them all standing in front of a life ring imprinted with the cruise ship’s logo. Harrison was grinning for the camera and looking enormously pleased with himself.
A closer examination of the picture revealed why he might possibly have been so proud. The two young women were both lovely. As far as Chloe was concerned, her natural beauty was far more apparent when her lips weren’t curled into a sneer and when the white heat of anger toward her mother hadn’t robbed her cheeks of all their natural color. Even though I remembered Margaret Featherman mentioning Harrison’s new wife, I couldn’t recall her name as I examined the photo. Her exotic beauty was more subtle than Chloe’s, and seemed to come from the inside out. On further study I realized that not only was the new Mrs. Harrison Featherman a looker, she was also pregnant — very pregnant. If my memory of such things served, she had to be at least eight months along. I wondered if going on a cruise that late in her pregnancy had been recommended or approved of by her ob-gyn.
I glanced back at the white-haired Dr. Featherman, who had to be a decade or so older than I am. Harrison, you randy old devil, you! I said to him silently. Fathering a child at your age! But I’ll bet having a wailing newborn baby in the house, or better yet, a terrible-twos toddler, will wipe that smile off your face in a hell of a hurry. I walked away from the picture grateful that I wasn’t standing in Harrison Featherman’s shoes.
Several sections of pictures away, I finally caught sight of Beverly and Lars posed in front of the selfsame logo-emblazoned life ring. Pulling the photo from its place, I went on to peruse the collection of pirate pictures.
“You’re not buying any of those crazy pictures, are you?” Lars asked, coming up behind me and standing at my elbow just as the clerk slipped my purchases into a bag. “They cost an arm and a leg.”
“I wanted one of your ‘Welcome Aboards,’ ” I told him. “And I really got a kick out of the one of you and the lady pirate.”
“It’s yust so much foolishness,” he grumbled. “Some other danged excuse to take your money.”
Not surprisingly, Lars hadn’t sprung for a tux. He was wearing a pill-covered tweed sport coat with leather patches at both elbows. His trousers had grown shiny and crease-free through years of wear. His one concession to formality was a tie — a brand-new one that had Beverly’s touch written all over it.
“Where’s your lovely bride?” I asked.
Lars shook his head dolefully. “Still getting all fixed up,” he said. “She rented one of those fancy dresses from that store right next door to the jewelry shop. She wanted me to rent one of those monkey suits, too, just like the one you’re wearing, but I told her no way was I getting in one of those. She yust came back from the beauty shop a few minutes ago. She had her hair done in some god-awful thing she called an upsweep. If you ask me, her hair looks like the fender of a fifty-seven Cadillac.”
“You didn’t tell her that, I hope,” I told him.
“Are you kidding? Do I look dumb or something?” Lars laughed and gave me a playful punch to the shoulder. “I don’t want to be locked out of the room two nights in a row.”
Lars and I waited for Beverly Piedmont Jenssen near the entrance to the dining room and caught sight of her riding down in the glass elevator. Looking fetching and festive in her black, long-sleeved gown, she waved at us from the elevator. Someone in the beauty shop had given her a hand with her makeup. She looked twenty years younger than she had the last time I saw her that morning. Lars might complain about the cost, but he sure couldn’t gripe about the results. That was the good news. The bad news, unfortunately, was that her hairdo really did resemble the fender on a
A closer examination of the picture revealed why he might possibly have been so proud. The two young women were both lovely. As far as Chloe was concerned, her natural beauty was far more apparent when her lips weren’t curled into a sneer and when the white heat of anger toward her mother hadn’t robbed her cheeks of all their natural color. Even though I remembered Margaret Featherman mentioning Harrison’s new wife, I couldn’t recall her name as I examined the photo. Her exotic beauty was more subtle than Chloe’s, and seemed to come from the inside out. On further study I realized that not only was the new Mrs. Harrison Featherman a looker, she was also pregnant — very pregnant. If my memory of such things served, she had to be at least eight months along. I wondered if going on a cruise that late in her pregnancy had been recommended or approved of by her ob-gyn.
I glanced back at the white-haired Dr. Featherman, who had to be a decade or so older than I am. Harrison, you randy old devil, you! I said to him silently. Fathering a child at your age! But I’ll bet having a wailing newborn baby in the house, or better yet, a terrible-twos toddler, will wipe that smile off your face in a hell of a hurry. I walked away from the picture grateful that I wasn’t standing in Harrison Featherman’s shoes.
Several sections of pictures away, I finally caught sight of Beverly and Lars posed in front of the selfsame logo-emblazoned life ring. Pulling the photo from its place, I went on to peruse the collection of pirate pictures.
“You’re not buying any of those crazy pictures, are you?” Lars asked, coming up behind me and standing at my elbow just as the clerk slipped my purchases into a bag. “They cost an arm and a leg.”
“I wanted one of your ‘Welcome Aboards,’ ” I told him. “And I really got a kick out of the one of you and the lady pirate.”
“It’s yust so much foolishness,” he grumbled. “Some other danged excuse to take your money.”
Not surprisingly, Lars hadn’t sprung for a tux. He was wearing a pill-covered tweed sport coat with leather patches at both elbows. His trousers had grown shiny and crease-free through years of wear. His one concession to formality was a tie — a brand-new one that had Beverly’s touch written all over it.
“Where’s your lovely bride?” I asked.
Lars shook his head dolefully. “Still getting all fixed up,” he said. “She rented one of those fancy dresses from that store right next door to the jewelry shop. She wanted me to rent one of those monkey suits, too, just like the one you’re wearing, but I told her no way was I getting in one of those. She yust came back from the beauty shop a few minutes ago. She had her hair done in some god-awful thing she called an upsweep. If you ask me, her hair looks like the fender of a fifty-seven Cadillac.”
“You didn’t tell her that, I hope,” I told him.
“Are you kidding? Do I look dumb or something?” Lars laughed and gave me a playful punch to the shoulder. “I don’t want to be locked out of the room two nights in a row.”
Lars and I waited for Beverly Piedmont Jenssen near the entrance to the dining room and caught sight of her riding down in the glass elevator. Looking fetching and festive in her black, long-sleeved gown, she waved at us from the elevator. Someone in the beauty shop had given her a hand with her makeup. She looked twenty years younger than she had the last time I saw her that morning. Lars might complain about the cost, but he sure couldn’t gripe about the results. That was the good news. The bad news, unfortunately, was that her hairdo really did resemble the fender on a
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