Read Online Veiled Threats by DEBORAH DONNELLY - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: DEBORAH DONNELLY
Ads: Link
quiet lately. You're picking up the check, right? Or do you just want to owe me a chicken?”
When I got home the phone was ringing: Mom. I skipped all the bad news and told her about Nickie's dress instead. As I described it to her I took the cordless phone outside to the deck. The evening was cool and still, reflected lights wavering just a little on the black water of the lake.
“She looks just like an old portrait, Mom, or a cameo,” I concluded, settling down cross-legged on the planks. “I wish you could see her. So, anyway, have you heard from Timmy?”
“He says Sue has morning sickness, but only at night.” My kid brother Tim, who had chipped in for my loan, was in graduate school in Illinois with his newly pregnant wife. Another reason for big sister to pay her debts. “He sends you his love.”
“Tell him he'll have his money back soon,” I said, painfully aware that I'd said that before. I slipped off a moccasin and reached one leg down to dip my toes in the lake. Ouch. The water was much too cold even for dabbling. How could people swim in that stuff?
“Oh, Tim's not worried,” Mom said. “Eddie told me last night how well you're doing.”
“He did? I mean, good.”
“He said the loan won't be any problem at all.”
“Well, he's the money man,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt, “so it must be true.” I wouldn't see Eddie again till Monday, but then I'd have to ask him the source of this remarkable optimism. After my apology, of course.
“But Carrie, what are you doing home on a Friday night?” My mother was the only one who still called me Carrie, and the only one who thought I had a date every weekend.
“Well, Mom, I've got this big function tomorrow.”
“Have you met anyone nice lately?”
Had I? I thought about it, while I said something noncommittal and my mother went on chatting. Did Holt Walker qualify as nice, or just handsome, successful, and up to his knees in money? I hadn't even mentioned him to Lily, let alone to Mom, because I didn't want to be interrogated. And face it, I was still smarting from the cold shoulder he'd given me downtown. Nice shoulders, though. But that way lies madness.
“Nobody special, Mom, but you never know. Maybe Mr. Right will be at the bash tomorrow. Just pray for sunshine for me.”
She promised she would, and left me to my thoughts.
S OMETIMES A MOTHER ’ S PRAYERS ARE ANSWERED . W HEN I WOKE up Saturday, June had decided to impersonate July. The sun would shine on the senator, his supporters, and the ladies and gentlemen of the press while they ate grilled shrimp and drank moderately priced chardonnay, courtesy of a Republican wine merchant. And I wouldn't have to move the picnic tables inside. Wonderful.
But I couldn't decide what to wear. The jade silk? Too dressy for a picnic. Slacks and sweater? To o casual for the paid staff. I settled on a summery, pale-peach outfit with a soft skirt and a casual, unlined jacket over a white eyelet blouse. The gathered skirt made me look less of a beanpole, and the peach went surprisingly well with my red hair, not that anyone would notice. “Anyone” meaning Holt Walker, of course. Maybe he'd just been distracted the other day downtown. Maybe he'd find the shrimp and sunshine quite relaxing and romantic. Maybe pigs could fly. I checked my lipstick twice in Vanna's rearview mirror, and whistled “Some Enchanted Evening” through my teeth all the way across the lake.
If I were a senator, and somebody threw me a fund-raiser, I'd want it to look like the spread at Douglas Parry's that day. It was all postcard-perfect: the icy white mountain rising beyond the glittering azure lake, gala green-and-white stripedtents on a vast emerald lawn, tables of food and buckets of wine, and the kind of well-wishers who arrive by sailboat and BMW. Once the Dixieland band struck up “Tiger Rag,” I was ready to vote for the guy myself.
Joe Solveto had brought his best staff, dressed in
When I got home the phone was ringing: Mom. I skipped all the bad news and told her about Nickie's dress instead. As I described it to her I took the cordless phone outside to the deck. The evening was cool and still, reflected lights wavering just a little on the black water of the lake.
“She looks just like an old portrait, Mom, or a cameo,” I concluded, settling down cross-legged on the planks. “I wish you could see her. So, anyway, have you heard from Timmy?”
“He says Sue has morning sickness, but only at night.” My kid brother Tim, who had chipped in for my loan, was in graduate school in Illinois with his newly pregnant wife. Another reason for big sister to pay her debts. “He sends you his love.”
“Tell him he'll have his money back soon,” I said, painfully aware that I'd said that before. I slipped off a moccasin and reached one leg down to dip my toes in the lake. Ouch. The water was much too cold even for dabbling. How could people swim in that stuff?
“Oh, Tim's not worried,” Mom said. “Eddie told me last night how well you're doing.”
“He did? I mean, good.”
“He said the loan won't be any problem at all.”
“Well, he's the money man,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt, “so it must be true.” I wouldn't see Eddie again till Monday, but then I'd have to ask him the source of this remarkable optimism. After my apology, of course.
“But Carrie, what are you doing home on a Friday night?” My mother was the only one who still called me Carrie, and the only one who thought I had a date every weekend.
“Well, Mom, I've got this big function tomorrow.”
“Have you met anyone nice lately?”
Had I? I thought about it, while I said something noncommittal and my mother went on chatting. Did Holt Walker qualify as nice, or just handsome, successful, and up to his knees in money? I hadn't even mentioned him to Lily, let alone to Mom, because I didn't want to be interrogated. And face it, I was still smarting from the cold shoulder he'd given me downtown. Nice shoulders, though. But that way lies madness.
“Nobody special, Mom, but you never know. Maybe Mr. Right will be at the bash tomorrow. Just pray for sunshine for me.”
She promised she would, and left me to my thoughts.
S OMETIMES A MOTHER ’ S PRAYERS ARE ANSWERED . W HEN I WOKE up Saturday, June had decided to impersonate July. The sun would shine on the senator, his supporters, and the ladies and gentlemen of the press while they ate grilled shrimp and drank moderately priced chardonnay, courtesy of a Republican wine merchant. And I wouldn't have to move the picnic tables inside. Wonderful.
But I couldn't decide what to wear. The jade silk? Too dressy for a picnic. Slacks and sweater? To o casual for the paid staff. I settled on a summery, pale-peach outfit with a soft skirt and a casual, unlined jacket over a white eyelet blouse. The gathered skirt made me look less of a beanpole, and the peach went surprisingly well with my red hair, not that anyone would notice. “Anyone” meaning Holt Walker, of course. Maybe he'd just been distracted the other day downtown. Maybe he'd find the shrimp and sunshine quite relaxing and romantic. Maybe pigs could fly. I checked my lipstick twice in Vanna's rearview mirror, and whistled “Some Enchanted Evening” through my teeth all the way across the lake.
If I were a senator, and somebody threw me a fund-raiser, I'd want it to look like the spread at Douglas Parry's that day. It was all postcard-perfect: the icy white mountain rising beyond the glittering azure lake, gala green-and-white stripedtents on a vast emerald lawn, tables of food and buckets of wine, and the kind of well-wishers who arrive by sailboat and BMW. Once the Dixieland band struck up “Tiger Rag,” I was ready to vote for the guy myself.
Joe Solveto had brought his best staff, dressed in
Similar Books
