Chapter 14

The attorney and his secretary took their time driving back to the Street home and it was nearing six o'clock when Perry finally turned into the inclined driveway to be met by the sight of several people seated on the porch.

"Welcoming committee or lynch mob?" Perry inquired peering through the windshield.

Della squinted into the setting sun. "Good grief, it's not only Father, Carter, and Henny, it's Mrs. Wyman, Grandma Bitty, Garrett, the Allensworths, and…and Miranda," she counted off in surprise.

Perry pulled the Galaxie next to a white Cadillac but didn't turn off the engine. "I don't think I like the look of this."

"I know I don't like the look of this," Della said in dismay. "They've been plotting something."

"Welllll pardner," Perry drawled, "We have two choices: run away or face the music."

She squinted toward the porch once again. "They have food," she announced. "And cocktails."

Perry shut off the car's engine. "That settles it. Food and cocktails it is."

Miranda Allensworth flew down the steps the instant Perry opened the car door, and was standing at his side hopping from foot to foot impatiently as he reached back into the car to assist Della out. Della barely had time to adjust her skirt before Miranda had her clasped in a bear hug. "Oh Del," she practically wailed, "I can't believe Grandmother Katherine is gone!"

Della caught Perry's eyes over Miranda's shoulder and made an aggrieved face. Perry tried not to grin.

"I know, Miranda. We both thought she would live forever, didn't we?"

"Uh huh," Miranda said, hugging Della tighter, seemingly perilously close to tears. "She hadn't lost a step…mentally I mean. Of course her hip bothered her and it took her foreverto go up and down the stairs…are you going to introduce me to the very handsome man you brought with you?" She abruptly let go of Della and turned to Perry Mason. "Miranda Allensworth," she said, not waiting for Della to introduce her. "I'm Del's oldest friend. I've known her since she was a baby. There is a picture of me holding her when she was only a few days old."

"Perry Mason," he said, highly amused by the faces Della continued to make behind Miranda's back. "I'd like very much to see that picture."

"Then I'll find it and bring it over. I must admit that I know who you are, Mr. Mason," Miranda Allensworth chattered on. "Del and I still correspond." She linked her arm through his and set off for the porch, leaving Della to trail behind them, scowling.

"Do you now."

"Oh yes. I wasn't a bit surprised when Mother said you had accompanied her home."

It was Perry Mason's turn to make faces at Della over Miranda's head. Her scowl deepened and he had a difficult time holding back laughter. "I am honored to meet you, Miss Allensworth. Any friend of Della's is a friend of mine."

They had reached the bottom of the steps and Miranda let loose of Perry's arm to run lightly up to the porch. "Your description of him was seriously off the mark, Mother," she chided, confronting Sarah Allensworth, hands on hips. "He's way more handsome than Michael."

"Who is Michael and am I really way more handsome than him?" Perry whispered urgently to Della.

Della wanted the earth to open up and swallow her at that moment. She had hoped to keep Michael Domenico out of her life this trip. Miranda had mentioned in her most recent letter that he was in England on an extended vacation with his family. "Michael is…he was my…my…Ellen," she mumbled, turning away from him, spots of pink forming high on her cheeks. "I told you about him. He's out of the country."

"Pity," Perry said, dramatically disappointed, enjoying immensely how she blushed.

"Not really." She scowled again.

"Are you two coming up or not?" Miranda demanded, hands still on hips. "Henny wouldn't let us eat dinner until you got back. I'm so glad you didn't stay away much longer. There are lots of yummy appetizers, but dinner is already laid out in the dining room. I'm starving."

"Has Miranda always been this irrepressible?"

Della nodded as they climbed the steps. "She can be a bit much, but she's right about being my oldest friend. We spent a lot of time together as children."

"We certainly did, Del," Miranda agreed cheerfully, catching the last of Della's reply. "Sometimes Mother and Grandmother Katherine even dressed us alike." She broke into a giggle. "Remember the cowgirl outfits? Mine was blue with silver fringe and yours was red with gold fringe. And you had little black boots with red stars on them! I have a picture of us in those outfits."

"I'd really like to see that picture," Perry told Miranda, shooting Della a wicked glance.

Jameson Street stood up from the wicker rocker he had been seated in. "Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Mason?"

"Thank you, but stay where you are. I'll make drinks for Della and myself." He strode toward a wheeled cart that had been outfitted with an ice bucket, several glasses, stoppered decanters of Scotch, bourbon, and gin, as well as tonic and soda. He poured Della a Scotch and soda, and bourbon on the rocks for himself. "I apologize if our little excursion today delayed dinner. You really didn't have to wait for us."

"Just what have you been doing all day?" Carter was sitting in a wicker love seat with Henny Vander Velde, who held her drink white-knuckled in her hands, eyes downcast.

"I've been showing Perry the sights," Della spoke up. "We had a cherry Coke at the drugstore and walked around town. Then we went for a drive along the river. We passed by Dean's and I wished I hadn't had the cherry Coke so I could have had an ice cream cone."

"Did you take him to see the mill?"

Perry handed Della her drink and took a sip of his own. The bourbon was good, excellent, in fact. "We drove by," he affirmed.

"What do you think?"

"I think it stinks."

There was a moment of strained silence until Bitty Sherwood burst out laughing. "Finally, someone honest enough to tell the truth."

"After a while you don't even notice it," Jameson Street said stiffly.

"Really, Jameson, even after a while it's still terrible," Eve Wyman joined the conversation. "I think it stinks, too, Perry."

"It may stink, but that stink has provided a lot of jobs and prosperity to this town for a long time," Carter pointed out imperiously.

"My first job was at the mill," Lawrence Allensworth offered. "Jameson's father let me work whenever I was home from college. I didn't mind the smell."

Miranda wrinkled her nose. "Oh Daddy," she sighed with exasperation, "how can you say that? We're fortunate that the mill is in the river basin and we live up on the hill."

"It's true that after a while you don't notice the smell," Henny said quietly.

There was another uneasy silence as everyone realized that Henny lived not far from the mill at the bottom of the hill on Orleans Street. Perry took advantage of the lull in the conversation to hand Della a square of cheese on a Ritz cracker topped with half a large green olive and quickly popped two into his own mouth.

"Has anyone ever smelled a slaughter house?" Garrett Kirby asked. "There is one outside of Dodge City. The smell burned the hair right out of my nose."

"Garrett!" Bitty Sherwood exclaimed.

"Dodge City? Like in Gunsmoke? It's a real town?" Miranda's eyes were large and round as she directed her question to Garrett.

He nodded. "Yes, Dodge City is a real town in Kansas."

"You visit all the fanciest places, don't you, Mr. Kirby?" Eve Wyman asked him a bit snidely.

Garrett regarded his former sister-in-law, whom he knew only by reference and inference, with a bland expression. "I hear you get around yourself, Mrs. Wyman."

"Not that this tete-a-tete isn't immensely enjoyable," Perry attempted to draw attention away from the verbal battle brewing between Garrett Kirby and Eve Wyman, "but Della and I can't help but think that we are about to be ganged up on."

"Nothing could be further from our minds," Jameson Street assured him, taking the bait. "We all simply decided that sniping at each other wasn't conducive to the matter at hand and that we should all get along."

"I don't think Mrs. Wyman and Mr. Kirby got the memo," Della said dryly.

"What matter are you referring to, Mr. Street?" Perry asked, suspicion evident in his question.

Jameson Street raised one eyebrow in practiced surprise. "Why, the matter of what Della is going to do with her grandmother's estate."

"Good grief!" Della exploded. "Give it a day to sink in before coming after me."

"Della," Eve Wyman said in a soothing voice, "we aren't coming after you for anything. We're merely curious as to what your plans are."

Della turned to Perry. "She's got swamp land in Florida for sale, too."

He grinned.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eve demanded as Garrett Kirby did a poor job of stifling a laugh.

"It means, Mrs. Wyman," Perry said, still grinning, "that your daughter isn't buying into one word you say."

Henny Vander Velde suddenly got to her feet and clapped her hands. "What say we go inside, sit down at the dining room table, and have a civilized conversation over some of that delicious-looking food the wonderful people of this town dropped off? Carter, bring in the drink cart please."

The conversation was indeed a mite more civilized inside, primarily because it all but ceased for some few minutes as plates were filled from the mahogany sideboard buffet. Carter transferred the cocktail service from the wheeled cart to the sideboard as well and everyone but Bitty Sherwood refreshed their drinks before settling down to dine on cold fried chicken, mustard potato salad, and baked beans that were still slightly warm in their glazed ceramic pot.

"I must say, Della," her father began, waving a drumstick in the air, "I'm disappointed that you would think our motives are anything but solicitous toward the position your grandmother placed you in."

"From what I understand, you placed yourselves in your own positions with Grandmother and I'm to sort them all out. Who wants to go first?" Della scooped a forkful of potato salad into her mouth and sat back chewing while she observed the effect her words had on those gathered around the enormous oblong table.

"Go first?"

Della nodded. "Who wants to be the first to explain what it was they did to make Grandmother break her promises?"

Several dozen looks were exchanged in various combinations around the table. Perry continued to eat with relish, while keeping close tabs on what everyone said and did.

"That's hardly what anyone had in mind, Della Katherine," Carter told finally spoke up.

"Then how does anyone expect me to decide what to do? Grandmother specifically asked me to clean up her messes and I can't very well do that if I don't know what exactly those messes are." She took another bite of potato salad then set her fork down and drummed her fingers on the tablecloth, chewing and waiting.

"I don't know what I did to her." It was Carter who spoke first, almost petulantly. "I was a good grandson. I worked at her precious mill and kept to myself. I knew what the Street name and reputation meant to Grandmother and I took it seriously. Unlike some people in this room."

"You kept to yourself so well you almost don't exist," Eve Wyman said maliciously. "Are you even a man, Carter?"

"Evie!" Bitty Sherwood gasped.

"I would expect you to say something like that. I was old enough back then to know what kind of a woman you were, Evie, and I doubt you're much different than when you left. Why don't you just tell everyone why you disappeared into the night? Go ahead, tell them. Or has getting older given you a conscience?"

Della swung her head to face her mother. "Yes, Mrs. Wyman, tell us why you left. I'd really like to know, since no one has ever deemed it necessary to explain anything to me, and I'm beginning to doubt the story you told in Los Angeles."

"I wish you'd stop calling me Mrs. Wyman." Eve Wyman dabbed daintily at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "And I'm sure by now you know perfectly well why I left. Counting a detective among your friends must lead to some interesting stories."

"Tell me why I should call you anything but Mrs. Wyman. In the four days since you showed up at my apartment you haven't acted very motherly toward me."

"I'm hardly old enough to be your mother, Della. We're more like sisters." She stole a sidelong glance at Perry, then lowered her eyes demurely.

Della gave her mother an incredulous look. "Of course you're old enough to be my mother! You are my mother!" She shook her head and gave a little laugh, then suddenly sobered and looked across the table at her father with wide eyes. "She is, isn't she?"

"This entire conversation is ludicrous," Jameson Street replied irritably. "Of course Evie is your mother. I wish to heaven she wasn't, but she is."

Bitty Sherwood gasped again. "Jameson!"

Della continued to stare at her father. "Life would have been easier without me, wouldn't it have, Father?"

"Della," Perry said in a conciliatory tone, trying to head off any remarks she might regret, "I don't think your father meant – "

"I don't particularly care what you think right now, Perry. I'm talking with my parents."

Perry very deliberately pushed his plate away from him, placed his elbows on the table and clasped his hands in front of him. "Then by all means, continue," he said tightly.

"Thank you. Where were we…oh yes. My mother would prefer to be my sister and my father would prefer not to be my father. Do I have that right?"

"What I meant was that it would have been better for you if she wasn't your mother." Jameson Street picked up his drink and swirled the ice with his index finger. "There are things you haven't been told."

"No shit," Della snapped.

Perry jumped to his feet, moved behind her chair and clamped his hand over her mouth. "Della apologizes profusely for her unladylike outburst," he told everyone with a disarming smile. "I'm afraid I've been a bad influence."

Della struggled against his hold on her, furious at him. "Don't apologize for me! I knew that word long before I ever met you. Miranda taught it to me."

Miranda sipped placidly on a gin and tonic, calm despite the escalating tension surrounding her. "Has anyone told you about your real name?"

Della batted Perry's arms away and gave him a scathing look before turning to confront Miranda. "You're pretty proud of yourself for keeping that little secret, aren't you? What did Grandmother promise you?"

"Only what is rightfully mine."

Della narrowed her eyes at her oldest friend. "Grandma Esther's jewelry?"

Miranda nodded. "Grandma brought me here once a week to look at everything and tell stories about all the grand parties she wore every piece to. Her jewelry was all she had left after the crash and Grandpa refused to sell it because most of it was hers before they got married. Grandmother Katherine should have given it to me when Grandma died. It's mine, not yours."

"Miranda, it's my understanding that our grandmothers had a legal agreement that was voided by your parents." She was seeing a new side to her old friend Miranda. The flighty chatterbox who always followed and never led was suddenly greedy and a bit vindictive.

"Why should I suffer because my father is a louse?"

Once again Bitty gasped but it was Sarah Allensworth who exclaimed, "Miranda!"

"I know all about Daddy's little indiscretion, Mother," Miranda said with a scornful sniff. "I've heard you talking. I shouldn't have to give up what's mine because of what he did. Grandma promised to give me her jewelry and I want it."

Lawrence Allensworth stood and threw his napkin onto his plate. "This stops here and now," he boomed. His wife and daughter jumped, as did Della. Lawrence Allensworth never, ever raised his voice. "I did something unforgivable, for which your mother miraculously forgave me, and Esther…your grandmother wanted your mother to be happy, so she paid for what I had done. She did it for her daughter, for you, for your brother…and I should have continued to pay her debt to Katherine." He turned to Della. "I'll have a bank draft delivered to you Monday to clear Esther's debt. But under no circumstances do I want that blasted jewelry in my house once the debt is repaid."

"Grandmother paid to cover up something you did?" Della's head began to pound. Was no one in this town without secrets?

Miranda pushed back the chair and threw her napkin on her plate as well, eyes locked to her father's in burning fury. "Tell her what you did, Daddy," she challenged. When her father remained red-faced and silent, Miranda turned to Della with a cruel smile. "How's this for a deep dark secret? You dead brother's best friend Tony Domenico isn't Michael's brother. He's Michael's nephew. He's my brother."

"Whoa, that makes what I did pale in comparison," Garrett Kirby interjected, incongruously cheerful.

"I think Mae is the only person who can properly judge what you did, Garrett," Bitty Sherwood said hotly.

"At least there was no child involved," he shot back, then all color fled from his face and his eyes shifted nervously from Bitty to Jameson. He picked up his cocktail and drained it in one gulp.

"You bastard," Bitty said through gritted teeth and everyone stared at her, speechless. "Your child nearly killed Mae and you couldn't have cared less. We looked everywhere for you and when Jameson finally found you with that Jessup harlot, you stayed and comforted her. Mae was devastated and calling for you, and I had to tell her you weren't coming."

Della flung her arm out, blindly searching for Perry, who hadn't returned to his seat but remained standing behind her. He grabbed her arm with both of his. "Aunt Mae had a baby? Why didn't I know this?"

"She was barely pregnant. It wasn't really a baby," Garrett insisted defensively. "I never understood why everyone was so upset. It's not like she had any business even trying to have a baby. We all know that."

A sob escaped Della. "No! We don't all know that. What are you talking about?"

"Garrett, don't…" Jameson Street began but it was his ex-wife who cut him off.

"He's talking about how my grandmother died giving birth to my mother, and how my mother almost died giving birth to Mae – how she did die giving birth to me." Eve picked up her cocktail with shaking hands. "He's talking about how I nearly died giving birth to you, and finally how Mae nearly died simply by being unfortunate enough to conceive his child." She jerked her head toward Garrett Kirby. Her hands were shaking too much to bring the glass to her lips so she set it down, knocking it sideways and spilling its contents over Katherine Street's fine linen tablecloth. "He's talking about how you should never, ever conceive a child or you could die, too."