Allure

guests who have formed a circle around him. His face is paler than normal and smattered with blotchy red spots. And his eyes are puffy, no doubt from the tears that are streaming down his cheeks. Reaching his plump hands to his eyes, he dabs at the fluid with an already soggy handkerchief. Under the pressure of his heavy fingers, his face sags, his flesh almost drooping and then snaps back when he withdraws his hand. Then he throws his head back and emits a mournful sob, his chest trembling as he sucks in a few breaths of air. But something catches in his throat and he starts to cough. Clutching his side, he rolls forward, spewing phlegm into his handkerchief.

One of Missy’s friends, a redhead in a green sundress and spindly heels, scampers to his aid. “Oh, Beau. I know this is hard on you.” She snatches a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table and thrusts them at him.

“Thanks, Darla. I just can’t believe my angel is gone.”

Darla wiggles around the table and plants herself next to him on the sofa. “There, there.” She reaches her ringless hand to pat his enormous arm.

Jack sides up to Cooper and me. “What the heck took you so long?” he says through clenched teeth, his lips fixed in a sugary smile. “Do you realize how long you’ve left me alone with Taneea? And Beau? Between the two of them, I was about to lose my mind.”

I lean toward him. “Sorry, but we had a couple things to work out.”

“Everything okay?” he asks me and Cooper.

Cooper smiles and smacks his arm with one of those quasi-guy hugs. “Yeah, bro. Everything’s great.” He glances at his supposedly grieving father. “How long has my dad been like this?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Since the guests arrived. Just after Taneea and I helped set up the buffet and drinks.” He thumbs his fist toward the bar where my father stands ready to mix cocktails. Taneea’s talking to him, coiling a pink strand around her finger. She points to a few bottles on the bar behind him then giggles, no doubt asking if she can try some. Dad shakes his head. Based on the stone-cold expression on his face, he’s figured out her game. She won’t be getting any samples out of him. Awesome.

I scan the crowd, but aside from the Missy clones and their antique husbands, I only see Beau. “Where’s Claude?” I ask Jack.

He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him. Why?”

“Because I thought I saw his car outside.”

He shakes his head. “Doubt it. I bet one of these geezers has an old town car or something that looks similar.”

Taneea saunters up to us with a pink drink in her hand. “So I know it’s a funeral and all, but this party’s lame.” She takes a sip from the martini glass.

“What are you drinking?” I ask.

“A cosmo.”

I snort. “With alcohol?” I’d bet my pinkie toe my father didn’t pour her a drop.

She sighs. “The loser bartender doesn’t have the right vodka or Cointreau, so he left them out.” She draws another sip.

I nod. “Really? So then you’re saying my dad mixed you a cranberry juice with lime?” I’m surprised I even remember what goes into that drink, but I’ve helped my father at enough of Beau’s parties to have learned by osmosis.

She glares at me. “Yeah, I guess.” Glancing at Dad, she smirks. “So your father’s a gravesite helper and a bartender, too. How versatile.”

Jack’s head whirls around so fast, I’m afraid it’ll snap. “And he’s the caretaker, too. Got anything clever to say about that?”

She snorts. “I guess not.” Her attention drifts to the buffet. “I’m hungry. Want something, Cooper?”

“No thanks. I don’t have much of an appetite,” he says.

“Your loss.” Her lips part in a wicked grin as she turns toward the buffet and takes a step, but her espadrille catches on the rug and she wobbles, flailing her arms to keep her balance. Her cranberry juice mocktail splashes the front of my new sundress, its bright pink instantly staining the pale blue cotton. She squeals as she teeters toward the Oriental rug, but Cooper lunges forward, scooping her up before she face plants, then sets her straight.

I gape at the huge, clingy, pink stain that covers my abdomen and trickles down the skirt.

“Oh my gosh! Thanks, Cooper. Those muscles really do come in handy,” she gushes.

“Look what you did!” I gesture to the juice that somehow managed to land only on me. There isn’t even a drop on the carpet.

“Oh no!” Cooper races to the bar to grab some napkins. Jack follows.

Taneea clamps her hand across her mouth. “Wow. That sucks. At least it wasn’t a good dress.” She snickers.

“What did you say?”

She smirks. “Come on, it’s not like it’s from a collection. I bet you can get something like it down at the Picky. Though I’ve never been inside, so that’s just a guess.”

We did buy it at the cramped local department store that’s filled with stuff left over from two years ago, which only makes her comment sting more.

Rage surges from my toenails, straight through my body, and up to my brain. “Right. Because you buy all your clothes from tacky-and-inappropriate-dot-com.”

Cooper and Jack come back, each with a wad of napkins. Jack holds out his hand, hovering over my midsection. He looks as if he’d like to blot the liquid but isn’t sure which parts might be safe to touch.

With a grunt, I grab the napkins and peel the soaked and clingy fabric off my stomach. Dabbing a few times, the thin paper absorbs a bit of the liquid but not enough to make a real dent. This isn’t going to work. “I need to rinse this out for real before it sets. I’ll be back.”

Pushing through the great room, I stomp down the hall, and head to Cooper’s room. There, I can strip off the dress and borrow some of his clothes while I rinse it out with soap. As Taneea so kindly pointed out, this is an off-the-rack dress made of cotton so thin it should only take a few minutes to dry in the dryer.

Nearing the foyer, I hear a door creak and stop short as the hair rises on my arms. I’m sure the sound came from around the corner, in the hall that leads to the west wing. The only door nearby is the one to Beau’s private study. Which no one’s allowed to enter without him. It’s so private, he keeps the key on a chain attached to his pocket. After eight summers in the Lowcountry, Jack and I have never been inside that room. Come to think of it, I doubt Cooper has either. And since Beau’s still in the great room earning his Oscar, I know it can’t be him.

Tiptoeing toward the corner, I peek my head out. Claude steps from the study and pulls the door shut behind him, then twists the knob to make sure it’s locked. He looks first to his right, then turns left. I jerk back, and listen to my heart pulse, praying I moved fast enough for him to miss me.

“Miss Emma Guthrie,” Claude calls out.

Dang. Not quick enough.

He sings my name again. “I know you’re there. Come out.”

Gulping, I force myself to walk around the corner. He’s standing in front of the study, his black suit perfectly creased, and wearing his blue-lensed sunglasses even though he’s inside. My legs tremble as Miss Delia’s words echo in my head reminding me to be strong. Drawing a deep breath, I reach under my collar to rub the blue and pink beads on my collier, which are supposed to help me connect with my spirit guide. With her at my side, I’m not technically alone with Claude. A calm rushes over me, starting at my hair follicles, tumbling down to my toenails. Forcing my shoulders back, I quicken my pace. “That’s Beau’s study.” I point to the door.

His lips slip open over his ultra-bright smile. “You’re correct.”

“His private space. No one’s allowed in there without him.”

“I was just meeting with him.”

“Really? Because I just left him in the great room. He’s been in there awhile crying about Missy.”

His gaze drops to my dress. “Pity, you’ve had some sort of accident.”

As if that’s going to deflect my attention from his trespass. Fat chance. Still, my hand clutches the moist spot on my midsection. “Yeah, your assistant tripped and spilled her drink.”

He shakes his head as he clucks his tongue. “Clumsy girl. You really ought to stay out of her way. There’s no