Chapter 23

Della slipped into her favorite Springolator mules with rhinestone bows across the peep toe and more rhinestones suspended in the Lucite of the spike heels, and took a step back from the full-length free-standing mirror. Estelle had outdone herself with this design, a double layer of supple white tulle over a white silk under skirt, the tulle trimmed with shimmering iridescent sequins in a starburst pattern that radiated downward toward the hem. The bodice was heart-shaped, tight, and completely covered by sequins. Thin sequined straps were more for effect than function and she'd requested that Estelle not remove them because she knew Perry would like them. She wore no jewelry, save for a pair of delicate drop diamond earrings, choosing instead to let the sequins on the dress speak for themselves.

There was a soft tap on the door and her mouth curved into a tender smile. He was always so proper about 'his' anniversary dinner, requesting that she wear a white dress as she had the wonderful night their lives changed forever two years after they met, and refusing to get ready at her apartment. Instead he would formally ring her doorbell and she would answer his summons with butterflies in her stomach, anticipating his reaction to her dress, as well as her reaction to his reaction.

"Come in," she sang softly. She grabbed a tulle shoulder wrap hemmed with double rows of sequins from the back of a slipper chair and turned expectantly toward the door as she heard it being swung open.

"Oh," Della said, startled by who stood in the doorway.

"Ohhhhh," Henny Vander Velde breathed, "that's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen. You look like a movie star, Della."

Della smiled, recovered from her initial surprise at seeing Henny and not Perry at the door. "Thank you, Henny. I'm fortunate that a dear, generous friend is a very talented dress designer."

"Yes, you are very fortunate."

Della took two steps toward Henny, detecting a bit more in her comment than polite agreement. "What's the matter Henny? Go ahead and close the door so we can talk."

Henny shrank back the same two steps Della had taken forward. "N-no," she stammered, "you're getting ready to go out. It's not important."

Della reached out and put her hand reassuringly on Henny's arm. "Henny, don't go. I have plenty of time to listen if you have something on your mind. Close the door," she urged gently.

Della draped the wrap back over one of the chintz-covered slipper chairs and sat down, fluffing out the frothy sequined tulle and crossing her ankles daintily as she did so. After a few seconds of hesitation, Henny moved to the second slipper chair and seated herself self-consciously across from Della. "You're very nice to make time for me."

"Our reservation isn't for another thirty minutes. This is not an imposition at all. Now, what is it you'd like to talk about?" She hoped her voice sounded more certain of herself than she felt. She hadn't been able to decide what she wanted to say to Henny, so her mind quickly rifled through the possibilities.

Henny looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. "I – please don't take offense at what I'm about to say, because I assure you I don't intend any. I'm a little lost and I don't really have anyone I can talk to. You're a nice person, I can tell, even though we haven't had much opportunity to get to know one another." She raised sad, red-rimmed eyes to Della. "Why did she do it? Why did Grandmother Katherine leave everything to you?"

"I haven't quite figured that out myself," Della admitted truthfully with a slight frown. "She and I weren't close. It really was quite a shock."

Henny visibly deflated. "Oh. I was hoping…I guess I don't know what I was hoping."

Della scooted to the edge of the slipper chair, making a snap decision about the direction the conversation should take. "Henny, are you in love with Carter?"

Della thought the expression in Henny's eyes was the saddest she had ever seen following a fleeting expression of surprise at her bold, personal question. "I thought I was," Henny whispered in anguish. "He's changed and I don't know what I feel now. The Carter I know wouldn't have said those horrible things to you or antagonized Mr. Mason the way he did. Everything I hoped for, everything we planned…Della, he's my last chance. He told me he loved me. No man has ever said that to me before."

"Oh, Henny," Della said softly, her heart breaking. She couldn't tell the poor woman that she wasn't at all surprised by Carter's behavior. He had always been priggish and petulant, set in his ways and disdainfully judgmental of what he didn't understand. He had never shown much interest in her, virtually ignoring her unless he absolutely had to acknowledge her. As a child she had adored her big brother from afar, a mysterious, dark, silent presence she wanted to love but wasn't allowed to. Then Danny arrived and she finally understood what it was like to love someone unconditionally, and to have that someone love her back in kind, so the scraps she got from Carter didn't matter anymore. She wrote him off as someone she should care about and had never regretted the decision. Two years ago he had paid for her to fly back to L.A., back to Perry, when her misery at being in the bosom of her family pushed her to let loose her true feelings in public. She had been touched by his gesture, but over the past few days that act haunted her. Had he sent her back to Perry because he truly recognized her life was in California with him or because he wanted her out of the way forever?

"You and Mr. Mason…it's obvious he wants what's best for you." She dropped her head again. "I'm so far down on Carter's list right now I may as well not exist. How do I get him to say he loves me again? How do you keep Mr. Mason…interested in you?"

Della impulsively slid from the chair and onto her knees in front of Henny, who was trying not to dissolve into tears, and hugged her. "Honestly and truly, Henny, I don't do anything aside from be myself, which I'm doubly fortunate that Perry appreciates and encourages. That is what I would tell you to do, because that's all I know to do. If Carter is any kind of man he'll snap out of it and come to his senses." She hugged Henny again. "It's a lot of hard work to stay interested...and it takes a lot of luck to find someone willing to work that hard."

"I've never been a lucky person," Henny stated without self-pity. "Nothing I ever thought would happen in my life has happened. I suppose it was foolish of me to think I would actually marry Carter and live in this house. I'll tell you something you don't know: Grandmother Katherine was wrong about Carter. He is worthy of me, and he does want to work at the mill. He just doesn't want to be Administrative Vice President. He would much rather be in development or out on the floor with Gale Shaffer."

"He would?" Della asked, surprised that her almost prissy brother would ever want to get his hands dirty.

Henny nodded, coming alive herself. "You should see him in a production meeting! He has plans and ideas and he gets so excited…that's the Carter I know, Della, and I do love him. I wish he would stand up to Jameson instead of always hiding in the shadows trying to be something he isn't. He's good at his job, but he's miserable most of the time."

"Henny, I don't have any influence with Carter at all. He hardly tolerates me as a person, let alone as his sister, but if you'd like me to talk to him, I will. Maybe he'll listen to me for once."

Henny sighed deeply and pushed Della away so she could stand up. "I appreciate your offer, Della, but Carter won't listen. He's nursing a pretty healthy dislike for you right now, and while I know it's unjustified, I also know he can't help it. It's just the way he is." She headed toward the door unsteadily. "Thank you for this little chat."

"Henny, wait," Della implored, placing her hands flat on the seat of the slipper chair to aid getting to her feet. There was so much more they could say to one another and Della didn't feel right about letting Henny leave just yet.

Henny yanked open the door and turned back toward Della. "It's okay, Della," she said sadly. "I'm looking for answers to questions that can't be answered by anyone but me. Thank you for being honest with me." She stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her.

Perry placed a penny on the white linen tablecloth and with his index finger, slowly pushed it toward Della, and then withdrew his hand.

Della, preoccupied with inner turmoil through much of their dinner, looked up from her plate and gave him an embarrassed little smile. "I'm afraid you've overpaid for my thoughts, darling," she told him quietly.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that, since I'm the one paying to hear them." He folded his napkin and set it to the side of his plate. The country club dining room was surprisingly crowded for a Tuesday evening, and he had requested a secluded table, which turned out to be small and square and partially hidden by a potted fig tree strung with white twinkle lights that reflected against the sequins of Della's dress and bathed her in a most flattering glow. For a last-minute reservation graciously made by Della's father, he couldn't complain, as the food and ambiance hadn't been half-bad, but he might as well have been dining alone.

She played with the barely touched spaghetti on her plate, twirling the pasta and a remnant of a meatball around and around with a heavy silver fork. "Is this a new ploy to get me to open up? Bribery?"

"It's not a bribe. I thought it might make you smile."

This time her smile was tender and true. "I'm ruining your dinner. I'm sorry."

"Are you going to let me in on what it was Henny said that upset you?" He had witnessed Henny's tearful exit from Della's bedroom on his way to claim his dinner date, but the sight of Della in the stunning white dress had overshadowed any questions he might ask at the moment as he speechlessly swept her into his arms. But now, nearly two hours later, she was still silently brooding, and it was time to get to the bottom of it.

She shook her head. "It's nothing in particular Henny said."

He regarded her with resigned scrutiny. "You aren't going to tell me." His hand once again moved across the space between them.

She quickly placed her hand over his to stop him from retrieving the penny. "Don't. Please."

"I don't like this, Della. I thought we had a deal."

It was her turn to fold her napkin and place it next to her plate. "I'm trying, really I am, Perry. I'm here. I didn't run to the vangcant lot or lock myself in my room to think."

Perry leaned forward, his fingers twining with hers. "I suppose that's progress. Are you second-guessing what we set up with Jeremy this morning?"

She shook her head emphatically. "No, I'm very pleased with my decisions."

Perry smiled at her. "So am I. I'm so impressed with you, Della. You came up with a very thoughtful, thorough plan. It's straightforward and fair and solid. I think your Grandmother would be pleased as well."

A tiny crease appeared between her delicately arched brows. "Although, there are one or two minor things I might tweak before finalizing everything Thursday," she began, then lapsed into silence, the crease deepening. "That's what I've been thinking about."

"You aren't going to stay up all night tweaking are you?"

"No. I was hoping to stay up all night engaged in more…satisfying…activities."

"That's very forward of you, Miss Street, considering how crowded the house is at this particular time." His eyes held an incandescent desire that belied his cautionary words.

She leaned forward so that only inches separated their faces. "Did you know there is a caretaker's apartment over the garage?"

Perry's mouth turned up slyly at the corners. "No I did not."

"Did you happen to wonder why it took so long to get my hair done this afternoon?" After their appointment with Jeremy Brandis they had stopped for a quick lunch at a roadside burger stand and then returned to the house where Perry relinquished the car to Della so she could get her hair done and he could look over more estate documents and make some phone calls. He was just hanging up with Paul Drake three hours later when she appeared in the doorway of Jameson Street's study, radiant with freshly washed and styled hair and coyly evasive of his questioning.

"As a matter of fact, I did. You've got something up your sleeve, don't you?"

Della shrugged her bare shoulders. "I have no sleeves, Mr. Mason. But I think we should definitely investigate that apartment over the garage. Purely for fact-finding purposes in connection with the estate." She gave him a wide-eyed stare of pure innocence.

"Such time spent in that apartment will necessarily have to go on my bill," he warned.

"I can afford it," she replied, eyes still wide, but the expression no longer quite innocent.

"Then I shall be more than happy to accept payment." He reached up and brushed his knuckles across her cheek with infinite tenderness. "There is no woman on earth more beautiful than you, Della Street. Remind me to send a personal thank you note to Estelle for designing this dress."

The humor in her eyes slowly ebbed, to be replaced by desire as heatedly intense as his. "I'm pretty much a sure thing, Mr. Mason. You needn't flatter me so."

Perry threw back his head and laughed, a great booming belly laugh that stopped conversation in the dining room momentarily as necks craned to see who disturbed the gentility of the setting. Della looked out at the curious diners with a self-consciously apologetic smile.

"It wasn't that funny, Perry," she said under her breath as he struggled to regain his composure. "People are staring."

"Let 'em stare! Why do you care?" He picked up his napkin and dabbed at his eyes for effect. "You have no idea how unprepared I was for that comment. You look so innocent and ladylike in your white dress."

"Well, we know I'm not innocent," she grumbled, but couldn't stop a smile from blossoming. "And we've already covered the whole look like a lady/sound like a lady dichotomy so it shouldn't have come as any great surprise."

He leaned forward, closer than before. "But you are every inch a lady," he said, his voice low and rumbling. It sent shivers through her even as her cheeks grew rosy and warm. "I know that because I happen to be very well acquainted with every inch of you. Ah, see? Only a lady would blush like that."

She met his blazing gaze, helplessly enthralled by his voice. "My own improper thoughts are making me blush right now. It's a shame you wasted your penny earlier on uninteresting thoughts about my inheritance."

Perry reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. Very gravely he selected three more pennies and placed them next to the first penny. Della stared at the pennies, biting her bottom lip, her blush intensifying, her seduction complete.

"I think we should dance some more," Perry said quietly. "And you can tell me all about those thoughts."

Della swallowed hard. "Yes," she whispered. "But not here. I have a surprise for you."

Perry stood and signaled for their waiter, who had been hovering nearby. The young man pulled out a dinner chit and Perry scrawled his signature charging Jameson Street's account without taking his eyes from Della's ethereal features. He reached for the back of her chair and she slipped her hand into his as she arose gracefully, the tulle of her dress swishing alluringly against the silk underskirt. "I thought you might," he said as the waiter backed tactfully away from the table.

His hand at the small of her back caressing the rows and rows of painstakingly sewn sequins, Perry piloted Della between tables filled with curious dinner patrons, oblivious to their curious stares, his mind racing with possibilities. They passed through the bar and were rounding the corner from a short hallway to the club's entryway, completely mesmerized by one another, when they literally bumped into a familiar couple entering the bar.

Miranda Allensworth let out a surprised exclamation and flung out her arm to Peter Stanton, who grabbed it and pulled her close to his side, steadying her. "Where's the fire for crying out loud, Del?"

Della clutched at Perry's arm, tottering a bit on her Lucite heels. "I'm so sorry, Miranda. I guess we weren't looking where we were going."

Miranda regarded her oldest friend with a perturbed scowl. "I'll say you weren't," she grumbled. She pulled her wrap more closely around her shoulders and turned away from Della. "I hardly expected to see you here," she went on in the same grumble. "I thought you would be at home sharpening your claws for the kill."

Della drew in a sharp breath as Perry took a step toward Miranda. "Miss Allensworth," he said in a calm, authoritative voice at odds with his physical bearing, "I wouldn't say such things in public if I were you."

Peter Stanton stiff-armed Perry Mason belligerently. "Don't threaten my girlfriend, Mr. Mason. You may think you're a tough guy, but I'm pretty tough myself."

Perry firmly removed the younger man's arm from his chest. "I have no desire to find out who's the tougher one of us," he said in that same calm voice. "I'm merely making the point that we are in a public place and therefore one should be more careful about what one says."

"Everyone already knows Della got what belonged to other people," Miranda hissed, "Nothing I say will shock anyone. And by the way, your fancy lawyer called today to 'invite' me and my parents to your little gloating party Thursday. I understand everyone else mentioned in Grandmother Katherine's letter is invited as well." She pulled her shoulder wrap further up around her neck, refusing to face either Della or Perry. "Don't be surprised if no one shows up."

"I would advise you to attend, Miss Allensworth."

Miranda swung to face Perry, one hand clutching her wrap beneath her chin, eyes snapping with fury. "How dare you advise me about anything, Mr. Mason! Why haven't you advised Della to give back what rightfully belongs to me? I've waited days and days for her to do what's right and she hasn't bothered to talk to me at all."

"Miranda, we've been busy with visitations and the funeral," Della said in protest, hurt and disappointed by Miranda's rancor. "And we only saw a local attorney this morning – "

"I'm sick of how self-righteous and bewildered you pretend to be, hiding behind attorneys and begging for pity," Miranda interrupted bitterly. "Poor little Della, no one loved her and she had to run away in order to be happy. Then she comes back for a visit decked out in fur coats and designer dresses, full of stories about her exciting life and her handsome boss, and we were all so impressed. Well, we're not impressed anymore, Del. We see you now for what you are, so don't think for a moment anyone has one tiny bit of sympathy for you because you pretend to be befuddled by all of this. Come, Peter, we're late for our reservation."

Della clutched at Perry's arm when he would have followed Miranda and Peter back into the dining room. "No! Don't go after them. There's been enough of a scene."

Perry turned her to face him, holding her gently by her upper arms. "Are you sure? She said some pretty awful things."

Della looked at him with large, sad eyes and nodded. "I'm sure. Remember when I said nothing I knew was real anymore? I've discovered that Miranda's friendship is the most unreal thing of all."

Perry slipped his arm around her waist sympathetically and led her down the entry hall of the club to the big, carved double doors. The valet opened the door and the couple stepped out into the summer night, a blessedly cool seventy-eight after several straight days of nearly one-hundred degree heat lasting into evening. Della shivered involuntarily, more a reaction to the unpleasant encounter with Miranda and Peter than an actual chill, but it was then she realized that her shoulder wrap was still draped over a chair at the secluded table in the dining room.

"Perry, I left my wrap at the table," she said in dismay.

Perry handed a ticket to the valet and turned back to Della, lovely and shivering in her pristine dress. A gentle breeze made the tulle dance about her calves and he almost forgot to breathe she was so unearthly beautiful. "I'll go back in and get it," he offered, waving the valet off.

But she had already turned and taken a step back toward the doors. "No, I'll get it. You take care of the valet and position the car for a quick getaway." She pulled on one of the heavy doors and disappeared back inside the club before he could protest.

She really didn't want to attract attention to herself by retracing their steps through the main cocktail lounge and back into the dining room, and instead crept on tiptoes through the darkened ballroom and into the small bar used for private parties. French doors at the opposite end of the bar led to the dining room, and the table she and Perry had recently abandoned was situated directly to one side of the doors. She approached the doors, twisted the knob, and was sincerely grateful that the door opened inward quietly. She sidled over to the table, which had been cleared but not reset, and was even more sincerely grateful that the busboy had not seen her wrap lying on one of the chairs. She bent to retrieve the scrap of tulle and as she did so, caught sight of Miranda and Peter seated with a couple she didn't recognize. Using the twinkle light infested weeping fig as cover, she stared across the dining room at Miranda. Her oldest friend had removed her wrap, revealing a bejeweled necklace. A matching bracelet encircled her left wrist.

Ruby starburst, set in gold.