Diane Davidson - Sticks & Scones

“Good God,” breathed Marla. “It’s that caretaker woman. Goldy - call nine-one- one.”

But there was no need, for at that instant Michaela wrenched violently away from Eliot and pulled a gleaming rapier off one of the covered arch supports. While Marla and I looked on in horror, Michaela slashed downward with the sword and struck Eliot’s left arm. I gasped. It was a move I’d seen Arch perform in fencing practice.

“I’ve got to tell Tom,” I said. “Get someone on the phone - “

“Hey!” yelled Marla, as she banged on the leaded glass. “Stop that!”

Startled, Eliot and Michaela glanced up. I whispered a curse and pulled back from the window. Marla, undaunted, waved both hands over her head and bellowed, “No fighting! Stop that or I’ll call the cops!”

Could they hear her through the glass? Did I care? I just wanted to be someplace else. So, apparently, did Michaela and Eliot, for when I peeked back out the window, both had disappeared through an unseen doorway.

“What in the hell do you suppose that was about?” demanded Marla. “I mean, they didn’t even give us a second look. And anyway! Even if you disagree with someone who works for you, you don’t try to choke ‘em. I mean, not unless you coach college basketball.”

“I can’t deal with this now,” I said abruptly, realizing that if Michaela was not at fencing practice, it must have been canceled. “I’ve got to run.” While Marla waited, I darted into our room - Tom was sleeping - and snagged my purse and jacket.

“Run where?” she whispered when I returned.

“I need to pick up Arch.” I zipped to Arch’s room, grabbed his overnight bag, and trotted back toward Marla. “I’ve got to drop him off for the Jerk, then come back and take care of Tom. And I want to get out of here before Eliot realizes I saw him. Should we report him to the domestic-abuse people, though?”

“Better wait on that,” said Marla,

“because I think we might have just saved him from being stabbed, gored, and left for dead.” She walked purposefully down the hall. “Think I should tell Sukie? She’s Swiss, she’s used to being neutral, right?”

“Don’t,” I advised as I tried to hurry along behind her. Marla, heavier than I by about fifty pounds, had become devoted to a minimal but effective exercise routine since having a heart attack the previous summer. Still, I was surprised when she quickstepped down the carpeted stairs beside me. Following her, my head throbbed. I said, “Snooping around is hard on your health.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied. “I noticed what it’s doing for yours.” We pulled up in front of the kitchen door. “I just want to know why those two were arguing,” she said, the very picture of innocence. She pushed into the kitchen and merrily asked Julian where Sukie had gotten to. Julian, chopping vegetables, called to Sukie, who

peeked out, startled, from where she was crouching inside the hearth. We’d interrupted her scrubbing of the fireplace’s interior walls, and she was not happy. Despite the twice-weekly visits of a cleaning company, Sukie felt compelled to check obsessively for spots they might have missed. Well, I’d probably be critical of any caterer I had to hire, so who was I to judge?

As I pulled out of the garage and accelerated across the causeway, a new question occurred to me: Did Sukie’s cleaning jobs include straightening out messes made by her husband?

At quarter after three, Arch raced out the school gym entrance. “They’re refinishing the floor of the school fencing loft,” he announced as he heaved his bookbag into the rear of the van, “so Michaela gave us an assignment. She told us to run up and down five hundred stairs.” His tone was weary. “Fifty times ten stairs. Or whatever. But I’m too hungry to do that right now.”

“Why run up and down stairs?” I asked as I headed toward the Aspen Meadow Pastry Shop.

“Strengthens the legs.” He glanced over the seat. “My overnight bag? Are we moving again?”

“Your dad and I have worked out a visitation policy for the next couple of weeks,” I began, as if John Richard and I had actually peacefully cooperated on a new arrangement. I explained to Arch that I’d be leaving him at the counseling center by the library. His bag held clean clothes and toiletries, and his dad would take him to school the next day. I pulled into a parking space on Main Street. After practice, I concluded, I would pick him up.

Without responding, Arch jumped out of the van and shot into the pastry shop.

“Well, I’m glad to see Dad,” he said finally, after he’d ordered two pieces of Linzertorte and a soft drink. “But Michaela promised that tonight Eliot would show me exactly where the young duke died. Would you tell her where I am? Ask her if I can see it tomorrow after practice?”

“Sure,” I said, with some hesitance, as Arch wolfed down his first piece of torte. I guessed medieval history could be pretty cool if you focused on death and ghosts. Still, I wasn’t certain I wanted Eliot and Michaela showing Arch anything. “Ah, honey? I don’t want you poking around where someone died. Any chance I could go with you?”

He sighed and put down his second piece of torte. “First you want me to get along with these people, then you tell me you need to chaperone me around the place. Which is it?” “The castle… is big, very big, and parts of it are closed off. I just… I’m not entirely sure the whole place is safe, that’s all.” The memory of Eliot lunging for Michaela’s throat made my stomach knot. “Also, I don’t want you going anywhere with Michaela and Eliot without me along.” “Okay, Mom,” he said as he tossed his paper plate and cup, “just forget that I was trying to get along with the Hydes. I’ll tell them I can’t do anything or go

anywhere without my mommy there to take care of me.” Why was mothering so hard? I exhaled, unable to think of a reply. Arch said he was going to find some steps to start running up and down. I sat in the van with the motor running and tried to think. Arch was due to turn fifteen in April, a fact he reminded me of whenever he accused me of babying him. But that was two months away. What I needed to concentrate on was where I should move our family next, before Eliot and Michaela killed one another, and while figuring out what John Richard and Viv Martini were up to. Not to mention who’d shot Tom. But immediate answers eluded me. When Arch returned, gasping, he said, “I think I’m going to puke.” On that happy note, we drove to the counseling center in silence. When we pulled into the library parking lot and got out of the van, I glanced around. One could never be sure that the Jerk would actually show up at any particular prearranged time, I thought, as I chewed the in-side of my cheek.

“Here you are,” announced a throaty female voice be-hind me. I whirled and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. It was Viv Martini herself, dressed in skin-hugging chocolate brown leather pants and jacket. Once again, her jacket was zipped down to reveal cleavage. Would it be too prudish for me to put my hand over Arch’s eyes? “Hi, Viv,” Arch said matter-of-factly. “Want me to put my stuff in the car?” “Your dad’s not here yet-” Viv began. “Arch,” I interrupted her, “would you run into the library and see if the new Jacques Pepin has come in for me? I requested it a month ago.” He sighed, rolled his eyes, and dropped his bag on the pavement. “Please be nice to him,” I told Viv, as soon as Arch had disappeared into the library. “He’s really struggling with his dad getting out of jail.” “10m nice to him,” Viv protested. “I got John Richard to buy a treadmill and free weights so we could both work out with Arch. Arch likes me.” I paused, but only for a moment. John Richard could be along any moment. “Look,” I said, a tad desperately, “my husband is a policeman who’s been shot-” “So we saw on the news.” To my surprise, Viv’s eyes were sympathetic. “How awful! Do they have any idea who did it?” “Not yet. But my ex said you knew Ray Wolff, who was arrested by my husband.” I watched her closely, but saw nothing on her face except concern. “Do you have any idea if Wolff was involved in the shooting?” “I don’t give a damn about Ray Wolffi” she snapped. “There’s no telling what lies up to. That’s why I left him.” I managed a smile. Did I believe her? “A rumor in town also has you seen with Andy Balachek, whose body I found.”