Liddy laughed and poured.
“Emma?”
“Oh, please. Yes.” Emma turned, her glass in hand. “No one makes a better margarita.”
“Thank you. Feel free to ring my doorbell anytime, day or night, and I’ll be happy to whip up a batch.” Liddy emptied the pitcher’s remaining contents into her own glass, then set the pitcher on the table. The fingers of her left hand shuffled through her long, thick, salt-and-pepper hair, which flowed halfway down her back in one glorious wave. On some women, the color—or lack thereof—might have been aging, but Maggie thought on Liddy it was just right. Liddy’d always been all about honesty in everything, and that extended to how she presented herself to the world. On her last visit, Maggie had asked her when she was going to break down and color her hair, and Liddy had laughed. “Never. What you see is what you get. Besides, I don’t have time for the upkeep. How often do you have your roots touched up?” she’d asked Maggie, who’d had to admit she had a standing appointment every six weeks.
“No time for that,” Liddy’d declared. “Besides, I’m like Popeye in that old cartoon. ‘I yam what I yam.’”
Maggie’d rolled her eyes and laughed, but she never brought it up again. She had to concede the look suited Liddy, who was taller than Maggie but who outweighed her by a good twenty-five pounds. Hers was a natural, comfortable look that sometimes still bordered on aging hippie, depending on what she was wearing, all of which went hand in glove with her mellow but tell-it-like-it-is personality. Tonight it was a long knit dress with three-quarter-length sleeves and knee-high slits. And it was orange belted with a wide swath of navy blue. Secretly, Maggie felt just a teensy bit frumpy, having chosen to wear conservative black pants, a teal tunic, and a plaid scarf around her neck. The closest she came to cool at that moment might have been the gold fringe earrings that dangled almost to her shoulders. Natalie had bought them for her birthday at the newest, hippest boutique on the Main Line. Liddy definitely took the prize for most colorful character, and always had.
Liddy regarded the empty pitcher. “I should go in and make more.”
“In a few. Sit back and enjoy the night. You’ve been fussing since I got here. Your guest room looks like it belongs in a five-star hotel. It’s absolutely luxurious.” Maggie had arrived around four in the afternoon and had been led to Liddy’s new guest suite. As promised, there was a new bed, new linens, totally new decor, and a newly redesigned bath. Flowers on the bedside table and fluffy white towels in a tall stack on the vanity. Maggie had rarely been treated so royally, and she’d said so.
“I do have a reputation to maintain. Besides, I couldn’t have you wishing you’d booked a room at the inn CeCe Engle opened.” Liddy’s nose wrinkled. “I’d be plenty pissed off, I assure you.”
“CeCe opened an inn?” Maggie hadn’t heard this tidbit before. “Are we talking about the same CeCe Engle, the world’s most unpleasant, unfriendly, nastiest gossip?”
“Not to mention the most slovenly and lazy person in Wyndham Beach. Well, from our class, anyway,” Emma tossed in her two cents. Emma, who was the antithesis of slovenly, smoothed out the skirt of her denim shirtwaist dress. Always the lady, Emma dressed for every occasion—clothing, jewelry, nails, hair, all perfect before she ventured out of her house. She’s always been that way, Maggie recalled. Emma had been the girl who showed up for the third-grade end-of-school picnic in neatly pressed white linen shorts and a tailored blouse—tucked in, of course—when everyone else was in cutoff jeans and T-shirts. Petite and pretty with a turned-up nose, wide blue eyes, and dark hair cut short in the same pixie style she’d sported all her life, Emma was always perfectly turned out.
“CeCe bought the old Ives place and has been working like a madwoman for the past year to pretty it up so it would be ready for reunion weekend,” Liddy explained. “I understand only two couples have booked a room with her.”
“I never thought I’d see the day when CeCe would consciously choose to do something that would require real exertion on her part. Does she know how hard innkeeping is?” Maggie took a sip of her drink before placing it on the table in front of her.
“If she doesn’t, she soon will. I think this weekend is her virgin run,” Emma said. “I ran into her at the post office a few days ago, and all she could talk about was getting the place perfect and who was staying with her.”
“I wonder why she decided to open an inn,” Maggie said. “She was never very industrious, and I never thought she liked people all that much. Maybe she’s changed.”
“Not that I can see.” Liddy turned to Emma. “You?”
Emma shook her head. “Same old CeCe.”
“I don’t wish her ill, certainly, but I don’t see that venture being very successful. The woman hardly has the temperament to deal with the public.” Liddy paused before changing the subject. “Emma, should we share the latest about our police chief with Maggie?”
Maggie shot straight up in her chair in protest. “No, you should not. I don’t want to know what he’s doing, where he’s living, who he’s sleeping with, or who he’s married to. Period.”
“Oh, but Mags . . . ,” Emma protested.
“No, I’m serious. I’m not interested. I don’t want to know.” Maggie clapped her hands over her ears. “All that with Brett happened a long time ago. I’ve moved way past it, and so has he. So should you. Can we please put it to rest?”
“Consider it done.” Liddy exchanged a sly look with Emma. “But speaking of things being put to rest, did you see the list of deceased classmates I sent out?”
Maggie nodded. “I had no idea we’d lost so many over the past few years.”
“Well, ’tis
