Chapter 8

Valerie took the girl's hand in a quick handshake to cover her surprise. "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Street. Happy Thanksgiving." Should she mention the coincidence? That she had been at Estelle's show and had actually been within a foot of Della once before?

Della hesitated. Did she know this woman? She looked slightly familiar. "Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Mason. I'm very pleased to meet you as well," she responded. Yes, she had definitely seen Valerie Mason somewhere before.

The girl's voice was a touch low, musical, a perfect match to her lovely visage. Valerie swung her eyes to those of her brother-in-law. He was full of surprises. Showing up alone last year, and now his year bringing an unannounced guest. Valerie stepped back, beckoning them inside. "Come in and meet the gang, Della." she invited. "They're big and loud, but harmless."

Once inside the door, Perry was immediately surrounded by several tall, dark-haired men who bore more than a passing resemblance to himself, men who shook Della's hand until it ached and slapped Perry on the back in the universal male gesture of female companion approval. The women were less effusive, but every bit as friendly, and Della soon found herself separated from Perry as she was swept into the dining room to ooh and aah over the twelve foot table currently laid out with hors d'oeurves of all descriptions. The last she glimpsed of her boss, he was standing with legs planted apart, hands in his pockets, facing an older, taller, bigger version of himself in the exact same stance.


"Bart," Perry Mason said.

"Perry," Bartholomew Mason replied. "I'm glad you decided to join us."

"I'm glad Valerie told you to say that." It was a game they played, ascribing niceties between them to Valerie.

"I see you brought a guest. Did I miss when you told me about her?"

"I didn't tell you about her. I wasn't sure she would be able to come until late yesterday afternoon." Perry glanced at his watch. It had taken Bart under thirty seconds to attack.

"The phone works after sundown," Bart pointed out. He jangled change in his pocket with one hand.

Perry shrugged. "If one more for dinner is an imposition or you think there won't be enough food, we'll leave right now. She has a healthy appetite."

"No need to leave. I think there will be plenty of food. Who is she?"

"Her name is Della Street."

"Sweet little name. A bit young, isn't she?"

Perry Mason's expression hardened. "She's old enough for you to be hospitable and offer her a drink. Why don't you introduce yourself and actually get to know her before insulting her further."

One of their cousins called out for them to find seats and join the betting pool, cautioning them that all the good squares would soon be taken. Bart turned and frowned at them, then turned back to face his younger brother.

"Do you mind if I have an unchaperoned conversation with her?"

Perry smiled lazily. "Della can take care of herself."

"Where did you meet her? How long have you known her?"

He thought back to that evening in the office when Della found out about Bart, her caring, curious questions, and his unforgivably snotty replies. Anything but the truth in reply to Bart's questions would be disrespectful to Della, even though he knew the truth would spark yet more barbs. "I hired her a year and a half ago. She's my confidential secretary."

The change jangling ceased and Bart stared at his younger brother in disbelief, mentally calculating the timing. "Is she the reason Laura moved to Denver?"

"No," Perry replied cheerfully. "She's the reason I stayed in Los Angeles."


"Miss Street, I'm Perry's brother Bart." Like a border collie he cut Della from the herd of his cousin's wives, who were introducing and matching themselves up with their husbands and children while filling plates with appetizers.

Della regarded this older version of her boss with just a bit of suspicion. Perry alluded to there being no love lost between them, but refused to impart details beyond his brother's reliance on biting comment to communicate. She wasn't naïve enough to assume – and was learning not to assume – that their estrangement could be entirely the fault of one brother. However, her loyalty lay in Perry's camp, at least for the time-being. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Mason."

His brother's secretary was definitely beautiful. Young and slender but with decidedly womanly curves, a sultry voice, and eyes a man could lose himself in. No wonder he'd hired her. And was fooling around with her. Bart took her proffered hand in his, and smiled lopsidedly with a familiar dimple. "I wish I had an opening line like I've heard so much about you, but I'm afraid I don't, because I haven't."

Della met his gaze steadily, taking in the jibe directed at his brother and handing out one of her own. "I haven't either, Mr. Mason. Your brother did not want to tell me who Bart was and why he would leave seven messages."

"Does a boss ordinarily impart such information to a secretary, Miss Street? His lopsided smile became earnest and innocent. "I ask purely out of curiosity because I've never had a secretary.'

Della leaned her hip against the table, crossed her arms and regarded him with an amused smile. "I don't know about other bosses, but Perry imparts such information after I kick him in the shin."

Bart blinked, momentarily taken aback by her response. "I've always considered my brother a peculiar sort of fellow, but it appears that you and he have an unconventional working relationship even for a peculiar person like Perry."

"You could say that. As well as being a very good attorney, Mr. Mason, your brother is a demanding but fair boss. It's my job to make certain he's able to devote his full attention to clients and in return he gives me quite a bit of latitude," she told him with another smile. "I have methods of dealing with his peculiarities."

"I'll bet you do," Bart agreed readily.

Della's eyes narrowed. "I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt about that comment, Mr. Mason, because I don't know you. But for your information, it could be construed as insulting to both me and your brother, and I don't think you know either of us well enough to hold such an opinion."

Perry had been correct in telling him this Della Street could take care of herself. Bart bowed. "No insult intended. I wouldn't want you to feel anything but welcome, Miss Street. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll quit while I'm ahead and go back to the football game. It's been a pleasure meeting you."

Della watched his retreating back as Bart exited the dining room and re-entered the living room, where the greater portion of the male population was gathered around the television. Perry was seated on a couch against the far wall, jiggling a baby on his knee while the child's father replenished his hors d'oeurves supply. He frowned as his brother resumed his seat in a wing-back side chair next to the couch, then glanced up at Della over the baby's dark head and rolled his eyes.


Della turned away from Perry Mason with a stifled giggle, grabbed a plate and began piling it with appetizers, while the Mason wives once again gathered around her. Someone thrust two glasses of punch in her hands as she headed into the livingroom filled with Masons of all ages, shapes, and sizes. She didn't know where her boss had received his elementary education, but they had been woefully lacking in teaching him addition. There were easily fifty people in the house, from his eldest uncle Frank through Frank's great-grandson, who was happily chewing on Perry's finger at the moment.

There was a serene, familial feel in the air that pleased Della as she made her way carefully around children laying on the floor with blocks and coloring books toward the couch at the far end of the cavernous room. Her own family consisted of three people aside from Mae, and she couldn't remember ever experiencing a holiday such as this. She had accepted Perry's invitation to spend the day with him, but after being pulled so enthusiastically into the circle of drastically outnumbered women, she was looking forward to the rest of the day spent with his family.

Perry watched Della weave her way through the obstacles presented by his cousin's children and grandchildren and felt a surge of affection that swelled his heart and left him struggling to breathe. She was so lovely, so confident with herself and at ease with his family, with whom he had never been able to connect. By the end of dinner he had no doubt she would have everyone's names committed to memory and would likely be on several Christmas card lists. He could already see that her natural charm had won over most of his family, except for Bart, and surprisingly, Valerie. Perry noticed his sister-in-law standing back from Della, regarding her with thoughtful concentration, questions begging in her eyes.

Della finally arrived at the couch, the plate of appetizers and glasses of punch triumphantly intact and unspilled. Perry lifted the baby to his shoulder and stood to allow her to pass in front of him and take the space vacated by the baby's father. As Della turned sideways to manuever between the coctail table and Perry Mason, she favored him with a smile. "Who's your buddy?"

Perry sighed. "This is Frankie, Uncle Frank's great-grandson. His father tossed him at me before I could duck. Would you like to hold him? I've about exhausted my limited knowledge of how to amuse a baby."

"You're doing a fine job, Chief. I think I'll just sit here and nosh on all this lovely food while you entertain Master Frankie."

"That's hardly fair," he complained. "You brought all my favorites."

He took the plate of appetizers from her, leaning forward to place it on a magazine that lay face down on the table. Della set the cups of punch alongside the plate before settling herself on the couch next to the teenager who had run out to greet them when they arrived, rearranging her skirt comfortably so that Perry would have room to reseat himself. In the few moments since she entered the room, she had caught snatches of the conversation in the room, which centered around football and the novelty of a nationally broadcast Thanksgiving Day game. Everyone seemed quite familiar with the game of football, especially Bart, around whom the good natured arguing about plays and game plans and penalties centered.

"I take it this game is special?" She whispered to Perry, leaning close to his ear once he had ensconced Frankie on his knee once again.

He grinned at her, awash with pleasure at the recent rustling of her skirt. "All football games are special to Bart. But this game is the first nationally televised Thanksgiving Day game between the Lions and the Packers."

She nodded, a serious look on her face that told him she didn't grasp the historic significance of the game, let alone who the Lions and Packers might be. He chuckled softly.

Bart leaned forward, having heard the whispered exchange and seeing Della's expression. "I take it you don't particularly care for football, Miss Street?

"My opinion of football, Mr. Mason," Della declared drolly, "is that ninety feet from home plate to first base defines perfection."

Everyone in the room, over forty people, fell silent for a beat of three seconds, and then pandemonium broke loose.