All the Single Ladies (29 page)

“Let's get this guy on the phone,” Suzanne said. “Wait! Is your laptop on?”

“That thing? I should throw it off the bridge. We can e-­mail from my phone or your phone right now.”

“Wait. It's six here, so it's still four in Minneapolis,” Suzanne said. “No, I'm going to take a shot with a phone call. He might still be in his office.”

Carrie said, “Who knows? But yes, call him. I hate putting things in writing, especially when I don't know what impact they might have. I mean, maybe he's got a psycho jealous colleague who he's having an affair with, who'd threaten murder and suicide if she thought she was losing him, and a crazy second or third wife at home who'd go postal and set the house on fire if she found an e-­mail about his ex-­wife on his computer.”

Suzanne and I stopped and looked at her.

“You really ought to write thrillers,” Suzanne said.

“How do you even think of these things?” I said, and laughed.

“I read the newspapers,” Carrie said. “Y'all don't have a single solitary clue about what goes on in the world. I do.”

“Right,” Suzanne said. “Y'all? What am I going to say to him?”

“Easy,” I said. “When the secretary says, ‘Who's calling?' you say, ‘This is Suzanne Williams from Charleston, South Carolina.' Say, ‘I was Kathy Gordon's best friend.' Don't use his name because then the little busybody will tell everybody in the office before he even has a chance to decide how to handle this.”

“Good call, Lisa,” Carrie said. “And if she says, ‘He's in a meeting,' just say, ‘Please ask him to return my call' and give her your number. That's all. Keep it real simple.”

“Right. Keep it simple.” Suzanne took a deep breath. “Okay, I'm doing this.”

She pressed the numbers into her keypad and put the phone to her ear. Sure enough, a living and breathing secretary answered. We nearly fainted.

“Good afternoon. This is David Harper's office. How may I assist you?”

The connection was so clear that Carrie and I could hear every word without even putting Suzanne's phone on speaker.

“I'd like to speak to Mr. Harper, please?”

“May I say who is calling?”

“Of course. This is Suzanne Williams calling from South Carolina. Please tell him that I was Kathy Gordon's best friend.”

“Hold please and let me see if he can be reached.”

“Sure,” Suzanne said.

The hold line was playing a droning, looping commentary on how important fiber was to our diets while Suzanne was nearly hyperventilating from nerves.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to talk to him?” I asked.

“No! No! I want to do this,” she said.

Minutes passed. Just when it seemed that Suzanne had been on hold forever, the secretary picked up again.

“Mr. Harper will take your call now. Mr. Harper? You're on with Suzanne Williams.”

“Mr. Harper?” Suzanne said.

“Yes? How can I help you, Ms. Williams?”

“Well, I'm afraid I'm calling with some very sad news. Kathryn Gordon Harper passed away a few months ago.”

“Oh. I'm very sorry to hear it. When my secretary said that you said you
were
her friend instead of you
are
her friend
,
I knew. Kathy was a very special and very lovely woman.”

“Yes. Yes, she was. I was her friend and she also worked for me.”

“I see. Well, Kathy and I divorced a number of years ago.”

“Yes, I know. I'm the executor of her estate and I've seen the decree. I apologize for the fact that it took me so long to contact you. We had a hard time piecing Kathy's past together.”

He was quiet then and we all knew he was wondering if Suzanne knew about the baby.

“What do you mean? She was your friend and she never told you she had been married?”

“No, she didn't. Mr. Harper?”

“Call me David, please. I guess I shouldn't be surprised.”

“Then call me Suzanne. I knew Kathy when I was a little girl. She used to babysit for me. Then she left Charleston, moved to Minnesota, I moved to Chicago, and we never heard a word from her. When she came home she refused to discuss her years there with anyone. By then her parents were deceased and she had no siblings, but of course you know that.”

“Yes. Suzanne, may I ask what the cause of death was?”

“Cancer.”

“Cancer. Oh, the poor girl. My God. Well, cancer is tragic enough, but I'm glad it wasn't an accident or foul play. I'd have a harder time accepting that. She had enough tragedy in her short life. Well, how terrible. She was way too young to die. I'm so, so sorry to hear this. Tell me, what can I do?”

“Well, I have her ashes and I thought you might want them, or if you don't, maybe you'd have a better idea of how to dispose of them. She told me to just spread them around my herb garden, but that didn't seem dignified enough for her.”

“I know exactly what to do with them, and yes, I would like to have them.”

“I think it's legal to ship them through the post office. I can check to see what the requirements are, if you'd like me to do that?”

“Let me just look at something on my calendar.” There was a pause. And then he said, “I thought so. Okay, I have to be in Atlanta to look at a property on Monday. I haven't been to Charleston in years. So, if it's convenient for you, I can fly in Monday night?”

“That would be great,” Suzanne said.

“And maybe I can buy you dinner in return for all the trouble you've been through?”

“That sounds very nice. I actually have some questions I'd like to ask you to put some things to rest.”

“Sure. I'm happy to share anything I know that might help. I'll call you Monday?”

“Yes. Thank you, David. Here's my number.”

Suzanne gave him her number and pressed end call.

We looked at each other and started jumping like the Masai, hugging and screaming.

“Woot! Woot! We're gonna kick Wendy's ass! Oh yeah! And get a pound of flesh for Kathy!”

“Have you ladies lost your beautiful minds?” I heard Mike say.

Paul, Harry, and Mike were standing in the doorway.

“I
could
medicate them,” Harry said to the other guys. “But I like my women frisky.”

“You're so terrible, Harry Black!” Suzanne said. “Just wait until you boys hear what we have to tell y'all!”

The story came pouring out over the smoky grill and iced tea and beers all around. We decided we were going to make dinner for David Harper when he arrived on Monday.

“I mean, I just can't see me taking Kathy's ashes to a restaurant in a shopping bag or something,” Suzanne said.

“And I'm not so sure I'm happy about you having dinner with some guy with a lot of money who might be single,” Harry said.

“I'm not flighty, Harry,” Suzanne said. “You should know that by now.”

“Well, anyway, y'all,” I said. “What are we going to do if he says the letter opener, the magnifying glass, and the furniture actually belonged to Kathy?”

“Good question,” Carrie said. “What
are
we going to do?”

“First, let's see what this guy has to say,” Paul said. “Then we can figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “No point in paying the toll twice.”

“But,” I said, “shouldn't we have a vague idea of what we'd do? I mean, we could go to the police and file a complaint. We could go over there and confront Wendy again, which is a good idea if you have a taste for high drama. Or we could ask the police to get a search warrant and go there with him, maybe? How does this work on the cop shows?”

“Not only do I not know how this works on TV,” Paul said, “I have no idea how it works in real life. I don't know any real criminals and I hardly watch television. Besides, I don't really like hostile confrontations.”

“Me either,” Mike said.

“Me either,” Harry said. “I mean, I say use diplomacy first.”

“Wimps!” Carrie said, and laughed.

“We are not!” Harry said. “Gentlemen don't go getting themselves into a common brawl.”

“Well, that settles it,” Suzanne said. “I guess we'll just have to wait and see what David Harper has to say.”

When we were cleaning up the kitchen Suzanne said to me quietly, “Are you okay? You don't seem like yourself.”

“Oh, Suzanne. It's my daughter. She got married to a druggie by an Elvis impersonator in Vegas.”

Everyone stopped talking, waiting for me to tell the story, but I was choking back tears. Between what I was able to say and what Paul and Carrie filled in, the whole story came out.

“Jesus,” Harry said. “This is why I'm glad I never had any kids.”

“I was there,” Paul said. “Lisa's not exaggerating.”

“Don't worry, Lisa,” Mike assured me. “It won't last.”

I gasped.

“That was a little cold,” I said.

“I'm sorry,” Mike said.

“It's okay.”

“Well, if you ask me, this justifies a common brawl!” Harry said. “We'll go to Colorado and wring this guy's neck if you want us to, won't we, gentlemen?”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Mike and Paul said.

“Not necessary,” I said, and smiled. “But thanks.”

“Honey,” Carrie said. “I think what Mike means to say is that almost half of the marriages in this country end anyway, even when they seem like they should work.”

“Well, I'm not happy about it,” I said.

Everyone agreed. How could I be happy about this?

Over the weekend Carrie and I helped Suzanne unpack and arrange the huge collection of Kathy's snuff bottles along the edges of the glass shelves in Miss Trudie's breakfront. The stacks of plates that stood behind them were pretty boring and the little bottles breathed new life into the display. We were sprucing up the dining room and indeed the entire downstairs for David Harper's arrival. Mike and Harry replenished the bar and Paul claimed to have found some great wine on sale at Bottles. I ironed eight white linen napkins and placemats with spray starch. Carrie polished all the silver in the house—­there wasn't much, only two candlesticks and some flatware. I spray-­waxed and dusted all the furniture. Mike swept the porches and the steps. Suzanne brought in flowers for the whole house and put an arrangement in every room.

“These little bottles are so pretty,” Carrie said. “It's easy to understand why she collected them.”

“Good thing they weren't Wendy's taste,” I said.

“I know,” Suzanne said, putting a low arrangement of flowers in the center of the dining room table on the freshly laundered linen runner. “That would just be one more thing to arm-­wrestle her over. What do you think about this? Too long?”

Carrie and I stopped and considered Suzanne's centerpiece.

“I think it's breathtaking,” I said.

“I'll bet all those little bottles have a meaning,” Carrie said.

“Probably. So, what do you want to make for dinner Monday night?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Suzanne answered. “I was thinking about just shrimp and grits and a green salad. I know we just had gumbo last week but you can't get fresh shrimp in Minneapolis.”

“That sounds perfect,” Carrie said.

“Plus, I don't know how to cook anything else,” Suzanne added. “And I can't keep turning the reins over to Paul. It doesn't seem fair.”

“Do you think Paul cares?” I said. “He loves to cook.”

“You'd think the king of England was coming to dinner,” Harry said, passing through with groceries for that night's meal.

“Queen,” Suzanne said. “Queen of England. Her Majesty, QE Two still reigns.”

“Right,” Harry said. “And it's such a disappointment to Prince Charles.”

“I think he's reconciled to it,” I said.

The banter went on like that and would continue until Monday night, when we hoped to get some answers. It seemed that since Miss Trudie's funeral, the six of us were spending an awful lot of time together. But the boys were as bought into the mystery as we were. Besides, there was safety in numbers and we were getting to the bottom of it together.

 

When David Harper called Suzanne on Monday, she convinced him the better plan was to come out to the beach for dinner and to meet all of us. He thought it was a fine idea and agreed.

“How very gracious of you, Suzanne. I'd love to see the Isle of Palms and meet your friends.”

“And they want to meet you too. We were so fond of Kathy.”

“Well, believe me; it pleases me to no end to know she was so loved.”

It was a little after seven in the evening and the light of day was fading. Although summer was technically over, the days and even the nights were still balmy. Carrie and I were standing on the porch together when David Harper pulled into the driveway in a black car with a driver. We'd been poised for his arrival since four in the afternoon. The living room and the dining room sparkled. The rich patina of Miss Trudie's treasured silver candlesticks and flatware placed on crisp white linen and fresh flowers in every pastel shade you could name were beautiful and inviting.

Suzanne was in the kitchen, fussing over the hors d'oeuvres. She had made silver-­dollar-­sized crab cakes to serve with hot pepper jelly on top. Suzanne wasn't much of a gourmet but she'd been poring over recipes all weekend and she said this seemed easy enough to make. Harry was helping her set up the bar. Mike and Paul had yet to arrive.

Anyway, David Harper got out of the car and turned to have a glance at the ocean before he came toward the house. You could tell from the fit of his suit that he was a wealthy man. I held my breath for a moment but Carrie's gasp was audible. He looked like a movie star and a diplomat rolled into one.

“I'll go tell Suzanne and Harry that he's here,” I said, and hurried to the kitchen.

“Well, helloooo there!” I heard Carrie sing out, and my first thought was, Well, that's it for Mike Kelly.

Some marriages have a short shelf life. Maybe Carrie could smell marriage, but I could smell flirtation. When Carrie's hormones kicked into gear it was something akin to witnessing the eruption of a small, polite geyser. Not Old Faithful, which would probably involve some really vulgar body language like twerking. My friends' and my twerking days were behind us, so to speak.

“He's here,” I said to Suzanne.

“Great,” she said, and grouped some items on the counter as she put her dish towel down. “Lisa? Would you?”

She pointed to the crab cakes and I knew she meant for me to please put the platter together.

“Sure!”

“I'm squeezing limes to extract their magical and life-­changing juices,” Harry said. “Tough job but somebody has to do it.”

“And this job requires a doctor who's really an alchemist?” I said, and laughed.

“Or a mad scientist. This is my chemistry project for the evening.”

“Ah, I see.”

I began arranging the tiny crab cakes on a white ceramic platter and put a small dollop of jelly on top of each one. I wasn't a chef either, but I could manage this. Next I unwrapped the slab of pâté that was sitting there on a plate. I put a smallish cube on plain water crackers, mashed it with the back of a teaspoon, topped it with a drop of Dijon mustard, and stuck a sliver of a cornichon into the mustard. I only knew to do this because all the ingredients were there, waiting to be assembled, and they were segregated from the pepper jelly so there would be no confusion. Wisely, Suzanne was taking no chances with my culinary skills.

Harry and I hung back while she went to the door, because there was no reason to bombard David Harper with all of us in the same moment. On an odd note, Harry Black was really growing on me. My fondness for him was on the rise because of his affection for Suzanne. I wanted him to win her heart. He was certainly a lot more personable outside of Palmetto House, but I should have expected that. There was a difference between the guy in the white coat and this one in the madras plaid shirt and khaki pants. To my relief he had curbed his excessive use of scent. And he was a stand-­up guy, pretty much, except when it came to delivering bad news.

I could hear Suzanne talking as she and David approached the kitchen.

“Would you like a glass of red wine or white or something stronger?” she said.

“I'm making a batch of Moscow mules,” Harry said, and extended his hand to shake David's. “Hi, I'm Harry. And this is Lisa. Would you like one?”

“Sure,” David said.

“You can take off your jacket and tie,” Harry said, handing him a tall glass. “It can get warm in here.”

They shook hands and David turned to me.

“Thanks!” he said.

David struck me as the sort of man who was so polite that he would've accepted any beverage Harry was pouring short of a Molotov cocktail.

“I'm David,” he said, and shook my hand. “It's nice to meet you, Lisa.”

“It's nice to meet you too. We've all been looking forward to tonight for so many reasons,” I said.

He took off his jacket and removed his tie. He also rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal the muscular and deeply tanned arms of an athlete. His dark hair was white around the temples and his eyes were deep blue and framed by eyelashes I'd kill for. In that fleeting moment of first impressions, I was afraid to make eye contact with Carrie for fear that she had already keeled over.

“Why's that?” he said pleasantly.

“Well, because we loved Kathy. And Suzanne, Carrie, and I . . . well, actually, all of us—­Paul and Mike aren't here yet—­we're hoping you can help us figure a few things out.”

“Suzanne said that too. I hope I can help.”

I glanced over to Carrie and she was practically frothing.

Oh God, I prayed silently, Please don't let sweet Mike notice.

Speak of the devil? The front door slammed and moments later Paul entered the room followed by Mike.

Paul came right to my side and kissed my cheek. “Sorry I'm late. Caught the drawbridge.”

“That rascally drawbridge,” I said, and realized how happy I was to see him.

Then he turned to our guest. “You must be David. I'm Paul.”

They shook hands and then Mike introduced himself.

I picked up the platter of crab cakes and offered them to everyone. “Would you like one?”

“Thanks!” Paul said. “Mmm! Delicious!”

“Suzanne made them,” I said. “Good, aren't they?”

I passed the crab cakes all around and refilled the platter, putting it on the kitchen table for them to help themselves. For some reason, we never managed to entertain in the living room. Maybe it was too staid. Whatever the reason, we always seemed to gravitate to the kitchen. If I ever built a house it was going to be one giant kitchen, with maybe a few bedrooms and bathrooms off the sides.

The conversation was sailing along as we got to know each other a bit. Once we got past the normal niceties, I passed the pâté, and somehow the subject of Kathy and the baby came up. There was no lack of sympathy in the room as everyone had something to say about the terrible heartbreak of losing a child.

“We were so sad to discover the news,” Suzanne said. “I'm so sorry.”

“It was a horrible accident,” David said. “The most god-­awful thing I've ever been through. I still blame myself.”

“You shouldn't,” Carrie said. “Blaming yourself doesn't change anything. I mean, there is such a thing as an accident.”

“No, I should've had my eyes glued to my baby and I looked away for three minutes because I was reading the newspaper. Three minutes was all it took to ruin us. Ever since then I've been trying to do things to right some of the wrongs in the world.”

“That's a mighty noble mission,” Harry said. “I know what you mean.”

“Harry runs a senior care facility,” Suzanne said.

“And there's a lot of nobility in that, I'm sure,” David said.

“Well, beyond keeping our residents as healthy and comfortable as possible, the real mission is to make them feel they still have worth,” Harry said. “Lisa knows; right, Lisa?”

“I work for Harry,” I said. “And Harry's right. Sometimes it gets complicated, but overall I think we provide more than we're expected to deliver.”

We were quiet then because the story of David and Kathy's baby was too painful for any of us to move past easily.

“Anyway!” David said, breaking the silence. “Tell me how I can help you solve your mystery.”

Carrie told him the story of Wendy and Suzanne and I filled in the blanks.

“Good grief! Do you have pictures of the furniture?” he said.

“We sure do,” I said. “I'll get them.”

I went to my purse and dug out my cell phone. Suzanne turned up the heat under the grits and threw the shrimp in the cast-­iron skillet with the onions and andouille sausage she had sautéed earlier. The pan sizzled and quickly filled the room with the mouthwatering smells of onions and garlicky butter. She stirred and I scrolled.

“What fabulous dish are you preparing that smells so good?” David asked, and wandered over and stood very close to Suzanne's side, crossing his arms and giving her a grin.

I noticed that Harry arched an eyebrow, and when I looked at Carrie she was sulky. Oh Lord, I thought. I kept scrolling.

“It's just shrimp and grits,” Suzanne said. “It's very popular here in the Lowcountry. And I figured it was something you wouldn't have all the time.”

“I've actually never had a grit, so I'm anxious to try one,” he said.

“Oh, goodness! What a darling thing to say!” Carrie said. “You can't have one grit! You eat grits by the spoonful! Y'all? Isn't he precious?”

Precious. In the interest of peace on earth I said, “So, David? Are you married?”

“No. After Kathy and I lost our baby, I just threw myself into work. I built a business. That's a lot less risky than having a personal life. Right?”

“I guess that's true, but a certain amount of risk can bring big rewards,” Harry said.

I knew those words were really intended for Suzanne.

“Carrie and Mike just got married a week ago,” I said. Where
was
that picture?

Carrie gave me some stink eye.

“Oh! Congratulations!” David said.

“I performed the ceremony,” Paul said.

“Nice! Are you a minister?” David asked, and looked at Suzanne. “You didn't tell me I was having dinner with a man of the cloth.”

Suzanne looked at him, clearly wondering why he was paying so much attention to her.

“No, I'm a notary public,” Paul said.

“And he's a celebrated architect,” I added.

“Is that so?” David said to him.

“In my own small way, I'm trying to save the planet. I build green.”

“Fantastic!” David said. “We should talk. I'm planning to put up fifty stores in the southeast. Since I sell organic, it would be great if our stores were as environmentally sensitive as possible.”

“I'll give you my card,” Paul said, and reached into his wallet, handing him one. “Call me anytime.”

“Thanks! I will,” David said.

Suzanne was oblivious to David's attention but Harry and Carrie were not. I finally found the picture of Kathy's chest-­on-­chest and showed it to David.

“Okay, please look at this,” I said. “Do you know if this was Kathy's?”

“Let me see? Sure. It was hers.”

“I knew it!” I said.

“My goodness! Now what?” Carrie said.

“Is this something her landlady is saying is hers and not Kathy's?”

“Yes,” Suzanne said. “It sure is.” She spooned the grits into a serving bowl and covered it. “I knew it too.”

“Well, that's simply not true,” David said. “I bought that with her right after we were married. It's from Kentshire Antiques in New York. I probably still have the receipt somewhere. It was a very valuable piece.”

“Sometimes it's easier to be wrong. I'll take that to the dining room,” Carrie said, and picked up the covered bowl. “Show him the linen press, Lisa.”

I did and he said, “I'm less certain about that, but it looks familiar.”

Suzanne then emptied the contents of the frying pan into another serving bowl and covered it.

“Serving spoons, biscuits, and salad are on the table,” she said. “Okay! Come on y'all, let's eat before it gets cold. And let's figure out what we're going to do.”

“Suzanne?” David said. “You inherited Kathy's entire estate, did you not?”

“Yes, I did. But if there's anything you'd like to have . . .”

We began taking our seats at the table, weaving around Mike while he poured wine in everyone's goblets.

“No, no. Of course she left it to you. And I want you to have everything, but I have a question. Besides all the snuff bottles in that cabinet and the furniture, did you happen to find a letter opener and a magnifying glass? Old? Very ornate?”

I think we all stopped breathing for a moment.

“Yes,” I said, “we did. Excuse me. I'll just grab my phone. Y'all start! I'll be right back.”

I zipped back to the kitchen, grabbed my phone, and hurried to the dining room. I quickly took my seat and began scrolling through the pictures again. I found the one I wanted and passed my phone to him.

“Is that it?”

“Thank God they're not lost,” David said. “By the way, this is delicious. Grits, huh?”

“Yes, it is,” Mike said. “Ground cornmeal.”

“Like polenta. It's fabulous, Suzanne,” Harry said.

“Thanks. Why? Do they have sentimental value?” Suzanne said.

“I'll say they do. I gave them to Kathy to sell if she ever needed money. They're Fabergé, signed, made in 1896. Those stones in the handles are pigeon rubies. They're worth a fortune.”

“What's a fortune?” Carrie asked. “I thought Fabergé only made eggs for the czar?”