“Starbucks could learn a thing or three from me,” he said. “Make a bigger killing if they had more than those sissy-ass drinks on the menu.”
I sipped my coffee, then glanced back over my shoulder to make sure Megan had made a good escape. She had. “Listen, Graham, I need to get home. Maybe I’ll see you again soon.”
“Stay and keep me company a little longer?”
“Sorry. I came with my sister and she has a client.”
“On Saturday?”
“She’s a shrink. Crazy people sometimes don’t know if it’s Saturday or Wednesday.”
“Come on. I could use some intelligent conversation. Every idiot here belongs to my brother James. His clients. His line of credit. His wonderful life.” Graham’s tone told me more than all his previous words or actions—bitter noise from a guy whose blood to alcohol ratio was probably permanently off kilter.
I’m a sap when it comes to drunks and almost felt sorry for the guy, but being a sap was a flaw I had vowed to fix. So I said, “Sorry Graham. Nice meeting you, but I can’t stay.”
I turned and hurried to the kitchen where Kate was just handing her artfully arranged basket of birdseed favors to the bride’s mother when I returned to the kitchen.
That’s when a hair-raising scream ripped through the house. Kate and Sylvia lost their grip on the basket and all those pretty little pouches scattered over the tile floor. Some of the netting opened, sending tiny seeds bouncing in every direction.
Sylvia whispered, “Oh my God!” then took off in the direction of the scream.
I followed, Kate close behind me. We pushed by people who looked frozen in time, their collective silence almost oppressive. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush that heightened my senses, but the mix of seafood and booze and flowers seemed like an ocean I had to swim through.
Sylvia was about three feet ahead of me, but had ditched the high heels somewhere. She snaked through the crowd with ease, heading toward a closed room. When she reached the double doors, she pushed them open but then stopped in the entry. Unable to get past her, I stared over her shoulder.
Megan was sitting on the floor by a fireplace, ivory satin billowing around her like a soft cloud. Her father’s head was in her lap, a huge and vicious Merlotcolored stain damning that once-lovely dress.
Pick Your Poison Page 26