man who she’s been seeing, Bement Widdifield, is the very fellow who called the law on them.”
“So I’ve heard. Everyone’s talking about it.” The Kershaw brothers were Dorset’s reigning nasty boys. They’d been behind bars ever since Mitch had moved to Dorset. Something to do with property that they’d stolen from the Vickers family. “Rut, are those two as bad as everyone says?”
Rut sat back in his chair, considering his answer carefully. “Stevie and Donnie have been boosting booze from people’s houses since they were twelve years old. Fighting. Drug dealing. Getting nice girls high, stealing their parents’ cars-you name it, Stevie and Donnie have done it. I think they’ve pissed off more people in this town than any two boys I’ve ever known. But I should also say that nobody’s ever given them half a chance, what with feeling the way they do about Milo. He’s an ornery little cuss. Has a lot of bluster in him. Plus he’s been at odds with the Vickers family for years, and if you tangle with them there is no way in hell you will ever come out ahead.” Rut paused to sip his stout. “But Milo’s okay in my book. When he’s over here, he’s always rewiring a lamp, fixing a leaky faucet. Never asks for anything in return. Milo’s been a real friend. And a comfort, both of us being widowers and all.”
“You were going to ask me something about Justine…”
“I feel bad for that girl,” Rut confessed. “Let’s face it, Stevie and Donnie will be furious about her being mixed up with Bement. Not just because of what happened but because of who he is.” Bement Widdifield was the great Poochie Vickers’s grandson by way of her daughter, Claudia, and Claudia’s husband, Mark Widdifield. Claudia was Eric’s older sister. “Milo’s mad enough about it to spit. The Vickers are the reason he spent three years in jail himself. Claudia’s none too happy either. She thinks the Kershaws are trash, every last one of them. Not that it’s anyone’s damned business. Bement’s over twentyone. So is Justine. Who she dates is her own affair.” Rut shifted around in his chair, sighing. “Mitch, she’s like a granddaughter to me. Prettiest little thing you ever saw. Has a mouth on her like you wouldn’t believe. Got that from Milo, I guess. I’m real concerned there’ll be a kerfuffle now that the brothers are getting out. Not that I’m asking you to get in the middle. That’s more a job for your exgirlfriend.”
“She’s not my exgirlfriend, Rut.”
Rut frowned at him. “Are you sitting here telling me that you and the resident trooper weren’t a hot and heavy item?”
“I’m telling you she’s still hot and I’m still heavy. We didn’t break up.”
Rut peered across the table at Mitch doubtfully. “Word is, you popped the question, she turned you down, and you two are history.”
Mitch didn’t know how this splitsville rumor about Des Mitry and he had gotten started, but it had taken on the weight of absolute truth-no matter what he or his exceedingly bootylicious lady love said to the contrary. “Rut, what are you asking me to get in the middle of?”
The old postmaster hesitated, thumbing his chin. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, what with there being so much bad blood.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? Tell me about the Vickers and the Kershaws. Why is there so much bad blood?”
“Well, I suppose I’m uniquely qualified to answer that, seeing as how I’m the only soul in town who’s kin to both families. I’m related to the Kershaws through my late wife, Helen. She and Bessie Kershaw, Milo’s mother, were cousins. And I’m first cousin to Poochie on my mother’s side, the Dunlop side. Poochie’s mom, Katherine, and my mom, Eunice, were sisters. Dunlop is an old, old name around these parts. It was Bish Dunlop, my granddad, who built Four Chimneys.”
Four Chimneys was the colossal brick mansion a couple of miles outside of the village where Poochie resided on two hundred acres of choice riverfront land. Eric’s farm was there, as was Claudia and Mark’s home.
“Granddad Bish put a big dent in the family fortune building that place,” Rut continued. “The stock market crash took care of the rest. The family was practically bust by the time my mom and Aunt Katherine reached marrying age. Mom was no help. Married herself a science teacher. Aunt Katherine was a different story entirely. Went and married herself John J. Meier of the Pittsburgh steel Meiers. They ensconced themselves like royalty in Four Chimneys and raised Poochie just like a princess. Sent her to the finest schools in the world. She was smart as a whip, beautiful and spirited. Not to mention a worldclass swimmer.”
“Rut, is it true that she was kicked off the ’56 Olympics team for drinking champagne with a reporter?”
“It is. And I still say that if a male athlete had kicked up his heels that way no one would have said boo. Poochie’s always been ahead of her time. Never gave a goddamn what other people thought. And yet, when the time came, she married herself that big money stuffedshirt Coleman Vickers. Or the Ambassador, as he preferred to be called,” Rut added dryly. “He did serve as ambassador to France for several years. That’s when Poochie took up her chef thing.”
Mitch was quite familiar with Poochie Vickers’s chef thing. Everyone was. She’d helped revolutionize American cooking in the 1970s by introducing home cooks to the pleasures of French farmhouse cooking, which emphasized locally grown seasonal ingredients flavored with fresh herbs, not the ones that came dried in a jar. “If they’re dead then they taste dead!” Poochie used to exclaim on The Country Chef, the PBS cooking show that had made her a household name. And a bestselling cookbook author. The woman was so full of daffy charm that she’d made her mentor and good friend, Julia Child, seem almost demure.
Mitch was also quite familiar with the name Coleman Vickers. A distinguished advisor to three different U.S. presidents, Coleman Vickers had been president of Columbia University when Mitch studied there.
“A prized horse’s patootie if ever I met one,” Rut sniffed. “The guy’s supposed to be a professional diplomat and he couldn’t buy a quart of milk in this town without putting somebody’s nose out of joint. Always accusing the merchants of overcharging him. Which they’d never do on account of Poochie. That lady is beloved. And Eric is a terrific fellow. So is Bement.”
Mitch noticed that Rut did not say one word about Claudia.
“But the Ambassador was real big on leaving people nasty little notes. What the hell kind of a diplomat is that? No wonder this country’s in such a mess. He’s the reason for the bad blood between the Vickers and the Kershaws. Milo and his missus, April, used to do for Poochie and Coleman at Four Chimneys. Milo was caretaker and April kept house, same as Milo’s folks before him. Until the Ambassador asked Milo to do some renovation work on the barn. Assured him he’d pay him extra for it. Or so Milo claims. Milo went ahead and did the work, and then Coleman refused to pay him. Denied saying he ever would. So Milo helped himself to a brand new lawn mower as payment. Coleman called the trooper and charged him with stealing it. In response, Milo burned the Ambassador’s newly renovated barn right down to the ground.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“That’s the way a fellow like Milo settles things,” Rut assured him, nodding his head. “The Ambassador got so apoplectic at the sight of those flames that he had a heart attack and dropped dead on the spot. Never did live to see Milo serve out his sentence. Mitch, this all happened more than ten years ago. But not a day goes by Milo doesn’t curse the Vickers up, down and sideways. And not a day goes by that Claudia doesn’t blame him for her father’s death. So you can imagine how those two feel about Justine and Bement being in love.”
“I sure can,” said Mitch, his hungry gaze falling on the last slice of pizza.
“Not that Justine gives a good goddamn what her father thinks,” Rut pointed out. “She and Milo have never gotten along. She doesn’t much care for her brothers, either. Justine goes her own way.”
“How does Poochie feel about her grandson dating a Kershaw?”
“She thinks it’s nobody’s business but Bement’s. He’s a bright boy. Still not sure what he wants to do with himself. Dropped out of Stanford one year shy of graduation, which also didn’t sit too well with Claudia. Lately, he’s been refinishing furniture up at Great White Whale Antiques.”
Mitch knew the place well. One of his neighbors out on Big Sister ran it.
“I swear Claudia would change her mind if she just got to know Justine,” Rut insisted. “That little girl can light up a whole room. She gives me a poem every year on my birthday. Writes each and every one herself. She’s so gifted with words. Was always a straightA student in high school-unless she got riled or bored. Stopped taking her college classes up at Central Connecticut because she decided her professors were stupid. Told them so right to their faces.”
“Rut, what’s this favor?”
Rut Peck reached for the deck of cards again and harrumphed, clearing his throat. “It seems that Justine’s written herself a novel, Mitch. She hasn’t shown it to a soul. Not even Bement. I told her I’d be happy to read it. She
