Bloodline(51)

The thought leaves me strangely cold.

But Dorothy and Barbara are buzzing around my kitchen, so confident, so at home, both of them cooing over my pregnancy and the town happenings and their excitement for the party, that I decide to go with the flow. It’s so cozy, almost like being mothered.

Between them, they’ve brought serving platters and a large ham, already cooked. It only needs to be warmed. Same with the scalloped potatoes. Dorothy even brought a nut-covered cheeseball, Ritz crackers, and sliced olives for appetizers. That leaves me to boil vegetables, set Jell-O salads, and warm bread. It’s pleasant, mindless kitchen work. Our conversation stays on the surface, avoiding all but the easy things.

When the first people begin showing up, the house smells wonderful. The china and sterling flatware Barbara and Ronald left in the built-ins are laid out, a feast served family-style. My own mother would be proud. I feel a sharp ache as I realize I’ve missed the one-year anniversary of her death.

“Joan, come over here,” Ronald calls to me from the front door, where he’s standing next to Amory Bauer. Ronald has been manning the door as if this were still his house. (And unlike his wife, he didn’t keep his opinions of my hair to himself. When he first saw it, his face went tomato red, and he sputtered, “And isn’t long hair a woman’s pride and joy? For it has been given to her as a covering,” before Deck led him away.) “You haven’t spoken to Amory about Paulie Aandeg yet.”

It no longer bothers me that Ronald knows that, that he probably knows everyone I’ve spoken with since I moved to Lilydale. I separate myself from the pack of women I’ve been chatting with. Mousy Mildred, stern-faced Catherine, beneficent Barbara, Birdie Rue, Saint Dorothy.

“I’m so glad Ronald told me it was you,” Amory says, his eyes glittering dangerously as I approach. “With that hair, I’d have taken you for a new boy in town. What is it you want to know about the Paulie Aandeg case?”

I try to force the smile to reach my eyes, but it gets hung up at my mouth. Whether your son had anything to do with his disappearance, I want to say. “Thank you for coming. I guess I want to know if there is anything that didn’t make it into the newspapers.”

“You know newspapers,” he says. “They get half the story and make up the rest.” Though he’s grinning, it’s not kind. He wants me to feel bad.

I mirror his smile. “If you give me the whole story, I won’t have to make up a thing.”

His eyes narrow. “Not much to tell. The boy disappeared, and then his mother went missing the same night her house burned down. What do you make of that?”

He wants me to say that it sounds like Mrs. Aandeg had something to hide. “Your son, Aramis, was in Paulie’s class.”

Amory’s smile slides toward ugly. “Who told you that?”

Ronald puts his hand on Amory’s shoulder. “I told you she spoke to Becky Swanson. The boys’ teacher the day Paulie disappeared.”

It’s interesting to see the effect Ronald’s touch has on Amory. It deflates him. I had assumed the police chief rather than the mayor had the power in the relationship, but that’s clearly not the case.

“Aramis is overseas,” Amory tells me, his eyes burning into me. “We’re lucky to get a phone call every few months. You won’t be able to get ahold of him, but if you did, he wouldn’t have anything to tell you. He was a child.”

“Same with Quill Brody?” I ask.

“Same with Quill Brody,” Amory says, copying my words exactly.

I don’t want to give up, not without at least a single piece of new information. “You met Kris Jefferson, the man who claims to be Paulie Aandeg?”

“Interviewed him when he first came to town. Not much to learn there.”

I won’t let this go. “Do you think he’s Paulie?”

Amory claps me on the back. “We’ll find out tonight!”

He pushes past me. For a moment I wonder if he’s too big for my house, like a giant who’s wandered into the land of humans. But that’s silly. He fits in just fine. These are his people, and he’s only a man, not even as large as Clan.

I’m about to close the screen door when I spot the couple strolling up my walk. Everyone who Deck invited is here except Dennis from the newspaper, who couldn’t make it because he had to cover the baseball game.

That leaves the two people I invited: Regina and Kris.

Kris is empty-handed. Regina is carrying a jug of Mountain Red.

She hands it to me. “Hope your group will like it!”

She’s going for funny, but she’s clearly nervous. She’s wearing a miniskirt that this crowd will think is too short and a blouse that is scandalously low cut. Kris, earthy and gorgeous as ever, is wearing patched jeans and an India print shirt. He’ll also stand out like a sore thumb, but his languid body posture informs the world that he couldn’t care less if he tried.

I kiss Regina on the cheek. “If they don’t like Mountain Red, they’re assholes,” I whisper.

“I dig your hair, and something smells delicious,” Kris says perfunctorily, stepping past me to strut into the house. “Let’s get this done and over with.”

I wonder what he knows that I don’t. There isn’t much time for speculation, though. The food is growing cold. Deck and Ronald set up three card tables next to the dining room table so we can all eat in the same room. It makes four separate conversations, but I catch bits. Amory joking that the whole city council is in my dining room, plus the draft board. The Jacksons, who own Little John’s, speaking to Regina about a belligerent customer they had to kick out the night before. Clan, Deck, and Ronald talking insurance and, when Clan mentions how it’s time for a crow hunt to let off some steam, the men laughing. Mildred Schramel is trying to keep my attention, telling me she is sure she’ll get used to my hair and that she hopes I have a boy, because it’s so much work having girls.