The Newcomer (Thunder Point #2)(73)

“You talk to her?”

“We’ve had the occasional glass of wine, nothing big. So?”

Carrie narrowed her eyes. “If you start to bicker, I’m going to hurt you.”

Lou laughed.

“You’re an invited guest,” Carrie said. “I don’t feel right about this.”

Lou laughed again. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll hit the next twentieth anniversary party in a couple of years.”

Carrie gasped. “I didn’t say anything about that!”

“Did you think I didn’t know? She’s been fudging that for a long time now. Everyone knows. So what? She got caught. It’s been known to happen.”

“But you’ve only lived here four years! I’ve been here since before they moved to Thunder Point!”

“Carrie, everyone knows. See, here’s the lesson—if you have secrets to keep, at least be nice so people feel like helping you keep them. Marjorie has been a pain in the ass because she thinks she’s going to buy the world with her son’s future in pro baseball.” Then she reflected, looking up. “The kid is amazing. I bet he’s going to kill ’em with that arm.” Then she grew serious. “Marjorie should remember, it’s not her arm.”

“Well, much as I’d love to give her a large piece of my mind, I have a business to run and my only goal for this party is that it be perfect. If I were rich or even more comfortable financially, I wouldn’t have taken the job, even though she asked me before Downy and Ashley broke up. The truth is, in a town of fifteen hundred, I can’t afford to be too picky about catering contracts. I have a reputation to uphold—I won’t shortchange a customer because I don’t personally like them. If you’re not on board with that—”

“I’m on board, I’m on board,” Lou said. She reached out and put a comforting hand on Carrie’s forearm. “You’re my closest friend. Even though I pretty much want to shove Marjorie and her precious son in a hole right now, no one will ever know it!”

* * *

Carrie put out a beautiful spread and her presentation was, as always, fetching—a long buffet and refreshment table garnished with roses and baby’s breath that she drove all the way to her favorite nursery east of Bandon to buy. She served crab and salmon canapés, deviled eggs garnished with caviar, though not the most expensive brand, tapenade on small toast rounds, stuffed grape leaves, hot artichoke dip with thin sliced baguette, bite-size beef burgundy and a variety of relishes. There was also a beautiful white cake that said Happy Anniversary in silver frosting. She brought her champagne flutes for a toast and set up a wine bar at the end of the dining room. And Marjorie looked very nice in a new dress for the occasion.

Her husband, Crawford Senior, who everyone called Ford, had other ideas about the party. He ran some Christmas lights between the trees in the backyard and put out a couple of coolers of beer along with a bowl of chips and salsa on the picnic table. It seemed most of the guests, especially the men, preferred to be out there. Many of them loaded up on hors d’oeuvres and took their plates outside to mix them up with chips and beer. The women appreciated the wine bar and fancy nibbles, content to sit around the living room, gossiping. Nothing Marjorie could do would coax the men inside.

Downy brought his new girlfriend, a beautiful and tiny young thing dressed for sex with a very short skirt, high shoes, see-through blouse not covering her purple bra. Her long black hair was loose and flowing and she was stuck to Downy like lint. They pawed each other and drank too much beer, although they were underage and everyone knew it, so when the deputy showed up, Ford told them to go hide in one of the bedrooms. Not ten minutes later there was a scream. One of the women at the party went looking for her purse, opened the bedroom door and found them stark naked, in flagrante.

Carrie had a helluva time rounding everyone up for a champagne toast after that but managed to convince Ford to do this one thing for his wife. Carrie, though not exactly commissioned to do so, took as many pictures of them toasting and cutting the cake as she could grab.

Then Ford was back outside with a box of cigars.

By eleven Carrie, Lou and Ray Anne had cleaned up, put the rest of the hors d’oeuvres on disposable but attractive plastic plates, washed out the chafing dishes and serving utensils and loaded everything in Carrie’s van. Carrie told Marjorie good-night and Marjorie said, “Thank you, Carrie. I think it went very well.” And Carrie wondered if the woman was being brave or delusional.

Once in the van she said, “I need a glass of wine.”

“I could use something stronger,” Lou said. “I’m completely exhausted.”

“Not at my house, where Gina and Ashley will probably be waiting for a report. Not at your house, where Eve will be listening and will report to Ashley.” They both looked at Ray Anne.

“All right,” she said. “All right. My house.”

There was no talking in the van as Carrie drove them to Ray Anne’s little bungalow on the hill, just ten blocks from the Downys’. Like everything in Thunder Point, it was close. It was only five minutes to get there and eight minutes before Ray Anne was opening a cold white and pouring it into three glasses. They sat in the living room, kicking off their shoes. They sipped their wine and just sat quiet for a moment.

“I’ve seen it a hundred times,” Carrie finally said. “It’s the hardest part about this work—people with huge expectations are always disappointed.”