Time After Time by Antoinette Stockenberg

dropped in on us in the Great
Room yesterday. He's one heck of a hunk."
    "Yeah. Until he opens his
mouth. Why can't he be more gracious about this party? 'No
thumbtacks in the woodwork, please.' God. I'd hate to be a kid on
Christmas Eve over there. He probably makes them lay their
stockings flat on the floor."
    "You're overreacting. He's
the heir apparent. Naturally he wants to pass on the family
homestead in good shape."
    "To whom, may I ask? The man's a
bachelor, and with that personality, likely to remain
one."
    "Don't kid yourself,
madame. I've checked around. He's dated every new — not to mention
recycled — debutante in town, and every one of them thinks she has
the inside track. He must be doing something right."
    "Really?" The news was not
only surprising to Liz, it was disappointing; she wanted to
believe, somehow, that the curmudgeon despised all women
equally.
    She pulled the minivan
onto the graveled drive of the shingled mansion. Victoria,
impressed all over again, said, "Quite a nice little
cottage."
    Liz laughed
sardonically. "I have a nice little cottage. He has a nice little Cottage. Capital
'C'. "
    "At least it's not chopped
up into condos like half the other mansions in town."
    Netta, dressed in festive
attire — brown with mauve trim — was scurrying out to them with a
childishly eager look on her face. "The cake at last?" she asked,
thoroughly caught up in the party spirit. She peeked into the van,
oohed and ahed, and said, "Let me run get the trolley for
it."
    While they waited for
Netta to come back, Victoria said, "What about this Caroline
business? Doesn't this long-lost-cousin bit sound fishy to you?
Would someone like the Eastman clan really lose a cousin? They seem
like the type that keep track of their stuff."
    "Hmm. Well, that's the
official version, anyway," said Liz, but she was thinking, I shouldn't have worn teal; I clash with the
mouse. "The puppets!" she cried. "I forgot
the puppets!"
    "In the bag with the
candles, dope," said Victoria, swinging the carryall over Liz's
shoulder. "I'll take in the cake with Netta. You clear a path ahead
of us."
    "Yes. All right." Liz spun
on her heel and plunged through the massive double-doored entrance
as if she were charging into an unexplored rain forest.
    She was all too aware that
she was being absurd, but she considered the birthday party a
watershed event in her career. She'd committed virtually every cent
of the agreed-on cost to an eager new caterer in town, while she
herself worked basically for free. From the hours of her labor to
the flour in the cake, Jack Eastman wasn't paying for any of it.
Liz had accepted that fact and was treating it as an advertising
expense. But it made her want, that much more, to blow the man's
socks off.
    She passed the elder
Eastman in the entry hall and they exchanged greetings. Cornelius
was clearly in a relaxed and expansive mood today. He said
genially, "You look very nice today, Ms. Coppersmith. And so does
everything you've done. I'm quite impressed. As for Caroline, she's
absolutely thrilled."
    "I'm so glad to hear it,"
Liz said.
    It was just what she
needed to hear. Feeling suddenly calmer and more confident, she
went into the Great Room, which looked, well, great. Liz had
confined the decorating scheme to Mickey's colors — red, white,
black, and yellow — and had made big cutouts of Mickey, Minnie, and
all their friends, which she'd located around the room with sticky
tape. She'd stripped her yard and Victoria's of every red, white,
and yellow peony they had and placed huge bunches of them in big
black vases that Netta had produced from somewhere.
    The effect was childlike
and elegant at the same time, guaranteed to please even the most
discriminating client.
    Liz's client was in the
room right now, as a matter of fact —probably scanning for
thumbtack holes. He was standing next to the massive fireplace with
its elaborately carved overmantel, one arm leaning on the mantel
edge. He wore the classic