A Deal to Die For (12 page)

“Ginger refused to feed us if we didn’t finish off her honey-do list,” he said. “She’s
baking two cakes, and she said she wouldn’t give us any if we didn’t get to work.”

“Motivation through starvation.” Maggie glanced around the yard. “It seems to be working.”

“Yes, except for Byron,” he said. “I told her not to name him for a poet.”

Maggie smiled. All of a sudden there was a flurry of motion across the yard. Dante,
the youngest of the Lancaster boys, was sprinting across the yard with something in
his hands. Hot on his heels was Byron, the second oldest.

“Give me that phone, Dante!” he yelled. “I mean it. I’m going to pound you.”

Dante went to throw it into the impressively large leaf pile, but Byron was too fast
for him. With one hand he made a diving catch for the phone and with the other he
took his brother out at the knees. They fell into the leaves like two puppies while
their brothers Aaron and Caleb looked on, laughing.

Maggie pressed her lips together to keep from busting out a laugh and glanced at Roger
and saw that he was doing the same.

He managed to shake it off, however, and strode toward the leaf pile, looking like
a bowling ball about to hit a split. He stood over the pile while the two boys tussled
and held out his hand.

Byron’s hand shot out of the leaves, and he deposited the phone into his father’s
waiting palm.

“You get it back when the leaves are bagged, am I clear?”

“Yes, Dad,” said a voice said from the pile with a heartsick sigh.

“Come on, Maggie, I’ll walk you in. I’m sure Ginger is ready for an outing from the
loony bin,” he said.

“Thanks, Roger,” she said.

Ginger had boxed up one of the cakes and was just putting the other in her pantry.

“Pumpkin pound cake,” Roger said with a deep inhale of appreciation.

“You can forget it if that yard is not spotless by the time I get home,” Ginger said.
“Not one little nibble, and I mean it, or you’ll be eating brussels sprouts for dinner
every night for the next month.”

Roger widened his eyes. He kissed his wife on the cheek and turned to head back out
the door. “Pardon me, ladies, while I go crack the whip.”

When the door shut behind him, Ginger winked at Maggie, and said, “Roger hates brussels
sprouts.”

“I’m with him there,” Maggie said. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Ginger said. She grabbed her purse and draped the handles on her forearm while
she hugged the Tupperware that held the cake to her middle.

“Has there been any news?” Maggie asked.

“None that I’ve heard,” Ginger said. “You?”

“Nothing,” Maggie said.

As they crossed the porch, Ginger paused to watch her men working in the yard. The
Lancaster boys were all a nice combination of their parents with dark skin, dark eyes
and brilliant smiles. Aaron the oldest was book smart, while
Byron was more of an artist. Caleb looked to be the athlete of the family and Dante,
well, so far he was the prankster.

Maggie knew that hearts in St. Stanley would be breaking when these four young men
grew up and went to college and that one of the hearts in question would be their
mother’s. As stern as Ginger was with her boys, Maggie knew that she loved them unconditionally,
and it was that love that had turned them into the fine young men they were proving
to be.

While they watched, Aaron and Dante resumed raking, while Roger and Byron were bagging,
and Caleb was still up on the ladder, but he had moved down the side of the house
and was almost done.

All five men glanced up and waved, wearing matching ingratiating grins. Ginger gave
them a dubious grunt before she continued on down the steps.

As they climbed into Maggie’s Volvo, she turned to Ginger, and said, “I love your
family.”

“Me, too,” Ginger said, and she smiled.

The ride over to the Madison estate was short. It was on the north end of town, just
past the town center and on the edge of the historic district.

The house had been built in the early eighteen hundreds. Much of its charm was inspired
by Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s famous estate in central Virginia. A sprawling lawn,
which boasted lush gardens in the spring, led up to the house, which was three stories
of red brick with white trim and boasted a modest dome in the center. It was not quite
as opulent as Jefferson’s home, but it had definitely been influenced by the former.

“How did Buzz Madison’s family come to acquire this house?” Ginger asked.

“It was won in a poker match,” Maggie said. “Apparently,
Buzz’s great-grandfather was a bit of a gambler, and one night he found himself at
the table with Clement Stuebens. Clement was so sure he had the winning hand that
he put up his house, and he lost it.”

Ginger winced. “Wonder how his wife took that?”

“She shot him,” Maggie said.

Maggie and Ginger parked in front of the house and climbed out of Maggie’s car. Maggie
gestured to the long windows on the right side of the house.

“Right there in the solarium,” she said. “Clement’s wife shot him and then herself.
They had no heirs, so it was pretty simple for the Madisons to move in after that.”

“I remembered there had been a suicide here,” Ginger said. “Forgot about the murder
part, though.”

She held her cake in front of her and shuddered.

“I wonder how Bianca is doing in that house all alone?” Ginger asked.

Maggie studied the house as it loomed above them in not the most welcoming manner.
She’d only been to the Madisons’ house for Vera’s biannual parties. Vera had always
hosted a holiday party and a summer party, but she’d only attended her parties for
a half hour, leaving Bianca to attend to the guests. Maggie had always suspected that
Vera hated hosting the parties but felt as if it was an obligation, since
she was the richest woman in town, to open her doors to the commoners at least twice
a year.

“She grew up here,” Maggie said, “so, I imagine she’s used to it.”

“Still, all those rooms for one person,” Ginger said. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Apparently conspicuous consumption never goes out of style,” Maggie said.

They exchanged a mystified look and shook their heads. The Good Buy Girls were all
about living well with thrift. It was partly because Maggie and Ginger had both grown
up poor and were very conscious of the cost of things and the difference between
I need
and
I want
. But it was more than that.

Both Maggie and Ginger had learned that true happiness didn’t come from the size of
their houses or cars, but from the family and friends they surrounded themselves with.
Maggie wouldn’t trade her lifelong friendship with Ginger for a bigger house in a
nicer neighborhood. She had found that having enough to get by without worry was enough
to make her happy. And if she had extra, well, then, unlike Vera Madison, she didn’t
consider it a chore to share with her friends and neighbors. She was happy and grateful
to be able to do so.

The large oak front doors were taller than average, and, like everything else on the
estate, they were not welcoming, but felt more like their purpose was to act as a
barrier.

Maggie reached up and grabbed the antique iron door knocker. It was heavy and cold
in her hands, and her fingers slipped off the rounded edge, letting the iron ball
fall gracelessly against the iron panel on the door.

She and Ginger stood quietly for a moment. Maggie wondered if Bianca was in a part
of the house where she couldn’t
hear them. She wondered if they should leave and come back another day, and she was
about to say as much to Ginger when the door slowly opened with a soft
whoosh
.

Expecting Bianca or her housekeeper, Molly, Maggie was taken aback when a woman with
long, dark brown hair, which cascaded down past her shoulders in artistic waves, leaned
against the doorjamb and studied them. She slowly drew on her cigarette and blew a
stream of smoke out past the two of them.

Ginger moved her cake to the side so as not to let it get polluted.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

She was a striking woman with prominent cheekbones, large blue eyes and a small nose
over full lips. She wore a body-hugging red cashmere sweater with a pair of Mudd jeans
and UGG boots.

“We’re here to see Bianca,” Maggie said. “Is she in?”

The woman gave them a pouty look. “Little sister? Yes, she’s probably here somewhere.”

Maggie and Ginger exchanged a shocked glance.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” the woman asked, catching their look. “I’m Courtney Madison,
Bianca’s big half sister.”

Maggie’s jaw dropped before she could stop it. Courtney laughed.

“I know, it’s crazy, right? Poor Bianca had no idea I existed. Can you imagine?”

“Uh…” Maggie was at a loss for words. She glanced at Ginger, who looked equally dumbstruck.

“Oh, did you bring us cake?” the woman asked. “How thoughtful. I’d forgotten how nice
small-town folk can be.”

She took the cake from Ginger’s arms with one hand and stepped back. “Do come in.
I’m sure Bianca would love to see some friendly faces.”

Maggie stepped into the house with Ginger right behind her. The entrance to the Madison
estate was an eye-popper, with an Italian marble floor, teak wainscoting and a chandelier
that sparkled. Maggie always felt like she should be wearing a full-length ball gown
and gloves to be allowed to enter and, of course, after having worked all day, she
felt especially frumpy.

Courtney turned toward the wide staircase that swept up the right side of the house
to a balcony above, and shouted, “Hey, Bianca, you’ve got company!”

Maggie and Ginger waited. The sound of footsteps running upstairs echoed in the oddly
quiet house. Bianca appeared on the landing.

“Molly, is it you? Are you back?” she cried. When her gaze landed on Maggie and Ginger,
she gave them a weak smile. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi, Bianca,” Ginger said.

“We just came by to see how you’re doing,” Maggie said.

Bianca made her way down the stairs with the swift ease of someone who knew each step
from years of hurrying up and down them.

“Thank you,” she said as she stopped beside them. She said nothing else, and they
stood in awkward silence for a moment.

“Bianca, surely Vera raised you better than this,” Courtney chastised her. “Introduce
me to your friends.”

Courtney gave her an angry glance, and when Bianca didn’t say anything, she said,
“It goes like this: Courtney Madison, this is—”

Courtney stared at her, and Bianca got the hint, and said, “Courtney, this is Maggie
Gerber and Ginger Lancaster.”

“A pleasure,” Courtney said with a smile that looked forced. “Now, I’ll just take
this cake into the kitchen so you three can have a nice chat about me, shall I?”

Maggie raised her eyebrows at Courtney’s blunt words.

“I grew up in Manhattan,” she said. “We tend to call it like we see it.”

She swept from the hall, leaving the other three women watching her. Courtney Madison
had presence by the bucketful.

“Would you like to talk in the library?” Bianca asked.

“Sure,” Maggie said, and they followed her. Where Courtney had sashayed her way down
the hall, Bianca took quick, timid steps that gave her the appearance of a sandpiper
on the shore darting into and out of the waves.

Maggie couldn’t help but notice that Bianca was the complete and total opposite of
her sister. Her long, mousy hair was held back in a messy ponytail, her glasses were
bent as if she’d fallen asleep while wearing them and her clothes were drab and ill
fitting. If the two women were night and day; Courtney was the promise of a sultry,
passionate night, and Bianca was a foggy, rainy day.

Bianca closed the door behind them and led the way to the settee and chairs by the
fireplace. The fireplace was gas, and Maggie appreciated its warmth, as the room felt
chilly from the crisp November air, or perhaps it was just cold from the tragedy that
seemed to blanket the house.

“Bianca, I don’t mean to pry,” Maggie said, “but what’s happening?”

Bianca glanced up from the fireplace where she was staring at the flames.

“
She
showed up in the middle of the night last night,” she said. “I had no idea she even
existed.”

“Bianca, she could be a con artist,” Ginger said. “Maybe she heard about Vera’s death
on the news and decided she’d con you into taking her in.”

Bianca shook her head. “I called the family attorney this
morning. She’s real. She has her parents’ marriage license and her birth certificate
and everything.”

“But when?” Maggie asked. She had lived her whole life in St. Stanley, and it was
not a big enough town to keep a secret like Buzz Madison having been married before
Vera quiet for that long.

“Apparently, Courtney’s mother, Audra, was an actress,” Bianca said with a derisive
sniff worthy of Vera. “Dad wasn’t close to his parents, and when he left to go to
college at Columbia in New York, he saw Audra in an off-Broadway play and fell hard.
When she became pregnant, they were married in secret.”