It's Your Party, Die If You Want To Read online

  “That’s not where we’re staying,” I said, quickly adding, “but Lark Lodge is very nice, too—a bit more intimate.”

  Lucinda let out a doubtful sigh.

  A couple of skirt-clad women with gravity-defying hairdos waved as we drove past.

  “Are those members of your women’s group?”

  “No. I think they’re part of a choir group that’s staying at the main lodge.”

  Lucinda sighed loudly. I had the distinct impression she felt very much out of her big-city comfort zone. And I couldn’t help but wonder how Morgan had persuaded her to condescend to speak at our little retreat.

  Lucinda seemed relieved when we arrived at Lark Lodge, a building with both electricity and indoor plumbing. I opened the trunk and fumbled with the luggage—my overnight bag and Lucinda’s two large suitcases and cosmetics bag—while the star greeted her public.

  Miss Maybelle, who was parked beside me, was helping her sister get out of their minivan. Bryn Davenport pulled in behind me. She retrieved an overnight bag from the back of her SUV and waved as she walked briskly past me.

  Winette came over and took one of the suitcases and a small bag. “Us cleaning women and Sherpas have to stick together,” she said with a smirk.

  Everyone buzzed around Lucinda while Winette and I passed unnoticed through the great room. The main room of the log building, dominated by a massive fieldstone fireplace, had soaring beamed ceilings and clerestory windows that funneled sunlight into the space. The west side of the structure housed the kitchen and two small, private bedrooms, which shared a bathroom. The east side housed three dormitory-style bedrooms, each furnished with bunk beds. The hallway on the dorm side led to a large communal bathroom with toilets and shower stalls.

  We dropped off Lucinda’s luggage in one of the private rooms. Morgan, of course, would be staying in the other private room, already strewn with her belongings.

  “Is there still space in your bunkroom for me?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Winette said, “as long as you don’t mind taking an upper berth.”

  We walked to the dorm side of the building. I slung my overnight bag onto the top mattress to stake out my territory and looked around at the luggage and purses on the two other bunks.

  “Do you know who else is bunking in here with us?”

  She said Miss Maybelle and Miss Annabelle Wythe had each claimed a lower berth.

  When we returned to the great room, we saw that the crowd had dispersed. Some women were still gathered around Lucinda, while others were taking their seats on love seats and club chairs scattered about in conversation groupings. Flames were crackling in the fireplace, filling the room with a mild smoky scent. The caterer brought out platters of Brie, Gouda, and cheddar, along with grapes and crackers, to tide us over until supper. I was more interested in the man at the kitchen counter who was uncorking a bottle of wine. After retrieving a glass of Merlot I sat on a love seat next to Bryn Davenport. Her bleached-blond locks stood in contrast to my own cocker spaniel blond hair, as my mother had dubbed it. Sporting a lavender cashmere sweater and precisely creased canvas slacks, Bryn looked refined even when deliberately dressed down.

  “I see Lucinda’s still holding court,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.

  “I suppose we are acting a little celebrity crazed,” Bryn said, with a well-rehearsed giggle. “Morgan’s not exactly one of my favorite people, but I have to give her kudos for snagging Lucinda Grable as a guest speaker. This weekend should be a lot of fun.”

  “Yeah, Lucinda’s something else, all right,” I said. The more time I spent with Lucinda, the less I liked her, but I was betting she performed better with an audience and I didn’t want to dampen Bryn’s enthusiasm.

  “I am a bit embarrassed that Billy Tucker and his Grills on Wheels crew are doing the catering. I think Morgan could have come up with a classier menu for our special guest than stew cooked in vats and pans of corn bread. And cheese and crackers for appetizers? I mean, really,” Bryn said, casting a look of disdain toward the cheese platter on the coffee table in front of us.

  I eyed the piece of Brie on my cocktail napkin before taking a dainty bite.

  “Since Lucinda’s originally from Dixie, maybe Morgan thought she’d enjoy some down-home cooking. Anyway, I just assumed she was trying to economize on food to offset the cost of bringing in Lucinda.”

  “We haven’t spent a dime on Lucinda, at least not from PWAD funds. I know because all checks require two signatures—mine and Morgan’s—as treasurer and president.”

  “You mean we didn’t even pay for Lucinda’s airfare?” I asked.

  “Not unless Morgan paid for it out of her own pocket, which I doubt very much.”

  I felt the weight of someone plopping down on the arm of the sofa, pushing against my arm with her hindquarters. I looked up to see Miss Annabelle Wythe’s dewy blue eyes gazing down at me.

  “You’re Virginia Walford’s girl, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Liv McKay, used-to-be Walford.” I knew Miss Maybelle had said her sister’s memory was really starting to slip. It made me a little sad that someone who had known me all my life couldn’t remember my name. But she did remember who I was, or at least who I was related to. Then again, my mama is hard to forget.

  “Are they going to feed us anything besides cheese?” she said loudly.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re having Brunswick stew and corn bread in just a bit.”

  “Good. Cheese makes me constipated,” she said before wandering off.

  I was beginning to hanker for something other than cheese myself. More wine, I thought.

  “I think I’m ready for a wine refill,” I said. Bryn said she was a bit thirsty, too, so we headed toward the beverage area.

  As we approached the bar, Jasmine Green called to us from a nearby table that was laden with pitchers and glasses filled with ice. Morgan spoke to us as she buzzed away from Jasmine’s table with a glass of something.

  “If you’ve had your fill of wine, try one of these floral-and-fruit-infused herbal teas,” Jasmine said.

  I hadn’t exactly had my fill of wine yet, I thought to myself. But she looked lonesome standing at the table by herself—the bartender was definitely getting more business. And I figured I should probably pace myself with the alcohol consumption.

  “Sure, what do you recommend?”

  “My favorite is blueberry with almond and sweet hibiscus,” she said, pointing to one of the pitchers. “But this lavender sage with orange and pineapple seems to be popular, too.”

  “I’ll try a glass of the blueberry, please,” I said. Bryn said she’d take the same.

  The tea smelled a bit like cough syrup, but actually tasted pretty good.

  “Mmm. Did you make these yourself?” I asked, knowing perfectly well that she had.

  “Yes. Morgan thought we should have some healthy nonalcoholic beverage choices, and these are some of my own blends.”

  “How nice,” Bryn said, before excusing herself to mingle.

  Jasmine Green, who could be described as an aging hippie, grows organic plants and sells medicinal herbs, as well as herbal teas and beauty products. She definitely stood out from most of the other women in her tie-dyed dress and hemp cardigan. Usually her most attractive accessory was her much younger boyfriend, Dylan, who was not in tow tonight. Not that she isn’t attractive in her own right, with a peaches-and-cream complexion and naturally curly hair.

  “So, Jasmine, what do you think of our celebrity guest?”

  “I think she’s awesome. I sense a blue aura around her, which is very spiritual. I hope she’s able to connect with some spiritual energies tonight. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

  “That would be something,” I said.

  “Oh, your aura seems a little gray around the edges, Liv,” Jasmine said with a look of concern. “You’re a skeptic, aren’t you. Don’t worry, even skeptics can experience psychic energy.”

  “I’ll try my
best to keep an open mind,” I said with what I hoped was a hint of sincerity.

  I sipped my tea, stopping to chat a moment with those I hadn’t had the chance to connect with. Billy, our caterer, came in from outside and walked into the lodge’s small kitchen to retrieve a pan of corn bread from the oven.

  “That Billy must work out. It takes a lot of effort to maintain a physique like that. I should know,” Morgan said in a whispery voice as she grabbed my forearm. “It’s a shame his wife doesn’t take more pride in her own appearance. She really should join an exercise class. And maybe you could go with her,” Morgan said, giving me an up-and-down glance before walking away to spread joy to others.

  I tried to shrug it off, but felt my face flush red. She makes me so mad. Winette, who had obviously overheard the remark, stepped over and tried to impart a calming influence. But I wasn’t in the mood.

  “Winette, where’s the broom and dustpan? There’s some trash in here I’d like to sweep out.”

  “Now, Liv,” Winette said quietly, “just leave the broom by the door and maybe Morgan will climb up on it and fly away.”

  She always knows how to make me smile.

  As I made my way back to the seating area, Morgan clapped her hands and began to shush everyone.

  “Okay, ladies, may I have your attention, please. I’d like to officially introduce our very special guest, television star and renowned psychic Lucinda Grable. Let her give you some information about tonight’s proceedings.”

  After a few moments of effusive applause, Lucinda gestured for us to stop.

  “Thank you so much for your gracious welcome. It does a heart good to be embraced so warmly by the hometown folks. I have so many fond memories of growing up in Dixie and very much wish I could visit more often.”

  Shifting from her gushing schoolgirl voice to a down-to-business demeanor, Lucinda continued. “After dinner we will be walking just down the hill toward the lake to the small nineteenth-century family cemetery beside the woods to see if we can detect any paranormal phenomena. There are release forms on the counter; please sign one if you’d like to witness our psychic investigation, as we will be filming the proceedings. This is not planned to be a regular episode of our show, but I think you’d agree that if we discover a presence we’d certainly want to be able to share it with the world.”

  Back to her gushing schoolgirl routine—maybe she really was channeling spirits, after all—“I hope y’all are looking forward to our little adventure as much as I am. Now I do hope you’ll excuse me if I don’t join you for dinner, but I need a little alone time to summon my psychic energies before we begin. However, I promise there will be plenty of time to ask questions tomorrow morning when I share information about the business side of producing our show. Thank you.”

  Lucinda disappeared into her room as the group gave her another thunderous round of applause.

  “I’ve just been advised that dinner will be served in a few minutes,” Morgan said. “So if you ladies would like to freshen up or grab a sweater, then make your way out back, we have tables set up to dine al fresco to enjoy the wonderful fall weather. And please take your beverage of choice along with you.”

  My beverage of choice was another glass of Merlot.

  The thermometer on the back porch registered 65 degrees, and three cloth-draped tables for six were set up in a semicircle around a blazing fire pit. The mild winters and pleasant autumns almost made up for the miserable southern summers—almost.

  Bryn sat down at the center table with Jasmine Green and the two Misses Wythes, Morgan predictably gravitated to the table where Lucinda’s three-man production crew—man being the operative word—was sitting, and Winette and I joined Nell Tucker and Sindhu Patel at the third table. The light from the porch, the glow from the hurricane lanterns in the center of each table, and the fire created a pleasant ambiance.

  The Grills on Wheels guys placed baskets of hot corn bread on each table and began ladling steaming Brunswick stew into each of our bowls.

  “So is everyone planning to go along for the ghost hunt?” I asked.

  “Oh yes,” Sindhu said, her eyes flashing with excitement. “Did you see the recent episodes of P.S. Ghost Encounters filmed in England? Those were very good. My mother loves watching the ghost-hunting show. Amma was so excited when I told her Lucinda Grable would be speaking to our group.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But I’m hoping we don’t come across any ghosts,” Nell said before knocking on the wood table for good luck.

  I looked at Winette.

  “I’m going along, too. Against my better judgment, I signed one of those release forms,” she said.

  Nell, a hairdresser, and Sindhu, who owns and operates the local hotel along with her husband, couldn’t look more different from each other. Nell is tall and fair-skinned, with hair dyed an unnatural shade of red—magenta, really. Sindhu is shortish, with an olive complexion and long black hair. Nell is a brash, gregarious woman who is devoid of tact. Sindhu is soft-spoken and never utters a harsh word.

  Still, looking across the dinner table at them I couldn’t help but ponder the one thing they had in common. According to local gossip, both their husbands had succumbed to Morgan Robison’s seduction. I don’t know for certain that it’s true, especially of Sindhu’s husband, Ravi. But my intuition told me it probably was true of Nell’s husband, Billy—the well-built hick Morgan had been salivating over in the lodge.

  Billy came by offering refills on our drinks.

  “This wine sure hits the spot,” Nell said after draining nearly half of her just-refilled glass.

  “The teas that Jasmine made are quite tasty, too,” Sindhu said.

  “That Jasmine’s a wonder, all right,” Nell said. “Have any of y’all tried that anti-aging cream of hers?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said. “I know Miss Maybelle and some other folks swear by it, though.”

  “Me too,” Nell said. “It’s turned back the clock several years for me. She uses some special ingredient that’s available only from Europe. Even Miss Uppity Morgan uses it. Morgan actually talked to Jasmine about trying to work out a deal to manufacture it with some big cosmetics company—with a fat cut for herself, of course. But Jasmine prefers to keep her business local and personal.”

  Billy joined us at the table, leaving his catering assistants to look after the diners. He sat down next to Nell and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “I hope you ladies are enjoying your supper.”

  We all mmm’d with mouths full of Brunswick stew, a feed-a-crowd dish that’s popular across the South for fall cookouts at political rallies, church suppers, and football tailgate parties.

  “Are you coming along on our ghost hunt to protect us from angry spirits?” Nell asked her husband, leaning over and playfully touching her head to his shoulder.

  “Naw, I think I’ll pass. Me and the boys will work on cleaning up while you gals have your little adventure.”

  “I haven’t seen Naomi,” I said. Naomi Mawbry is PWAD’s secretary and she never misses a meeting or event. “Does anybody know where she is?”

  “Oh, hon, didn’t you hear?” Nell said. “Her sister passed away just this afternoon. Naomi’s gone down to Mississippi, near Jackson I think, to be with her mama and help make arrangements for the funeral.”

  “Oh no. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I suddenly felt a presence over my shoulder, which fortunately turned out to be Annabelle Wythe once again.

  “What do you need, sweet lady?” I said, clasping her hand.

  “I want some more stew,” she said bluntly.

  “Well, I’ll get that for you right now, Miss Annabelle,” Billy said, jumping up from the table.

  “Are the Wythes staying in the same room with the two of you?” Sindhu asked, looking to Winette and me.

  We nodded.

  “I would be worried that she might wander during the night,” she said.

  “I’m a pret
ty light sleeper,” Winette said. “Hopefully, we can keep her from straying too far.”

  “I think it’s admirable that Miss Maybelle is taking care of her sister at home—it can’t be easy,” Nell remarked.

  I looked around and noticed that Morgan’s table was empty. I guessed that the camera crew had gone to set up at the cemetery and Morgan had gone inside to check on our star.

  Chapter 5

  Morgan emerged from the lodge and positioned herself just beyond the fire pit, where she was bathed in golden light. “Lucinda is going down to the cemetery, where her crew is setting up for filming. She would like us to start heading that way in about ten minutes. So everyone please finish up dinner and make any necessary pit stops,” Morgan said. “Following our expedition to the cemetery, we’ll gather here to toast marshmallows and make s’mores by the fire pit and chat about the experience.”

  We started clearing the table, but Nell said, “Just leave the dishes. The boys will take care of all that. Now I think I’d better make a stop at the little girls’ room so I don’t pee my pants if a ghost turns up.”

  We all trudged down the hill behind Morgan, like a bunch of Girl Scouts following their troop leader. Bryn and Winette, like any good, prepared scouts, were wielding flashlights. Lucinda stood with her back to us as the camera crew divided us into two groups behind the lichen-encrusted tombstones and adjusted the lighting equipment. A boom microphone with a furry covering they referred to as a “dead cat” hovered above our heads. There were two video cameras—a larger one on a tripod and a smaller one that a technician held on his shoulder, allowing him freedom to move about. One of the crew called for quiet before saying, “And we’re rolling.”

  Lucinda turned to face the camera and began her usual spiel to introduce the show. I don’t know if it was the effect of some special makeup or just her love affair with the camera, but Lucinda absolutely glowed in the spotlight.

  “This is a very special occasion for me,” she said. “We’re filming in western Tennessee with a group of businesswomen from my hometown. What you are seeing here is a small cemetery, a long-forgotten and neglected family plot from a bygone era.