CHAPTER SIX
“Third time’s the charm,” I muttered. I had ordered food for the Japanese cherry blossom–themed wedding and Helene’s country club imitation meal and now was repurposing some of it for this latest iteration of the menu. But some food couldn’t be used for the wedding. Helene was paying me an obscene amount to make this wedding come off, and it wasn’t the change of plans that bothered me but the perceived waste of it all. Luckily, the food would be used by those in need, as I was going to donate much of it to the Helping Hands Foundation, run by my newly married friends, Owen and Dakota.
And today’s tasting was going to be a more subdued affair. We would just be hosting Becca and Keith; the rest of the Cunningham clan had thankfully remained home, presumably to tend to Alma.
“Homestretch,” Rachel muttered as she put the finishing touches on a miniature version of a cake for the couple. The confection was three tiers of peach cake swathed in glossy light pink icing, with pale green ribbon trim and magnolia accents scattered here and there. The beauty of the cake had taken its toll on my sister. She’d spent extra time with her under-eye concealer this morning in our shared bathroom after baking the cake in the wee hours of the morning.
“Whatever happens, it’ll be over in less than two weeks. We can do this.” I slid trays of the representative meal into the oven to warm, and a trill of déjà vu trickled down my spine. Of course it did. I’d done this twice before. I didn’t appreciate the fire-drill atmosphere that catering to Becca created, but deep down, my heart still went out to her. Her grandmother Alma had just been through the ordeal of a lifetime, and Becca herself was about to tether herself to Keith forever. And perhaps more concerning, to Helene for the rest of her life. It was enough to make a girl feel for her enemies.
“Let’s do this.” I held up my hand and Rachel gave me a weary high five. We ferried an elaborate place setting for two out to the gazebo near the rear of our property. Rachel had insisted on wearing heels, in the form of sky-high wedges, the better to not sink down into the grass. We started out on the herringbone-brick paths of the garden, then off-roaded it to wend our way through the smooth expanse of emerald lawn to get to the gazebo.
The florist Lucy Sattler from the Bloomery had arrived near dawn to work her prodigious magic. I’d been shocked she’d agreed to decorate the gazebo for this impromptu tasting. She’d had an opening, and I was sure the obscene amount of money Becca, Keith, and Helene had collectively pledged to spend on flowers hadn’t hurt.
In three more trips, our work setting up the tasting was finished. The intricate white gazebo echoed the Italianate design of the mansion, with a gingerbread trim of curlicues, swirls, and flowers. A small thistle weather vane stood at attention at the top of the cupola, gently twirling in a slow circle from the wind. The columns of the gazebo were twined in swaths of magnolias and pink roses and ribbon, recalling the May Day festival the town had just held. A wicker table sat within, a sturdy and jaunty seersucker tablecloth laid over it. Dishes from the latest proposed menu for the wedding were served on a delicate china pattern featuring buttercups. I was proud of this latest tasting we’d whipped up for Becca and Keith, and couldn’t help but hope they’d also love it.
“This weather is too cool. It had better warm up in two weeks.” Becca bemoaned the temperature as she minced across the lawn in spike heels.
“Here we go,” I whispered to Rachel, who grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Mallory, can’t you do something about this?” Keith frowned as he offered Becca his arm when she stumbled.
“About the weather?” I tried to wipe away the incredulous look I felt steal over my face. “I suppose we could rent some more heat lamps and set them around the property, although it might be too late. I think your guests will dress appropriately for an outdoor spring wedding.” My eyes flickered to the couple themselves. Keith wore one of his ubiquitous sports jackets, but Becca was clad in a gauzy, insubstantial mint-green sundress. She pulled her thin cardigan closer to her to ward off some of the chill.
“It’s pretty early in the morning now. Your midafternoon wedding will be warmer.”
“No, no, no! Get the heaters.” Becca’s mouth twisted down in a frown.
“They’re quite costly, especially this late—”
“Whatever she wants, get it,” Keith said in a practiced monotone. Becca beamed at him, her frown turned upside down. But it quickly returned, as she found her four-inch spike heel mired deep in the grass.
“And we’ll need a temporary path installed so guests can avoid this hideous grass on their way to the gazebo.” Becca slid off her shoe, a pretty striped mint affair, but the footwear stayed stubbornly stuck to the ground. “What the—”
She pulled and pulled, and the shoe came free, unfortunately separate from the heel, which stayed in the earth as the shoe broke in two.
“Allow me.” Keith gently removed Becca’s other shoe from her foot and gallantly ripped off the other heel. It was a clever solution, and I smiled at his ingenuity. It was silly and reminded me of the old Keith I once knew and loved, the man I almost married. Buried inside his new quest for money and his blind allegiance to Helene was the person I’d once almost pledged my life to. Maybe I hadn’t been crazy to have once been engaged to Keith after all.
Keith presented the newly augmented shoes to Becca, as if they were Cinderella’s finest glass slippers.
“What have you done?” Becca’s voice was a mere screech as she stared incredulously at her pair of ruined shoes. “Those are Balenciagas! Oh Keith, how could you?”
“Balenci-what?” Keith shook his head slowly at his bride. “Sorry, Bec, I was just trying to help.”
Becca snatched the ruined shoes from his hands and slung them over her feet with vicious movements. “Let’s get this over with.”
I felt a shaking movement next to me, and jostled Rachel to stop her from silently laughing. If I caught the giggles from my sister, it would be all over.
“There seems to be some trouble in paradise,” Rachel whispered as she stepped aside for Becca and Keith to enter the gazebo.
“I heard that,” Becca snapped. “And everything is fine.”
Rachel colored momentarily as she and I served the meal. The bride and groom sat down to collard green salad with roasted pecans and okra and honeyed biscuits to start. Next up was the main meal of tarragon fried chicken, fried green tomatoes, bacon and almond green beans, and savory cheddar shrimp and grits. Lemonades, shandies, and mint juleps stood waiting on the sideboard we’d set up.
Becca and Keith sat stone-faced as I named each dish, and I felt myself take a sharp breath as they finally tasted the meal. Keith did parcel out a mouthwatering gaze at the fried chicken. Becca let out an appreciative murmur of pleasure, despite herself, as she sampled each dish. Her fried chicken remained untouched, whereas Keith finished his chicken first, then reached to the center of the table for a second helping.
“No!” Becca reached out and moved the chicken away. “You need to fit into your suit.”
“It’s his favorite,” I muttered, and it was like the music stopped. Becca, Keith, and Rachel all swiveled their heads in my direction as I clapped my hand over my mouth. Becca’s look could cut glass, and I knew I’d done it. It was one thing to reflect privately on the fact that I was once betrothed to Keith. It was quite another to be dropping hints that I was privy to the knowledge of everything he liked.
“And now for dessert,” Rachel smoothly recovered. “Peach cake, pecan cookies, and peach tartlets, along with tea, coffee, and brandy.”
Becca oohed and aahed at the cake, as Keith made his move to snag an extra drumstick. Becca’s hand shot out lightning quick, with the reflexes of a ninja, and batted the drumstick away. “I saw that, Keith.”
Keith shot me a wounded look.
“And furthermore,” Becca continued, “I wanted Southern couture for this Gone with the Wind wedding, not KFC!”
“You should try the chicken,” I counseled calmly. “It’s very nuanced.” Not that there was anything wrong with some nongourmet fried chicken either. I’d been wrestling with this Gone with the Wind theme enough as it was. “I think this menu will be a nice compromise between the traditional Southern food Helene might approve of and a way to honor Alma.”
“I don’t know . . .” Becca neatly ignored the fact that she’d finished every morsel on her plate except for the fried chicken, and continued to hem and haw.
“I know it’s been a tough week,” I soothed, sitting down next to Becca. “I’m not sure I would be handling things this well if my grandmother had gone through everything Alma has. But we’re facing a time crunch. I’d like nothing more than to give you and Keith a lovely day. And to do that, I need to finalize the food orders.” I sat on my hands to keep from grasping Becca’s in a plea. She blinked twice and glanced at Keith, who gave her a nod.
“All right. This is the menu.”
“No more changes,” Rachel warned.
“No more changes.”
I felt myself deflate with relief. It was going to be okay. Soon this wedding would be in the rearview mirror, and Becca and Keith would be out of my hair. Things were looking up.
* * *
“Are you coming with me?” Becca stared expectantly from her perch on the back porch where she was waiting with Keith. Rachel and I had begun our first trip back from the gazebo, our arms laden with plates and platters. Becca’s question snapped me back to reality. I’d wondered why they were still here after the tasting.
“Um, coming to what?”
“To my dress fitting and repair session with Bev, silly. I thought you should attend in case I get more ideas for the Gone with the Wind wedding. You could take notes.” Becca was entirely serious.
“You go,” Rachel said with a smirk. “I’ll break down the rest of the tasting.”
So I soon found myself ensconced in Keith’s backseat as we made our way to Windsor Meadows. We rode in a strange and not entirely companionable silence. I wondered what Keith and Becca would have said about the tasting had I not been in the car.
The hulking colossus of a maroon Rubik’s Cube that was Becca and Keith’s house came into view, never ceasing to momentarily jar me. But a stranger sight also greeted us.
“Whose car is that?” Keith frowned as he pulled behind a sleek silver Jaguar. “I’ll have to call a towing company.”
“We’re not due for any visitors besides Bev, and she won’t be here for another half hour,” Becca said. “Is that her car, Mallory?”
“No, Bev drives a red Escape.” The car in question didn’t belong to the bubbly dress storeowner and seamstress.
“You ladies stay here,” Keith commanded. “I’ll check the place out.” He stepped from his BMW with a swagger, and puffed out his chest as he made his way to the front door.
“This is silly,” Becca said and got out of the car. I slowly followed suit, not liking the feeling I was getting.
I could see Keith poking around in the topiary by the side of the house as Becca and I made our way into the peach great room. An earsplitting shriek made me nearly jump out of my skin.
“My gown! It’s gone!” Becca pointed to an empty, crumpled silver garment bag lying in a ball on the floor in the kitchen.
“Someone stole the Scarlett O’Hara wedding dress?” I looked wildly around the room, but no gown could be found.
“First my grandmother, now me!” Becca pulled her hands through her hair and sat down, stunned. Then she stood up like a rocket and began ripping apart the room, searching in vain for the dress.
I helped her look until I heard a loud expletive uttered from the back of the house. Becca raced to the glass doors and slid them open with such force they jounced in their tracks. Keith stood rooted to the spot, his mouth open in a little round o as he took in the pool. Becca and I spilled out onto the sleek redwood porch, the obsidian rock garden calm and still.
As was the body in the pool. She floated face up in the gently bobbing waves, her gaze forever frozen on the brilliant sun above. She was clad in the famed wedding gown, the creamy silk and embroidered gauze now heavy and waterlogged. The voluminous dress fanned out around the body, appearing slightly blue-tinted from the pool’s waters.
It was Felicity Fournier.
Becca’s screams echoed around the backyard.