Becca went silent as all of our heads swiveled in unison to take in Helene Pierce, standing in the doorway of the deck in one of her trademark Chanel boucle jackets. Her face was a malevolent smirk, her pageboy haircut fanned out above her ears like a king cobra.
“I see you opened the pool before Memorial Day,” she tsked as she made her way to the table. “A savage move, but not unexpected.”
“Mother—” Keith rose to greet Helene, carefully stepping in front of a seated Becca, as if to shield her. Becca frantically grabbed at the idea book of her wedding and shoved the large tome under the table.
“What’s this?” Helene nimbly retrieved the book and did a cursory flip-through, her papery cheeks growing red and mottled under her peach blush.
“This looks like Thistle Park.” Her voice was quiet and quaking, the volcano about to erupt. “And just when were you planning on carrying out these clandestine plans to wed?”
“In two weeks,” Samantha answered brightly. She seemed to have misunderstood Helene’s hot face for excitement, not barely controlled anger.
“Not on my watch!” Helene tossed the idea book into the pool, where it broke the smooth expanse of blue and sent up a splash. “And at Thistle Park, no less? You!” She turned to me, her index finger a mere inch from my nose. “You are behind this, once again?”
“Calm down, Helene.” I took a step back from my once mother-in-law to be and bumped into Rachel, who sent Helene a powerful glower. “Perhaps if you had been a bit more understanding, Becca and Keith would have included you in their plans.” Helene was a pistol, but I didn’t think she’d ever resort to fisticuffs, no matter how mad she got.
“You little—” Helene lunged for me. I’d miscalculated.
A flash of white materialized at my elbow, and I barely comprehended the wooden cane that nimbly tapped Helene behind the knees, setting her off balance. Helene grabbed at my elbow as she went down and nicked the edge of the large silver tray laden with appetizers.
The beautiful plated pyramid of elaborate sushi made a quick return to its marine beginnings, toppling into the pool with a satisfying splash. Edamame and a rainbow of sushi rolls bobbed upon the waves like a mini school of fish come to the surface. The contents from upended bowls of wasabi drifted around in the water like green algae.
And above it all was Helene’s frantic caterwaul. She continued to carry on, splashing and screaming, channeling the melting witch in the Wizard of Oz.
“I can’t swim! Help me!” She bobbed under the water again and resurfaced, gasping and gulping in huge breaths of air. Her gray locks finally succumbed to the effects of the water despite a prodigious amount of hairspray. Wet clumps of hair hung limply on either side of her face.
“You’re in the shallow end. Just stand up.” Becca’s voice was spasmodic and high-pitched. I wondered if she was upset, when I realized she was trying to hold back gales of laughter. She finally gave up and began to hysterically giggle, tears rolling down her face, leaving inky trails of mascara.
Keith looked at his bride in disgust and shrugged off his navy sports coat. “I’ll fish you out, mother.” He leaned over the edge of the pool and meekly offered his hand. Helene grasped it like a drowning woman and nearly pulled her son into the pool. Keith hoisted her up and out of the water, careful not to get too wet himself. Helene stood quaking with rage, a puddle of cold water forming below her now ruined pale blue suede kitten heels. Rivulets streamed down the sleeves of her sodden wool boucle Chanel jacket, and her plaid skirt clung to her frame.
“This is all your fault, Mallory Shepard.” She crooked her index finger in my direction, the large sapphire wobbling. I took a step back and bumped into Rachel. It was our cue to leave.
Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue Page 27
