“You look like you’re dressed to go to a funeral, not a holiday party with the rich folk,” Delilah said, assessing me with a critical eye.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror, surveying the elegant but simple black dress I’d chosen. It certainly wasn’t designer, nor was it particularly pretty. “That may be, but this dress is tasteful and appropriate to wear to Tucker’s parents’ party, where I’ll meet all of their friends for the first time. I’m not going dressed as a hussy.”
Delilah shook her head. “You shouldn’t go dressed as someone’s granny, either. Wait here.” She flew out of the room and returned seconds later with a black garment bag. Unzipping it with a flourish, she sang, “Ta-da!”
The most gorgeous red dress peeked out at me. I breathed, “Oh, no. D, I can’t take that. You haven’t worn it yet.”
“Where am I going to wear something like this? To clean toilets around here? Someone should get some enjoyment out of it.”
She removed the lace sheath dress carefully from the bag. It was a thing of beauty. It had long sheer sleeves and came to the knee, the whole dress overlaid with a 3-D embroidered floral applique. Delilah had bought it last December for a holiday ball her then-boyfriend had invited her to, only to be dumped the morning of the event. She’d already removed the tags in preparation for the big night, so there was no chance of returning it.
Holding it in front of me, she said, “You’ll be stunning in this. Tucker will go nuts.”
“Are you sure you want to let me wear this? What if I spill something on it?”
“Then you’ll pay to have it cleaned.” She moved the red dress so I could see my own boring dress next to it. “Is there really a question?”
I smiled. “Okay, okay. Twist my arm.” I hugged her. “Thanks, D.”
“That’s what sisters are for.” As I changed clothes, she wandered over to my dresser and began perusing my jewelry collection. Then her eyes landed on the newspaper I hadn’t had the time or the courage to open today. She thumbed through it, a look of consternation on her face. “Did you read Esther Sinclair’s obituary?”
“No,” I murmured, unsure if I even wanted to.
Delilah didn’t give me a chance to think about it. She read, “ ‘Esther Sinclair was born in Savannah to Ada and Bert Sinclair. She was a 1986 Reynolds High School graduate, having been elected homecoming queen, cheerleading team captain, and class president. Esther enjoyed socializing with friends and going to church with her family. She worked at Earl’s Southern Fried Chicken and babysat neighborhood children. Esther was liked by all. She is survived by her parents; a brother, Ezra Sinclair of Savannah; and several aunts, uncles, and cousins. A private family graveside service will be held on Saturday afternoon’—that’s today—‘to lay Esther to rest. Memorial contributions may be made to Living Bible Church.’ Huh. They’ve wrapped everything up and even buried her remains already.”
I sighed, smoothing the dress over my hips. “Well, they’ve wrapped everything up except deciding who killed her. I’m worried Aunt Lela isn’t out of the woods yet. Rufus and Detective Flynn have been bothering her for days now. They’ve even looked into her finances from thirty-three years ago. I can’t imagine they found too much. Surely banks don’t keep paper records that long, although maybe in the eighties they were moving toward using computers.”
“Mmm hmm,” Delilah murmured, her head still in the newspaper. “Didn’t Mom and Dad graduate from Reynolds High?”
I slipped into some black strappy heels. “I think so.”
“In 1986?”
“Nine months before you were born? Yepper.”
Delilah was an unplanned child. I guessed to some extent I was, too. Our parents had been only eighteen when Delilah was born, which we assumed had contributed to the eventual demise of their relationship. They also hadn’t married, since according to Mom neither of them believed in marriage. For poor Grandmama Hattie, who was a genteel Southern lady through and through and the person who’d instilled proper manners and behavior in me from a young age, the whole situation was quite an embarrassing travesty. Unwed pregnancy was uncommon back then. And in respectable Southern circles, it was highly frowned upon and enough reason to snub an entire family.
“So that means Mom knew Esther Sinclair.”
“Probably. I don’t think their high school was particularly large.”
Delilah refolded the newspaper and set it back on my dresser. “Then why didn’t she say anything to us about it?”
I shrugged. “She was being pretty single-minded in her attempt to convince me to do an interview with her friend June Devereaux.”
“Right, but since she had a connection to the victim, I’m surprised she didn’t grab the interview for herself, especially once you told her no. Surely a former classmate’s take on Esther’s disappearance on their graduation night would warrant at least a sound bite on TV.”
I foraged in the jewelry case on my dresser and found some sparkly earrings. “I agree, but I gave up trying to understand Mom a long time ago. It’s easier to go with her flow.”
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Tucker: Ready? I’m downstairs.
Butterflies filled my stomach, but not the fun kind. I loved going out on dates with him, but this one was different. Tonight felt more like an interview or a parent-teacher conference than a date.
As if she were reading my mind, Delilah said, “Would you please quit stressing about whether or not Tucker’s parents and their friends are going to approve of you and just have fun tonight?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Yes. Now let me take a look at you.”
I twirled around for my sister. “What do you think?”
She looked me up and down and smiled proudly. “I think you’ll be the belle of the ball.”
I gave her a quick hug and hurried downstairs from the third floor. When I hit the landing for the second floor, I willed myself to slow down. As Grandmama Hattie always said, there’s nothing wrong with making a grand entrance as long as it’s tasteful. I tried my best to pass for graceful as I descended the flight of stairs down to the foyer. Tucker was waiting for me, dressed sharply in a black suit with a red tie. We couldn’t have planned our attire more perfectly. But miles better than that was the beaming grin that lit up his face when he saw me.
“Quinn…you’re breathtaking.”
I felt blush heat my cheeks. “Thank you, Tucker. You look very handsome as well.”
The moment he took my hand and led me out to his waiting truck, my apprehension about tonight faded away. We chatted comfortably on the way to his parents’ phenomenal historic home on Washington Square. Not that I expected any less, but Mrs. Heyward had the outside of her home swagged in fresh balsam and boxwood garland, punctuated by bright red velvet ribbons. Wreaths bursting with fresh fruit and magnolia leaves hung from every window and door. Dozens of antique lanterns were ablaze with candles, lighting our path toward the front door. Poinsettias in a rainbow of colors sat in urns and vintage pots on the front porch, more than I could count. Save a dusting of snow, it was a winter wonderland.
The interior of the Heywards’ home was even more exquisite. There was a real live Christmas tree in every room, dripping with carefully placed ornaments, beads, and bows. Each tree sported a unique theme that carried through the room. The whole place was warm and inviting, most of the light coming from twinkling Christmas bulbs and glowing candles. A piano virtuoso sat at the grand piano in the parlor, effortlessly playing versions of everything from excerpts of Handel’s Messiah to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Waiters weaved through the merry crowd, offering trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. I’d never felt so much holiday spirit all in one place.
Tucker leaned toward me and whispered in my ear, “I realize it’s all a little much. Mom tends to go overboard on parties.”
I murmured back, “Are you kidding? This is amazing.”
He smiled. “Just know that I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”
“But we just got here.”
“Exactly. I’ve put in my obligatory appearance. We say a quick hello to my parents, and the rest of the evening is ours.”
A waiter came by with a tray of champagne flutes. I took two and thanked him. Handing one of the glasses to Tucker, I said, “It would be impolite to pop in and out so quickly. Besides, after the week we’ve had, we could use a little Christmas cheer to lift our spirits.”
I clinked my glass with his.
“To Christmas cheer,” he said.