“Quite the psychologist, my mom.” We clink our glasses, and Coop takes a sip. “On the porch, Roman accused Regina of being jealous of us. He said she only wants to tear you down because she can’t handle a relationship of her own.”
“That’s mean.”
“She went after his drinking. Pointed out I probably would have never moved back to Whisper if he was capable of running the Gazette.”
“Ouch.”
“What they said to each other was hurtful, but true. I tried my best to diffuse the situation.”
“Is that your role in all of this? Peacemaker?”
He laughs. “Tonight, I was. With siblings, you’re always switching roles.”
“You kept your cool tonight. It helped me keep mine.”
“The wedding is in eleven weeks,” Coop says, pulling me close. “Hopefully my family can avoid killing each other until then.”
“Speaking of the countdown,” I say, dancing my fingers across his chest. “Are we still going to make our little pact?”
Coop rolls his eyes. “Are you going to make me go through with it?”
Before the move, I’d suggested we agree not to sleep together in the weeks before the wedding. Modern relationships tend to lose the intrigue couples had in previous generations. It would be nice for our wedding night to feel special, different. Coop agreed to the idea, but it’s a harder promise in practice.
“Let’s give it a try,” I say, holding his hand. “Beth and Matt stopped sleeping together weeks before their wedding. Lots of couples do it. At this point, it’s one of the few traditions we have left.”
Coop smiles, looks down and releases a heavy sigh. “The countdown to the wedding just got a lot longer.”
“We still have time,” I say, kissing his lips. “According to my calculations, we have a few weeks before we start abstaining.”
“Let’s make the most of it.”
We shuffle up the stairs and push open the door. Within minutes, we’re disrobed and celebrating in a whole different kind of way. Afterward, Coop takes a shower. I pull on one of his hoodies, relishing in its masculine smell. All I can think about is how patient Coop is. How understanding. He’s the type of man to defend my honor, the type of man to diffuse his family tensions. He sees the best in others. The awful things people have said and written about him over the years couldn’t be further from the truth. Those people don’t know the real Coop Douglas, and it’s their loss.
Twenty-Nine
June 16, 2006
Celia stared at Regina with contempt. “You have the worst timing. Anyone ever told you that?”
“It’s my family’s dock,” Regina said, sheepishly.
“My family’s dock,” Celia mocked. “You think you’re special because of your parents? They don’t have enough money in this world to make you important in this town.”
“That’s not true,” Regina said, her voice stronger. “I’m important.”
“Yeah, right.” Celia hopped up, brushing debris from her legs.
“Cooper’s my brother. You could at least try to be nice to me.”
“Listen here, you little lezzy—”
“Don’t call me that,” Regina shouted. Why did Celia have to be so mean? Regina had never done anything to her except exist. She hated being labeled while she was still in the process of finding herself. Girls like Celia could never understand. It’s like they were born bloodsuckers. Cruelty came naturally to them. “You’re such trash.”
Celia’s jaw dropped, then she did something Regina never expected to be so painful: she laughed. The courage Regina had mustered to say those words had no effect on Celia. It was just another joke.
“Call me that again and I’ll knock the class out of you.” Celia took a step forward. “I don’t care if your brother is my boyfriend.”
“Which brother?” This time her words stung. She saw the light leave Celia’s eyes.
“What did you say?”
“I know you’re not cheating on Cooper with Steven Burns.”
Celia backed away from Regina, stepping closer to the dock’s edge. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do. You think you can weasel your way into this family.” Regina stomped her foot on the dock, casting vibrations through the weathered wood. “I’ll never let that happen.” She stepped forward, tightening her fingers around the book.
Thirty
Helena
It took some digging, but I figured out a way to throw Josephine off my trail. If I could only ditch her for this one meeting, I could move on to the next stage in my plan, and this farce of a wedding can be through. I’d prefer more time to build Madison’s trust, of course, but Cooper’s family, circling like vultures, is forcing my hand.
Here’s what I’ve figured out: Josephine Douglas is a predictable woman. She hides what she thinks. She hides what she feels. But she always wants the world to know what she’s doing and gawk with amazement. That’s why she attaches her prestigious name to all those charities and causes. There’s the Presbyterian Women’s Group she meets with every Wednesday. The first Monday of the month, she hands out food at the local homeless ministry. Every other Thursday, she meets for lunch at the local library to host the Read and Roast book club, of which she’s a founder. I collected this information by reading the fine print of several community pamphlets and doing what I do best: listening to what the little people of Whisper Falls say about the bigger people. You learn a lot that way.
Luckily for me, this week’s Read and Roast meeting is scheduled only hours before I’m supposed to meet Josephine and Madison for our consult. I’ve thought all week about how to ensure Josephine never lays eyes on me. If she does, she’ll know who I am and the whole scheme will be up. But I can’t cancel the meeting either. All that would entail is rescheduling, making it that much longer before Madison can hear the truth. Likewise, I don’t want to give Josephine reason to track down the real Anne; it would only take a few phone calls for everyone, including Madison, to realize she’s not me.
Josephine has to be the one to cancel. That’s why I’m parked outside the library, watching as the members of Read and Roast shuffle down the sidewalk. I wait until Josephine arrives. I know it’s her based on her car alone: a two-seater painted an obnoxious fire-engine red. It is just like Josephine Douglas to add her name to the Clean Air Society of Knoxville, which she does, and drive a flashy gas guzzler.
Josephine exits the car, positions her pearls across her collarbone and walks inside. I count to a hundred Mississippis, giving both Josephine and my nerves time to settle. I need her to finish all her waves and air kisses before I follow.
Inside, the library smells like Clorox and lemon. I only spot one other person roaming through the rows of books, but I can hear riotous laughter coming from a back room. That must be where they’re meeting, tucked away from all the commoners on the hunt for this week’s read.
A woman walks from the back and approaches me. She’s dressed modestly with a long black braid. “May I help you?” she asks. She must know I’ve never been here before.
“Just looking.” I smile and grab a book from a stack at the front.
The woman looks over her shoulder, then back at me. “I’m helping with an event at the moment. There’s a bell should you need assistance.”
“Thank you.” I quickly dodge into the next aisle, watching through the gaps in shelving as the woman’s feet move away. I’d been hoping the library would be empty and understaffed. It’s the only way I can get away with what I have planned.
After another five minutes, two young girls enter through the front door. One is carrying a large tray, while the second carries a sturdy pot. These are the food caterers, and I’d bet my library card they come from that ridiculous restaurant the Douglas daughter owns. The woman with the braid meets them at the front desk, and they follow her to the back.
I’m not sure in what order the Read and Roast crew conducts business, but my plan i
s fairly simple: I’ll sneak into the back, monitor as the servers pass around food and carefully slip something into Josephine’s meal. Nothing too damaging or catastrophic. It’d be hard for me to get my hands on anything serious in an unfamiliar town, and I don’t want to waste my own medication. After a quick google search, I realized all I needed was a liquid laxative. If I can get to the backroom unseen and add a few drops to Josephine’s meal, she’ll spend the next few hours on the toilet, forcing her to cancel her upcoming appointment with Madison.
The only other person in the library leaves without borrowing a book. I take this as a sign to make my move. I follow the delicious aromas down the narrow hallway, passing an array of corkboards with community events along the way. There are two open doors leading to the conference room. Several women crowd around the table, the same book in front of them. Of course, the books aren’t opened, and it wouldn’t surprise me if half the group hadn’t read anything at all. Women like Josephine Douglas only bring books into the mix to make themselves feel more intelligent. Food and trash talking is what they’re really about. They should change their name to Gossip and Gobble or Chat and Chomp.
No one looks in my direction. They’re all too busy talking. Half the women already have a bowl of soup and a sandwich in front of them. Thankfully, Josephine isn’t one of them. I’ll have to hurry if I want to follow through with my plan.
“May I help you?” asks the raven-haired librarian. We’re crammed into the dingy, narrow hallway.
“I’m sorry.” I quickly turn on my best dimwitted expression. “I’m looking for the restroom. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You have to be a library member to use the restroom,” she says. A howl of laughter leaves the conference room, and she turns. Whatever is going on in there, the librarian would rather be dealing with them than me.
“I’m new to Whisper Falls. Just moved here from Knoxville.” I smile. “I was planning on applying for a card today.”
A bell rings at the front signaling someone else has arrived. The librarian rolls her eyes. “Bathroom is the last door on the left. When you’re ready for that card, remember to ring the bell.” She marches off to deal with her newest customer.
I follow her directions, peeking my head inside the other rooms as I pass. On the right, I see the two servers standing in the doorway, each holding two meals in their hands.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Last door on the left,” one says.
I move out of the way to let them pass. When they disappear, I duck inside the room they just left. I probably have less than a minute. There are eight meals remaining on the counter. Enough for half the group. Each tray is plated with a bowl of soup and half a sandwich. I’m not sure which one is Josephine’s, and I don’t have time to wait around and see. I pull out the bottle, the lid already loose, and pour five or six drops into each bowl. I quickly mix the contents. As long as Josephine hasn’t received her food, I’m guaranteed one of these meals will be delivered to her.
I quickly exit the room, passing both servers in the hallway. I keep my head high and shoulders back. As I pass the open conference room, I spy which women already have plates. Nothing sits in front of Josephine Douglas. That means she’ll eat one of the contaminated meals, and unfortunately, so will seven of her friends.
I brush past the librarian as I exit. I rush to my car, shut the door and laugh until my belly hurts at the idea of Josephine and her friends shitting their guts out in an hour’s time.
Thirty-One
Madison
Our appointment was supposed to start a half hour ago, and Anne still hasn’t arrived. I’m worried; she’s usually punctual and alert, as though our consultations are the highlight of her week. I dial her number.
“I’ve been trying to call you, but there are so many patchy areas entering Whisper Falls. There’s a ton of traffic leaving Knoxville,” she says when she answers, her voice breathy and rushed. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”
“It’s no worry,” I reassure her. She’s right; reception is unreliable this far out in the country. “We’ve actually had a change of plans.”
“Oh, really?”
“Josephine won’t be joining us. She called about an hour ago complaining about stomach cramps.”
“That’s awful,” Anne says, but she doesn’t sound completely displeased. I wonder if, like me, she’d been dreading the addition of Josephine. “If you’d rather reschedule—”
“No, no. I’m happy to meet,” I say, eyeing the clock. “You’ve already driven so far. I hope the cakes haven’t spoiled.”
“They should be just fine,” she says. “And we have invitations! Be there in fifteen minutes.”
When she arrives, she doesn’t seem flustered at all. She’s carrying four boxes stacked atop one another. I love that Anne maintains poise even when she’s running behind; it gives me reassurance for the big day. She places the boxes on the kitchen counter, turns and sniffs the air. Her eyes catch the pot on the stove. “What’s this?”
“This might be our last meeting for a while. I thought I’d make you dinner, as a thank you.” Anne strikes me as the type of person who doesn’t like to make a big fuss of things, which is why I wanted to surprise her.
“That’s so kind.” She rolls up her sleeves and peers into the pot. “Now I feel worse for being late.”
“It still needs time to simmer. I’d thought we could get the planning stuff out of the way, eat and sample the cakes last.”
“Sounds delightful.” She walks into the dining room and takes a seat. “It’s a shame Josephine won’t be joining us.”
“More cake for us.” I force a laugh. “She thinks she might have suffered food poisoning, and to make matters worse, the food came from Nectar, Regina’s restaurant.”
“Oh, dear,” she says, pulling a package from her bag and placing it on the table. “Should we get started with invitations?”
“Oh, they’re here!” I hurriedly open the box, running my fingers over the perforated cardstock. All our details are in print: the date and time and location. This makes the wedding feel real, and immediate. “Anne, they’re gorgeous. Thank you for picking them up.”
“My pleasure,” she says, folding her hands on the table. “We can stuff them, then I’ll pop them in the mail on my way out of town.”
We organize our own assembly line. I stuff and seal, she stamps and addresses. The final guest list came in at just under sixty people, which mostly consists of Douglas family acquaintances. As we prepare the envelopes, we discuss the remaining details on our to-do list. Anne’s booked the band and placed an order with the florist. She’s rented a tent for the outdoor reception, too. As I imagine each element, my nerves flutter with anticipation. I can’t believe it’s all coming together. Only a few weeks ago, the idea of organizing this wedding seemed impossible.
“It’s going to be a wonderful day. I just know it,” I say, handing over the last of my invitations. “We’ve accomplished a lot in our short time together.”
Anne takes the stack of envelopes and taps them against the table. “Now that these are complete, all we have left is the cake.”
I check the time. Coop should be returning home soon. Anne thinks the meal I’ve prepared is the only surprise for tonight, but I’ve also asked Coop to join us for the dessert tasting. After all the work she’s put into the wedding, it’s important she meets the groom. “Let’s eat first.”
“I am famished,” she says, patting her hand against her stomach.
I bring the food to the table.
“This is really too much,” she says. “You’re the easiest client I’ve ever had. Half the decisions were already made.”
“You’ve helped me more than you know,” I say, folding my napkin in my lap. “I feel ready now. I mean, I’ve always known Coop was the right man, but the stress of the wedding and moving here took its toll. I’m in a much better place, and you’ve helped with tha
t.”
My jovial demeanor drops when I see the look on Anne’s face. I’m not sure what I’ve said, but it must have been wrong. She looks different now, as though I’ve insulted her.
“Madison, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk with you about,” she says, her voice shaky and her eyes watery.
“Are you okay?” I reach across the table, placing my hand over hers. I’ve never seen her this emotional, even when she talked about her daughter.
Before she can answer, we’re both distracted by the sound of Coop’s car pulling into the driveway.
“What’s that?” asks Anne.
I smile. “It’s another surprise. You deserve to see the groom.” I hope introducing her to Coop will lift her spirits again, but instead she looks like she’s seen a ghost.
“He’s here?” she asks, as the front door opens.
“Madison?” Coop is calling from the foyer. “Can you help me?”
I excuse myself from the table. By the entrance, Coop’s balancing the bouquet I’d ordered for Anne in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.
“Sorry I’m late. Got held up at the office,” he says. “Is she still here?”
“In the dining room.” I grab the flowers, picking at the pieces so they’re just right.
“Where’s Mom?”
“Couldn’t make it. She isn’t feeling well.” I lean forward and kiss his cheek. “We’re just now sitting down to eat.”
“Hopefully there’s still cake.”
“Plenty.” I pull away, holding the flowers in front of me as I walk back to the dining room. I’m hoping Anne will be in a better mood now that Coop has arrived, but when I approach the table, she isn’t there.
“Where is she?” Coop asks, his eyes bouncing around the room.
“Maybe the bathroom.” I place the flowers on the table. Only five minutes ago, Anne and I were giggling about the wedding. Now she’s gone. I can’t shake the feeling something is wrong. The back door clacks against its frame. When I walk into the kitchen, I find the patio screen is open wide.
The One Before: A totally gripping suspense thriller with a shocking twist Page 13