Trudy's Diary Read online

  “I can’t believe you have the night off,” Daisy said to Grover as they sat down at a small table for three.

  “I don’t have anything on the calendar tonight or tomorrow night,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He ordered a glass of Cabernet and perused the menu.

  “I’m having the margherita pizza,” said Helena, closing her menu. “Trying to watch my figure.”

  “You and everyone else are watching your figure,” Daisy said with a laugh. Grover rolled his eyes.

  “What’s new at work?” Helena asked Daisy.

  Daisy told her friends about her new assignment. “Tomorrow I’m heading over to the Library of Congress to start some research. I could do it online, but I love it over there and it’s been a while since I visited.”

  “It’s been years since I was there,” Grover said. He proceeded to tell Daisy and Helena about a party he was catering later in the week.

  “It’s a retirement party. Anyone care to help out?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. “Minimum wage, but you can take home the leftovers.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Daisy said.

  “Can’t. I’ve got a date,” Helena said.

  “Who’s it with?” Daisy asked.

  “His name is Bennett. This is our first date and we’re going to see a play. He’s a reporter I met at an event a few weeks ago.”

  “Is he normal?” Daisy asked with a grin.

  “He seems to be. If I have any questions about him I’ll give you a call,” Helena replied, winking.

  “Anyway, back to my retirement party,” Grover said. “Daisy, can you get away from work a couple hours early on Thursday?”

  “Sure. I’ll be working on research that day, so I can leave whenever I want to.”

  “I’ll pick you up in the van at three at your place.”

  Chapter 4

  On the dot of three Thursday afternoon, Grover pulled his catering van up to the curb in front of the brownstone where Daisy lived in a third-floor apartment.

  “So tell me more about this party,” Daisy said, sliding into the front seat.

  “Well, it’s a retirement party,” he began.

  “That much I already know,” she said.

  “The guy who is hosting it is not the retiree--he’s a teacher. The head of the retirement party committee or something like that. He doesn’t seem to have much imagination.”

  “What makes you say that?” Daisy asked

  “The guy who’s retiring is a school administrator who’s moving to Florida next week. The host has asked for desserts shaped like books and school supplies and stuff.” He steered the van into traffic headed out to one of the DC suburbs in Virginia. “If you ask me, I think books and school supplies would be the last thing a retiree wants at his party. I think he’d want things related to retirement. You know, like palm trees and flamingos and sunglasses. But I’m not hired to change anyone’s ideas, just carry them out.”

  A half hour later, they pulled into the driveway of a modest home just outside Arlington. A large white tent was already set up in the side yard. Grover hopped out first and swung open the back doors of the van. Daisy joined him as another woman approached the van. Daisy recognized her as one of Grover’s employees, Tish.

  “Hey, Tish,” Grover said. “Thanks for getting here early. Are the tables set up in the tent?”

  “Yup. I’ll start getting the drink trays out.” She clambered up into the back of the van and hefted two trays, then handed them to Daisy.

  “Would you take these over to the long table closest to the side of the house?” she asked Daisy.

  Daisy did as she was asked and was turning around to head back to the van for more instructions when a man walked into the tent.

  “Hi,” Daisy said cheerfully. “I’m Daisy.” She held out her hand and the man shook it.

  “Hi, I’m Walt Beecham.”

  “Are you the guest of honor?” Daisy asked with a smile. This man was obviously too young to be retiring.

  “No, no, I’m the host.” He looked at his watch. “Do you need me for anything around here before the party starts?”

  “I don’t think so, but you can ask Grover,” Daisy replied. “Excuse me, I’ve got to get more stuff from the van.” She hurried back toward the driveway.

  The man followed her out to the van.

  “Hi there, Mister Beecham,” Grover said, extending his hand. “Are you ready for the guests to arrive?”

  “Please call me Walt. Yes, I’m ready, though I need to run an errand before the party,” Walt said.

  “You’ve got plenty of time,” Grover assured him. “We’re just going to be setting up.”

  “All right. My wife has taken the kids over to her mother’s house so they’re not underfoot tonight. She’ll be back soon. If you have any questions, just ask her.”

  “Will do,” said Grover.

  Walt left and Daisy, Tish, and Grover busied themselves putting out table settings, arranging chafing dishes on the long serving tables, and directing the florist where to put her arrangements once she arrived.

  Grover was trying to juggle three containers of sherbet and a bottle of cranberry juice for the punch when the florist turned around suddenly and walked into him. The bottle of juice crashed to the ground, spilling all over the grass and sloshing onto Grover’s khaki pants.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!” the florist exclaimed.

  “It’s no problem,” Grover replied. “Daisy, can you do me a huge favor? Can you run to the closest grocery store and get some more cranberry juice? The punch isn’t as good without it.”

  “Sure.” Daisy reached her hand out for the keys. “Where’s the closest store?”

  “It’s just a few blocks away. It’s saved in the GPS.”

  “Be right back.” Daisy jogged toward the van. She turned on the GPS and scrolled through various saved destinations before finding a grocery store in Arlington. “That must be the one,” she murmured to herself. Grover always saved important addresses near his parties in case of emergency, like this one.

  Grover had been right--the grocery store wasn’t far at all. It was a small upscale store, located on a leafy street and tucked between a wine bar and a cupcake shop.

  Daisy found a parking spot right in front of the store and jumped out of the van. As she hurried into the store she glanced around and saw Walt exiting the wine bar. He was carrying two glasses of wine and he placed them on a small wrought iron table on the sidewalk under a striped purple awning. He then sat down with his back to Daisy. Apparently he hadn’t noticed the caterer’s van parked out front.

  Daisy hastened inside, found the juice quickly, and paid for it. She left the store and looked over toward Walt again. There was a woman with lush red hair walking toward his table. When she reached him, he stood up and kissed her lips. They sat down and he covered her hand with his. Daisy looked away and went back to the van. As she pulled away, she happened to look in her rear view mirror again to watch Walt and his wife; as she did so, she almost hit a woman who was standing in front of the van, just off the curb, looking toward the wine bar. Daisy let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t hit the woman and scolded herself for being so nosy.

  “How sweet,” Daisy thought. “A little date with his wife after she drops off the kids and before they have hoards of people at their house.” She smiled to herself. Mrs. Beecham had an open, fresh-faced glow that lent a feeling of familiarity to her wholesome attractiveness.

  She returned to the Beechams’ house and found the party preparations in full swing. The catering staff met her as she pulled into the driveway and yanked open the back doors of the van. Two other part-time employees had joined Grover and Tish and everyone was eager to get the rest of the supplies out of the van and set up.

  “Daisy, can you make the punch?” Grover asked. “The list of ingredients is taped on the wall inside the van.”

  “Got it,” Daisy replied.

  Daisy was gathering the ingredients to make the
punch when a woman’s soft voice interrupted her.

  “Excuse me?” asked the woman, peering into the back of the van.

  “Yes? Can I help you?” Daisy asked. She turned her attention away from counting out limes for the punch.

  “I’m looking for Grover. I’m Mrs. Beecham. Melody Beecham.”

  Daisy dropped a lime and did an almost-imperceptible double-take. Melody’s long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was thin and tired-looking. This wasn’t the woman whom Daisy had seen with Walt.

  It was the woman Daisy had almost hit with the van.

  Chapter 5

  Daisy managed to recover herself quickly. “Oh. Um, the last time I saw him he was headed toward the tent.”

  Who was the woman with Walt at the wine bar? Daisy turned away so her face wouldn’t give away her discomfort.

  “All right. I’m sure I’ll find him eventually,” Mrs. Beecham said, then turned and walked away toward the tent.

  Daisy busied herself making the punch and pouring it into gallon containers that could be easily transported to and from the tent. Grover came to see how she was doing.

  “How’s it going?” Grover asked.

  Daisy was having a hard time concentrating on the punch. How could she when she knew the party host was cheating on his wife? And that the wife had perhaps just found out about it, too?

  “Okay.”

  “Only okay? I thought you loved helping me.” He grinned.

  “I do. It’s just--”

  “Wait a sec,” Grover said. Someone was calling his name. “Be right back.”

  But he became involved in so many busy party preparations that she didn’t even get another glimpse of him until guests had begun to arrive and she was set up at her pasta station.

  Later on, during a lull in the serving, Daisy was surprised when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and found herself looking at a familiar face, though it took her a second to place the man.

  It was Brian Comstock, Mark John’s brother-in-law. He was a history teacher and had a passion for all things historical. He was constantly bringing things into the office--from books to candlesticks to old clothing--that he thought Mark John might find interesting.

  “Brian!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Walt is a good friend of mine from work. We both teach in the history department. I almost didn’t recognize you because you’re out of your element here.”

  “Yes, I guess I am. Nice to see you, Brian,” Daisy said, then turned away.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” Brian asked.

  “The caterer is a friend of mine,” Daisy said, looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m just helping him out tonight.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s interesting, I suppose. Tell Mark John I said hello,” Brian said, then he moved away into the crowd.

  He wasn’t the most suave conversationalist. In fact, he could be downright obtuse when it came to small talk. Daisy wondered if he had fun at parties like this. He seemed too introverted to enjoy himself.

  Daisy continued serving guests, then the final person through the line was Walt. He held out his plate for a helping of pasta, but had a pained look on his face. He didn’t look at Daisy, nor did he speak to her.

  Daisy felt she had to say something--it would be too awkward for her to ignore the host of the party.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.

  “What? Oh. It’s all right, I suppose.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No.” He left without another word.

  After the dessert buffet was laid out and coffee had been served, the number of guests slowly began to dwindle until only Walt and Brian and a few others remained, including the guest of honor. Grover suggested that Daisy get a ride home with Tish while he waited to settle the bill with the retirement party committee. He knew from experience that it could take a while, and he didn’t want her to have to wait around for him.

  “Thanks for letting me help tonight,” Daisy said. “It was enlightening.” Grover, who had been perusing the bill, glanced up at her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You coming, Daisy?” Tish asked as she approached.

  “I’m ready,” Daisy answered. “Talk to you later, Grover.”

  “Thanks a lot for helping out tonight. I owe you one. I’ll call you soon,” he called after her..

  When he called later the next week, though, it was with bad news.

  Chapter 6

  Something was nagging in the back of Daisy’s mind as she prepared for bed that night. Tish had been chatty all the way back to Dupont Circle, talking about working for Grover and some of the parties she had helped him cater. Daisy was listening, but she was also thinking. Thinking about the woman Walt had kissed at the wine bar.

  There was something about her…

  The next day at work everyone seemed to be in a foul mood. The reason was simple: a deadline. An issue of the journal had to be completed by midnight and Mark John was projecting his stress onto everyone in the office. Daisy had finished her contributions to the issue ages ago, but Mark John was a firm believer that misery loves company. Before lunchtime, she, too, was in a bitter mood that only an escape from the office would cure.

  By the time six o’clock rolled around, there was nothing more she could do to help Mark John and Jude, both of whom were buried in last-minute details. Daisy packed her tote bag, slung it over her shoulder, and left without saying a word to anyone. She picked up a sandwich on the way home, figuring the last thing she wanted to do was make dinner and wash dishes that evening. She ate the sandwich on the sofa, nursing a glass of wine and watching old movies, her coping mechanism of choice.

  When she had enjoyed her fill of “Laura” and “To Catch a Thief,” two of her favorite old films, Daisy felt her eyelids getting droopy. She washed out the wine glass and threw away the sandwich wrapper, all the while trying to figure out why her brain wouldn’t shut itself down.

  She took two melatonin, hoping they would help put her mind at rest so she could go to sleep, and crawled into bed.

  As she was drifting off, she suddenly realized what her mind wouldn’t let go.

  She had recognized the woman Walt kissed--it was Fiona.

  Mark John’s wife.

  Chapter 7

  Now Daisy couldn’t sleep. How could she, when she knew such a devastating secret? Did Mark John know his wife was cheating on him? Had Melody Beecham found out the afternoon of the retirement party that her husband was cheating on her?

  Should she tell someone?

  Daisy’s mind reeled with questions about Fiona, the woman in the picture whom she’d never met in person.

  She had so many questions. She knew one thing--she didn’t want to go to work on Monday morning. She couldn’t face Mark John.

  But Monday morning came, as it always did, and she had to go to work. She tossed and turned all Sunday night until the sun brightened the eastern sky with a gossamer ribbon of pink.

  She had looked forward to spending the day ensconced in research at the Library of Congress, but she couldn’t summon the energy she needed to take the Metro and fight the tourists thronging around the federal buildings.

  Daisy was on her second cup of coffee when Jude came into her office. She had a bad habit of barging in without knocking--apparently she felt it was her prerogative as the senior editor to go into anyone’s office any time she felt like it.

  It annoyed Daisy more than usual that morning.

  “Do you ever knock?” she asked.

  “Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Jude replied.

  Daisy took a deep breath and reminded herself to be polite.

  “What do you need?” she asked.

  “Mark John isn’t here yet,” she said. “I’m just letting you know so that if you need anything, come to me.”

  Daisy nodded tightly. “Okay.” Jude left qu
ickly, seeming to sense that Daisy wasn’t in the mood to listen to her.

  It was just like Jude to let everyone in the office know she was temporarily in charge, Daisy thought with disgust. Did anyone even care?

  Mark John came in about an hour later. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, either. He closed the door to his office a little too loudly and Daisy waited for Jude to go running to him.

  She didn’t have to wait long.

  A minute or two later Daisy heard Mark John’s voice.

  “Dammit!” he yelled. There was a sound of breaking glass. Daisy winced.

  A lower, softer voice responded to Mark John a moment later. Daisy guessed that Jude was trying to calm him down. Daisy wondered what was going on. She briefly considered tiptoeing to the door to listen, but she quickly discarded that idea as both nosy and stupid.

  She tried to concentrate on the work in front of her, but the office felt too unsettled, too charged with emotion. She grabbed her jacket and went outside for a walk.

  When she returned, the receptionist nodded silently and gave Daisy a small smile. Daisy hoped that meant everything had calmed down in the office.

  She walked past Jude, who was in her own office, and noticed that everything seemed to have quieted in her absence.

  As much as she didn’t want to bother Mark John, Daisy had to get started on the research for the women’s history articles. She took her notebook and knocked lightly on Mark John’s office door.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “It’s Daisy. Are you interested in talking about the women’s history articles right now?”

  She could hear him sigh. “Might as well. Come in.”

  She opened the door reluctantly, expecting to see Mark John sitting behind his desk. Instead, he was pacing before the big window. There were large bags under his eyes and his hair was disheveled. A quick glance revealed to Daisy that the photo of his wife was missing from the credenza.

  “Sit down,” he said, gesturing toward a chair. He didn’t turn around from the window.