The Battered Body (32 page)

“My tower keeps falling over,” he complained. “Can you help me, Pop-Pop?”

That simple utterance was all it took. Jackson smiled, showing more teeth than James knew he possessed, and marched off to his grandson’s room to show him how to create solid building foundations.

Milla wasn’t out of the loop for long. Eventually, Eliot wandered back to the kitchen in search of a glass of water and before he knew it, he was standing on a kitchen chair using the hand blender to whip the potatoes. James cringed when he saw the white splatters peppering his clean countertops, but when Milla noticed his expression, she flicked him with a potholder and informed him that all good cooks made a mess in the kitchen.

“Am I cooking, Grandma?” Eliot shouted over the whir of the mixer.

“You are, darling! And you’re a natural too!” Milla replied effusively, her eyes shining.

The dinner was a success. Milla made a roast chicken with stuffing, green beans, mashed potatoes, and biscuits. Everything that wasn’t slathered in butter was drenched in brown gravy, and James knew there’d be hell to pay when he got on the scale the next day, but he didn’t care. He served his praline pecan cake with decaf coffee for the adults and a cold glass of milk for his son, and he blushed at the compliments lavished upon him by the two women.

“It’s fair passable,” Jackson grumbled when Milla demanded that he open his mouth and comment on his son’s culinary skills.

Eliot turned to James and repeated his grandfather’s statement word for word in the same grouchy, reluctant tone. Everyone laughed.

“Seems we’ve got a smart aleck at our table, huh?” Jackson was obviously pleased.

All too soon, it was time for Jane and Eliot to leave. He gave his grandparents lightning-quick kisses on the cheek and then approached James for his customary hug.

“You’re a good cake maker,” he whispered into James’s ear and, unable to help himself, James clung to his son tightly. Eliot snuggled against his chest for a moment and then broke away. He took his mother’s hand and was once more carried off into the night.

“Is this part going to get any easier?” James asked Milla once the Volvo disappeared from view.

“Probably not,” she answered with a compassionate smile. “After all, I’m gonna cry every time you leave our house.”

“You cry over toothpaste commercials, Mrs. Henry,” Jackson remarked. “Come on, climb into your coat. It’s gonna snow. That damned dog next door’s been howling his head off since lunchtime.” He turned to James. “This is a good house, son. Well built.” He nodded in approval. “And he’s a fine boy. I’m gonna paint him tomorrow. My head’s right stuffed with pictures.”

“That’s great, Pop!” James was thrilled to observe the eager twitch of his father’s fingers.

As though embarrassed by his candidness, Jackson gestured toward the kitchen. “You gonna bring the rest of that cake home for us to eat, right? I’ll find a place to hide it ’cause you wouldn’t wanna mess up your diet or anythin’.”

“So you
did
like it?” James teased. “Yeah. I’ll bring it. But I may have another piece. After all, this is my last night sleeping in my old room. I might just need some comfort food.”

“Oh, don’t remind me!” Milla cried. “I feel like we’ll never see you again!”

“You will.” James embraced her fondly and thought,
Next time we have dinner, it won’t just be with me, it’ll be with half of Quincy’s Gap!

Jackson, or rather the dog living next door to the Henrys, had been right about the snow. It fell all night long, but in timid flakes that appeared to lack direction. All signs of precipitation had disappeared by the next morning, but on Tuesday afternoon, a much more determined front had descended upon the Shenandoah Valley. A surreal pink sky welcomed a nearly stationary cloud bank and a cascade of vigorous flakes. When Wednesday dawned, the world was magically cleansed and completely muffled in white.

“The weather seems like nice complement to your parents’ party,” Mrs. Waxman remarked as she arrived for the evening shift two hours early. “The way those drifts have formed on the lawn outside—they almost look like piped icing, and the snow is so soft, like a veil covering one’s hair.” She patted James on the arm. “Enough of my metaphors. You’d better get a move on. And save me a cupcake or I’ll be quite displeased.”

James knew his former middle school teacher was teasing, but he stood a fraction taller out of habit and said, “Yes ma’am!”

He was careful navigating the snow-covered roads leading to the church and was delighted to note that Lindy, Bennett, and Gillian’s cars were already in the parking lot. His friends were busy stomping their boots on the door mat in front of the fellowship hall when he entered. They each relieved him of his dual armload of bags containing decorations.

“What have we here?” Lindy inquired.

James poured out the contents of two bags onto a buffet table. “I pretty much bought out anything the store had that was white or seemed to be remotely connected to weddings.”

Bennett held up a hundred-count bag of white balloons. “And who’s gonna blow these suckers up?”

“I bought a little hand pump.” James clapped Bennett on the back. “Do you think you could make an arch over the far end of the hall? That’s where the wedding cupcakes will be. I figured three hundred balloons ought to do it.”

Spluttering, Bennett requested another job, but Gillian grabbed the hand pump from him and smiled. “You pump, I’ll tie. I have
very
nimble fingers.”

“Don’t I know it.” Bennett smiled at her affectionately.

James left them to their project and began to thumbtack glittering snowflakes, silver wedding bells, and cutouts of white doves hanging from curly white ribbon onto the ceiling tiles. His hands shook a little as he worked, and a feeling of anxiety began to swell inside his chest. Would the killer attend their celebration? Would the supper club members be able to conceal the fact that their eyes would be scanning each and every face in the crowd in search of the dangerous stranger? Would Russ DuPont wear a disguise or wait in the janitor’s closet for a chance to ambush Chloe?

Perhaps this entire affair is a grave mistake
, James thought worriedly as he moved his ladder a few feet to the right.
We’re being so arrogant—playing with Chloe’s life this way.

James was just hanging the last pair of doves when the Fitzgerald twins breezed in carrying a stereo system and two sets of speakers. After renting the hall and paying for a weekend getaway to Asheville, James didn’t have enough funds to hire a disc jockey, but Francis and Scott assured him they owned enough CDs to keep the party going all night.

“Let’s hope it’s not
that
much fun. We all have to work tomorrow,” James had told them earlier that day. He had then showed them the printout of Russ DuPont’s photograph, which Lucy had acquired from the Sheriff’s Department in Natchez. “Be on the lookout for this guy. He probably murdered Paulette and Chase, and he may try to harm Chloe tonight. We’re going to need every pair of eyes, so memorize this face.”

The twins had studied the photograph for a long time. “Man, he totally doesn’t look like a killer,” Scott had remarked.

“That makes them the most treacherous. Dark blond hair, blue eyes, about six feet tall,” Francis read from Lucy’s notes. “Sure wouldn’t stand out in a crowd.”

James stared at the young man’s face for the hundredth time. “He’d better stand out tonight. Someone’s life may depend on it.”

As the twins got busy hooking up the stereo, Lucy arrived with Deputy Truett in tow. He was to come to the party as a guest, but a guest carrying a concealed gun. Lucy was armed and told her supper club friends that she was carrying a radio in her purse, just in case she needed to alert Sheriff Huckabee or Deputy Donovan. Huckabee was already camped out in the church office, which would serve as the law enforcement command center for the duration of the party. Donovan was in charge of outdoor surveillance. James relished the idea of Keith Donovan, his nemesis since junior high, sitting on the cold, gray leather of his black Camaro, drinking cupfuls of noodle soup and coffee in an effort to keep warm while the rest of them congregated in a heated room, enjoying a bountiful feast.

Surveying the room, James felt his anxiety ebb a little. It looked like a winter wonderland. With the glossy white balloon arch, the glittering silver and white cutouts twirling from the ceiling on satin strings, the ivory tablecloths, and the floral bouquets made from white amaryllis, the room glowed with enchantment. For a moment, James wished Jane and Eliot were attending, but he didn’t want his ex-wife and son within miles of Russ DuPont, and though Jane’s voice had been fraught with worry when he explained the situation to her on the phone, he promised he wouldn’t do anything foolish in order to apprehend the young man suspected of murder.

“I’m a father now,” he’d said to Jane. “Eliot is the number one priority in my life. Trust me. I want nothing more than to be with my son. And with you too, of course.” Though he wasn’t sure what he’d meant by that statement, James had to admit that he was both comfortable and content in Jane’s presence and was genuinely looking forward to spending more time with her.

“Helloooo!” Lindy snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You’re daydreaming, James!”

Gillian opened her arms wide and twirled around, her batik skirt opening outward like a flower with rainbow petals. “And why not? This place looks like a dream! And those cupcakes Willow made! Divine! Come see.”

The trio walked over to the dessert table and gazed licentiously at row after row of luscious cupcakes. Each confection had been frosted with an inch of creamy vanilla hazelnut icing topped by a white chocolate heart.

“Try one of the hearts,” Willow said as she placed a petite wedding cake in the center of the cupcakes. She gestured at a bowl of white chocolate hearts. “I thought we might sell them at Quincy’s Whimsies.”

James plucked a candy from the bowl and popped it in his mouth. The buttery chocolate melted on his tongue and he closed his eyes in bliss. “Ah, heaven!”

All of the supper club members helped themselves to candy hearts. As they showered Willow with compliments, the first guests began to filter into the room. No one came empty handed. People either carried a wedding gift or a tray of food, and it didn’t take long for James to experience a bout of nervousness.

“Who
are
these people?” he asked his friends in an agitated whisper.

“Students from Milla’s Fix ’n Freeze classes,” Lindy answered calmly. “Lucy was in charge of drumming up volunteers to supply food, and she had the brilliant idea of inviting a bunch of guests who also happened to be darned good cooks.”

“You’re amazing!” James told Lucy and she flushed with pleasure.

He then walked over to the far side of the room in order to introduce himself to the dozen people arranging entrées on the buffet table. Reading the placards standing in front of each warming tray, James was astonished by the assortment of gourmet food Milla’s students had created. There was apple- and cranberry-stuffed pork loin, maple-glazed salmon, medallions of beef in a cognac cream sauce, lemon dill tilapia, cornbread-stuffed portobellos, spinach tortellini and roasted tomatoes in pesto, and chicken breasts in a white wine sauce.

As James moved down the line, making a mental checklist of which entrées to choose, more and more unfamiliar faces appeared at the table. Men and women of all ages unveiled platters of sides including risotto cakes, squash medley, wasabi whipped potatoes, wild rice pilaf, and glazed carrots.

It was with some relief that he recognized the trim forms of Megan and Amelia Flowers as mother and daughter set out bread baskets of Asiago cheese muffins in the center of each dining table and added an enormous platter of wedding-bell cookies to the dessert table.

All was ready.

James looked around the room and found Chloe and Aunt Wheezie standing by the drinks area. Willy, the merry owner of the Custard Cottage, had volunteered to make virgin and champagne-spiked punch. Despite the chill in the evening air, folks were lined up to accept cold glasses of punch and Willy’s jolly booming laugh echoed through the large room.

Suddenly, the lights blinked on and off three times—Bennett’s signal that Milla and Jackson had pulled into the parking lot.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Lindy asked at the last moment. “Your folks aren’t
exactly
young. What if we give them a heart attack?”

“If anyone’s going to get hurt here, it’ll be me,” James joked, momentarily forgetting about Chloe. “Pop
detests
surprises. Here he comes, like any other dutiful new husband accompanying his wife to what he believes is her first choir practice. Instead of listening to the sweet melodies of a dozen robed figures, Pop’s about to be set upon by seventy-five well-wishers. Considering he cast off his hermitlike existence fairly recently, I don’t expect him to be thankful that I’ve propelled him to this level of socializing.” He glanced at Lindy’s clasped hands and at her pink face, which was aglow with excitement. “Luis is coming, right?”

She nodded. “He’s gotta ditch the crazy PTA women first, but he’ll be here.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Bennett flicked the lights again and the murmurs of the crowd abruptly ceased. In the silence, the dual footsteps of Milla and Jackson proceeding down the tile-floor hallway caused James’s heart to race. His eyes swept across the guests, but everyone’s faces matched Lindy’s. All the expressions were the same—that of jubilant anticipation. Even the undercover deputies, Lucy and Glenn, had their gazes fixed on the closed door leading from the fellowship hall to the corridor. And then, it eased open.