If It's Not One Thing, It's a Murder

by Liz Wolfe

  Sheridan’s snug T-shirt rode up, revealing a few inches of tummy above her low-riding jeans. I felt a frown of disapproval settle on my forehead and suddenly felt old. Or maybe I was just a prude. Yeah, like that was better. The song finally ended, and Sheridan bounded off the stage to everyone’s applause. Max whistled. Jasmine pumped her arm in the air. Bobbi Jo stood to give her a hug when she returned to the table.

  “Scary as hell when they grow up, isn’t it?” Lily leaned over and grinned at me.

  “You could have warned me.”

  “No fun that way,” she retorted. “Besides, having the realization hit you like a ton of bricks is just another rite of passage for a woman. I wouldn’t think of denying you that experience.”

  There were several experiences that I’d have been just as happy to live without. Realizing that my baby girl was a woman in more ways than I really wanted to consider was just one of them. Still, I was incredibly proud of her.

  “Really, Skye, it’s not so bad,” Lily said. “It’s the beginning of a transitional phase.”

  “Transitional? To what?”

  “For the past eighteen years, you’ve been Sheridan’s mother. She’s growing up and that identity will start to fade. You’ll get to be Skye again. Not that you won’t always be her mother, of course. It’s just the identity thing.”

  “Really.” Sometimes Lily was just a little too out-there for me to connect with.

  “It was like a blossoming for me when Jasmine and Beau left the house and started making their own lives. I hadn’t realized how much of myself I’d invested in them. Not that I minded. Not a bit.”

  “Of course not.”

  “But it was like being free again. I found out things about myself that I’d never known. Or maybe I’d just buried them for so long I’d forgotten about them. Trust me, you’ll come to like it.”

  I wasn’t so sure of that. I liked being known as Sheridan’s mother. Having that part of my identity fade away was unsettling because I wasn’t sure what it left.

  “Skye!” Jasmine pulled me into the house. “We have a little problem,” she whispered.

  “We do?”

  “It’s Claire,” she was still whispering. “My future mother-in-law.”

  “What is it?”

  “She’s not happy with the fact that a Wiccan priestess is going to perform the ceremony. She wants a minister.”

  “A minister?”

  “A Methodist minister, if possible.”

  I refrained from informing Jasmine that this was the sort of thing that is normally discussed before the wedding is even announced. Certainly before it’s planned and most certainly before the wedding is about to take place.

  “I had no idea she would be this obstinate,” Jasmine added. “And David doesn’t want to upset her.”

  I further refrained from telling Jasmine that this did not bode well for her marriage, and that if David had any balls, he’d inform his mother that it was his wedding and he’d get married by anyone he chose. Jasmine took my hand and pulled me into the living room.

  “Skye, this is David’s mother, Claire Taylor. Claire, this is Skye, my wedding planner.”

  Claire looked down her nose at me. “I hope you can do something about this.”

  I glanced at David. He looked miserable standing between his fiancé and his mother. Actually, he looked like he might cry. Great.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Taylor.” I held out my hand, but Claire just looked at it like I might have pagan cooties. “Jasmine, why don’t you and David get us some iced tea while I show Mrs. Taylor the wedding plans?”

  Jasmine opened her mouth to object, but I waved them out of the room. “Has Jasmine shown you pictures of the bridesmaids’ gowns? The different shades of blue are lovely, but they have this bow on the back that I just don’t think needs to be there.” I set my file crate on the coffee table and pulled out the folder with pictures of the gowns. “If you agree with me, maybe we can persuade her to get rid of the bows.” I fanned the pictures out on the table. Claire’s curiosity got the better of her and she took a step to the table to glance at the pictures.

  “Oh, dear.” Claire shook her head. “Those bows will make the girls’ butts look huge.”

  “That’s what I thought. Jasmine seems to think they’re cute.” I shook my head. “Sometimes I think the bride chooses the bridesmaids’ gowns just to make herself look better.”

  “Oh, Jasmine would never do that. She’s very aware of the feelings of others.”

  “I know, and I don’t think she’s doing it deliberately. She’s just young, and I think she could use the guidance of a mature woman in some of her decisions.”

  “Of course, she could. God knows, I’ve tried.” Claire shook her head. “Is it written somewhere that girls don’t get along with their mothers-in-law? I’d always hoped David would marry a girl who would be like a daughter to me. I never had a girl, just the three boys.”

  “I know what you mean. When I got married, I thought my mother-in-law hated me. It took me years to realize that she really liked me and was only trying to help.” I was such a liar. Craig’s mother had never liked me. Wonder how she felt about Jack?

  “But you’re friends now?”

  “Oh, we get along great.” Every other year when I had been forced to see her at Christmas, we’d been civil to each other. My smile was genuine because I realized that I’d never have to do that again.

  “That’s nice. I hope Jasmine and I can come to that eventually.”

  “My mother was much smarter about it than I was. When my brother got serious with Diane, Mom made a point of becoming a friend to her. And when they were planning the wedding, it really paid off.” I pulled more files from my crate.

  “How?”

  “Diane had this crazy idea to serve sushi at the wedding reception. Mom hated it, but instead of putting her foot down, she just told Diane that some people might not be comfortable with sushi. Some guests might be allergic to fish.” I shrugged.

  “And Diane agreed to change the menu?”

  “Mom suggested that she just add some other, more traditional items to the menu. It worked out great. Diane got her sushi, and Mom got a traditional buffet for the guests.”

  “Your mother sounds like a very wise woman. I just don’t know what to do about this Wiccan priestess thing.”

  “I understand. It’s not at all the usual thing to do.”

  “But I really don’t want to upset Jasmine. I’m not a religious bigot or anything. It’s just that David was raised a Methodist and I believe he’ll be more comfortable with a minister performing the ceremony.”

  “I wish I could come up with a compromise to you.” I laughed. “It’s too bad Jasmine can’t be married by a priestess and David by a minister.” Did I have to write it on the wall for this woman?

  “Well, why can’t they?” Claire asked.

  “What?”

  “Why couldn’t the marriage ceremony include a minister and a priestess?”

  “Claire! That is an inspired solution. I never would have thought of that.”

  Just then David and Jasmine returned with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of tea. I couldn’t have timed their entrance any better if I’d planned it.

  “Jasmine, David! Claire has just had the most brilliant idea.”

  “She has?” David asked. Jasmine said nothing but looked a little wary.

  “How about having the wedding ceremony performed by a minister and a priestess? That way both of your religions are tied in to the ceremony.”

  David looked relieved, but I could see Jasmine was thinking that her perfect wedding was being compromised.

  “Jasmine, don’t you think this is perfect? I mean, you’re always saying that marriage is a joining of two people, two lives, two ways of being. This is the very essence of what you want.”

  Fortunately Jasmine bought it. She hugged Claire and grinned. “It’s a great idea. I’m so happy you—”

 
; “Oh, Jasmine, could you get me some sweetener for my tea?” I wasn’t about to take a chance on her blowing my careful manipulation.

  “Oh, sorry. I’ll get it.”

  As soon as she left with David right behind her, I leaned over and patted Claire’s arm. “That was brilliant. I’ll talk to Jasmine about getting rid of the bows on the dresses.” Which would be easy since Jasmine had already ordered the dresses without the bows. “You don’t mind if I mention that you don’t care for them, do you?”

  “Of course not, Skye. Do whatever you have to.”

  Another disaster avoided, thanks to my manipulative bitch powers. Now all I had to do was find a minister who didn’t mind sharing a wedding ceremony with a Wiccan priestess and was available in two weeks. My cell phone chirped and I glanced at the display. Marjorie Tillis. The Queen of the Country Club. She’d made me feel like an interloper ever since Craig and I had first joined. She’d called my cell phone several times in the past few weeks, and I’d been avoiding answering her calls or calling her back.

  That made me feel like a chickenshit. I excused myself and said hello as I walked outside to the porch.

  “Skye, I’m so glad I finally got you.” Marjorie’s voice had that fake enthusiasm that made me want to grind my teeth.

  “I tried your home number but kept getting voice mail.”

  I’d never really been comfortable with Marjorie or the other women at the country club. Too many of them seemed to take an unwarranted amount of pride in whom they had married. Like their value as a human being was based on how well they’d played the mating game. But Craig had wanted to join years ago, when we could barely afford it. He was determined to network with other men who were clawing their way up the corporate ladder and hopefully become friends with the ones who’d already made it to the top rung. I’d agreed and even been deemed marginally acceptable and included in bridge games and charity events over the years. But I knew that it was my handsome, laughing, slightly flirtatious husband who’d really been found acceptable by them. I’d only been a necessary accessory. Well, there was no point in playing Marjorie’s game now.

  “Actually, Craig and I aren’t living together any longer.”

  “Oh, Skye, I had no idea. Although we’ve wondered why we haven’t seen you two around lately. Is it temporary?”

  “The divorce papers have already been filed.”

  “I see. Well, I hope you’re all right.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. What did you call about?”

  “I was going to ask you to serve on the winter dance committee.”

  I was betting that she was having a change of heart and watching her squirm out of it would give me some entertainment.

  “Really? I’d love to do that. It sounds like fun.”

  “Well, yes, I’m sure it will be. However, when I couldn’t reach you, I had to fill the spot with someone else. Can’t leave these things until the last moment, you know.”

  “Of course. I understand. But if you’d already filled the spot, why did you call?” I almost laughed with the giddy freedom of confronting her. I’d never had the nerve to question her when I was with Craig. Too much pressure to fit in and be the perfect wife. Now, I didn’t have to be perfect for anyone but myself.

  “Well, I, ah, I just wanted to make sure you were all right … since I hadn’t been able to get in touch, you know.”

  I snorted and covered the phone with my hand to cover it. “Sure. Well, I’m fine.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear about you and Craig. Are you sure you can’t reconcile?”

  “I’m certain.”

  “I just can’t believe you won’t be Craig’s wife anymore,” she murmured.

  “No, I’ll be Skye, now. Skye Donovan.” I surprised myself by using my maiden name. But it felt right. I wasn’t Skye Williams anymore.

  Bobbi Jo hung up the phone and sat on the edge of the sofa. “That was Jimmy. He’s finally explained his financial situation to the police.”

  “You mean about the eight million he needs for the buyout?” I asked.

  “He gave them all the paperwork and documents showing them he could get the money he needed easily enough, so I guess he’s not a prime suspect anymore. I’m relieved, but I just wonder how long it’s going to take them to find the real murderer.”

  “They’ll find the person. It’s just going to take some time.”

  “I hope it’s soon. I feel like I can’t let go of it until they do.” She turned to look at me. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”

  “I have nothing to wear.”

  “Nothing?” Bobbi Jo lifted an eyebrow.

  “Nothing I want to be seen in.”

  “What about that beige dress?”

  “I hate it. It pulls around the arms.” I flopped down on the sofa in my robe and propped my feet on the coffee table. Bobbi Jo looked up from her magazine.

  “Then wear the tan pantsuit.”

  “The pants are too baggy.”

  “What about the brown skirt and sweater set?”

  “No shoes that match.”

  “Sucks to be you.” Bobbi Jo laughed. “Go get something from my closet.”

  “All your clothes would be too long for me.”

  “What about that outfit you wore to Max’s party?”

  “He’s my escort tonight so it would look stupid to wear the same thing.”

  “Oh, I have just the thing.” Bobbi Jo put down the magazine and got up. I followed her to her bedroom and stood outside the walk-in closet while she rummaged through her clothes.

  “Here!” Bobbi Jo emerged from the closet holding a hanger draped with a flaming red silky thing. I felt an unaccountable thrill. I was pretty sure I hadn’t owned anything red since I was five years old.

  “You know what this is all about, don’t you?” Bobbi Jo asked.

  “What?” I was entranced by the feel of the flaming red garment. I didn’t even know what it really looked like yet.

  “This whole clothes thing. You’re bored with all your drab clothes. Just like you’re bored with your drab life. Time for a change.” Bobbi Jo took the garment off the hanger and threw it on the bed where it miraculously arranged itself into slinky pants and a flowing top.

  “It’ll be too long,” I wailed. I was heartbroken. The outfit was gorgeous. It was glamorous. It was exciting. It was so not me.

  “It’ll be fine. I’ve never worn it because the damn pants are too short.”

  “Really?” Hope flared in my heart. I tentatively picked up the top and stroked the silky fabric.

  “Put it on.”

  I ripped off my robe and pulled the top over my head, then pulled the pants on. They were too long.

  “No problem.” Bobbi dove back into the closet and emerged with a pair of strappy red heels. “Try these on.”

  For a tall woman, Bobbi Jo has ridiculously tiny feet. I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped the heels on. I’d gone to the salon with Bobbi Jo a few days earlier and let her talk me into gold polish for my toenails. It perfectly matched the glittery stuff sprinkled over the outfit. I lifted my arms and the bat-wing sleeves spread out in a graceful arc.

  “Can I do this?”

  “You have to do this.” Bobbi Jo stood back and looked at me. “It’s like a rite of passage.”

  Another rite of passage? Was there no end to them? Still, the outfit was striking. I didn’t even feel like myself. I wasn’t sure what or who I felt like. I just knew it was different. And it was good.

  “This is your first date, Skye. You should wear something special.”

  “Date? This isn’t a date. It’s Sheridan’s school play.”

  “But you’re going with Max, right?”

  “Yes, but it’s not a date. Sheridan invited him when we were listening to the band last week.”

  “It’s a date.”

  “It’s not a date. I can’t date. I’m not ready to date.”

  “Get ready, darlin’, ‘cause it’s a date.” Bobbi Jo coc
ked her head to the distant sound of a car pulling into the driveway. “There’s your date now. Go put on some makeup; I’ll entertain him.”

  “I already put on my makeup.”

  “Well, do it again. And use some color this time.” Bobbi Jo left me standing in her bedroom. I walked over to the mirror on her closet door and looked at my face. It looked all right. Kind of. A little pale. Maybe a brighter lipstick would help. Not that I owned a brighter lipstick. I eased into Bobbi Jo’s bathroom and opened the top drawer in the vanity.

  She had everything. I opened a few tubes of lipstick before I found a red that I thought I could wear. Then my cheeks looked too pale. I applied some blusher but it looked too harsh, so I wiped some of it off with a tissue. Maybe the eyes. I found a smoky eye shadow and stroked some on my eyelids. Perfect! Well, better, anyway. I straightened my shoulders and marched into the living room.

  “Wow, you look great.” Max stood up when I came in. “And tall.” We both laughed at our inside joke.

  “Are you sure you don’t feel like coming with us?” I asked Bobbi Jo.

  “I’m just too tired.” Bobbi Jo shook her head. “The doctor said it would go away in another month. Give Sheridan a hug for me and tell her I’ll be at her next show.”

  “Okay. Go to bed early and get some rest.” I gave her a hug on the way to the door.

  I relaxed a little after the first half hour of the drive. Max was charming and entertaining and almost made me forget that Craig would be there with his new friend.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Skye, you look marvelous.” Craig took my hands and leaned in to kiss my cheek.

  I tottered a bit on the four-inch stilettos and took Max’s hand to pull him forward. Also to balance myself. “Craig, I’d like you to meet Maxwell Harrison.”

  “Max Harrison? I love your books. I’ve read the Amber Crystal series three times.”

  “Thanks. I really enjoyed writing that series.”

  “Are you going to write more with those characters? It was a little uncertain what was happening with Annis and Thara at the end.”

  “I’m working on a new series, but I always like to leave it open, just in case.”