Mudlark (18 page)

She went off, grinning, and I turned back to the salad. I was amazed at my calm. I was also aware that I
was missing the main drama, so I checked the timer and bolted for the living room.

Tom and Freddy had ranged themselves behind the platform rocker. No way was Bob McKay going to
pinch
Darla's
ass. She sipped her Coke demurely as Annie, who was sitting on the suede couch, said
something earnest to her about injunctions. So Annie knew about that.

Jay, bless him, had taken Bob over by the fainting couch for a little conversation. Bob seemed to be
listening. He took a swallow of martini. I didn't see him grimace. Jim was adding a stick of wood to the fire. Bonnie
and Jean hovered around Clara as she pointed out the peculiar excellence of the whig star motif repeated,
small-scale, in the border of the coverlet. I drew a long, relieved breath and wondered where my wineglass had
disappeared.

It was on the bookcase. I retrieved it and sat by Annie. She seemed tense, intent, but I had no way of
judging whether or not that was her usual state. She was explaining an obscure point of property law in clear,
simple language. I wondered why. Darla had been admitted to the law school, after all, and it was
her
injunction.

When Annie ran down, Darla just shrugged. "Yeah, I know. State of Washington versus Engebretson,
1974."

Annie frowned.

"The injunction may not work, but it's bound to create another delay. We've kept the crew leashed all
summer. They didn't even try to start construction."

"They did rearrange the landscape." Tom took a sip of his pinot noir.

Darla glanced up at him. "They could have had the main lodge up and running by now, Tom."

"I suppose so. At least they extended the sewer and water lines."

Annie fiddled with a cheese straw. "You think that's a good thing?"

"It's the only course if the commissioners are going to permit new residences along the beach."

"They should freeze housing construction entirely."

Tom cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't that kind of radical?"

She gave a short laugh. "Don't quote me."

"I wouldn't think of it," Tom said, so mildly I wondered if she caught the jab.

She did. I felt her stiffen and glanced at her face. Her eyes had narrowed.

I jumped up. "Oh, my goodness, it's almost time for me to check on the salmon. Tom, you're the expert.
Help!"

I thought he was amused. He set his wine glass on the coffee table and followed me.

"Well, look at that," I muttered when we were safe in the kitchen. "Twelve more minutes."

Tom laughed. He laughed harder when I told him about the Beefeater martini.

"Is Bob a lush?"

The smile faded. "He may be my cousin, but I don't know him very well. He's probably bored. Annie
shouldn't force him to socialize with locals. He's not running for office."

"Good thing. He pinched Bonnie."

Tom swore under his breath.

"Will you go back and tell everyone dinner in fifteen minutes?"

"Sure. Take it easy, Lark. I promise not to pick a fight with Annie."

I sighed. "What if she picks the fight?"

He grinned and left. Bonnie returned almost at once with an order for another martini. Bob had a
discriminating palate.

Dinner went well. Matt Cramer came as everyone was shuffling past the salmon, plates in hand. He said
he could only stay half an hour. He had to go back to the hospital. I fed him and introduced him to Annie, who was
so gracious I began to think kindlier thoughts about her. I also felt sorry for her. Bob absorbed three glasses of wine
with dinner.

Matt ate two helpings of tart. He thanked me twice and went off looking almost chipper. Annie had
made his day.

"Who was that?" Bob McKay asked. Nobody answered him. I had served coffee with the tart and been
reminded of the old saw about wide-awake drunks. He pinched
my
ass.

Darla and Freddy creaked upstairs to the computer. The rest of us drifted into the living room, and Tom
built up the dying fire. Jay pulled one of the chairs from the pair below the coverlet into conversation range and
offered it to Jean. Annie had resumed her place on the couch. She was talking about zoning laws.

Bob McKay, eyes glazed, wandered over to the hassock, as if distancing himself from the subject or the
company. Jim pulled the other easy chair into the circle, and Jay and Tom fetched a couple of dining room chairs for
themselves. I made a mental note to give smaller parties or buy more chairs.

Jay was explaining about Matt Cramer's wife in response to a question from Jean. I poured another
round of coffee and sat on the couch beside Annie, who listened to Jay with every appearance of sympathy. She
ignored Bob's withdrawal.

"Matt lives next door, doesn't he?" Clara had taken over the rocker as by divine right. She leaned back,
rocking gently through her veil of smoke.

"In the mobile home just south of us."

"The one with the beautiful flowers," Bonnie murmured.

Annie settled deeper into her corner of the suede couch. Her nose wrinkled. "Mobile homes are a key to
overpopulation, in my opinion. If we got rid of the trailers on the peninsula there'd be no problem."

"Now, Annie, you've been in the business." Jim hitched his chair. He looked uncomfortable. "Fifty
percent of my sales are of mobile homes."

"Maybe that's why I gave up selling real estate." Annie smiled a perfunctory smile as if to soften the tart
response.

Clara said, "Where would you put the people, Annie?"

Annie shrugged. "Mobile homes are mobile. That's the advantage, I assume."

Tom gave the fire a poke. "In other words, let somebody else deal with the problem."

Annie looked at him. "Somebody else is not trying to protect a hundred or so square miles of
semi-wilderness, including a stand of old-growth timber. This is a unique ecosystem--"

"So is downtown Chicago."

Jim gave a salesman's laugh, and Clara said, "Be fair, Tom."

Bonnie was watching from the chair opposite the rocker. "I can see Annie's point. Some of the mobile
homes are well designed, and Matt's yard certainly looks nice, but, face it, those trailers on the flat east of you are
real eyesores. I bet they weren't there when you were growing up, Tom."

"No, and I agree that their septic tanks cause problems, but Annie's solution is worse than no solution
at all." He picked up his coffee cup from the teak table and took a swallow. "I notice your editorials have never
suggested bulldozing the mobile homes, Annie."

She set her empty cup on the table. "You read my editorials?" She didn't sound flattered.

"Every week. Also the Police Blotter."

I hid a grin. Jay and I subscribed to the paper primarily because of the section devoted to local police
reports. It contained amazing items about runaway cows and cars stuck in the sand on the Shoalwater approach.
The
Gazette
printed all the police calls, so serious matters appeared occasionally, too, but the effect of the
Police Blotter was soothing and statistically balanced--far more accurate than crime reporting usually is.

Annie bared her teeth in a wider smile. "I'm glad you read the Blotter, Tom. You're going to want extra
copies of next week's to give to your relatives."

Tom said, "I'll save one for Bob."

Annie made an impatient noise.

I glanced at Bob. Coffee or no coffee, he had passed out on Clara's pillows. He must have been
well-lubricated when he arrived.

Jean Knight rose. "It was a great dinner, Lark, and we're impressed by what you're doing with the
house. We have to go now, though. School tomorrow."

Jim shook hands all around and told Clara to call him if she wanted to list her house. Jay and I saw them
to the door. Bob was snoring.

I thought the Knights' departure might signal the breakup of the party, but no such luck. When we
returned, everyone had settled in, Bob's snores had moderated to a drone, and Clara and Annie were discussing the
up-coming Show of Homes. That seemed like a safe topic. The McKay house in the Enclave was scheduled to be
open.

I sat in the chair Jean had left, the better to see Annie, and Jay took my place on the couch.

As I sat, Annie gave me what I can only describe as a gracious smile. "You must see all the homes, Lark. I
think you'll find ours interesting."

"How long does the show run?"

She made a moue. "Five endless days, but it's all in a good cause. Wednesday through Sunday."

"I'll try to make it."

Annie beamed. "How nice to see the Knights socially. We are so fond of Jean."

"Who's we?" Tom was gazing into his coffee cup.

Annie flushed an unbecoming red. "All of us in the Nature Conservancy, of course. By the way, Tom, that
application you sent to the Historical Trust will be rejected. I wish you'd called me before you went to all that work.
I could have told you your house doesn't qualify."

Tom set his wine down. "I wonder why I'm not surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Clara's rocker creaked. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

He drew a breath. "No, I suppose not." He glanced around the group. "When I heard that Cleo was
heading up the resort project, I started looking around for a defensive wall."

Annie gave a short laugh. "No wonder.
De mortuis
, Tommy, but that woman was a menace."

He looked at her. "I had the feeling Cleo was going to target my house. This spring it occurred to me that
if it was listed as an historical site I could drive her lawyers crazy."

I was remembering the letter to the state historical society I had glimpsed in the stack of printouts. "Is
the house historical?"

Tom shrugged. "Probably not, if you're thinking in terms of New York, or the missions in California.
Anglos didn't settle this area until the 1850s. The house was built in 1901."

"The year the
Mollie McKay
sank?" Jay has a BA in history and enjoys digging into local
background.

Tom nodded. "It was built of wood salvaged from the wreck. The fact that my great-grandfather was the
skipper who ran the ship aground adds a degree of oddity to the story. He built the house on what was then the
shore--where he'd have to look at the hulk. The beach has widened since then."

Bonnie said, "Gosh, you'd think the preservation folks would jump at the chance." She turned to Annie.
"Why don't they want the house?"

Tom said, "Too many bathrooms, Annie?"

Annie snorted. "A privy would certainly be more authentic."

"But so unsound ecologically." Clara gave another small rock. A bland smile curved her lips. "Those
houses in the Enclave that are listed as sites surely have modern bathrooms. What's the hitch? Not big
enough?"

"We do look for distinguished structures. And also," Annie added delicately, "a level of funding I'm
afraid Tom can't manage. Owners must guarantee sufficient moneys to see to the upkeep in perpetuity. We're a
non-profit organization, you know, and wholly financed by private funds."

"Well, hell, and there I was looking for a big tax write-off," Tom mourned.

I stared at him. "I thought you were trying to protect the house from your ex-wife."

"That, too. Killing two birds with one stone."

Annie did not smile. "You mean you can raise the endowment?"

"Annie, my little skunk cabbage, I sold the film rights to
Small
Victories
."

There was a moment of explosive silence. Clara laughed.

"They're going to film it?" Annie's cup clattered in its saucer. She set it down.

Tom gave an elaborate shrug. "Who knows? Directors are always taking options they never pick
up."

Clara lit a cigarette and batted the smoke away. "If the paperback sells as well as the hardcover, Tom,
somebody will film it." She darted a malicious glance at Annie. "On location."

"Oh, wow." Bonnie's eyes were shining.

Annie said through her teeth, "I was going to let bygones be bygones, Tom--"

"Sure sounds like it," he interrupted.

"I read that...travesty as soon as I found out about it, and I've been refraining, ever since, from
mentioning it in print."

"I noticed."

"It's a tissue of slanders. How you could trash your own home town, how you could do that to Nelda
Picket?"

Tom's jaw dropped. "Nelda Pickett?"

Spots of red burned on Annie's elegant cheekbones. "The Prom Queen. Poor Nelda, she was always so
sweet to everybody. My dearest friend." She looked at me, eyes glittering. "Nelda was Homecoming Queen the year
Tom and I graduated from high school, a brunette like Tom's stupid character, but nothing like her inside.
Everybody loved Nelda. I'll never forgive you for doing that to her, Tom, and I don't care if your novel wins the
Pulitzer."

Tom scowled. "What makes you think I was satirizing Nelda?" When she sniffed instead of replying, he
went on, "Never mind, Annie. You have a degree in journalism, so you must have taken a lit course somewhere
along the line. I write fiction. There's a difference between fact and fiction, remember?"

"Don't feed me that.
Small Victories
is a
roman à clef
. If I were Nelda I'd sue."

"By God, you did take a lit course." He leaned back in his chair, and his mouth eased. "The character is a
composite. Nobody who knows Nelda is going to imagine she was like that. In fact, the Prom Queen bears a strong
resemblance to my ex-wife--and the dead can't sue for defamation of character."

"How convenient for you that she's dead."

There was a long pause. I thought Clara was going to say something, but she didn't.

Tom said, "
I
can sue."

"Freedom of expression. There is such a thing as the first amendment."

"I thought it applied to everybody, even me. Are you on the library board, too?" He turned to Bonnie.
"There's a town in eastern Oregon that wouldn't permit its librarians to order H.L. Davis's
Honey in the
Horn
. Naturally, the ban convinced everybody Davis was writing about that town."