Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

“Oh, yeah, taking up most of the old rear parlor,” Carson said. “We needed the space. Some of the stuff was large, as well as ugly.”

“And some of it is interesting—living history.” From Priscilla’s tone of voice, this was a discussion they’d had more than once. “I’ll walk you over once we’re finished here, Sunny. You can look the collection over and decide whether it’s worth a story.”

Sunny allowed herself to savor another cup of coffee before she told Cillie that she was ready. Priscilla led the way past the roadblock and along the path that led to the main house. They passed one of the ever-present security guys in his black Windbreaker. Sunny looked back, but for once this guy wasn’t checking them out at all—either of them. Instead, he was talking into a microphone set on his shoulder.

As Sunny and Cillie approached the house, one of the compound’s golf carts came zooming up from the opposite direction, and Lee Trehearne jumped off in front of them. His greeting was polite enough, especially to Priscilla, but he looked at Sunny as if she were a one-woman torch-waving mob advancing on the house.

Hmmm, Sunny thought, I guess I know who that guy we passed was talking to on his radio.

She went to go around Trehearne, but he stepped into her path, saying, “Well, Ms. Coolidge, what brings you here?”

“Priscilla is bringing me to take a look at the wedding gifts,” Sunny replied. “I’m planning on doing a blog post, maybe taking a few pictures. . . .”

Trehearne’s lips quivered a little. “The gifts that my people are supposed to keep secure?”

Here’s a chance to extend an olive branch, Sunny thought. “Well, sure. I think your security efforts deserve some good press. We could have you and some of your guys in the pictures, too. Let any bad guys out there know what they’re up against.”

“The idea is not to let them know anything about the compound,” Trehearne said.

“It might help discourage them a little,” Sunny countered pleasantly, “if they knew the house was surrounded by surveillance cameras, for instance.”

“That’s possible,” Trehearne admitted. Then his eyes sharpened. “Who told you about the house surveillance?” His tone suggested that whoever had opened his mouth wouldn’t have a job much longer. Sunny drew a deep breath. The last thing she wanted to do was get into an argument with this guy. “Look, Mr. Trehearne, I don’t want to give away any security secrets. I’m just looking for a nice story to humanize the proceedings here.”

“Really, Lee,” Priscilla joined in, “do you think anyone’s going to come in and steal the crystal and silverware? Besides,” she gave a little shudder and said as an aside to Sunny, “as for some of the old family pieces that came our way, I’d never admit it in front of Carson, but I wouldn’t exactly be heartbroken if some of those monstrosities magically disappeared.”

She continued on her way into the house, Sunny behind her, and Trehearne right behind them both. Sunny’s wisecracking alter ego immediately sprang to life. What’s his problem? Is he afraid you’re going to slip some soup spoons into your pocket?

Sunny had only a hazy idea of the layout of the mansion. The only parts she knew were the entrance hall and the route to the dining room. Now she followed Priscilla into one of the wings and down a long hallway, then took a right and came up to a pair of beautiful old sliding doors with yet another security guy standing in front of them. He drew himself up to attention, shooting a “What do I do now, Boss?” look at Trehearne.

The security honcho sighed. “Open the doors, Alvin. Ms. Kingsbury wants to inspect the gifts.”

After this buildup, Sunny was anticipating something on the order of Ali Baba’s cave. And as Alvin the guard pushed one of the doors aside, the view seemed pretty damned close. The first thing Sunny saw was something that looked like a lazy Susan on steroids—or maybe hit by gamma rays. It was a sort of buffet centerpiece that rose almost three feet high. In the middle was a basket in the form of a Chinese pagoda, surrounded by a framework of a good dozen arms disguised as sinuous tree limbs, each holding out serving dishes. Altogether, the thing was larger than Sunny’s kitchen table.

Priscilla stood beside it with a critical glare. “It’s a solid silver epergne, more than two hundred years old, and takes up more space than some pieces of furniture,” she said, echoing Sunny’s thoughts. “What are we supposed to do with it?”

“Well, it’s got lots of room for chips and dips at a party,” Sunny suggested. “Or you could put in plumbing and have private bird baths.”

Cillie laughed at that. “I like the idea. But no, we’ll probably hide it somewhere, then spring it as an awful surprise when the next generation of the family gets married.”

They went around the huge, ornate, and heavy serving tray to a table filled with crystal glassware of all descriptions. Sunny stared. “Now I get it. If you’re going to have a party big enough to use all those glasses, one of those silver thingies isn’t going to be enough.”

Cillie ducked her head in embarrassment. “Having every kind of glass is sort of a de Kruk thing. They’re completists.” She moved over to a small wooden chest. “Now this is an heirloom I actually like. I’m hoping it will be our everyday silver.” She opened the top to display a dully gleaming set of knives, forks, and so on, all of them looking old enough that George Washington could have eaten with them.

Sunny hefted a soup spoon heavy enough to brain someone. “Solid silver again, huh? Well, you’ll burn calories just by hefting these things while you eat.”

They went through the rest of the wedding loot. The chinaware was modern, and some of the “old gifts” were hilarious, like the moose head that was supposedly a hunting trophy from Teddy Roosevelt, or the shark-tooth necklace some Kingsbury ancestor brought back from a missionary stint in the South Seas. Sunny pulled out her digital camera and shot a few pictures, starting with a photo of a glowering Trehearne next to the oversized epergne, for scale. Other shots featured a smiling Priscilla holding up various items.

By the time she finished with the photography, Sunny had the rough outline for her post already in her head. She thanked Priscilla, smiled at Lee Trehearne and Alvin, and headed back to the guesthouse and her computer. Then it was a case of generating her story and weaving in appropriate photos. By the time she was done, they were well into the day, but Sunny was pleased.

I bet Ken will like it, too, she thought. Which reminded her that she should go for more local color, something the Courier ’s readers might appreciate. Maybe I can talk to Fiona Ormond and get a list of local companies involved in the wedding. I’m sure there must be some; Priscilla would have wanted to use them, even if the snooty de Kruks might not have considered it.

As Sunny typed in a reminder note to herself, someone knocked on the door to her room. Cillie stood in the doorway, dressed in a damp bathing suit and her terrycloth beach wrap. “I hope I’m not disturbing your work,” she apologized.

“Just finishing,” Sunny said.

“Oh, good.” Priscilla paused for a moment, then lowered her voice. “Uncle Cale volunteered to get some supplies for the—um—activity you suggested, and he asked if you wanted to share the ride. I wondered if you wanted to use it as an opportunity to go back to your place and get some more clothes.”

Sunny had a brief flash of being forced to sit down to dinner with the de Kruks in her old bathing suit, and sighed. “I suppose the sooner I get some more stuff together, the better.”