Chapter 20
Perry seated himself in the chair recently occupied by Michael Domenico before Della spoke, her voice soft and sad. "All you wanted was a secretary." She sighed in deep lament. "You didn't bargain for any of this when you hired me."
"This isn't so bad. You got Bart in the deal."
Della smiled in spite of the awful sadness creeping over her. "Your brother is a pussycat. This," she waved her hand over the expanse of lawn surrounding them, "this is a mess…I'm a mess."
Perry's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "First, I cannot believe you just called Bart a pussycat. Second, I specialize in messes. Let me clean up this mess."
"Including me?"
"You are not a mess. Please don't say that. But you're right – I didn't bargain for this. I didn't know how my life was going to play out when you walked through my door, but I recognized immediately that you were remarkable and I had never wanted anything more than I wanted you. First as my secretary, then as my friend, and very quickly as much more." He rested his hand on her knee. "I am amazed by you, even more so now that I know where you came from. I finally understand why your first inclination is to run away from what hurts you. I don't like it, but I understand. I just wish you would trust me."
"I do trust you," she whispered.
He shook his head, his mouth almost grim, lips pressed together in a firm line. "Not completely. You don't trust me with anything painful. And you didn't trust me with any of this." It was his turn to wave at their surroundings.
"You didn't trust me with details of your family, either," she reminded him, defensively sullen.
"Not at first," he agreed readily. "But is there anything you don't know now? Is there anything you think I haven't told you since that first Christmas we spent with Bart and Valerie – after you came back from here, crushed and vulnerable?"
"I was not crushed, and I certainly wasn't vulnerable. Well, maybe vulnerable to your charms. Hence my early return."
"Don't attempt to sidetrack me because you know I'm about to make you angry. I've apologized ad nauseum for bringing you here, but if truth be told, I'm really only sorry for what being here has done to you, not for actually physically bringing you here. You've told me virtually nothing about your life before you moved to California and I needed to come here to find out why. It was selfish of me but I had to know."
He was right – he had made her angry. Della's posture remained stiff and aloof. "Have the experiments with my well-being been successful in your estimation, Mr. Mason?"
"Not entirely. I don't like seeing you in such emotional pain. I thought I could help."
"You do help. I would be curled in a ball and sucking my thumb if not for you."
His fingers gently stroked her silk-clad knee. "We haven't really talked about everything." He thought back to their conversation in Danny's 'vangcant' lot, loose ends left dangling between them that she hadn't been capable of facing then, either.
"I don't want to talk about everything right now, okay?"
Perry pulled his hand from her knee and ran his hand through his hair in barely contained frustration. "Damn it, Della, stop running away from me. What you say and what you do don't match up. You say you trust me, then you shut the door in my face. When are you going to realize that what affects you affects me?"
"I need time to think," she told him, and a soft sob escaped. Damn her uncontrollable tears! "I need to come to terms with…with what…with…this is what I do, Perry, this is how I survived living here. I can't talk to you before I sort it all out for myself."
Perry heaved himself out of the chair and walked a few paces to the trunk of the willow tree and leaned against it, his back to her. He couldn't look at her or heaven forbid, he would cry himself. "I'm asking you to just once talk to me without overthinking and planning every word."
"I…I wouldn't know what to say. I have to think."
Perry closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. "Say what you feel, Della. No thinking. Just blurt it out."
"I don't particularly like you right now. How's that?"
He dropped his head in surrender, his shoulders slumped with defeat. "Do you ever really listen to me? I'm beginning to think you push what I say to the background while you plot your clever comebacks. Frankly, it pisses me off."
Della bit back another sob. "Well, at least one of us has mastered the art of blurting."
Perry spun to face her and stood with his legs apart, hands clenched at his sides. His eyes were dark with emotion, his complexion ruddy from the effort of keeping a lid on his frustration. "Stop making jokes," he said in a very low, controlled, deliberate manner.
She nearly recoiled from his aggressive stance, one she had seen him assume many times in difficult situations when he thought he might have to spring into quick action. Never in her life had she imagined he would strike that pose with her. "It wasn't a joke. I thought I was stating the obvious."
Perry stared at her, eyes still dark with tumultuous emotion, his expression hard and unreadable. He moved past her, heading back to the house. "Jim Brandis finally called back," he tossed at her over his shoulder, not breaking stride. "As it happens, his cousin practices estate law near here. He's agreed to see us tomorrow morning at ten o'clock."
Della sucked in a quaking breath and her hands shook as she pushed damp hair off of her forehead. "I'm not enough for you."
Perry came to a halt and slowly turned to look back at where she sat beneath the weeping willow tree, arms wrapped around her slender body, knees clenched tightly together as she stared down at the parched grass at her feet. "What did you say?"
"I'm not enough for you," she repeated tearfully. "That's what I would say without thinking." She unfolded her arms and buried her face in her hands as sobs finally overtook her.
It had taken Perry many steps to reach the screened-in back porch, but only three long running strides to arrive back at her side. He knelt and removed her hands from her face. "You're more than enough for me, Della. You're so much more than I thought I would ever have."
She tried to pull away from him, but his fingers held her forearms like vices. "I know," she sobbed. "I know better than to think anything like that, but I do and I can't help it, and I don't want you to know the silly thoughts I have…" her words, fast and furious, faded to silence as she leaned into him. "I have to deal with thoughts like that in my own way, in my own time. They're wrong and I'm fully aware of it and it wouldn't do any good to hash them out because I already know all the logical arguments against them. Let me do this my way, Perry, please. I have a lot to cope with, and I will, but I need you to back off while I do."
He splayed one hand over the back of her head and held her firmly against him, smiling briefly when she wiped her nose on his shirt as he'd watched her do to Michael Domenico. The past few days aside, she rarely cried, and seeing her like this tore at his soul. "I'd like to make a deal," he said softly into her hair.
She sniffed and clutched his shirtfront in her hands, hopelessly wrinkling the tear-stained fabric. "Plead your case, Counselor."
"I'll back off now if every once in a while you'll blurt something out to me, no matter how silly or illogical you think it might be. I don't like being shut out, Della."
She pushed herself upright but left her palms flat against his chest, trying vainly to smooth out the ruination of his shirt. "Can you accept an 'I'll try' as my part of the deal?"
His lips, cool against her flushed skin, roamed across her forehead, down her nose and over her left cheekbone. "That's a fair compromise. I accept without countering."
She sniffed again. "How shall we seal this deal, Mr. Mason?"
He broke into an impishly dimpled grin. "With an ice cream cone?"
Della grinned right back at him through her tears. "I like how your mind works. But first I need to run into Skogmo's. If we have an appointment with an attorney tomorrow, I'll need something to wear. I'm afraid this infernal heat wave doesn't make it possible to wear anything more than once. My dress could probably stand up by itself." She smoothed her hands down the full skirt of the green dress he had selected for her himself. The caged bateau neckline created by a netting of delicate peridot cord exposed her exquisite collarbone, and the cap sleeves flattered her long, slim arms. The waist nipped in and was adorned with a small bow mimicked by the bow across the toe of her patent pump. The color had raised a few eyebrows at the funeral, as had the deep yellow dress she'd worn for the visitations, but the design and cut of the dresses were impeccable and she wore them confidently, propriety taking a back seat to comfort and function.
Perry rose to his feet and pulled her up with him. "Don't you have anything else in the closet from when you were eighteen? I liked the skirt with the daisies on it."
She gave him a horrified look. "There is a black organdy dress that was attacked by ruffles, a poodle skirt, and a pair of saddle shoes."
He circled her shoulders with his arm and steered her toward the house. "A poodle skirt huh? Pink felt?"
"Of course."
"Maybe you should bring that home with you," he suggested, overly casual. "And the saddle shoes, too."
She snickered and slid her arm around his waist. Lord, he could be such a naughty little boy at times.
After changing from his dress slacks and pitifully tear-stained, wrinkled pin-striped shirt into chinos and a collared golf shirt, Perry met Della on the front porch where she was surrounded by the ladies of Katherine Street's garden club, all of whom were dressed in floaty flowered dresses and a veritable rainbow of pastel organza Kentucky Derby sun hats. Offering their most heart-felt apologies for abandoning the wake, they scurried to the Galaxie and made their escape. Della slid over to the center of the seat and threaded her arm through Perry's.
"Do you think it would be horrible if we came back here for Michael's wedding and not for my father's funeral?"
Perry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Michael is getting married? Do you really want to attend the wedding of an ex-boyfriend?"
"One day you're actually going to give me a direct answer to a question and I'll die from the shock." She laid her head on his shoulder, thinking over his question to her question. "I guess not. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to bless the union of the man who cheated on me with my best friend. Especially since it's her he's marrying."
"Good Lord, Della, I treated that man like a long-lost brother trying to show you what an upstanding gentleman I can be. This is exactly the type of thing I wish you would have told me."
She hadn't told him about Michael except for the fact he existed and she most definitely wasn't going to elaborate now. How could she ever admit that she had promised to marry Michael and worn his ring for nearly a year? "Like how you told me about Ellen?" she asked archly, knowing he would immediately change this dangerous subject.
"Would you look at this – we have a traffic jam. Three cars at the four-way stop at the same time."
Della smiled and settled back against the seat contentedly.
Perry allowed the other two cars to pass through the intersection before turning onto Sherwood Street and continuing to where it emptied onto Allegan Street. There was a small amount of traffic downtown and Perry had to wait for several cars to pass before spinning the wheel of the car in a perfectly executed U-turn and pulling into a parking space directly in front of the town's little department store. He shut off the engine, opened the car door, stepped to the curb, and offered his hand to her. She slid across the seat, making a face as her skirt hitched up toward her thighs. Perry immediately lowered his eyes to take in the sight. He cupped her elbow and escorted her to the glass door and stood aside for her to enter ahead of him.
She hurried down the center aisle to a rack of cotton sundresses positioned across from the checkout counter, her hands sorting through the different patterns and sizes swiftly. "These will do," she decided, almost muttering to herself. "I'll need shoes, too. And maybe a pair of capri pants, if they have any."
A short, plump woman with an enormous bosom approached tentatively and Della greeted her with a pleased smile, turning to introduce her to Perry as Thelma Fadden, Patsy's aunt. As Della listed the items she needed, and Thelma listened intently, Perry wandered over to the display window and peered between mannequins outfitted in floaty flowered dresses and assorted organza sunhats to the street outside. The rock shop across the street caught his eye and he made his way back to the middle of the store where Thelma was showing Della a variety of loosely knit cardigan sweaters – sweaters! – and touched her arm lightly.
"The rock shop across the street is open," he told her. "I'm going to visit with Mr. Velting for a few minutes."
Della nodded absently as Thelma pulled a delicate cream-colored cardigan from the cabinet below the display table and laid it against one of the sundresses she had selected. "Take all the time you want, Chief."
Perry remained standing beside her for a few seconds, watching her, amused by her use of his office nickname. Although her attention had been corralled by her shopping chore, she still had the presence not to call him 'darling' in public. Ordinarily he didn't mind shopping with Della because of her no-nonsense, efficient approach to the activity, not to mention the fact he enjoyed when she modeled potential ensembles for him, but today he didn't feel as if she particularly cared for his input. On his way out of the store he stopped by the check-out counter, pulled his money clip from his pocket and peeled off several bills. "This is for whatever she decides to buy," he told the girl behind the counter, handing them to her. "Don't let her argue."
She looked at the bills, to him, and back to the bills. She gulped. "Yes sir."
He exited the store, dodging a few more cars as he crossed the street to Oliver Velting's rock shop, and was surprised to find several people milling about inside, bending over glass display cases admiring the fossils and geodes and crystals displayed within. Oliver Velting himself was at the back of the store behind a tall wooden counter, making change and placing a crystal formation in a cardboard box for another customer. Perry was more curious about the box than the rock, as he now knew cardboard was responsible for the roughly seven hundred and thirty thousand dollars in Katherine Street's bank accounts. Oliver Velting's tanned, lined face lit up as he recognized Perry Mason.
"Why if it isn't the lawyer from Los Angeles! Glad you could make it in, Mr. Mason."
Perry took the man's proffered hand in a hearty handshake. "So am I, Mr. Velting. Della is dress shopping across the street and I was in the way." He scanned the shop approvingly. "Quite a place you have here."
Oliver Velting stood up straighter, prouder. "Thank you, Mr. Mason. It'll do. Can I show you around?"
Perry shook his head, and as he did so, a square wooden box mounted on the wall behind the wiry owner of the shop caught his eye. Set in relief against the darkly stained wood was a canning jar, its pitted, tarnished lid wrapped with a tattered blue ribbon, filled with stones ranging in size from peas to marbles. Della's pretty stones. He very much liked knowing something about her childhood she didn't know he knew. "I came to ask you a favor, Mr. Velting. I hope you can help me with something."