Murder in Wonderland (2 page)

              Every town, no matter how small, needs a corresponding cadre of social elite. Verdenier's crème de la crème were here in Allie Griffin's living room.

              Almost. No sign of Tori Cardinal yet.

              But, from the Metzger twins active fundraising that won them the mayoral award for community excellence three years in a row, to Del Collins' summer stock productions that made her a Verdenier household name—how could you not be when your name was a weekly adornment in the pages of the Verdenier Sentinel, one of a handful of small town print newspapers left in the entire known universe—here was Allie's
in
to this strange, strange world. Ever since Tom died, she'd been searching for something to define her post-widowed life. She checked herself in the metal of the carafe, which gave her a funhouse mirror image right back, but at least it was a reflection with no superfluous embellishments to it. With a nervous tuck of the hair behind the ear, she joined her party.

              Del was in the midst of holding the floor when she came in.

              "... like a baby on a bonfire. Please. And I told her so, too. 'Sweetheart, you have no right to criticize me as long as
that
hairstyle sprouts out from atop your hideous melon.'"

              Allie's expression must have spoken volumes, because Ben was quick to fill her in.

              "Tori," he said.

              "Ah," said Allie.

              Del turned to her. "No, but really? Tell
me
I need to work on
my
appearance? I mean, I realize I'm not exactly Giselle over here; I'm not one of those Victoria Secret shoelace cases who gets full on a raisin. But I need fashion advice from that black widow? Sorry, Allie."

              "No offense taken."

              "No, but really. I too can marry an oilman who's just about to croak. Please, don't get me started."

              Ben chimed in. "Yeah, Allie, don’t get her started." He then mouthed a word to her while Del continued. Allie struggled for a moment, and then mouthed back, "What?"

              He mouthed it again, with a surreptitious tug at his lapel to nail it home: "Coats."

              "Oh," Allie said, a bit too loudly. "Can I take your coats? I'm so sorry."

              She gathered them up over her arm and brought them into the bedroom. Dinah was underneath the bed, as per her routine whenever there was company. Good. She had forgotten about the possibility of cat hair...

              ... on the bed.

              She muttered that
word
again to herself. Too late now. Del's
word
ing coat was at the bottom of the heap. Perhaps she could lint-roll it for her before she left.

              When she came back, it was Rachel Forrester now, not Del, who was dishing on Tori Cardinal.

              Rachel was the careful type, choosing her words with great finesse and tact. Only now, there seemed to be a little something more to her rant, and the ugliness underneath it all shone through several careless cracks in her rhetoric.

              "But it's not the inherited money that does it, is it? Makes a person behave like that? It's what drives a person like that to money in the first place. That relentless drive. It's not like some go-getter MBA or even a CEO gunning for his rival. It's more like a sleazy used-car salesman using any tactic necessary to seal the deal, with no regard for personal reputation. It's as if the potential pot of gold blinds people like that to mirrors."

              "Have a scone, honey," said Ben. "You'll feel better. Those
are
scones from The Sugar Loaf I smell?"

              "Very good," said Allie, truly impressed. "We'll have tea and scones once the book discussion gets underway. In the meantime, we haven't heard from the lovely June Brody. How is the jewelry business?"

              "More to the point," said Ben, "What do
you
hate about Tori Cardinal?"

              June's lip curled in a half-smile and she shook her head slightly. "I don't really have anything against her."

              Allie watched the dark-haired girl. There was the slightest hesitation after June had spoken, as if there was going to be a 'but' or an 'except', only it never came. She thought this because the girl's lip had curled back down a bit too quickly after she spoke.

              Jill/Jenny Metzger—the one without the glasses—said, "Well, all's I know is she wreaked havoc at the last fundraiser, making those comments about war widows. She must have spent a fortune in PR because the whole thing died down, and then all of a sudden she was everyone's darling again. But it cost us. We didn’t raise as much as we'd projected, right?" She turned to her sister, who confirmed with a nod. "It was terrible. She's a terrible person, unless you don't know her personally."

              Allie felt a chill in the air and looked around, half-expecting to see some dark and horned figure looming in the corner, nodding appreciatively at all the vitriol in the room, feeding on it.

              And just then, in a perfect example of exactly how and when to make an entrance, Tori Cardinal arrived.

              Allie stiffened herself as she opened the door. If there was anyone approaching the status of royalty in Verdenier, it was Ms. Cardinal of Bayer Street.

              She was dressed in an immaculately white cotton shirtdress over cropped wool trousers, embellished with a playful silk multi-stripe scarf. From the perfect golden wave of her hair down to the black pats on her feet, the woman was a walking photo op. Rumors had placed her age at anywhere between 45 and 55, but here in Allie Griffin's living room, Tori Cardinal was a smart 35 at best, with poise and grace at every turn.

              "I didn’t realize how close to town you were," she intoned in velvet notes.

              It was an insult, of course. "Close to town" meant cheap housing and low taxes. It meant lunch at La Boit in Shelburne was a luxury; dinner there was an impossibility. It meant that weekends were for staying at ones place in New York City, and to trek out here for a Minnie Mouse book club was to be regarded as a condescension, or an act of Good Samaritanism, or both, and if you didn't understand that, then you had no right holding a book club and inviting Victoria Cardinal.

              "Yes," said Allie, feeling a slight shame at the statement. "I can walk to the bakery on Sunday. I wouldn't trade that for anything."

              "Oh, I'd trade it for a lap band eventually," said Tori Cardinal, turning away from her hostess and greeting the other members of the club.

              "Sorry I'm late. I had to pick up my newest purchase." She turned her head and dangled her gold earrings for everyone to see. "Courtesy of Mr. Ethan Brody and his lovely wife." She smiled at June, who returned it forcedly.

              There were mock pleasantries exchanged. And there were kisses to the air. And there were forced smiles and singsong lilts to voices that had to twist out of their respective ranges to rise to the occasion of fakery.

              "Now," said Allie, "I'm assuming everyone read the book, right? I mean, no one's going to have to stand in the corner?"

              Tori Cardinal gave what Lewis Carroll would have called a chortle. "Oh yes, the book for children. Yes, I've read it. Anyone here have trouble with Ms. Griffin's choice of literature?"

              Strip away the casual insults that dripped from her tongue, and Tori Cardinal still managed to command the room. There was something in the woman's years, her experience, which guided her gestures and motion. She used elegance like bats use sonar.

              It was easy to fall prey to her wickedness. You were just too enthralled with her to notice just when and how hard you were being hit.

              "Shall we sit?" said Allie, motioning toward her dining room.

              "Sitting around a table discussing a book? Isn’t that a bit too far this side of gauche, my dear?" It was expressions like this that helped to pin Tori Cardinal's age closer to what rumor deemed it to be.

              "Well..." Allie started to say.

              "I mean, with the smell of plastic and all on top of it. Perhaps we can serve ourselves, like Chinese buffet, and take it to the living room."

              Allie felt her face begin to flush.

              "Oh, my dear, it's a lovely table, don't get me wrong. And you did a beautiful job. But without a full number of courses it may feel as if we're negotiating peace talks, not discussing a book. I am right, aren’t I? June?"

              June Brody shrugged and looked away. "I'm fine with whatever," she said.

              "One vote for whatever. How about you, dearie? I forgot your name already."

              "Jill," said the one with the glasses, but Allie couldn't focus enough to commit this to memory. "I think Allie made a beautiful table and I for one don't want to be walking back and forth throughout the discussion." She was cradling her teacup in her hand, somehow sensing, truthfully, that this cup had been designated for her personally.

              Tori Cardinal shrugged. "I just thought maybe we could have a book club that felt like a book club. I'm terribly sorry. We could do it here at the table. That's fine. I'll need to sit close to the window though. The smell of the plastic cover is making my throat close up."

              Allie's voice became perforated with anger. "Forget it. I don’t want a lot of drama over the location. We can have a perfectly fine discussion in the living room."

              "Who said anything about drama, dearie?"

              "I did, dearie," said Allie.

              It was Ben's voice that cut through before things became too thick. "Ladies, please. Fur down. Claws in."

              "Oh, Benjamin, really. No one is fighting.             

              Allie saw one chance at redemption, and that was being the bigger person. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I was. And I apologize. The table could be better. I was going for a Victorian tea party look and it fell a bit short. Let's all of us go sit in the living room. There's more sunlight there. I want to talk about Alice."

              Tori Cardinal walked up to her with an outstretched hand. "Oh, my dear woman you are so incredibly sweet it should be downright illegal." She took Allie's hand in hers and squeezed it gently. "Something does smell heavenly."

              "I have scones in the oven."

              "Do you need help?"

              Allie sighed. "No. I got them. Thank you."

              She plated the little cinnamon beauties on a bone china tray along with a stack of cocktail napkins and presented them like a diamond on a pillow to her guests.             

              "Beautiful," said Tori Cardinal. "How many points?"

              "Points?"

              "Weight Watchers, dearie."

              "Oh, um, gee, I don’t know."

              Del Collins walked right up and took a scone off the tray. "Give me one. I'll spit out the points."

              "Maybe, um... I'm sorry."

              "No matter. There's a teapot there. You'll be making tea?"

              "I have to. Alice in Wonderland. Of course there'll be tea."

              "Jasmine?"

              "It's an herbal blend I got at the Little Tea Shoppe in Burlington."

              "Should suit the occasion."

              Tori Cardinal was nothing if not a master of the left-handed compliment.

              Allie tried to focus. The pot should be pre-warmed with water. Leaves in the infuser. 

              Tori Cardinal appeared at the entranceway to the kitchen and Allie felt herself flush once again, this time out of a Pavlovian response to the woman's presence.

              "Darling, there's an empty jar of orange marmalade on your table." She held up the offending item as if it were contraband.

              "I know," said Allie, barely containing her patience. "It's a reference to the book. Alice comes across a jar of orange marmalade but finds it empty. Remember?"

              "Oh, of course! Silly me. Would you like me to put it back on your table?"

              "Yes, please. The tea will be ready in a moment."

              "Very good, dear. You're doing very well. Except..."

              Allie turned around with an impatient look. Tori was also holding her teacup.

              "Please don't be offended, sweetie. I brought my own tea. I've been on a Fujian Jasmine kick lately and I wasn't entirely sure you’d have it. I have nothing against the Little Tea Shoppe. They sell good product. I brought my own infuser too, so it shouldn’t be a bother."

              "That's fine, Victoria."

              "Oh, Tori, please."

              "It's no bother."

              The kettle began to whistle just as Allie lifted the pot off the grate.

              "Oh, dearie, don't do that. Water should be boiling when it hits the leaves." She sidled up and put her hand on top of Allie's. "May I? I had to practice this last move a few times before I got it right. Walking the teapot to the stove and tilting the kettle over so that it still touches the electric grates as you pour. Trust me; this will change your life."

              Tori poured the water into her cup, and Allie noticed it was one of the Tweedledee and Tweedledum cups. This irritated her to no end. Choosing the cups to suit the guests was her little inside joke. Tweedledee and Tweedledum were for the twins. One of them had held onto her cup, so it must have been the other one that had gotten loose. In the dismantling of her tablescape, her little joke was ruined.

              Tori Cardinal was supposed to get the Red Queen cup. It was only fitting.

              It was as if Tori Cardinal of Shelburne had done it for the sole purpose of ruffling her host, just to see if she could.

              Allie decided she just wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, that's all. It's all about the book, she told herself. Pay her no mind. It’s all about the book.

              She muttered the
word
to herself.

              The cake! She'd almost forgotten.

              The spice cake she'd made from scratch was the pièce de résistance. Across the top, spelled out in Zante currants, were the words EAT ME, another reference to Mr. Dodgson's masterpiece. She smiled at her handiwork, plated the cake, marched it into the living room proudly and placed it on the coffee table.

              "HEll-o," said Del Collins. "I think this cake be dissin' me."

              Allie was perplexed for a moment, and then it hit her. "Oh stop it! It's from the book." She gave Del a playful tap on the knee.

              "I'm just sayin'..."