Jocelyn didn’t let her face show her recognition of the name “Lissie,” the woman Miss Edi had mentioned in her letter. Instead, she said, “My kind of woman. Is that your dress you’re sewing?”
“Heavens no! I couldn’t afford something like this.” She held up the garment to show Joce. It was midnight blue and had an intricate pattern of beads and crystals across the bodice, but several lines of beads were hanging loose. “I told her to be careful. I told her there were to be no trysts in the moonlight, and no fumbling in the backseat of the car. This dress cost thousands, and I said it had to be treated with care. But did she listen to me? Of course not.”
“From the look of it, she did a lot of fumbling.”
“I think so, and since she was banging on my door at six this morning telling me I had to fix it by tonight, it’s my guess that she did not fumble with her husband.”
Joce laughed. “Are you my tenant?”
“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Sara Shaw,” she said. “I live in that side and Tess Newland lives over there.”
“I’m—”
“The entire town knows who you are. Everyone’s been waiting for you since the crack of dawn.”
“The woman at the grocery store stared at me.”
“My mother,” Sara said. “She’s already called and told me you were on your way.”
“And the woman on the porch with the broom?”
“My aunt Helen. She called Mom and got a busy signal because Mom was calling me. I would imagine that by now the sheriff has looked up your license plate number.”
Jocelyn didn’t know what to say to that, so she just blinked.
“Would you like some iced tea?” Sara asked. “I just made a pitcher.”
“I’d love some, but—” She hesitated.
“Only if it’s not half sugar?” Sara asked as she stood up, carefully rolled the dress in the big towel, then put it on the little white table.
Joce could feel her face flushing red.
“Don’t worry about it. We’re used to Yankees down here.”
“I’m far from being a Yankee. I’m from Florida,” Joce said as she followed Sara toward the big brick house. “That’s south of here.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said over her shoulder. “I think maybe Southern is a state of mind as much as a place. And haven’t such a lot of people moved from up North down to Florida?”
Joce couldn’t help smiling. They’d reached the screen door of the east wing, and yet again she paused to look up at the house. There were no oddly shaped windows, no rooms that jutted out, nothing that in modern terms made a house “interesting.” Edilean Manor was as plain and therefore as beautiful as a house could be.
Sara stepped into the coolness of her side of the house, Joce behind her. They were in a kitchen that looked like it had been put in in about 1965, and although it had been maintained, it certainly hadn
’t been renovated. “Is that Formica? And is that…?”
“Avocado,” Sara said, looking at the drab green refrigerator. “Personally, I think the Smithsonian would be interested in this place. They should move it just as it is into a museum.”
Joce looked at the big, white enamel sink under the window and agreed. The kitchen wasn’t old enough to be charming. It was just ugly.
“I think I’ll complain to my landlord,” Sara said.
“You should,” Joce said, looking at the old stove. It matched the refrigerator. Her head came up. “Oh! Wait. I’m your landlord.”
Sara laughed as she went to the refrigerator and got out a big pitcher of iced tea. “Took you long enough.”
“This whole idea of owning a house hasn’t sunk in yet. I haven’t even seen the inside.”
“You’ll have time to explore. There are some old buildings outside too, but maybe you know that.” Sara nodded toward the little chrome table against the wall. It had a red surface and matching chrome chairs with red seats and backs.