When I told Janet that Malone was on his way with Millie, she got up to leave, and I didn’t stop her.
“I know she wouldn’t want to find me here, Andy. She’s probably already got the media stalking her,” my friend said as she carried her crumb-filled plate from the table to the sink. “It would freak her out, thinking I was ready to pounce on her for the sake of a story.”
I nodded, because I knew she was right.
As I walked Janet to the door, I saw my mother standing just inside the butler’s pantry. I’d been too wrapped up in talking with Janet to catch the creak of her footsteps coming down the stairs. I wondered how much of our conversation she’d overheard. By the tense look on her face, I imagined she’d overheard plenty.
She didn’t say anything until I’d shown Janet out, my friend promising to do her best to track down Jasper Pippin and unearth further details on Olivia’s life.
Before I could get into it with Mother that Malone was en route with Millicent Draper in tow, she dug into me about something else entirely.
“I know what you’re up to,” she said, her pale blue eyes homing in on mine. “You’re not calling Olivia’s assistant for an appointment because you want her to plan your wedding. You want to pump her for information about Olivia and see if she rats out the perp,” she said point-blank.
Dear Lord, she did watch Law & Order reruns.
“Geez, Mother,” I said, squirming beneath her very direct gaze, “what if I just changed my mind and figured you were right about having a professional involved in Brian’s and my wedding?”
“Oh, please, do you think I just fell off the turnip truck?” She sniffed. “Listen here, sweet pea,” she went, her voice deadly serious, “if you’re gonna play undercover agent with Olivia’s assistant in order to find out who killed her, I’m going with you, and that’s that.” She jabbed her chin in the air and crossed her arms rigidly over her pretty pink blouse. That was definitely Mother’s don’t mess with me stance.
How to delicately tell her to mind her own business?
“Oh, you are so wrong,” I lied.
“Am I?” She arched her perfectly drawn eyebrows. “Well, then, if there’s nothing more to it and you really do want to start plannin’ your nuptials, what’s the harm in letting your dear old mother join you?”
I nearly choked. “Well, um, for one thing,” I muttered, trying to come up with a fast excuse, “I’m a grown woman. You don’t have to hold my hand. For another, we don’t want the same things.”
I did not want Cissy getting involved in my wedding planning, even if it was all a ruse. It was one thing sticking my neck out, but I didn’t want to risk my mother’s pearl-draped throat if anything should go awry.
“You’re a bad liar. You always were,” she informed me, unfolding her arms so she could reach for mine. She held me in a death grip. “Why don’t you just accept my help? There’s a lunatic running around out there, and I don’t want anything to happen to you. How can it hurt to have backup?”
“This is America. There are always lunatics running around,” I said, “just turn on the news or read the paper.” Or look in the mirror, I mused, only half kidding.
Mother frowned. “I’m not jokin’,” she warned. “You’ve been doing this since grade school, and one of these days it could catch up with you.”
“What have I been doing?”
“Getting involved in other people’s problems,” she said and clicked tongue against teeth, finally letting me go. “It’s like a compulsion. You can’t leave well enough alone.”
I stared at her and rubbed my arms where she’d dug in her talons. “I can’t leave well enough alone,” I repeated. This coming from a woman who had worn a wig and dressed in velour warm-ups with rhinestones in order to infiltrate a retirement home and figure out who was poisoning her bridge partners?
“Don’t make me have you followed,” Mother added, and I sighed, knowing that she had the contacts and the deep pockets to do just that. “Whatever it takes, Andrea. If you’re going to stick your finger in this pie, I’m going to keep tabs on you one way or another. It might be easier if you just let me play undercover agent with you. No one’s going to mess with the two of us, not while I’ve got Anna Dean on speed-dial.”
“Okay, okay,” I said reluctantly, giving in to her verbal arm-twisting. She did present a good case. Maybe she should be on Malone’s defense team. And it would make the whole scenario more believable if I went to talk wedding deets with my pushy mother in tow. “I’ll call you as soon I’ve got an appointment with Terra, and you can tag along if it makes you feel better.”
Cissy smiled, and her face softened. “Oh, it does,” she remarked and gently patted my cheek, “immeasurably.”
The doorbell rang, and we both swung around toward the noise.
“That must be Malone,” I said nervously. “I’ll get it.”
I dashed away, hurrying toward the foyer in order to let Brian in, knowing who’d be with him as I pulled the door wide.
There stood my knight in shining armor with his arm wrapped around the slumped shoulders of a very weary-looking Millicent Draper.
“Hey, babe,” my fiancé said before he patted Millie’s arm. “Hang out here for a while, okay? No one from the media will find you,” he assured her in his warm masculine voice, which even had me convinced. “Stay put until I get back to you,” he told her. When Millie nodded numbly, he leaned over to kiss my cheek. “I’ve got to run but I’ll see you back at the condo in a bit.”
Without further ado, Brian took off, loping down the steps toward the driveway. Millie stood unmoving on the doormat in her police-issued scrubs, and I quickly took her hand, attempting to draw her inside.
“Oh, Andy, I hate to impose,” Millie said in a scared little whisper. “Are you sure it’s all right with your mother?”
I looked into her lined face and tired eyes magnified by her giant round glasses, and I had a sudden flashback to all the times Millie Draper had driven up to the kitchen door on the morning of my birthday. I used to peer out the window, eagerly awaiting the white VW van with pale pink printing on the sides—because that was what she’d driven back then, not a fancy SUV—and it was like opening a present on Christmas morning to see what marvelous fantasy Millie had brought to life with my cake.
“Andy?” she said, squinting at me. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Sorry, yes, I’m good,” I told her and quickly ushered her in. “I’m even better now that you’re here. Brian’s right, you’ll be safe with Cissy. My mother might look like a delicate Texas bluebonnet, but she’s a pit bull in pearls,” I remarked. “If any reporters sniff around, she’ll send them packing.”
Before I closed the door, I glanced out toward Beverly Drive. I was thankful it was Sunday and traffic was at a bare minimum. Hopefully, no one had seen Millie standing at Mother’s door in her jail scrubs.
As we stepped into the foyer, Cissy appeared. She strode toward the center of the entry and planted her hands on her hips. There was no welcome on her face. Instead, she watched us with a pinched face and tight lips.
“Look who’s here,” I said, cutting through the silence. “It’s Millie Draper.”
Since it was clear that Mother had heard about my intentions to meet with Terra Smith, I darned well knew she’d heard about Brian stashing Millie here for a while. But that didn’t mean Cissy wouldn’t veto the plan. It was her house, after all, and Sandy Beck wasn’t around to act as a buffer. I just prayed she’d be open-minded.
“What a nice surprise, eh, Mother?” I said and let go of Millie. “Brian had to go, um”—I chose my words carefully—“take care of a few things for Millie. He thought she might be better off with you for a while. Is that okay?”
My heart pounded as I awaited a reply. I guess if Mother said no, I’d take Millie to the condo with me. No harm, no foul.
But Cissy’s tough expression crumbled, and her brow tried its hardest to wrinkle as she took a step toward us and said, “Oh, Millie darlin’, you’ve had quite the morning, haven’t you?” She reached a nervous hand up to tug at her starched collar.
Millie bit her lip, nodding. “I’ve had lots better,” she replied, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Of course you can stay while Mr. Malone is helping you out. In fact, you can stay as long as you need to,” Mother added, giving me a sideways glance. “I wish I could convince Andrea to stay, too, until this whole thing’s been solved and the madman who killed Olivia is caught. I just hope they find him soon.”
“Amen to that,” Millie whispered.
If my mother had any fears about Millie—if she thought for an instant that the Cake Lady had really committed murder—she certainly didn’t show it. Heck, if I felt Millie was a homicidal maniac, I wouldn’t leave her alone with Cissy, not even for a minute. No, I knew in my heart that Millie couldn’t hurt a fly, and I could tell my mother felt the same.
“My dear Millicent, whatever I can do for you, consider it done,” my mother offered, her voice as warm as honey.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kendricks,” Millie replied and swayed on her feet. “I wasn’t sure where to go. Mr. Malone wanted me to lie low. He said the press had caught wind of the story and would be swarming my house and the store, what with how fast social media spreads information.”
“And misinformation,” I murmured.
“So true, so true,” my mother said and stepped toward us, giving the older woman a soft smile as she took her elbow and led her away. “Perhaps we can pick up some things from your place later on. But, for now, how about we get you some clothes to wear . . . I’m sure Sandy’s got somethin’ you could borrow, and she’s just about your size . . . then I’ll make you some tea and you can put up your feet. Does that sound all right? And do call me Cissy. We’ve known each other for too long to be formal.”
“Thank you, Cissy,” Millie replied meekly, “and, yes, a change of clothes and tea sounds lovely. I don’t exactly feel human wearing these.” She tugged at her scrubs.
I wondered if Mother would crush a Xanax or two into the teapot, and I figured that might not be such a bad thing.
Whatever happened, I had a feeling Millie would be in good hands, even without Sandy Beck around to do the fussing.
I shook my head, listening as my mother’s voice trailed off and thinking that maybe Stephen was good for her. Maybe he was responsible for her turning into a kinder, gentler Cissy. Or was it just that she was getting older and the tough shell she’d lived in for so long had developed cracks?
At least Millie’s presence had distracted Cissy enough that I could escape. I took the opportunity to slip out of my mother’s manse and get into my Jeep without her standing on the doorstep and watching me every step of the way.