“There’s something else.” Ladybird took two steps down the path toward Max. “Horace says I’m to help you.”
Max almost choked. “Over Witt’s dead body.”
“Yes, well, sometimes the things that boy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“I think you’ve already done enough by introducing me to Virginia. Let’s not push our luck.”
“No, Horace says it’s very important. Something I must do for you.”
“What is that something?” Max eyed her warily, the sun now setting over the house behind them.
“Well, he was quite vague. He said it wasn’t today, maybe tomorrow, and that he’d let me know when the time came.”
“I think we need something a little more concrete than that, don’t you?”
“Oh, well, he said your Cameron was the one who told him to give me the message.”
“Oh God.” She’d created a monster in Ladybird. It was one thing to think she talked to Cameron, quite another to know someone else was doing it, too. Even after all these years, there was a certain amount of comfort in believing she was crazy.
“There was one more thing.”
Max hated to ask. “What?”
“Horace said it had to do with finding the rolling pin. Whatever that means.”
Chapter Thirty-One
All Max wanted was to bring a few bowls in from the warming oven. Or carry away a few dirty plates. She’d even wash dishes. She’d do anything for a chance to search Virginia Spring’s kitchen for the rolling pin that even Horace Long believed was there. She’d do anything to get out of this madhouse faster. O-U-T, out. These people were driving her crazy.
They were too damn polite about it, too. “No, Max, let Jada do that.”
“Please, Max, sit, we’ll take care of everything.”
No one would let her lift a finger.
She also couldn’t figure out why the hell Jada Spring had invited her. It certainly wasn’t the need for a friend or an advocate. Jada had said but two words to her since she’d arrived. Not that it mattered. She was here, in the house, and that was all she’d really wanted for the moment. If she couldn’t find the rolling pin, then she’d go back to the original plan of breaking through Jada’s guard.
Virginia had placed her on Traynor’s right—her skin did the proverbial crawl whenever he spoke. Opposite was Jada, closest to the kitchen door. Virginia, seated on Max’s right, furrowed through a deep bowl of mashed potatoes and ladled a heap onto Jada’s plate, serving her as she would a child. Jada’s eyes tracked the movement of the spoon. Anorexics were obsessed with food. Most people didn’t understand that. Most people believed anorexics didn’t even think about eating. Most people didn’t realize that self-induced starvation was the ultimate in control, the suppression of millions of years of instinct and the conquest of an obsession.
Max’s mouth watered as she followed the spoon’s progress. Real mashed potatoes with rivers of melted butter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had real mashed potatoes. Bethany had adored them, sometimes making a whole meal out of them. So white and fluffy, they reminded Max of when she was a little girl, of her mother letting her mash them, the hours they spent in the kitchen together, cooking, creating, just being ... They reminded Bethany of happier times, too.
“So you, see, Max,” Virginia’s voice popped her out of her reverie. Handing the potatoes off to her guest in favor of a silver tray of carrots, Virginia barely missed a beat. “We simply couldn’t be at Wendy’s funeral. Jada was too ill, and I had to be near her at the hospital in Napa. She needed me.”
Jada pressed her lips together at the invocation of her name.
“You sound defensive, Virginia,” Bud was ever so quick to point out. “Max was merely making polite conversation, not throwing out accusations.”
Max’s lip threatened to curl. She could make her own damn excuses for her own damn ill-mannered behavior. She didn’t need that man to help her out. Had she known he was going to be here ... ah, hell, she’d have come anyway. She needed answers. She wasn’t accusing Virginia. She only wanted confirmation on why the woman hadn’t attended Wendy’s service.
“I want Max to understand,” Virginia said, pinch-lipped.
Max took a spoon of potatoes, then passed them on to Bud, careful not to touch him. The argument continued.
“Isn’t it enough to know I understand why you weren’t at my daughter’s funeral?” Bud paused meaningfully, meeting Virginia’s gaze. “You can be sure I’ll be there for you at Bethany’s service tomorrow.” The words could be taken either way, but his tone had the right amount of rebuke.