“Ha, ha.” Stewart drained his glass and motioned the waiter back for another. “End-of-semester blues, I guess. Pay no attention to me. A few days of no papers to grade and no lectures to prepare, and I’ll be fine.”
“I’m looking forward to the holidays myself. We can all relax and stuff ourselves with good food.”
“And spend extra time in the gym to work off the million extra calories.” Stewart quirked an eyebrow at me. “The invitation still stands, Charlie. If you decide you want to join, I’ll be happy to help you get started on your workouts.”
He would have to choose this moment to remind me, I thought as I suppressed a grimace. Between Azalea’s Southern cooking and Helen Louise’s amazing desserts, I watched my waistline enlarging—almost on a daily basis, it seemed. The walking I did helped, but I had the sad suspicion it was not nearly enough.
“After the first of the year.” I suppressed a sigh. “I promise.” It was a necessary evil, and for the sake of my health, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Stewart said. “Trust me, you’ll feel better once you get into it.”
“And I’ll hold you to that.” I grimaced.
Further discussion of the merits of exercise would have to wait. Vera and Morty Cassity arrived, evidently in the middle of an argument.
“…and why you had to wear that damn big skirt I don’t know.” Morty’s deep voice cut easily through the hum of conversation. “I’ve nearly tripped on it five times already.”
“Then don’t walk so close. You are the clumsiest man alive.” Vera’s hissing response echoed through the sudden hush. Belatedly she appeared to notice that the rest of the room was silent, and her face colored to match the scarlet of her hoop skirt and bodice. Though she was decades too old, and had nothing close to a seventeen-inch waist, Vera had to be Scarlett O’Hara. Her wig mimicked Vivien Leigh’s hair, and the extravagant hat with its long velvet bow called to mind the one Miss Leigh wore in the film.
Sadly for her, Vera’s Rhett Butler looked much better in his getup than she did in hers. Morty Cassity stood an inch or so taller than his wife. His hairline had receded a couple of inches, but his broad shoulders, handsome face, and general air of confidence more than compensated for his lack of height.
“Good evening, Morty, Vera.” Miss An’gel was equal to any occasion, and she greeted her guests as if there had been no unpleasantness between Vera and Morty just now.
Morty bent over Miss An’gel’s hand and brushed it with a kiss. “You’re looking mighty fine, Miss An’gel, though I’ve got no idea who or what you’re supposed to be. Vera’s the reader in our family.”
Vera grimaced. “Evening, An’gel.” She nodded in the direction of everyone else. “Sorry we’re late, but Morty had a meeting he couldn’t postpone.”
“No matter,” Miss An’gel said. She motioned the waiters forward. “The guests won’t be arriving for a few more minutes yet. In the meantime, help yourselves to the champagne and nibbles. They’re delicious.”
Morty reached eagerly for the champagne, I thought. And his eyes fastened just as avidly on Sissy Beauchamp. I couldn’t blame him. She was stunning in her Tinkie costume, and she knew it. She preened for him, but from my vantage point, it looked like she was staring right at Vera. Hank, at Sissy’s side as always, gazed straight ahead, as if he didn’t see either Vera or Morty.
The babble of conversation resumed, but for the moment I stood alone. Helen Louise had gone off to use the ladies’ room, while Stewart sauntered over to talk to his former student. Morty sidled closer to Sissy, and Miss An’gel joined them. Probably a good idea, I reckoned, if the fire in Vera’s eye was anything to go by. If we made it through the night without an eruption from her, we’d be extremely lucky.
Miss Dickce approached me, and we chatted happily about our joint favorite, Elizabeth Peters. Miss Dickce, while she loved Amelia Peabody, absolutely adored Jacqueline Kirby and lamented the fact that there weren’tmore Kirby novels.
“I know, but it’s a shame. Jacqueline is such a hoot. I’d love to be her when I grow up.” Miss Dickce giggled, and I felt a sudden rush of empathy and affection for her. She was truly endearing, and behind the humor I sensed a certain yearning, perhaps for the adventurous life of her chosen character.
“Jacqueline has nothing on you, Miss Dickce,” I said.
“You’re so gallant, Charlie.” She smiled up at me. “A true Southern gentleman. It’s a shame that Diesel couldn’t be here. He’s a gentleman, too.”
We chatted further about my cat and soon shifted into discussion of plans for the money to be raised from the gala. Miss Dickce wanted to ensure adequate funding for the literacy programs, which I supported, but I also hoped to see some money spent on materials for the library, like children’s books.
A shriek of rage accompanied by a resounding slap interrupted us, and conversation ceased immediately. Startled, Miss Dickce and I turned to see what was going on.
ELEVEN
All eyes focused on the area near the parlor door. Vera and Sissy stood barely a foot apart, chests heaving in anger. Vera had one hand cupped to her cheek.
Vera uttered a nasty word in a low, vicious tone. Sissy drew back as if to strike Vera again, but Hank rushed forward to get between them. Morty darted toward Vera. They dragged the women apart.
“An’gel’s going to have a cow,” Miss Dickce confided to me in an undertone. “Not that I can blame her. I wonder what on earth Vera said to Sissy.” Without waiting for a response from me, she approached her sister and spoke to her.
My stomach knotted up. I frankly didn’t care what Vera had said to Sissy. I hated the intense feeling of hostility in the room.
Helen Louise moved closer and slipped her arm around me. “This is awful,” she said in an undertone. “You’d think Vera had more sense than to provoke Sissy publicly like this.”
“If I never see that woman again after tonight,” I said, “I will be really and truly happy. She is pure poison.”
“Well, Sissy’s not entirely blameless, you know.” Helen Louise shook her head. “She and Morty haven’t been very discreet with their rendezvous from what I’ve heard. I can’t blame Vera for being angry over the infidelity, but still….” Her voice trailed off.
Miss An’gel strode purposefully to the corner of the room where Morty had pulled a furious Vera. Miss Dickce went to talk to Hank and Sissy.
Stewart, Helen Louise, and I stared at one another. “I’ve never seen Miss An’gel so angry,” Stewart said after a moment. We continued to watch uneasily. I couldn’t hear either of the low-voiced discussions going on, and I wondered whether Vera or Sissy—or perhaps both of them—would be sent home in disgrace.
Teresa Farmer and Cathy Williams, the final two board members, walked into the parlor then. They paused after only a few steps and glanced uncertainly around the room. Stewart hurried over to them and urged them forward to where Helen Louise and I waited.
We all exchanged greetings, and Stewart explained quickly that there had been an argument between Vera and Sissy. He didn’t elaborate, but apparently he didn’t have to. From what I could see, as they both shook their heads, Teresa and Cathy seemed aware of the reasons that Vera and Sissy were at odds. The grapevine in Athena had sturdy roots and long tendrils. There were probably few people in town who weren’t part of it.
As we waited in silence to see what would happen next, I took a moment to identify the characters Cathy and Teresa had chosen to portray. That was certainly better than dwelling on the unpleasantness.
Cathy wore a caftan in a colorful print, with a scarf wound around her head, and long earrings dangled from her earlobes. I knew she was a huge fan of Alexander McCall Smith, so it took little imagination to peg her as Mma Precious Ramotswe of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency in Botswana.