope yesterday.
“Could I book them for next Saturday night?”
“Are you kidding me?” Greta’s eyes darkened. “This isn’t some kind of weird joke?”
“No. I want to book all of these for next Saturday night. Could you find drivers in time?”
“They might not all be professionals. Maybe some of my experienced older students, too. Would that be okay?”
“That would be fine.”
“Well, okay. Sure. It’s a deal.”
The knowledge that it would take all the money I’d made in the last six weeks to underwrite my crazy scheme scared me, but I also knew never to look a gift horse in the mouth. So to speak.
“And about Cupcake—”
“Are you kidding?” Greta started walking toward the office again. “If you’re serious about this, Cupcake can be my guest for a couple of months. Think of it as a free gift with purchase.”
’Thanks, Greta.”
I followed her to the office where she filled out a contract. I signed my name in big, bold script. And then I thought about how even if you know when to ask for aces, you don’t always know where to ask for them. Sometimes you can find them in the most surprising places.
After all the times I’d told Jim to quit calling me, I was delighted when he phoned that evening.
“You sound happy,” he said. I laughed and told him about my conversation that morning with Greta.
“Brilliant. Although the wagons may be a bit of a stretch for some of the high-end folks.”
“I’m going to cover the benches in them with some old satin sheets and buy some fancy throw pillows. They’ll think they’re traveling in a sedan chair with a sultan’s harem.”
“You did it, Ellie. You saved Cupcake.” He actually sounded proud of me.
“Just for the short term. You’re responsible for the two months after that.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I guess I could sell my Harley. That ought to keep old Cupcake in oats for awhile.”
If I hadn’t been sitting on the couch, my knees might have buckled under me. Jim considering selling his Harley? Was the world coming to an end?
“You’d really do that?”
“I’m pretty sure Greta’s not doing this for free, and I doubt the Cannon Ball budgeted the kind of money we’re talking about for shuttle buses. You must be forking out a pretty penny.”
“I am. Now if I can just round up some more valet parking attendants.”
“How many do you need?”
My heartbeat accelerated. “About twenty. I’ve already hired most of Connor’s friends who still live here. Why, do you know where I can find some?”
“I can probably swing some of the boys from my fraternity at Vandy. I’m on the alumni advisory council.”
“They’d do it just because you’re on the advisory council?”
Jim’s sigh wasn’t one of exasperation—more like one filled with resignation. “They will when I tell them how much I’m going to donate to their house renovation fund.”
“I thought you were broke?”
“Well, if I don’t need the Harley, I probably don’t need the boat, either.”
Okay, the world was definitely in danger of coming to an end. Jim loved his high-priced toys like Courtney loved her horses.
“You’d really do that?”
“I told you, Ellie. I’ve been a fool. If selling the Harley and the boat convinces you I’m sincere, it’s not much of a price to pay.”
I was so, so tempted to let down my guard at that moment. Even after all that had happened, I was still vulnerable to him. That thought both terrified and electrified me.
“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“I actually called to see what color dress you’re wearing to the ball. Thought I’d get a tie and cummerbund to match.”
I swallowed against the sudden lump in my throat. Because this man on the phone, whoever he had become, was sounding more and more each moment like the man I had married. Not the man I’d been married to.
“I don’t know yet.”
“You don’t have a dress? I gave you carte blanche at Elliott’s.”
“I know. Tomorrow. I’ll swing by there tomorrow. And I’ll let you know about the color as soon as I pick something out.”
Jim chuckled. “You really must be busy if you can’t take time to buy a ball gown.”
In the months before Jim walked out, a chuckle like that would have provoked me into a defensive outburst. Now, I could hear the affectionate bemusement in his tone.
“I guess priorities have a way of shifting.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yes, they do. And sometimes they have a way of shifting back.”
I wasn’t ready to offer any olive branches quite yet, though. “Pick me up at five on Saturday. I need to be out there early.”
“Five?”
“No. No, no problem.” Although I could tell from his tone that clearly it was. Still, he didn’t balk. “Just need to reschedule a few things.”
“Okay. See you then. And Jim?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for your help with the parking attendants.”
“My pleasure,” he said. And for the first time in a long time, I could tell that he really meant it.
I finally got to the last of the weeds in the flower bed late that afternoon. Except for Red Hat meetings, I’d studiously avoided Grace. I kept waiting for her to show up on my doorstep, exhumation order in hand, furious that I’d implicated her to Will McFarland. Instead, she showed up in my backyard carrying a long garment bag.
“There you are. I rang the bell twice and you didn’t answer.”
“Sorry.” I rocked back onto my heels and brushed the dirt off my gardening gloves. Then I leveraged myself to my feet. “Just trying to get the last bed finished.”
Grace’s gaze swept around the yard and the now-immaculate flower beds. “A good layer of mulch and you’ll be done with this first go round.”
First go round? My head swam. “There’s more?”
Grace smiled. “A real garden takes years. But you’ve got the good bones for one now.”
“So to speak.” Oops. I really hadn’t meant to bring up Marvin Etherington. “Sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
I brushed away her question just as I’d brushed the dirt from my gloves. “What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the garment bag in her arms.
“You said Saturday night that you didn’t have a dress for the ball.”
Oh, dear. And now she’d come to offer me the loan of one. Probably a mother-of-the-bride dress from one of her children’s weddings. I was going to have to handle this very delicately.
“That’s very thoughtful, Grace. Why don’t we have a glass of tea and you can show it to me?” I didn’t mean to sound like a teacher patronizing a student who’d brought her first show-and-tell to school.
We went inside and I poured us both iced tea in my nicest glasses, plastic tumblers that said, WORLD’S BEST BARBECUE on the side. “Okay. What have you got?”
Grace looked like the cat that ate the canary. “Something you might not be expecting.” She snagged the hanger on the kitchen door frame and then unzipped the bag. I could see a glimmer of very pale pink underneath black tulle. Grace slipped the bag from around the dress and then shook out the skirt, spilling yards and yards of the luxurious materials.
The glass of iced tea slipped from my suddenly nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a thud and a splash. “Oh my God.” The dress was magnificent.
“I wore it years ago to the Cannon Ball myself.”
“You attended the ball?” I didn’t know whether to grab a mop or grill Grace immediately. She’d been a socialite? Why hadn’t she ever mentioned it?
“Don’t move,” she ordered me, and I was still stunned enough to obey. She grabbed a dish towel from the counter and threw it over the spilled tea. Then she wiped it up and threw the towel into the sink.
Finally, though, my paralysis dissolved. I grabbed a roll of paper towels and attacked the liquid the towel had missed. “When did you go to the ball?”
“Fred Lewallen, my second husband, was a widower. His late wife had been involved in the Cannon Ball for years. We went once, after we married, but neither of us was much interested in that kind of thing.”
“And you wore this?” I rinsed off my hands, dried them thoroughly, and went to inspect the dress more closely. It was as beautiful up close as it had been from across the room. The strapless pink satin sheath was covered with rows of black tulle that stood out like little ruffles. “Wait a minute. Is this—?”
“Chanel? Yes, it is.”
I had thought the robin’s egg blue suit deserved to be worshipped and adored, but clearly it was only a minor deity in the pantheon of fashion. Before me at this moment was the true goddess.
“You’re going to let me wear your vintage Chanel?” And then the guilt returned. “I can’t.”
Grace frowned. “What do you mean you can’t? It should fit.” Then she smiled. “I used to be taller. And have a little more meat on my bones.”
If only the mess I’d made for Grace was as easy to clean up as the spilled tea. I swallowed the lump in my throat and summoned my courage. “I don’t think you’ll want to loan me this dress when you hear what I have to say.”
And so I confessed my sins to the Queen of Spades.
How I’d unwittingly made Will McFarland suspect her. How he was going to be showing up with an exhumation order in his hand any day now. How I’d embroiled her in a murder investigation without meaning to. And to my surprise, she laughed.
“Grace? This isn’t funny. It’s very serious.”
“Ellie, I’ve known for weeks where that policeman got his information. And he delivered the exhumation order several days ago.”
I blanched. “And you’re not mad at me?”
Grace walked toward me and patted my cheek. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. And to tell you the truth, I wasn’t at all surprised when you found Marvin’s remains.”
“You weren’t? Why not?”
“Why not?” She smiled sadly. “Because I helped put him there.”