“No bills. No taxes. No stress. No unrealistic expectations about the future. They live in the moment.” Susan sighed. “I'd be better off if I could be more like them.”
“Me, too.” Harry shifted in her seat. “Miranda and Tracy said they'd take food over to Sean and then go on to Big Mim's. Think we should take food?”
“Tomorrow. This is going to be hard on Ida O'Bannon. She hasn't fully recovered from her husband's death. I don't know if Sean can handle all this. Men usually aren't too good at these things.”
“No.” Harry squinted as a bumblebee flew up to her, decided she wasn't a flower, then zoomed off. “Lottie Pearson's mad at BoomBoom.” She didn't need to explain since Susan knew why. “But she let Boom lead her off. She wants something but I can't figure out what it is.”
“Your mind is a grasshopper.”
“I know. Always was. I didn't mean to change the subject, and I am sorry for Ida and Sean.”
“Do you think Thomas Steinmetz is married?”
“Now who's changing the subject?” Harry touched Susan's leg with her foot.
Susan laughed. “Well, anyway, do you think he's married?”
Harry shrugged. “I don't know. If he is, he's bold as brass coming down here and staying with Boom. Washington's not that far away. He strikes me as the bold type anyway.”
“Honey, with the telephone, e-mail, and television, nothing is that far away. It's both wonderful and dreadful.”
They sat in silence for a few moments as the killdeers called on the meadows, their high-pitched voices distinctive.
“Did Roger have any enemies?”
“Harry.” Susan's voice rose, filled with humor and a touch of censure. “You watch too much Mystery Theater.”
Sheepishly, the slim woman replied, “It's good.”
“Who would want to kill Roger O'Bannon? If he had any enemies it would be himself. He sat back there in his garage like a doodlebug in its hole. His socializing was at the stock-car races. I mean he was pleasant enough but you can't be covered in grease and expect someone like Lottie Pearson to fall for you.”
“Lottie's a snob.”
“So is half of Albemarle County.”
“I guess.” Harry exhaled. “Anyway, it crossed my mind, that's all. Oh, did you notice the flying blue heron sculpture in Aunt Tally's garden?”
“Yes.”
“BoomBoom made it out of scraps. Kind of amazing.”
“H-m-m.” Susan enjoyed another long sip. “Diego Aybar.” Given the length of her relationship with Harry, Susan didn't need a transition. She could hop around subjects as rapidly as Harry, although her concept of herself was as a logical, linear person.
“Yes?”
“You're smitten with him.”
“You're soft as a grape.”
“I suppose I'd have to be to be your best friend. Share a little, Harry, it's part of friendship, you know.”
“Oh—he's handsome—”
“Gorgeous.”
“Okay, Susan, he's gorgeous.”
“And charming.”
“Yes, but you know he has a quality, a sweetness, really, I can't think of another word but sweetness. I wish American men would get over trying to be so, uh, manly and just be themselves, you know.”
“Well, that was a little outburst,” Susan laughed, “for you, anyway.”
“But Diego has”—she thought hard but couldn't find a substitute word—“sweetness.” She inhaled. “But I hardly know him.”
“True.”
“Do I detect something acidic in your voice?”
“No, you don't actually. I'm only hoping that someday you'll fly. You'll let yourself go. Anyway, I don't believe in mistakes anymore.” Susan set her glass down hard enough to make the ice cubes collide.
“Huh?”
“Mistakes. There are no mistakes. No matter what you do, no matter how awful it seems at the time, it's not a mistake because you needed to learn that lesson so—let go.”
“I don't believe that.”
“Harry, I knew you'd say that.”
“Well, I don't. Murder is a mistake. You can't murder someone and then say you needed to learn that lesson. The lesson being, I suppose, that human life is valuable and no one has the right to take it except in self-defense, naturally.”
“We aren't talking about murder.”
“I'm carrying forward your theory about mistakes to its extreme conclusion.”
“Thereby proving my point.” Susan threw her head back, peals of laughter filling the fragrant air. “You need to let go.”
Harry sat quietly for a moment, considered Susan's thought, then smiled slowly. No need to reply.
12
Flaming torches lined the long, curving driveway to Dalmally, Mim Sanburne's estate. The pinpoints of red-orange against the twilight created the eerie sensation of going back in time. Cool night air arrived with the sunset. The temperature plunged to fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit and would probably wind up close to freezing.
BoomBoom arrived shimmering in a raspberry chiffon evening gown, with a silver fox stole wrapped around her shoulders. Thomas would have cut the motor and leapt out of his Mercedes sports car to open the door for her, but Mim, leaving nothing to chance, had hired a valet parking service from Charlottesville. She demanded that no car jockey take the expensive cars for a joyride. The valet company signed a contract to that effect. Mim always made a point of marshaling staff before a party and reading them the law, the law of Virginia and Mim's law. Her Aunt Tally and her mother had taught her this.
Not all the guests wallowed in riches. Tracy Raz drove Miranda in her Ford Falcon. People laughed, saying that Miranda would be buried in that car, which itself was over forty years old. Slimmed down, a smiling Miranda emerged from the car. She wore a red gown, almost medieval in style, which looked fabulous on her. She wasn't afraid to show off a bit, now that she had lost so much weight. As she passed along the receiving line, Big Mim, Little Mim, Jim, and Aunt Tally murmured to one another how youthful Miranda looked. Tracy, too, had lost some weight, scaling down to one hundred and seventy, what he had weighed when he made All-State from Crozet High.
As Miranda and Susan had helped Harry make up and dress up, the young postmistress dazzled as she glided along the receiving line. A simple royal-blue sheath, with a plunging neckline made all the more daring by long sleeves, was perfect on her. Diego, in white tie at her shoulder, couldn't take his eyes off her.
Nor could Fair Haristeen. Vowing to himself that he would win his ex-wife back before midsummer, he smiled, walked over, and made a point of engaging Diego in conversation.
As they chatted, Lottie Pearson arrived with a subdued Donald Clatterbuck in tow. Uncomfortable in white tie, obviously rented at the last minute, Don smiled sheepishly as people recognized him, which took a moment. Don hadn't even dressed up for his high-school graduation. As Roger O'Bannon had been a buddy, Don was dumbfounded by the news of his death. He wasn't at all sure he should be at Big Mim's. Lottie threw a fit when he tried to back out so he reluctantly accompanied the forceful woman.
Thomas bent over and breathed into BoomBoom's ear, “Americans must learn never to rent evening wear. Good clothes last your whole life.”
“Provided you stay in shape, which you have,” she breathed right back into his ear, the color rising in his cheeks.
“Ah, Diego.” Thomas waved him over. “I didn't see you come in.” He bowed low to Harry. “The beauty of Virginia's countryside is exceeded only by the beauty of her women.”
Even BoomBoom, mouth slightly agape, blinked and said, “Mary Minor, if only your mother could see you now.”
Harry laughed. “I'm not sure she'd believe it.” Noting Thomas's and Diego's puzzled expressions she hastily added, “Mother despaired of transforming me into a proper lady. She would have been happier with a daughter like BoomBoom.”
“Harry, don't say that. Your mother loved you.”