Gown with the Wind

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  Rachel sighed in capitulation. “It has been a little nuts around here.”

  We scurried about for the next hour to finish setup for the tea. Although it was scheduled for mid-morning, we’d be serving traditional afternoon tea fare. There were scones with clotted cream, petit fours with cheerful flowers and vines scrolled across their precise rectangular tops, lemon cakes, and macaroons. We also were serving adorable crustless sandwiches in a range of options, including cucumber, salmon, and chicken walnut salad. Guests could also munch on broccoli salad and coleslaw.

  I bustled into the kitchen to help finish the food. Piper stood near the sink, grating lemons to create a tidy mountain of lemon peel to garnish the lemon cakes as a final touch. I was warming quickly to her. She’d offered to help with the tea while Eric was off at a coffee shop, catching up on some work regarding his asylum cases. He had plans to join her at the event later.

  “Thanks for chipping in, Piper.” I gathered the lemon peel and ferried it over to Rachel and the lemon cakes.

  “It’s no problem. It’s a nice break from always slogging away at my dissertation, and from wedding planning details.”

  The three of us worked in companionable silence to finish the dishes. Our last tasks were to mix up a batch of mimosas and set out the six kinds of tea we were serving: Earl and Lady Grey, orange pekoe, jasmine, green mint, and lavender chamomile. Guests would drink their tea from ten elaborate sets we’d gathered from Thistle Park’s well-stocked butler’s pantry.

  Thanks to the extra help we’d hired, we set down the last tray of food on the wide tables positioned in the garden as the first guests began to arrive.

  “Mallory!” Summer Davies tore around the back porch and gave me a bone-crushing hug.

  “Oh, sweetie, it’s so good to have you back!” I embraced Summer in turn, then pulled back to examine the fourteen-year-old. She was sporting a slight tan, and her grin revealed her trademark magenta braces. She seemed taller than she’d been when she’d left, if that was possible. Garrett’s daughter already had about five inches on me.

  “I want to tell you all about my trip to L.A.,” Summer gushed. She took in the backyard and porch as more attendees and families showed up for the tea. “Will you have time to stop by our table?”

  “Of course, honey.” I gave Summer another hug, and she was off to find her grandmother and mother’s table. Garrett’s daughter had become a fixture in my life, and I had to admit I was relieved she was home. I know Garrett had been counting the seconds until her return.

  I moved easily among my guests for the next hour, unobtrusively observing how the event was running. If it went well, we could make this an annual Mother’s Day event.

  Most of our guests seemed to be enjoying themselves, save for a few glum tables. One held Tanner Frost and a woman I knew from the guest list to be his mother, Diane. Tanner was totally dejected, his tall, lanky Ichabod Crane–frame slouching over the table, his food and drink untouched. I didn’t blame him, and suspected he was still understandably mourning his fiancée. Felicity’s funeral hadn’t even been held yet, according to the town newspaper.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I murmured to Tanner as I paused at his table. The man looked up with dolorous, red-rimmed eyes and gave me a nod.

  “Thank you. It’s still quite a shock. My mother thought it would be good for me to get out.”

  I wasn’t sure I agreed; Tanner seemed utterly devastated over Felicity’s murder.

  “Buck up, Son. Frankly, I think you dodged a bullet with that one.” Diane Frost bit into a strawberry scone as if she hadn’t just said something totally inappropriate.

  “You don’t have to gloat, Mother.” Tanner slunk sourly into his chair and sent his mother a glare.

  I left their table and tried to wipe the appalled look I was sure had appeared on my face. Perhaps Tanner and Felicity had had their problems. If Eric was right, she had been involved with another man on the eve of her engagement to Tanner. But that didn’t make it all right for Tanner’s mother to suggest he’d lucked out by not having to marry her through her unfortunate and untimely death.

  I made my way over to Becca and Keith’s table, where Helene held court. She did most of the talking, with her son hanging onto every word. But Becca’s look telegraphed, get me the heck out of here. She appeared to be a hostage in the company of her future mother-in-law. She rested her chin on her hand and looked longingly to the table next to her, which held Alma, Samantha, Jacqueline, and Rhett. I’m sure Becca would rather be spending Mother’s Day with her own family, but Helene often demanded allegiance.

  “Mallory.” Becca hissed at me from her table, and I paused to say hello.

  “Meow.” Pickles emerged from under the table and hopped up onto a wicker seat to greet me.

  “I’ve missed you, big guy.” I knelt down to give the gigantic Maine Coon some pets. He soon rewarded me with his rumbly, outsize purr. Becca looked on fondly, while Keith stared at the majestic cat as if he were an unusually large rat.

  “Cats don’t belong on furniture,” Keith intoned. He reached out to give Pickles a shove from the chair, when Becca’s fingers shot out and deftly smacked his hand away.

  “Pickles is special. He’s a member of the family now.” Becca reached to gather the hefty kitty in her arms and buried her face in his long, soft fur.

  “Pickles is no more a member of this family than you are, my dear.” Helene raised one arch brow and picked at her salad. “Not officially anyway.”

  Tears beaded in Becca’s eyes and she shuffled away, murmuring about getting some pickles for her eponymous cat. Keith stood so fast, his wicker chair toppled over in the grass.

  “Now you’ve done it, Mother.” He made haste to chase down his bride at the condiments table, and awkwardly gave Pickles a stilted pat on his fluffy head.

  “That was uncalled for, even for you, Helene.” I never inserted myself into family fights while wedding planning, but Helene and I had a history. And frankly, I was still mad at her for what she’d done to stymie Alma’s event.

  “I know you called around town impersonating Alma and canceling all her gigs for her theater opening.” I inwardly seethed, but tried to keep my voice neutral lest any of my guests were listening in. “That was a low move.”

  Helene dropped her fork, a genuinely surprised look stealing over her sharp and surgically enhanced features. “Mallory Shepard, I did no such thing. And I resent your implication.” She pushed herself up from her chair and gathered her tiny quilted Chanel purse. “I don’t have to take this from the likes of you. I agreed to come to this event as a favor to you to bolster your reputation.”

  I stifled a laugh at the thought. “But you did get the florist to cancel her contract for Dakota Craig’s wedding back in February. It’s kind of your M.O.”

  Bull’s-eye.

  Helene froze in her tracks. Two spots of genuine color appeared over the carefully dusted-on peach rouge on her papery cheeks.

  “I’m leaving!” She minced through the grass in her ubiquitous kitten heels and panty hose. Keith and Becca appeared moments later, with a dish of pickles for the cat.

  “Where’s my mother?” Keith narrowed his eyes as he pulled out Becca’s chair.

  “I think she stepped out.” I sent Becca a wink in return for her grateful look and continued to mingle with the teagoers.

  Eric and Piper waved to me from a far-off table that was occupied by a woman who was the spitting image of Eric. I finally arrived at Garrett’s table. His mother, Lorraine, gave me a friendly wave, and Summer beamed.

  “Hello, Mallory.” Summer’s mother, and Garrett’s one-time fiancée, Adrienne Larson rose to give me a fleeting air-kiss. She was dressed impeccably in a St. John lace dress that probably cost as much as the food budget for this event. She pulled away, and I caught a whiff of Provencal meadows and flowery dew.

  “So good to see you, Adrienne.” There had been a time when I’d been intimidated by Adrienne’s mere p
resence, and by the history she shared with Garrett, including their lovely daughter Summer. But that angst was gone now, and our past icy imbroglios had melted like the snow after the advent of a mellow spring.

  “So good to see you again, kiddo.” I accepted my second hug of the day from Summer.

  “Grandpa Truman sends his regards,” Summer said. “He’s working overtime.”

  I imagined he would have to, with all the craziness that had gone down this week.

  “Sit down and rest for a minute.” Garrett gallantly pulled out a chair, and I gratefully sank into it. The event was going well, save for the tiff with Helene, and I was proud of my and Rachel’s work. If this week hadn’t been so jam-packed with other events, I would have enjoyed it even more.

  “Let me get you a drink.” Garrett rose and squeezed my shoulder. “A mimosa, maybe?”

  “I’d love one, but I’d better not drink when I’m technically on the clock. How about a nice cup of Lady Grey tea?”

  Garrett gave my shoulder one more squeeze and left to find the tea. I loved how thoughtful and attentive my boyfriend was.

  Lorraine sent me a wry smile and set down her cup of tea. “Perhaps next year you can attend the Mother’s Day tea as a member of the family, not as a hostess.”

  “Pardon me?” I crossed my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking.

  Just what was she hinting at?

  It seemed as if everyone had been bitten by the hoping-for-an-engagement bug. And things could be getting serious real fast, because Lorraine was the last person I’d expect to give me a verbal hint.

  Summer cottoned on fast and sent me a megawatt grin, all flashing with her magenta and silver braces. Adrienne appeared less sanguine but covered her surprise well.

  “Here’s your tea.” Garrett dropped a kiss on my forehead as he placed the steaming and fragrant forget-me-not-patterned teacup in front of me. I stared up at him with what was probably a flustered and reddened face.

  “Everything okay?” Garrett’s amiable face darkened for a minute as he searched my eyes.

  “Yup. Thanks for the tea. I’ve got to get back to work!” I made haste to leave the table and sloshed a molten rivulet of tea on the skirt of my yellow sundress. But I didn’t stop to mop up the mess and beat a hasty retreat from Garrett’s family. I felt his keen hazel eyes boring holes in the back of my head, but I had to leave the stifling expectations of an impending engagement behind.

  I’m just not ready.

  I milled about the garden, communing with the angel statues, where the foliage ran from a lush mixture of wildflowers to the clipped, pruned precision of a classic English garden. My sandals made a pleasing sound on the herringbone-brick pathways. They mirrored those of the streets of Port Quincy, except these bricks were red instead of yellow.

  Some families had finished their brunch and had moved on to playing bocce and croquet on the manicured lawn. I hugged my arms to my chest and considered them. Was I ready to officially join the Davies family? It would be an immense honor to be Summer’s stepmother. I blinked back the start of tears, an overwhelming wave of sentimentality overtaking my senses.

  “Mallory, you’ve got to help me.” A veiny hand gripped my arm with a vicelike strength and whirled me around, breaking me from my weepy reverie.

  “Hello, Alma.” I made haste to dab my eyes and focused on the woman, who wore an intense and worried look on her lined but sprightly face. Her Irish setter, Wilkes, seemed to pick up on her strife and let out a low moan.

  “I’m so embarrassed. I can’t find my revolver!” She pulled open her cavernous red macramé purse to show me its contents. There lay her wallet, cell phone, and a package of travel tissues.

  No gun.

  “Let’s just calm down.” I said the words as much to myself as to her. I didn’t want any of my guests stumbling upon what I guessed was a loaded firearm. “When was the last time and where was the last place you had the gun?”

  “Maybe at the Greasy Spoon for lunch. No, I don’t recall whether I’d lost it by then or not. It was still with me when I dropped it on the sidewalk yesterday. And you saw me put it back in my purse.” By now, Alma was literally wringing her hands, and I placed mine on top of hers to still them.

  “We need to call Truman and report the gun missing.” I peered into Alma’s eyes to let her know I brooked no wiggle room.

  “Absolutely not!” Alma broke from my grasp and began pacing, albeit slowly and with the use of her cane, in front of an angel statue with one broken wing. “He’ll never let me live it down. And I may lose my gun permit. Oh, I’m such an old fool.” She clasped her hands at her throat, where she was still probably feeling some pain from the attempted strangulation. Her scarf, a white linen affair with a cheerful pattern of yellow chicks, slipped down and exposed her healing bruises. They were a mottled map of olive-green blotches on her papery skin. I winced and vowed anew to try to find out who had done this to the sweet woman.

  “This is a terrible day already.” Alma sniffed and stared heavenward. “Not that you haven’t thrown a wonderful event, Mallory. I’m very much looking forward to what you and your sister have prepared for the theater opening. I’m just sad because today is the anniversary of Glenn’s murder.” She leaned against the angel statue and gave Wilkes a pat before she waved over to a distant table with her cane. “And to rub it in, there sits the man who probably did my poor dear husband in.”

  I followed the line of sight from her cane to take in Tanner Frost, still glumly suffering through the event with his horrible mother. A shiver ran down my spine despite the profuse May sunshine raining down on us in the garden.

  “I must be getting back to my family.” Alma gave me one last pleading look. “I just thought you should know my revolver is missing.”

  I gave the woman a hug and good wishes. But I wasn’t going to honor her request not to tell Truman. Alma shuffled off to return to her family, with Wilkes by her side. I whipped out my cell to text the chief of police. He texted back that he would be over as soon as possible, and not to announce the fact there was a loose weapon on the premises.

  In the distance, a male voice rose and fell, the tone laced with anger and recrimination. Several guests at the tables farthest from the back of the house picked up on the tone and laid down their forks to strain their ears in the direction of the gazebo.

  Just great.

  Another male voice joined the fray. There was the unmistakable sound of a heated argument coming from the gazebo. Thankfully, the jewel of a building was hidden by a copse of trees. Or maybe that had been the wrong landscaping decision. It would have been helpful to know who was fighting at my event.

  Summer bounded up to my place in the garden and gave me a fierce hug. “Dad said to say goodbye.” I bid her farewell and watched her return to her table. I waved to her and her father, mother, and grandmother as they stood and left the tea. At the last second, Garrett turned around and sent me a slow, sexy smile. An electrical current ran from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I sighed. I loved that guy. Garrett had thankfully been procuring my tea when the marriage talk had gone down, and I was glad he was none the wiser.

  I was just about to play bouncer and break up the argument in the gazebo when the male voices went silent.

  “I’m sorry my mother said that wretched thing about Felicity.”

  I jumped as the slender, now-stooped figure of Tanner Frost appeared at my side. “It can’t be easy dealing with your fiancée’s death. I’m deeply sorry, Tanner.”

  I considered the shell of a man before me and realized I didn’t think he had anything to do with Felicity’s death. My money was now on the mystery paramour Eric had made mention.

  “I think I’d better get going. Between my mother expressing her happiness that Felicity’s gone, and the death glares I’ve been getting from Alma Cunningham, it’s time to leave.” He seemed to have realized his poor choice of words and winced. “Alma’s convinced I murdered Glenn.” He snickered,
the laughter hollow in his throat. “When I bet it’s just an act. My money’s really on Alma.”

  “But it’s been a year since Glenn was shot,” I protested, if not outwardly defending Alma. “If Chief Truman can’t solve the crime, it may not be that obvious.”

  “It’s obvious, all right. I had enough votes for tenure anyway, despite the fact Glenn was against it. I didn’t have a reason to murder him. It’s just a convenient excuse.” He tossed a glare in Alma’s direction. The woman was now peering into a deep thicket of daylilies, prodding the abundant leaves with her cane, no doubt looking for her lost revolver. I winced and turned back to Tanner. “Everyone knows Alma bumped off Glenn so she could spend their fortune on growing her ridiculously offensive Gone with the Wind collection.” He spoke with such abject disdain, I didn’t have to question whether he was a fan of the subject or not.

  “It does seem to be a divisive book and film,” I added lamely.

  “It’s an abomination of history!” Tanner’s exclamation was so loud, he drew glares from some of the tea attendees. He modulated his voice and went on. “It’s a racist text, romanticizing slavery and plantation life.” He glared at Alma before returning to our conversation. “And Glenn thought so too. Their house didn’t even look like Tara until he was murdered. She broke ground on the renovations and on The Duchess theater the very week after he died.”

  I blanched at the convincing case Tanner was building against Alma and longed to sag against the angel statue myself.

  “I’ve heard they didn’t have much in common.” The thought slipped from my lips before I realized maybe I shouldn’t be discussing these matters with a person hell-bent on accusing Alma of murdering her husband.

  Tanner nodded vigorously, a shock of sandy hair landing in his dark-framed glasses before he pushed it away with long, skinny fingers. “They were one of those bickering couples who would have been better off apart. He wanted to keep the soot from the glass factory on the front of The Duchess for history’s sake, and I thought she was going to kill him via heart attack when she made plans to have it powerwashed off.”