Hit and Run (10 page)

‘Believe me, I'd love to forget,' AnnaLise muttered.

‘Listen, kid,' Joy said, ‘I'm sure some would say the only instinct males have is to propagate the species via whatever “innies” accommodates their “outies,” but you're not going to get that crap from me. As far as I'm concerned your birth father – and my ex-husband – is a pig. The trick is to figure out how to make bacon out of him.'

AnnaLise wrinkled her nose, a brunette echo of her blonde mother earlier that evening. ‘Like you did?'

‘Exactly. Ahh, here it is.' She held up a bottle cruddy enough to have been found in a shipwreck. ‘And now I'm heading upstairs, where a corkscrew and our glasses await.'

AnnaLise and Joy had the wine open and were sharing it with Shirley when Dickens Hart got around to them on his grand working of the room.

He took a look at the wine in the glasses, then lifted the bottle on the cocktail table next to them, evidently reading the label.

‘Anything wrong?' Joy inquired sweetly.

‘Not at all.' Hart set it down. ‘In fact, I hope you're enjoying it, because we're having the same wine with dinner.'

Even Joy looked surprised and, to AnnaLise, a little disappointed that she hadn't succeeded in aggravating Hart. ‘You really
are
going all out—'

‘Dinner is served!'

It was neither butler nor gong, but a curvy platinum blonde of about forty. She was wearing a short skirt, five-inch heels and a white coat with ‘Chef Debbie' embroidered on the pocket. ‘Could everyone please move into the dining room?'

They obeyed, only Hart hanging back to have a word with the chef.

AnnaLise stepped aside to let Shirley precede her. ‘Leave it to Dickens to find the best-looking chef in the hemisphere,' the older woman said.

Following her into the dining room – which, thanks to Hart's ‘pumping up' of the heat – was a tad too toasty, AnnaLise saw a gigantic cornucopia overflowing with apples, pears and other autumn bounty serving as the centerpiece of a wide, linen-covered table. It had been set for thirteen – six on each side and one place at the head of the table. That chair had a red cushion on it – for Hart, himself, naturally.

‘Nice little touch, eh?' Joy said in her ear.

‘What is?' There was nothing ‘little' about anything in the room.

‘The Horny Plenty.' Joy nodded to the centerpiece. ‘Kind of strikes the vibe for the weekend.'

‘I thought it was a “horn of” plenty,' said a young voice.

AnnaLise turned to see Lacey Capri. To support the girl, AnnaLise whispered, ‘Ignore her,' indicating Joy, who was moving to the other side of the table. ‘It
is
a horn of plenty. Or a cornucopia.'

‘Ohmigod, that's just the word I was trying to think of.' Lacey blushed. ‘I'm kind of a word nerd.'

AnnaLise smiled. ‘Me, too. Good eyes, by the way, catching sight of that owl flying away.'

Said eyes grew big. ‘Ohmigod! I've never seen anything that big. At least flying.'

‘Agreed. I can even remember the first time I saw a wild turkey take off. Seemed like something out of a cartoon.'

The blue eyes got even larger. ‘Turkeys … fly?'

AnnaLise smiled. ‘Not the ones like we'll feast on tomorrow. Those are raised for their meat and are too fat to get off the ground. But, yes, wild turkeys can fly. At least, in short bursts.'

‘Wow.' Her young face changed as she twisted her badge name-out so AnnaLise could see it. ‘Oh, I'm sorry. My name's Lacey. My mother is over there.'

Dropping the lanyard, she pointed to where Sugar Capri sat talking with Phyllis Balisteri over the vacant chair that separated them. Across the table, Daisy was being chatted up by Lucinda and Tyler Puckett.

‘I'm AnnaLise, and my mother is across from yours,' AnnaLise said to Lacey. Close-up, the girl was even prettier than she looked from the second floor, with milky white skin and piercing blue, verging on violet, eyes.

‘AnnieLeez!' Phyllis was waving at them. ‘I saved a seat for you.'

A little embarrassed that, at age twenty-eight, she still had seats ‘saved' for her, AnnaLise said, ‘Maybe Lacey would like to sit next to her mother.'

‘No, I'm good,' Lacey said, continuing on down the table's line of chairs to the end.

Surrendering, AnnaLise slipped into the chair and put out her hand to Sugar. ‘AnnaLise Griggs.'

‘I've heard all about you,' Sugar said, shaking. ‘Impressive.'

‘Mama and Daisy exaggerate,' AnnaLise said, unsure which had been singing her praises.

‘No, actually it was your
father
.' Sugar nodded toward Dickens Hart, who had just entered the room.

‘Oh, that's nice,' the journalist said, albeit weakly. ‘I didn't know that he and you were still in touch. I mean after, umm …'

‘… all these years,' Mama supplied, leaning across her.

‘Oh, we haven't been, really,' Sugar said. ‘At least not up until a few days ago. When I found him online?' A conspiratorial look at AnnaLise. ‘You know how it is, Googling old beaus.'

AnnaLise nodded, knowing that the only thing that would come out of her mouth – should she trust herself to open it – would be an astonished ‘old
beaus
?'

Speaking of the devil, himself, Hart was approaching the head of the table, seeming pleased to find Lacey Capri seated to his right. Mistake, perhaps, because the contrast with the coltish girl made the self-styled lothario look both aged and rickety as he settled into his chair.

‘… and so we just started emailing and texting,' Sugar was saying, ‘and Dickens told me about this get-together. I couldn't resist seeing the place again. And him, too, of course.'

‘You've been here before, then?' AnnaLise asked, regretting it immediately. Joy was diagonally across the table – a mere distance of five or six feet, easily breached if she wanted to get her hands around Sugar's throat.

‘Oh, yes. When we were dating, I spent a lot of time here. Now, though, I couldn't pass up the invitation, especially since Lacey and I were in the area.'

Considering that the ‘dating' had taken place when Hart was still married to Joy and the ‘time spent' included sneaking into the marital bed, AnnaLise felt more at ease responding to Sugar's last comment.

‘You live nearby?' she asked lightly. ‘Since you arrived in the limousine from the airport with the others, I assumed you must have just flown in.'

‘Oh, we left the car at Charlotte Douglas. So much easier than finding our way here on the mountain roads. Besides, Lacey had never ridden in a limo before.' Sugar giggled.

As mature as Sugar might have appeared at fifteen, she sure didn't seem to have progressed much since, right down to her choice of clothing and makeup. In fact, the few words her daughter had advanced seemed more articulate to AnnaLise's ear than Sugar's contributions.

Mama pulled at AnnaLise's sleeve to get her attention. ‘What are you going to do?' she whispered.

‘Do?'

‘That girl is in your seat.' Phyllis was chin-gesturing toward Lacey Capri, talking to Hart. ‘We're all wearing tags saying who we are. Why not cards telling folks where their rightful place is?'

‘I think Dickens wants us to mingle,' AnnaLise replied. ‘Besides, you're the one who wanted me
here
.'

‘But you're the legitimate heir,' Mama maintained stubbornly. ‘You belong at his right hand.'

‘I'm
il
legitimate, remember? Besides, there are other people here who may have as much claim as I do.'

‘No, no,' Phyllis was saying. ‘I looked into this and you can ask Patrick Hoag if you want. Dickens Hart recognized you as his heir and put you in his will. He definitely hasn't done that for nobody else.'

Phyllis had put some thought – and research – into this, and while AnnaLise did appreciate all that effort on her own behalf, the ‘golden child's' mantra hadn't changed. ‘I told you, Mama. I don't care—'

‘You'd better care!' Phyllis thundered as a waitress stopped to fill her wine glass, decanter hovering in one hand, white wine bottle in the other.

Everyone at the table looked at them and then, embarrassed, away.

‘Umm, red or white?'

‘Nicole?'

The waitress was Nicole Goldstein, college student and granddaughter of Sal Goldstein, who owned Sal's Tap on the lake's beach across from Mama's.

‘Hi, AnnaLise,' Nicole said. ‘Wine, Mama? I have a full-bodied cabernet,' she held up a decanter, ‘or a crisp Sauvignon blanc.'

‘Go red,' AnnaLise advised.

‘I'll take the sovey-young,' Phyllis said obstinately. ‘Only the heavens know what this “chef” of Dickens will be putting in front of us.'

AnnaLise looked skyward and Nicole, trying to stay in role, carefully poured Phyllis her wine. ‘Will you also be having red or would you like me to take the glass away?'

‘Better
pour
away, instead,' AnnaLise muttered. ‘I may need some backup.'

A laugh gurgling in Nicole's throat, she filled Phyllis' red wine glass with the cabernet and then AnnaLise's as well.

‘So, Mama,' AnnaLise said after Nicole had moved on and the acknowledged daughter took a blessed sip. ‘Is it nice having a weekend off?'

‘Don't you be changing subject on me, you hear?' This time Phyllis at least kept her voice down.

‘The subject being Dickens Hart's money and that I should want it? Well, I don't. Case closed.'

‘That's all fine and well.' Phyllis' eyes narrowed and AnnaLise thought another tirade was coming, but instead, tears started to trickle down the older woman's cheeks.

AnnaLise had never seen Phyllis Balisteri cry. Ever.

‘Please, don't,' she said, holding out her napkin. ‘I'm sorry for … whatever.'

‘I'll tell you whatever.' Phyllis snatched the napkin perfunctorily rather than gracefully. ‘For thinkin' just of yourself. Daisy's got stacks of doctor's bills for her tests and she may well have stacks more if it's the Alls-whiners. Even worse, maybe all this forgetting is on account of a tumor in her brain.'

AnnaLise felt like she'd been stabbed through the heart. The tests, so far, hadn't shown a tumor, but … ‘Then we'll find the best neurosurgeon out there.'

‘And who's going to pay this “best” head-cutter? You?' Phyllis demanded.

‘Insurance, of course.'

‘Your insurance?'

‘I'm on unpaid leave from the newspaper. But even if I wasn't, my insurance wouldn't cover Daisy.'

‘So, you
do
see what I'm saying?'

The daughter just flat-out didn't.

And then she did.

Taking back her napkin, AnnaLise said, ‘Mama, please don't tell me Daisy doesn't have health insurance.'

‘That's exactly what I'm telling you. Neither of us in our lives.'

‘You've
never
had insurance? But what do you do when you get sick?'

‘We pay the doctor ourselves, of course. Since we don't work for big companies, individual insurance is sky-high. Doctor Stanton – and Doc Williams, God rest, before him – is fine with being paid on time.'

‘But that's
crazy
.' Daisy's head turned their way and AnnaLise lowered her voice. ‘What if something catastrophic happened to one or both of you? A car accident or—'

‘AnnieLeez, you can't pay what you ain't got.' Mama's face was stern now. ‘That's the long and the short of it. And as for “catty-strophic,” which you seem to enjoy the sound of, we just took our chances.'

‘A bet you lost.'

A sigh. ‘I can't deny that.'

AnnaLise closed her eyes, trying to come to terms with needing to come up with not just the twenty percent she assumed they'd owe beyond what insurance covered, but the entire hundred percent. Dickens Hart was paying her a hundred thousand dollars for writing his memoirs. She'd gotten fifty already, and would get another fifty on satisfactory – to Hart – completion of the manuscript.

AnnaLise opened her eyes. ‘Mama, has Daisy told you the total of her bills to date?'

‘She has, but she don't want you to know.'

‘Give, Mama. How much?'

‘She said something came from the lab people just before we all left this morning, but up 'til then it was around eighty-three.'

‘Eighty-three
hundred
?' AnnaLise brow furrowed.

But Mama was shaking her head. ‘Thousand.'

Lacey Capri's laughter rang out in reaction to something Dickens Hart said, as AnnaLise let the idea of $83,000 in unpaid medical expenses – and counting – take center stage in her brain.

‘I
told you so,' Joy said to AnnaLise. After dinner had broken up, they'd taken their wine out onto the patio so Joy could satisfy her nicotine jones.

While Joy's cancer stick might be keeping her warm, neither the nearby space heater nor AnnaLise's revisiting of recent conversations were doing the same for her.

Their backs were to the newly-applied plywood wall, providing privacy that the glass windows couldn't have. Not that it was necessary. The rest of the reunion had moved into the media room to watch a movie. Appropriately – or perversely
not
–
When Harry Met Sally
. It was a favorite of AnnaLise's and would probably prove a good choice for cutting across the generations and tastes of the small but diverse audience, only the journalist hadn't been in the mood for a love story. Especially one overlaid upon the real-time less-than-romantic farce.

Noticing herself being somewhat slow on the uptake, AnnaLise had just registered Joy's first foray. ‘Told me what?'

Joy grunted. ‘That you shouldn't turn your nose up at your inheritance. I just hope it isn't too late for you, what with all these hyenas sniffing around.'