“Do too,” Marie said. “Let’s go. I’m starved.”
***
The others were already seated in the dining room, which had also undergone a transformation. A snowy white damask tablecloth covered the table, which was set with gold-rimmed porcelain dishes, heavy sterling flatware, and crystal stemware. A pair of tall silver candelabras adorned the center of the table with lit tapers.
Josephine sat at the head of the table, sipping from a glass of wine. She was dressed in the silk caftan again, and diamonds twinkled from her earrings, necklace, and a solitaire cocktail ring on her right hand. When Louette bustled into the room, delicious scents wafted from the direction of the kitchen.
“What are we having tonight?” Josephine asked.
“Paper-bag baked redfish,” Louette said. “C. D. was fishing off the dock when he oughta have been fixing that boat motor, but at least we got dinner out of it. There’s red rice to go with the fish, salad from the garden, and some lady peas out of the freezer. I didn’t have time to bake yeast rolls, but I managed to throw some biscuits together.”
Gabe moaned out loud. “Redfish. My favorite. And lady peas. My mother used to fix them with fatback.”
“Mmm-hmm, that’s how I do ’em too,” Louette said, setting the dishes on the sideboard. She held up a bottle of white wine that had been sitting in a silver cooler. “Can I pour anybody some more wine? The man at the wine store says this is real nice with fish.”
Josephine held up her nearly empty glass. “You can top me off.”
Louette shook her head vigorously. “Noooo. You know your pain pills have it written right on the bottle—Do not consume with alcohol.” She moved around the table, filling the other extended glasses.
“Louette, I said you can top me off.” Josephine’s voice held a warning note. “What does it matter if I drink with my medicine? I’m not operating heavy machinery. And I already have stage-four lung cancer, so what’s the worst that can happen?”
The housekeeper muttered something under her breath but did as she’d been ordered.
Dinner proceeded, with the guests around the table complimenting the fish, which was the best Brooke had ever tasted, and the wine, which was also a surprisingly good quality. Their hostess, Brooke noticed, barely picked at her plate, merely moving food from one side of her plate to the other and occasionally tossing morsels to Teeny and Tiny, who sat on the floor by her chair.
At last, Marie folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “Josephine, that was absolutely a divine dinner.” She toyed with her dinner fork. “Do you want to know something funny? I think I have this same silver pattern. Francis First, right?”
Josephine sipped her wine. “Yes, I believe that’s the name of this pattern.” She waved her hand at the table with its elegant trappings. “I don’t really care for this kind of thing, but Louette insisted. This was my mother’s wedding silver.”
“Mine was my grandmother’s,” Marie said. “The war was going on when Mama got married, so she said she didn’t really get a lot of wedding gifts.”
Lizzie picked up her fork and looked at it. “Granny had boxes and boxes of this kind of family stuff. I think it’s all still in storage. At some point, I guess I’ll get it all out and deal with it, but what do I need with pickle tongs and monogrammed pillowcases? I live alone and mostly eat carryout Chinese.”
Brooke tried not to think about all the wedding gifts she’d had to return after she’d canceled her own wedding to Harris Strayhorn.
She turned to their hostess. “Josephine, you didn’t go to Millie’s wedding, did you? Or Ruth’s either, for that matter. Isn’t that what you told me?”
Color flooded the old woman’s parchment-like skin. “As Marie pointed out, it was during the war. Gas was rationed, and travel was difficult. And, well, as I’ve admitted, we were estranged.”
“Did you have a fight?” Felicia asked eagerly. “What did you fight about?”
“No fight,” Josephine said. “We just… drifted apart.”
“Because of the thing with Russell Strickland?” Lizzie asked. “Don’t forget, you promised to tell us the rest of the story.”
Josephine’s fingers toyed with something on the collar of her dress. Brooke leaned closer and saw that it was the brooch she’d shown her previously. The High Tide Club pin.
“Yes. What happened after that man dragged my mother out of the ballroom?” Marie asked.
The door to the kitchen swung open, and as Louette walked in, Brooke glimpsed C. D. sitting at the kitchen table, mopping up sauce with half of a huge biscuit.
“I made coffee,” Louette announced, brandishing a pot. Josephine glared at Louette. “But you’re not having any, and I don’t care how much you fuss at me. It’s too late for you to be drinking coffee.”
“Fine. Open a bottle of port and bring me that,” Josephine said. She looked around the table. “At one time, Papa had the finest wine cellar on the coast. We might as well have some of his port, don’t you think?”
***
When the coffee had been drunk and the port poured, Josephine resumed her story.
