“Your house is Tara!” I clapped my hand over my mouth, silently castigating myself for my outburst.
“Yes, dear,” Alma confirmed, seeming to finally remember I was still there, crashing one weird family get-together. “I have one of, if not the greatest, collections of Gone with the Wind memorabilia in the world.” The corners of her mouth turned up in an undeniably cunning smile, and she bestowed it on one of her granddaughters. “Although I should say, you, Becca, now have the greatest collection.”
Rhett rubbed his hands on his knees with such force that I feared they would catch fire. His once-serene blue eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He opened his mouth to say something when a nurse broke his train of thought.
“Time for your medicine, Mrs. Cunningham.” The young woman placed a small, clear cup containing two red pills on Alma’s bedside tray, along with a second cup of water. Alma dutifully took the medicine and blinked up at the woman.
“When can I get out of this godforsaken place?” She’d laid on the Southern charm for this request, the warm, honeyed tones sweetening her plea. Alma’s query brought out a group round of laughter, and the high tension over her collection was finally broken.
“You’ll have to talk to the doctor, Mrs. Cunningham. I bet it won’t be long.” The kind young woman bestowed Alma with a smile and walked out of the room, leaving the old woman to fret in her wake.
“I’ll need to bust out of here soon if I’m going to finish planning the theater reopening.”
“You own a theater?” I figured I might as well ask because I was still there.
“The Duchess,” Alma said with no small amount of pride. “I won’t let a little altercation like this stop me from realizing my dream, even if it has been decades in the making.”
I racked my brain and recalled the snippet of an article I’d read online last week that had mentioned the return of a once-celebrated small theater to downtown Port Quincy. There was a big, modern movie theater at the edge of town, in the same shopping center as the mall. But so far, there wasn’t anywhere to see indie films, or nostalgia pieces like some of the smaller theaters in Pittsburgh. The Duchess, according to the paper, would fill that niche. Garrett and I had been excited about the prospect of a small theater right in the heart of town. I hadn’t realized this was Alma’s project.
“There, there, Alma. You don’t have to worry. I’ve been with you every step of the way for the theater relaunch, and I’m prepared to see it through now that you’re in the hospital.” Jacqueline reached out to touch her mother-in-law’s hand, but Alma snatched it away as if Jacqueline were a snapping turtle.
“I beg your pardon, Jacqueline, but I’ve been making the big decisions for the theater. I’ll continue to shepherd my dream to fruition if I have to sneak out of this hospital to do it. I don’t really need your help.” Alma neatly dismissed her daughter-in-law with a shrug of her shoulders, followed by a wince of pain.
“Like hell you don’t need my help,” Jacqueline muttered under her breath as she leaned away from Alma. Samantha gave her mother’s hand a squeeze, and Becca’s eyes cooled toward her grandmother.
“Besides, I’ll have Mallory to see the details through.” Alma beamed at me and crossed her hands in her lap, the blue veins standing out against the translucent, papery skin.
Say what?
“Um, excuse me?” I sat up straighter in the firm hospital chair and gulped down a flitter of trepidation. What had I walked in to?
“You do plan events, correct?” Alma arched one gray brow and peered at me expectantly.
“Well, yes. Weddings mostly, and a few showers and parties here and there. But the opening is in less than two weeks, right?” There was no way I was taking on another project. Thanks to my sister’s nudging, our plate was more than full with a Mother’s Day tea, a baby shower, and Becca and Keith’s moved-up wedding. Not to mention the other weddings we’d booked.
“The details are almost all finalized,” Alma soothed, while Jacqueline seethed. “You could whip this up in your sleep.” Alma leaned back into her pillow with a sigh that I wasn’t sure wasn’t just a bit calculated to drum up some pity. I took in the Kelly-green scarf as it slid down her neck, exposing the now-angry mottled black and green bruises. A wave of pathos welled up in my chest. The poor old woman had nearly perished in her bedroom the day before. Who was I to refuse her?
“Of course I’ll help you.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could think of a way to let Alma down. I just hoped I wouldn’t regret taking on one more project.
“And I can help too,” Jacqueline muttered under her breath. Alma shot her a sharp look.
I only had a second to consider the relationship between Alma and her daughter-in-law, when the chief of police made an appearance.
“Good afternoon, Alma.” Truman took up the doorway, his six-foot-four frame skimming the trim, his uniform sharp and imposing. “Your doctor told me this would be a good time to begin some questioning.”
Alma gathered her floral robe tighter around herself and seemed to draw up some inner reserve of steel. “If I must.”
Truman seemed to let out a sigh of relief, and I stared in puzzlement at the chief. He wasn’t intimidated by anyone, and I couldn’t see what beef Alma would have with him.
“But I do have one question before we begin.” Alma seemed to relish making Truman pause in midstep as he crossed the hospital room. “How will you manage to find out who did this to me, when my husband’s killer is still on the loose? It’s been one year, and you and your department aren’t any closer to a resolution.” Alma’s old spitfire demeanor had returned in full force, but the show she’d put on seemed to finally catch up with her. She leaned back into her pile of pillows and seemed to satisfy herself with simply giving Truman a steely glare.
“We’re still on the lookout for your husband’s murderer, Alma.” Truman’s voice was professional and sincere, if not a little curt. “You know I personally will not rest until I figure out who did that to Glenn.”
I made a mental note to poke around the online newspaper archives to find out what had happened to Alma’s husband. I could’ve just asked Truman, because he was my boyfriend’s father. But the case was obviously unsolved, and I didn’t want to rub salt in the wound.
Alma made a snuffling sound of dismissal. “Finding my late husband’s killer is more important than what happened to me. We all know why I was strangled.” The ninety-year-old sent Truman a look that clearly read, duh.
“And why is that?” Truman raised one bushy eyebrow, his gaze sweeping toward the last empty chair. No one made a move to invite him to sit.
“My collection, of course!” Alma rolled her blue eyes heavenward and threw up her hands. Truman blinked impassively at her consternation, his poker face out in full force.
“It’s known in all Gone with the Wind circles as the premier collection. Someone obviously trespassed on my beloved Tara and attempted to strangle me to get their dirty mitts on my memorabilia.” Alma stopped and cocked her head as if just realizing something, her fluffy white hair somewhat matted from her stay in the hospital. “My lovely things are still intact, I presume?”
Truman seemed to study the growing cloud of agitation gathering in Alma’s eyes. He turned to the other members of the Cunningham family. “I’d like to talk to Mrs. Cunningham without an audience. If you all wouldn’t mind, you can visit with Alma again soon.” Truman was professionally evasive, neatly sidestepping Alma’s pointed question.
“Anything you say to her you can say to me.” Rhett stood and puffed out his barrel chest, attempting to stand eye to eye with Truman and failing by about a foot.
“Oh, just go, child.” Alma waved off her son with a feeble gesture of her gnarled hand and crossed her hands in her lap. “Let’s get this over with.”
A discordant trill echoed from the direction of Rhett’s pants pocket, and he pulled out his cell phone. “I have to take this,” he muttered. He leaned down to give Alma a br
ief kiss, then made a hasty retreat from the room. I followed him out, hoping to buy enough time to make it back to Thistle Park before heading to the dress shop with Becca. That is, if she still wanted to keep the appointment. Her wedding was in less than two weeks, but perhaps staying with Alma today would take precedence.
Truman paused in the doorway before shutting us out. He flicked his hazel eyes over Rhett and turned to go.
“Wait.” Rhett jabbed at the screen of his cell phone to silence it and grasped the sleeve of Truman’s uniform. Truman raised one bushy eyebrow and carefully extracted Rhett’s pudgy fingers from his arm. He cast him a slightly reproachful look.
“Yes?”
“What’s really going on with my mother’s collection?” Rhett rocked forward on his toes and crossed his arms in anticipation.
Truman glanced in the doorway of Alma’s room and took a step back. His hooded eyes bore no emotion. “We can talk about this later. I didn’t want to upset Alma needlessly in her condition.” He was professionally evasive and moved to sidestep Becca’s father.
“The collection is a family affair, and I am due to inherit the items in question. I need to know the status of my mother’s things.”
What? Didn’t Alma just gift the entire shebang to Becca?
Truman didn’t know Alma had just announced the collection was now Becca’s. I squirmed and plotted my exit from the hospital, debating whether to let Truman know that tidbit later.
Truman ran a hand over his chin and glanced back to the hospital room. Samantha and Becca were fussing over their grandmother, and Jacqueline was staring out the window, shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazed over the parking lot.
“Between you and me,” Truman began, leaning in to deliver his message to Rhett, “the collection has definitely been tampered with. I’ll need a list from your mother and from insurance to match up to the remaining items.”
“Remaining items?” Rhett spluttered out. “Things have been stolen?”
“What was that you said?” Alma’s voice carried across her room and out to us in the hall. She must have had excellent hearing for her age. I recalled the small buds of white plastic protruding from her ears and wondered if they were hearing aids. “You tell me right now what’s going on with my precious things!” I could see from the doorway that Alma had lurched forward in her bed and attempted to swing her legs over the side. “That collection is my baby!”
“I thought I was your baby,” Rhett muttered a bit disgustedly.
“Now you’ve done it.” Truman ran a hand uneasily through his thick salt-and-pepper hair and shook his head at Alma. A sincere and pained look graced his face. A loud clang rang from Alma’s room as some kind of monitor went off.
“Excuse me, you’ll all have to leave.” A nurse pushed past us and quickly bustled into the room, taking in Alma, who was struggling to stand.
“I need to know right now!” The caterwauling of Alma’s cries rose above the noise of the alarm.
“Mrs. Cunningham, what you need to do is lie back.” The nurse pressed an oxygen mask to Alma’s face and the cacophony of the alarm ceased.
“Mother, calm down.” Rhett strode back into Alma’s room and knelt by her side. He spoke to her in calming tones for a brief minute, then dropped a kiss on her cheek and stole from the room. He pushed open a door in the hallway labeled Stairs, while Jacqueline continued soothing her mother-in-law. I took the commotion as my cue to leave and slipped from the scene.
I made my way to the elevator with a heavy heart. Someone had tried to strangle poor Alma. And I’d just taken on another task, planning The Duchess theater opening. A rueful smile did turn up the corners of my mouth. Rachel would be pleased that we had another gig on our plates, though I knew she’d agree it was an unfortunate turn of events that made it so. I jumped when a slender hand thrust itself between the swiftly closing doors and stopped the elevator. Becca bounded into the tiny space and let out a weary sigh.
“Grandma Alma just got a little excited. She’s all right now.” She twisted her massive rock of an engagement ring around and around on her ring finger. “She knows we have a dress fitting, and she sent me off to make sure I kept the appointment.” Becca wore a mask of reluctance on her pretty face and swallowed as the elevator resumed its downward course. I felt myself softening toward Becca. She obviously cared deeply about Alma, and I was finding that I did too. The elevator stopped with a soft thud as we reached the lobby, and I motioned Becca out ahead of me.
“I’ll be right back.” Becca gestured at the twin streaks of mascara marring her cheekbones. She rushed off to the restroom.
And not a moment too soon.
There was Rhett, in all his glory, smooching a woman in the parking lot, not far from the lobby exit. A woman who was most definitely not his wife. Jacqueline was a willowy blonde, and this woman was considerably shorter. She wore a pair of black leggings and a hoodie, so I guessed she was younger than her paramour. But you could never tell these days. It didn’t matter. Jacqueline was upstairs with her mother-in-law, while her husband was canoodling with a mystery woman. I craned on tippy-toes to get a better look as the couple pulled apart to get some air. I couldn’t see the woman’s face, but I did catch a swath of dark brown hair peeking out from a baseball cap, now that the hood of her sweatshirt had fallen down. She wore large sunglasses, the better to conceal her face. The woman broke into a dazzling grin, then set off across the parking lot at a bit of a jog. Rhett sighed contently, and a dreamy smile crossed his countenance. His Quaker-Oats-man equanimity was back. A cheating scoundrel Quaker Oats man, at that.
Does Becca know?
It was possible the bride knew about her father’s dalliance. And if she didn’t, she had a right to know. Then again, the inner workings of the Cunningham family were none of my business. Meddling had gotten me into some sticky situations in the past, and I wasn’t about to dive into this quagmire. It wasn’t my intel to spill, especially on the eve of what should have been a happy day and a momentous occasion, the marriage of Becca, even if it was to my ex-fiancé. A trill of a shiver danced down my back. All was not right with the Cunningham family.
“Are you ready?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin as Becca surprised me by appearing just over my shoulder. I quickly scanned the parking lot before swiveling around to meet her now-composed gaze. Rhett was just returning, his eyes seemingly laden with suspicion.
“Of course. Bev is expecting us, and she’s set aside some gowns you might like.” I gulped as Rhett made a beeline for us. He searched my face, perhaps trying to determine if I’d witnessed his snogfest in the parking lot. I blinked and tried to project a neutral visage, all while I felt my heart jouncing around in my rib cage under the glare of his questing gaze. I must have passed his test because he relaxed and turned to his daughter.
“You’ll look beautiful in whatever you pick out, darling. I’m so thrilled you were able to move the wedding up.” Rhett deposited a kiss on Becca’s forehead, and I couldn’t help but grimace. Samantha took in the scene with narrowed eyes from a chair in the corner of the lobby and rose to meet us. I wondered how long she’d been there, and if she’d seen her father with the other woman. From the murderous glare she sent Rhett, I assumed she had.
“Mom is staying with Alma,” Becca’s twin announced. She linked arms with her sister and pulled her away from Rhett. “C’mon, Becca. You don’t want to be late.”
Becca cast a wistful look at Rhett as she allowed Samantha to pull her through the automatic lobby doors. Her face was laden with sadness, and she looked nothing like a happy bride-to-be. I felt a rush of empathy for her, and then steeled myself.
Buck up. You have a job to do.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Should I really go on with the wedding?” Becca’s blue eyes clouded with concern as they met mine in the rearview mirror. We headed north from the hospital complex, passing fields dotted with black-and-white cows. Soon we passed a bluff overlooking the Mono
ngahela, the river water winking as it reflected the rays of the midday sun.
“It’s what Grandma wants,” Samantha broke in from her seat in the back of my station wagon. “I’d want to postpone too, but Alma wouldn’t want you to delay your wedding now that you have a chance to move it up.”
Becca nodded after her sister’s reassurance and seemed to compose herself. “If anything, getting married in two weeks will inspire Alma to make a quick recovery.” A slight cloud marred Becca’s face. “I wish Alma were well. I could use her help standing up to Helene.”
I kept my hands on the giant steering wheel and sent Becca a brief look of commiseration. “I know just how you feel. Helene bulldozed me too, and I wasn’t even sure how it happened. She’s a force of nature.” I knew it might not be kosher to discuss my own experience planning a wedding to Keith, but the elephant in the room had to be addressed.
Becca let out a false laugh and peered down her perfect nose to give me a pitying gaze. “Our situations are hardly alike, Mallory. We both may have been engaged to Keith, but you couldn’t seal the deal. In two weeks’ time, I will be Mrs. Keith Pierce.” Becca sighed a deep breath of contentment, with a healthy side of gloat, and settled back into the worn, tan leather.
Okay, forget trying to empathize.
I offered her a gentle smile instead of a piece of my mind, and mumbled under my breath as I rolled down my window to get some air. “And you can have him.”
Samantha stifled a giggle from the backseat that came out like a strangled sneeze. The woman’s concern over her father’s embrace with the mystery woman seemed to have evaporated, and I began to question whether she’d actually seen it happen.
I slid my giant car into a tight parallel parking spot and cut the engine. As we approached the bridal shop, Silver Bells, I took in Samantha’s ooh of delight. My friend, Bev Mitchell, owned Silver Bells, and her window display artistry never ceased to amaze me. For the month of May, Bev had crafted a spring scene both sophisticated and cheerful. A garden path fashioned from silver bells in a nod to the store’s name wended its way beneath a blue silk sky with tissue-paper clouds. A garden of silk, tulle, and taffeta flowers in shades of buttercup, lavender, and blush flanked the path. And a dress form stood under a wicker trellis, awaiting its groom. The dress form wore a creamy lace explosion of a dress, a sunny yellow scarf draped over its shoulders. A pink parasol lay in repose on the ground, and several butterflies danced, suspended from the ceiling from invisible wires. The display was jaunty and fresh, and the serene scene calmed my nerves.
Gown with the Wind Page 4
