Spring Fever

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “Don’t kid yourself that he’s had a change of heart, Annajane dear. One little night apart won’t hurt me. Because he’ll be sharing my bed for years and years to come,” Celia gloated. She stepped aside and held the bathroom door open with a flourish. “And don’t bother to wait on an invitation to the wedding. This time, it’s strictly a private family affair.”

  35

  “Voncile,” Celia said, walking into Mason’s outer office. Her voice dripped saccharine. “Don’t you look nice today? I love that shade of chocolate on you. So flattering with your coloring.”

  Mason’s assistant looked up at Celia. “Thank you,” she said, preening just a little, patting her hair and straightening the collar of her blouse. “You look nice, too. But I’m afraid Mason asked me to tell people he can’t be interrupted today. He’s trying to catch up on work.”

  “Actually, I came in here to speak to you,” Celia said. She perched on the edge of the chair opposite Voncile’s. “I’m so excited,” Celia confided. “We’ve rescheduled the wedding for tomorrow.”

  “Congratulations,” Voncile said politely.

  This traitorous Bible-thumping cow will be the first to go after we get back from the honeymoon, Celia told herself. Mason needed a younger, smarter, more attractive woman for an administrative assistant. Although … not too much younger. And not much more attractive. At least he could find somebody with two years of college, for God’s sake. Mason might put up a little resistance, but after he realized how much more time he would have for his personal life, once the office was running efficiently, he would be grateful for her input.

  “But I need your help,” Celia said. “I have a million things to do to get ready by tomorrow and we don’t want Mason to be bothered with the trivial details of a wedding, do we?”

  “Well,” Voncile said, reluctantly.

  “Fine,” Celia said. “I’ll e-mail you the checklist. It’s nothing really. We’ve already gotten the marriage license, of course. We’re just going to have a very small, private ceremony, at Cherry Hill. Very cozy. So I’ll need you to line us up a justice of the peace, and then you can call the florist and arrange for flowers. I’ve sent you a detailed memo about the flowers, so don’t let them talk you into some tacky daisy and carnation horror. And talk to the caterer from the country club, see if they’ll just do some nice appetizers and deliver them to the house. And wine, we’ll need some champagne—I doubt if Sallie has anything decent at her house, so I need you to go to that nice wine shop over in Southern Pines. Get a couple bottles of Vueve Clicquot, and maybe a nice red. I’ll research it and e-mail you what we need…”

  Voncile had been dutifully scribbling notes, but now she put down her pen. “No ma’am,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” Celia said, staring.

  “I am a godly woman. A deaconess. I’ve never set foot in a liquor store in my life,” Voncile said. “And I’m not starting now.”

  “Oh, Voncile, of course you don’t have to go into the store,” Celia said sweetly. “I’ll arrange to have them bring it out and put it in your car. All right? They can put it in your trunk so you don’t even have to look at it.”

  “Well,” Voncile said, not convinced. “What if somebody saw those men putting liquor in the trunk? I have people in Southern Pines. It wouldn’t look right.”

  Celia narrowed her eyes. “Voncile, I really, really need you to do this. I’m sure Mason will be happy to give you a little time off so you can drive over there to pick it up for our wedding. And of course, we’ll pay for your gas and mileage.”

  “All right,” Voncile said reluctantly. She’d been outmanuevered and she knew it. “Since this is for your wedding, I will make an exception this one time.”

  “Fine!” Celia said brightly. “It will mean a lot to Mason to know you’re doing this for our special day. And you’ll let me know right away, won’t you, as soon as you’ve lined up the justice of the peace?” She gave a self-satisfied little smile. “Since you work so closely with Mason, I guess it won’t hurt to let you in on a little secret. I’m expecting! And I want the ceremony done before I start to show.”

  Voncile’s expression remained wooden. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gone, Celia told herself, as she hurried back to her office. That woman is so gone.

  She sat down behind her desk and went back to the list she’d been working on. Flowers. A bouquet for herself, something elegant but understated to go with the dress she’d actually intended to wear to the wedding reception before the church wedding was postponed. A boutonniere for Mason, and a corsage for Sallie, of course. Sophie? Definitely not. She wouldn’t give the little brat a second chance at spoiling Celia’s big moment.

  Her cell phone rang, and she picked it up and answered without a second thought.

  “Well hey, Lil’ Sissy,” a familiar voice said. “Long time, no talk to.”

  “Veronica? How the hell did you get this number?”

  Her older sister laughed unpleasantly. “Our dear cousin Mallery gave it to me. Wasn’t that thoughtful? She called me last week because Aunt Eleanor is in a bad way, and she just happened to mention that dear old Aunt Ellie had gone down to North Carolina to see you get married. Funny thing. I guess my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”

  Dammit. She should have known better than to have invited even one member of her wretched family to the wedding. But she’d thought it would look too odd not to have any family there, and Aunt Eleanor, her mother’s aunt, was reasonably presentable. She should have left well enough alone.

  “What do you want, Veronica? I’m at work, and I’ve got a million things going on today, so I’d appreciate it if you’d make it brief.”

  “Oh, Sissy,” Veronica said mournfully. “You’re about to hurt my feelings. I was just calling to catch up on old times. Hey, Mallery says you’re quite the businesswoman. Had your own dress business, sold it for ten million dollars. Mama and Daddy and the girls and me, we hear you’re rolling in the dough. Mallery says you even paid to fly Aunt Eleanor down for the wedding.”

  “Mallery doesn’t know dick,” Celia said. “I did sell my business, but there were … complications. The money’s all tied up in stock options and stuff like that, so if you’re calling to hit me up for a loan, you can forget it.”

  “A loan?” Veronica laughed. “No, see, I was calling you about the money you owe me. Remember? When you blew town, you stole my car? I’d say the car alone was worth six thousand. And in the glove box in that car was quite a bit of cash that belonged to Eddie? Like three thousand dollars?”

  Celia clicked her fingertips impatiently on the desktop. “That piece of shit Cutlass had a hundred and sixty thousand miles and leaked oil like a sieve. It was worth maybe six hundred, tops. As for the cash in the glove box, it was only eighteen hundred. And since we both know the money was the proceeds from your ex-husband’s sideline of selling oxycodone you stole from your nursing home patients, I figure he’s probably not going to call the cops and report it missing. Six years later.”

  “Fine, you wanna quibble?” Veronica said. “We’ll call it four thousand dollars even. And I won’t even charge you interest, since you’re family.”

  I have no family, Celia thought. I am an only child and an orphan. And I intend to stay that way.

  “And what if I say I’m not giving you a dime?” Celia challenged.

  “Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to call up your ritzy-titzy new family, the Baylesses, and tell them all about your real family—the one you left back here in South Sioux City,” Veronica said.

  “Do that,” Celia said, lowering her voice. “And I’ll call the owners of that shithole nursing home you work at and suggest they check your personnel records at that hospital you got fired from in Lincoln. And then I’ll call the sheriff in South Sioux City. Now, Veronica, I really do have to go. And I suggest you lose this phone number. Immediately.”

  She clicked End on her cell phone, tapped the Block Caller icon on her pho
ne, and went back to work on her to-do list.

  Celia looked down at her list and frowned. Mason had been adamant about no guests, but they had to have two witnesses. Davis? No. He and Mason had been at each other’s throats all week long. And anyway, she thought, allowing herself a very small, very secret smile. She had another task for Davis. A very private task.

  Matt Kelsey? She frowned. If she invited Matt, she’d have to include the insufferable Bonnie. You couldn’t very well not invite the wife if you invited the husband, could you? She shrugged. After they were married she could tactfully unfriend the Kelseys. But for the immediate future, she needed them. In fact, she might as well put Bonnie’s skills to work right now. She picked up her phone and tapped the icon for Bonnie’s cell phone.

  “Bonnie!” she cried. “Please tell me you and Matt don’t have any plans for tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Well,” Bonnie said. “Let me think. I’ve got a tennis lesson in the morning, and I don’t know whether Matt’s playing golf yet.”

  “I can tell you that Mason won’t be playing golf on Saturday,” Celia said. “Because we’ve rescheduled the wedding.”

  “Oh, Celia!” Bonnie said. “I’m so happy for you. So … everything worked out with that unfortunate rumor about you-know-who?”

  Celia held the phone away from her face and smirked. “Just ugly innuendo,” she said. “I don’t know how that kind of talk gets spread around town, do you?”

  “I have no idea,” Bonnie said. “But I bet I know who’s behind a lot of the gossip.”

  “Who?” Celia asked, crossing her eyes. She knew damned good and well that the font of all gossip in Pasccoe was on the other end of the line.

  “Don’t be mad at me for saying this, but I think Pokey Riggs has been telling all kinds of stories on you, Celia.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Celia agreed. “She and you-know-who are thick as thieves. Anyway, I choose to rise above all of that petty stuff. And I know you do, too.”

  “Absolutely,” Bonnie said. “Now tell me about the wedding.”

  “It’ll be tomorrow afternoon at Cherry Hill,” Celia said. “Very, very private and exclusive. In fact, we’re not having any attendants at all. Just Mason and me, the justice of the peace, and Sallie. And our two very dearest friends. If you’re not too busy.”

  “Really?” Bonnie squealed. “We would be honored.”

  “Thank heavens,” Celia said, rolling her eyes. “I was praying you didn’t have any prior commitments.”

  “We’ll clear our calendars,” Bonnie said. “But why such a rush?”

  Celia lowered her voice. “You’ll keep this in strictest confidence, won’t you, Bonnie?”

  “You know me,” Bonnie said. “Whatever you tell me, I’ll take to my grave.”

  “I can hardly believe it,” Celia said. “We really hadn’t planned on starting a family this soon, but sometimes, you know, life intervenes…”

  “Really? Celia, you aren’t. I mean, are you? Pregnant?”

  “I am,” Celia said. “And Mason is over the moon. You won’t tell a soul yet, right? We haven’t even broken the news to Sophie.”

  “I won’t breathe a word,” Bonnie promised.

  Celia hung up and laughed out loud.

  “As if.” The news would be all over town within a matter of minutes. Just a little additional insurance, in case Mason had any second thoughts about backing out on the upcoming nuptials.

  36

  Annajane sat at her desk and clenched and unclenched her fists. The encounter with Celia left her breathless with the kind of fury she’d never experienced before. She wanted to kick something, smash something, break something. Preferably something related to Celia. The bitch had actually ambushed her in the lady’s room.

  Poor Mason, Annajane thought. A life sentence with Cruella de Vil.

  She busied herself with more work, more phone calls and e-mails, but couldn’t manage to completely put aside the white-hot anger seething inside.

  * * *

  Pokey was already sitting at their usual table when Annajane arrived at Janette’s Tea Room. She waved a carrot stick in Annajane’s direction as a greeting.

  “Sorry,” she said, between chews. “I got here early, and I was starving, so I went ahead and ordered for us. You’re having the chicken salad, yes?”

  “Of course,” Annajane said. There were no menus on their table, but after meeting her best friend at Janette’s for lunch nearly every week of their adult life, they didn’t need menus. Pokey always had the special salad with strawberries and pecans and chicken pot pie, while Annajane had the chicken salad plate. They always split a slice of chocolate silk pie.

  Janette’s dining room was a pink and green confection, a Lilly Pulitzer dress come to life, humming with feminine conversation conducted in sugary southern drawls. All the tables in the room were filled with women their age or their mothers’, dressed in floral sundresses or summery pants outfits. Annajane recognized most of the women in the room and smiled and nodded at all of them.

  Pokey sighed contentedly and patted her midsection when the waitress set their plates in front of them. “This baby has got to be a girl. I was hungry when I was pregnant with the boys, but this time around I am ravenous all the time!”

  Annajane took a sip of her iced tea and laughed. “Well, I hope it is a girl, for your sake. When do you find out?”

  “Next week,” Pokey said. She ate a forkful of potpie and frowned. “Mama called right before I left to come over here. She told me about Celia’s baby. I kinda threw up a little in my mouth.”

  “Bad news travels fast,” Annajane said, nibbling at a grape that was part of the fruit garnish. “Did Sallie also tell you about the wedding tomorrow?”

  “No!” Pokey threw her fork against the side of her plate. “You really are doing your damnedest to ruin my appetite, aren’t you?”

  “At least you didn’t have to hear about it the way I did,” Annajane said. “I went to the lady’s room at the plant and Celia was lying in wait for me. Just had to tell me the happy news to my face.”

  Pokey gaped. “She didn’t.”

  “She certainly did,” Annajane said. “She as much as told me to get my ass out of town before she kicked me out.”

  “Tell me you slapped the sass out of her,” Pokey said.

  “I should have, but I didn’t,” Annajane admitted. “I was too shocked to do anything more than stand there with my mouth hanging open. It was unnerving!”

  Pokey took another bite of her lunch and chewed thoughtfully. “We’re not gonna take this lying down, are we?”

  “What can we do?” Annajane asked. “Celia’s pregnant, and she just happened to have picked the one baby daddy on earth who actually feels obligated to do the right thing and marry her.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that ever since mama shared the happy news,” Pokey said. “Sallie is deliriously happy, by the way, at the thought of a Bayless grandbaby with a capital B.”

  “She already has four grandbabies, your three boys and Sophie,” Annajane pointed out.

  “Nuh-uh,” Pokey said. “I’m just a girl. My babies are Riggs babies. So they don’t really count as far as my mother is concerned. Even though Denning is named for Daddy. And then, of course, Sophie is what Sallie thinks of as a ‘yard baby.’ Although she would never dare come out and say so to Mason’s face.”

  “A ‘yard baby’?” Annajane looked puzzled.

  “You know. Yard baby. Do you remember that housekeeper we had when I was little? Cora? I overheard her telling Sallie one day that she had six children at home, but two of them were actually her oldest daughter’s ‘yard babies.’ Later on, I asked Mama about that and she told me a yard baby was a child born to a woman who wasn’t married to the baby’s father.”

  Pokey grinned suddenly. “Which prompted me to ask how a lady could have a baby if they weren’t married. Let me tell you, Sallie Bayless was not prepared to have that conversation with an eight
-year-old.”

  “I’ll just bet,” Annajane said, laughing.

  “Back to Mason, though,” Pokey said. “If he didn’t feel obligated to marry Sophie’s mama, why is he going ahead and marrying that bitch Celia? You know she deliberately got herself knocked up so she could trap Mason into marrying her.”

  “I don’t know,” Annajane said. “He never really talks much about Sophie’s mother. All he told me was that they’d had a very brief fling, right after we were separated, and that the girl wasn’t able to raise a child on her own. I think he’s only agreed to marry Celia because he knows she’d totally be an unfit mother if he weren’t around.”

  “We just can’t let him marry her,” Pokey repeated. “We have to do something.”

  Annajane poked at her chicken salad with her fork, separating out the bits of chicken and almonds and diced celery, but eating little.

  “I think it’s a lost cause, Pokey,” she said sadly. “Unless we find out Celia is a convicted sex offender or bank robber or something by tomorrow, she’s going to be your new sister-in-law.”

  “We can’t give up now,” Pokey said. “Did you find out anything else about her dress company?”

  “I did talk to that woman, Katie Derscheid, who knows your friend Angela,” Annajane said. “She confirmed our suspicions that Celia is a crook. After Baby Brands bought out Gingerpeachy, they discovered that she’d wildly inflated the value of the inventory and her orders. They’re suing.”

  “Hmm,” Pokey said. She finished off her potpie and pointed her fork at Annajane’s plate. “Are you going to eat that chicken salad, or perform an autopsy on it?”

  Annajane pushed it across the table toward her best friend.

  “A lawsuit? That’s pretty interesting. Wonder if we could get a copy of it?”

  “I doubt if it would make much of a difference to Mason,” Annajane said. “I’m pretty sure he has no more illusions about his bride to be.”