in freshwater lakes and water gardens. One bed of typical Southern perennials flows beautifully into another. Despite the late spring, most of the azaleas had finished blooming, but enough blooms were left to let us imagine the massed glory of a month earlier. Dark green camellia bushes with their shiny leaves formed a backdrop for daylilies of every size and color except blue. I made a mental note not to ever bring Dwight here. Bad as he is for planting trees and bushes, he’d go nuts for the huge, centuries-old live oaks that punctuated the wide lawns, and I could see him enlisting my brothers and their backhoes and trucks to try and transplant a couple to our place.
What really caught our fancy though was the Bottle Chapel, a whimsical gazebo-like structure built of stucco and hundreds of colored glass bottles as a tribute to Minnie Evans, a visionary artist who once worked at the gardens as a gatekeeper and who sold her pictures on the side for a few dollars each. They go for thousands today. Cobalt blue, ruby red, and funky shapes of clear glass caught the sun in an exuberant brilliance.
Less than an hour after we got there, though, Martha was clearly winded and we wound up accepting a ride back to the car from a passing golf cart. “This getting old is for the birds,” she complained as she climbed out of the cart.
Rosemary glanced at her watch and said, “Instead of having tea out somewhere, let’s go back to the hotel. Dave bought a huge box of pastries for our breakfast this morning and we barely put a dent in them. We can sit on the balcony and put our feet up. Besides, I want to show you the beautiful roses he brought me.”
Martha laughed. “No diamond earrings? No pearls? That man’s got a lot to learn about getting out of the doghouse.”
“Well,” said Rosemary, trying to look modest. “He did say something about a new car.”
At the hotel, we trailed Rosemary down the hall to the room she now shared with Dave. She waited for us at the door, key card in hand, and when we had caught up with her, she swiped the card and pushed open the door.
From within came the sound of a bubbling Jacuzzi, a squeal of panic, frantic splashing, and Dave’s “What the hell—?”
Rosemary stepped inside, then stopped short. The entryway and the sliding closet doors were faced with mirrors and the Jacuzzi sat in a mirrored alcove just beyond. Martha Fitzhume was in front of me, but reflected in the mirror were multiple images of a head of bright red hair as it disappeared beneath the soap bubbles. Dave was chest-deep in bubbles and his face was almost the same shade of red.
“You bastard!” Rosemary wailed. “I do
Unable to hold her breath any longer, Jenna the wannabe SBI agent surfaced long enough to see the shock on our faces and immediately submerged again.
Martha put her arm around Rosemary. “Come on, sugar. Unless you want us to drown ’em both for you, you don’t need to stay here.”
As she herded us out, I couldn’t resist one backward look. Dave’s face said it all: punitive alimony, generous child support, and at least half of everything he currently owned.
CHAPTER
16
We went back to Chelsea Ann’s room. Martha sent me up to hers for a bottle of bourbon while she filled the ice bucket, and Rosemary retreated to the bathroom to get control of her tears.
“I’m so sorry, sugar,” Martha said when Rosemary emerged with red-rimmed eyes. “Y’all looked so happy yesterday morning out there on his balcony. I can’t think why in the world he’d mess around with that idiot child when he has a beautiful smart wife like you. And right when you’d taken him back.”
“Oh, come on, Martha,” Rosemary said, taking a deep swallow of the drink I’d handed her. “A fresh firm young body over this forty-three-year-old wreck? You know exactly why.”
“Only because he’s a sex addict,” Chelsea Ann said loyally.
Rosemary clasped her sister’s hand. “Thanks for not saying you told me so.”
“Yeah, well, the afternoon’s still young, kid.”
Martha poured herself a drink, put her feet up, and leaned back against the pillows on one of the beds. “Make a note of the date and time, ladies. We’ll all come to court for you. Vacuum his assets, right?”
“Right!” we chorused and clinked our glasses in solidarity.
“Want me to have that little bitch fired?” asked Martha.
Rosemary shook her head. “It’s not her fault. If I could fall for his lies, if he could make me believe he was a changed man, what chance did that dumb kid have?”
Martha waved the bottle in my direction, but I had volunteered to drive her and Fitz to the reception later, so I passed. Not Rosemary, though.
After an hour, she was well on her way to being thoroughly sloshed when she handed her key card to Chelsea Ann. “Would you and Deborah mind going up and getting my things? I don’t think I can stand to see him again right now.”
We agreed, but when we got to Dave’s room, he didn’t respond to our knock. Chelsea Ann used the key card and cautiously cracked the door. “Dave?”
No answer.
We stepped inside and almost tripped over the wet towels that were flung on the floor. The Jacuzzi had been drained, although several long red hairs decorated the bottom. The closet doors were open, but nothing was inside except for two of Rosemary’s dresses. No masculine toiletries in the bathroom. No sign of his clothes in the dresser,
