The mercury climbed to the mid-seventies this September 22. The dogs rested in the shade.
“So the platform isn’t just for speeches. I should have asked you that in the first place.” Harry noted the dimensions that Tazio told her: twenty feet by fifteen. “You know, this is going to be big.”
“Building it in sections. We won’t drive one stake in the lawn.” Tazio, hands on hips, stood where she planned for the center to be. “Well, of course, there will be speeches after dinner. There always are. We’re even hiding a Porta-John behind the platform, in case someone up here has to go. Given the length of speeches, that seems inevitable.”
“I’d give more money if there weren’t speeches.” Susan smiled.
“Wouldn’t we all,” Tazio agreed. “However, the organizers need to be thanked, the chair always has to blab, and the politician of the moment really blabs on. And, of course, the director of restoration must speak. That I’ll enjoy. The rest of it is pure torture.”
“Aren’t you going to speak?” Susan asked.
Tazio’s hand flew to her bosom. “Me? God, no. I hate speaking in public.”
“Ned can give you lessons. He’s become one of those politicians, you know.” Susan loved her husband but had noted a certain amount of garrulousness creeping into his conversation.
“Bet he can,” Tazio wryly replied.
Harry, ever eager to keep on track—except when she veered off—said, “This is a big platform.”
“There will be a lattice behind it with fake ivy and wide ribbons woven through. That will be backlit. I’ve got to keep the generators somewhat quiet. With the restoration there’s a lot we can’t do, but the house isn’t wired for this kind of draw, anyway, hence the generators.”
“When you figure out how to silence a generator, let me know.” Harry appreciated the problem.
“I’m building domed ventilated housing. You’ll hear a hum but it will be muted, and the roof of the small little hives will be soundproofed.”
“That is so clever.” Susan admired Tazio’s creativity as an architect and practicality as a woman.
“Taz, what are you going to do on the platform?” Harry was impatient.
“It’s supposed to be a surprise, but I can tell you a few things. Okay, when people park, they will be led back to the lawn by servants in livery. And all the manner of the early nineteenth century will be in force. So each person will be addressed with their honorific, which was terribly important then, as was a graceful bow.”
“Great. I can be introduced as Farmer Haristeen.”
“You all will be Doctor and Lady Haristeen. Ned and Susan will be the Honorable and Lady Tucker, and so forth. Anyway, trays of drinks will be circulated, plus there will be a discreet bar under the arcade right over there.” She pointed to the arcade under the southern portico. “Then trays of hors d’oeuvres from the periods. Okay. So far so good. Nothing unusual. Then it’s time to sit and eat what would have been a feast in 1819. A feast now, too. I’m not giving away the menu. Folly would shoot me. But there will be a presentation, a tableau, and music while people eat.”
“A play?” Harry didn’t like the idea.
“No, Harry, a tableau. People will be in scenes, then the scenes will change. We aren’t doing a play, because you can’t really eat and watch a play. Dinner theater never works.”
“A pretty thing but no major distraction.” Susan figured it out.
“Right. Plus, it’s set on the southern side here, and people can watch the sun set over the Blue Ridge Mountains, as well, since the views are good to the west. It should be fantastic unless it rains.”
“Long-range predictions?” Harry watched the Weather Channel the way some people watched porn. “Clear. Cross your fingers.”
Tazio exhaled. “Okay, then come the speeches, and I will do everything in my power to keep them short, but you know how that goes.”
“Then what?” Harry was becoming intrigued.
“Then a little surprise.”
“On the platform?” Harry prodded more.
“Umm, some on the platform. You’ll see. It really will be so lovely, and this place deserves it. Everyone knows about Monticello and the University of Virginia as expressions of Jefferson’s creativity in architecture. Some even know about the state house in Richmond, but so few know about Poplar Forest, even in Virginia, which surprises me.”
“Oh, we learned about it in fifth grade, but it went in one ear and out the other.” Susan recalled their venerable fifth-grade teacher at Crozet Elementary. “You were in St. Louis, so you missed Mrs. Rogers’s breathless reenactments of Virginia history.”
“The moans while she died of tuberculosis were particularly compelling.” Harry grinned.
“Don’t forget her yellow-fever death,” Susan said.
“Or being shot by a minnie ball.”
Tazio stopped this romp down Memory Lane. “Was her husband an undertaker? One death after another.”
“Mr. Rogers ran the Esso station. Exxon now. She was a frustrated actress and figured out that death scenes carried more impact than pretending to be on a bateau rolling down the James River.”
“She did that, too,” Harry reminded Susan.
“Actually, she did.”
“See what I missed growing up in St. Louis,” Tazio replied. “Well, I’ve done my due diligence here. Let’s go back. I’ll have to make a few calls from the car, and I apologize.”
“Noticed your cell didn’t ring.” Harry never turned hers on unless she had to make a call.
“I needed a break. If Folly isn’t bugging me, it’s Carla. My other clients are okay. Oh, that reminds me, I need to get updated quotes on those furnace systems. Did a little more work on that. Haven’t had time to send it over to Herb, but it can wait until tomorrow. And, of course, thanks to Folly, I have to present all this to Marvin Lattimore.”
“Think Folly’s sleeping with him?” Susan could say this among friends.
Given Folly’s dazzlement by Marvin at vestry-board meetings, the possibility had become obvious to all.
“I don’t know. Penny won’t much like it.” Harry had wondered the same thing.
“She can’t be naive.” Tazio stooped to pick up her plans from the deep-green lawn. “He runs a charter airline. People who travel a lot, especially in those circumstances, have ample opportunity to indulge in affairs.”
“Marvin doesn’t strike me as the affair type,” Susan said.
“One-night stands.” Harry winked.
“Well…” Susan’s voice trailed off.
“All right, kids,” Harry called, and Tucker, Owen, and Brinkley scrambled to their feet.
Mrs. Murphy and Pewter followed at a more leisurely pace.
At the parking lot, Susan lifted up the hatch on the station wagon and the animals jumped in. They’d stay in the back for a while. Sometimes the dogs fell asleep back there, but the cats always leapt into the backseat to keep the humans company.
No sooner did Susan pull out of the lot than Tazio’s cell rang.
“On course?” was all Folly Steinhauser uttered in Tazio’s ear.
“Yes,” came the equally terse reply.
“Good. Talk to you tomorrow. Have to meet again with the caterer.”
“Tazio, can you make calls if the radio is on low?” Harry asked.
“Sure.”
“Susan, see if you can get the news. I want to know about who shot Will.”
Susan clicked on the radio.
“Just press 103.5,” Harry said.
“NPR.” Susan knew the numbers. “That’s not going to work south of Lynchburg.”
“Damn.”
“You’ve got ants in your pants today.”
“Well, I want to know. Don’t you?”
“I do,” Susan agreed, while Tazio nodded as she punched in the number of the company building the platform.
As Tazio talked, Susan finally got a news station. First they endured the national news. The international was already over. Finally, local news came on, but it started with Richmond and the governor’s latest push for new road construction.