Free Major Vices by Mary Daheim

below, let me see if you’re all right…”
    The Wakefields disappeared down the stairs. Toadie uttered an indecipherable exclamation, threw up her hands, and stomped off. Zoe giggled while the cousins returned to their tasks. Renie scrubbed the durable one-inch tiles on the counters. Judith swept the linoleum, then wiped it down with a damp rag. Cantankerous voices were raised in the living room: Aunt Vivvie emitted a wail; Trixie’s laughter verged on hysteria; Derek’s low voice rumbled with warning; Jill drowned them out with a few chords from Chopin. More faintly, a soft thud emanated from somewhere in the house.
    â€œPoor Pop,” Zoe remarked, eating the last roll. “I’ll bet he fainted. He can be really ineffectual sometimes.”
    Judith didn’t comment, but Renie made a face. “Does he ever do anything around here?” she asked.
    Zoe had propped herself up on a kitchen stool. “Oh, sure, he does what he has to. Handyman stuff. Errands. Driving to doctor and dentist appointments for the old coot a couple of times a year.” She stuck out one long, slim leg and admired its shapeliness. “Pop’s not stoned all the time. He usually smokes only before and after meals. Oh, and in the evening.”
    That covered most of Weed’s waking hours, as far as Judith could tell. If Weed’s self-induced euphoria could indeed be considered a state of consciousness. Master and servant were well suited. Neither was in sharp focus.
    â€œWho,” Renie asked, stuffing the last of Judith’s plastic containers into the cardboard box, “hired your parents?”
    Zoe tugged at her earlobe. “Mrs. Major, I guess. Rosie, Boo’s wife. I was a baby at the time. Dunlop had servants, but they were as old as he was. They died, too, all about the same time. Boo didn’t want to bother getting new staff, but Mrs. Major must have convinced him. She usually did.”
    Judith nodded. “Rosie Major was a forceful woman. She could be a nag, but I always thought she was the most agreeable of the three Lott sisters.”
    With a languid toss of her head, Zoe sniffed. “Isn’t that like choosing your favorite disease? Those women are all awful, if you ask me.”
    The cousins didn’t argue. Haste was imperative if they were to beat the falling temperature. There were few leftovers, except for the wine. Judith had the feeling that if she hadn’t kept the cases in the kitchen, they, too, would have disappeared along with all of the food. Aunt Toadie probably had a secret cache. Judith wouldn’t put it past her to return the unopened bottles to the liquor store.
    Flushed and fanning herself with her hand, Mrs. Wakefield returned. Zoe expressed mild interest in her father’s welfare.
    â€œDid he get burned or does he know the difference?” Zoe seemed inured to Weed’s mishaps.
    Mrs. Wakefield cupped a hand around her ear. “What? Oh, he’s okay, except for a couple of places on his face. I fixed him up with some ointment. Maybe that’ll teach him not to peek into a pressure cooker.”
    â€œThey’re dangerous,” Renie declared, closing up one of the boxes. “My mother’s blew a hole in the ceiling once.”
    Judith gave Renie a sidelong look. “That’s because your dad put a cherry bomb in it. He didn’t like pressure cookers, either.”
    â€œHe didn’t like chokecherry jam, which was what Mom was making,” Renie replied. “I didn’t blame him, but nowadays it’s sold as a delicacy up at Falstaff’s—”
    Another loud noise jolted the four women. “Now what?” Mrs. Wakefield sighed. “I put what was left of the beets in a kettle.”
    Zoe swiveled on the stool. “What about Pop?”
    â€œI put what was left of him to bed.” The housekeeper peered out through the dining room and into the entry hall. “Jill and that