Paris Fernwood- soon to be Mrs. Myron Lambardo
Dylan reread the last paragraph three times before he crumpled the note and dropped it on the next seat. For a few moments he let rage tighten his fists on the steering wheel, but then he let it go. Knowing it was Paris and not Hope didn’t matter now. Not since he believed Hope without proof, but last week it would have mattered. If he’d known last week, he could have saved himself a lot of misery.
When he thought of the nights he’d lain awake torturing himself about his troubles with Adam and Hope, anger again welled up in his chest, and he was extremely glad Paris was on her way to Mexico and no longer living in the same town. He didn’t wish Paris harm, nor did he wish her happiness. In fact, he hoped some big Mexican senorita got her into the wrestling ring and tied her into a pretzel.
The Founder’s Day committee worked long hours to come up with the perfect theme for this year’s Founder’s Day Ball. They fought and argued and finally drew straws. The winner, Boot Scootin‘ into the Millennium, was Iona Osborn’s idea.
The outside of the grange had been given a fresh coat of green paint, and the inside had been decorated to reflect the wilderness outside. Thousands of foil stars hung from the ceiling and the air was scented with the freshly cut pines stuck in Stanley Caldwell’s papier-mâché and wire masterpiece. It towered in the far corner, an impressive rendering of the Sawtooth Mountains.
Pete Yarrow and his band, The Wild Boys, provided the night’s music. Pete’s one claim to fame was his two guest appearances on Star Search, which was enough to make him a local favorite and all-around celebrity. The music was a raucous mix of country, bluegrass, and rockabilly. If Pete occasionally missed a note, the citizens filling the dance floor didn’t seem to mind.
Beers were a buck fifty, a glass of wine two dollars, and a can of soda a dollar. Water was free from the fountain. The people of Gospel were decked out in their finest. The women in yards of tulle and lace, the men in suits, a few opting for the cowboy leisure kind.
Stanley Caldwell’s monument of the Sawtooth Mountains stood in one corner of the grange, lit by a soft white light.
Hope stood in front of Stanley’s monument, paying particular interest to the splash of blue glitter that represented Sawtooth Lake. Never big on tulle, she wore a basic black dress she’d bought in Sun Valley on one of her shopping trips. The dress was sleeveless, with a scoop neck, and fit tight against her body. Twin seams ran up the backs of her legs, and she’d shoved her feet into a pair of four-inch pumps. She’d curled and pumped up the volume of her hair and wore diamond studs in her ears. She looked good and she knew it.
According to Shelly, Dylan never showed up at the Founder’s Day Ball, and since he’d been in such a bad mood when he’d picked up Adam from her house, she didn’t thi
nk he intended for this year to be any different. Which was okay with Hope-she hadn’t dressed with him in mind. Well, maybe just a little bit in mind. A little-just in case he showed-bit.
Even though she knew she looked good, she did feel somewhat out of place amongst the other women who’d decked themselves out in vivid color and foo-faraw. Even Shelly, who usually dressed strictly for comfort, had squeezed herself into satin and sequins like she was a prom queen. She and Paul were out on the dance floor two-stepping their hearts out.
“Excuse me.” Someone spoke above the music. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
Hope glanced over her shoulder at an old lady clouded in blue net and gave a long, mental groan. The light from the mountain display shone through the woman’s baby-blue hair and lit up her blue eye shadow and lashes. Just like that day in Hansen’s Emporium, Hope found herself staring in horrified wonder. It was like staring at a bad traffic accident. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t look away.
“We met in your emporium last week,” Hope reminded her.
“No, that was my sister, Eden. I’m her twin sister, Edie Dean.”
Egad! “There are two of you?”
“Yep, but my sister prefers purple.”
Hope forced herself to look past all that blue and into Edie’s eyes. “I remember.”
“Iona Osborn over at the Cozy Corner told me you write those articles for that News of the World.”
“News of the Universe,” Hope corrected. “How did Iona know about the articles?”
“Iona Osborn works with Paris, and last night Paris told her all about it.”
She supposed it was bound to get out sometime.
“Since you haven’t been in town long, you’ve never met my brother-in-law, Melvin.”
“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Pleasure, schmeasure. Melvin is a rat-faced, sheep-lovin‘ two-timer, and that’s a fact. If my sister had the sense God gave a goat, she’d ram him with her Buick.”
Lord, not again.
“Now, I was thinking. If you needed those aliens in your stories to abduct someone, Melvin would be a good one. And when they beam him up into one of them spaceships, they should attach electrodes to his privates.” Edie held up a fist and shook it in the air. “And give him a good zap!”
“Ahh… okay.” Hope took several steps sideways until she was lost in the crowd. She’d always figured there was a possibility that someone in Gospel would discover what she really wrote for a living; she just hadn’t figured that it would be Paris Fernwood. And since Paris and Edie knew, Hope assumed everyone in town knew by now. She didn’t really know how she felt about everyone finding out. Maybe a mixture of apprehension and relief. No more lies. No more secrets. Of course, she’d have to listen to everyone’s ideas for her next article with a few life stories thrown in. But if a few of them cast disdaining glances at her for her articles, why should she care? They bet on broken legs and tossed toilets, and ate testicles, for goodness’ sake.
Hope walked around the edge of the large hall, casting her gaze through the crowd as she made her way to the bar. Even though she knew better, she still caught herself looking for Dylan.