The Last Mrs. Parrish(13)
She followed Daphne until they reached a cheerful room decorated in yellows and blues. White bookcases lined the walls, and Amber lingered in front of one set, curious to see what Daphne liked to read. The shelves were lined with all the classics, in alphabetical order by author. Starting with Albee all the way to Woolf. She would bet there was no way Daphne had read them all.
“Do you like to read, Amber?”
“Very much. I’m afraid I haven’t read most of these, though. I’m more into contemporary authors. Have you read all of these?”
“Yes, many of them. Jackson likes to discuss great books. We’re only to the H’s. We’re tackling Homer’s The Odyssey. Not quite light reading.” She laughed.
A lovely porcelain turtle, as blue as the Caribbean, caught Amber’s attention and she reached out to touch it. She’d seen a few others throughout the house, each one unique and more exquisite than the last. She could tell they were all expensive, and she wanted to smash them to the floor. Here she was, struggling to make rent every month, and Daphne could throw money away collecting stupid turtles. It was so unfair. She turned away and took a seat on the silk love seat next to Daphne.
“This has been so much fun. Thanks again for having me.”
“It’s been wonderful. I enjoyed having another adult to talk to.”
“Does your husband work late a lot?” Amber asked.
Daphne shrugged. “It depends. He’s usually home for dinner. He likes the family to eat together. But he’s working on a new land deal in California, and with the time difference sometimes it can’t be helped.”
Amber went to pick up the coffee cup from the table in front of her, and her grip slipped. The cup went crashing to the floor.
“I’m so sorry—” The horrified look on Daphne’s face stopped Amber midsentence.
Daphne flew from her chair and out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a white towel and a bowl with some sort of mixture in it. She started blotting the stain with the towel, and then rubbing it with whatever concoction she had mixed up.
“Can I help?” Amber asked.
Daphne didn’t look up. “No, no. I have it. Just wanted to make sure I got to it before the stain set.”
Amber felt helpless, watching Daphne attack the stain as if her life depended on it. Wasn’t that what the help was for? She sat there, feeling like an idiot, while Daphne scrubbed furiously. Amber began to feel less bad and more annoyed. So she’d spilled something. Big deal. At least she hadn’t called anyone ugly.
Daphne stood, took a last look at the now-clean rug, and gave Amber a sheepish shrug. “Goodness. Well, can I get you a new cup?”
Was she for real? “No, that’s okay. I really should be going anyway. It’s getting late.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to go so soon.”
Normally Amber would have stayed, played things out a little longer, but she didn’t trust herself not to give her annoyance away. Besides, she could see that Daphne was still on edge. What a clean freak she was. She’d probably examine the rug with a magnifying glass once Amber left.
“Absolutely. This has been such a great evening. I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with you. I’ll see you next week at the committee meeting.”
“Drive safely,” Daphne said as she closed the door.
Amber glanced at the time on her phone. If she hurried, she could get to the library before it closed and check out a copy of The Odyssey.
Ten
By the third committee meeting, Amber was ready to execute the final stage of Operation Bye-Bye Bunny. Today she was wearing a thin wraparound sweater from the Loft over her best pair of black slacks. She dreaded seeing the other women and enduring their condescending glances and too-polite conversation. She knew she wasn’t one of them, and it infuriated her that she let it get to her. Taking a cleansing breath, she reminded herself that the only one she needed to worry about was Daphne.
Forcing a smile, she rang the bell and waited to be escorted inside.
The housekeeper opened the door in uniform.
“Missus will be down shortly. She left a paper in the conservatory for you to look at while you wait.”
Amber smiled at her. “Thanks, Margarita. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you. The guacamole you made the other evening was divine—never had any as good. What’s your secret ingredient?”
Margarita looked pleased. “Thank you, Miss Amber. You promise not to tell?”
Amber nodded.
She leaned in and whispered, “Cumin.”
Amber hadn’t actually tasted the green goo—she hated avocados—but every woman thinks her own recipes are so special, and it was an easy way to get on someone’s good side.
The room was set up with a breakfast buffet: muffins, fruit, coffee, and tea. Grabbing a mug, Amber filled it to the brim with coffee. She had already reviewed the agenda when Daphne walked into the room, perfectly turned out as usual. Amber rose and gave her a hug. Holding up the piece of paper, she frowned and pointed at the first item. “New cochair needed? What happened to Bunny?”
Daphne sighed and shook her head. “She called me a few days ago and said she had a family emergency to deal with. Something about having to leave town to care for a sick uncle.”