bearing a trembling tower of orange gelatin studded with miniature marshmallows and cranberries. Justin rolled his eyes and Charlie gave him a conspiratorial smile. On her next trip, Laurel appeared with a tureen of chestnut stuffing. When it was apparent there was more to come, Charlie followed her back into the kitchen. Laurel handed her a bowl filled with string beans and onion rings. “Take this,” she said as she pulled a sweet potato casserole out of the oven.
“You made my favorites.” Charlie wanted to hug Laurel, but her hands were full.
“Can’t break with tradition.”
When the two carried in the last of the food, cranberries, gravy, mashed potatoes and rolls, Wes shook his head. “Holy Christ,” he said, “There’s only four of us.”
Laurel settled in her chair. “It’s Thanksgiving.” She pulled her napkin from an orange band. “Guess what these are.”
“Napkin rings?” Charlie flicked her napkin open.
“They’re made from toilet paper rolls. A little spray paint and lacquer. I bet you’d never guess.”
Charlie turned hers over and pretended to study it. “Never.”
“Let’s eat,” said Wes. He stood, raised the carving knife and fork with a flourish as if he were about to lead an orchestra. He proceeded to saw angrily at the turkey as if it was responsible for his job loss. Charlie had the urge to grab the knife and carve the bird properly, but she just smiled graciously as he handed her a plate with tattered slices of breast meat.
“Wine?” Wes held up the bottle.
“Can I have some?” Justin asked.
“Sure.” his father said.
“Wes,” Laurel protested. “He’s too young.”
“It’s Thanksgiving,” he said, mimicking her tone.
Justin and Wes, plates piled high, plowed into their food. Laurel picked at hers, and Charlie, although she’d been hungry when she arrived, found she had little appetite. An awkward silence followed, punctuated by the clinking of silver against china. The silence filled the room. The atmosphere felt like a guitar string tightened to its limit. Charlie felt the need to pluck it, to break the tension. But how? She couldn’t talk politics. That would start World War III right in this room. Wes was to the right of Rush Limbaugh. The weather? That was good for two sentences. Power House was definitely off limits. Finally she broached the only safe subject she could think of. “How’s school?” she asked Justin. It was the kind of question teen-ager hated, but it was all she came up with. Between mouthfuls of food, he mumbled a response which she interpreted as “Fine.”
“So,” Wes asked between bites, “What are your kids doing tonight?”
Laurel gave him a warning look.
Charlie swirled her wine in her glass.“They had other plans.” She folded her napkin and set it on the table. “I really should be going soon,” she said, having had enough of both food and the atmosphere.
“Oh no,” Laurel pleaded. “You have to stay for dessert.”
“What’s the hurry?” Wes asked.
“I have to let the dogs out.”
“What are you going to do with them when you move?” Laurel asked.
“You moving?” Wes asked.
“If Craig has his way,” Laurel blurted out.
If she’d had any warning, Charlie would have stopped her. But it was too late. Wes was interested. Laurel launched into Charlie’s story.
“He’s an even bigger asshole than I thought,” Wes said.
“Wes,” said Laurel, nodding toward Justin as if his ears were too tender for this.
“I guess he needs the money,” Charlie said. “He said he won’t be able to afford to keep up my support any more.”
Wes snorted.“If you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you.”
“That’s enough, Wes!” Laurel said.
He continued to focus on Charlie.“You didn’t fall for that shit.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “You mean he’s not out of a job?”
“Oh, he’s out all right. In fact, he’ll never have to work again. He negotiated the merger and included a big fat buyout for himself. Left everyone else hanging out to dry.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as I am of my own name.”
Charlie felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. If that was true, why was he after her house? “I’m going to call him on it.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Wes said.
“Why not?” Charlie laughed. “What’s he going to do? Kill me?”
Laurel reached out and touched Charlie’s arm. “Let’s not talk about this now. I have dessert.”
“You heard about Larry Hopkins,” Wes said, ignoring Laurel.
Charlie nodded. “That was tragic. Who would have ever thought a golf cart was lethal.”
“You know who was riding that cart with him, don’t you?” His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t tell me,” she said.
“You got it.”
“What happened?”
“The way the story goes, and I emphasize the word ‘story’, is they were playing near a water hazard. There’s a lake right off the fourth fairway. Larry’s ball landed at the edge of the water. He went to find it, while Craig teed up for his shot. For some strange reason, the cart rolled down the slope, hit Hopkins, knocked him into the water and landed on top of him.”
“Didn’t Craig try to stop it? Or at least warn him?”
“Claims he was concentrating on his ball and didn’t see it move until it was too late.”
Charlie sat back. “Good Lord. Wasn’t anybody else around?”
“Nope. Nathan was in a cart behind them. By the time he caught up with them, it was all over.”
Charlie sat back in her chair. “If you’re implying what I think, you’re wrong. Craig may be a nasty bastard, but he’s not a murderer. Besides, why would he want to kill Larry? They were friends.”
“Rumors are going around.”
“That’s enough, Wes,” Laurel interrupted. “Time for dessert. Charlie come with me.”
In the kitchen she said, “Don’t pay attention to Wes. He’s just letting off steam, and Craig makes a
