But she had no problem setting Beau back in his place. She gave him a side eye powerful enough to peel the paint off the front hall walls. He had the impudence to return her look with a lazy wink.
Uh-oh.
Maybe what the tabloids said about Beau’s roving eye was true. I wasn’t the only one to witness Beau’s performance. Dakota’s mother, Roxanne, had brought up the rear and seen it all. She set her bags down in the hall with a huff and shook her head at Beau, who was now carefully studying the glass bird chandelier above him.
Roxanne looked much like her daughter Dakota, if Dakota had aged twenty years and spent much time on her self-preservation. She was a sturdy study in silicone, peroxide, and Botox. She had the same wide cheekbones as her daughter and massive violet eyes, but her lips were trending toward serious duck face. Her hair was an ashy blond in contrast to Dakota’s rich golden hue. Only her hands gave away her age, as the knuckles were swollen, the skin paper thin and aged. Her nails sported a meticulous French manicure but were careworn.
One of Roxanne’s bags began to shimmy and shake.
“We’re here, Pixie. You can come out now.”
Who’s Pixie?
A low, guttural growl emanated from the Louis Vuitton carry-on at Roxanne’s feet. She carefully unzipped the bag and parted the top. A tiny Shih Tzu with long, diaphanous black and white hair bounded from the leather satchel and yipped with glee, turning around in a tight circle on the marble floor.
“Is mama’s little girl adjusting to the time change?” Roxanne picked up the pup and nuzzled her under her chin. I bit back a smile when I realized Pixie and her owner bore a certain resemblance. Roxanne wore her long, platinum hair over her shoulders, with a small bunch gathered at the top of her head. Pixie sported the same look, her eyes also large like her owner’s, but black and lustrous. Both wore leather, Roxanne’s in the form of buttery black pants, and Pixie’s in the form of a metal-studded collar.
“I didn’t know you were bringing a dog, but welcome, Pixie.” I knelt to run my fingers over her long, silky black and white coat. She stood on hind legs and executed a neat doggy extension of her paw.
“Oh, she’s a ham,” Roxanne clucked over her dog. “It appears everyone in the family has the acting gene.”
I idly wondered how Pixie would get along with my cats, Whiskey and Soda, but pushed the thought aside.
“Xavier.” The color drained from Roxanne’s face as she took in the director, who’d just advanced down the stairs.
“Roxanne, what a pleasant surprise.” Xavier leaned in to plant an air kiss on the momager’s cheek, leaving her completely nonplussed. Her hand fluttered to her face, and she excused herself to powder her nose.
What’s up with that?
After cursory introductions and the checking in of Dakota, Beau, and Roxanne’s luggage, we got down to brass tacks in the library. Dakota and Beau nestled together predictably on the gray velvet love seat, while Roxanne sat imperiously on a yellow chintz chair that resembled a flowered throne. She’d seemed to have recovered from her odd reaction to Xavier. Adrienne, Rachel, and I flanked the fireplace. The cameras were soon rolling.
“We’ll go over the basic details of your ceremony and reception. Then, later today, you’ll visit with your bridesmaids, and we’ll pick up their dresses at Silver Bells, the bridal shop.” I didn’t add that I had a few last-minute details to shore up with the headmistress of Dunlap Academy, for whom I was throwing the Winter Ball. Ginger happened to be Dakota’s maid of honor, so I figured I could mix in a little business this afternoon when we went to see the bridesmaids.
The fire crackled and popped merrily, and lazy snowflakes pirouetted down from the sky outside the wide bay window. I felt more comfortable in front of the cameras today and hoped soon I wouldn’t even notice they were there. Roxanne was doting on Pixie, Dakota was nodding eagerly, Beau was checking out my sister, and Adrienne’s mouth was twisted in a frown. She picked up my idea book for Dakota’s wedding and flicked through the binder, her disdain growing with each perusal of the page.
“The color palette is a bit spare, no?” Adrienne blinked innocently enough, but I could spot her tactic a mile away. She often made suggestions to the celebrity brides at the eleventh hour so that the wedding planners on the show would have to scurry and execute new ideas on the eves of weddings.
“It’s a black and white theme, and it’s just perfect.” Roxanne must have watched a few episodes of I Do and was ready to head Adrienne off. “I chose the palette myself. Pixie was the inspiration.” The Shih Tzu barked upon hearing her name and jumped down from the window seat to return to Roxanne.
They designed the wedding around Pixie? This is news to me.
“Yes, but a few pops of color might be nice.” Adrienne turned to Dakota, her face expectant. “Perhaps a nice pink or red accent woven through would tie it into the month a bit better and not appear so stark.”
Dakota cocked her head then nodded slowly. “Yes, pink is my favorite color. A bit of pink would be better.”
“Mallory, how did you not know the bride’s favorite color!” Adrienne tsked lightly and settled back into her chair, her work done.
I gritted my teeth and remembered I was on camera.
“We discussed incorporating pops of pink or red, but ultimately decided not to. We can add them in now. I’m sure it won’t be any trouble.”
Yeah, right.
Valentine’s Day was just around the corner, and my florist would be busy enough serving the denizens of Port Quincy without having to change plans midstream on Dakota’s wedding. But I’d have to work something out, since I’d just been challenged on camera.
“I’ll talk to the florist.” My cheeks burned as I recalled lobbying for some pink accents for Dakota and watching her get outvoted by her mother.
“No, no, no! It’s strictly black and white.” Roxanne crossed the room and snatched the idea book from Adrienne’s arms. Pixie jumped down from the yellow chair and barked while she followed Roxanne. “This is an Ascot-themed wedding, just like the race in My Fair Lady.”
Dakota sighed and took Beau’s hand, resigned to her momager’s wishes. Roxanne had proved over the last few months to be the ultimate mother-manager with a vise-like grip on her daughter’s career and plans. She made Kris Jenner of the Kardashians look like Little Bo Peep.
“Ladies, all that matters is that I’m marrying the love of my life.” Beau’s drawl broke the tension and he leaned down for a showy kiss. All the women sighed, except for Rachel, who stared at him warily.
Adrienne and Roxanne squared off for the next hour, agreeing on nothing except the fact it was a travesty the B and B didn’t have an on-site gym.
“I’m happy to give you day passes for the two gyms we have here in Port Quincy.” I gritted my teeth and procured the passes, wondering what I’d gotten myself into.
The bride, groom, and my sister and I left to meet with Dakota’s bridesmaids and finish some last-minute Winter Ball plans.
“I give them a year, tops,” Rachel whispered as we headed out the door.
I hated to agree.
* * *
We all piled into my roomy and rattly 1976 tan station wagon, a boat of a car I’d christened the Butterscotch Monster. It had begun to snow again, and we headed down the now-slippery Sycamore Street toward the east side of town.
“I haven’t been back to Dunlap Academy in ages,” Dakota breathed, taking in the undulating hills of Port Quincy. “It was my favorite time, being in school.”
“I thought your favorite time was now, being my best girl,” Beau drawled, pulling her closer to him despite her seat belt. She giggled like the schoolgirl she’d been and nestled in his arms. I decided to take a chill pill. Sure, it had seemed like Beau had been checking out Rachel, but maybe that was just part of his folksy affect. I’d reserve judgment and push the tabloid murmurings from my head.
We pulled up to the gates of the Dunlap Women’s Academy, and I marveled for the umpteenth time at t
he opulence and fake bucolic splendor. The grounds hunkered behind a wrought-iron fence with the school’s crest bearing a lily and a rose imprinted on each panel amidst a riot of black metal curlicues. The school and dormitory seemed to rise out of a mist, a fortress of pearly white stones complete with towers, heavy wooden doors, and flags waving from turrets. The colossal, castle-like building, built at the end of the nineteenth century, perched on a snowy crag overlooking the Monongahela River. Young women skated on the pond on the southern end of the campus, their scarves streaming behind them in long ribbons, woven with the school colors of green and blue. Some built snowmen under the leaden and snowy sky, and laughter could be heard everywhere.
I was holding the Winter Ball as a favor for my arch enemy and once almost mother-in-law, Helene Pierce. Helene had helped me renovate Thistle Park in record time last October, and the price she’d exacted had been steep: host and pay for the Winter Ball for the Dunlap Women’s Academy, a coming-out party for fifty debutantes and their dates. The ball was usually held in the grand ballroom at the school, but it was under renovation this year. The school had needed to come up with an alternative fast. I’d had no choice but to comply, and now it was time to pay the piper.
But the ball would be tomorrow, and then I’d be free from Helene once and for all. In fact, she wasn’t even due to arrive in Port Quincy until just before the ball. She was currently in Boca Raton, a reluctant snowbird, since it required that she give up her spot on the Winter Ball Committee.
That hadn’t stopped her from calling, texting, and badgering me every chance she got. She’d even taken to using Skype to grill me about the ball, the camera aimed at her forehead as she yelled into the speakers.
And there was one catch to all of Helene’s orders. While the cat is away, the mice will play, and it was no surprise Helene had other enemies besides me. The Winter Ball Committee had decided to ignore Helene’s wishes now that she wasn’t lording over them in person. They’d directed me to come up with a fresher, more modern take on the staid debutante ball, and I’d been happy to comply. I’d tried to warn Helene that some of her edicts were not going to happen, but she’d just steadfastly insisted I do her bidding. She would be in for a heck of a surprise tomorrow when she saw I hadn’t carried out her numerous orders. But it would be a fait accompli, and there would be nothing she could do.
I gulped as I turned my boat of a station wagon into a parking space and hoped Helene wouldn’t make a scene tomorrow. Which was why a shiver trickled from the nape of my neck down the length of my spine when I caught a stinging whiff of Calèche as we reached the headmistress’s office.
“Oh no—”
“She’s here.” Rachel grabbed my arm and spun in a slow circle, as if Helene would leap out of the shadows.
Dakota and Beau sent us quizzical but amused looks. “Who’s here?”
“You’re here!” Ellie Barnes, the drama teacher and one of Dakota’s bridesmaids, ricocheted down the hall and embraced the couple. “I’m so excited for your wedding!”
Dakota and Ellie jumped up and down, laughing and chatting, an amused Beau looking on. The women were of similar height, about five foot seven, but Ellie’s hair was a rich, dark chestnut. She had an interesting, angular face, and a rollicking laugh that begged you to join in on the fun with her.
“I’ll give you a tour of the school. So much has changed.” Ellie linked arms with Dakota and the women nearly skipped off, Beau following, not a moment too soon.
“I expect all of my plans for the Winter Ball are in order.”
The icy chill returned as I whipped around to face Helene Pierce. She looked the same as ever, suited up in one of her Chanel jackets, this one an electric blue with green and silver threads. Her gumball-sized Mamie Eisenhower pearls, pinched lips, and tan pantyhose completed her look. Boca Raton had added a bit of a tan to her frowning visage, and her pageboy fanned out around her ears, gray and teased to perfection.
I gathered my will and straightened up, reaching out to Rachel for support. “What a pleasant surprise, Helene. You’re back a day early.” I chickened out and used a tactic from my days as an attorney and provided her with a little white lie of omission. “The ball will be splendid.” I gulped and pressed on. “You won’t be disappointed.”
No, you’ll just be enraged beyond belief. Hurricane Helene will morph into Mount Vesuvius.
Helene nodded regally, her large sapphire teardrop earrings swinging like pendulums against her ropy neck. I’d taken my marching orders from the Winter Ball Committee comprised of students, parents, and teachers at Dunlap. If Helene wanted to have it out tomorrow, she’d have to go through them.
“Mallory, Rachel, so glad to see you.” The headmistress of Dunlap emerged from her office, willowy and smiling and welcoming. Ginger was the picture of calm and competence in her gray suit, cut elegantly to fit her spare and slim frame. Her ever-present tablet nestled in her arms and against one hip, as one would carry a toddler. Her dark curls were twisted up in a bun atop her head, anchored by purple butterfly clips, her only splash of color. Ginger Crevecoeur was the youngest headmistress in the school’s history, and she had plans to revamp the staid boarding school into a more modern experience for the young women attending. It didn’t seem like Helene shared her ideas.
“I’d like to have a word with you.” Helene turned to face Ginger. My grilling was apparently over.
“While I’d love to have a chat, Helene, I have a meeting with a parent.” Ginger sent Helene an amused look and made her way down the hall to her office. But Helene wasn’t done with her, and no one put Helene in the corner.
“You will not dismiss me, girl.” Helene’s talon-like hand reached out to grab Ginger’s wrist, keeping her rooted to the spot. Ginger sighed and glanced at her silver wristwatch.
“You have two minutes.”
“I’ve heard from my sources that you have plans to admit men to Dunlap. I’ll have you know the school will never be coed. I will not let you besmirch the founders’ intentions.”
Rachel lost it at that point, giggling at the word “besmirch.” I had to agree. It sounded like Helene was invoking constitutional law over an argument about a boarding school.
“I knew you were a student here quite a while ago.” Ginger paused. “But I didn’t know you were here when the school was founded in 1892.” A smirk gathered at the corners of Ginger’s lips as she volleyed her quip. Helene gasped, and two spots of color lit up her papery cheeks exactly an inch above the peach rouge she’d applied.
“I shouldn’t even deign to discuss these matters with you here,” Ginger continued, disgust now marring her delicate features. “But you know as well as I do if something doesn’t change, there won’t be a Dunlap Academy. Enrollment is down. We face some hard choices. We’ll vote next week.”
“It’s a good thing my sources told me something was afoot.” Helene drew herself up in her kitten heels and rolled her shoulders back underneath her shoulder pads. “I will gather my forces and we will defeat you.”
Ginger smiled, unflappable as I’d always known her to be, and started down the hall, dismissing Helene.
“And the Belle of the Ball tomorrow will wear the Winter Ball tiara.” Helene crossed her arms and actually stomped her foot like a petulant two-year-old.
Ginger turned around and shook her head. “It’s too valuable, Helene. It’ll reside in the school’s safe until we decide by committee what to do with it.”
“That’s why I’ve convened an emergency vote to take place this evening over Skype with the board members about what to do with the tiara.” Helene smiled, her bicuspids showing, lupine and triumphant.
She’d finally succeeded in rattling Ginger. “You wouldn’t dare. Only I can convene an emergency meeting. Consider it cancelled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have real work to do. I’m modernizing this school and making it better, not a place mired in anachronisms and petty feuds as you’d like it to be.”
Ginger finally left Hel
ene in the hall and advanced toward her office, her long legs churning to make her meeting on time. I got some satisfaction taking in Helene’s face as Ginger left her in the dust. It wasn’t often that someone got the last word with my once almost mother-in-law. Rachel and I followed Ginger to wait our turn outside her office to go over some last-minute Winter Ball plans.
“You’re late.” A tall man dressed in an exquisite pinstripe suit paced in front of Ginger’s door like a caged tiger, his lined face drawn into a sneer. A few drops of sweat fell onto his collar.
“Yes, Sterling, I do apologize. Why don’t we head into my office—”
“Do you know how precious my time is?” The man stopped pacing and executed a hairpin stop in front of Ginger, rendering them almost nose-to-nose. The lights gleamed off his slicked-back hair, and he showily checked his Rolex. “I wait for no one. This meeting is over.”
Sterling Jennings.
I recognized the man as the premier heart surgeon at the McGavitt-Pierce Hospital here in town. His face was plastered on several billboards proclaiming his services.
“But, Dad, what about the lacrosse team?” A young woman cowered in the corner, seemingly embarrassed by her father’s performance. She was Nora Jennings, a student member of the Winter Ball Committee, and I sent her a little wave. She returned it, her cheeks turning pink, before she stood and followed her father as he stalked out of the room.
“That was intense.” I sucked in a deep breath of air and decided being a headmistress was as stressful, or perhaps more so, than dealing with bridezillas and meddling mothers of the bride.
“I’m used to working with parents who have an inflated sense of importance.” Ginger chuckled and ushered us into her office. The room was a soothing study in several shades of purple with a butterfly motif and pleasantly soft lights. “Not to mention board members like Helene who think they run the school and can’t wrap their heads around the idea that there’s a new sheriff in town.” Ginger shook her head and gave an increasingly bitter laugh. “Helene is head of the old guard around here, but the school needs an injection of new ideas.” She paused dolefully. “Or there won’t be a school anymore.”
Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue Page 3