Diane Davidson - Sticks & Scones

And when Tom headed toward me - toward the chapel-she decided he had to die.

And then there were all the other aspects of the story that we suspected, but could not prove: that at the instigation of her true boyfriend, Ray Wolff, Viv had wormed her way into the Jerk’s affections. Ray knew John Richard’s ex-wife was married to the cop who’d arrested him, because John Richard had told him so. John Richard, for once, had been the one who’d been used. As a source of data and a sex object, no less. If he wasn’t in a male-menopause support group, he certainly was going to need one now. Not to mention the help he was soon going to need if it could be proven he’d fenced stolen stamps. Plus there was that three-million-dollar, highly leveraged Beaver Creek town house to unload. Marla was going to be in heaven.

After I was released from the hospital, the helpful parent had driven me back to the castle. The police were questioning Eliot in the Great Hall. I’d gone looking for Sukie. She was alone in the kitchen, not cleaning for once. She’d been crying. She said when she’d survived cancer and her first husband’s death, then found the historic letter that had led her to a new husband, she’d thought God was finally helping her get her life back. Now she wasn’t so sure. I’d hugged her and murmured that Eliot loved her and wanted to protect her. And so did God.

Now, a commotion at the gym door made me look up. Julian and Arch, hobbling on the crutches required for his ankle sprain, had moved to greet Michaela and her daughter, a beautiful, seven-year-old child. I stood to greet them, too.

The little girl had thick blond hair that wound into spiral curls, held back with twin gold barrettes. She wore a calf-length blue taffeta party dress that looked old-fashioned, a pair of white socks, and black patent leather Mary Janes.

“I’m the cook,” I told her, as I extended my hand.

She took my hand and curtsied. “I know.” Her voice was clear and lovely. She hesitated, unsure how to use social graces that she’d been taught. “My name is Mildred. Tonight is my debut into society.”

I nodded, unable to find words. This little child had tripped Viv Martini with a sword after Viv, her sword broken, crashed into Michaela’s apartment through the living-room staircase. Viv had been looking for another weapon when she’d been tripped. Unfortunately, Viv had regained her balance, grabbed Michaela’s old electrified cauldron, and poured scalding water down on me through the murder holes. But then this little girl had whacked Viv Martini unconscious with Eliot’s precious copy of Burke’s Peerage. This darling little thing, whose delicate-featured face was so uncannily like that of Eliot Hyde, her father, had done all that. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Thank you, Goldy,” Michaela said, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry I yelled at you last night. I knew Viv had caused all the problems, and I was afraid she’d gone after Eliot. I wanted to find them and, and …” She stopped, aware of her daughter’s gaze.

Mildred looked back at me, let go of my hand, and curtsied again. In the past twenty-four hours, I had learned more about why Michaela had kept Mildred’s existence secret all these years. Eliot had guiltily confessed the rest of the story: Michaela did love him; she also adored their child. Michaela was also reluctant to leave her own father, the old fencing-master, and the castle home she’d always known and loved. And Eliot had been afraid to kick out Michaela and their daughter: That would guarantee the publication of his paternity. So Eliot had promised to let Michaela and Mildred stay in the Kirovsky family home, and to pay for all the child’s expenses, until Michaela could take early retirement from Elk Park Prep next year. Then, she’d promised, she would take Mildred to a new home, when the conference center opened. Eliot would finance Michaela and Mildred doing all this, he had sworn to his caretaker, as long as no one - especially Sukie, whom he genuinely loved - knew that he was Mildred’s father. This was why Mildred’s playroom had boasted its heavy-duty electric lock.

But secrets do have a way of getting out. Mildred curtsied again and allowed Michaela to lead her to the punch table.

Arch was enthralled. “Oh, Mom! A hidden kid! That’s even cooler than a boy ghost who opens windows!”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“From Michaela,” Arch said, pivoting on his crutches to watch Mildred. “While you were in the hospital. The ghost opens the window to get fresh air, because he died of pneumonia in that room. That was where he couldn’t breathe. Every once in a while, they see him at the window of what’s now the kitchen. He’s wearing his little Elizabethan outfit with the ruffled collar, and he always opens the window.”

Good heavens, I thought.

“Michaela also told me Mildred doesn’t officially exist. When Michaela got real sick after she had Mildred? They evacuated her by helo out of the castle, and the medics saw the baby there with Michaela’s father, who helped raise Mildred before he died.”

The retained placenta mentioned by the flight nurse? Probably. I’d almost forgotten it.

“But Mildred never got a birth certificate,” Arch said. “Michaela’s going to have to get her one so Mildred can get an official name, and Social Security, and immunizations and all that stuff. Problem is, Michaela will probably get into lots of trouble for shooting out our window.”

“I’m pretty sure Mildred will become Mildred Kirovsky,” I told my son. “And the way I heard it, Michaela’s not being charged with anything regarding our window, as long as she cooperates with the police on the Viv Martini investigation. We’re certainly not going to press charges.”

“That’s good, anyway,” said Arch as he bumped away. He was getting awfully agile on his crutches. “The fencing team needs her back before the state meet. Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “Howie Lauderdale called and apologized. He said his father offered him a hundred dollars to win the bout with me. He felt really bad, and of course he didn’t take any money. I told him I forgave him.” He smiled, and so did I.

“Tom called on my cellular,” Julian informed me when I reached the refreshments table, “since you lost yours in the moat. He’s tying up some loose ends with

Boyd and will be here as soon as he can. He says Eliot signed the immunity deal. Eliot has promised to cooperate fully.” He served punch to the first three student couples to arrive. “And, uh, it looks like John Richard’s probation might have come to an end, although that’s being debated, too. Oh, and they’re draining the moat, to try to find the stamps.”

I smiled. “How about our house?”

Julian grinned. “Saving the best until last. The window’s fixed, and so is the security system. You guys can go back there tonight.”

The music started. Overhead rotating lights, covered with red cellophane, began to swirl, bathing the gym in a scarlet-tinted, festive air. Arch was hopping back and forth on his crutches. I looked more closely. He was dancing with Lettie, she of the recent breakup. Incredible. But then again, it was Valentine’s Day.

The cookies and punch were a hit. Julian served with efficiency and panache. I wished I could have helped. him, because just sitting and brooding was making me nuts. I hadn’t asked Tom how his meeting with Sara Beth had gone. I hadn’t had the heart.

At length, Tom entered the gym. He had a new sling on his arm, I noticed, and a jauntier-than-usual air about him. He made straight for our table.

“Miss G.,” he said.

“We should talk,” I said nervously.

He held up his hand. “Before you ask, when I left Sara Beth, she told me how much she liked you. I’m… sorry I didn’t tell you sooner that she’d contacted me. Like right away, the first of January.”