Текст книги "The Lies That Bind"
Автор книги: Kate Carlisle
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered, not even caring if I sounded like a wimpy girl.
“And I’m glad to be here,” he said. “Especially now, with you wrapped around me.”
My insides shuddered at his words. Could we just find a room somewhere and forget everything that had happened here tonight? He’d dressed up for our date, too, in a beautiful black suit, crisp white shirt, and dark crimson tie. I didn’t know an Armani from an armadillo, but I knew his outfit had to cost a few thousand pounds. And it was worth every last penny, I thought, as I nuzzled up next to him and felt the soft wool against my cheek.
“What has you so upset, darling?” he said, his breath unsettling the fine hairs of my neck. “We saw the police cars. Was there another attack?”
“Yes. Oh, Derek.”
“You’re shaking, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Layla Fontaine.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“She was murdered. A bullet in the chest. Blood.” I shivered again.
He pushed back and held me at arm’s length. “Layla Fontaine? Murdered?”
I gulped. “I didn’t do it.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it quickly. He drew me close and I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Of course you didn’t do it. For heaven’s sake. I didn’t for one minute think you were responsible.”
“But I found her,” I whispered. “And somebody’s going to connect her death to Abraham’s and, you know, what happened in Scotland. They’ll just assume I had something to do with it.”
He rubbed my back in a soothing, circular motion. “They’ll answer to me if they do.”
“Stone?”
Derek whipped around. “What is it?”
Gunther’s face was pale. “Did you hear? Layla. My God, she’s dead.”
“Yes, I’ve just been told.”
Gunther’s Austrian accent seemed to grow thicker as he became more agitated. “Is this some kind of joke?”
I took a small step away from Derek. “No, it’s not a joke.”
Gunther’s gaze homed in on me. “Who are you? What happened? A heart attack? Did she choke?”
I looked at Derek, then back at Gunther. “She was murdered.”
“Commander Stone?” Inspector Jaglom approached. “I thought that was you. Welcome back to the States.”
“Thank you, Inspector,” Derek said, shaking the man’s hand. They had worked together during Abraham’s murder investigation. The first time I’d heard Jaglom greet Derek by the title of Commander, I realized the guy was actually a former commander in the Royal Navy. Before that, I was pretty sure he was a killer. Of course, he was convinced I was, too. Ah, the memories.
Derek continued, “Inspector, let me introduce you to Gunther Schnaubel.”
There were somber murmurs of greeting; then Gunther said, “Inspector, I demand to know what happened here.”
“That’s what we intend to find out, Mr. Schnaubel.”
Gunther rubbed tight knuckles across his jawline. “This is unacceptable. I spoke to Layla a mere hour ago. She sounded fine. We were to meet here and discuss certain arrangements.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Schnaubel,” Jaglom said, studying the Austrian carefully as he pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket. “What sort of arrangements were you planning to talk about with the deceased?”
Gunther licked his lips. He had the grace to look flustered, as if he was just now realizing how big a bull’s-eye he’d painted on himself.
I cleared my throat. “Inspector, Mr. Schnaubel is one of the honored guests Ms. Fontaine invited to the book festival running these next two weeks. He’s a world-renowned artist and he’s teaching several classes as well as donating some important pieces to the silent auction.”
Gunther looked pleased by my words.
“I see,” Jaglom said, as he wrote in his notepad. “What sort of artist are you, Mr. Schnaubel?”
“What does that matter?” Gunther said, angry now and posing with his fist on his hip and his nose in the air, as though he expected some underling to clean up the mess that was causing havoc in his well-ordered life.
“Let’s talk some more in here, Mr. Schnaubel,” Jaglom said, pointing down the hall to one of the rooms the police were using.
“I have nothing else to say,” he said, his lips in a tight pout. Could he be more of a diva?
Derek leaned closer to Jaglom. “Inspector, could I have a word, please?”
“Certainly.”
The two men walked slowly as they talked, down the ramp to the gallery, then up another ramp and into the east hall. What were they discussing? I wondered. What did Derek know that I didn’t and how soon could I find out? And meanwhile, what was I supposed to do?
Gunther eyed me with suspicion but said nothing.
“I love your work,” I said lamely.
He raised one imperious eyebrow. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Okay, enough small talk. I should’ve been nicer to him since he was a world-renowned artist and a guest here at BABA, but all the niceness had been drained out of me. I excused myself and walked away, wondering when this nightmare would be over.
Chapter 9
“You still haven’t slept with the man?”
“Shh,” I said in a frantic whisper. “I’d rather not broadcast it to the world.”
“I don’t blame you,” Robin said in a loud whisper, as she arranged three kinds of cheese and crackers on a tray. “I’d be embarrassed, too.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” I hissed, then had to take a breath to calm down. I wasn’t embarrassed, really. Just horribly disappointed that last night had been such a bust.
I’m not saying we would’ve ended up in bed together, but we didn’t even go out. No dinner, no drinks, no nothing. It was a sad waste of a perfectly great dress and sexy shoes.
The whole evening had been consumed by Layla and the murder investigation. Even dead, the woman was ruining my life. By the time I got home, alone, I was exhausted. And once again, Layla had taken center stage. I winced at the unkind thought and waved it away. It was spiteful and stupid, and probably counted as another black mark on my karma scorecard. I just hoped the time I spent protecting the crime scene from the likes of the peculiar Tom Hardesty and the shrieking Naomi would weigh in my favor.
The police had questioned everyone. Gunther had been so flipped out after his interview with Inspector Jaglom, or his “grilling with the KGB,” as Gunther so dramatically put it, that Derek and all of his men had to babysit him the rest of the night. Who knew a big guy like that could be such a little girl?
“So what happened?” Robin persisted.
“Nothing,” I snapped, then took a calming breath and gave her the highlights: Derek’s demanding client, a few screwy students and staff, murders, attacks, police all over the place.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess it’ll happen when it’s meant to.”
“Now you sound like my mother,” I said, smiling reluctantly.
“No, your mom would channel Romlar X, who would advise that the precise optimal moment for mating must be analyzed vis-à-vis your cosmic destiny.” She smirked as she unscrewed the top off a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.
“Oh, dear God, you’re right.”
Robin and I were closer than two sisters, so she knew when I was upset or in trouble. I first met her when we were eight years old. My parents had moved my two brothers and three sisters and me up to the wilds of Sonoma County, to live on land they’d purchased with the other members of the Fellowship for Spiritual Enlightenment and Higher Artistic Consciousness. The first person I noticed when I stepped out of my parents’ Volkswagen bus was Robin Tully, a short, fierce, dark-haired girl who clutched a baldheaded Barbie in her tight little fist. We clicked from day one.
Robin’s mother was always traveling, searching for the miraculous all over the world. So Robin lived with us most of the time. That was fine with me.
Robin looked up from opening the second bottle of wine, a hearty Malbec my father had discovered and given to me to try. “So is Derek still as hot as ever?”
I laughed. “Does the sun still set in the west?”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she said, fanning herself.
“Brooklyn, pizza is here,” Vinnie trilled from the other room.
“Let the party begin,” Robin said, and carried out the tray of goodies. I followed close behind with wineglasses and two bottles of wine.
As I set everything on the coffee table, I was happy to hear Suzie and Vinnie regaling Alice with horror stories of their chain-saw competitions. My friends and I had all agreed ahead of time not to bring up the subject of Layla. It would just upset Alice.
“It sounds so dangerous,” Alice said, reaching for the white wine. “Chain saws are scary.”
“It’s nothing,” Suzie said.
Vinnie beamed. “My Suzie is macho to the core.”
Suzie rolled up one sleeve and popped her biceps.
“Whoa,” Alice said, wide-eyed, and we all laughed.
Robin grabbed a cracker. “You guys should show Alice your work later on. It’s impressive.”
“Oh, I’d love to see it,” Alice said, then pointed to one of the trays of cheese and crackers. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I wanted to let you all know that these are rice crackers. I was just diagnosed with celiac disease, so I’m trying to change my diet around.”
“Oh, the gluten allergy?” Vinnie asked.
“That’s right,” Alice said. “No wheat, rye, barley, or oats. No pizza, which is sad, but I guess it’s the gluten that was killing my stomach.”
“That sounds very painful,” Vinnie said.
“It was awful,” Alice continued. “So now I’m determined to stay far away from anything resembling gluten. I had a simple blood test and they diagnosed it. And almost overnight, I feel so much better. No stomachaches, no leg cramps in the middle of the night.”
“Ouch,” Suzie said, wincing.
“That’s good news, Alice,” I said. “I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed a rice cracker and popped it into her mouth, then made a face. “Like I said, it’ll take some getting used to.”
There was a knock at the door; then I heard someone cry, “Yoo-hoo!”
“Is that my mother?” I said in alarm.
“No, it’s Jeremy, one of our new neighbors,” Vinnie said. “I left a note on their door that we were over here. I hope that’s okay, Brooklyn. I believe we should all be good neighbors.”
“It’s fine,” I said, and jogged down the short hall to my workroom, which was actually the front of my apartment. The door was open and a gorgeous man with bleached blond streaks in his hair was peeking inside.
“Hi, it’s us,” he said. “Your rude new neighbors.”
“Come in,” I said. “I’m Brooklyn.”
“I’m Jeremy,” he said, looking around. “What a great room.”
A dark-haired Adonis followed him inside and stared at my walls of supplies and tools. “So this is where it all happens,” he said. “I’m Sergio, by the way.”
“I’m Brooklyn. Welcome to the neighborhood. Where what happens?”
Sergio pointed at the walls and cabinets. “Suzie told us what you do. All the book stuff. Fascinating.”
Jeremy walked slowly around my central worktable, staring at the counters, where two large book presses were neatly arranged next to jars of brushes and filing tools and bone folders. Above the counters were wall-mounted shelves that held books and rolls of leather and heavy paper and threads of every color.
“Wow,” Sergio said. “Cool stuff.”
“Yeah, great energy,” Jeremy said.
“Thanks, I like it, too,” I said, smiling with pride. “Come on back. We’re having wine.”
“We didn’t want to interrupt, but Vinnie left a note.”
“No worries. We were hoping you’d come over.” I ushered them through the hallway and into my living space.
“Hi, girls,” Jeremy said, waving.
“Hi, boys,” Suzie said with a grin.
“Ooh,” Jeremy said, pulling Sergio into the room. “I like the way she’s got this set up over here.”
“Great chair,” Sergio said, running his hand along the back of the big red Hawaiian-print chair that faced the green couch in the center of the room.
I couldn’t help feeling a touch of satisfaction. I loved my place a lot. As the women moved everything over to the bar for easier access to the refrigerator, I gave the two men a minitour.
“My business called for a separate workroom office area,” I explained, pointing out features as we walked around the wide-open space. “So I had the wall built between the office and the living area, then added a closet and powder room to accommodate my clients.”
“Ooh, tax write-off,” Jeremy said, wiggling his eyebrows at Sergio.
I laughed. “You betcha.”
“It looks really nice.” Sergio wandered over to the wall of windows with the eastern view. “I like the different seating areas you’ve arranged.”
“Me, too.” The windows on the east side of the room showed off a view of the bay that was worth the price I’d paid for the place. The view was pure luck. Two nearby buildings blocked the view from some of my neighbors’ apartments, but my place was in the center of the top floor and I was able to see straight out to the bay.
I’d set two comfy leather Buster chairs, a shared ottoman, and a sturdy table in front of the windows. It was perfect for reading, which was one reason why I had a long, low bookcase running the length of the windows. Some mornings, I liked to sit there with a cup of coffee and a book on my lap, just staring out at the bay, feeling at peace with the world.
I hadn’t felt that peaceful in a while.
I left Sergio and Jeremy sitting in the Buster chairs, plotting the redesign of their own space, took their wine requests, and joined the females in the kitchen area.
“I opened another bottle,” Robin said.
“Thanks.” I poured two glasses of red wine and took them to Sergio and Jeremy.
Sergio protested. “We shouldn’t have barged in. Looks like you’re having a girls’ night.”
Jeremy slapped his arm in good humor. “Oh, honey, we can do girls’ night.”
From across the room, Suzie said, “Hey, if they’ll let me in, they’ll definitely let you in.”
Everyone laughed, and I said, “We’re just hanging out and you’re more than welcome to stay.”
Sergio held up his glass. “We don’t want to drink you out of house and home.”
I smiled. “Then it’s a happy coincidence that my dad owns a winery.”
“I love this girl!” Jeremy said.
“Brooklyn, we need you in here,” Robin said. “Alice needs consoling.”
“I’m fine,” Alice said, but I could hear her voice cracking.
I walked back to the kitchen and put my arm around her shoulders. “What’s wrong, my friend?”
Alice burst into tears and ran to the bathroom.
Alarmed, I turned to Robin. “What did you do?”
She looked nonplussed. “Nothing. I swear. She was talking about all the cool people in your bookbinding class, and I thought she was going to burst into tears, so that’s why I called you over. I thought I was kidding, but it turns out I was right.”
“You called her your friend, Brooklyn,” Vinnie said. “I believe that sent her over the edge. She seems a bit overwhelmed. Perhaps she does not have many friends.”
“She just moved to town a month or two ago,” I said.
“Well, that sucks,” Suzie said. She drained her wineglass and held it out to me. “Please, sir, I want some more.”
I blinked. “That’s from Oliver Twist.”
“Yeah, we watched it on TV the other night,” she said with a cockeyed grin. “The Polanski version, which is very cool and dark, by the way.” She slid off her barstool and went to the fridge to get her own wine. “But quite the downer. That kid couldn’t get a break.”
“I just finished rebinding a beautiful copy of the book,” I said.
“Cool.”
“Yeah, it was. Except it belonged to Layla.”
“Ouch,” Suzie said, hopping back up on her stool.
“Right. That was the book that caused all the trouble.”
“Ooh.” Suzie nodded. “Okay, that’s weird.”
Alice came back to the kitchen carrying a tissue and blotting her eyes. “I’m sorry to be such a twerp. You guys are just too nice. I don’t have any girlfriends in town yet and my stomach gives me problems and so does my fiancé, and I’m under a lot of pressure at the center and Layla’s dead now and I don’t know how to do what I’m supposed to do. I’m floundering.”
Vinnie patted her back. “I find I get flundery at times, too. It is good at these times to be with friends.”
Alice nodded sincerely and sipped her wine.
There was a pause; then Robin said, “Flundery?”
Suzie snorted. “It’s a Vinnie-ism. I figure it’s a cross between fluttery and floundering and flucked up.”
I pulled an apple out of the crisper and began to cut it up to go with the cheese. Glancing over my shoulder at Alice, I said, “I hope I didn’t say anything to upset you.”
“No, no,” Alice insisted. “I’m a little emotional, but right now, it’s because I’m so happy. I wish you were all my friends.”
“We are your friends,” Vinnie said.
Alice bit her lip. “Don’t get me started again.”
Sergio and Jeremy joined us then, and I refilled their wineglasses.
“All this wine reminds me,” Robin said, nudging my arm. “Are you going to Annie’s opening?”
“Are you kidding? My mom will kill me if I miss it.”
“What’s that?” Suzie asked.
I turned. “Remember I told you about Abraham’s daughter, Annie, opening a kitchen store in Dharma? Well, the grand opening is tomorrow. You’re all invited. All the free wine you can drink.”
“What’s Dharma?” Alice asked.
“Who’s Abraham?” Sergio asked.
“Did somebody say free wine?” Jeremy said.
I laughed. “Abraham was my bookbinding teacher. He died a few months ago. Annie is his daughter. She’s opened a kitchen shop in the village where my parents live, on the Lane.”
“The Lane is Shakespeare Lane,” Robin explained. “All the cool shops and restaurants in Dharma are there.”
Sergio nodded in agreement. “I know the Lane. Very chic, not to be missed. I used to work with the chef who opened the newest restaurant up there.”
“Cool,” I said, excited to know we were all connected somehow.
“Dharma is where Brooklyn and I grew up,” Robin said. “It’s a small town in Sonoma County, in the wine country. Near Glen Ellen.”
“It’s charming, sort of chic and rustic all at the same time,” I added, grabbing some chips. “Actually, most of Sonoma is that way.”
“With heavy emphasis on the rustic,” Robin said. “It’s not quite up to Napa chic yet.”
“Never will be,” I admitted.
“Nope,” she agreed. “We should probably just go ahead and call it redneck.”
“But with money,” I said. “Lots of big-city money. Lots of old wine money.”
“And new wine money,” she added, and we both laughed.
Over twenty years ago, our families, along with a few hundred other ex-hippies and Deadheads, had followed their mystic teacher, Robson Benedict, to Sonoma County. We had lived communally on several thousand acres of land, and over the years the members planted vineyards as they built their spiritual and artistic community. Today, Dharma was incorporated and everyone in the commune was wealthy, thanks to the grapes we’d grown when we first moved there.
“It’s going to be a big, fun scene,” Robin said. “I’m driving up for the weekend and staying through Tuesday.”
“I’m just staying for the day,” I said. “Anyone want to join me?”
“Suzie and I would love to go,” Vinnie said. “But we have plans. We’re setting up a new installation in Marin.”
“You’re having an art show?” I asked.
“In San Rafael,” Suzie said. “It’s part of their annual Big Art show.”
“It’s a play on words,” Vinnie added. “All the art is very big in size. Do you get it?”
“They get it,” Suzie said.
“Your art is definitely big,” Robin said.
“Thank you,” Vinnie said, bowing her head.
Everyone smiled.
“I would like to go to Sonoma,” Alice said abruptly. “I mean, if it’s okay. I wouldn’t want to—”
“Yes, Alice,” Vinnie piped up before I could answer. “You must go to Dharma. I suggest that you take advantage of Brooklyn’s mother’s knowledge of Ayurvedic massage. It is possible that your chakras are weakened and you might need rebalancing.”
Alice’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Vinnie, don’t scare her with that mumbo jumbo,” Suzie said, and turned to Alice. “Here’s the deal. You spend the day drinking good wine and eating great food. You get a massage, relax, chill out. Brooklyn’s family is wild. You’ll have a good time and come back ready to kick some ass.”
“That pretty much describes the experience,” Robin said.
“It sounds wonderful,” Alice said. “I would love to go.”
“Is Stuart in town yet?” I asked. “He’s welcome to come, too.”
“Oh, no.” Alice frowned. “He would probably love it, but he’s still in Atlanta.”
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll leave around eleven tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be here.”
Saturday morning was a classically gorgeous San Francisco day, cold and sunny with a sky as blue as a Boucher painting. I took Van Ness north through the Civic Center, past car dealerships and supermarkets, skirting both the dicey Tenderloin and exclusive Nob Hill before reaching Lombard, where I turned left toward the Presidio. I would’ve avoided this route on a weekday but today we zipped along at a smooth pace.
I stayed on Lombard and entered the Presidio, preferring the winding turns and hairpin curves to the straightforward smoothness of Highway 101. As I drove through the park, past the rows of stately, historic wood-framed and brick homes formerly assigned to army officers but now leased to the public, I glanced over at Alice. I had to hide my smile because while I wore jeans, boots, and a bulky sweater, she wore a prim white blouse with a rounded collar tucked into black trousers. She carried a thin black cashmere sweater and a small black shoulder bag. Her trademark velvet headband held her hair away from her face, and there were tiny pearl dot earrings in her ears. No matter what the occasion, she was petite, demure, and sweet. I was none of the above.
We emerged from the wooded Presidio, passed the bridge toll plaza, and drove onto the Golden Gate Bridge. Alice glanced around in wonder. “It’s so beautiful.” She seemed less tense than I’d ever seen her before. That had to be a good thing.
“I love this view,” I said as I took in the green rolling hills of Marin ahead and the blue Pacific Ocean to my left.
“It’s so amazing,” Alice said, sitting up in her seat to try and see over the bridge railing. After thirty seconds, she sat back down and stared at the hills. “I just can’t get over it.”
“You’ve driven across the bridge before, haven’t you?”
“No. I’ve done my share of wandering around the city, but I haven’t ventured much farther yet. There just hasn’t been enough time.”
“Oh, my God. I’m suddenly feeling the weight of responsibility.”
“You hold yourself responsible for me having a good time outside the city?”
“That’s right, and I take it very seriously.”
“Okay then,” she said, laughing. “I expect to be shown a good time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted and laughed with her. Within a minute or so, we were off the bridge and zooming through Marin County. Somewhere around Corte Madera, I asked Alice where she was from. She started talking in her speedy run-on style and didn’t let up until we passed the old wagon on the hill with the sign that read WELCOME TO SONOMA COUNTY.
Alice had attended a Catholic boarding school while growing up in Georgia. Catholic school would be bad enough, but a boarding school? I told her I couldn’t imagine anything more strict than Catholic nuns in a boarding school. She regaled me with story after story of the bad girls she grew up with and where they were now. Clearly, it was true what they said about Catholic girls.
“They” being my two brothers and their dodgy friends, Eric and Zorro (his real name). Both boys had been forced to attend Catholic school in Glen Ellen when we were kids. They’d railed against the nuns and the rules and the uniforms, but they’d spoken in hushed, reverential tones about those Catholic school girls.
As we passed the town of Glen Ellen and headed toward the Valley of the Moon, I realized I now knew more about Alice Fairchild and her life as a Catholic school girl than I knew about some members of my own family.
She’d met Layla when they both attended a fund-raising conference in Atlanta. She admitted that Layla could be abrasive, but Alice knew that behind Layla’s tough exterior was a sensitive soul. She had challenged herself to get to know Layla better and found out that the woman didn’t have many girlfriends. No wonder she didn’t know how to treat other women.
I thought it was a little naive of Alice to think Layla had an ounce of goodness underneath that mean-girl outer shell, but Alice certainly seemed to have found a friend.
“I really admire what she built at BABA,” Alice said. “I’d like to stay for a few years, then once Stuart and I start a family, we might move back to Georgia. If we do, I’ve always dreamed of opening a small arts center. I know I could put everything I’ve learned about fund-raising to good use. I’d love to pick your brain sometime about how I could set up some bookbinding classes for grown-ups. I’ve already talked to Karalee about her Saturday classes for kids. They’re amazing.”
“She’s great with the kids,” I said.
“Yes, she is. But now that Layla’s gone, I’m not sure what to do.”
“I’m sure the board would love it if you’d stay. But you don’t have to decide anything right now. Just take your time.”
I left Highway 12 at Montana Ridge Road and we wound our way toward Dharma. I was giving Alice some pointers on setting up book craft classes as we turned onto Shakespeare Lane, the two-block-long stretch of shops and restaurants that constituted the epicenter of downtown Dharma.
“You were right,” she whispered, looking from side to side as we drove past the pretty shops and tree-lined sidewalks. “It’s beautiful. You’re so lucky you grew up here.”
“I think so,” I said, smiling as I glanced around. “It cleans up pretty well, I must say.”
And I was willing to bet it beat a nun-infested Catholic boarding school by a mile.
I found a parking space a block from the main drag and we walked to Annie’s store. On the way, I pointed out the tasting room our winery operated, along with two good restaurants and a couple of high-end clothing shops. There were other stores in the area as well, a small luxury hotel and spa, and numerous B and Bs.
We passed Umbria, the town’s newest restaurant, and I reminded Alice that this was the place Sergio had mentioned last night. Next door to that was the Good Book, the independent bookstore where I occasionally gave crafty bookbinding classes. And next door to the bookstore was Warped, my sister China’s yarn and weaving shop.
I looked through the window and saw China teaching a knitting class to a small group. I caught her eye and waved, and she beckoned me inside.
If it wasn’t obvious, my siblings and I were all named for places my parents visited back in the days when they followed the Grateful Dead. There’s my oldest brother, Jackson, named for Jackson Hole, Wyoming, where the Dead never played but where my parents’ best friends lived and where Jackson was born. Then came Austin, named for Austin, Texas, where the Dead performed with Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan. The story on Savannah was that Mom and Dad attended a raucous show in Atlanta with the Dead and Lynyrd Skynyrd, then drove to the coast and stopped overnight in Savannah, Georgia. Our little Savannah was conceived that night.
My baby sister, London, was named for London, Ontario, Canada, where Mom went into labor while visiting friends after a Toronto Dead show. China’s name came from the China Lake Naval Air Weapons Center, where my parents got arrested for protesting against nuclear weapons. They had some great memories of that place. And I was named after the New York borough, having been conceived in the balcony during intermission of a Grateful Dead show at the now defunct Beacon Theatre.
“Come on, Alice,” I said. “I’ll introduce you to my wacky sister.”
“Is that Annie?”
“No, Annie’s not actually a member of my family, though you’d never know it if you saw her with my mom.”
“Hey, girl,” China cried, running to greet me. “You come for the opening?”
“Yeah.” I gave her a hug, then turned. “This is my friend Alice.”
“Hi, Alice, nice to meet you.” They shook hands.
“Your shop is beautiful,” Alice said, looking around in awe. “So many colors.”
“Thanks. Have a look around.”
“I will.”
I watched Alice whip around, trying to check out all the displays. China’s shop was so intriguing, it was hard to decide what to look at first.
One whole wall was covered in square cubbyholes, each one stuffed with a different color and weight of yarn. There were wire baskets hanging at different levels from the ceiling, some piled high with luxurious yarns, others with bunches of colorful embroidery threads. Several tables showed off knitted and crocheted blankets, adult and baby sweaters, booties, gloves, and more. In one corner was a massive loom with a half-completed multicolored blanket, China’s latest work in progress. It would eventually sell for thousands of dollars.
China was a talented weaver with a fantastic sense of design. She was the one who helped me get my loft pulled together when I first moved in. While I loved all my sisters, she was my favorite, the one I could most relate to. This was probably because she ate red meat and made a point of sinning on a regular basis.
“Have you seen Mom today?” I asked.
“She’s at Annie’s right now, and she’s all wigged out of proportion about London and the boys coming to visit.”
“That’s so unfair,” I said.
“I know,” China said. “Everything stops when London shows up.”
We laughed, but it was true. London was our youngest sister, and though I would never say it to her face, the prettiest. Growing up, she’d always tried to keep up with me and China and our other sister, Savannah. And she usually succeeded. Even now that we were all grown up, she was still doing it. For instance, two months after China gave birth to her beautiful baby girl, Hannah, London had to go and have twins. One boy and one girl.
She’d also married the perfect man. Trevor was a handsome doctor who happened to own a popular winery up in Calistoga. I mean, really, a doctor and a winemaker? She was such a show-off! I loved London and Trevor and the boys, but she could never be my favorite sister. She was too perfect. Not that I would ever tell her that.
My mom insisted she didn’t play favorites, but she got all google-eyed whenever London and her babies came to visit.
“Is Trevor coming, too?” I asked.
“Of course. He’ll be by later this afternoon.”
“And what about Savannah?”
“She’s still a freak,” China said, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue.
“Ah, feel the love,” I said, giving her a one-armed hug. “I’ve missed you so.”
