He looked pretty much the same, which was damned unfair. I believe that intrinsically evil people should manifest those traits physically. But he seemed untouched. He was still tall, his brown hair was still thick and curly, and his eyes were still that unusual shade of amber. I consoled myself by thinking that he must have a portrait of himself—one that showed him covered in boils and lesions—hidden away somewhere. The past fifteen years dropped away. I was once again a gawky, overweight girl with buckteeth and glasses. So real was the feeling that I gave myself a quick mental shake and took a generous sip of wine, mainly to reassure myself that it wasn’t a glass of Ovaltine that I held in my hands. Then he saw me. It was clear that it didn’t register who I was at first, but soon recognition dawned in his eyes. “Oh, my God!” he said. “Cocoa Puff! Is that really you?”
Cocoa Puff! That stupid, hateful nickname! I couldn’t believe he had just called me that! And in front of Daniel, no less! The blood rushed to my face and I saw red.
“Worm face!” I heard myself retort. No! Inner poise! Inner poise, I mentally screamed at myself too late. Peter burst out laughing. “Worm face? God, I haven’t heard that one in years. You might look different, but you’re the same old Elizabeth. How have you been?”
“Fine,” I muttered, my dignity in tatters. Oh, yes, I thought. I’m just fine. I just called a grown man “worm face” in front of people I barely knew. Inner poise, my ass!
An hour later I was with Aunt Winnie in the kitchen. The cocktail party had broken up shortly after my outburst. Daniel was eating at the Ramseys’ house; Joan and Henry had reservations at a local restaurant; and Peter had wandered off with his inventory in hand, apparently oblivious to the churning emotions he’d stirred up in me. But as black as my mood had been, it was hard to maintain it in the kitchen’s almost relentlessly cheerful atmosphere. Aunt Winnie had compensated for the coldness of the necessarily industrial stainless-steel appliances with a seemingly endless amount of red toile. It was the fabric for the curtains. It was the tablecloth. It was the seat cushions. It was even papered on the back wall. The wide pine planks of the floor were still bare, but I suspected the future held … something.
Aunt Winnie sat at the long farmhouse-style table while I cooked us both omelets—the only hot meal I could make with any real success. “You’re not going to stay mad at Peter for the whole weekend, are you?” she asked.
“I am in no humor to give consequence to the young man who delighted in tormenting me as a child,” I groused.
She laughed. “Don’t you think you might be misjudging him?”
I threw some mushrooms and onions into the pan. “I think he’s arrogant, immature, and self-centered, and I have no opinion of him.”
Aunt Winnie rolled her eyes upward. “Fine. Have it your way. New subject. What did you think of Daniel?”
“Him I like.” I shook the pan and flipped the omelet over. “But why does everyone think there’s something odd about his being here?”
“You’d have to know the Ramseys to understand.” I slid the fluffy yellow omelet onto her plate. “Thank you, sweetie,” she said before continuing. “Gerald is a singularly unpleasant man. It makes it hard to believe that Lauren fell in love with him and not his money. But I suppose whenever a wealthy older man marries a beautiful and much younger woman, tongues are bound to wag.”
I sat down across from her. “But to suggest that she’d bring her lover to town under her husband’s nose is pretty outrageous.”
Aunt Winnie nodded. “Well, that’s Jackie for you. She is a horrible gossip, but there’s something endearing about her all the same. I met her down at the gym—we both take that senior fitness program, and she’s in amazing shape.” Aunt Winnie paused. “Somehow I get the impression that she hasn’t had a particularly happy life. Although truth be told, I really don’t know her all that well. They only moved here last month.”
“They?” I said through a mouthful.
“She and Linnet Westin. Apparently she’s an old school friend of Jackie’s. Jackie lives with her as a sort of companion.”
“What’s she like?”
“I’ve never met her, actually. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow night,” Aunt Winnie said. “Oh! I forgot to show you the invitations for the party.” She reached into a toile-lined basket on the countertop behind her, pulled out the invitation, and handed it to me. Printed on heavy white card stock, the invitation read:
HELP US RING IN THE NEW YEAR
WITH A NIGHT OF DINNER, DANCING, AND DEATH!
BE PREPARED FOR INTRIGUE,
SCREAMS IN THE DARK,
AND RED HERRINGS.
AND REMEMBER, MANY WILL COME,
BUT ONE WON’T BE GOING HOME!
“So, what do you think? Don’t you just love it?”
“It’s very nice,” I agreed before adding pointedly, “I got a Post-it.”
Aunt Winnie leaned forward and took back the invitation. “Yes, I know, dear. Remember, I’m the one who sent it. Now don’t pout. I ran out of the printed ones, except this one, of course. I wanted one for the memory books. So,” she continued as she leaned back in the wooden chair, “you haven’t told me what you think of the place.” She paused dramatically. “How do you like the house, Lizzy?”
I grinned. “I like it very much. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a house so happily situated.”
Aunt Winnie laughed. “God, you’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting to ask you that.”
“Glad to oblige. Seriously, though, it’s wonderful. I’m still amazed that you bought it.”
Aunt Winnie’s lips curled up in a self-satisfied smile. “Yes. And I suspect there are a few others who feel that way as well.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning this place was in the middle of a nasty bidding war when I first saw it. Actually, one of the bidders was Gerald Ramsey. Oh, he was fit to be tied when the owner sold it to me and not him. I heard he turned eight shades of purple when he found out. He’s been a real pain in the ass ever since.”
“How so?”
“Well, he is something of a bigwig around here, and as such he does wield a lot of influence. Unfortunately, one of his cronies—Ted Marshall—is on the zoning board. Lately Mr. Marshall has pushed through several new B and B requirements that seem designed solely to make my life miserable.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, things like septic tank upgrades, proper fencing, adequate parking facilities, random Board of Health inspections, you name it. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him out front measuring the length of the grass come summer.”
“Can’t you do anything to fight back?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said with a smile. “I’ve dealt with the likes of Gerald Ramsey before. I know what to do with him. I have a friend who writes for the local paper. He’d be more than happy to do a piece on town council corruption. But it’ll probably never even get to that. I’m sure Gerald will eventually move on to some other obsession. Right now his pride is hurt because he lost this place—and he’s not used to losing.”
“How did you manage to get the house, then?”
“As luck would have it, the woman who was selling it was a fan of Jane Austen as well. When I told her my plan to turn it into a B and B and name it the Inn at Longbourn, the dear woman’s eyes practically misted over. We became good friends. I invited her to the party tomorrow but she’s visiting her grandchildren in California and can’t make it. Now, enough about me. How are you doing?”
“The truth?” I asked, pushing my empty plate away from me. She nodded. “Well, I hate my job, my boyfriend turned out to be a two-timing creep, Kit calls me weekly to inform me that my chances of ever getting married are rapidly deteriorating, and George seems well on his way to becoming a permanent fixture in Mom’s life.”