Venom and the River (14 page)

Apparently she had been dealt a strong hand. Why tip it by mentioning all the details? “Just a few. And I’d prefer you keep their existence between us. I don’t want to be hounded by Little Girls, and I promised Terry the letters would not show up in any book but his.”

Marti looked disappointed. “He’s going to use them?”

“Doubtful. Did you know Ida May was involved with a married man for many years?”

Marti nodded. “Charles Pinkwater, a director at Lehman brothers. That’s been known for years. What else is in them?”

“All in good time, Marti. After Roberta’s gone and the coast is clear, then you can see them.”

“Could I…do you suppose,” Marti’s voice tightened. “Could I reprint them in the Turnbull Society Newsletter?”

Leigh held a hand out to catch the misty spray of the river water shooting up from under the speeding boat. “All in good time,” she said again, cheerfully. “I started reading Ida May’s first book this morning.”

“Do you love it, or do you love it with all your heart?”

“So far it’s…charming.”

“Charming?”

“What’s wrong with that? ‘Charming’ is fair. Mostly I read current affairs and history. Children’s books haven’t been on my radar for a long time. But I thought that if I’m going to start writing the spin-offs—whoa, what are you doing?”

Marti had turned the wheel, and the boat listed to one side as she accelerated.

“I thought you were going to point out the island where most of Pepin’s teenagers lose their virginity,” Leigh said.

“You’re getting another lesson first.”

*

Marti guided the Larson into the empty slip next to the end houseboat in a line of six.

Leigh dropped her beer bottle into a bin by the cooler. “People live in these?”

“Summer only. Here, tie us up. You know a clove hitch, don’t you? Good god, just give it to me and go knock. What’s the problem? I can see a problem on your face.”

“I’ve worked with a lot of newsroom and political bullies, Marti, but I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone as bossy as you. Who lives here?”

Before Marti could answer, Dee appeared in the doorway of the houseboat, looking peeved. “Welcome,” Dee said.

“Stop it, Dee; I know we’re not,” Marti said. “I truly hate to do this to you because I know you took tonight off just to hide from people.”

Dee held the door open. “Hiding from people, not friends.”

“Good, because we’ve got a little problem and I need some help. Hello, Kate. Phil, you sweetie, you’re here! Now I don’t feel so bad.”

Kate and the very tan man Leigh had noticed at the bar her first night in Pepin were sitting on a sofa that ran the length of the narrow living space.

Dee said, “What’s the little problem?”

Marti said, “Our new friend here has been in Peach’s clutches and I thought she needed some fresh air and a healthy perspective on things.”

Leigh turned and gave her a hard stare. Then she faced Dee, Kate, and Phil and said, “That’s her version. Mine is, I’ve been kidnapped.”

As Marti laughed with the others, she gave Leigh a gentle push into the room. “You know these two, right? Kate Patterson and Phil Chesney. Phil, I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but your nose is sunburned. All these years working outside and you still burn. Don’t you use sunscreen?” She plopped down on the sofa in the middle and pointed at a rocker on the other side of an old trunk that served as a coffee table. “Sit, Leigh.” She patted the sleeve of Phil’s plaid shirt. “Leigh says I’m the bossiest person she’s ever met.” He kissed her on the cheek. “You’re too kind,” she whispered and patted him again.

Holy cow, Leigh thought. Old lovers. She covered her smile with a cough. Why was she surprised? And how did Kate feel about it?

Phil kissed Marti again, then grinned, tossed his head back, and yodeled. Marti, Kate, and Dee groaned. Kate reached around Marti and whacked him with a small pillow. “Phil’s a very nice man,” she said to Leigh. “He has a PhD in biology, he’s written several books on the river, and he’s blessed to have a job he loves. But he has this one unforgivable and rather unexplainable habit. You just witnessed it. He knows we all hate it when he mimics a little Swiss goatherd.”

Leigh said, “Goatherd? Sounded more like a blues riff, maybe Blind Willie McTell. He was an excellent yodeler.”

Phil snapped his fingers and said, “Bingo!”

“Well, well, well,” Marti said. “Perhaps his unexplainable habit, as Kate calls it, is really a mating call and his old friends just never understood.” She flicked the air with her fingers and made little zapping noises. “Do I see sparks flying?”

Kate said, “Marti, if you don’t want to get kicked out you’ll turn it down a notch tonight. Beer, Leigh? I know you like Scotch, but we don’t stock anything strong at home.”

Home? Leigh’s head swiveled as she looked back and forth between Phil and Kate and Dee. “Beer would be nice.”

Dee said, “I’ll get it.” She paused by Kate and kissed her just before she disappeared through a low doorway.

“Get the picture now?” Marti said to Leigh. “Don’t feel bad if you didn’t earlier. Most people don’t expect the blonde cover girl librarian to be hooked up with the middle-aged African American bartender. Dee,” she called, “Leigh thinks the books are charming.”

Dee appeared in the galley door. “Charming?”

“Bloody hell,” Phil said. “I’m going home before you all get started on that subject.” He turned to Leigh. “Blind Willie fan?”

“Blind Willie and all other blues,” Leigh said.

“Then if you’re not too rushed trying to get the book written before Terry dies, maybe some Thursday you’d like to go out. Or any night, of course, but on Thursdays there’s a decent blues band that plays at a bar not far from here.”

She must have waited too long to answer because Marti laughed and said, “Wipe the panic off your face, Leigh, and say yes. Phil’s a catch; besides, not many men have the balls to ask someone out in front of this gang. And Phil, I promised Leigh we’d all pretend she’s just Bancroft’s secretary.”

“Marti,” Kate said, “I told you turn it down.”

Phil moved to a chair next to Leigh. “You know about Terry, right? He’s told you?”

She held still.

“Do you know who I am? And Kate?”

Dee reappeared, holding four brown bottles by the necks. “No points if you answer sexy naturalist and lesbian librarian.” She set the beers on the trunk and returned to the galley.

Leigh said, “I’m starting to feel like I know nothing.”

Phil said, “I’m Terry Bancroft’s former son-in-law. Kate’s his former daughter-in-law. We’ve each divorced one of his kids. Well, to be totally accurate, Kate divorced her Bancroft, but I was dumped by mine.”

“So that’s how you all knew who I was that first night. And it sure explains the chilly reception.” She stared at each in turn. How had she missed knowing who they were? She’d read Terry’s first book twice, but it only went up to in the mid-seventies, with his appointment to the vice-presidency, before either Kate or Phil would have entered the family picture. She rubbed her eyes. Once upon a time she wouldn’t have—couldn’t have—missed details like family members. Once upon a time, she’d have zeroed straight in on the truth.

Kate said, “Don’t feel bad if you didn’t know. I never changed my name, nor did Phil’s ex. And neither marriage lasted all that long. As for the part about Dee and me, well, it’s a surprise to almost everyone.”

Phil stood and went to the door. He pressed a hand against a bulging spot on the screen. It popped outward. “We knew you were due in town, Leigh. My ex called a few weeks ago to warn me that Terry had hired a ghost and was working on another book, one that would cover the years she and I were married. His three kids are worried about their lives showing up in his book.”

“We’ve hardly talked about his kids,” Leigh said. “It’s a political memoir.”

“And Leigh’s just a secretary,” said Marti.

Phil shook his head. “We know what you’re doing with him. They’re worried about him overworking and confronting a lot of old memories. He’s quite sick, you know.”

“Tick tock, tick tock,” Dee said, appearing with a plate of crackers and cheese.

“Dee,” Kate said sharply.

“You can learn plenty about the Bancrofts from these three,” Marti said to Leigh.

“It’s a political book,” Leigh repeated. “And if there’s anything about the family that I need to know, I’d prefer to hear it first from Terry. Thank you all very much.”

“Fine,” Marti said. “Sordid details of people’s lives aren’t what we came for anyway.” She turned and scanned a bookshelf. “Here we go. Phil, better make your break now or you’re stuck. Of course, you can stay and read the boy parts.”

“I’m going.”

“Confirm that date with Leigh first,” Dee said.

“She’s got a panicked look again,” said Marti. “Just go; we’ll get her phone number for you.”

Not panicked, Leigh thought. Just miserable. She looked up at the sexy naturalist. Well, not entirely miserable.

After Phil left, Marti curled up on one end of the sofa. “That was fun, and so is he, Leigh. You might as well have someone to play with while you’re in town. He can answer all your duck questions.”

“What are we doing?” Leigh said. “Besides tossing your guest down the rabbit hole?”

“Looks like an intervention,” Kate said. “These two have done a few.”

Marti paged through the book in her hand. “Very simply, you’re going to listen until you fall in love. ‘Charming’ is unacceptable. Dee, do you want to start?”

Dee settled into a chair. “Let the storytelling pro do it.”

Kate took the book, opened it to the first page, and began reading. “‘It was difficult later for Maud to think of a time when she didn’t know and love the river.’”

Marti prodded Leigh with her foot and whispered, “Now isn’t this a whole lot better than working on a dreary political memoir? A nice summer night on the river with friends.”

“Friends?” Leigh said. “I was kidnapped and humiliated tonight.”

“Spare us that,” Dee said. “We heard you give him your number.”

“Shhh,” said Kate. “Are we doing this or not?”

“We’re doing it,” Marti said. She leaned over and whispered to Leigh, “Considering all our secrets, I’d say we’re definitely friends.”

11.

Leigh rubbed her eyes, trying to erase the dull ache that lingered after a night involving too little sleep and too many Leinies. Clearly, beer wasn’t a good late-night drink for a middle-aged woman, especially one who had to spend the next day staring at a small computer screen and making sense of an old man’s brambled memories.

A sick old man, according to Phil.

Phil Chesney, another reason she hadn’t slept well. How long had it been since she’d had a dream like that one? And how long since she’d done anything similar in real life? If they did go out to this blues-band bar it would be hard to look at him and not remember the dream.

She pushed the curtains aside and caught a silvery glimpse of river through the branches of trees. The details of the dream came into focus, one by one.

Did he really have such lovely nimble fingers?

*

“Early again,” Geneva said. “Trouble working?”

Leigh nodded and then kissed the top tuft of Tucker’s curls. He tilted his head and smiled, then flapped his arms, attempting lift-off from the high chair. Geneva poured some Cheerios on the tray, and he shifted his attention to the little O’s.

“I was drifting into daydreams and couldn’t shake them off. I thought if I worked in the study I might be able to focus.”

“I can see how that might be a problem for a writer, the daydreaming. You know my biggest work problem lately? Getting decent berries. He loves a cup of berries with every meal. Doesn’t matter what kind, just wants the berries. You should see what they’re selling at Hy-Vee. I wish I felt up to going to a pick-your-own patch.” She sat and held her stomach. Tucker patted his.

“Are you okay, Geneva?”

“I wish I didn’t have three more months, that’s all. I just want to get on with it, get on with whatever’s going to happen. I don’t intend to be a housekeeper my whole life, in case you were wondering. What kind of daydreams?”

Leigh willed away the image of Phil Chesney’s hands roaming over her body. “This and that. Winning the lottery. How sick is Terry?”

Geneva refilled Tucker’s sip cup. He hoisted it eagerly and drank until water streamed out of the corners of his mouth. “Any ninety-year-old body is sick by definition, wouldn’t you say? Ask him yourself. I should warn you, though, that he’s not in the best mood today.”

“My fault. He may have put me in the cottage, but I’ve turned it into a circus.”

“That’s true enough, but it’s not the problem today. He’s been on the phone with the posse this morning, catching up on everyone’s old news.”

Terry’s hand rested on the phone that lay slightly askew in its cradle. Leigh nudged it into place to silence the bleating. He turned away. “You’re here early,” he said gruffly. “More questions about that dead writer, I suppose. You hang that drawing yet?” A hand quickly wiped across his cheeks.