absolutely ravishing raven-haired woman in an expensive lavender silk skirt-suit came in. She might have been my age, and she had a lot of gold and diamonds, a lot of perfect white teeth, and the kind of curves that come only from surgery. Her shoes and purse together probably cost more than my car.
“Well,” she snapped, and put a fist on her hip, glaring first at Billy and then at me. “I see you are already doing your best to disrupt the ceremony.”
“Eve,” Billy said in a kind of stilted, formally polite voice. “Um. What are you talking about?”
“For one thing, this,” she said, flicking a hand at me. Then she gave me a second, more evaluative look.
I tried to look casual and confident, there in my Spider-Man T-shirt and black briefs. I managed to keep myself from diving toward my jeans. I turned aside to put them on, maintaining my dignity.
“Your underwear has a hole,” Eve said sweetly.
I jerked my jeans on, blushing. Stupid dignity.
“Bad enough that you insist on this . . . petty criminal taking part in a ceremony before polite society. Yanof is beside himself,” Eve continued, speaking to Billy. “He threatened to quit.”
“Wow,” I said. “You speak Sloboviakstanese?”
She blinked at me. “What?”
“Because Yanof doesn’t speak any English. So how did you know he threatened to quit?” I smiled sweetly at her.
Eve gave me a glare of haughty anger and defended herself by pretending I hadn’t said anything. “And now we’re going to have to leave out one of the bridesmaids. To say nothing of the fact that with
I swore I could hear Billy’s teeth grind. “Harry,” he said in that same polite, strained voice, “this is Eve McAlister. My stepmother-in-law.”
“I do not care for that term, as I have told you often. I am your mother-in-law,” she said. “Or will be, whenever this ongoing disaster you’ve created from a respectable wedding breathes its last.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Billy assured her, his tone hopeless.
“Georgia is late and is letting the voice mail answer her phone—as though I needed something else to occupy my thoughts.” She shook her head. “I assume the lowlifes you introduced her to kept her out too late last night. Just like this one did to you.”
“Hey, come on,” I said, careful to keep my tone as reasonable and friendly as I could. “Billy’s had a rough night. I’m sure he can help you out if you just give him a chance to—”
She made a disgusted sound and interrupted me. “Did I say or do something to imply that I cared to hear your opinion, charlatan? Lowlifes. I warned her about folk like you.”
“You don’t even know me, lady,” I said.
“Yes, I do,” she informed me. “I know all about you. I saw you on
I narrowed my eyes at Eve.
Billy’s expression came close to panic, and he held up both hands, palms out, giving me a pleading look. But my hangover ached, and life is too short to waste it taking verbal abuse from petty tyrants who watch bad talk shows.
“Okay, Billy’s stepmom,” I began.
Her eyes flashed. “Do
“You don’t care to be called a stepmother?” I asked.
“Not at all.”
“Though you obviously aren’t Georgia’s mother. Howsabout I call you trophy wife?” I suggested.
She blinked at me once, her eyes widening.
Billy put his face in his hands.
“Bed warmer?” I mused. “Mistress made good? Midlife crisis byproduct?” I shook my head. “When in doubt, go with the classics.” I leaned a little closer and gave her a crocodilian smile.
The blood drained out of Eve’s face, leaving ugly pinkish blotches high on her cheeks. “Why, you . . . you . . .”
I waved my hand. “No, it’s all right; I don’t mind finding alternate terms. I understand that you’re under pressure. Must be hard trying to look good in front of the old money when they all know that you were really just a receptionist or an actress or a model or something.”
Her mouth dropped completely open.
“We’re all having a tough day, dear.” I flipped my hand at her. “Shoo.”
She stared at me for a second, then let out a snarled curse you’d hardly expect from a lady of her station, spun on the heel of one Italian-leather pump, and stalked from the room. I heard a couple of beeps as she crossed to the shop’s door, and then she started screeching into a cell phone. I could hear her for about ten seconds after she went outside.
Mission accomplished. Spleen vented. Dragon lady routed. I felt pleased with myself.
Billy heaved a sigh. “You had to talk to her like that?”
“Yeah.” I glowered out after the departed Eve. “Once my mouth was open and my lips started moving, it was pretty much inevitable.”
“Dammit, Harry.” Billy sighed.
“Oh, come on, man. Sticks and stones may break her bones, but one wiseass will never hurt her. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not for you: You don’t have to live with it. I do. So does Georgia.”
I chewed on my lower lip for a second. I hadn’t thought about it in those terms. I suddenly felt less than mature. “Ah,” I said. “Oh. Um. Maybe I should apologize?”
He bent his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Oh, God, no. Things are bad enough already.”
I frowned at him. “Is it really that important to you? The ceremony?”
“It’s important to Georgia.”
I winced. “Oh,” I said. “Ah.”
“Look, we’ve got a few hours. I’ll stay here and try to sort things out with Eve,” Billy said. “Do me a favor?”
“Hey, what’s a best man for? Other than tackling a panicked groom if he tries to run.”
He gave me a quick grin. “See if you can contact Georgia first? Maybe she’s had car trouble or overslept or something. Or maybe she just left her phone on all night and it went dead.”
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll take care of it.”
I CALLED BILLY and Georgia’s apartment and got no answer. Knowing Georgia, I expected her to be at the hospital, visiting Kirby. Billy might have been the combat leader of the merry band of college kids who had learned shapeshifting from an actual wolf, but Georgia was the manager, surrogate mom, and brains when there wasn’t any violence on.
Kirby was on painkillers and groggy, but he told me Georgia hadn’t been there. I talked to the duty nurse and confirmed that though his family was flying in from Texas to see him, he’d had no visitors since Billy and I had left.
Odd.
I thought about mentioning it to Billy, but I didn’t really know anything yet, and it wasn’t as though he needed
“Don’t get paranoid, Harry,” I told myself. “Maybe she’s got a hangover, too. Maybe she ran off with a male stripper.” I waited to see if I was buying it, then shook my head. “And maybe Elvis and JFK are shacked up in a retirement home somewhere.”
I went to Billy and Georgia’s apartment.
They live in a place near the University of Chicago’s campus, in a neighborhood that missed being an ugly
