Venus in Blue Jeans (21 page)

“Now, now, Mr. Carlson.” Arthur Craven buttoned his suit coat, pushing his way through the crowd. “Surely, this can all be taken care of. The Konigsburg Merchants Association lawyer checked into the correct procedure for the benefit before we became sponsors.”

Carlson’s jaw was set. “A formal protest has been lodged. It has to be investigated.”

“Fine.” Craven patted him on the shoulder. “You just go right ahead and investigate. We’ll go on with the dancing part of things.”

Carlson raised his chin, ready for combat. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. In fact, I think it would be best if you sent all these people home.”

“What?” Docia’s hands closed into fists. Cal moved behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder. Her body trembled slightly beneath his fingers.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Carlson. This is bullshit and you know it!” Ken had stepped to her other side.

Carlson squinted at him, his jaw rigid. “I repeat, a formal protest has been lodged. There are questions.”

“What if I give back the money?” Docia’s voice was low, but several of the guests turned to stare at her. “If I give the library my own money, and refund the money these people paid for tickets, then it’s just a party I’m throwing for a hundred of my friends, right?”

Carlson blinked at her. “I suppose it is.”

“All right then, that’s settled.” Docia took a deep breath and blew it out. For a moment, Cal caught her gaze—her eyes were frightened.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Go for it.”

Docia nodded once, then hopped up on the makeshift bandstand, motioning Bonner for the microphone. “Junior? I need to make an announcement.” She turned to the crowd, raising her head high. “Folks? As you may have just heard, it’s a free party now. Before you leave, please stop at the front table and we’ll refund your money. Now let’s get this party going again!”

She handed the microphone back to Junior, smiling a brilliant smile that never reached her eyes, then hopped down again, jamming her hands in her pockets.

Cal wondered if he was the only one who noticed the tightness in her shoulders and around the line of her jaw.

“Problem solved.” Docia raised her head, stretching her lips in another thin smile. Cal put a protective arm around her waist.

Carlson gave her a hard look, as if he couldn’t quite accept anything that was so simple. After a moment, he shrugged, sliding his notebook into his pocket. “I’ll let you know when my investigation is complete, Ms. Kent.”

Docia nodded, watching him walk toward the gate. Bonner picked up his fiddle and began to play something sprightly in swing time. One by one couples drifted back onto the lawn, shuffling to the music.

Docia still held herself stiffly, her mouth a narrow line as she watched people dance by, her body rigid.

Cal pulled her into his arms, more for comfort than to dance. “You did good, kid,” he whispered against her hair. “We’ll work it out later. Don’t worry about it. Maybe I can help out with the money.” Of course, about the only way he could do that would be by panhandling on Main.

For a moment, they stood together, Docia’s forehead resting on his collarbone. Then she pulled back and gave him a slightly wider smile. “It’s okay. Really. As long as the money goes to the library. I just don’t want people to be upset. I thought they were enjoying themselves.”

Somewhere Junior Bonner played “Ida Red” and everybody whirled around Docia’s backyard.

“They still are. The party’s a success, in spite of the TABC.” Cal tightened his arm around her shoulders, keeping her against his chest. “How much money are we talking about here?” He glanced around the yard. Maybe a hundred and fifty people, all told.

Docia blew out a quick breath. “Around three or four thousand, I think.”

Cal whistled softly.

“It’s okay,” she repeated. “If I can’t cover it myself, I can get a loan. Or I can ask my mom for help.” Her mouth twisted slightly in a parody of a smile. “I’m good at that.”

A hand touched Cal’s arm, and he pulled back to see Horace Rankin and Bethany standing beside them. Horace turned to Docia. To Cal’s amazement, he managed a more-than-courtly bow.

“Ms. Docia, that was one beautiful gesture, if I do say so myself. I’m pleased to be considered one of your hundred friends.”

Docia grinned. “Gee, Horace, I’m delighted to think of you that way myself.”

Horace waggled his moustache. “At any rate, I wanted to let you know that you don’t need to refund my donation because I’ll be donating it right back to the library again.”

“I’ll second that,” Arthur Craven cut in, stepping up beside them. “I’m going to be doubling my own contribution. In fact, I’m going to suggest we consider this the Docia Kent Matching Fund.”

Craven pulled Bethany into an enthusiastic two-step, while Horace watched with a jaundiced eye. “Trust Craven to turn charity into a competitive sport. Anyway, Docia, I just wanted to tell you, you did a good thing.”

“Thanks, Horace.” Docia cleared her throat. Cal noticed her eyes were suspiciously bright. “I promise never to bring Nico to you for shots again.”

Horace grinned. “Give him to Toleffson, here. They’ve bonded.” He headed toward the wine table where Ken poured him a glass of red.

A woman Cal recognized as Elsa Carmichael, the weaver from Main Street, stepped up and gave Docia a hug. “Nicely done, honey. And I don’t want a refund. Just give it to the library.”

“Neither do I.” Mrs. Grimsby beamed at them, then turned to Cal. “By the way, Doc, Miss Kitty is coughing again. Should I bring her around?”

Cal managed to smile in spite of the image of another one of Mrs. Grimsby’s Persians and its perennial hairballs. “Sure. Maybe next week.”

People drifted up to them in ones and twos, shaking Docia’s hand and hugging her, telling her they didn’t want their money back or that they’d double it and give it all to the library. After ten minutes, Cal noticed that Docia’s shoulders had relaxed significantly, although her lower lip was beginning to tremble.

“Can I have this dance, ma’am?” Cal extended a hand quickly. “I promise not to trip over you more than twice.”

Docia took his hands and pulled them around her waist, plastering her body against his, her eyes still suspiciously bright. “C’mon, Doc, let’s do some dirty dancing. I’ve been noble for fifteen whole minutes now. I’d hate to ruin my naughty reputation.”

Cal wound his arm around her hips and began to slide his feet across the grass. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice sang,
Mine, mine, mine!

Chapter Thirteen

Long after everyone else had left, Docia sat with Cal, Allie, Wonder, Janie, Lee and Ken, eating leftover cheese and drinking the last of the wine.

“It really was a great party, Docia,” Janie mused. “I mean, apart from the fact you’re donating all that money on top of paying for the party and all.” Her brow furrowed. “Is that going to be a problem? I mean are you going to have to close down the shop or anything?”

Docia sighed. She’d managed not to think about the TABC for the past hour. “No, Janie, it’s not a problem. If I need to, I’ll get a loan. We should make out all right.”

“I’m donating my end of things,” Allie murmured. “The bread’s on me.”

“Count us in on that.” Lee nodded. “At least as far as the sausage and stuff. I don’t think the restaurant could afford to spring for the wine.” He shook his head. “Who do you think made the complaint? It’s so stupid. Why would anybody try to close the party down when everybody was enjoying themselves?”

“They did enjoy themselves, didn’t they?” A warm little glow began in Docia’s stomach. Of course, the fact that Cal had his arm around her shoulders might have something to do with that.

“Aw, hell, we all know who did it.” Wonder poured the last of some sauvignon blanc into his glass, then turned to grimace at Docia. “It had to be Margaret angels-are-my-middle-name Hastings. As to why, you’d need to ask her shrink.”

“Oh, we also know why.” Allie frowned. “Liddy Brenner is her freakin’ festival and she’s not sharing it with anybody, particularly not you. It’s just spite.”

The warm little glow diminished to a spark. Docia leaned down to pick up a couple of crumpled napkins at her feet. She really didn’t want to think about Margaret Hastings just then. In fact, she didn’t want to think about much of anything except the way Cal’s face had looked when he’d swept her out for the last waltz of the night. “I don’t understand any of this. I hardly know Margaret Hastings—I don’t think I’ve ever said more than a few words to her.”

“You played it just right, honey.” Ken reached out to pat her hand with a sympathetic smile. “Brilliant PR, if I do say so myself. You’ll come out of this smelling like a rose—trust me.”

“She already smells like a rose,” Cal murmured, “in all the right places.”

Docia didn’t think anyone else heard him—her cheeks heated up anyway.

Lee shook his head. “The real question is, what are we going to do about all of this? I’d love to see you challenge Margaret Hastings to a showdown at high noon, but she’d probably find a way to weasel out of it. Like saying the noon sun was bad for her skin.”

“Why should Docia do anything?” Cal’s voice was quiet. “She took care of the problem. Just let it be.”

Docia’s glow began to rekindle again. She turned to look at him. In the dim moonlight filling her backyard, his face was dark, sculpted by shadows.

“The TABC will investigate and find out the complaint doesn’t hold water, and that’ll be the end of it. This is Margaret’s problem, not Docia’s. Margaret’s pathetic. Just let her go. Sooner or later, she’ll trip herself up.”

Cal’s fingertips stroked the back of her neck in the darkness. Beads of heat like electric sparks seemed to flow from his fingers to her skin.

“Idaho, you are an example to us all,” Wonder mused. “One we’ll probably ignore. If nothing else, I intend to see Ms. Hastings doesn’t do Docia any harm through the Merchants Association. And I’m willing to bet Arthur Craven will serve as my ready assistant.”

“How could she do anything to me at the association?” Docia’s eyelids felt so heavy she had to struggle to keep them open. Cal’s hand had moved down to knead her shoulders and she arched against his fingers. “And I repeat, why does she want to? What have I done to her?”

Allie leaned forward to pick up a stray bit of manchego cheese. “It’s the dress, honey. I didn’t want to tell you while all of this was going on because it was so silly. But she’s been calling people all day about that dress you wore to the street dance.”

“Sweet Betsy?” Cal’s hand stopped moving.

Docia almost moaned in protest. “What about Sweet Betsy?”

“You have to follow Margaret’s thought patterns, so hang on.” Allie handed some Stilton to Wonder. “Margaret thought your costume was too sexy. She leaped to the conclusion you were supposed to be Liddy, only an insulting version of her. Liddy as dancehall girl.”

Docia sat forward, leaning her elbows on her knees. Cal moved his hand to the small of her back again. “Liddy didn’t exist. How could I insult her?”

“Okay, you insulted the
idea
of her.” Allie shook her head. “Or Margaret’s idea of her, anyway. Go along with me here, I’m trying to give you an approximation of her thinking, such as it was. Anyway, Margaret says since Liddy is the Spirit of Konigsburg, you insulted the town itself. She wants you banned from the Merchants Association.”

“She actually told you this?” Docia heard her voice rise to a squeak.

“No, she has more sense than to call me. She called Arthur, and Midge Torres heard his end of it.” Allie reached for the last bit of Amish blue. “Midge told me Arthur had to field some calls from other members this afternoon wondering what the hell was going on. Margaret called as many members as she could reach.”

Docia rubbed her hands along her upper arms, fighting a chill. “Is Arthur going to do what she asks? Am I going to be shunned or something?” All the glow had disappeared, leaving an ice cube in its place.

“Arthur will do whatever he thinks the majority in the association and the town want him to do. Arthur has less backbone than the average amoeba.” Wonder sorted through the bottles, looking for one that still had some wine. Ken handed him some malbec. “Our job is to make sure Arthur sustains the indignation he was running on tonight.”

Lee shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard. From what I saw here tonight, nobody’s going to be too enthusiastic about going after Docia. And Horace can help to keep Arthur stoked.”

“Right.” Allie nodded decisively. “And we can keep him fed. I’ll send him scones on Monday with a note about how much we all enjoyed the party. Remind him how terrific it was and how much money it raised for the library. You give him something special when he wanders in for dinner that night.”

Lee’s eyes lit up. Beside him, Ken groaned. “No, Lee, not the sweetbreads. This is Konigsburg. Make him steak Diane or something.”

“Whatever.” Allie waved her hand. “The thing is, we stuff him with good eats and remind him how nice this wine and cheese evening was. Point out how it’s going to double the library fund, assuming everybody follows Horace’s lead and re-donates. Tell him what a shame it was
someone
tried to upset things when everybody else was so happy.”