Following the sound of angry scolding, I discovered Natasha in my family room, surrounded by feathers. They covered the hardwood floor and wisps floated in the air. Mochie leaped high in an effort to catch them, but Daisy and Hermione tucked their tails between their legs and cowered. Bits of white ostrich feathers clung to their fur. Two cardboard boxes lay on the floor, their sides torn away. They’d had fun ripping into them.
“Look what your beasts did!” Natasha held her hands against the top of her head as if the pressure inside might cause it to blow. “You insufferable curs!”
Hermione whimpered and fled to the kitchen. I scooped up Mochie, who had a pheasant feather clamped firmly between his teeth. Daisy didn’t need any coaxing to leave. She stuck close to me. Natasha continued her tirade even after we left the room. I found Hermione shaking under the kitchen table and wondered if Natasha had managed, in one moment, to undo the progress poor Hermione had made. It wasn’t easy, but I clutched Hermione with one arm and Mochie with the other and walked upstairs to my bedroom, followed by Daisy. With the door safely closed behind me, I gave each of them a kiss and told them what smart babies they were to have destroyed Natasha’s feather plans.
I showered, donned my shabby robe, and was about to blow out my hair when Mom stuck her head into my room. “Are you ready for hair and makeup?”
Sure. Better than wrestling with it myself. I was delighted to have a minute to rest with my feet up.
Mom sat on my bed while the hairdresser and makeup pro worked their magic on me. Mom’s hair pouffed out more than normal, and her violet mother-of-the-bride dress brought out her blue eyes. “Honey, the other day, Dad found the bottom drawer of that organizer in the bathroom open. We didn’t think anything of it but this afternoon, when we came in to dress, we discovered a small drawer in our room hanging open.”
“You’re not the only ones. Someone was snooping in Craig’s room and in mine, too.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
I couldn’t shake my head because four hands were at work on it. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Someone must be looking for something.”
“Did Hannah find her engagement ring yet?”
“Do you suppose it’s Hannah looking for the ring?”
“That doesn’t make any sense. She might think you would hide it, but she knows Craig wouldn’t hide it from her.”
In the commotion, I’d completely forgotten to look for her ring. If I had a few minutes before the ceremony, I would run a broom handle under the furniture downstairs. The floors in my old house canted to the outer edges, and if Mochie had played kitty hockey with the ring, it was very likely in a dark corner.
The hairdresser finished ten minutes after the makeup expert. I turned around and barely recognized myself in the mirror. She’d fluffed out my hair so that it doubled in thickness. It framed my face but still brushed my shoulders. The makeup woman had emphasized my cheekbones. I would have to ask how she did that, because it slenderized my face. But the smoky eyes were something I wouldn’t be eager to repeat.
Nevertheless, my mother cooed about how beautiful I looked and urged me to hurry.
When they left the room, I stepped into a strapless coral dress. Hannah, having worn a few too many hideous bridesmaid dresses, cleverly chose three styles and three coordinating colors that ran from geranium pink to coral to tangerine for copper-haired Phoebe, so each of us could wear a color and style that suited us.
I zipped it up, clipped on the preapproved mobe pearl earrings and gold bracelet, and slid my feet into caramel slingback shoes.
Leaving Mochie, Daisy, and Hermione in my bedroom, I returned to the foyer, where I found Mom wrestling with Hannah’s bouquet.
“I’m trying to attach this pin,” she explained, fumbling with a delicate butterfly made of periwinkle-colored stones. “It’s old because I wore it when I was married, borrowed because I want it back, and blue.” She held the bouquet, and I pinned the butterfly onto a rose.
But the bouquet didn’t smell like roses. I bent my head and sniffed. Garlic. Peering closer, I could see that someone had stuck garlic cloves down between the flowers.
“Robert did that,” whispered Mom. “Something about warding off evil spirits.”
Good heavens. I could hear Hannah and Phoebe coming down the stairs. I couldn’t remove the garlic without making a mess of the bouquet. Thrusting it at Mom, I said, “You’d better hand it to her.”
Her eyes opened wide. “She’ll blame me for the smell.”
“Tell her about the pin. That’s charming. Maybe she won’t notice the garlic.” Fat chance. But she was far less likely to chew out Mom about the odor.
We crowded in the foyer, out of the way of the caterers. I fetched the bridesmaids’ bouquets, cherry and white medleys of lilies, roses, and peonies, and handed one to Phoebe. She wore the same style dress that I chose, but hers fit much better on her slender figure. When I handed out the bouquets, I saw the adorable crown of roses that had been made for Jen to wear and felt a tiny pang of disappointment.
I could hear Hannah asking, “What stinks?”
Fortunately, the string quartet chose that moment to begin playing, which launched Hannah into a frenzy. “I have to speak to the minister.”
Mom stroked Hannah’s shoulder. “Calm down, honey. The minister is here and everything is going perfectly.”
“You don’t understand. I have to talk to him before the ceremony.”
Dad and Jen emerged from the living room. Jen wore her tiara and asked Hannah, “Can Daisy be a flower girl with me?”
Natasha, wearing a formfitting dress in her signature robin’s-egg blue, every bit the beauty queen, looked scandalized. Bending to Jen, she said, “Daisy isn’t that kind of dog, honey. It would be different if she were a cute little Pomeranian like Mordecai’s Emmaline.”
Poor Daisy. She’d landed with a wicked stepmother who clearly couldn’t stand her. But Hannah winked at Jen, and that was all the encouragement she needed to dash up the stairs to fetch Daisy. I could only hope that Daisy had spent enough time outside earlier so that she wouldn’t relieve herself when they walked down the runner.
But Hannah’s good cheer didn’t last long. “I still need to talk to the minister.”
She headed for the door, but Natasha stopped her. “You can’t go out there. I’ll get him.”
Hannah sniffed as Natasha stepped outside. “This place reeks. I hope that’s not what they’re serving for dinner.”
Mom’s eyes met mine, but we were smart enough to keep mum.
Natasha returned with the minister, and Hannah seized his arm.
“When you do the wedding vows, I do not want you to say the part about ‘speak now or forever hold your peace.’ ” And then she glared at me.
I might not like Craig, but I wouldn’t intentionally ruin their ceremony. Hannah had made up her mind several times over. I couldn’t think of any bride who’d had as many great excuses or opportunities to bow out graciously. If the groom killing his ex-wife didn’t change Hannah’s mind, an objection from me in the middle of the ceremony certainly wouldn’t deter her.
Mom and the minister left for the backyard, and Natasha lined the bridal party up in the kitchen. Catering staff dodged around us.
“Ready?” I asked.
On Hannah’s nod, I turned to Jen. She’d found the rose crown and fastened it onto Daisy’s head. It was corny, but there was something very sweet about Jen in a lacy white dress with a huge cherry sash and the glittering tiara, holding a basket of pink and coral roses, and the leash of a hound wearing a crown of flowers.
Natasha checked her watch and stopped us at the door. “You have to wait seven minutes.”
“Everyone’s here. What are we waiting for?”
“Sophie,” she sighed, “you have to be married when the hands are moving upward on the clock. Maybe that’s what went wrong with your marriage—the hands were moving down when you were wed.”
It was ridiculous,
but I waited, which gave Hannah a minute to come over and hiss into my ear, “If you say one word to Craig about my little indiscretion with Humphrey, I swear I will never speak to you again.”
She had to be kidding. I’d worked like a fiend all day just to make her happy. I should have been a sweet sister and said something reassuring, but I was tired of her imperial behavior. I said, “Thanks for the idea,” and urged Jen out the door, Natasha protesting behind me. The quartet changed to Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March,” and I signaled Jen to start.
As I waited to walk down the aisle, my gaze drifted over to the dining tables. Someone, and I suspected I knew who, had placed fist-sized cut glass diamond paperweights at selected spots. Natasha joined me and instructed the first bridesmaid to go.
“What’s with the diamonds?” I hissed.
“Aren’t they cute? I thought it would be fun to give one to each of the single men.”
Just what every man hoped for.
Phoebe processed along the aisle, and then it was my turn. I forced a smile as I walked and took in the scene. The garden bloomed as though it had waited for this day. Natasha’s green swags on the potting shed were a charming touch, and Bernie had transformed the horrible arch. Roses, peonies, and lilies twined around it. The dreadful heart at the top had turned out better than I ever expected once it was covered with blooms.
I took my place and watched as Hannah emerged from the service alley with our father. She glowed, no doubt amazed that she would finally be married in spite of all the problems. Under her bustline, a cherry inset embroidered with lace and pearls adorned her strapless A-line wedding gown. Her blond hair had been swept up into a sophisticated chignon, perfect with Craig’s tiara. She made a beautiful bride.
But Dad, on the other hand, seemed pensive. I wondered if he was considering running in the other direction with Hannah. I wished Mom could be the happy mother of the bride. She was looking on, twining her fingers so vigorously I thought they’d be bruised. Humphrey stood behind Mom, paler than normal. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d fainted. For once, Tucker seemed somber, almost unhappy. Even Mars looked a little queasy. Natasha and Wanda beamed. Wanda sat next to Mordecai with little Emmaline squirming on his lap. Behind them, Joel seemed apprehensive.
Craig’s side of the family watched in fascination. They seemed almost gleeful. Darby, in a striking black and white outfit, sat next to Tucker. In a last-minute change, Robert had taken the place of the best man and stood next to his son. I wondered how it was possible that a tuxedo could turn a withered little man into a dashing, debonair fellow. Kevin, in a tuxedo that strained at the seams around his massive arms, stood next to Robert.
When Hannah arrived at the floral arch, she kissed Dad and turned to face Craig. I should have paid attention to the traditional ceremony, but all I could think was that my sister was marrying a killer.
The minister droned on and had just made it to “Do you, Hannah,” when Humphrey jumped up and shouted, “I object!” I saw my mother close her eyes as if she wished she would wake up and find that the whole weekend was only a nightmare. The other guests faced Humphrey, who had, amazingly, turned the exact color we were calling cherry.
“Well, ah . . .” The minister looked to Hannah for guidance. “What is your objection, sir?”
For a moment, I thought the strength to stand and object had been too much for him, but instead of falling back into his seat, Humphrey proclaimed boldly, “The baby is mine!”
My mother’s eyes popped wide. Heads swiveled toward Hannah, and I knew they were searching her fitted bridal dress for signs of a pregnancy.
Hannah did not look amused, and Craig stared at her in shock. Humphrey’s protest came as a surprise, but at least it rocketed an expression onto Craig’s face.
The minister asked Hannah in a low tone, “Would you like a moment to discuss this with the gentleman?”
In the loud and unhappy voice of an irate schoolteacher, Hannah demanded, “Humphrey, sit down!”
I doubted that I was the only one who was sorry that he did just that. For Hannah’s sake, I hoped Robert and Stan wouldn’t make a fuss when the rings were exchanged and it was obvious that Hannah hadn’t found her engagement ring yet. But the rest went smoothly and minutes later, Hannah and Craig were married.
Walking next to Robert, I followed Dr. and Mrs. Craig Beacham down the runner, thinking we’d done every possible logical thing to keep this from happening. Whether I liked it or not, Craig was a member of the family now. I made up my mind to accept him. After all, Hannah saw something in him. I would have to rely on her judgment. Forcing myself to get past my personal reservations, I kissed Craig on the cheek, hugged Hannah, and wished them well.
The photographer whisked Hannah and Craig aside for photos in front of the floral arch, while Mom and I steered the guests toward the ice bar. Wedded Blitz Martinis ran through one ice luge into martini glasses rimmed in sugar. For those whose taste ran to the less sweet, lime mojitos ran through the other ice luge. Two waiters appeared from the house bearing trays of coconut-encrusted shrimp and tiny Italian herbed meatballs.
When Phoebe sought me out for photos, I reluctantly joined the family for pictures and forced myself to think cheerful thoughts. I might not like the fact that my sister had married Craig, but for her sake, the pictures ought not reflect my gloomy feelings. The photographer’s assistant arranged us in front of the wedding arch. She placed Jen in front of me, and I smiled for the camera.
And then Jen screamed.
TWENTY-SIX
From “THE GOOD LIFE”:
Dear Sophie,
My reception will be outdoors with loads of flowers. We’re having a buffet, but I’m worried that it will look too much like a church supper. It will be in the afternoon, so candles won’t make a difference. What can I do to add a little class?
—Counting Pennies in Cooperstown
Dear Counting Pennies,
Choose festive tablecloths so it won’t look like a fish fry. Write the buffet menu in a fancy script on your computer. Print it and insert it in the fanciest crystal or gilt picture frame you own. It will add instant glamour to the buffet table.
Buy tiny gilt picture frames at your craft store to use as place cards. They’ll add a touch of glitz to the tables and double as favors.
—Sophie
Jen wailed, “Daisy’s bleeding and someone stole her crown.”
I saw it a second later. Blood marred the white socks on Daisy’s front paws.
Jen and I rushed toward her. I fell to my knees and picked up one of her paws but couldn’t find the source of the blood.
“She doesn’t have it on her anywhere else,” said Jen. “But her crown is gone.”
I lifted the other paw and searched for a cut but found nothing. The tops of her paws were bloody but the bottoms seemed muddy. Reaching up, I cupped her head in my hands and examined her. She appeared to be fine.
Mars dashed over to us. “Is something wrong with Daisy?” He ran his hands over her back. She wagged her tail and when Mars kneeled by me, she licked his nose.
Despite my assurances that I couldn’t find any cuts on her paws, he checked them himself. When he was done, Daisy had had enough poking and prodding and romped merrily off toward Mordecai. She snuffled at Emmaline, who finally broke Mordecai’s death grip on her and sprang to the ground, and the two dogs ran for the potting shed.
Mordecai’s empty arms flew into the air and he loped after them, crying, “Emmaline! Come back.”
It was awful of me to find the scene amusing, but I did. In the interest of maintaining some semblance of dignity, I hurried toward Mordecai. “She’ll be fine. Let her play with Daisy a little bit.”
He rasped, “Look what your monstrous beast has done to my Emmaline.”
Their rumps in the air, the dogs scratched at the doors to the shed and dug in the grass. Emmaline’s fur bore dark spatters. But they weren’t fighting. Whatever was on her fur hadn’t come from a bite.<
br />
Mars grabbed Daisy’s collar and pulled her away from the shed at the same time that Mordecai snatched up Emmaline.
A stream of red trickled out underneath the doors, and I flung them wide open.
Craig’s Uncle Stan sprawled on the painted brick floor. His tuxedo jacket had fallen open, and a strawberry stain saturated the front of his white shirt. A handgun touched the fingers of his right hand as though he’d reluctantly released it.
I held my breath as I stared at him. How could this possibly have happened? I should have checked for a pulse, but I had a bad feeling it was too late for Stan.
The Diva Takes the Cake Page 17