“Oh, that's Eden Matthews," Jane said.
“That's right," Layla replied. "Livvy sometimes whined about having to spend so much time with Eden because their dads were friends. Eden is a bit on the earthy side, I assume."
“She complained about her and still picked her as a bridesmaid?" Jane asked.
Layla laughed. "My bet is that she was another decision that Daddy made.”
Shelley fluffed up one of the limp pillows and stuffed it into a pillowcase. "Why do I have the feeling that we're not all going to be real crazy about Daddy?”
Three
Mr. Willis, the caterer, arrived just before noon. Jane had begun to teeter on the brink of panic again because there was hardly a scrap of food in the house and she had no idea where to even find burgers and fries for Mrs. Crossthwait, Layla, Larkspur, Shelley, and herself. Uncle Joe, wherever he'd taken refuge, certainly had food and probably wouldn't have shared it even if they'd begged for crusts.
Mr. Willis was a tubby little man with a big round head like a pumpkin, perched on top of which was a tottering chef's hat. Jane wondered if he didn't have to glue it to his sparse fair hair to keep it in place. He was probably only in his late twenties, but was stuffy and formal enough to have been much older. He had a spotty teenaged girl assistant who looked like she could step right into the role of Victorian skivvy. He didn't bother to introduce her.
“This kitchen," he exclaimed, investigating his domain, "is a disgrace."
“I did warn you that it might be," Jane said rather than argue with him.
Actually, the kitchen was the only place Uncle Joe seemed to have done much to. The old-fashioned six-burner gas stove was reasonably clean; the big double ovens were ancient, but had only a dusting of crumbs on the bottom. The refrigerator, which was empty except for a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk, was huge and old enough to qualify as an antique. There was also a smallish, more modern freezer, entirely empty, but recently defrosted. There was a very unattractive brown and cream linoleum floor, but the big, deep sinks almost made up for it. Except for a coffeemaker, there were no modern appliances, but Mr. Willis had brought his own favorite gadgets anyway.
The skivvy dragged in a Cuisinart, a blender, a box full of very expensive-looking utensils and truly wicked knives. Then she went back for pots and pans, some of which Jane guessed were worth a good deal more than most large pieces of furniture.
“What about dishes?" Mr. Willis asked, impervious to the skivvy's puffing and panting.
Jane opened a series of cabinets across the room. The house had been built for entertaining and feeding vast numbers and there was a generous and surprisingly high-quality selection of plates, bowls, silverware, and glasses. She had expected Mr. Willis to be impressed, but he just sniffed, "They'll all have to be washed."
“I suppose they will," Jane said mildly and thought, If you think I'm doing it, you're doomed to disappointment.
The skivvy was now hauling in food in grocery bags and coolers while Mr. Willis gazed about disapprovingly. Jane noticed a neat pile of Field and Stream magazines stacked in the pantry and an ashtray with what looked like a fairly fresh cigar stub in it. The kitchen, she figured, was probably Uncle Joe's favorite room.
Jane and Shelley made their escape as quickly as possible. Layla was sitting in the main room, idly flipping through a magazine. "It's so quiet here," she said, smiling. "No children. Do you suppose there's a jigsaw puzzle somewhere?"
“I wouldn't be surprised," Jane said. "This place was meant for leisure activities." With a little searching, they found a cabinet full of entertaining items. Jigsaw puzzles in abundance, packs of playing cards, board games, checker and chess sets. Even a Ouija board. They'd have to make sure Mrs. Crossthwait didn't learn about that and go off on auras again.
“I'm so glad I had to come early for my last dress fitting," Layla said. "I can hardly remember the last time I had Nothing To Do. I'm loving it."
“Have you had the fitting?" Jane asked. "Is your dress nearly ready?"
“Yes. Mrs. Crossthwait is buzzing away up there on her sewing machine. She's a bit short on the social graces, isn't she? Jumped all over me for having the wrong shoes and underwear and then went off on a tangent about being careful of bad auras.”
There was a sudden loud "Bong!" which startled all of them.
“What was that?" Layla asked.
“Either the doorbell, or someone announcing the end of the world," Shelley said.
The woman at the door was not so much overweight as stocky. Short, but with a big-boned look. With that figure and the oddly crimped short hair, she reminded Jane of the field hockey mistress at a school she'd attended in England when she was a teenager. "You must be Mrs. Jeffry," the young woman said. "I'm Kitty Wilson."
“Bring your things in, Kitty, and please call me Jane." Jane introduced her to Shelley and Layla and said, "I'll show you where your room is, then we better get you up to Mrs. Crossthwait for your last fitting."
“Are Livvy and Dwayne here yet?" Kitty asked as they made their way to the corridor with the monks' rooms.
“No, they don't arrive until tomorrow. There are lots of rooms, but they all share a bath with someone. I've put you and Layla together. Is that all right?"
“Oh, of course. Isn't Layla gorgeous? I wonder how Livvy knows her."
“They were in high school together. What's your connection to Livvy?"
“I'm a secretary at Novelties.”
“Novelties?"
“The Thatcher family company. Livvy is vice president."
“I knew there was a family business," Jane said, "but I didn't know what it was. What does Novelties do?"
“We supply companies with personalized novelty items. Company t-shirts, mugs, pens, key chains, that sort of thing. With their company logo imprinted. We also make up award plaques and framed tributes to retiring employees. Most of the items are little junky things, but some are very nice. Expensive fountain pens with names in gold, crystal paperweights with carved accomplishments — fifty years' service awards and such."
“Here's your room. The bathroom is there and Layla's room is just beyond," Jane said. "What an interesting business. I never even wondered where all those things came from.”
Kitty set her suitcases on the bed. She looked as if she'd packed for a month instead of just a couple days. Kitty had carried two big suitcases, Jane had carried a small one and a box. Jane half expected a trunk to be delivered later. "It's an old company," Kitty said. "Livvy's grandfather, Oliver Wendell Thatcher, founded it, I think. Or maybe it was his father. We have a little museum in the office complex with a bunch of old stuff they did. Wooden rulers with lumberyard names, stamped leather change purses from the twenties."
“This sounds like a big operation," Jane said. "And Livvy is vice president?"
“She's really the president and CEO although her father still officially holds those titles. But Livvy does all the work."
“And you're her secretary?"
“No, I'm the secretary of two of the sales reps. Oh, you're wondering, I imagine, why she chose me as a bridesmaid? That's because I introduced her to Dwayne. I had a blind date with him and we ran into Livvy at the movies. I introduced them and the rest, as they say, is history."
“Oh, I see. I'm sorry to rush you, but—"
“I know. The fitting.”
Jane showed her to the big upstairs room where Mrs. Crossthwait had been installed. Layla and Shelley were there as well, apparently out of sheer boredom. Kitty stripped down to her slip and tried on the jacket of her boxy suit. It was really enormously flattering to her chunky figure. Mrs. Crossthwait fussed about, measuring and turning the sleeves and pinning them in place.
“Is that all that remains to do?" Jane asked loudly.
“That and the skirt hem," Mrs. Crossthwait said. "Take off the jacket, dear.”
Kitty slipped the skirt on and fumbled at the back of the skirt waistband for the button.
“I'll do that, dear," Mrs. Crossthwait said. "Hmmm. You've put on a bit of weight, haven't you?"
“I have not. You must have put the button inthe wrong place." Kitty looked extremely embarrassed at having her figure criticized while she was standing around in her slip in front of strangers.