“I can tell you where I got it if you’d like, Marla.”
Caroline and Hank reached simultaneously for cupcakes from Marla’s tray.
“Oh,” trilled Marla. “I don’t think I need shopping advice ? “
?Mrs. Dawson,” I interjected briskly. “do you like this cake enough to sell it in your cafe??
Caroline puckered her lips and closed her eyes. For an instant, she looked like one of those little Chinese demons who brings you nothing but rotten luck. “Not really,” she murmured. “Sorry, Goldy. We do appreciate what you’re doing for Greer, though. We’ll see you in a couple of hours.” And off she and her square husband plodded, licking the last cupcake crumbs off their fingers as they departed.
“Was that a rejection?” I asked Marla.
“No, no, my dear, the royal short people have cleaned the trays. Now they need to talk to some other Episcopalians who’ve come back from the Holy Land.” I did not remember the overdressed couple the Dawsons were now chatting with as being particularly religious. Marla said, “You know, Goldy. England.” Under her breath, she added, “My question is, if she didn’t like it, why’d she have so many pieces?”
I certainly did not know. I checked on the serving table, where Audrey had deftly kept the platters refilled. Across the room, Arch caught my eye. He was standing with the tall, skinny Marenskys, who were avoiding either me or the food or both. Stan and Rhoda Marensky were the kind of people caterers dislike most: They pick at their food, don’t finish it, and then complain about how expensive it is. At that moment Stan was interrogating Arch, who shot me an imploring look that meant: Can we go? I held up my hand: Five minue’s. Then I motioned him over. The Marenskys turned their backs.
“Has the headmaster’s son been in trouble?” I demanded softly when Arch was by my side.
Arch pushed his glasses up on his nose. A bit of cheese hung on the corner of his mouth. I pinched a paper napkin and wiped it off.
“Do you mind?” Arch leaned away from my ministrations.
“Tell me about Macguire, the headmaster’s son. And his trouble.”
Arch shrugged noncommitally. “Well, he’s kind of a goof-off. I mean, with a dad like that, can you blame him if he’s weird? I don’t think he’s allowed to drive anymore. Listen, Mom, people aren’t saying very nice things about Keith today. Like he deserved to die or something.”
“Who’s saying that, the Marenskys?”
“Oh, I guess. Them and other people.” Another shrug. Arch, like Julian, wouldn’t tattle if his life depended on it. “I’m telling you, Keith was a great guy. Even though he was a senior, he would talk to you. Most seniors just ignore you.” Arch reached for another cupcake.
“I know, I know,” I said, and felt a mother’s pang over the way kids treated small-built, nonathletic Arch.
Marla sashayed up grandly. She had a piece of torte in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She gestured grandly with her coffee cup. “Van Gogh must have had to listen to people argue about the Ivy League. That’s why he came home and cut off his ear.”
I shook my head. “Just go have a listenin on the conversation between the Dawsons and Audrey Coopersmith. Caroline was going on about grade point average being less important than extracurricular activities. Audrey replied that besides volleyball, the only outside interest Greer Dawson has ever shown was in clothes. So Caroline said, now that you mention it, maybe dear daughter Greer could give Audrey’s daughter, Heather, a few pointers in that department. For that matter ? Caroline threw in, as long as she was on a roll ? it looked as if Audrey herself could use a little advice in the fashion department.” I groaned. “Poor Audrey. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with.”
“Don’t worry,” said Marla. “I told Father Olson we needed a referee for a coffee hour argument. He said, Oh, theology or ethics? And I said, academics. He nodded. Said he learned all about it in seminary.”
?ReaIIy?”
But before Marla could elaborate, the head of the Altar Guild came up and asked me to start clearing the serving table, as there was going to be a meeting in the parish hall after church. Arch sidled off.
To my relief, the cheese was almost gone, the plum cake was crumbs, and the bird centerpieces had been reduced to a few slices of apple-feather.
“Oh, Goldy!” Father Olson’s face glowed with pleasure. “This was marvelous! And it gave rise to such a lively coffee hour! I wonder, could you be persuaded to do a luncheon-ministry for the Board of Theological Examiners? I’m sorry to say that we can’t really afford to ? “
“No thanks!” I called back gaily, scooping up the last of the Gouda. “I’m all booked for the next three months.” This was not entirely true. But clients have to be willing to pay for their bread. I had a child to support.
?… just don’t understand why you think your daughter is the only one qualified”…” Hank Dawson was gesticulating with a wedge of Gouda. As he chided Audrey Coopersmith, his tone was judgmental. “We have looked into this extensively ? “
Caroline Dawson was nodding as she stuffed the last of a cupcake into her mouth. The lapels of her red suit quivered in indignation. She swallowed and continued her husband’s thought. “Why, just the other day I was speaking with the director of admissions at ? “
“And you think that makes you an expert?” Audrey fired back. Her face flushed with ferocity. “You don’t know the first thing about the value of an education.” She paused, and I felt myself chilled by the intensity of the dark- eyed glare she directed at the bewildered Caroline Dawson. Audrey’s words erupted like a spray of bullets. “You think Ben Jonson is a Canadian runner. You, you” ? she paused, grasping for another insult ? “you think Heidegger is a box you carry to detect radiation!”
So saying, Audrey whacked her tray down on the table and stomped out the wooden door of the church. Her chain of keys made a loud chinking sound when the edge of the door caught them. She didn’t stop to tell me good- bye. She didn’t even take off her apron.
4
Father Olson tugged on his beard. “I do wish she hadn’t made fun of Heidegger… .”
“Oh,” I said sympathetically. “She’s going through a bad time.”
Father Olson moved off to smooth the Dawsons’ ruffled feathers. Personally, I didn’t know whether Audrey needed understanding, self-improvement, or a brand-new outlook on life. But she sure needed something. Pain seeped out of her like water from a leaking dam. I resolved to say a few carefully chosen words of support the next time we worked together. Carefully chosen, because Arch always said that what I thought of as support was giving somebody the Heimlich maneuver when all they’d done was hiccup.
Hank Dawson nodded at Father Olson and maneuvered his way back to me. “Isn’t Ben Jonson a Canadian runner?” His brow furrowed.
“Yes, of course. Named after a sixteenth-century playwright, perhaps.”
“Who does that woman think she is?”
“Well, she was upset…”
Hank Dawson poured himself another cup of coffee and blew on it. He looked down his broad nose at me. “Audrey Coopersmith has distressed my wife.” This from the fellow who the night before had given me that classic henpecked look: Don’t worry, I have to live with her. Maybe the more distress Audrey created for Caroline Dawson, the more there was for Mr. Caroline Dawson.
“Well, Hank…”
“Listen. Audrey’s just jealous because of how gifted our Greer is. Heather is good in math and science, period. Greer, mind you, has been making up stories since she was eight. She excels in languages and is an athlete, to boot. She’s well-rounded, and that’s what they’re all looking for, you know that. Heather and Greer in a contest? That?s not a game, It s a rout.?
“Of course,” I said soothingly. “But you know we all feel so protective of our children. Especially after what happened last night.”
Hank swirled the coffee around and regarded me with his stern ice-blue eyes. “Oh, tell me! Nine thousand bucks a year, and then you tell me you find a dead body after a dinner at the headmaster’s house! Jesus H. Christ’”
“Father Olson is within earshot,” I murmured. Hank lifted a jaw that was so sharp it would have cut an Italian
