Gown with the Wind

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Gown with the Wind Page 11

by Stephanie Blackmoore


  Whitney and Ian stood hand in hand in front of their guests. “We want to thank you all for coming to celebrate our son. Thank you, Mallory and Rachel, for throwing this beautiful shower. We—” Whitney trailed off as her head swiveled toward the entrance to the carriage house. Whitney faltered, and didn’t resume her speech. Her pretty face was pulled down in a frown.

  I squinted against the sunlight to get a better look at the shower’s newest arrivals. An unexpected man and woman walked in. The man was J.Crew handsome, with twinkling green eyes and close-cropped blond hair. The woman on his arm was lovely as well, her face reminiscent of that of a 1940s’ Hollywood starlet, with large eyes, full lips, and the kind of cheekbones that could grace the cover of an old-time Vogue. She wore her jet-black hair in a daring pixie cut, the kind of hairstyle that few but those with her strong bone structure could pull off.

  Becca gasped. Her flute of champagne slipped from her fingertips and shattered on the stone floor. The sound was impossibly loud because everyone had gone silent when Whitney had trailed off. A shard of crystal from the flute must have nicked the top of Becca’s foot; a thin rivulet of blood trickled over her white sandal.

  Ruh-roh.

  Becca didn’t even notice the state of her cut but laid her hand on her chest, where I saw her ribs rise and fall with her intake of breath. Why did I have a feeling the mystery party crashers were akin to the bad fairy arriving at Sleeping Beauty’s christening? We’d already had one uninvited guest, Helene, but her visit had been mercifully brief. This duo didn’t look like they were leaving anytime soon. Samantha stared in disbelief at the couple, as if she’d seen ghosts.

  “Becca. Just the person I’m looking for.” The man had a radio announcer voice, and the assembled baby shower guests sat up straighter to hear what he had to say. A gentle meow came from behind him, and it was then that I noticed he was holding on to a leash. A cat twined its way around the man’s legs and stood next to him, as if in solidarity. It was a colossal Maine Coon, with sinuous muscles and tufts of hair decorating the tips of its ears like a bobcat. It proudly held its plume of a tail aloft like the mast and sail of a ship. It was a truly magnificent feline.

  “What are you doing here?” Becca had finally found her voice. It came out barely above a whisper, full of anguish and despair.

  What in the heck is going on?

  Rachel leaned closer to my ear. “Okay, I’ve heard of wedding crashers, but baby shower crashers?”

  Samantha had made her way over to me. “It’s Eric Dempsey. He should handle this privately.” Becca’s twin was barely controlling the rage I saw bubbling deep within her blue eyes. Her mother, Jacqueline, had sat down in a cane chair, her face drained of color.

  I recognized the name Eric Dempsey. I was hosting Eric and his fiancée, Piper Hamilton, for their wedding, scheduled for the day after Keith and Becca’s Friday wedding. I felt a flood of relief well over me. I’d yet to meet Eric or Piper, as they lived in South America and had planned their wedding over a series of phone calls and emails. They must have arrived early and needed to see me about something. They should have recognized that they’d just walked into a party, but I’d help them as soon as the shower finished wrapping up.

  Keith stalked into the carriage house and ran a handkerchief over the beads of sweat amassing on his forehead. He walked along the edge of the room toward Becca, and then seemed to notice the room’s silence.

  “Bec? What’s going on?” Keith stared at a wordless Becca, then at Eric Dempsey. “Who are you? And why are you staring at Becca like that? What do you want with my fiancée?” Keith took a step toward Eric.

  Eric snorted. “Becca may be your fiancée. But unfortunately, she’s also still my wife.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Keith let out a rollicking laugh that bounced over the stone floors and echoed throughout the carriage house. When he realized no one was sharing in his mirth, the laughter strangled in his windpipe and spluttered out in an uncertain wheeze. Keith stared at Becca with dawning realization, then abject horror.

  “Becca. Is what this man saying true?”

  Becca wouldn’t meet Keith’s eyes. He seemed to have all the answers he needed. Keith’s eyes went wide. He took a step back from his fiancée.

  “You never told me you were previously married.” Keith ran a hand through his thinning hair. He stared at Becca until she tore her eyes from the floor to meet Keith’s.

  Eric rolled his eyes and bent to pick up the giant Maine Coon. “My marriage to Becca was never annulled.” He lifted his chin up high and set the cat down on the ground again. “I’ve come to ask you for a divorce, Becca. I’d like to remarry.” Eric gave his fiancée, Piper, a warm smile. The woman more firmly grasped his arm and observed Becca and Keith with keen eyes.

  “Becca.” Keith’s voice brooked no nonsense. “Is this true?”

  Becca wiped at a stream of tears coursing down her cheeks and gave a barely perceptible nod. “I’m afraid so. I thought the annulment went through, but there were some complications.”

  Keith leaned against the wall, featuring a painting of an ancient Oldsmobile. His face was utterly crushed. A pin dropping could be heard in the carriage house. Then, all thirty ladies assembled began to talk at once.

  “I’m glad you finally told her.” Eric’s fiancée, Piper, spoke, and I realized her voice sounded a bit familiar, though I couldn’t place it. I must have just recognized it from the phone calls we’d had planning her wedding. She kept her arm possessively twined through Eric’s, and I didn’t blame her. Her fiancé was still apparently married to Becca after all. The woman leaned down to pet the impressive Maine Coon, who wound his way around her ankles. Piper sneezed three times in a row and delicately extracted a travel-size parcel of tissues from her tiny purse.

  “It’s time, Eric.” She settled her large, liquid green eyes on Eric’s face and arched an impeccably waxed black eyebrow.

  Eric sighed and picked up the cat. “I’ll miss you, big boy.” He turned to Becca, who was in an intense discussion with Keith, and delicately tapped her on the shoulder. Becca yelped and turned around.

  “Becca, Piper is allergic to cats. I know you originally wanted to keep custody of him. Piper has suffered enough, and it’s time you two are reunited.” Eric handed the leash off to Becca. The cat swiveled his regal, leonine head from Becca to Piper. Piper gave him a last fond pat, unleashing another trio of sneezes. “Catch you later, kitty.”

  Becca knelt close to the ground, and the big cat trotted over to her. She picked him up and buried her mascara-streaked face in his long coat.

  “He remembers me.” Becca stared up in wonder, a sheepish smile spreading across her face. The Maine Coon’s purrs could be heard from several feet away as he shared the joy of being reunited with his former mistress.

  “Absolutely not!” Keith stepped back from Becca in abject horror, seemingly more appalled that she was cuddling a cat than finding out she was still married to another man. “I forbid you to accept that cat, Becca. We have a lot to discuss. Come on.” Keith held out his hand for Becca, a fierce glare turning his features menacing. Becca took in a sharp breath. She weighed her choice, stroking the cat’s long fur as she peered into Keith’s eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetie pie.” Becca deposited the Maine Coon on the stone floor and reluctantly shuffled over to Keith.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do, Becca Cunningham,” I heard Keith sneer. He shuffled her out of the carriage house amid a buzz of chatter. Some of the baby shower attendees inched toward the exit, the better to hear Keith question Becca.

  I searched for Whitney, and our eyes locked from across the room. The mother-to-be looked stoic in the midst of her ruined shower. A soft flutter against my legs made me look down. The cat had come to rest at my feet. He blinked up at me with huge, citrine eyes that seemed to say, I agree, they’re all crazy.

  I picked up the cat and held him close to me, marveling that he certainly weighed more than b
oth my cats combined. His enormous purr returned, and he looked quite pleased.

  The shower was in shambles. Whitney finally made her way over.

  “Hi, big guy. I never thought I’d lay eyes on you again.” She stroked the big cat’s fur and burst out laughing. “This will certainly be a shower to remember! Ian and I will have a good story to tell our son.” Her laughter died. “Oh, but Becca sure is in a pickle, isn’t she?”

  The cat let out a soft mew and rubbed his head against Whitney’s hand.

  “He thinks you’re saying his name,” Samantha explained as she joined us. She rubbed the cat behind his tufted ears. “Hiya, Pickles. Fancy seeing you here.”

  “His name is Pickles?” I stared at the Maine Coon, who perked up when I said his name.

  “Yup. They’re his favorite. He adores them. He can distinguish the sound of a pickle jar being opened and run across the room to beg for some in three seconds flat.” Samantha gazed fondly at the feline. “Dills are his favorite, followed by gherkins.”

  “A cat who eats pickles?” Rachel laughed and took her turn petting the colossal cat. He continued to purr in my arms, soaking in all the attention.

  “I guess it’s not so weird. Whiskey’s favorite food is hot and sour soup.” My older cat had spent much of her life as a stray, and must have developed an interesting and varied palate in her forays out in the wider world. She often begged for snippets of takeout, and I was continually surprised that she ate it all with gusto. Perhaps a cat who ate pickles wasn’t so odd after all.

  I helped Ian load the baby shower loot into his Murano. I could see Keith still arguing with Becca inside his BMW. He’d yet to pull out from the drive. Not for the first time, I didn’t envy Becca’s position.

  Jacqueline remained at the shower, trying gamely to engage in chitchat, but instead answering questions about her daughter’s first, and apparently still-current marriage. She finally tore out of the room, a sour look on her face. She stopped to say goodbye as I loaded the last baby item, a heavy swing, into Ian’s SUV.

  “Thank you for throwing my niece a lovely shower.” She squared her shoulders and seemed to steel herself. “I’m sorry Becca’s ex-husband had to ruin it all. Just like he ruins everything.” Jacqueline stared with malice in her eyes at Eric and Piper, who were perched on the back porch of the B and B. “Rhett said he’d handle the dissolution of Becca’s marriage.” Jacqueline shook her head, her pretty flaxen bob fanning out against her cheeks. “This is just another thing he let fall through the cracks.” Jacqueline leaned in for a perfunctory air-kiss. I caught a distinctive whiff of Dior J’adore. Jacqueline stalked off to her car. I wondered about the state of her marriage to Rhett.

  Samantha paused as she trailed after her mother. “I thought Eric would have had the decency not to make a show.” She shook her head but returned Eric’s wave to her from the back porch.

  Interesting.

  Becca may not have been on speaking terms with her ex, or, rather, current husband, but he seemed pretty friendly with her twin sister.

  * * *

  I was in no rush to check Eric and Piper in after the stunt Eric had pulled. But I wanted to be professional, and I was still scheduled to host their wedding. So Rachel and I made haste to break down the remnants of the baby shower. I soon joined the couple on the back porch, where they reposed with a mountain of luggage. They now looked appropriately sheepish in the aftermath of the show they’d put on. And a little bit spent too. Things had calmed down in the wake of Eric’s dramatic announcement. All of the attendees had finally driven off, including Becca and Keith. I wondered idly what would become of their upcoming nuptials, now that it had been revealed that Becca was still married to someone else.

  “I’m sorry we showed up a bit earlier than expected,” Piper began.

  Yeah, like a whole week early.

  I was still salty that they’d almost ruined Whitney’s shower. But then I remembered the ultimately amused look on Whitney’s face and softened toward Eric and Piper.

  “But we thought the annulment had been taken care of,” Eric smoothly finished. “We needed some time to seek a quick divorce back in the States.” I knew Eric and Piper were coming back to Port Quincy for their wedding from living abroad. Then it clicked. Eric and Piper currently lived in Colombia, where Becca’s twin Samantha happened to be an attorney. I wondered if they traveled in the same circles in Bogota, and if that was why Eric had sent Samantha the friendly wave from the porch.

  “It’s all right. I can check you two in now and you can get started on your, um, divorce.” I trailed off lamely and led them around the wide porch to the front of Thistle Park. Once inside, I unlocked the massive mahogany rolltop desk that served as a check-in kiosk in the front hall. Piper took in the two-story, open entryway, with its large glass bird chandelier. The peach, yellow, and blush sparrows seemed to chase one another around and around in concentric rings. She smiled appreciatively at the marble floors stretching back to the second hallway, and the passel of large rooms leading off to the right and left.

  “This is going to be the perfect place for our wedding.” But her wide smile slipped a degree. “Um, is that a cat?”

  I followed her gaze to the top of the stairs, where Soda sat in a patch of sunshine. The stained-glass above rained down a kaleidoscope of colors on my little orange cat, who delicately washed one paw.

  “That’s my cat Soda. I have two, actually. I bet my calico is sleeping in the window seat in the library. It’s her favorite spot.” My prattle trailed off as I remembered a snippet of Eric’s speech at the baby shower. “You’re allergic to cats, aren’t you?”

  Piper nodded and stared warily at my kitty. “I’ve lived with Pickles for three years. I’ve been able to do it with an arsenal of Zyrtec and Benadryl always at the ready.” Her Hollywood glam features softened. “And I’ll miss the big guy. But Eric promised me I wouldn’t have to deal with my allergies the week of my wedding.” She sent me an imploring look, and I sighed.

  “I can sequester my cats in my apartment on the third floor for the duration of your stay.” I wondered if Piper had read the literature I’d sent with a packet of information that clearly stated there were cats on the premises, or the notifications of the same information on the B and B’s website. She’d been given fair and ample warning that there would be furry little felines. No matter; in this business, the bride was always right.

  “I guess we’ll be putting this big fella upstairs too.” Rachel had caught the tail end of our conversation, and sashayed over in her strappy heels with Pickles jauntily marching beside her on his leash. “Come on, Pickles.” Rachel patted the leg of her short, electric blue dress, and the Maine Coon gamely ran up the stairs. He made a beeline for Soda, who took one look at the big guy and raced off down the hall.

  Eric frowned at the cat interaction. “I’m sorry for the trouble. I hope your cats can get along with Pickles.”

  That makes two of us.

  My mind idly took mental stock of the items in our kitchenette upstairs. I thought there might be ajar of pickles for the Maine Coon to enjoy a bite.

  “You said Becca adores Pickles. I really thought she’d take him.” Piper cocked her head in thought.

  “Her fiancé would never consent to a cat,” I rushed in. I felt a slow blush creep up my throat and surely stain my cheeks. I was always divulging personal information about Keith, though we hadn’t been an item for almost a year.

  I sat at the rolltop and clicked through my laptop, finally printing off a check-in sheet. “Here you are. I can officially offer you early check-in. You’ll be in the lilac room, which is our honeymoon suite.”

  I doled out two keys and reached for a copy of the town newspaper.

  “Please accept a copy of our local paper. If you’d like, I can leave a copy outside your door each morning. Just let me know your preference.”

  “How quaint!” Piper’s eyes lit up. “I get all my news online. I haven’t held a physical paper in
years.”

  The paper slipped from her slender fingers onto the marble floor. It fell open to the society section, where a large color photo of Felicity Fournier and Tanner Frost stared up at us. I quickly bent to retrieve the paper and moved to close it, when something caught my eye. In the photograph, Felicity rested her left hand over Tanner’s arm, the better to show off her impressive rock. Something skittered through my brain, but I couldn’t quite catch it. I snapped the paper shut and handed it back to Piper.

  Eric’s phone buzzed, and he took a call, speaking in a flurry of Spanish. He moved several feet away from us and talked while walking in circles around the hall.

  “He’s a humanitarian and immigration lawyer in Colombia,” Piper gushed, obviously proud of her fiancé.

  “Like Samantha Cunningham?” I wanted to know for sure if Eric knew Samantha beyond being her once-brother-in-law.

  Piper nodded, the chandelier lights glinting off her sleek pixie cut. “They work for the same NGO.”

  I filed away that piece of information. It was interesting to me that Samantha worked daily with the man who had once been married to her sister. Or rather, was still accidentally married to him.

  I checked in Eric and Piper and left them to their day. The rest of the afternoon was blessedly uneventful, all things considered. I was initially worried about the custody limbo regarding Pickles the Maine Coon. But for now, he was happily ensconced in my third floor apartment. He’d properly met both Whiskey and Soda, doing a delicate cat do-si-do of sniffs and a few errant hisses. But my two cats seemed to be getting along well enough with the big guy. True, Whiskey pointedly ignored him, seeming to withhold her judgment for a later date. While Soda was more welcoming and engaged in a spirited game of chase with Pickles all around the apartment. He was quick for such a big cat, and gamboled around the place. He was so heavy, he nearly thundered over the floorboards, sounding more akin to a small pony than a cat. Soda, in contrast, barely made a sound save for her clicking nails on the hardwood.

 

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