Chapter 47

Three and a half weeks later

The feeling Vivian had today, right at this moment, would stay in her memory and her heart forever.

French doors stood open from Mama’s favorite receiving room onto the front gallery. In the almost a month since the fete and what followed, and when the world had finally slowed down a little, work done at a wild pace had restored the room to its former bizarre glory.

The sun had begun to lower and shadows lengthened, but Vivian’s closest people remained on the gallery and the front lawn. Not a big number, but enough. There had been more at St. Cécil’s for the wedding and they’d have been welcome here, too, had they chosen to come, but they’d drifted away afterward, smiling, waving.

At last she had persuaded Spike to discard his tie and unbutton the collar of his white shirt, but he wouldn’t take off the jacket of his gray suit. Hours earlier, when she’d seen him waiting for her at the altar, tall, straight and so serious, tears had spilled and she hadn’t tried to stop them. He had looked wonderful, but more than that, she had known his love for her was true and he wanted to marry her as much as she wanted him.

Cyrus had married them. Homer had stood at Spike’s side and Charlotte had given Vivian away. Carrying Boa, Wendy had marched up the aisle first. The best day ever. Vivian wondered if she would ever think of it without wanting to cry with happiness.

Spike sat beside her on a swing decorated with white satin bows that fluttered in a late-afternoon breeze. She looked down at his hand, the strong fingers laced together with hers, and giggled.

“What?” he said, giving her one of his quizzical, just about too-blue stares.

“Look at us,” she said. “Spike and Vivian Devol. When we first met I bet you never thought this would happen.”

“Sure I did. Never doubted it for a moment.”

“That’s not true.”

Wasn’t it? “No, cher. I wanted it to happen but there surely did seem a lot of reasons why it never would.” He was ready to take her away and have her to himself, but Charlotte and Homer, and the rest, still watched them covertly and he saw how they weren’t quite prepared to let them go. And Wendy, dancing on the lawn with Joe Gable and Ellie Byron to the music of an ancient black guitar player with golden fingers, laughed and swung the skirts of her pretty green dress in a way that made him reluctant to break up the party. Vivian had curled Wendy’s hair and it bobbed while she hopped and twirled.

“Look at you,” Vivian said quietly. “Lovin’ that child. It’s so sweet to watch.”

“I will love all of our children,” he said, smiling at her.

She brought his hand to her mouth and looked up at him. “All of them?”

Spike narrowed his eyes on the alley of live oaks winding away toward the entrance. “Vivian, I talk a good story but I’m still not believin’ this is happenin’.”

When she grinned, she resembled a gleeful kid. “I’m just accepting it,” she said.

Her green eyes sparkled. Above her eyebrow, makeup covered the healed wound Bill had inflicted. It barely showed. The layered skirts of her white cotton dress, yards of stuff she called eyelet, floated back and forth while Spike gently rocked the swing. The top of the dress was soft, with a tight belt of the same material. A froth of pale green lace showed from beneath the wide neckline from shoulder to shoulder.

And she’d married him, this lovely woman with enough guts to fuel an army. He hid a smile at the thought.

“What’s funny?” she said at once.

“Mmm?” He looked down his nose at her. “I guess there’s no foolin’ you. I was thinkin’ you’re a tough cookie and I’d better watch my rear.”

“I’ll do that for you,” she said, with absolute sincerity.

“I’d appreciate it.”

“It’s going to be hard to leave them today, isn’t it?” She glanced around. “My mother looks more peaceful than she has since my father died. I think it’s the right decision to use some of Louis’s money to finish the renovations here, don’t you?”

“You’ve asked me that before. Several times. I think it’s right, partly because it’s what the man would have wanted and partly because he was correct in thinking he ought to try to set some things straight. Vivian?” He made sure he had her full attention. “I’m going to manage to leave—with you—and not be too depressed about it.”

If she admitted just how badly she wanted them to be alone, they might forget about being restrained. “I won’t be depressed at all.”

“Homer’s goin’ to be over here every day after we get back, y’know.”

She knew what Spike meant. He’d agreed, at least until the hotel and restaurant were up and running, to bring Wendy to live at Rosebank while Homer ran their business. Later? Well, they hadn’t tackled that too deeply yet but there wouldn’t be room for all of them at his house.

Fresh dishes and trays arrived at the banquet table beneath a green-and-white marquee in front of the gallery. Cyrus, handsome Cyrus, led an amazingly enthusiastic line to fill up more plates. Marc filled two, one for himself and a second for Reb who sat sideways on another swing farther down the gallery. Poor Gaston’s lap space had shrunk to nothing but he clung there on his beloved Reb just the same. Boa, who had decided Gaston made a fine plaything, waited beside the swing for the other dog to make the mistake of jumping down.

Today there had been no talk of the ongoing case or of Bill Green, who had recovered enough from his injuries to be awaiting his fate in a jail cell. Gary occupied similar quarters. The hunt was still on for Claude whom Bill accused of Gil’s murder.

“You’re thinking about it again.” Spike had felt her concentration shift. “Nothing to worry about there anymore. I’d like to think Bonine wouldn’t rear his head again after the graft charges, but he’ll show up somewhere. Over the years he must have been on the take from every perp for miles around.”

“Including the Martin boys and Gary,” Vivian said quietly.

The ruckle was back between her eyebrows and he didn’t like it one bit.

She looked toward Serenity House. “They’re going to carry on with that place,” she said. “Can you believe it? I thought they’d want to get away after Olympia was murdered. I thought they’d get a divorce.”

He already knew what Morgan and Susan planned, just about everyone did, but he wasn’t surprised by Vivian’s thinking aloud about it. “Maybe that’s why they’re stayin’. If it hadn’t been for that place and all the sneakin’ around and lyin’ she’d probably still be alive. Maybe they think they shouldn’t leave now. But it’s not our problem.”

Wazoo came from the house carrying a full bottle of champagne. She refilled their glasses and handed them over. “You two gotta grease the pump,” she said.

“Sure that shouldn’t be prime?” Spike asked her.

Her grin showed just how beautiful her teeth were—and she was pretty lovely herself, even if the red ribbon in her hair was her one concession to being at a wedding party. “I’d say it don’t matter a whole lot what you do. Grease it, or prime it. Should do the trick.”

Spike got a kick out of watching Vivian turn pink.

“I been meanin’ to tell you how I’ve gone over every inch of this house,” Wazoo said. “If there’s one o’ them foreign eggs here, I jest don’t know where.” If she thought about how she’d made off with Vivian’s book, she never mentioned it and neither did Vivian.

“Forget the egg,” Vivian said. “We have.”

Spike didn’t think that was entirely true but he was glad to hear it anyway. They figured that Guy Patin had hidden his precious egg as his own insurance against bad times. His riddle, dreamed up when he discovered he would soon die, hadn’t been just a riddle, but a way to make the egg safe from a casual searcher who didn’t have Guy’s clues to follow.

The instant Wazoo was out of earshot he put an arm around Vivian and said in her ear, “Confession time. For a number of hours now, I’ve been seeing things.”

Vivian looked at him sharply.

He nodded gravely. “Scenes. You’re in all of them. Me, too. And I’ve been feelin’ a certain way. And I’ve gotta tell you, cher, I think things are as greased and primed as they need to be.”

She turned in his arm, rested her hands on his neck and kissed him until he moaned. “Time to go?” she whispered.

“Reckon so.”

The guitarist had taken a break but from the open room behind them came the sound of the old piano. They peered around to see Cyrus, still wearing his collar but without his jacket, sitting there, bent over the keys. Madge perched on the end of his bench to watch.

Cyrus began to play, and to sing. Vivian hadn’t known he sang. His voice was a warm tenor with a heart-squeezing break.

“Listen to him,” she told Spike. “Is there anything he can’t do?”

He glanced at her but didn’t comment.

The piano needed tuning. Several notes didn’t work at all but Cyrus kept right on singing “Your Love Amazes Me,” and conducting with his spare hand during missing notes.

When it was over, everyone applauded and called for more, but he became bashful and wouldn’t be persuaded.

“Hey, Spike.” Marc bent over him and said quietly, “Is there anything I need to explain to you? Just so you’ll feel you can take your bride wherever it is you’re going?”

Spike smiled and shook his head. In fact he and Vivian didn’t know just where they were going but that’s the way they wanted it.

Joe approached next. “Nothing to worry about,” he said. “Just follow your instincts.” And Spike suspected a plot that was giving some people a good laugh.

“Ready, cher?” he asked Vivian.

She jumped up and pulled him with her, to the delight of the group gathered around them.

Wendy stood front and center, and accepted kisses from both of them, and hugs. “I’m not gonna ask to come with you again,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’m staying with Gramps and Charlotte and they say I wouldn’t like where you’re going.”

That brought a chuckle.

Cyrus tapped Charlotte’s shoulder and gave her an envelope. Crimped up along its length, it was made of pale purple tissuelike paper. “Just tuned the piano for you,” he said. He shot a glance at Spike and Vivian and rolled his eyes, making them both chortle. “Someone slid that in the works.”

“I know what it is, me. I know what it is.” Wazoo went into one of her famous capers. “Why didn’t we think of that? The message was torn, remember? But it say, ‘…all the right notes.’ So God man play the right notes and he don’t get a thing ’cept that letter. It gonna tell us where that damn egg is, see if it don’t.” She waggled her head. “Excuse the language.”

Charlotte worked open the flap, but gave the envelope to Vivian.

One sheet of paper, folded in half, slid from inside and she read it. Then she frowned.

“What it say?” Wazoo demanded.

Vivian cleared her throat.

“Last coming

First going.

First coming

Last going.

Which way?”

She folded the paper again.

“That’s it?” Charlotte said.

“Uh-huh,” Vivian told her, and gave back the envelope and paper. “Have fun. I think it’s time Spike and I got going.” She put a hand under his arm.

The bags were already in Spike’s pickup—now minus the boiling and barbecue equipment. The two of them had opted not to change, mainly because Vivian was too fond of her wedding dress.

Shouts and cheers went up and a few of the hardier guests ran beside the truck on its way down the drive, but eventually they fell back. Spike and Vivian waved to them from the windows. They had been spared the shaving cream announcements on the vehicle, but cans clattered and clanged behind.

When they approached the gates, they looked at each other and Spike stopped the truck. He climbed out to cut the cans free and toss them inside the back.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being watched from the driveway and heard Vivian’s door slam. “Which way?” she asked. “Which way are we going?”

Spike shaded his eyes to look at her. “You get to pick, sweetheart. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

She stood there, her feet planted apart in strappy white sandals with high heels. “Which way?” she said again and backed toward the road.

For a moment he thought she intended to run and have him chase her. He was game, but feared she might break an ankle.

Vivian went only as far as the gates and he caught up with her there. She crossed one foot over the other, leaned on one post and pointed upward.

“Have you changed your mind about this?” he asked, before he glanced above her head, at the stone finial on top of the post, one of the two pineapple-shaped ones that flanked the entrance. “Wow. Could it be…Last coming, first going. Which way?”

“All depends, doesn’t it,” she said. “Think we’re right? Could it be in one of these?”

“Could be.”

She ran around him and hopped back inside the truck. From the window she said, “Do you care?”

“Can’t say I do much.” He got in beside her and took off the brake. “Do you?”

“Not right now. Maybe later.”