Big Boned

And while I knew Cooper wasn’t likely to approve of my trudging up the long driveway to the big stone house on the hill—with the green and white stables to one side, and the pond filled with giant goldfish (yes, I checked), and the matching Jaguars in the four-car garage to the other—and I’d no doubt hear about it the whole way home, I figured it would be worth it. Ihad to know what the deal was with Reverend Mark.

Because I didn’t—not for a New York minute—believe he’d shot Owen Veatch.

But I was dying to know why Jamie thought he had.

“I won’t lie to you, Ms. Wells,” Mrs. Price says, as we head to the bottom of a long, curling staircase. The house, though furnished with suits of armor and heavy antique furniture to give the impression of being old, is actually new construction, with the ubiquitous “great room” common to the McMansions of the day; the front entrance actually leads into the dining room, living room, TV room, kitchen, and what appears to be a billiard/library. Out back, I can see a gigantic black granite pool, complete with hot tub and, further on, te

“I’m actually relieved to see you,” Mrs. Price goes on. “The past twenty-four hours, since Jamie showed up here, haven’t been the greatest.”

“Really?” I say, pretending not to have the slightest idea what she’s talking about. “Why?”

“Jamie and her father haven’t always gotten along—well, they’re so much alike, you see, and she’s always been Daddy’s little girl, and last night… this boy from her school showed up—here, of all places—”

I pretend to look shocked. “You don’t say.”

Mrs. Price shakes her head in wonder. Clearly, the idea of any boy finding her daughter appealing is still a new one on her. “We found him in her bed! Well, of course, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been invited, if you know what I mean. I mean, he hadn’t FORCED himself on her. But she’d let him in behind our backs. Roy and I had no idea. She isn’t allowed to entertain boys in her room. I know she’s over eighteen, and a legal adult, but she’s still living under our roof, and while we’re paying for her education, we expect her to live by our rules. We’re Presbyterian. You have to have principles.”

“Of course,” I say primly.

“Long story short, Roy completely overreacted,” Mrs. Price informs me. “He called the police! Now the poor boy is in jail. And Jamie isn’t speaking to either of us.”

“Oh no,” I say, trying to look concerned.

“Exactly,” Mrs. Price says. “You know, Jamie and I have never had a typical mother-daughter relationship. Now, her older sister and I—well, we’re much more alike. But Jamie was always a tomboy, and so… I don’t know. Large. You know. She’s like you… big boned. We never had very much in common, whereas her sister and I are the same size—an eight. We share everything. So I can’t get a word out of her this morning. Maybe you can?”

I shrug. “Gosh,” I say. “I don’t know. I can try, I guess.”

“Would you?” Mrs. Price cocks her head. “Because, you know, I have to leave for my dressage lesson.”

“Your what?”

“Dressage,” Mrs. Price says again, as if by repeating it, I’ll get it. “Jamie!” Mrs. Price calls up the staircase. “Would you like some coffee, Ms. Wells?”

“I’d love some,” I say.

“Fine. It’s in the pot in the kitchen. Help yourself. There are mugs in the rack. JAMIE!”

“God, what, Mom?” Jamie appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in a pair of terry-cloth shorts and a pink T-shirt, her long blond hair tumbling around her wide shoulders. She appears to have just woken up. Would that I ever looked as good when just roused from slumber.

When her gaze falls on me, her eyes widen.

“You!” Jamie cries. But she doesn’t look inclined to run. She seems more curious than frightened.

“Jamie, Ms. Wells is here from your school,” Jamie’s mom says. “I want you to talk to her. She says she’ll give you a ride back if you want. And it might be better if you just went with her. You know how angry Daddy is. It might be just as well if you weren’t here tonight when he gets home from work. Let things blow over.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jamie declares, her chin sliding out stubbornly, “until he drops all the charges against Gavin!”

I can’t help noticing that at home, Jamie doesn’t do that thing where she ends all her sentences with an interrogative inflection. At all.

“Well, that isn’t going to happen in this lifetime, honey,” Mrs. Price says. “I don’t have time for this now. I have to go to dressage. I told Ms. Wells to help herself to coffee. Stay away from that cherry crumble I made. It’s for my Home and Garden Association meeting tonight. Bye, now.”

With that, Mrs. Price darts from the “great room.” A few seconds later, one of the Jaguars parked in front of the garage roars to life, and Mrs. Price peels out and drives away.

“Wow,” I say, mostly to break the silence that follows. “She must really like dressage. Whatever that is.”

“She doesn’t give a shit about dressage,” Jamie informs me disgustedly. “She’s screwing her instructor. Because, you know, she has principles.”

“Oh.” I watch as Jamie comes all the way down the stairs, passes me, heads into the kitchen, takes one of the mugs off the antique-looking rack by the coffeemaker, and pours herself a cup. “I’ll take one of those, too,” I say.

“Help yourself,” Jamie, gracious as her mother, says. She goes to the refrigerator, opens it, and pulls out a pint of half-and-half, sloshing a generous portion into her mug. Then, noticing my expression, she sloshes some into the mug I’ve taken down, as well, before returning the pint to the fridge.

“So,” I say, as I pour coffee into my mug. “You don’t need to worry about Gavin. We’re posting his bail.”

Jamie throws me a startled look. “You are?”

I nod. The coffee is delicious. But it would be better with sugar. I look around for some. “He’ll be out in an hour or so.”

“Oh my God.” Jamie pulls a chair from the purposefully old-looking kitchen table and sinks down into it like her legs couldn’t support her anymore, or something. Then she buries her face in her hands. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it,” I say. I find the sugar and ladle a spoonful into my cup. Then, after a moment’s thought, another. Ah. Perfect. Well, almost. Whipped cream would make it perfect. But beggars can’t be choosers. “But I want something in return.”

“Anything,” Jamie says, looking up. I’m surprised to see that her makeup-free face is wet with tears. “I’m serious. I’ve been freaking out all morning. I didn’t know where I was going to get that kind of money to bail him out. I’ll do anything. Just… thank you.”

“Seriously,” I say, pulling out one of the chairs near hers. I can’t help noticing that Mrs. Price has set the cherry crumble down in the middle of the table to cool. It is in a clear glass deep dish, and the sugary crust over the top of the cherry filling is caramelized. Seriously, what kind of demon mom would leave something like that just sitting out, with no protective covering? No wonder Jamie seems to hate her so much. I know I would. “Like I said, don’t mention it. But what’s this thing Gavin told me about you and the Reverend Mark?”

Jamie’s expression falls.

“Oh,” she says gloomily. “He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that.”

“Jamie,” I say. “A man is dead. And you seem to think what happened to you might have something to do with it. You can’t tell me not to tell the police about it. You know they arrested someone for Dr. Veatch’s murder? Someone who may not have done it? At least, if what you’re saying is true.”

Jamie is chewing her bottom lip. I can’t help noticing she’s eyeing the cherry crumble. I’m glad I’ve kept my spoon from the sugar bowl. You know, just in case I need it.