“I’m not sure, but I’ll make this right. I’ll be damned if Helene tries to ruin two women’s weddings.”
I wished I’d stood up to Helene a year ago, even though I’d thankfully not wed her son. I’d have to come up with a plan to give Becca the day she wanted.
“I’m sorry I got emotional,” Becca said, her voice low and raw. “I was just thinking of how much Grandpa Glenn would like to be here to see me get married.”
I drew up my head sharply at her pronouncement. Maybe Becca wasn’t as upset about Helene riding roughshod over her plans, and instead was missing her grandfather, a man I’d not heard mentioned until now.
Keith reached across the table and gave Becca’s hand a squeeze, then jumped up to trade seats with Samantha, rightfully by his bride’s side. I found myself warming to him by a degree. He’d stood up for Becca, even if it was just a small step. Helene glowered at her son’s change in seating arrangements and tossed down her napkin in disgust.
“May Glenn’s soul rest in peace.” Jacqueline quickly crossed herself and grasped Becca’s other hand.
“Let’s discuss happier tidings,” Helene admonished, eyeing the cream-colored cake Rachel wheeled out, “and not be mired in scandal.”
“Are you calling my father’s death a scandal?” Rhett stood from his chair so fast it followed the fate of Becca’s, and fell back onto the porch with a clatter. His formerly merry eyes were indignant and alight with anger. He brushed back a lock of gray hair and placed both meaty hands on the table, leaning toward Helene. “If anything, Glenn’s death is a tragedy. I will not have the likes of you, Helene Pierce, besmirching his name.”
Helene flinched and pushed back from the table by a degree.
“Almond white wedding cake!” Rachel’s falsely cheery voice fell on the scene like a discordant wind chime.
“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” I murmured as Rachel and I cut healthy slices of the ultra-traditional cake.
“He was murdered last year,” Samantha slowly began.
“I don’t think this is the time or place, Samantha dear,” Rhett volleyed, a note of warning in his voice.
“Sorry, Dad.” Samantha’s pale cheeks colored and she studied the napkin in her lap.
“It’s okay, sweetie pie. We all miss him.” Rhett gave his daughter a fond glance, then seemed to snap to attention.
“Jacqueline and I have discussed the wedding, and we’d be willing to contribute a larger amount to defray costs, provided our Becca is able to make some last-minute changes.”
I had to admire Rhett’s attempt to try to wrest some control back for his daughter. It hadn’t worked for me when I’d footed the bill for my entire would-be wedding to Keith, and I had a hunch it wouldn’t work now.
“That won’t be necessary,” Helene nearly snarled. “It will be my pleasure to fund the wedding.” Her countenance didn’t match her ingratiating words. Her icy-dagger eyes clearly said, Back off, buddy. Or else.
Last night, Helene had directed me to wire back the funds paid by Keith and Becca in exchange for her funding the wedding. I’d demurred and checked with Keith, who had regrettably agreed to the plan. I took in Becca’s staid black sheath and Keith’s somber matching sports coat, and compared today’s tasting with the happy affair of yesterday. That is, before Helene had shown up. Yesterday’s poolside tasting had been an affair of celebration and praise, while today felt like a funeral march. I wished Alma had been here today too to set Helene in her place, although we didn’t have a pool to push Helene into.
“Alma is late, even more so than usual.” Samantha seemed to pick up on my thoughts and glanced at a sturdy nautical watch on her tiny wrist. “Should I call her?”
“I’ve been texting her,” Rhett admitted, sheepishly placing his cell phone on the tabletop. “But I’ve gotten no response.”
Jacqueline stared at her husband with narrowed, jealous eyes, and slid them carefully over to the phone. But Rhett was too quick for her, and pocketed the device before she could get a glance at its contents.
“I’m worried.” Becca grasped Keith’s hand tighter and pulled her black sweater closer as if to ward off a shiver. “Maybe we should check up on her.”
“We can make up a plate to bring to her because she missed the tasting,” I offered, moving to assemble the food. I cleared several platters and moved toward the kitchen, Becca hot on my heels.
“Mallory. You’ve got to help me.” She latched onto my arm like a drowning woman, and it was all I could do to keep from removing her talonlike nails from my flesh before she toppled the trays of food I was carrying.
“I’m so sorry, Becca. She was just like this for—” I stopped myself in time, before bringing up my own defunct wedding to Keith.
Becca flinched, and dropped my arm like a live coal.
Oops. Never remind the bride that you were once engaged to be married to her fiancé.
“Yes, well, you do have the unique position of understanding exactly what I’m going through right now.” Becca’s face twisted into a frown as I used my now-free hands to assemble a plate of food to take to Alma.
“Time to go, dear.” Jacqueline bustled into the kitchen and accepted the wrapped plate of food.
“Come with me? Please.” Becca turned and grasped my arm anew. “I need to formulate a plan to take back this wedding, and I need to do it now. Before it’s too late.”
I stared into Becca’s beseeching blue eyes and gulped. The wedding was in a mere fortnight. It probably was too late. But I nodded. “We’ll make this right.”
I left Rachel to disassemble the tasting and headed off to Alma’s house. Becca brushed off my attempts to drive myself and deposited me in the back of Keith’s navy BMW. I squirmed in the leather seat, imagining the pictures I’d once anonymously received of this very backseat. Taken by a private detective, they’d shown incontrovertible evidence of Keith’s cheating on me with Becca in his car, in all the gory details. And now I was trapped in the same vehicle. There wasn’t enough brain bleach in the universe to make me comfortable in the seat in which I sat.
“She’s got to be okay,” Becca worried, peering down the street. “We lost Grandpa Glenn last year, and I don’t know what I’d do if we lost Alma.”
“She’s fine,” Keith stated with authority. “She’s ninety. She probably just took a nap or something.”
We pulled into the long driveway of a stately home, one that looked vaguely familiar. The facade was white, with dark, hunter-green floor-to-ceiling shutters, the high roof anchored by two chimneys. Before the house gathered a cluster of grand oak trees. I followed Keith and Becca up the red-brick walkway to an impressive set of thick, square white pillars, holding up a wide roof over a red-brick porch. An echo of something itched in my brain, but I couldn’t place it.
Jacqueline and Rhett bustled up the brick walkway, Rhett hustling to keep up with the long strides of his wife. Samantha followed more slowly, her eyes glued to her phone. She was the only one not behaving as if this were a fire drill.
“Allow me.” Rhett inserted a key into the door and pushed it open with an ominous squeak. “Mother? It’s Rhett and the gang. Mother? You missed the tasting!”
We all poured into the cavernous hallway, complete with chandelier and curving staircase. Busy, intricate green wallpaper covered the walls, and lurid red carpet stretched out as far as the eye could see. Gilt mirrors hung from the walls, and delicate gold lattice patterns graced the vaulted ceilings. I felt as if I’d stepped back in time. The grandeur and opulence could have given my own Thistle Park a run for its money. But something felt a bit off. It was as if I were on set in a period piece movie, rather than in a real house.
“Grandma?” Becca pushed through us and began to run up the palatial red staircase. “Grandma?” We all followed behind, Samantha bringing up the rear, the silence in the house more ominous.
“Oh, Alma!” Becca’s voice rang down the hall and we raced to catch up to her. “Help her! Help her!”
; Alma lay on the floor beside her bed. A series of rough, red marks marred her papery neck. She was unmoving. A gorgeous Irish setter paced around her body, keening and whimpering.
Not again.
I’d seen my fair share of immobile bodies over the last year, as serendipity would have it. I wasn’t trying to involve myself in any cases or trouble, but some strange occurrences had happened. And seemed to be happening again.
“She’s still breathing, but just barely.” Samantha materialized at Becca’s side and gingerly removed her hands from Alma’s wrist. The beautiful dog moved out of the way and sat down, staring like a sentinel.
Alma’s eyes briefly fluttered open, no longer merry and bright. She seemed to be searching for something, or someone. Then they rolled back in her head, and Becca screamed.
“Call 911.” Rhett knelt next to his mother and placed his hands on her wrist. He took in a deep, rattled breath. “I think we’ve lost her.”
CHAPTER THREE
The next day dawned serene and still. It was another gorgeous May morning, the sun a round orb slowly crawling across the sky. A slight breeze was warm and caressing. Fat bumblebees danced a minuet among the fragrant blossoms in Thistle Park’s lush garden, and birds chirped merrily on branches. The world seemed bright and calm. The lovely day was almost an affront after what had happened to Alma the afternoon before. I wandered through the garden with a set of shears in my hand. I carefully selected an array of delicate pink roses, sunny yellow daylilies, and fragrant lavender to make a bouquet. Back in the kitchen, I closed my eyes as I placed the blooms in a vase and inhaled their heady fumes. But the lovely flowers did no good. I couldn’t erase the image of Alma lying on the floor from my mind.
Yesterday, the ambulance had arrived as Samantha performed CPR. The paramedics had lifted the seemingly lifeless Alma onto a stretcher and carried her away, her son Rhett and her daughter-in-law Jacqueline riding in the ambulance down the long driveway. I’d been relieved to receive a text from Becca a few hours later, stating Alma was going to make it. And perplexed when I received a text the next morning, just a half hour ago, summoning me to Alma’s bedside in the hospital.
“I wonder what Alma wants.” Rachel materialized at my side and helped to rearrange some of the delicate lavender stalks. “And why it can’t wait until after she’s discharged from the hospital.”
“I’m just happy she’s alive. I’ll help in whatever way I can, though I can’t really see why the family would need me there.” It seemed like a miracle Alma was even still with us, after Rhett’s announcement he couldn’t find a pulse. I wondered what was more pressing than focusing on making a recovery.
I left my sister to hold down the fort at the B and B and drove to the McGavitt Pierce Memorial Hospital. The vast health complex was named after the family that built Thistle Park, the McGavitts, and after Keith’s father’s family, the Pierces. No wonder Keith acted like he was all that and then some, when his family’s names were plastered on all the important buildings and foundations in town. It was enough to give even the most humble person a complex. And let’s just say Keith wasn’t the most humble person to begin with.
I texted Becca for Alma’s room number, and paused before I tentatively peeked my head into the antiseptic-scented space. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I did know one thing. I prayed Alma was fine, as fine as she could be under the circumstances. She reminded me of Keith’s Grandma Sylvia, who had bequeathed me Thistle Park. Both were feisty, lively women who made being in their nineties seem like they were having the time of their lives. I wanted the best for Alma, not just as a force to stand up to Helene.
Becca’s family was arrayed around Alma’s hospital bed. The once-spry woman was propped up by a host of fat, fluffy pillows, no doubt smuggled in from her own home. A flat, anemic hospital pillow lay cast aside against the wall. A small photograph of the pretty Irish setter who had stood sentinel over Alma when we’d found her rested on a movable bedside table. And the woman herself seemed to be on the mend, though tired and meek. Her family appeared to be hanging on to her every word.
“You came!” Alma announced my arrival as her family’s heads swiveled in the direction of the doorway. Becca’s grandmother sported a jaunty Kelly-green-striped scarf atop her hospital gown, which gamely tried yet failed to hide the now-deep bruises on her neck. The scarf clashed magnificently with her pale floral robe, and seemed to be an afterthought to hide her injury. Alma had tried to sound cheery, but her voice was hoarse.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” I moved toward the bed and gave Alma’s thin, papery hand a squeeze. She gripped my fingers with encouraging force.
She’s going to be just fine.
A spout of relief welled up in my chest, and I took a step back. Rhett fluttered around his mother. He fixed the angle of her pillows and refilled her water glass with nervous movements. The short man was surprisingly light on his feet for being so portly, and he seemed eager to make his mother feel at ease. Alma gazed at her son with loving eyes.
“Mallory, please take a seat, dear.” Alma gestured weakly toward a chair flanking her bed, and I sat next to Jacqueline. “I was just telling my family what happened.”
Ah, so that’s why her family had seemed so preternaturally attentive when I’d arrived. I gulped as she began her tale.
“I let Wilkes out to do his business after lunch, just like I always do. That dog is on military time, I swear.” Alma chuckled and gave a fond glance toward the picture of the Irish setter. I detected a slight southern accent in her tones. She seemed to enjoy having all eyes on her as she recounted yesterday’s incident.
“I settled in for my nap around noon. All of the doors were locked, I’m sure of it.” She sniffed. “My would-be killer must have had a key.”
Becca stifled a cry and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
“But you didn’t turn on the security system.” Rhett’s tone was even and devoid of accusation, but his eyes were undeniably narrowed.
“I didn’t think I needed it!” Alma’s hands fluttered weakly in her lap. “It took me months to work out how to use that darn smartphone, I’m not about to take lessons on how to work that digital alarm thingamajig.” She stared down her button nose at her son, daring him to argue with her. Rhett just crossed his arms and sighed, settling back into his chair, muttering under his breath something about a collection.
“Now. As I was saying, I’d just tucked myself in for my nap. Wilkes fell asleep beside the bed per usual. I had an awful dream.” Alma paused, and twin beads of moisture gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I dreamed someone was strangling me!”
“Oh, Grandma.” Samantha leaped up to hand Alma a tissue.
“And to make matters worse,” Alma paused to feebly blow her nose, “it wasn’t a dream. I awoke, and felt the hands around my neck. The person was wearing a ski mask! Wilkes was crying, poor dear, and I couldn’t breathe.”
Rhett shook his head in disgust. “That’s some guard dog.”
Alma sat up in bed like a rocket, her weepiness gone. “He’s an Irish setter, not a Rottweiler. And we all know Wilkes is a big baby. He’s my confidante now that Glenn is gone, and I won’t have you blaming him.” She turned with kind eyes toward the photograph of the auburn pup, and gave the frame a small pat.
“Grandma, who would have done such a thing?” Becca chewed on her lower lip, removing the swath of pink lipstick that she’d no doubt carefully applied earlier that day.
“I can think of a few people.” Alma sat back with a weary sigh, not able to conceal the wry tone of her pronouncement. “For starters—”
“That’s enough, Mother.” Rhett shook his head, his longish gray hair hitting the sides of his face. “You don’t need to excite yourself with matters you should only be telling the police.”
Alma opened and closed her mouth like a fish, her gray brows knitted together. She appeared annoyed at being shushed, and opened her mouth a final time. Then she threw up her hands and sighed,
an exhalation that belied her weariness. “You’re right, Son. No use getting all worked up now.” She closed her eyes for a full minute, and I squirmed in my uncomfortable chair. I wasn’t sure why she’d summoned me and contemplated slipping out. Just as I gathered my bag in my lap, Alma’s eyes flew open.
“This does put some perspective on the collection.” She paused and glanced at her family, who hung on her every word. Samantha sat up straighter, and Becca leaned her chin on her hand. I could practically see Jacqueline’s ears perking up, and Rhett’s intake of breath was audible in the now hushed room.
What is she talking about?
“I’m not going to live forever.” Alma paused and picked at a piece of lint on her snowy hospital blanket. She seemed to enjoy teasing out the information. “And what with Becca’s wedding just around the corner, it dawned on me. Now would be the perfect time to decide what to do with the collection. And I’ve come to a decision.” She turned her face toward her granddaughters, all the feebleness gone. “Rebecca Scarlett Cunningham, I’ve decided to gift you my Gone with the Wind collection in its entirety.”
The room was silent for a mere moment more. Then Becca let out a squeal of delight and bounded from her chair.
“Grandma, that’s wonderful!” She showered Alma with kisses, and the older woman laughed in delight. “I’d be honored to receive it.” Becca pulled away and returned to her chair, an earsplitting grin lighting up her face.
I panned around the room, taking in the reactions of the other family members. Samantha sat stunned, her muted, pretty face a poorly concealed mask of shock. Her blue eyes blinked double-time, and she fussed with her purse’s contents to hide the act of brushing away a tear. She composed herself pretty well as she looked up and adorned her face with a shaky smile. But her eyes still held a wounded look. A fleeting flitter of alarm seemed to mar Jacqueline’s face, and Rhett was downright mad.
“That’s your plan for the collection?” He snorted and stared defiantly at his mother. “News to me.”
Alma looked triumphant, if not also weak. She seemed to melt back into her pillow. A stray thought danced through my brain, pulling me back to yesterday. I recalled the impressive white house where Alma lived, the fussy period interior, and the feeling I’d been on a movie set.
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