A gray-muzzled dachshund was dozing in the chair. Patricia picked it up and sat with it in her lap, the dog not so much as stirring. Des sat on the love seat, twirling her hat in her hands.
“Now what is this all about, trooper?” There was a fixed brightness to the old lady’s gaze that was meant to intimidate, and did. “And kindly do not pander to me. I cannot abide people who treat me like a doddering old fool. Speak plainly and accurately and we shall get along fine.”
“Jen was throwing a party at her house. There was alcohol. And no adult supervision on the premises.”
“An obvious failure on my part,” Patricia conceded readily. “Jen is studious and sensible-nothing at all like her mother. I had no idea she was planning any such party.” She took a small sip of her sherry. “Tell me, was there sexual activity?”
“Of a sort, yes.”
Patricia’s gaze turned icy. “Just exactly what sort?”
“That’s something I’d prefer to discuss with her mother.”
“And you shall. I have the phone number of the inn where Kimberly is presently shacked up with her married chiropractor. She will return to Dorset on the very first ferry tomorrow morning if I have anything to say about it. And believe me, I do. I allow her to live in their cottage rent-free. I provide health insurance for her and Jen both. I paid for Jen’s car. I intend to pay for her college education. Furthermore, it is I who you’ve phoned at two a.m. So you will kindly provide me with the details.”
Des shoved her heavy horn-rimmed glasses up her nose and said, “There’s a game the kids play. They call it a Rainbow Party. It’s, well, think of it as an X-rated version of Spin the Bottle.”
Patricia reached for a chocolate-covered cherry and popped it in her mouth, chewing on it slowly before she said, “Please elaborate.”
“Each of the girls wears a different color of lipstick. Whichever girl leaves her mark on the most boys wins.”
“They perform fellatio on them, is that it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, I can certainly understand what the boys get out of it, but what would possess a group of bright, self- respecting young women to debase themselves in such a fashion?”
“A combination of alcohol and peer pressure. For what it’s worth, Jen told me it was her first such party. And it appears she got cold feet.”
“You’re saying that’s why she called the Jewett sisters?”
“It would appear so.”
“Please thank them for me if you happen to speak to them before I do. And thank you for attending to Jen.” The old lady shook her head. “It’s as if the women’s movement never even happened. If only these girls knew how hard it was for those of us who came before them to get up off of our knees. But for them it’s ancient history. The sad truth is that they don’t even care.” She studied Des carefully for a moment, as if she were trying to decide something about her. “I worked my entire adult life, you know. I was not about to be one of those ladies who play bridge and conduct meaningless affairs out of utter boredom. My late husband was involved in international banking in Brazil, Portugal, Singapore. Wherever we went, I taught English at a school for the underprivileged. After John left the bank and we returned here, I taught at the women’s prison in Niantic.” She reached for another of her chocolates. “Jen’s father was raised here. Johnny was never a strong boy, physically or emotionally. He lacked decisiveness and drive. Had a difficult time finding a career. Intelligent young women saw him as a poor choice for a husband, despite his wealth and good name. All of which made him easy prey for a conniving little gold digger like Kimberly. I insisted that he find work. I cannot abide slackers. So my boy was selling suits in the Business Casuals section of the Mens Wearhouse in Waterford when he dropped dead of a brain aneurysm three years ago last month. He was thirty-eight years old. I also insisted that Kimberly sign a prenuptial agreement when they married. Consequently, she got very little after Johnny passed. The bulk of his assets are in a trust fund that Jen can’t touch until she graduates from college. Although she’s already displaying a good deal more emotional maturity at age sixteen than her mother has ever possessed. Running off to Block Island with a married man, the little fool. And he’s an even bigger fool.” Patricia stroked the sleeping dog in her lap, gazing down at it fondly. “Has it ever occurred to you that the reason we can’t live forever is that we know too much?”
“About what, ma’am?”
“What pathetic frauds we all are. Only the young can be taken in by the false promises of others. When you get to be my age you can see right through everyone. And believe me, that is one hopeless way to exist. I sleep very little now.” The old lady had become so chatty it occurred to Des that she might be lonely. “Mostly, I read. Are you a reader?”
“When I have time.”
“And how up are you on the village gossip?”
“I hear what people tell me.”
“I’m wondering about one of my other tenants. Perhaps you know them.”
“I know the Sullivans.”
Patricia nodded her head. “Very nice young couple. Keith is so amiable and helpful. He’s done any number of electrical repairs for me. Plows my driveway, installs my air conditioners. The man won’t ever take a nickel. And Amber is a terribly gifted scholar, I’m told. You wouldn’t think they would be happy together, being so different. But there’s just no telling with love, is there?”
“So they tell me.”
“Actually, I was wondering about Richard and Carolyn Procter. They rent the house directly across the lane from Kimberly and Jen. They’ve been hoping to purchase it should I ever decide to sell-which I haven’t. Their little girl is named Molly.”
“Don’t know them, I’m afraid.”
“Richard is a very distinguished historian at Wesleyan,” Patricia went on, practically glowing at the mention of him. “There is no one alive who knows more about the early economic and social structure of the Connecticut shoreline than Richard Procter. He’s written numerous volumes. And Carolyn is a noted author of children’s literature herself, as well as a tremendous beauty. Comes from a fine old Massachusetts family, the Chichesters.” Now Patricia’s face dropped. “But it seems they have split up. Richard has moved out and Carolyn has taken up with some sort of a tradesman.”
“And are you having trouble collecting the rent?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I simply wondered if you’d heard where Richard has ended up. He used to stop by regularly to drop off books that he thought I might like. I’d read them and then we’d discuss them over tea. I haven’t many friends left, to be frank. Stimulating ones, anyhow. The village hens mostly wish to talk about their aches and pains. Richard shares my passionate love for the novels of Henry James. He’s also keenly interested in the Beckwith family history. The Beckwiths were this area’s earliest industrial settlers, you know. Operated the very first sawmill right up the road on Turkey Neck. Old Cyrus himself built this very house back in 1725.” Her sherry goblet was empty. She poured herself some more and took a sip, staring into the big stone fireplace. “The last time Richard came by he promised he’d drop off a novel called Time and Again by someone named Jack Finney. It’s about a modern day fellow who travels back in time to old New York. Richard was positive I’d adore it.” She glanced at Des challengingly. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever…”
“Know it and love it.” The book had been a favorite of Mitch’s. She still had his dog-eared old paperback around somewhere.
“My point is that Richard hasn’t brought it by or so much as called. He’s always been so thoughtful that I suppose I’m worried about him.”
“Have you asked Carolyn where he’s living?”
The old lady’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, that would be inappropriate. I did try the phone company, but they’ve no new listing for him in Dorset or in any of our neighboring towns. Yesterday I placed a call to Professor Robert Sorin in Moodus. He’s Richard’s closest friend in the history department. But the lady with whom I spoke, his dog sitter, said Professor Sorin’s away at a seminar in Ohio and won’t be back for a couple of days.” Patricia hesitated, her thin lips pursing. “You no doubt think I’m being clingy.”
“Not at all. He’s a friend and you’re concerned. Perfectly understandable. I’ll ask around,” Des said, climbing to her feet. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” Patricia relinquished her chair to the dog and led Des back to the front door. “Trooper, there’s
