Maid of Honor Read online

  “Positive,” Persis insisted. “Chet was in a big rush because the rest of the family were already out in the car, waiting for him. You remember that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I thought—it wouldn’t have taken him a second, and he was so frantic about the money. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “How was I supposed to know what you were thinking? Nobody ever told me Chet had dropped a bundle on the market.”

  “You sound like Daddy, saying that. Persis, you’re not going to tell him and Mama what Chet did?”

  “Relax, I’m not going to tell them anything I don’t have to. They’ve got troubles enough already.”

  “What troubles?”

  “Well, for one thing, the brooch is still missing, isn’t it?”

  “Do you have to remind me? But at least I know now I’m not marrying a crook. Maybe that doesn’t mean much to you, but it does to me. I was furious with Chet when I thought—”

  “Was that why you made the date with Todd Ormsey?”

  “I suppose so,” Loni admitted. “Okay, it was a dumb thing to do, and I should have known better. Poor Chet, I feel as if I ought to make it up to him somehow. I know, I’ll phone him at the office and tell him not to bother about the shoes. I can get them myself tomorrow.”

  “That’s really decent of you, Lon.”

  Persis left her sister trying to work the dial on her baby-blue French phone without chipping her nail polish and went to get the tea and toast. Sooner or later, maybe, it would dawn on Loni that if Chet hadn’t taken his grandmother’s brooch, one of her own family must have.

  Or would it? As long as Loni had a reasonable facsimile to show in front of Grandma Cowles and her other in-laws, she’d most likely be quite content to forget the whole sticky business. Unless Chet took another beating on the market and tried to pawn the brooch to make up what he’d lost.

  Even then, Persis supposed, her sister could talk him into believing his grandmother had presented them with a fake. So why not simply go along with the deception and stop worrying?

  Because it wouldn’t work. If there was one thing Persis had learned out of this bitter experience, it was that trickery was no solution. Once you started, every step led to another, and the farther you went, the worse it got.

  What if Muriel Green did manage to find a substitute for the diamond and ruby heart? It wouldn’t fool old Mrs. Cowles. She must surely know her own brooch when she saw it and would recognize a fake when she expected to see it and didn’t. If Loni showed up wearing a replica, the old lady would no doubt insist on being shown the original to make sure it was still in the family. If the Greens couldn’t produce the jewels, the question of the insurance would have to be brought up. Then they could hold the wedding in jail. Hunting the Lowrey boutiques for an imitation was a waste of time. Was Muriel Green so stupid she couldn’t realize that? Or was she so desperate she didn’t care?

  Chapter 15

  When Persis went to get Loni’s tea and toast, she found a note on the kitchen table that read, “I fixed casserole and salad.” Mary must be off at the roller skating rink with her boyfriend, making up for lost time. Lucky her! Persis turned on the burner under the kettle and slid a couple of slices of bread into the toaster.

  It occurred to her that she was hungry, too. She’d been too harassed at school to eat any lunch, and it was a long time since breakfast. Mary’s salad and casserole didn’t sound like much of a dinner. What it meant was leftovers from Saturday night, no doubt, not particularly well disguised because Mary was not an inventive cook.

  Anyway, it was food. Should she set the casserole in the oven now, Persis wondered. There was no telling when her mother would be home, and Loni certainly wouldn’t exert herself to do it. She couldn’t even be bothered to come downstairs and make her own toast. What would she and Chet live on after they were married? Take-out Chinese food and Kentucky fried chicken, most likely.

  Well, that was their problem. Persis put a teabag into a fat little white china pot with pink rosebuds all over it, added boiling water, put the pot on a tray with its matching cup and saucer, buttered the toast so Loni wouldn’t have to weary her dainty fingers holding the knife, and carried the tray upstairs.

  “Here’s your tea, Lon.”

  “I’m in here,” still in the tub, sloshing around among the pink bubles. “Thanks, sis,” Loni added with surprising gentleness. “You were sweet to take the trouble. Set it over here on the bath stool, will you? I’ll do the same for you when you get married,” she added with a giggle of surprise at her own words.

  “That’ll be the day.”

  Persis put the tray down on the white wickerwork stool and moved it over within her sister’s reach. “I was wondering if I should start dinner. Mary left some stuff in the fridge.”

  “Anything good?” Loni took a bite of her toast.

  “Looks to me like Saturday’s dinner glopped up with cheese on top. You know Mary’s casseroles.”

  “Ugh! I was thinking maybe I’d ask Chet to stay. You know, potluck with the family. But if it’s only leftovers—”

  “How potty does the luck have to be? If that’s not good enough, why don’t you cook something?”

  “Me?”

  “Sure, why not? What are you going to do after you get married?”

  “Don’t ask. I was hoping we could hire a maid. Now that Chet’s blown all his money on the stock market, though, I don’t suppose we’ll be able to afford one. Oh well, I’ll manage somehow. People always do, don’t they? Besides, husbands are expected to do their fair share of the housework nowadays.”

  “You going to do your fair share of his office work?”

  “How could I?” Loni ate more toast. “He should be along any time now. Go on down and tell him to wait, like a good kid. I’ll get him to take me out to dinner.”

  “What’s he coming for, anyway? I thought you were going to let him out of picking up the shoes.”

  Loni smiled sweetly and reached for the last piece of toast. “I decided it wouldn’t be fair to bother him at the office.”

  “Sure, Lon. I may as well go stick that casserole in the oven.”

  Persis was fiddling around the kitchen, snacking on fruit and cheese, debating about whether to set the table and if so for how many, when Chet rang the doorbell. He had a brown paper bag in his hand and a worried expression on his face.

  “Hi, Persis, is Loni around? I hope I got the right shoes.”

  “You most likely did and it’s no big deal if you didn’t,” she assured him. “Loni’s upstairs getting ready to overwhelm you. Sit down a minute. Can I get you a drink or something?”

  “Is Loni having one?”

  “She just finished some tea and toast. She wasn’t feeling too well today.”

  “Gee, that’s a shame. Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “No, merely an anxiety attack over whether she’ll ever be able to cook as well as your mother.”

  Chet, who sometimes appeared to be rather frightened of his future sister-in-law, managed a doubtful grin. “That won’t be hard. All my mother ever does is warm up TV dinners on the maid’s night out. My folks sure liked the meal your mother put on Saturday night.”

  “Did they really, darling?”

  That was Loni, wafting down the stairs in a cloud of expensive perfume, wearing a pale green dress of some light, floaty material. She didn’t have to be all in mauve tonight because she wasn’t officially on duty as a bride-to-be.

  “Oh, you got the shoes. You were sweet to do that. Isn’t he sweet, Persis?”

  “Sweeter than a lollipop,” Persis conceded.

  “I hope I got the right ones,” Chet said again.

  Greatly to his relief, he had. Loni modeled them, making a big production of wanting her bridegroom to approve her choice. In fact, the shoes had been her mother’s choice, but that was beside the point.

  Anyway, Chet approved. Persis had a hunch Chet would have been ready to commend Lord’s taste if she�
�d stuck two paper bags on her feet instead of high-heeled satin pumps. Did he really have no mind whatsoever of his own, or was he still too upset over his financial fiasco to try using it again so soon?

  “We were wondering if you’d like to take pot luck with us tonight,” she suggested in a spirit of scientific research.

  Loni pouted. “Don’t let her talk you into it, darling. It’s only yucky old leftovers. I tell you what, let’s go someplace cozy, just the two of us. Afterward, maybe we can stop at the drive-in.”

  Chet had brightened up at the suggestion of pot luck at home, but he obediently replied, “Sure, Loni, if you want to. Only I don’t have much money on me.”

  “Don’t worry about it, sweetie,” she told him most uncharacteristically. “I’ve got twenty dollars Grandpa Dane gave me. Let me pay.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Of course I mean it, silly. You’re always treating me, why shouldn’t I treat you for a change?”

  “But what would your folks think?”

  “Who cares? We’re practically married, aren’t we? Married couples don’t have to worry about what their parents think.”

  This aspect of the wedded state had obviously never occurred to Chet Cowles before. Persis wondered how soon he’d come to realize that doing as they pleased meant doing what suited Loni. Not before the honeymoon was over, she hoped.

  Tonight, at least, Chet appeared happy enough to go off with Loni dancing along at his side, telling him how sweet he was. Maybe she was even coming to think so. That frightful episode with Todd Ormsey might have taught her to value her stodgy, predictable fiancé more highly. It would be nice if one positive thing came out of that mess.

  Left alone, Persis went back to the kitchen to find out how the casserole was doing. Before she could get the oven door open, though, she was interrupted by the telephone. To her pleased surprise, Miss Folliott was calling.

  “Persis, this is Angela. I don’t know if you happened to notice in the TV guide that Frederick’s most recent concert with the Philharmonic is being rebroadcast on Channel Two tonight at eight o’ clock. I thought you might like to watch.”

  “Oh thanks! I’d love to. Miss—uh, Angela, do you really think he meant it about that scholarship?”

  “My dear girl, I can assure you that when Frederick Lanscome says something, he means it. He had to dash off to New York to see his agents about his next concert tour, but he told me he’s planning to be in touch with your parents as soon as he gets back. It’s a marvelous opportunity for you, I hope you realize that.”

  “Oh, I do. I still can’t believe it, that’s all.”

  “You’d better believe it. And for goodness’ sake, keep up your practicing in the meantime. I’m giving you fair warning, they’re going to work you a great deal harder than I ever did. But you’re going to love it. Come and see me when you get a chance, and we’ll talk. Now that I’ve lost you as a student, I want to keep you as a friend.”

  What a wonderful call! Persis was celebrating with a further nibble of cheese when she got another. This was her mother, phoning from Lowrey.

  “How’s Loni?” was her greeting.

  “She’s okay,” said Persis. “She went out with Chet.”

  “What do you mean, she went out? She’s been in bed all day.”

  “I know. She got up.”

  “But why? She was sick.”

  “She wasn’t sick, just suffering from an overdose of in-laws.”

  “I wish you’d stop trying to be funny. Did she eat anything?”

  “I made her tea and toast. And they’re going to dinner.”

  “What dinner? I never heard about any dinner?”

  “It’s not that kind of dinner. They’re only going someplace by themselves.”

  “What for?”

  “Because they felt like it, I guess. Mama, they’re engaged, remember?”

  All Mrs. Green replied was, “Where’s your father?”

  “At the office, I suppose. He hasn’t come home yet.”

  “Then who’s there?”

  “Just me. Mary took off.”

  “I know, I said she could. Did she leave anything for dinner?”

  “A lousy casserole and some salad. Will you be home?”

  “No, I’ll grab a bite somewhere. I have too much to do here. Fix whatever Mary left for yourself and your father. Just put the casserole in the oven.”

  “It’s already in.”

  “Oh. Don’t let it burn. I suppose Chet forgot to bring Loni’s satin pumps.”

  “No, he got them, and they’re perfect.”

  “Who says so?”

  “Loni.”

  “H’mph. Well, all right. I’ll look at them in the morning.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “When I get there. If I don’t drop in my tracks first.”

  On that happy note, Muriel Green hung up. Persis set the table for two in the breakfast nook, then sat down in front of the television to wait for her father.

  Chapter 16

  Dinner was not going to be a jolly meal, Persis knew that as soon as her father came through the front door. If there’d been anything kickable in his way, he’d have bowled it into the next room. He flung his attaché case on the table in the hall, hung his suit jacket on the newel post despite all the lectures he’d had from his wife about leaving his clothes around the house, and growled, “Where’s your mother?”

  “In Lowrey,” Persis told him. “She just called.”

  “What’s she doing there?”

  “Shopping. The stores are open tonight.”

  “Ugh. When’s she coming back?”

  “After they close, I should think.”

  “Then what are we supposed to do about dinner?”

  “Mary left a casserole.”

  “Great! A man slaves his guts out all day and comes home to a bowl of dog food. Get me some ice, will you?”

  He was heading for the bar in the dining room. While he mixed himself a drink, Persis filled the ice bucket and got him a plate of crackers and cheese, along with a soft drink for herself. When she got back with the tray, he was in his easy chair by the television set. She gave him the ice and the snack, then pulled up a hassock beside him.

  “Aren’t you going to fix the food?” he growled when she sat down.

  “It’s all fixed,” she told him. “We can eat any time you want.”

  “Then set the table, can’t you?”

  “I did, in the breakfast nook.”

  “What’s the matter with the dining room?”

  “Well, it’s only the two of us.”

  “And I’m not worth the effort, is that it? I’m only the guy who foots the bills.”

  “Daddy, you don’t have to bite my head off. I just thought—”

  “You think too damn much, if you ask me.” He gulped down his drink in two swallows and handed her the empty glass.

  “Do you want a refill?” she asked.

  “If you can spare the time from more important matters.”

  Fuming, Persis carried the glass back to the bar. She wasn’t sure how much to put in so she decided she’d better err on the side of generosity. At least then he wouldn’t be able to yell at her for thinking the one who paid for the whiskey wasn’t good enough to drink it. Why couldn’t adults manage to act like grown-ups once in a while?

  She handed him the full glass. He took a sip, and choked.

  “Oof! You didn’t stint on the booze, did you?”

  Persis shruged. “You bought it. You might as well enjoy it.”

  “Always got an answer, haven’t you?”

  He took a more careful sip, set the glass on the end table beside his chair, and watched the news in silence for a few minutes. When the commercial break came, he asked, “What’s so important in Lowrey? I thought your mother’d bought out all the stores by now.”

  “She’s trying to find a duplicate for that brooch.”

  “What? Is she out of h
er mind? Does she think I’m made of money?”

  “Calm down, Daddy,” Persis urged. “She’s not looking for a real one, just a fake copy, in case she has to show it to somebody.”

  “But I’ve already—” Charles Green didn’t finish what he’d started to say. Instead, he began furiously hunting around the floor beside his chair. “Where in hell did I leave that Wall Street Journal?”

  “In your attaché case, maybe?” Persis suggested. “I’ll go take a look.”

  Her father leaped out of the chair. “Don’t you dare touch that case! I’ll get it myself. Fix me another drink, since you’re being so damned helpful all of a sudden.”

  He didn’t have to yell at her like that. First he complained about the drink she’d already made him, then he barely touched it, now he wanted another. What was the matter with him tonight, anyway? She took the glass out to the kitchen, added a couple more ice cubes to make it look full, and brought it back. Her father was back in the recliner now with the paper in his hand and, she was surprised to notice, the attaché case in his lap. Did he think she was going to steal it or something?

  Persis was getting hungry. Even that casserole smelled pretty good to her by now. She ate some of the cheese and crackers she’d fixed for her father, wishing he’d put down his newspaper and come to the table. He didn’t even appear to be reading, just scowling at the pages and rattling them over and slapping them flat with the back of his hand, as if he hated the Wall Street Journal and everything in it. After a while, Persis decided she’d rather be yelled at than ignored like this.

  “I don’t know why Mama thinks a hunk of costume jewelry would ever fool anybody.”

  “How do you know it wouldn’t?” her father yelled back. “You’re so damned smart. If you’d only left that brooch on the piano where she put it in the first place—”

  The attaché case thumped to the floor. Charles Green didn’t seem to notice it. He was on his feet now. So was Persis, facing him, feeling the blood flame up into her face.

  “How do you know what I did? Daddy, you saw me hide it.”

  “Think I’m blind?” He was trying to bluster, but it didn’t come out very rough. Persis said what she had to.