Perhaps it was the combination of narrowly escaping death and being in the company of my own amazing husband, but I went to Mom’s wedding feeling magnanimous toward everyone.
When Mom introduced me simply as “Salem” instead of “my daughter, Salem,” I smiled, shook hands, made small talk – all the things expected of me.
When I spotted Susan across the expanse of Neely Bates’ charmingly rustic back yard, I slid my arm through Tony’s and turned the other cheek. At least she met me halfway by avoiding me, too.
When someone bumped into one of the tables and spilled three round trays of champagne flutes onto the ground, I tamped down the flicker of schadenfreude that reared its ugly head and offered Mom consolation that was almost one hundred percent authentic. I did, in fact, feel genuine compassion for her, but I kind of hated that champagne for being there and looking so pretty, so I was glad to see it go.
A large part of why I felt so good, though, was the discussion Tony and I had before we left Lubbock.
As we stood watching the bride and groom dance awkwardly on the rented dance floor under the gigantic tent, I leaned in to tell him, “I’m going inside to call Viv.”
The huge house had, I kid you not, two guest bathrooms off the mud room leading in from the garage. I pretended I was waiting for the women’s to be empty, but really, I just wanted a chance to talk to Viv in private.
“I have news!” she said as soon as she picked up.
“No, me first,” I protested.
“I’m older. I go first.”
“Tony said I could keep doing investigations with you,” I blurted. “He even had business cards made for me, and pre-paid for self-defense classes.” I decided to leave out the part about the gun. “There. I was first.”
She made an impatient sound, then said, “Well, okay, you’re forgiven, but only because that’s really good news. And just in time, because of my news.”
“What’s your news?”
“Nope. You took my turn, you’re going to have to drag it out of me.”
“Seriously? Come on, I – “
“That weasel Nigel stole Anne’s brooch. That old turtle thing she wore sometimes? With the emeralds and pearls? Turns out it was worth about twenty-five grand! And now her daughter’s up here pitching a conniption fit!”
“Viv,” I hissed. “You really need to tone down your glee a bit. This is bad news.”
“Of course, it is. Horrible. Tragic.” She laughed, and in the background I heard her clap her hands together. “We’re gettin’ the band back together, man!”
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Titles in the Trailer Park Princess Series
The Middle Finger of Fate (Book One)
Caught in the Crotchfire (Book Three)
‘Tis the Friggin’ Season (Short Story)
The Power of Bacon (Short Story)
Mud, Sweat, and Tears (Short Story)
Knickers in a Twist (Book Four)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This is me. I bought this outfit
and got my roots done for this picture. You can’t tell, but I also got a pedicure. It was a big day for me, let me tell you. My hands are curled up because I didn’t want to spring for the mani.
The award-winning author of the Trailer Park Princess comic mystery series. Kim Hunt Harris knew she wanted to be a writer before she even knew how to write. When her parents read bedtime stories to her, she knew she wanted to be a part of the story world. She started out writing children’s stories, and her stories grew as she did. She discovered a gift for humor and a love for making people laugh with her tales, and the Trailer Park Princess series was born.
Kim loves to not only make her readers laugh and entertain them with a good mystery, but also to examine the issues the everyday people face...well, every day. Issues like faith and forgiveness, perseverance, and tolerance. Set in Lubbock, Texas, the fun books feature a cast of quirky characters, outrageous situations, a drama queen of a dog, and from time to time, a tear or two.
Kim lives with her husband of more than thirty years and two kids in West Texas.