Рита Браун - Rest In Pieces

“Harry!”

“What?” Harry stepped backward.

“I had earrings like that, except that one looks—”

“Squashed?”

“Squashed,” Little Marilyn echoed. “And you only have one. Now that’s peculiar because I lost one. I wore them all the time, my Tiffany disks. Anyway, I thought I lost it on the tennis court. I never did find it.”

“I found this one.”

“Where?”

“In a possum’s nest.” Harry studied Little Marilyn intently. “I traded the possum for it.”

“Come on.” Missy reapplied her lipstick.

“Scout’s honor.” Harry raised her right hand. “Did you keep the mate?” she asked Little Marilyn.

“I’ll show you tomorrow. I’ll bring it to the post office.”

“I’d love to see what it looks like in pristine condition.”

Little Marilyn took a deep breath. “Harry, why can’t we be friends?”

Missy stopped applying her lipstick in mid-twirl. A Sanburne was being emotionally honest, sort of.

In the spirit of the season Harry smiled and replied, “We can try.”

Three quarters of an hour later Harry, having spoken to everyone on her way back from the bathroom, managed to reach Susan. She whispered the news in Susan’s ear.

“Impossible.” Susan shook her head.

“Impossible or not, she seems to think it’s hers.”

“We’ll see tomorrow.”

BoomBoom swooped upon them. “Harry and Susan, thank you ever so much for relieving me of Missy Drysdale’s tedious presence.”

Before they could reply, and it would have been a tart reply, BoomBoom threw her arms around Blair, who was relieved to find his date finally sprung from the powder room. “Blair, darling, I need a favor—not a humongous favor but a teeny-weeny one.”

“Uh . . .”

“Orlando Heguay says he’ll come down for New Year’s Eve and I can’t put him up at my place—I hardly know the man. Would you?”

“Of course.” Blair held out his hands as if in benediction. “It’s what I meant to do all along.”

Susan whispered to Harry, “Has Fair spent a lot on his Christmas present for Our Lady of the Sorrows?”

“He says he can’t return it. He had a coat specially made from Out of the Blue.”

“Ouch.” Susan winced. Out of the Blue, an expensive but entertaining ladies’ apparel store, couldn’t take back a personalized item. Anyway, few women fit BoomBoom’s specifications.

“Tim-ber!” Harry cupped her hands to her mouth at the exact moment Fitz-Gilbert Hamilton hit the floor, drunk as a skunk.

Everyone laughed except for the two Marilyns.

“I’d better make up for that.” Harry wiggled through the crowd to Little Marilyn. “Hey, we’re all under pressure,” she whispered. “Too much party tonight. Don’t get too mad at him.”

“Before this night is out we’ll have them stacked like cordwood.”

“Where are you going to put them?”

“In the barn.”

“Sensible.” Harry nodded.

The Sanburnes thought of everything. The loaded guests could sleep it off in the barn and puke in the barn—no harm done to the Persian rugs. And no guilt over someone being in an accident after the party.

Before the night was over Danny Tucker’s girlfriend cried because he didn’t ask her to dance enough.

The juiciest gossip of all was that Missy Drysdale left Patrick, drunk and soon a stable candidate. She traipsed out of the party with Fair Haristeen, who dumped BoomBoom when he overheard her talking about Orlando Heguay’s visit.

BoomBoom consoled herself by confiding to Jim Sanburne how misunderstood she was. She would have made real progress if Mim hadn’t yanked him away.

Another Christmas party: Peace on Earth, Goodwill toward Men.

49

Harry sat in the middle of an avalanche of paper. Mrs. Murphy jumped from envelope pile to envelope pile while Tucker, head on paws, tail wagging, waited for the cat to dash through the room.

“You’re it.” Mrs. Murphy jumped over Tucker, who leapt up and chased her.

“Stay on the ground. It’s not fair if you go to the second story.” Tucker made up the rules as she ran.

“Says who?” Mrs. Murphy arced upward, landing on the counter.

Mrs. Hogendobber barely noticed the two animals, a sign that she had become accustomed to their antics.

“One more day of this, Harry. There’s a bit of aftermath, as you well know, but the worst will be over tomorrow and then we can take off Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

Harry, sorting out mail as fast as she could, replied, “Miranda, I barely recover from one Christmas before the next one is on the way.”

Reverend Jones, Little Marilyn, and Fitz-Gilbert pushed through the door in a group, Market on their heels. Everyone plucked the offending postcards out of their boxes.

Mrs. Hogendobber headed off their protests. “We got them too. The sheriff knows all about it, and face it, we had to deliver them. We’d violate a federal law if we withheld your mail.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t mind so much if he were literate,” Fitz joked.

“Christmas is almost upon us. Let’s concentrate on the meaning of that,” Herb counseled.

Pewter scratched at the front door. While the humans talked, Mrs. Murphy and Tucker told Pewter about Simon and the earring.

As if on cue, Little Marilyn reached into her pocket and pulled out the undamaged Tiffany earring. “See.”

Harry placed the damaged earring next to the shiny gold one. “A pair. Well, so much for a Tiffany earring. It was the only way I was going to get one.”

“Put not thy faith in worldly goods.” The Reverend smiled. “Those are pretty worldly goods, though.”

Fitz poked at the bent-up earring. “Honey, where did you lose this? They were your Valentine’s present last year.”

“Now, Fitz, I didn’t want to upset you. I was hoping I’d find it and then you’d—”

“Never know.” He shook his head. “Marilyn, you’d lose your head if it weren’t fastened to your shoulders.” After he said this he wished he could have retracted it, considering the Halloween horror. His wife didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t know where I lost it.”

“When’s the last time you remember wearing them?” Miranda asked the logical question.

“The day before the hard rains—oh, October, I guess. I wore my magenta cashmere sweater, played tennis over at the club, changed there, and when I got back into the car I couldn’t find one earring when I got home.”

“Maybe it popped off when you pulled your sweater over your head. Mine do that sometimes,” Harry mentioned.

“Well, I did take my sweater off in the car and I had a load of dry cleaning on the front seat. If the earring flew off, it might have landed in the clothing and I wouldn’t have heard that tinkle, like when metal hits the ground.”