Миранда Джеймс - Digging Up The Dirt

An’gel snorted. “What a silly word. Harem . You have a salacious mind sometimes, Sister.”

Nettled slightly by An’gel’s tone, Dickce snapped back. “Forty years ago you had one, too, Sister. I seem to recall you were pretty interested in Hadley yourself back then, despite the age difference.”

An’gel’s shoulders stiffened for a moment. She turned to glare up at Dickce. “Your imagination always did run wild. I seem to recall that you were the one who used to hang on Hadley’s every word.” She sniffed and turned back to her azalea. “Besides, you’re older than he is, too.”

“Only by five years,” Dickce retorted. Then she couldn’t help herself. She started laughing. She and An’gel sounded like teenagers squabbling over a boy.

An’gel continued to glare for a moment, then she, too, began to laugh.

When the merriment ceased, Dickce said, “Hadley was always too darn gorgeous for his own good.”

“And everyone else’s,” An’gel said in a wry tone. “He’s about seventy-five now, and he’s probably lost all his looks. He liked the high life too much even then. Bound to be well past his glory days.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out this afternoon.” Dickce turned to head into the house but had to pause to let Endora and Peanut whiz by again. “Surely they’ll get tired of that before long. See you at lunch, Sister.” She walked away, and An’gel finished moving the azalea to its new home.

Dickce hit the brakes, and the Lexus skidded into a spot between a newish-looking BMW and a ragged-looking, elderly Jaguar. Dickce put the car in park and shut off the engine with a sly smile at her sister.

“Your driving is getting worse.” An’gel unbuckled her seat belt, her hand a bit shaky.

“You said you didn’t want to be late,” Dickce retorted. She pointed to the digital clock on the dash. “We’re actually ten minutes early.”

“The way you drove, we could have been extremely late,” An’gel said as she stepped out of the car. “As in dead.”

Dickce ignored that little sally. “I don’t recognize the BMW. Do you suppose that’s Hadley’s car?”

“Either that, or Reba’s bought Martin a new car.” An’gel shook her head. “The way she spends money on her son, they must be printing it in the attic.”

“Maybe Martin has a job we don’t know about.” Dickce grinned as she followed An’gel up the brick walk to the two-story colonial-style house that belonged to Barbie Gross, current president of the Athena Garden Club.

“If he has, it will be the first one in twenty years.” An’gel stepped onto the small porch and rang the bell. “He seems allergic to work.”

The door opened, and Barbie Gross nodded in greeting. Barbie, her hair as black as it was the day she had her first dye job at forty, exhibited her trim figure in a black Chanel pantsuit with a sleeveless top. Her tanned, firm arms had resulted from hours of gardening and lifting weights, Dickce knew. It didn’t hurt, either, that Barbie was nearly twenty years younger than An’gel.

“Come on in, girls.” She grinned. “Dickce must have driven, because you look a little shell shocked, An’gel.”

“I always think she’ll slow down a bit.” An’gel grimaced. “I live in foolish hope, obviously.”

Dickce paid no attention to them. “We saw Sarinda’s car. Who’s in the new BMW?”

“Arliss,” Barbie said. “She picked up Lottie.” She led the way into her spacious living room, where two women, one blond, the other a redhead, appeared absorbed in conversation.

“. . . lay odds on who gets Hadley into her bedroom first.” The redheaded woman snickered, and the blonde, evidently having noticed the new arrivals, poked her companion and shook her head slightly.

“Hello, Arliss.” Dickce nodded at the redhead, and An’gel echoed her. Then they greeted the blond woman, Lottie MacLeod.

Dickce examined the two quickly. Arliss McGonigal had chosen a simple shirtwaist in polka-dotted blue silk. Her flame-red hair owed more to a bottle of henna than to nature, and strategic nips and tucks from a surgeon kept her looking at least a decade younger than her seventy-five years. Lottie MacLeod wore her blond ringlets short, and they framed a face with a pert nose, a generous mouth, and eyes that seldom missed anything. Lottie favored Chanel like her best friend, Barbie, but Lottie’s shorter, plumper figure appeared better in a pencil skirt rather than a pantsuit. Dickce thought the pale blue dress flattered Lottie’s coloring nicely.

“Where’s Sarinda?” An’gel set her handbag on a table that stood in front of the wide picture window. Dickce did the same, and the sisters seated themselves in chairs that faced the sofa occupied by Arliss and Lottie.

“Touching up her makeup,” Arliss said. “With Hadley Partridge due here any minute she’s determined to look as flawless as possible.”

“You seem to have spent a good deal of time on your own.” Barbie laughed, and Dickce thought the sound seemed tinged with malice.

Arliss tossed her head. “I require very little makeup. Unlike some women who put it on with a trowel.” She glared at Barbie.

The claws are coming out sooner than usual . Dickce suppressed a giggle. Garden club board meetings always entertained her, and this one promised to be a corker. She wished Hadley would hurry up and get here.

Barbie regarded Arliss with a cool gaze. “You must give me the name of your plastic surgeon, dear. He seems to have worked absolute miracles for you.”

Lottie chuckled, but quickly covered her mouth with one hand. Her gaze darted back and forth between her best friend and the manifestly peeved redhead.

“Can’t you two rehearse a new scene once in a while?” An’gel glanced sharply at the two combatants.

Dickce looked toward the door to see Sarinda Hetherington, her ruby-red dress cut low to show off her ample cleavage, enter the room. Sarinda had her long blond hair piled high in order to show off her elegant neck, the product of a top-notch plastic surgeon in Jackson. She, unlike Arliss, never hid the fact she’d had work done.

“Who’s rehearsing?” Sarinda asked.

“Arliss and Barbie, who else,” Dickce said with some asperity. “That’s a gorgeous dress, Sarinda. Did you find it on your last trip to New York?”

“Thank you, Dickce.” Sarinda ran her hands down the skirt. “Yes, I did. I found a wonderful new designer. Remind me later, and I’ll give you her name.” She eyed Dickce for a moment before she chose a chair nearby. “She can work wonders for small bosoms.”

Dickce didn’t bat an eyelash before she responded. “I see she works wonders with thick waists as well.”

Both Arliss and Lottie chuckled at that remark, and An’gel shot her sister a quelling look. Dickce resisted the temptation to stick out her tongue at An’gel.

“I let myself in,” a voice announced from the doorway. Everyone turned to greet the latest arrival.

Reba Dalrymple, Dickce noted with waspish amusement, had worn a short skirt today, the better to show off her long, beautiful legs. How a woman of nearly eighty managed to keep her legs looking like that was a secret Reba never shared. Dickce wasn’t in the least surprised to see the short skirt. Reba was obviously determined that Hadley Partridge would have a good look at her two best assets.

Reba approached the sofa and seated herself between Arliss and Lottie. “Isn’t Hadley here yet?” She glanced around the room.

“He ought to be here any minute,” Barbie replied. “As I recall, he was always punctual.”

“Yes, he was,” Arliss said. Lottie and Sarinda echoed her. Then they all glared at one another.