Chapter 7

Valerie Mason arose at four a.m. to stuff the turkey with Aunt Ginny's oyster and chestnut dressing and heft it into the oven, then prepared a more traditional cornbread stuffing that the kids would actually eat, before crawling back into bed. Bart grunted and rolled over, throwing out one arm to spoon her against him. He sighed contentedly, and she had to smile. This was why she did the things she did for her family. A grunt and a sigh, a strong arm to hold her close. Bart was admittedly difficult, especially when it came to his brother, but he was a good father and she had no doubt he loved her.

Speaking of his brother, Valerie was anxiously excited to see Perry again. She regarded him as the sibling she had not been blessed with, for the better part of eighteen years hating that they had to keep their distance in order to preserve her happy marriage. Both brothers were to blame for their poor relationship, mutually stubborn and proud and unwilling to capitulate the smallest point. Bart carried grudges, had a memory like an elephant and dredged up long-forgotten aspersions to refresh Perry's memory. Perry largely ignored Bart, refusing to take the bait most of the time, doing the opposite of what he advised, which infuriated his brother and did nothing to lay animosity to rest. If he would simply reinsert himself into the family Aunt Ginny and Bart wouldn't have to resort to tabloids and newspaper articles for information about him. His self-imposed exile only fueled more conjecture within the family, who were hurt by his standoffishness.

Because despite protestations to the contrary, Valerie knew Bart loved his brother. Her husband simply didn't know how to reach Perry, didn't understand his brother's life, and therefore resorted to lectures about what he thought a man in Perry's position should be. What she didn't know was if Perry had any love for Bart left after the years of criticism and disapproval.

Last year's dinner had been pleasant enough, because Bart and Perry could be individually charming when they wanted to be. It was Bart who spoiled the pleasantness by mentioning Laura Cavanaugh, lamenting the fact that Perry had allowed the lady lawyer to 'get away'.

Valerie sighed and Bart's arm tightened reflexively in response. Laura Cavanaugh, Bart's ideal match for his brother. Only she wasn't. Anyone with an ounce of perception could see it, but Bart saw only what Laura put on display: her success, her beauty, her devotion to Perry. She was a woman a man like Perry should be involved with. Lyla had fretted about her youngest son's relationship with Laura Cavanaugh, sensing that she stimulated Perry in areas he couldn't ignore, areas that could divert him from her true nature long enough for her to hurt him greatly. Valerie had silently cheered when Perry arrived without Laura, happy they weren't carrying on a long-distance relationship after her move to Denver, something Bart proceeded to stress they should do. Perry had smiled politely and remained mum, which infuriated Bart and occupied his thoughts for the remainder of the day. Hell, for two days it occupied his thoughts.

As she drifted into a cozy doze, Valerie thought back on how different Perry had seemed last year, how calm and at ease with himself compared to his accustomed impatient demeanor. She hoped he was still that way, and she hoped that Bart had learned his lesson about mentioning Laura Cavanaugh.


Della had left the door open a crack after buzzing Perry Mason into the building, and was in the kitchen wrapping a casserole dish containing four pounds of sautéed Brussels sprouts with yesterday's newspaper when he poked his head through the doorway. The kitchen smelled Heavenly. Della looked Heavenly.

"What smells so good?"

Della turned from the counter holding the wrapped casserole dish with two pot holders. "It's my contribution to dinner," she told him. "Good morning, Chief."

He stared at her in surprise. "You didn't have to make anything, Della. You're my guest. No one expects you to bring anything."

She handed him the casserole dish and wiped her hands on the muslin apron tied around her waist. "Does anyone expect me at all?" She asked archly, untying the apron and hanging it over a cabinet door pull.

He sheepishly grinned his answer as he followed her from the kitchen, admiring her ensemble of a tan, brown, and cream wool felt tweed circle skirt, cream raglan sleeved high-necked sweater, a wide dark brown suede belt buckled at her back, and matching brown suede pumps. The skirt made a swishing noise as she walked and he decided he would know why before the day was over. He had never seen the skirt before, and commented on that fact.

"That's because it's far too noisy to wear to work," she explained as she headed down the hallway toward her bedroom, leaving him standing next to the couch, the heavy, wrapped casserole dish very warm in his hands. "Let me grab my necklace and then we can head out."

In her neat and feminine bedroom she stood before the mirror and took several calming breaths. Thirty Masons. Thirty people she didn't know, who didn't know her, and didn't know she was coming. She should make him call and tell them before they left. What would they think of her, his secretary, showing up with him for a family holiday dinner? She wrapped the double gold medallion necklace around her neck and worked the clasp with clumsy fingers, standing back to appraise her choice of outfits. At least she looked nice, and she could hide her shaking hands in the slit side pockets of the voluminous skirt if necessary.

She didn't regret agreeing to accompany him to his family's Thanksgiving celebration because it meant she would be with him. Janet or Evelyn or Estelle would have been more than happy to include her in their plans, but after the initial surprise of his invitation, she realized she wanted to be included in his plans very much. She had told him the truth: she didn't want it to stop, whatever it was that was happening between them. He was her boss, but he had also become her friend and her favorite companion. And the kissing! Oh, the kissing was beyond anything she had ever experienced before.

"Della, this dish is hot!" He cursed. "Della?"

She laughed softly and shook her head to clear the nervous thoughts. She was spending Thanksgiving with the person she liked most in the world, the person with whom she could be herself entirely, the person who treated her with respect and genuine affection and who truly valued her. Everything would be fine.

It did concern her, however, that an accomplished, successful man such as Perry Mason didn't know to put down a hot dish when it burned his hands.


The house was huge. Spanish Colonial revival in style, with arched windows covered by wrought iron, terra cotta roof tiles, and rustic beams protruding from the beige stucco. Della whistled under her breath as Perry parked the car in the red paver driveway that curved around a working mosaic tile fountain. The driveway and expansive parking pad was already populated with vehicles of every make and model imaginable.

"The wrought iron privacy gate isn't intimidating at all," she commented dryly. "And parking for fifty? Is your uncle some sort of Hollywood mogul?"

Perry flashed a grin as he opened his door. "No mogul, just a working stiff who married well. Aunt Ginny inherited enough from her parents to buy this place outright twenty years ago and pay the taxes for many years to come."

He hurried around the back of the car to open her door and take the casserole dish, now also wrapped with a kitchen towel, and held out a hand to assist her. She accepted his hand and stepped lightly to the pavers, shaking out her skirt and making it rustle enchantingly.

"I must admire you again, Della" he said with solemn awe. "I don't know why you couldn't wear that to the office. I like the noise it makes."

She laughed and placed her hand on his forearm. "You don't have to flatter me anymore, Chief. We're here. I can't run away now."

"I do not dabble in idle flattery. You look stunning." He leaned down and kissed her gently. "I'm glad you agreed to come. These people are vitual strangers to me and you work a room better than I do."

She laughed and trailed her fingers down his cheek lightly. "Then stick with me, Chief, and I'll scare up the friendlies for you."

He kissed her again, longer, not so gently. "I intend to stick with you, Miss Street," he replied firmly.


Valerie heard the slamming of a car door and hoped it would be Perry. Almost everyone else had arrived earlier to watch the annual Detroit Lions and Green Bay Packers Thanksgiving day football game, which Perry never had much interest in beyond a small bonding gesture for his brother and cousins. She moved to the door to greet the recent arrival as a second door slammed and she squinted into the sunlight from the darkness of the arched entryway. Two people. Perry and a young woman. Bart hadn't said anything about Perry bringing a guest, had he?

She watched the pair move a few steps from the car, saw Perry kiss the woman not once, but twice. The young woman, tall and slender, tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and moved with enviable grace toward the house. There was something familiar about the way she walked; about the way she lifted her arm to laughingly wipe lipstick from her brother-in-law's mouth with a hanky. Valerie suddenly wished she wasn't too vain to wear her glasses so she could see the woman better.

"Uncle Perry's here!" Her youngest son Brett shouted behind her, pushing past his mother, running out across the porch and down the stairs. A veritable battalion of teenage boys followed, excited to greet the most famous Mason. The young woman stopped dead in her tracks, her expression momentarily startled, then a brilliant smile overtook her as the boys gathered around Perry, demanding to know what he had brought for them.

Car keys were tossed, and the boys swarmed to the big black Cadillac en masse, emerging with what appeared to be a case of wine and two bocce ball sets. They whooped and hollered and stampeded through the garage to the back of the house, leaving Perry to escort the young woman toward the front of the house.

Valerie heard Perry's distinctive, deep laugh, so like her husband's and returned her scrutiny to the approaching couple. Perry preceded his companion up the short flight of stairs through the arched entryway to the porch, pulling her alongside him with the arm not laden with what appeared to be a newspaper and towel wrapped casserole dish. The woman was shaking her head, face in profile to Valerie as she laughingly gazed up at Perry.

"Val," Perry said in surprise, as his sister-in-law stepped across the threshold. "Did you send that army of teenagers out to ambush us? I almost didn't recognize Brett, he's gotten so tall." He took her hand and kissed her cheek. "Val, I'd like you to meet Della Street. Della, my sister-in-law Valerie."

The young woman turned then, extending her hand with a smile, hazel eyes warm and sparkling, and Valerie nearly gasped. It was the model from Estelle's show, the girl who had worn the brown and pink evening gown.