“Whatever happened, now one of the three musketeers is gone.” Owen picked up the picture from his desk and lovingly traced Ginger’s face, letting out a sigh.
“We’d better go,” Dakota offered, standing and cutting the meeting short. She plucked the picture from Owen’s hands and stared at it fondly. “We were so happy then.” The smiling group of teens gazed back at her, frozen in time.
Owen and Dakota shared one more miserable look as we filed out of the office. All save for Rachel, who hung back, her vivid pink nails standing out against the arm of Owen’s plaid shirt. “I’d love to have dinner with you sometime.” She blinked her almond eyes up at Owen, the lashes full and fluttering. I had to hand it to her, my sister knew how to go after what she wanted in life. She had none of Dakota’s hesitancy, and it usually served her well.
Owen seemed startled, a deer caught in the high beams of Rachel’s intense gaze.
Watch out, boy, she’ll chew you up.
“I, um . . .”
“Say yes.” Rachel parted her lips, an expectant smile quivering on her cupid’s-bow mouth.
“I—yes.” He smiled with relief. “Sure. How about tomorrow night?”
“Pick me up at seven?”
I left my sister to hash out the details of her date and ran smack into Dakota, who was leaning furtively in the doorway. She sent a hurt, hot glance at my sister, then settled her spine ramrod straight as we left the Helping Hands Foundation.
“Is there a salon nearby?” Dakota asked, her face set and determined.
“Yup,” Rachel answered, a triumphant grin on her face. “I need to get my nails done for my date with Owen tomorrow. Let’s go.” She linked arms with a stunned Dakota and pulled her along down Main Street.
* * *
We left the salon an hour later, a sparkly silver acrylic set of nails for Rachel, a blowout for me, and a vivid, shining wave of red locks for Dakota. I’d grudgingly taken Adrienne’s advice to heart and straightened my curls, wondering if the smooth and temporary overhaul of my frizzy, sandy hair would play well on camera.
Dakota looked more like the teenage picture of herself with her hair dyed a bright carrot red.
“This is my real color,” she explained, holding a tress up in front of her eyes. “My mother had me dye it a golden blond to downplay the red.”
“That’s nuts!” Rachel shook her head. “You look great as a redhead.”
“Thanks,” Dakota breathed, her annoyance at Rachel’s date with Owen temporarily forgotten. “Roxanne always claimed I looked too Anne of Green Gables with my real hair and freckles.”
“More like Julianne Moore,” I piped up. We’d pulled back into the drive of Thistle Park and advanced up the walk to the front porch. The sun warmed our faces and fluffy white clouds littered the sky. If the trees weren’t so barren, it would seem like late spring.
“What have you done? Your hair!”
Ruh-roh.
Roxanne met us in the front hall, her face a mask of anguish and despair.
“Arf!” Pixie got into the mix and churned in circles around Dakota, the Shih Tzu’s barks high-pitched and accusatory.
Roxanne seemed more in dire straits over the color of her daughter’s hair than she had upon learning about Ginger’s demise.
“I thought I’d go back to red. My real hair color.” Dakota fluffed a few strands, daring her mother to object and flaunting her new do. Dakota had finally grown a spine, as if her fiery hair had infused her with a jolt of much-needed confidence.
“I just don’t know if that’s going to work with casting,” Roxanne muttered, following her daughter down the hall.
“Well, I can always dye it again,” Dakota snapped, brooking no more discussion on the matter.
“Your ceremony dress arrived,” Roxanne seethed, pointing to the corner of the parlor where a gigantic trunk stood. The back corner of the room had been overtaken by a Hooverville of boxes and packages from adoring fans who had found out somehow that Dakota and Beau were getting married at Thistle Park. Whiskey and Soda tore into the room, prancing up the pyramid of boxes and settling at the top to observe us, sphinx like, statue-still, their ochre eyes blinking.
“Well, aren’t you going to try it on?” Roxanne rubbed her hands together in anticipation.
I handed Dakota a pair of scissors from a drawer in a letter desk, and she cut the string and tape from the packaging. We oohed and ahhed appropriately as she revealed a heavy vanilla cream satin ball gown, complete with fur trim at the hem. It was quite different from the reception gown she’d tried on in the Silver Bells bridal store.
“Fake fur, of course,” Dakota assured us, twirling with the dress held in front of her. “I didn’t do a PETA ad to wear real fur on my wedding day.”
Adrienne poked her head around the corner, the camera crew drawing up the rear.
“That dress would have been perfect a few days ago with all of the snow,” she mused, a mischievous look dancing in her blue eyes. “But I’m not sure if it’s quite right for the weather now.”
Oh no. I can see where you’re going with this.
I already had a secret wedding to plan, and Adrienne was up to the usual shenanigans she’d pulled on other episodes of I Do, where she tried to get planners to change their ideas in the eleventh hour to foment some drama for the camera. I was going to put into action the riotous display of red and pink while keeping up the ruse of the black and white wedding, and I’d be wheedled into doing nothing more.
But Roxanne was nodding, warming to Adrienne’s critique. “I’m afraid she’s right, Dakota,” Roxanne sighed, for once agreeing with Adrienne. “Your old winter wedding plans will never do.”
“They’re going to have to,” I said firmly. Adrienne and Roxanne left the room, buzzing about new wedding plans, my admonition not taken seriously.
“Something smells divine,” Dakota breathed, changing back into her leggings and cardigan behind an antique cherry blossom screen.
“It’s the peanut butter cake.” I dropped my voice. “For your secret wedding.”
“Let’s go try some!”
“I’ll be right back with a slice.”
I left Dakota to finish changing and headed for the kitchen. I pushed open the door to the butler’s pantry on the way to the breakfast room and kitchen.
“Allow me—”
There stood Beau and Rachel, caught in what looked like a compromising clinch. Beau appeared to be reaching for a cup, but stopped at the last second to press my sister against rows of china and silverware. He leaned in for a kiss.
Chapter Six
“Get off of me!” Rachel grabbed Beau’s arm and pinned it around his back. He screamed in pain, but Rachel wasn’t done. She’d attended jiujitsu lessons for the past three months to blow off steam, and now she showed off the fruits of her labor. She bent over and flipped Beau onto his back in a neat roll, where he landed in a huff and stayed there. He weakly waved his arms and legs like an overturned cockroach, a moan escaping his chiseled lips.
“I think she broke my freaking back.” His voice was definitely all Jersey now.
An antique platter with orange peonies painted around the edges rolled, toppled, and crashed to the floor, splintering pieces of china every which way in a clattering cacophony.
“You—you hussy!” Roxanne caromed around the corner, her hands on her hips. The crushed platter crunched beneath her feet and Beau finally realized he had an audience. Roxanne swept a barking Pixie from the floor before she could pad over the broken china, and the little doggie gave several short, accusatory barks.
“I am not a hussy. He assaulted me!” Rachel pointed a sparkly silver nail in Beau’s direction. A moment’s worth of chagrin alighted on his impossibly smooth face, but flitted away a second later, replaced with something more calculated.
“That’s not how I see it, miss. I was just reaching for that cup that was too high up for you to grasp.” He shook his head sadly, casting a sympathetic glance at Rac
hel.
“If my sister says you came on to her against her wishes, then that’s what happened.” My eyes narrowed to slits, and I had to still my hands at my side.
“What’s going on here?” Dakota leaned against the doorframe, her eyes wide.
“I was helping Rachel get a cup,” Beau explained, his voice half-twangy, half not. “She misinterpreted it and laid me flat on my back!”
Dakota tsked softly, holding out her hand for Beau to grasp.
She believes him?
Dakota helped Beau up to his feet and turned expectantly to me. “Do you have a broom? I’ll help clean up this platter.”
I pointed her in the direction of the kitchen, stunned by her easy acceptance.
My sister stood, still breathing hard on the side of the butler’s pantry.
“He tried to kiss me,” she said in a clear, low voice.
“I know what I saw, too,” I replied.
“And . . . cut!” Xavier nodded to the camerawoman and took a step back.
“You filmed this?” I stood incredulous and disgusted as I realized the whole fiasco with octopus-armed Beau had just been memorialized forever for I Do viewers.
“This will be our highest-rated episode—I can feel it.” Xavier practically rubbed his hands together with glee.
A waft of smoke overtook the decadent peanut-butter-cake aroma and curled around the corner of the butler’s pantry.
“Oh no, my cake!” Rachel zoomed around the corner to rescue her confection, knocking into the camerawoman, I observed with some satisfaction. It was too late. The smoke detectors all around the first floor started blaring out a clarion warning.
That cake isn’t the only thing going up in flames.
* * *
An hour later, things were under control, but I felt like I resided in the Twilight Zone. Dakota believed Beau hook, line, and sinker. He’d concocted some silly story about Rachel asking him to help her reach some china, and how she’d slipped in her heels, falling against him. But I know what I saw, and I’d bet Dakota knew too. I think Roxanne reminding her of her contract to finish this episode of I Do and the brand-enhancing qualities of a marriage to one of country music’s biggest, if not waning, stars might bring had something to do with Dakota’s change of heart as well.
“I believe my fiancé.” Dakota’s words were impassioned. I think she did believe him. We were sitting in her room, the lovely purple honeymoon suite outfitted with pansies and violets and lots of French cream accents.
My nerves were frayed and I couldn’t help delivering a jab in solidarity with my sister. “You believe your fiancé, or you believe what you want to believe?”
Dakota winced at my bull’s-eye zinger and stared at her diamond. “I know what people say about Beau. But I love him. And he would never cheat on me,” she announced firmly.
“I’d like to save you a lot of trouble.” I took a deep breath and waded in. “I know what I saw. And I believe my sister.”
Blood was thicker than water, and I didn’t need this fizzy celebrity Perrier version of water anyway. If I could convince Dakota that her fiancé was a no-good, down-and-out lothario, she’d thank me later.
“I believe my fiancé, Mallory. Rachel didn’t do anything, but neither did Beau. It was an honest mistake. He’s about six inches taller than her, and she was reaching for that cup.” It was all true, up to a point. But then he’d leaned down in an unmistakable stance, about to deliver a kiss that just barely hadn’t happened.
I’d seen Dakota beamed in on my television nearly each day after school. She was an exemplarily gifted actress. And she was playing her finest role right now.
Why does she want to marry Beau so badly?
I shook my head, the silky straight hair treatment I’d received at the salon feeling strange and adding to my feelings of being out of sorts.
Dakota sighed and stood. “The show must go on.”
I reported back to Rachel and the two of us held a conference.
“I want to cancel this whole thing.” I paced around our third-floor apartment, still mad at the gall and lies spewing from Beau. “It’ll be tight with the bills coming through for the Winter Ball, but we don’t need Beau’s business. I’m not sure if I can cancel some of the things we ordered for Dakota’s wedding, but we can try—”
“Stop.” Rachel held up her hand. “I want to follow through with this abomination of a wedding. If Dakota wants that slug, she can have him. I still think the business we’ll get from being on I Do is worth it.”
“But—”
“No buts. I can handle myself just fine.” Rachel raised her chin with infinite dignity and extracted a small vial from her pocket. “And the next time that rat bastard takes a step toward me, he’ll get an eyeful of this.”
It was the little spray bottle of mace our mother had gifted us at Christmas.
“Now that’s something I’d like to see.”
Rachel and I headed down the stairs to the kitchen, a united force. Beau and Dakota had retired to their room, and I helped Rachel by making the chocolate frosting for the peanut butter wedding cake that she’d started to bake anew. My heart was no longer in the process, but I would fulfill my contract to Dakota with aplomb.
Adrienne dug around the crisper in the refrigerator, amassing ingredients for another smoothie for Xavier. She closed the door with a snap and leaned in to stare at a photograph of Garrett, Summer, and me at a pumpkin patch. She stood stock-still for a moment, and then began to chop veggies and fruits furiously, reducing the mountain of roughage to a tidy pile ready for the blender.
“You must be very close to my daughter.” She tilted her head toward the picture and pressed the button on the small appliance. The machine whirred and ground the veggies and fruits to bits.
She didn’t wait for my reply and silenced the machine.
“I have a proposition for you.”
I braced myself for whatever was coming.
“I don’t mean to create more work for you, but—”
Yeah, right.
“The winter theme simply won’t do for this wedding. I was thinking of a new, early springtime palette.”
“It’s too late,” I said flatly, crossing my arms. “It’s impossible to change the plans at this date.”
Okay, not technically impossible, since I was still going to go through with the new plans for Dakota’s secret pink-and-red-themed Valentine’s Day wedding. But one wedding change was enough.
“But you have a nearly unlimited budget.” Adrienne blinked innocently, then turned to the concoction in the blender. She poured it into a tall, clear glass, the smoothie a deep aubergine color, much like amethyst-tinted sludge. I caught a whiff of blueberries and fish oil.
Xavier breezed into the room and deposited a kiss on Adrienne’s cheek. He took a delighted sip of his smoothie. He confirmed my suspicions. “Antioxidants from berries and beets and a whole host of omega threes. It can’t be beat. Care for a sip?”
“Um, no thank you.”
Blech.
“Have you seen the footage from this afternoon? This will be the most watched I Do ever.”
I couldn’t tell what disgusted me more, Xavier’s glee at future ratings at the expense of Dakota and Rachel’s dignity, or his odoriferous drink. Scratch that. His naked hunger for better ratings and the patently dramatic definitely bothered me more.
A single thought skittered through my brain.
What if Xavier arranged for Ginger’s death to drive up ratings? A murdered maid of honor for a celebrity wedding would sadly be a draw.
I batted the thought away like a pesky mosquito.
Don’t be preposterous.
“Adrienne is right, you know,” Xavier continued, wiping away a streak of purple from his upper lip. “You really ought to change the wedding to accommodate the early spring. It’ll showcase your talents as a wedding planner.”
I closed my eyes and took a nice, deep, fortifying breath. I exhaled and offered what I ho
ped was a beatific smile.
I will be a calm sea of equanimity, I chanted to myself.
“Of course.”
Adrienne’s smile faltered. She’d obviously wanted a blow-up over the last-minute demand to change plans.
* * *
Rachel and I worked all afternoon to come up with a warmer-weather-themed plan. We were filmed as we worked, and I’d finally gotten used to the ever-present cameras. Rachel had stopped acting in the presence of the crew, and she settled into a comfortable rhythm, tweaking recipes and humming to herself.
I explained the new yellow sunshine theme I’d come up with for the warm-weather, early spring nuptials. It turned out the little furry groundhog had been right. I’d met briefly with Dakota and we’d agreed to keep up the ruse. I could showcase my planning skills for the camera, and I’d turn this wedding plan into a theme for Owen’s foundation’s event.
“The color palette will be lemon and cream, with navy and sage accents,” I explained to the camera. “We’ll use some of the silver accents from Dakota’s original wedding, like the vases and plates. But we’ve completely overhauled the wedding. We’ll have new paper lanterns in cream and yellow starbursts, and pale butter runners. Guests will now dine on citrus salad, lemon sole, and tangerine chiffon cake.”
The camera panned to Rachel, and she explained how she’d decided on that particular cake flavor.
“We’ll also serve Arnold Palmers, shandies, and lemon drop cocktails,” my sister explained, gesturing to a beautiful display of the drinks.
Xavier smiled as he said cut.
“You ladies are naturals.” He beamed. “And for what it’s worth, Rachel,” he whispered, “about Beau? I believe you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Xavier sighed. “Everyone seems to know about Beau’s apparent inability to keep his hands to himself.” He made a face. “A lot of women go along with it because he’s a star. I’m glad you set him in his place.”
Rachel sampled her cake, jabbing her fork into the slice with a bitter stab. It jounced against the plate and made a high-pitched squeak.
“Who just goes around kissing whomever he wants?” Her face was incredulous as she took a bite of delicious tangerine chiffon cake.
Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue Page 8
