Daughter of Deceit (12 page)

Kenny passed. “She could go to www-dot-national archives-dot-gov and click on the veterans pages. They should be able to help her figure out what the medals were for. She’d need to do it herself, though, as next of kin. They don’t release those records to just anybody. And they had a fire back in 1973 that destroyed a number of records. Still, they can usually reconstruct a good bit of a man’s service record—or a woman’s,” he added before Hollis could protest, “if the next of kin requests it.”

“I’ll bet we could get most of the information by searching for Winnie’s name.” Hollis leaned toward the keyboard.

“Not now,” Katharine protested as the hall clock chimed seven.

Kenny verified the time with his watch. “I didn’t know it was so late. I ought to be getting home, I reckon.”

“I reckon so,” Hollis mimicked his accent.

To Katharine’s surprise, he grinned. “A little more practice and you might learn to talk right.”

Hollis grinned in spite of herself.

“Would you like to stay for supper—both of you?” Until the words were out of her mouth, Katharine hadn’t known she was going to utter them. Immediately she regretted the invitation. How pathetic was that, inviting young adults who had millions of interesting things to do to stay and eat with somebody as old as their mothers?

To her surprise, Kenny accepted at once. “If you’re sure you don’t mind. A home-cooked meal would beat a fast-food hamburger, which is what I eat most nights on my way home.”

“I’d like a home-cooked meal for a change, too,” said Hollis—as if she couldn’t go downstairs any night of the week and eat one that Julia, her mother’s cook, had prepared.

“Fine.” Katharine tried to conceal her chagrin. What was she going to feed them? This habit she was developing of inviting strangers to dinner on the spur of the moment was getting out of hand. Still, she did have shrimp in the freezer and pasta in the pantry. “Shrimp fettuccine okay with you? With salad and rolls?”

“Sounds great,” Kenny told her. “Do you need any help?” He picked up his glass from the floor and looked with dismay at a small puddle left by condensation. He whipped out a clean handkerchief—
a handkerchief?
Hollis asked Katharine silently over his head—and wiped up the water, then drained the glass and held it up. “Shall I set this by the sink?”

“I’ll get it,” Katharine offered, but he shook his head.

“My mama would have a fit if I let you wait on me.”

She led them toward the kitchen, wondering what she’d do with them while she prepared the meal.

She had an inspiration.

“Those bookshelves I ordered for Jon’s room were delivered this afternoon,” she told Hollis. “Kenny put them in my study. Think you all could assemble them?”

“Sure.” Kenny flexed his hands like he couldn’t wait to get started. “Do you have a couple of screwdrivers?”

Katharine fetched the screwdrivers and abandoned the two of them to the job. “Supper in forty-five minutes.”

In the kitchen, she put on water for pasta and shrimp. She was tearing romaine when Kenny joined her. “Do you need any help, ma’am? Hollis says she has the bookshelves under control.” His gaze wandered through the bay window, where the afternoon had become a soft, diffused yellow. A couple of butterflies were playing together above the purple buddleia and a sparrow was having an evening bath. “You’ve got a gorgeous yard.”

“Why don’t you go walk around a little? You’ve been cooped up inside all day.”

His face lit up. “I’d like that. Living in an apartment, I don’t get outdoors much, but my grandma loved flowers, and I used to help her out in the yard.”

She waved him toward the door. “Enjoy.”

Hollis came into the kitchen a few minutes later, disgusted. “I finally pried the box open, but I think the instructions are translated from Chinese. They don’t make a speck of sense.” Before Katharine could reply, Hollis glanced out the window. “What is he doing?”

Kenny had his nose buried in a yellow rose.

“A man who loves roses can’t be all bad,” Katharine told her. She stepped to the door and called, “Kenny? Would you come get a knife and cut a few flowers for the table?”

“I got a knife.” He pulled out a pocketknife. “Will daisies and liriope be okay? They look pretty together, and you got some healthy-looking liriope.”

“I sure do. It would take over the place if I’d let it. Cut as much as you like.”

“Of course he has a
ni-i-ife
,” Hollis said under her breath as Katharine rejoined her. “He probably has a plastic pocket liner, too.”

“Hollis,” Katharine warned.

In a few minutes, Kenny appeared in the doorway carrying a bouquet of yellow and white daisies, purple liriope flowers, long liriope fronds, and a single yellow rose. “That was such a perfect rose, I couldn’t resist it,” he told Katharine, holding it out. “I’m partial to yellow.”

“Did you finish the bookshelf?” he asked Hollis while Katharine put the flowers in water.

She shook her head. “The instructions don’t make sense. I think they were badly translated from Chinese.”

“You want me to help you?”

“No, Kenny, I do not want you to he’p me. You can’t do it, either, unless you understand Chinese. None of the pieces fit.”

“I might be able to figure it out,” he said mildly. “My family builds houses, so I’m kinda handy with a screwdriver. Besides, I’ve put together a lot of shelves these past few years.”

She thrust a screwdriver at him. “Have a go, then. It’s all yours.” She wiped her palms on the seat of her pants as if to wipe away all responsibility for the results.

Katharine said quickly, “You don’t have to do that. We’re going to eat pretty soon.”

“This shouldn’t take but a few minutes.” Kenny headed to the study.

Hollis followed him, and Katharine heard her ask, “Aren’t you even going to read the instructions?” Her voice was as icy as the dregs of Coke in the glass on the drain board.

“These things are pretty much all alike.” Kenny began to whistle a Chopin prelude. Savant sidled out of the utility room and into the hall. Phebe followed.

Hollis entered the kitchen breathing so heavily, you’d have thought she was related to dragons. Katharine shut the door to the hall and switched on her new CD so Kenny couldn’t hear their voices. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

“I can’t stand show-offs.” Hollis screwed up her face. “‘My family builds houses. I’m kinda handy with a screwdriver.’ Hick!”

“That’s no excuse for being rude to a guest. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Actually she had. As a child, Hollis could be insufferable to Posey’s snootier friends, but only if they were rude to maids, yard men, or others who served them.

When Hollis didn’t answer, Katharine demanded, “Where did you meet him, again?” She was grasping at straws, trying to understand.

Hollis did not meet her aunt’s eye. “Around. With Jon.”

“Well, whatever has been between you is your business, but I don’t want blood flowing down my hall. Do you understand? So be sweet.”

“Yuck,” was Hollis’s inelegant reply.

“Make the salad while he’s assembling the shelves.”

Hollis started slicing tomatoes like she’d rather have Kenny’s neck on the cutting board. Katharine tried to remember why she had ever thought this dinner party a good idea.

Kenny knocked hesitantly on the kitchen door. “I’m finished. They look real nice.”

When Katharine opened the door, he wrinkled his forehead at the music.

“I’m sorry you don’t like bluegrass,” she told him. “It keeps me sane when I’m cooking. Besides, this is a really good group, don’t you think?”

“It’s okay.” He sounded cautious, like he didn’t want to offend.

“It’s better than okay,” Hollis blazed. “That group is great. You grew up in the mountains. You ought to learn something about bluegrass so you can recognize good stuff when you hear it.”

“I know bluegrass, I just like classical better. You all want to see the shelves?”

Katharine and Hollis followed him to the study. While they examined the shelves, he bent over and picked up Savant, cradling the cat in his arms. An unmistakable purring filled the room.

Katharine stared in astonishment. “You are the only person I know who can hold that cat, and I’ve never heard him purr.”

“Maybe he’s partial to short, good-looking men.” Kenny tugged the cat’s ear and Katharine could have sworn that crusty old cat smiled.

“You like cats?” Hollis sounded like she might be willing to grant Kenny one point in his favor, but he rejected her olive branch.

“Oh, we kep’ a few around the barn when I was growin’ up, you know?” Kenny bent and put Savant down. Crouching close to the floor, the cat slithered toward the utility room.

Kenny nodded toward the finished set of shelves. “Where was it you wanted them, ma’am?”

Hollis answered before Katharine could. “Upstairs in Jon’s room.”

“You want to get the other end?” he asked her.

She started toward the shelves with a determined look in her eye, but Katharine stopped her. “She can’t. She was shot last month, and she isn’t supposed to lift anything yet.”

His jaw dropped. “Shot? What the Sam Hill were you doing?”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Hollis said sullenly.

“She was trying to defend their beach house from an intruder,” Katharine explained. “And she was very brave. She could have been killed.”

Kenny shook his head in disbelief. “You all certainly lead exciting lives. Tell me where you want the shelves. I can probably carry them up myself.”

Hollis led the way, admonishing him not to hurt the newly painted walls. Katharine was delighted to have a few minutes to herself. She took stock of dinner. At the rate she was going, she wouldn’t have food on the table before nine.

When the two young adults trooped back downstairs, she said, “Okay, somebody needs to finish the salad and somebody needs to set the table.”

“I’m making the salad,” Hollis reminded her, although so far only the tomatoes were chopped.

“I’ll set the table,” Kenny offered.

“Are we planning to eat down by the pool?” Hollis asked. “The dining room isn’t usable and I hate to eat in a kitchen.”

Katharine tried to remember the last time she’d seen Hollis eat anywhere else.

She gave the window a dubious look. “Don’t you think it’s too hot out there?”

“There may be a breeze. Let me check.” Kenny stepped outside the kitchen door and went to the far side of the patio, lifting his face to the sky. Hollis fetched a tray and started filling it with pottery plates, stainless-steel utensils, and cloth napkins.

Katharine asked softly. “Now who’s trying to show off?” Hollis knew good and well she usually used plastic place mats and paper plates and napkins down by the pool.

Hollis gave her an evil grin and added a round cotton tablecloth and the vase of flowers to the tray.

“It’s cooled off some, and there’s a little breeze,” Kenny announced.

“Good.” Katharine ran water into a bowl and handed him a sponge. “You’d better wipe the table before you set it. It hasn’t been used lately.”

He headed out, whistling.

“What are you trying to prove?” Katharine demanded when he was out of earshot.

“Lighten up, Aunt Kat. He’ll probably think using real plates and cloth napkins down by a pool is cool. It’s not as if we went out and bought stuff to impress him. We’re using what you already have, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“You’ve got it, so use it. It’s a party.”

Katharine headed to the fridge. If they were going to be festive, she’d serve wine. Maybe a couple of drinks would mellow them into decent dinner companions.

She was setting wine, a pitcher of iced water, and glasses on a tray when Kenny came back. “I’m ready for the dishes. And do you have any citronella candles? The mosquitoes are whining.”

“We’ve got citronella torches. Hollis, show Kenny where they are in the garage.”

They fetched the torches and Kenny headed back toward the pool. “Do you need matches?” she called after him.

“I got matches,” he called back.

“He was probably a Boy Scout,” Hollis said derisively.

“You were a Girl Scout,” Katharine reminded her. Hollis had been a particularly zealous scout up through middle school.

Hollis chopped vegetables and didn’t reply.

When dinner was ready, Katharine filled one tray with salad, pasta, and shrimp, and called for Kenny to come carry it out. She picked up the tray of wine, glasses, and water, and told Hollis, “Bring the bread.” She didn’t want to make an issue of it, but she didn’t want Hollis carrying anything heavy.

Katharine motioned for them to be seated, but Kenny moved to stand behind her chair. “May I help you, ma’am?”

She ignored Hollis’s smirk, slid into her seat, and unfolded her napkin. “I hope you don’t mind, Kenny, but we usually pray before we eat.”

“We ask a blessing up home,” he said easily.

“So why don’t you ask it?” Hollis challenged him.

Katharine expected him to decline, but he said, “Sure.” He looked out over the lawn with his eyes wide open and said, in the tone of one addressing a friend, “God, this sure is a great evening and a beautiful place. If this dinner tastes half as good as it looks, we will be truly blessed. But even as we enjoy ourselves, we remember that there are those who don’t have enough. If there are ways we can help them, please let us know. Amen.”

Katharine was touched by the prayer, but she lifted her head to see Hollis wrinkling her nose. Was there no pleasing the child? In high school she had made a faith commitment and stuck with it. She had built houses in Mexico and rocked infant orphans in Romania, had stayed active in church during college when most of her peers slacked off, and was still active. Yet she couldn’t look more disgusted with Kenny if he had flung off his clothes and begun some wild, blasphemous rite.

Hollis’s disgust turned to smugness when Kenny grew stiff and formal after the prayer, so conscious of minding his manners that Katharine was tempted to beg, “Relax. We aren’t giving you a grade.”

As she started pouring wine, she looked inquiringly at Hollis to see if she wanted any. Hollis seldom drank wine—not on principle but because she disliked the taste. However, she was being so unpredictable tonight that anything was possible.

Instead of answering her aunt’s unspoken query, Hollis said, “Kenny will want water. He doesn’t drink.”

“Wherever did you hear such a thing?” he demanded. “I’d love some wine, please.” Katharine filled the glass a little fuller than she had intended and handed it to him.

Hollis reached for the next glass and, ignoring her aunt’s surprise, took a large gulp. “Um–good choice, Aunt Kat.” Kenny gave her a sharp look, then bent his head and started buttering his roll. “What?” Hollis demanded. “What?”

“I didn’t say a thing.” He bit into the roll and chewed slowly.

Hollis took such a big swallow, she choked. Katharine felt like she was watching a bizarre episode of reality TV. She regretted the wine. It didn’t seem to be improving things. Why wasn’t she eating alone in her kitchen with a good book?

She racked her brain for a subject—any subject—they could discuss without quarreling. “How’d you wind up at Tech, Kenny?”

It was a good choice. He was a born storyteller and didn’t mind embellishing the facts to get a laugh. “By the seat of my pants and the help of a saintly woman. Nobody in our family ever went to college. All the men are builders except Uncle Vik, who works on cars. I like cars, so I’d figured on taking a technical degree and going to work with him, especially the computer part. However, my high-school counselor pulled me out of class one day, which liketa scared me to death, wondering exactly which of my infractions of the rules she had found out about.” His gaze slid toward Hollis, but she was gazing over the pool as if she were alone at the table, enjoying nature and a solitary meal.

“All the counselor wanted, though, was to tell me she’d noticed I wasn’t applying to college. She said with my grades and test scores, she thought I should. We both knew what I’d major in. I’ve loved computers since I got my first one when I was eight. She recommended Tech and even helped me fill out the application, to make sure I did it right.” He gave a self-conscious little laugh. “She made me apply for a Hope scholarship, too, but when I got home and told Daddy, he was madder’n a coon dog that’s sat on a hornet’s nest. Said our family has never taken charity from the government and wasn’t about to start.”

“Hope scholarships aren’t charity,” Hollis protested. “They’re the only good thing to come out of the Georgia lottery.”

“I know that, but Daddy still felt like it was something he didn’t want or need. Granddaddy figured a way around his objections, though. He told Daddy that after all the money our family has spent on lottery tickets over the years without ever winning more’n a few dollars here and there, it was high time we got some good out of our investment. When Daddy looked at it that way, he agreed I could take the scholarship. But I think he still expects me to pay it back someday. And I know he wonders why I’d rather sit in an office, when I could be building houses or fixing cars.” His grin was so infectious, Katharine laughed. Even Hollis’s lips twitched before she tightened them.