Now I remembered why I hadn’t displayed it right away. The metallic trim had separated in a couple of places, but it was an easy fix. I sat down right then and there with a needle and thread. There was no sense in leaving this exquisite scarf languishing in a cardboard box a moment longer.
As I sewed, I wondered what had happened to the regal, intelligent woman who owned all these lovely things? In spite of the fact that I’d never met Sophie, I had to admit I was much more interested in learning the truth about her death than the spiteful Harriet’s.
Laura uncovered a set of wooden alphabet stamps, and we set them next to the postcards. She also found a Victorian necklace of a real butterfly mounted on mother-of-pearl. The chain was broken, which was why it had been stored upstairs.
“I can fix this, Daisy. No problem.”
Little by little, over the course of the next few hours, I coaxed more memories out of Laura, especially about her mom. She wasn’t the type to open up right away, and patience was not my strong suit, but eventually she relaxed.
At the end of the day, I was amazed at how much we’d done, and I hoped that the telling of long-buried stories had helped her in some small way.
“Thanks so much, Laura. I think we accomplished a lot today.”
I left her to close up and took Jasper to the park.
• • •
I found Ruthie on her old tartan blanket, holding court with a couple of the wine club members. One was the matronly golden retriever owner and the other was so unbelievably thin, Martha would have wanted to take her home and feed her a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.
“Glass of wine?” Ruthie asked.
“Actually, yes, thank you, I will.” I sat down on the blanket next to her. “It’s been a long week already.”
I smiled at the other two. “Hi, I’m Daisy Buchanan.”
The golden’s owner was the first to hold out her hand. “I’m Alice Rogan. Nice to meet you.”
“Alice! Hey, I have a—um—another friend called Alice,” I said, but I didn’t elaborate.
Before the second woman told me her name, she cried out, jumped up, and ran into the pack of dogs to pick up a snarling Chihuahua.
“That’s Caroline,” Ruthie said. “She’s always doing that, because she’s afraid her dog’s going to get hurt, but he’s the one who starts most of the fights.”
It hadn’t taken me long at the park to realize it wasn’t the dogs you had to worry about, it was the owners. A nervous, insecure human invited aggression by making his or her pup feel as though it had to step up and take charge.
I sipped the zinfandel. It was sweeter than I liked, but hey, it was wine.
“Doesn’t Bettina Waters come to the park anymore?” Alice asked. “I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“She’s preggers, you know.” Ruthie glugged down the rest of the pink liquid in her glass. “At least he’s going to make an honest woman of her. I hear they’re getting married next month.”
Alice made a harrumphing sound. “She’s a nice girl, but she—well, she can be rather odd at times.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my ears pricking up.
“My husband and I had a dinner party once, and I found her in my family room, going through my photo albums. Apparently she’s so self-conscious about the way she used to look that she removes her old photos when she visits people’s houses.”