The Red Hat Society's Queens of Woodlawn Avenue (25 page)

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.”

CH
A
PTER EIGHTEEN

Y
ou what?” Surely Grace didn’t mean what I thought she meant.

“I helped put Marvin Etherington in that hole.”

“You mean you killed him?”

Grace waved an impatient hand. “No, of course not. Flossie did that. I just helped her bury him.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?” And why didn’t she look more concerned? Or anxious? Or guilty?

“She didn’t mean to kill him when she threw the spade at him. He’d just knocked her around pretty good, and she thought he
was going after the girls next. I guess she didn’t know her own strength. He told her he had no intention of giving her a
divorce, and if she tried, he’d make sure the girls were taken away from her.” Grace shivered. “She knew what would happen
to those girls if they were left alone with Marvin.”

“But—”

“I told you this before, when you first moved in. Things were different back then. Marvin had no family to mourn him, and
no one was going to miss him except the string of floozies he carried on with.” For the first time, emotion colored her cheeks.
“I was not going to let those little girls grow up without their mother. She made a mistake—a terrible one—but there was no
battered wife defense in those days. Flossie would have been thrown in jail and left there to rot.”

I sagged against the counter, all the fight drained out of me. Grace had a point, but she’d also just confessed her role in
helping to cover up a murder. “What are we going to do?” I asked.

“Do?” Grace took a sip of her tea. “Well, you’re going to go try on this dress, and then I’m going to alter it so you can
wear it Saturday night.”

“Grace, we can’t pretend like all of this never happened. You have to tell Officer McFarland the truth.”

Grace reached up and unhooked the hanger from the door frame. She carefully draped the gown across her arms. “I don’t have
to do any such thing. It wouldn’t make a bit of difference to anyone at this late date.”

“But Marvin’s daughters?”

“They both died young, God rest their souls. One to cancer, the other in a car crash. At least they didn’t spend the years
they had burdened with the knowledge of their mother’s crime.”

“And you still think that’s best? Keeping it a secret?”

Grace nodded. “I’ve seen a lot of life, Ellie, and I know one thing for sure. Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.”

Was she right? And if I didn’t think she was, what was I willing to do about it?

“Come on, now,” Grace said. “Come try on this dress.” And since I didn’t know what else to do, I followed her out of the room.

J
im? It’s me.” I twirled the phone cord around my finger as I’d done when we were dating. If I’d been sitting on the bed in
my dorm room instead of standing in my kitchen on Woodlawn Avenue, it could easily have been the Ellie of thirty years ago
calling her new boyfriend.

“Ellie? Is everything okay?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine. I just thought you might want to know…” Now that I had him on the line, I was beset by nerves. Ridiculous.
What was wrong with me?

Jim waited for me to finish my sentence, and when I didn’t, he said, “So, what do I need to know? The secret password for
the Cannon Ball? Maybe a secret handshake?”

I smiled and then swallowed the unexpected anxiety. After all, didn’t I have the upper hand with him? There was no reason
to feel like an awkward adolescent.

“My dress. For the ball. Just thought you might want to know the color.”

“Sure.”

Then more silence. Why was I having such a hard time communicating such a simple piece of information?

“Do you want me to guess?” He was clearly amused, but not in a mean way.

“No, no. It’s pink and black. Vintage Chanel.”

Jim let out a low whistle. “Nice.”

The warmth, the interest in his tone poured over my heart like a thick balm. How ironic that the man who’d broken my heart
was the one man whose interest and affection could begin to heal it.

“Me, too. I mean, I’m looking forward to Saturday night, too.”

“Not as much as I am.”

Jim might not be French, but what he lacked in the suave department he more than made up for in earnestness.

“Ellie?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for asking me to take you to the ball.”

In his voice were all the qualities that had drained away over time. Attraction. Desire. Love.

“You’re welcome,” I said, still on shaky enough ground that my conversation was less than brilliant.

“Vintage Chanel, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I’m looking forward to it. See you on Saturday.”

We said our good-byes, and while I knew it wasn’t possible for my body to ever feel twenty years old again, I now knew that
it was entirely possible for my heart to feel the way it had then.

B
y the Saturday morning of the ball, I was still wrestling with my conscience, at least as much as the demands of the last
few days would allow. I’d met with all the frat boys and made sure they had the appropriate uniform—
white polo shirts and khaki pants. I’d also checked to make sure they all had a legal driver’s license and were properly
bonded. In addition, I’d made several trips out to Greta’s stables to go over how many people she could transport in the given
period of time before and after the ball. Finally, I’d had to break down and call Will McFar-land to do a final check of the
schedule and postings for the security guards. I’d managed to escape that conversation without agreeing to another dinner
date or implicating Grace in Marvin Etherington’s murder. All in all, not a bad week’s work.

Jane, Grace, and Linda turned up at the Gatewood Botanical Garden and Museum that morning to serve as my committee for the
day. We checked and double-checked schedules, counted out pillows and blankets for the wagons and carriages, and even managed
to squeeze in a quick lunch at the restaurant next to the gift shop.

“I couldn’t have done it without you ladies,” I said, lifting my glass in a toast as the waiter slid salads under our noses.
It was my first official outing with the Queens of Woodlawn Avenue.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Jane said with a smile, sipping the champagne I’d ordered to celebrate.

“Roz will be pea green.” Linda tipped her glass toward me in a salute. “Nicely done.”

“Thanks.” Although after my confrontation with Roz in the frozen food aisle, I was feeling a lot less triumphant.

“I hope you enjoy the ball, Cinderella,” Grace said.

“Well, I’ll certainly have the loveliest dress.” We exchanged smiles, although they held a hint of sadness. By unspoken mutual
agreement, we hadn’t discussed
Marvin Etherington any further. I was still debating what to do about the information Grace had revealed.

“What time is Henri picking you up?” Jane asked.

“Actually, I’m not going with Henri.”

Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Then who’s the lucky man.”

“Urn, Jim, actually.”

Down her eyebrows went beneath her blonde bouffant hairdo until they were almost knitted together. “Jim? Your ex-husband?”

“He wants to reconcile.”

All three had identical looks of horror on their faces. “You’re not thinking of taking him back, are you?” Linda demanded,
green eyes blazing. “After what he’s done?”

’The only thing I’m doing is allowing him to escort me to the ball.”

“Be careful,” Jane warned. “Especially of ex-husbands bearing gifts.”

“I’ll be careful,” I reassured them, but I knew that keeping my guard up would take some effort on my part. I hadn’t loved
the man for more than a quarter of a century for nothing.

J
im arrived at the house promptly at five as I’d requested, a good sign for a man who had, in my experience, been regularly
detained by patients in need of attention. Many an evening I’d scraped a burned dinner into the trash and turned on the television
to watch our favorite shows alone.

“You look stunning.” He leaned forward to kiss my
cheek, and I let him. A frisson of something akin to the champagne I’d drunk at lunch washed down my spine.

“Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.” And he did, in his black tuxedo, pink-and-black paisley bow tie, and cummerbund.

“I brought you this.” From behind his back, he pulled out a large, square, black velvet box.

“What’s this?” I’d been expecting flowers at most. A corsage, or maybe a bouquet of roses.

“I decided that if I didn’t need the Harley or the boat, I probably didn’t need the new golf clubs, either.”

My fingers trembled as I opened the box. “Oh, Jim.”

There, against the white satin, lay the most exquisite strand of black pearls I’d ever seen. The diamond clasp twinkled in
the sunlight streaming through my living room curtains.

“You shouldn’t have.” My heart fluttered in my throat.

“I think they’re more than deserved.”

I looked up from the pearls and met his gaze, searching for any double meanings or hidden agendas in his eyes. All that I
saw, though, was a mixture of sorrow, regret, and painful hope.

“Thank you.” I could accept the pearls, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to risk what went with them. Tonight, though, I wasn’t
going to tackle any of the life issues facing me. Tonight, I was simply going to enjoy the ball.

Jim helped me fasten the necklace. “Shall we?” He offered me his arm, and I took it. I felt like a girl going to her first
prom as he led me down the sidewalk to the little roadster.

We were the first to arrive, of course, because I wanted
to make sure the parking ran smoothly and that Greta had everything she needed.

“We’re just fine,” Greta assured me as she led a horse from a trailer and walked it toward one of the carriages. “Should go
off without a hitch.” She chuckled. “Or with a number of hitches. Just no problems.”

I fervently hoped so. Roz and her husband arrived hot on my heels. She looked around, incredulous, when the handsome young
valet attendant opened the passenger door of their Mercedes to help her out of the car. She looked him up and down, searching
for any signs of disrepute, and frowned when she couldn’t find fault with his snowy polo and crisply pleated khakis. She frowned
even more deeply when she saw Jim standing by my side. At this rate, her Botox would need refreshing by ten o’clock.

“What’s all this? Where are the shuttle buses?”

“No buses tonight. We’re all going to play Cinderella.”

At that exact moment, Greta pulled up in front of us with the first carriage. She was wearing a top hot with a flower pinned
to the brim. “Your carriage, madam?” Greta winked at me.

“But—You couldn’t have—The shuttle service—”

“It’s all under control, Roz.”

“Without a committee? How did you do this?” Clearly she’d come ready to crow over my defeat, so my triumph left her completely
baffled.