Gown with the Wind

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “Um, Becca—”

  “Meet me at my house. It’s an emergency.” The line went dead.

  I smirked at my sister. “Becca’s been taking lessons from Helene. She just summoned me and hung up before I could wiggle out of it.”

  Rachel giggled as I stood to get ready for my apparent meeting with Becca.

  Fifteen minutes later, I found myself turning into Windsor Meadows. My interest had been piqued. I was also genuinely worried about Becca. Her grandmother Alma had been strangled, her childhood rival was murdered in her very own swimming pool, and a serious attempt had just been made on her still-not-divorced husband. If Becca said something was an emergency, it probably was.

  I pulled into the circular drive in front of the Rubik’s Cube of a house and cut the Butterscotch Monster’s engine. I hesitated as I swung my legs out of the car. Perhaps I should call Truman. If Becca truly had some newsworthy revelation, he should probably hear it first. I decided at the last minute to hear her out.

  “You came.” Becca flung open the red-lacquered double doors before I had a chance to ring the bell. She pulled me into the hall and the peach great room beyond and offered me a seat. I sunk into a deep white couch covered in a pattern of seashells and starfish, and accepted the glass of white wine she pressed into my hands. Becca carried her own glass of the stuff, more like a bowl-like goblet. She paced around the great room as she gathered steam.

  I took a sip of the wine, a delicious chilled dessert Riesling, then set it aside. I hadn’t eaten much today, what with the running around at the event, then later nerves killing my appetite. I had to drive home, and I hoped to do so soon. Becca shared no such concerns and took a healthy swig from her glass.

  I noticed that the view to the redwood deck, obsidian rock garden, and pool was now occluded by a bank of new peach curtains. They shut out the darkness, both the literal kind, which had appeared as the sun set on my drive over, and the figurative darkness of the memories of what had happened to Felicity in the pool.

  “Where’s Keith?” I glanced around the mostly quiet house. Pickles snored softly on a grand cat condo installed by a window overlooking a bird feeder. He seemed quite content in Becca’s company, and I relaxed, thinking he was a truly happy kitty, reunited with her.

  “He’s still at work in Pittsburgh.” Becca waved her hand dismissively, a slosh of wine running down the edge of her goblet. I didn’t envy the long hours Keith still had to put in as an attorney, now partner at his big Pittsburgh firm. I still pulled long hours as a wedding planner, but I enjoyed my work much more.

  “I’ll get right to it.” Becca set down the goblet and turned to me with a look of utter anguish marring her pretty features. “I wonder if I should remain married to Eric.”

  I felt my mouth open and quickly shut it. This wasn’t what I’d expected when I’d been summarily summoned over.

  “Well, you are technically still married to Eric,” I added lamely.

  “I’m considering canceling my wedding to Keith.” Becca resumed her pacing and avoided my gaze.

  I took another swig of wine after all.

  “Lots of brides have second thoughts. And I’m no marriage counselor, but depending on how strongly you feel, maybe going through with it isn’t the best idea.” I didn’t want to be responsible for jettisoning Becca and Keith’s nuptials, but if the bride was still interested in her former husband, that was a pretty big seismic shift to attend to.

  “Why did you end up calling off your wedding to Keith?” Becca stopped in her tracks and searched my face for an answer.

  Are you joking?

  Keith’s infidelities no longer stung. In a strange way, canceling my wedding to him, and the effects of his affair with Becca, had led to some pretty wonderful things. I’d inherited Thistle Park from his grandmother Sylvia, started my wedding planning business, and fallen in love with Garrett. But the inciting incident had been Keith’s affair with Becca.

  My face must have telegraphed the answer, because a furious blush stole over Becca’s face. She pulled her blond hair into a hasty ponytail to give her fidgety hands something to do, her trademark stripe of roots still visible.

  “I’ve been thinking about why I dragged my feet on divorcing Eric. I used him being out of the country as an excuse. But maybe there was a reason we stayed married.” She perked up. “I think the stars are aligning for us right now.”

  I thought those must be some crazy celestial patterns if they were aligning to give us this messed-up week of murder and mayhem, but I didn’t share my thoughts with Becca. She dreamily stared off into the distance, and I wondered if she’d had an earlier glass of wine from that big goblet before I’d arrived.

  “I’d like you to take me to the hospital to see Eric.” It wasn’t a request really, but a command. Becca scooped up her Louis Vuitton bag and slung it forcefully over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  “Is this a good idea?” I glanced at my watch. It was already evening. “I bet visiting hours are over.”

  “But I’m his wife.” A slow smile stole over Becca’s face as she reclaimed the title.

  Oh dear.

  “Plus, I got a text from Keith that he’ll be spending the night in Pittsburgh. He’s about to wrap up discovery on a big case. One he wants to finish before our wedding.” Becca realized what she’d just said and colored anew.

  I felt sick as I took my spot behind the wheel. I recalled the long nights Keith had been away from our shared apartment in Pittsburgh. Some of them had been legitimate work sessions, while others had been dates with Becca. And now I was trapped in my station wagon with the woman in question, helping her to elude Keith to see her former paramour.

  “You’re close to Truman, right?” Becca squinted in the glare of another driver’s high beams and caught my glance in the rearview mirror. “Who does he think tried to kill Eric?”

  “I haven’t a clue.” And even if I did, I wouldn’t share it with Becca. But I could do some sleuthing of my own. “Do you think Felicity’s death has anything to do with the attempt on Eric’s life?”

  Becca’s hopeful look soured, and she sent me an impressive glare. “That woman has nothing to do with Eric.”

  “According to your sister and to Eric, she visited him and Piper quite a bit in Colombia.”

  And collected quite a bit of extra cash, according to Truman.

  Becca appeared to have been sucker punched at the mention of Piper’s name. “I haven’t the slightest idea. But I’m sure the murder of riffraff like Felicity has nothing to do with the attack on my Eric.”

  We drove in testy silence the rest of the way to the hospital complex just south of town. One thing was obvious: Becca was firmly in Eric’s camp, and hadn’t gotten over him at all. I wondered if she’d been having these feelings since he crashed Whitney’s baby shower, or if Eric’s brush with death had reawakened her ardor.

  “I’ll just wait here.” I parked in a lot near the front entrance and waved my phone. “Just text me when you’re done.” I’d aided and abetted Becca enough.

  “Don’t be silly. I need you.” Becca leaned across my seat and opened my door. I numbly followed her through the lobby to the waiting room of the ICU.

  “You came!” The woman who bore a striking resemblance to Eric rose from her couch and gave Becca what looked to be a bone-crushing hug. She glanced down the hallway with a nervous movement, and it was then I realized Piper was nowhere to be seen. She hadn’t been at the B and B when I’d left to see Becca, and I’d assumed she’d be at the hospital with her fiancé.

  “Judith, it’s so good to see you.” Real affection shone in Becca’s eyes. “Is Eric awake?”

  The older woman shook her head, but a well of hope shone on her face. “He isn’t at the moment, but we got to talk to him briefly after surgery. He was groggy, but still with us, if you know what I mean.” She brightened. “Would you like to see him?”

  Becca followed Eric’s mother to the nurses station, and the three wome
n engaged in what I’m sure was an odd conversation. The nurse stared at Becca incredulously, then led her to a nearby room. I bet she’d seldom had the opportunity to meet a patient’s fiancé and current wife in the same evening.

  “Eric never should have left Becca.” His mother sighed as she returned to the couch. “Becca is so much better suited to him than Piper. If only Eric will see that when he recovers.”

  I winced as I recalled Eric’s confession of renewed feelings for Becca at the Greasy Spoon. Little did Eric’s mother know, he was on the same page as Becca.

  Becca retreated from Eric’s room with tears coursing down her cheeks.

  “Thank you, Judith,” she whispered.

  “What are you doing here?” Piper emerged from the elevator and stopped as the doors closed behind her. She held a candy bar in her hand, and her classic-cinema-era good looks were tinged with sadness and fatigue. Her sleek, shining pixie cut clung to her skull, and her shoulders were hunched. Yet she seemed to draw on some inner reserve as her eyes narrowed on Becca.

  “I’m here to see my husband.” Becca held her chin up high and proud, and reached for Eric’s mother’s hand.

  Oh no she didn’t.

  “Get out.” Piper’s voice was low, clear, and threatening.

  “I have every right to be here.” Becca stood, and I realized three nurses were now listening in from their station. “In fact, as Eric’s wife, I have more of a reason to be here than you do.”

  “You little—” Piper lunged for Becca, but I managed to pull her off. Judith similarly contained Becca, but it was too late. Hospital security materialized ten seconds later, and summarily ordered everyone out but Judith. I’d never been happier to be kicked out of a joint in my life.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Becca’s declaration of renewed affection for Eric occupied way too much real estate in my mind as I worked with my sister to put together the finishing touches for Alma’s theater gala. I’d eventually pushed thoughts of Becca and her confusing love life from my head in order to give The Duchess theater my full attention. Rachel and I spent the day finishing the prep we’d started a few days before. We’d succeeded in repurposing the full courses for the Gone with the Wind–themed wedding into bite-size hors d’oeuvres for Alma’s premiere.

  I’d managed to hire back the canceled servers Alma had originally booked, although at a steeper, last-minute price. I was still grateful Rachel and I wouldn’t be handling the event by ourselves. We unloaded food from the van we’d rented and quickly set up hot plates, china, stemware, and napkins on the tables we’d been able to rent last minute, also at a healthy surcharge.

  “Now that our portfolio has expanded, we should buy our own van.” Rachel’s eyes took on a dreamy cast as she unwrapped a foil-topped tray of canapés.

  “That’s a nope.” I lined up bottles of red and white wine inside the bar and stepped aside for the bartender. “Purchasing a van like the one we rented tonight would bust our budget for a whole season.”

  Rachel pouted at my attempt to ground her back on planet Earth, but quickly brightened as we neared the finish line of our setup. We stopped as we ferried in the last bit of linens and craned our heads back to take in the beautifully refurbished theater. A few guests were already lining up to take their places near the door.

  The Duchess gleamed, every bit as fancy and stately as the inaugural moviegoers in their black tie. I marveled at the transformation the building had undertaken. When I’d first arrived in Port Quincy last summer, the building had been shrouded in drop cloths and scaffolding. It must have been soon after Glenn’s death, when Alma kicked her renovations into high gear.

  And maybe she was able to do so because Glenn had been standing in her way and was conveniently murdered.

  I shuddered at the macabre turn my mind had taken, and determined that the evening would be a success. Rachel and I waited in the wings as more and more denizens of Port Quincy assembled on the red carpet we’d rolled out on the sidewalk in front of the theater entrance. Attendees pulled up and got out of cars whisked away by valets.

  Alma positioned herself near the front door, greeting each person as they arrived. She wore a deep plum ensemble with a chiffon skirt and matching sequin jacket. Her cane had a shiny new silver topper. Alma deposited a rather perfunctory kiss on Jacqueline’s cheek as her daughter-in-law and son arrived. I knew how painful this evening must be for Jacqueline, because Alma hadn’t let her participate in the planning and resurrection of a theater that she technically co-owned. Jacqueline hissed something at Rhett, and the jolly look slid right off his face. I wondered what they were arguing about, and what had upset Samantha as well. Becca’s twin was dressed in a pretty black cocktail dress with a smattering of dark sequins, with a matching dark look on her face. She narrowed her eyes at the back of her father’s head, then ducked into the theater before the movie began, without getting any refreshments.

  I held my breath as I glimpsed Becca’s trademark dark stripe of hair flash before me on the red carpet. She wore a daring dark-blue velvet dress, the neckline a deep V. She sported a choker of sapphires around her neck, and her princess-cut engagement ring from Keith was firmly anchored on her ring finger. She entered the building on the arm of Keith, clad in a tuxedo. Their appearance together didn’t ease my racing thoughts. I wondered if Keith would ever find out about her visit to Eric in the hospital. And if Becca had made any permanent decisions about which man she would choose to be with.

  One of the last couples to arrive, Keith and Becca stopped to converse with Alma. Their friendly chitchat was broken up by a rousing chant brewing outside.

  “What are all those people doing?” Rachel squinted out the front glass windows of the theater for a better look.

  “I think they’re protestors.” I spotted Tanner Frost, and gave an inward sigh of relief. If he was free to be out and about protesting, then Truman hadn’t arrested him for either Felicity’s murder or the attempt on Eric’s life. Tanner was surrounded by about thirty other like-minded protestors. They held hand painted and professionally printed signs with slogans like, “Educate, Not Hate!” and “Gone with the Wind, Be Gone.”

  “What gives? It’s just a movie.” Rachel straightened a pile of napkins and gave a shrug.

  “There are some theaters that won’t show Gone with the Wind.” I thought back to Tanner’s impassioned diatribe against the book and movie. “Some think it hasn’t held up well to the test of time, and that even when it was written and filmed, there were depictions that were racist or romanticized slavery in the South.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “Then why is Alma showing the film?”

  I cocked my head and pondered my answer. “There’s a lot to learn about the history of the movie itself, and the writers, producers, and directors’ decisions. But I think Alma just adores the film and the novel for the story itself. It’s timeless, much beloved, and part of the American canon. I honestly can’t wait to see it again, and decide for myself.”

  “I’m going to chase them out.” Alma peered outside the front glass at the pavement and the chanting protestors. “I won’t let them ruin my theater reopening!” Alma flung open the door and stepped outside to confront the crowd. Just then, a TV station from one of the Pittsburgh news outlets pulled up to film the protest and interview the attendees. Alma appeared beside herself. She seemed to be weighing the boon of getting her theater reopening on television with the reality that they were filming a protest against her film choice.

  Just as Alma opened her mouth to give the protestors a piece of her mind, the eggs began to fly. Raw yolks and shells splattered on the pavement and the front of the glass as the protestors lobbed them with precision.

  “Arggh!” Alma beat a hasty retreat into the theater, just in the nick of time. A large brown egg splattered the glass door and cracked into gooey smithereens as she slammed the door behind her. The lobby of the theater erupted in chatter as Truman appeared outside to break up the protest.

/>   “They’ve nearly ruined everything!” Tears sprung at the corners of Alma’s usually twinkling blue eyes. “How could they?”

  “Free speech is important, Grandma,” Samantha gently stated at Alma’s side.

  “Be that as it may,” Alma sniffed. “They didn’t need to throw the eggs.”

  The protestors’ appearance colored the rest of the party portion of the evening even after they’d disassembled. Eggs littered the sidewalk and red carpet outside the Duchess, and guests exclaimed over them just as much as they did over our menu. I couldn’t wait to actually start viewing the film, to see if my viewpoint lined up more with Alma’s love for the film or the protestors’ critique.

  “Despite the interruption, I think we can call this evening a success.” I hung back to observe the attendees noshing on our menu and sipping sparkling wine. Even Alma seemed to have settled down, and stopped to thank us for whipping together the event from the ashes it had been last week. She did cause Rachel to raise her eyebrows when she declared my sister’s daringly cut ruby satin minidress worthy of Belle Watling. Thankfully, I didn’t think Rachel was aware of the character’s role in the film.

  Guests sipped on lemonade, shandies, and mint juleps in addition to sparkling wine. There were fried green tomatoes and bite-size portions of the tarragon fried chicken Keith had been so smitten with. We’d repurposed the savory cheddar shrimp and grits into tiny puff pastry cups, and served the same pecan tartlets we’d dished up to Becca and Keith at their tasting. A photographer from the Eagle Herald wandered around snapping digital photos of all that could be considered the glitterati of Port Quincy, except for Helene, whose absence was notable. I’m sure after her dip in the pool at the hands of Alma’s cane, she would never set foot in The Duchess theater.

  And Garrett was missing too. I let out a sigh of relief as I finally got a return text from him, explaining that he was tied up with work and would join me soon. I caught a whiff of my sister’s perfume, all sweet strawberry and musk, as she leaned over my shoulder to read my screen.