CHAPTER FOUR

      MIMI HAD HER HEAD BURIED in the refrigerator at her father’s house when she announced loudly, “Well, I for one wouldn’t mind having Justin Bigelow pick me up from the airport—or any place, for that matter.” She shut the stainless-steel door. “Dah, da-ah!” She held a jar of peanut butter triumphantly aloft. Then she spied the label and her enthusiasm diminished. “Wouldn’t you know it? Organic peanut butter with no salt and no sugar. No wonder it was in the fridge.”

       “Since when has your dad become all health food conscious?” Lilah asked. She sat on a stool in the Lodge’s sprawling kitchen. Her entire studio apartment could have fit into the center island—with room to spare. The surface gleamed with acres of polished granite.

       “It’s not Daddy. People who raid beleaguered companies don’t do organic, or so I’ve been told. It’s the preoccupation of his latest wife, the lovely Noreen, by way of Limerick. It seems no processed food is allowed to touch the lips of my little stepsister Brigid. Noreen even sent Cook to a health food cooking school for further instruction.”

       Mimi seemed to think nothing of having “Cook” as part of the household. Ah, the prerogatives of privilege, Lilah thought. Not something that had been part of her upbringing, that was for sure

       She watched Mimi unscrew the lid to the peanut butter and stick her finger in. Then she swallowed a glob and gagged. “Oh, yuck,” Mimi howled. “It’s like having sex without an orgasm.”

       It had been way too long since Lilah had had sex, let alone an orgasm, for her to comment. Which probably also explained why her next thought was of Justin. She cleared her throat and moved on to the obvious—not about sex. “Noreen? Last I heard your father was married to Adele.”

       Adele had originally been Mimi’s nanny before she pushed aside Mimi’s mother to become the second Mrs. Lodge. That was also before Mimi’s mother had committed suicide, a forbidden subject at all times.

       “Boy, are you behind the times. After Adele and Daddy had a son, they hired Noreen as a nanny. That son would be my half brother, Conrad Prescott Lodge IV, known to one and all, yourself included, as Press.”

       “Which would not have been my first choice for a nickname,” Lilah quipped.

       “Be that as it may, Noreen then replaced Adele in the wife department. Daddy, as you may have gathered, seems to focus on the household help when he’s looking for a new mate. It doesn’t require too much legwork, I guess.”

       “Look on the bright side. At least he marries them,” Lilah reflected. “Hey, how old is Press now? Last I saw him, he was obsessed with Magic Cards and some little medieval action figures or other.”

       “Warhammer figures—the holy grail of prepubescent boys with unwanted blackheads and extensive imaginations.”

       “I hope he’s gotten out of that phase—the blackhead part, I mean.”

       “Oh, he’s turned out all right, our Press—quite a handsome man-boy. He’s very nice, actually, no thanks to either my father or Adele. I mean, how can you relate to a mother who looks like a boiled prune from playing tennis all day or a father who’s never there? Come to think of it, maybe that’s why he turned out so well?”

       “So he’s how old?” Lilah asked.

       “He’s just finished up his junior year at Grantham, a biology major but focusing on paleontology. I think he also plays on the tennis team. Anyway, he mentioned that he’s working Reunions, but I don’t know what exactly.”

       Mimi abandoned the jar of peanut butter on the counter and wandered over to the adjoining walk-in butler’s pantry. Lilah, being Lilah, screwed the lid back on the jar and put it away in the fridge. Then she followed Mimi, leaning against one of the old-fashioned cabinet drawers that held linens. On one wall, glass-faced cabinets displayed massive amounts of silver serving pieces and glassware. On the others, shelves held neatly arranged packages and jars of whole-wheat flour, honey and granola. Lilah took in the jars of dried beans and legumes of varying dull colors.

       “I can see that Noreen has had a major influence on this room, as well,” she said. “When I think back to college, these shelves had the biggest supply of Pop-Tarts I’d ever seen—it just makes me want to cry.”

       Mimi let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re right. It’s the fall of civilization as we know it.” She shook her head and marched out of the pantry. “Never mind. There’s still the liquor cabinet.”

       Lilah tripped along behind her into the dining room, where drop cloths covered furniture, rugs were rolled up and bundled in plastic, and the walls were denuded of paintings. “So what’s going on? A garage sale?” she said.

       Mimi lifted a spattered sheet covering the sideboard. “No, it’s protection from the dust, all part of the current-wife-renovations phenomenon. First comes the new master bedroom—for all the obvious reasons. Then they work their way around the house imprinting their own unique personality. When Adele became the official Number Two, she had the kitchen redone, a wine cellar built and a new pool house put in the back. Now that Noreen rules the roost, she’s converting my old bedroom into a yoga room and turning the library into a screening room. They’ll probably sit around and watch documentaries about eating local.”

       Lilah watched Mimi study the labels of various bottles of liquor. “So where are you staying, then?”

       Mimi grabbed a bottle by the neck and straightened up. “Why, the pool house of course. It’s my version of the stepdaughter’s revenge. I’m co-opting something that really mattered to that money-grubbing bitch who usurped my mother’s rightful place.” She marched back to the kitchen. “C’mon, I’ve made the unilateral decision that we’re going to have gin and tonics. I think I noticed some designer tonic water in the back of the pantry.”

       “And I’m sure there’s organic limes in the fruit bowl.” Lilah yawned. In Spain, where she’d just come from, it was already well after midnight. Between jet lag and the time difference, she was fading fast. “Dare I ask where the ‘money grubbing bitch’ is now?” she asked, trying to keep up with the conversation.

       “Oh, in the center of town, ensconced in the new town house development on Grantham Square. It’s supposed to look oldie and charming—all brick Georgian and stately. But of course the places have elevators and the latest in stainless-steel appliances and jetted spa baths. But get this. According to Noreen, they’re asking more than a million for the places, and you still have to pay parking on top. Can you believe it?” After a quick pit stop to the pantry, she marched back in the kitchen and placed the bottles on the counter. She opened a cabinet and took down two highball glasses.

       Lilah covered her mouth and stifled another yawn. “Sounds better than the dorm where I’m staying. Mind you, I haven’t seen it yet. I asked Justin to bring me here first.”

       “And he didn’t stay for a chat? I’m offended.”

       “I offered, but when we pulled up to the house he checked his email, and said that something had come up that he needed to follow up on right away.”

       “Ooh! Quel mystère. I can just imagine the type of emergencies Justin Bigelow must have.”

       Lilah was about to explain that the Justin of today didn’t totally resemble the Justin of yore, but Mimi had already moved on.

       “I don’t know why you want to stay in the dorms when you can bunk