ON THE MORNING of Holly’s housewarming—which was also Holly and Howard’s Getting-Back-Together Party—my cell phone rang as Waffles and I were finishing up with some customers. It was the Thursday after Mariellen had tried to kill me and the Bests, and in the interim, I’d finally had a chance to go to the antiques markets and restock the store with some pretty new chairs, tables, silver, and framed prints. It was almost lunchtime now, and I’d been waiting for this call all morning: It was George, who was with the Bests at the jewelry auction in New York.
“We’re all done here,” he said in a jaunty, triumphant tone. “I just stepped outside with the Bests to call you. They wanted you to be the first to know that the ring sold to an anonymous buyer.” I could hear car horns honking, bus gears crashing, and other New York City ambient noise around him.
“And I’m bringing the Bests home now,” George continued. “With their check for $2.8 million.”
WHEN JOHN, THE Bests, and I got to Holly’s house that night at seven-thirty, a reggae band was playing over by the pool, delicious Italian aromas were wafting from several catering trucks parked behind her garage, and as soon as we rounded the corner, it was apparent that the Colketts had gone absolutely nuts with roses, hydrangeas, and ranunculus, all in varying shades of pink, and had set up about a thousand votive candles along the pool. Flowers floated on the pool’s surface, and the Colketts had brought in dozens of pink cotton embroidered pillows, which covered every available lounge chair and chaise. There were Indian-print pink tablecloths thrown over cocktail tables, and a candlelit bar at the side of the pool, and a buffet of crusty bread, cheeses, olives, and—my stomach leaped with joy—shrimp! The food, of course, was catered by Gianni.
“What a spread!” said Jimmy admiringly. “Now that we’re rich, we should throw a shindig like this.”
“We aren’t rich,” said Hugh admonishingly. “We have to pay a percentage to Sotheby’s, and the house is going to need a ton of repairs, and then there are taxes—”
“Can’t you enjoy one fucking thing in life?” shouted Jimmy. “I told you, go ahead and get the condo in Florida! Now leave me alone. I’m getting a drink.”
“You two are so cute,” Holly said, floating over in a white silk minidress. “Still bickering. It’s like me and Howard. We fight, but we adore each other.”
“I don’t think it’s the same kind of relationship,” Jimmy informed her grumpily, heading for the bar.
I looked around but didn’t see Howard anywhere. In the week since Howard and Holly had reconciled, Joe had taken his former guest room and swiftly turned it into a specially vented, cigar lounge/media center for Howard. It was now painted a glossy dark grey and held leather furniture, carved bookcases, and a massive flat-screen TV. Holly and Joe hated the room, obviously, but Howard liked it.
“Where’s Howard?” I asked Holly.
“He’s in his cave,” said Holly, with an airy wave of her hand. “Don’t worry, he’ll be out once the steak and personally-handmade-by-Gianni gnocchi are served.” In the candlelight, something flashed on her right hand. It was large but delicate, intricately made, and looked familiar.
“Is that the Bests’ ring?” I asked her.
She nodded in a blasé way.
“Howard was the silent bidder at the auction. He got it to celebrate our not getting divorced,” she said. “Plus he thought it would be nice for the Bests if it stayed close to home, so he had it picked up and driven down here this afternoon. You can borrow it anytime. It’s insured!”
“That’s amazing. I’d love to borrow it,” I told her, though honestly, I don’t think I’d really want the responsibility of wearing that ring again. George is right. My house and my store have flimsy locks.
“I’ll go say hi to Howard,” John told me. “He’s beaten me three times in the club tennis tournament, but since I won this year, I’m ready to be friends with the guy.”
As John disappeared inside, Holly told me that she and Howard were heading down for an off-season trip to Palm Beach the following week. “We’re going to meet up with Channing and Jessica about their new restaurant. We might want to become investors,” she said.
“Palm Beach?” shrieked a shrill, small voice behind me. “I love Palm Beach!”
Sophie and Joe stood there, holding hands, while Bootsie brought up the rear. I saw Bootsie’s husband Will veer off to the house, doubtless headed for the man-room.
“We should go to Palm Beach, too, honey bunny,” Sophie said to Joe.
“Er, that might be fun.” Joe hesitated. “Let’s go get some cheese,” he said, steering Sophie, in a dark purple floor-length gown that could only have been designed by Donatella Versace, over to the food. I guess he hadn’t purged all the purple from Sophie just yet.
“I need more information on the ring for a story in the paper,” Bootsie said to Holly, whipping out a notepad. “In fact, I should probably wear it tonight, just so I can write about it authoritatively.”
“Okay,” said Holly cheerfully, sliding the bauble off her right ring finger and handing it over to Bootsie. “I need to go tell the Colketts to move the candles, because I think Sophie’s dress just caught on fire. Joe threw his drink on it, though, so she’s fine. Plus I just saw Honey Potts arrive.
“Oh, look, Kristin,” added Holly, as she waved to Mrs. Potts. “Mike’s here, too.”
“HOW ARE YOU?” said Mike, handing me a glass of wine. Since everyone else was either inside in the cigar lounge, or helping Sophie pluck pieces of burnt hem from her dress, we were alone by the bar.
I gulped. Mike had on a blue shirt tonight, sleeves rolled up, and looked even more tanned and scruffed than he had when I’d last seen him at his cottage.
“I heard you had a rough time with Mrs. Merriwether,” he added. I looked at him thoughtfully. I guess I could picture him living in the manor house at Sanderson, though he really seemed more the cottage type.
“I’m doing great,” I said, truthfully. “Everything’s good at the store, and I think it’s going to be a quiet summer. How are you?”
“I’m going away for a couple of months,” Mike told me, leaning against a pillar on Holly’s patio. “You should think about visiting me. I’ll be in T—”
My ears went numb, and I stopped listening. I knew it!
I knew he’d go back to Thailand. The Lonely Planet Guide flashed in my mind, and I silently thanked the stars that I’d met John. Mike might be secretly rich and smell good, but this was too much. I recovered myself, and answered Mike.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I won’t have time to fly to Thailand this summer. Have a great time, though.”
“No, I’m not going to Thailand,” said Mike patiently. “I’m going to Tuscany. For two months. Meeting with some Italian bovine breeders, and drinking some wine. I rented a farmhouse.”
“A farmhouse in Italy?” said John, appearing at my elbow. “Hey, Mike, how’s it going?” he said, shaking Mike’s hand. “Tuscany sounds like a great place to spend the summer,” he added. “Maybe Kristin and I can come visit you there. I was planning to ask her if she’d like to go Italy with me in August.”
I looked at John, surprised and pleased. I would love to go to Tuscany with John. Then again, I wouldn’t mind going with Mike, either.
“Toscana?” said Chef Gianni, who’d fled the sweltering food trucks, and was out in his chef whites, mingling with guests, leaning on a cane and limping along with support from the Olivia Munn girl from his restaurant. Apparently, he was getting over Jessica’s departure to Palm Beach. “I too will be in Toscana this summer,” said the chef.
“Me too!” said Sophie, whose dress had been extinguished, and who looked none the worse for wear. “I need a Versace fix. Joe and I are gonna make it over, for sure!”
“Then that’s that,” said Holly, who had appeared with Howard in tow. “Tuscany in August. It’s the perfect place to wear my new ring. Howard and I will meet you all there.”