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Authors: Barbara Allan

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BOOK: Antiques Disposal
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Finally she said, “What's the matter with you, Brandy? Haven't we been closer these past few months than ever before? I was even starting to think we liked each other.”
There was some truth in that. But had I only been able to feel closer to Peg because she'd been knocked off her high horse, and brought down to my undignified level?
“Sis,” I said, “normally
you're
the one who's worried about what people might think. Can't you see the dangerous line you and the senator are trying to walk?”
Her smiling expression was almost Madonna-like, and I thought I understood, though perhaps Peggy Sue herself couldn't have articulated it:
Even marriage to a disgraced senator, an ex-senator, was a step up from her current condition. She would have status, perhaps slightly tarnished, but status, and money, and a nice house again, and ...
Sis was saying, “If I'm willing to take Edward for better or for worse, I'd like to know why you can't show me a little support.”
I got up from the chair, and went over to the window to stare out at the fall foliage.
Suddenly I turned and mumbled, “Maybe you will get away with it.”
“Get away with what?”
I half turned. “Living happily ever after.”
“Brandy, you're talking nonsense.”
“It's just that ...” I returned to the chair, slumped into it. Sighed. “... well, you've always had it so
easy
.”
“Have I?” Her eyes flashed. “Starting when I ... found myself in the family way, right out of high school?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh brother. How did that shake down, anyway? Mother pretends I'm hers, you go off to college, marry Bob, get a big house, one perfect daughter, a country club membership, clothes, car, everything you could ever want... . Okay, sure, Bob dies and leaves you destitute, but then along comes Senator Clark on a white horse. Like I said, too easy.”
“So ... you want me to
suffer
more?”
“No. Not really... . well, maybe a little more.”
“How
much
more?”
I shrugged. “Not
too
much. I'm
not
sadistic.”
I let out a little smile and she returned it.
“Brandy, I can't change the past, and I'm sorry you got saddled with taking care of Mom—which couldn't have been easy. But you were always much better with her than I.”
“Because she and I are alike, you mean.” “I didn't say that.”
She didn't have to.
Sis sat up straighter in the bed. “Look, I'm no good to either you
or
Mom unless I get out of that house. When I'm Mrs. Senator Clark, I'll be able to help you financially, especially Mom in her later years.”
I had to admit she was right.
“Do you love him?” I asked.
“Yes, of course.”
That had come a little too quickly.
A haggard-looking female nurse's aide appeared. Heavyset, wearing white slacks and a teddy-bear-decorated smock, she was holding the small suitcase I'd dropped by the elevator, and forgotten completely about.
“I believe this is yours,” the woman said, handing it to me. She had the weary tone of the overworked and underpaid.
I thanked her and she departed.
Peggy Sue frowned. “
That's
what you brought for me?
Hello Kitty?
”
I looked down at the pink vinyl suitcase with the iconic Japanese cartoon cat. When I was little, Mother bought it for me for those occasions when she would come into my bedroom in the middle of the night, saying, “Pack your little kitten bag, dear, we're going on an adventure!”
(Sometime I'll tell you about the “adventure” where Mother drove her car across a cornfield, with me and Hello Kitty in the back, and a trunk-full of butter.)
I said, defensively, “Well, I didn't think you'd want to lug around a
big
suitcase.”
Sis muttered, “You might as well have brought a sack.”
“Couldn't find one.”
“I can't walk out of here carrying that! I'm going to be a senator's wife! What did you bring for me to wear? ... I hesitate to ask... .”
I placed the pink bag on the bed, unzipped it, and yanked out some jeans and a sweatshirt. “Figured you'd want to be comfortable.”
Her expression soured further at the sight of the clothes. In her defense, they
were
a little dirty, having been hamper-bound—the only casual things of hers available.
“And,” she said, put upon, “I suppose you drove your dented-up car and not my Cadillac?”
Now
I
was put upon. “Don't tell me, Sis—you can't go home in it because you're gonna be a senator's wife.”
She gestured with an upturned palm and wiggling fingers. “Give me your phone.”
I dug in my purse, gave my cell to her.
She punched in some numbers, then: “Veronica? This is Peggy Sue... . Yes, I'm fine. Are you busy? ... Good. Could you take me home from the hospital? I can't seem to reach Brandy... . Great. Oh! And would you bring something of yours for me to wear? All I have are nightclothes.”
Peggy Sue handed the cell phone back, with, “Veronica just got a new BMW, and wears Lauren's Blue Label.”
“I'll put her on speed dial.”
She pursed her pretty pink lips. “I don't mean to be ungrateful, but I have to start thinking about appearances.”
“I think you started thinking about appearances maybe forty years ago.”
“Brandy... .”
“I'll see you at home.”
A sigh. “Yes. I already have the hospital release papers... . Brandy?”
“Huh?”
“Help yourself to any of those flowers on the windowsill—anything but these roses ... Edward brought them, and I'll take them home myself.”
I crossed over to the window, and picked up a fall mum arrangement. “Say, this is lovely. Who's it from?”
“James Lawrence,” she said. “You don't know him.”
I set the mums down, and turned. “No, but I know
of
him. His brother was Stephen, the Lawrence boy who died in Vietnam.”
Sis looked almost confused. “That's right—how did you know about that?”
Suddenly it dawned on me that we hadn't yet told Peggy Sue about the valuable cornet Stephen had given to Anna, which wound up in our possession, and most likely was the cause of her hospital stay.
So I took the chair by her bed again.
When I'd filled her in somewhat, she said, “Look, if you're thinking James had anything to do with our break-in, you're loopier than Mother. James is an old peacenik who's been living in Toronto since college.”
“And who is back in town, obviously. Did he send these flowers, or come to visit?”
“He came to visit.”
“Did he say when he got back to Serenity?”
She frowned in thought. “A few weeks or so, I believe.”
“Right.” I gave her a told-you-so smile. “And why did he come to see you, if not to find out whether you would recognize him from the assault?”
“Oh, Brandy, that's ridiculous.”
“Is it? Why
did
he visit you? Did you know him from childhood? Did you go to school together?”
“How old do you think I
am
, anyway?” she asked, offended. “I didn't go to school with either Lawrence boy—Stephen was eight years older, and James six. But everyone in town knew the two well-off Lawrence boys.”
I pulled up the chair. I wasn't surprised Sis would keep track of rich prospects, even at an early age. “What were they like?”
Sis settled back against her pillows. “Stevie was a dreamboat, so handsome and smart ... I hated the fact that I was too young to date him.”
“Okay. What about James?”
“Jimmy was the complete opposite. Oh, he was almost as cute as his brother, but more in a James Dean kind of way, always in some kind of trouble. A real Peck's Bad Boy.”
I didn't know the latter reference, but got the gist, though how James Dean evolved into a harmless peacenik, I had no idea.
Sis was saying, “When he was eighteen, and I was twelve, something happened between us.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Not
that
kind of ‘something' ... just something that happened, where I kind of helped him out of a jam, and he appreciated it and was always nice to me after. Despite our age difference, we stayed in touch off and on, even after he left for Toronto to avoid the draft.”
“Is that all there is to the story?”
She glanced at her watch. “Veronica will be here soon, and I have to fix my face.”
“Looks fine to me. Spill.”
“Maybe later. At home. Now go.”
Reluctantly, I got up from the chair and headed to the window to collect the mum arrangement from the mysterious James, when something occurred to me, and I turned.
“Please tell me you've been in touch with Ashley,” I said.
My niece was at college out east, and I'd spoken to her briefly the night after the break-in. She'd been alarmed obviously, and I'd played it down, but I hoped Peggy Sue had called her to ease any concerns.
And she had.
Peggy Sue said, “Ashley wanted to come, but I said I was fine and didn't want her to miss any classes.”
“What about this new wrinkle?”
“What new wrinkle is that?”
I winced; she was maddening. “The you-being-my-mother, me-being-her-stepsister, the senator-being-my-father, you-
marrying
-my-father-the-senator, all-of-this-maybe-coming-out wrinkle ... ?”
“Oh.
That
one.” She avoided my gaze. “Not yet.”
“Well, you'd better do it before cable news does!”
She raised a surrender palm. “I know, I know ... it just wasn't the right time, over the phone. You've told Jake, naturally. I mean, he knows everything, right?”
“Uh ...”
Sis looked at me with an arched brow.
“I'll call him as soon as I get home,” I said.
“Brandy?”
“Yes?”
Was my biological mother about to say something tender, something loving to me, that would begin healing wounds?
“When you get home, please hide that old car of yours around
back
of the house ... and leave the Caddie in the drive.”
I gathered the flowers, picked up Hello Kitty, and headed out.
 
At the veterinary hospital, I waited anxiously for Dr. Tillie to bring Sushi out from the back, and when he handed her to me, she was so excited, the little fur ball piddled on my T-shirt—but I didn't even care. She was alive and happy and so was I.
“Any instructions?” I asked.
“She's fine,” he assured me. “But if you have any concerns, you know where to find me.”
I laughed. “Not in the middle of the night, I hope.”
“I hope so, too,” he admitted.
I paid the bill—
Yikes! The antiques booth better make a good profit this month.
Then I left with my bundle—the smell of the mums in the backseat helping to hide the
Eau de Sushi
I was wearing.
On the ride home, the little darling—normally content with sitting in the passenger seat—insisted on perching on my lap. Apparently, from a side angle, this made it look like she was driving, judging by the double takes we garnered from pedestrians along the way.
Inside the house, I released Sushi at the edge of the living room and she scurried around happily getting her familiar bearings. Meanwhile, I checked the answering machine for messages—particularly any from the police department that might report Mother's arrest on some downtown shenanigan or other.
All clear.
I turned to find Soosh sniffing at the spot on the wooden floor near the edge of the Oriental carpet where Peggy Sue's blood had pooled, even though I had repeatedly cleaned the area with disinfectant and bleach.
The little mutt had an incredible sense of smell, often surprising me, like the time she kept scratching to get under my bed, its low structure preventing her from doing so. I checked with a flashlight for an old bone or abandoned treat that might have tumbled down between the mattress and footboard, but found nothing. Even a swipe with a broom brought out only dust. But Soosh wouldn't give up her pawing. Finally, I moved the heavy bed, and saw a tiny, tiny piece (more like a crumb) of a cookie (Girl Scouts peanut-butter sandwich) that I'd eaten in bed six months before while reading
Lucky
magazine.
BOOK: Antiques Disposal
11.73Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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