Sheila Horgan - Iced Tea (Third Book in the Tea Series)

ICED TEA

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, businesses and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. No reference to any real person is intended or implied.

Iced Tea. Copyright 2011 by Sheila Horgan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, or distributed without the written permission of the author, with the exception of short quotes for purposes of review.

ONE

My sister Teagan and I were sitting at the table, waxing philosophical, when my brothers showed up with the trunk. Turns out that my mothers best friend, Bernie, who was once my grandmothers best friend, had a few surprises in store, the latest turned out to be a locked trunk. For me.

First Bernie died unexpectedly, were pretty sure it wasnt a murder, but havent gotten confirmation on that yet. Then we find out that the woman, who happened to be older than dirt, had some interesting hobbies, including writing erotica and helping out at Church.

We were just getting used to the whole erotica thing, when Mom and Daddy announced at a family dinner that Bernie left each of us, all eight kids and my parents, a little money. Bernie was from Ireland and didnt have any family here in Florida, so wed pretty much taken over that honor. It seems Bernie thought of us as family too, the only real family she had. Wish Id thought more about that before she died. Bernie has always just been there, I didnt make a big deal out of her, I didnt try to have a close relationship with her; I had no idea that she thought of me as the kid most like her. One of those things you cant go back and change. Unfortunately.

When we were told that Bernie left us some money, each one of us kids decided to pool our share and send Mom and Daddy over to Ireland, partially as a tribute to our Bernie, and partially as a reward.

Mom and Daddy are the kind of parents that are completely dedicated to the health and welfare of their children, even though were now pretty much grown. According to my mother, youre never too old to be parented.

I openly admit sometimes parental dedication can look like dysfunction brought to a whole new level, but our family doesnt see ourselves as dysfunctional, really, and we appreciate the involvement of our parents and siblings. Mostly.

Bernie stored the trunk in a loft area of her garage. Her garage is where she was found dead. Although death doesnt usually ook me out, Bernies death has bothered me, on some level, since it happened. I wasnt sure how I would feel about Bernies trunk sitting in my apartment, but when the time came, and my brothers finally delivered it I wasnt ooked out at all.

When the guys carried in the trunk, I was shocked. Rory explained that the rough wooden exterior that wed seen in the garage the day wed emptied the last of Bernies things out of her little house, was a storage container that housed the real trunk. The trunk is a masterpiece. Dark wood inlaid with beautiful flowers made of other beautiful woods and something a little bit shiny.

Completely out of character, Teagan and I left the trunk untouched while we set out lunch. Nothing fancy. The guys dug in, ate well, and took off before we opened the trunk. They teased us a bit about the whole fairytale aspect of found treasure, and Moms warnings about being careful what you wish for, something about Prince Charming and toads, and, of course, Pandoras box, but they didnt stick around to see what was in it.

Saying that I have a fondness for lingerie is like saying that Jay Leno has a fondness for cars. Ive never met a peignoir I didnt like. I think Teagan and I have already pretty much decided that Bernie was collecting lingerie for me. Since Im tall, and wasnt when she started collecting all of this, Im hopeful that she either bought short, or planned ahead.

At first, the thought of a woman collecting lingerie for a young girl seemed kind of creepy, but Bernie comes from another generation, when hope chests and dowries were in vogue, and being one of 8 siblings, I can see where she might think a little help in that direction would be a good thing. Women used to plan these things, putting aside a bit whenever they could, be it their trousseau or a lovely piece of china and other household items.

Im confident that Bernie, who, to my knowledge, had never been married, was building a hope chest for me. Or maybe she figured that since I wasnt the most beautiful of my mothers daughters, we would need a bigger dowry to marry me off.

When I suggested that possibility to Teagan, she smacked me.

I know Im not ugly. I have my stunning moments; they just arent as frequent as my sisters. Im okay with that. I have better lingerie than she does. Besides, I think it says more good things about you if you can be honest about your flaws. Just because Im not as pretty as Teagan, doesnt mean I dont have as much value as Teagan. It took me a while to figure that one out, but I get it now, and Im good with it.

I took the key off the desk, where my brother left it on his way out, and unlocked the trunk. I took a deep breath, and opened the lid.

A lovely citrus scent wafted out before I could see inside. I smiled. It would be just like Bernie to know Im not a roses and vanilla kind of girl, Im a citrus and sage kind of girl. Actually, lemon all by itself would work for me, but its hard to find, other than in an old fashioned bottle of Mr. Clean, which could explain my slightly compulsive approach to cleaning.

So now we have the chicken and the egg problem. Do I love the smell of citrus because I was introduced to it by Bernie, or did Bernie know me well enough to know that citrus pleases me? Or did citrus please her, and thats just one of the things that made her think she and I were alike? Her wee little house did smell citrusy all the time. Id have to think about that.

Those are the kinds of things that get my attention. I know. Its a little strange, but the whole thing about looking at life a little sideways has served me well. At least it did until very recently, but thats a whole other issue to pursue at another time.

The lid creaked as I opened it all the way. It had leather straps that held the lid straight up. Beautiful. The inside had the feeling of a very traditional old-time trunk, although when wed seen only the outside, it seemed rather modern, and, thinking about it, informal but precise. Kind of like me I guess. I wonder if Bernie planned that, or it was just a happy accident.

The trunk looked like a horizontal version of a vertical trunk. You know those trunks they have in the old movies that you have to stand on end to access drawers and a hanging rod. Basically a rolling closet. Probably when every mode of transportation took longer, and life was a little more formal, a trunk was your rolling closet. Older houses often dont have closets at all. Anyway, this trunk didnt need to be turned up on end, but it was full of little compartments along the edges, and still had plenty of storage in the middle. Everything in the trunk was either sequestered in a drawer, or wrapped in tissue paper with a beautiful ribbon around it. I couldnt tell what anything was.

Teagan reached in to open a drawer, and I instantly blocked her move. Teagan and I share everything, but for some reason, I didnt want to share this.

When you come from a large family, with limited funds, virtually nothing is your own. You share food, and clothing, and space. That has just been a fact of my life, all my life. I never give it any thought, it doesnt bother me, except that once Teagan borrows my clothes theyre gone to me forever. If she doesnt leave bumps in them, where I have no bumps, they look so much better on her that I dont want them back. But thats only slightly annoying, this sudden urge to keep the trunk, and everything in it, to myself - this is confusing.