Margaret Grace - Murder In Miniature

“It’s regular one-twelfth scale, but it’s really an apartment complex,” Taylor explained. Using hand gestures generously, she described the three floors, the winding outside stairway, and how each apartment had a balcony. “It’s so cool,” she added, but I was already convinced.

I heard myself gasping at this new take on dollhouses. “What a wonderful idea,” I said.

“One balcony has a small barbeque with a really cute set of tools, and another one has a little garden, and-”

Henry put his hand on Taylor’s arm to interrupt her.

“They’re only one-bedroom apartments, with one bath and small kitchens.” Henry seemed apologetic about his creation.

“I have to see it,” I said, before I realized the implication.

“That can be arranged,” Henry said. “If you’ll show me yours.”

It was my turn to blush. And was Henry’s face red, too?

As cocktail parties went, this one wasn’t too bad. Class President Barry Cannon kept his remarks short, thanking the committee who put the weekend together. I noted that gratitude for the decorations went to Cheryl Mellace. If I were the kind of teacher who let personal feelings influence grades, I might have changed the C-plus I’d given the decorations to a D, based on her rudeness toward Rosie.

Taylor’s presence added to the fun as she told us tales of school and her Girl Scout adventures. I hoped she and Maddie (and, yes, the grandparents) would be able to sit together at tomorrow night’s banquet. One problem with venues like this was that you could hardly hear anyone other than the people on your immediate right and left, and it was nice to know ahead of time who would occupy those slots.

At one point, Barry Cannon visited our table and directed most of his conversation to Rosie. I thought back to the young Barry-front row seat and a solid B-plus on his Dickens paper. The math- and chess-club type rather than a sports hero. I couldn’t hear them, but Rosie seemed at times pleased and at times confused, and all of the time distracted. I guessed Barry wasn’t measuring up to David, or at least not to her fantasy of him.

The party at our table broke up at about quarter to ten. The Thayers invited us all to join them for a late dinner at a San Francisco restaurant with a long Italian name.

“I’m pretty full myself, but this finger food doesn’t do it for Frank,” his wife said. “We’ve scouted out a place in North Beach that stays open very late.”

“Thank you, but I have another engagement,” Rosie said and left. To re-primp for David’s gathering, I assumed.

I was never one for late dinners, not even in San Francisco’s highly regarded Italian neighborhood, and also declined the invitation. “I have to pick up my granddaughter at the pool,” I said. “The lifeguard goes off duty at ten.”

“The pool’s open? We thought it closed early,” Taylor said, screwing up her nose much the same way Maddie did.

“There’s a special kids’ program this weekend,” I said. “They’ve matched the pool schedule to the events of our reunion.”

I saw a little frown, as if Taylor regretted having spent an evening with us when she could have been frolicking with her peers, but she was too polite to let it show much.

“Let’s go check it out now.” Henry turned to me. “Do you mind if we go with you, Gerry?”

“Not at all.” Why was I blushing again?

I learned a lot about Henry Baker in the short trip to the swimming pool, two floors down from the reunion room. We’d been on the same faculty for many years, but other than two or three sessions together with students for the Steinbeck project, Henry and I saw each other rarely, in the cafeteria or at the occasional faculty meeting. Now it seemed we had so much in common, I thought Henry was making it up. He retired the year after I did, and for the same reason: to take care of a terminally ill spouse. He lived only a few streets north of me in Lincoln Point and now spent his time with his granddaughter and doing woodworking projects for various crafts fairs and charities. It was a wonder I hadn’t remet him before tonight.

“I was still teaching, so I heard about Ken,” he told me. “I’m sorry I didn’t send my condolences, but it was all I could do at the time to keep things going with my classes and taking Virginia back and forth to the hospital until I was able to retire.”

I knew exactly what he meant.

Maddie had charmed the lifeguard into opening the diving section so she could practice her cannonball. We watched two performances before she reluctantly left the pool, her red curls plastered to her head.

After introductions all around we headed for our rooms. Maddie and Taylor seemed to connect immediately with a discussion of a certain diving maneuver that was particularly difficult.

“We’ll be at the high school tomorrow. Grandpa says it’s a groundbreaking, whatever that is. Will you be there?” Taylor asked us.

“Yeah, it’s a date,” Maddie said.

Enough said.

Rosie opened the door to our room for us, her other hand holding an assortment of makeup tools. “I was sipping and noshing all evening, so I had to reapply here and there,” she explained.

Maddie dug out her pajamas and toothbrush. I moved a few totes off the easy chair and plopped into it. Cocktail parties take a lot out of me. For one thing, I was hoarse from trying to carry on a conversation at full volume. For another, considering David Bridges’s lukewarm attitude toward Rosie and Cheryl Mellace’s appropriation of his arm, I was tense about Rosie’s social prospects this evening.

“Can you get my nightgown from the top drawer, sweetheart?” I asked Maddie. “And the sandwiches from the cooler?”

“Cool,” Maddie said. “Supper in bed.”

“What do you mean?” Rosie asked, flustered. “We have to go to David’s room, Gerry. It’s almost ten thirty.”

“I thought you might have changed your mind and preferred to go alone, Rosie.”

“No, no. It’s not like that. It’s supposed to be for a few special people.” She took a note from her everyday purse, perched on her luggage, and unfolded it. “See? It says, Join me as a few special people come back to my room. We can bring a guest, like the person we’re rooming with, I’m sure.”

I couldn’t believe Rosie had carried the note from Lincoln Point. But then, she’d carried the entire ALHS hallway of lockers.

“You seemed to hit it off with Barry Cannon tonight. He and David were good friends in school and I’ll bet he’ll be there.”

Rosie waved her hand. “Barry. He and David went to grade school together, too, otherwise do you think they’d have been hanging around in the same crowd in high school?”

“Didn’t David like smart guys?”

“That’s not what I meant, but you know how it always was at ALHS. The jocks hung out on one side of the quad and the nerds on the other. Anyway, that was a strange conversation Barry and I had tonight. He kept asking me about my father.”

“Do they know each other?”

Another wave. “Apparently. They’ve had some business dealings.”

“Your father is retired, isn’t he? I forget exactly what kind of business-”

Rosie huffed a long breath. “Gerry, we have to go,” she said.

I looked at the narrow but inviting bed with its three plumped pillows plus a matching blue-and-mauve bolster and the soft, lightweight comforter. Maddie was arranging sandwiches and chips on paper plates left over from the last birthday party at my house.

“Truthfully, I’d rather-”

“Gerry, I need you,” Rosie said in a near wail.

“I’ll be fine here, Grandma,” said Maddie, more grown up at eleven than Rosie in her late forties. Maddie had already bit into a tuna sandwich and downed a handful of potato chips. “I have homework for class.”