promised to print out. Todd said he was going to save room for dessert.
As soon as we finished, I shooed the boys upstairs and told them I would do the dishes, no sweat. They hustled off before I had a chance to change my mind.
“You sure you’re all right cleaning up all this?” Tom asked as we cleared the table. “I promised the guys at the department I’d be back by eight.”
“I am absolutely fine,” I assured him. “The prep for Billie’s wedding is done. Go down to the department and find out what happened to Doc Finn.”
“Remember, Boyd is working with you tomorrow,” Tom warned.
“That really isn’t necessary,” I protested.
“I’ll decide what’s necessary,” Tom said quietly. “And you’ll have a free pair of hands to help you with the serving and whatnot.”
Well, I wasn’t going to argue with him. Still, having Boyd underfoot in the small Gold Gulch Spa kitchen wouldn’t be quite as wonderful as Tom envisioned. Like allowing Arch and his pals to do the dishes, sometimes having an extra person to help with the work was more trouble than it was worth.
After Tom left, I took the boys a plate of ice-cream-filled cookies to share while they watched television. Then I put in a call to Julian to make sure all was set for the next day.
“You bet, boss. Just think, tomorrow night at this time, we’ll have Billie Attenborough out of our hair, forever.”
“Maybe I’ll shave my head, to commemorate the occasion.”
Julian waited for me to tell him I was kidding, which I finally did. We promised to meet at the spa at noon, even though the wedding wasn’t until six.
“Tomorrow at this time,” Julian repeated.
“Bring a razor.”
Immediately after I hung up, the phone rang. With dread, I checked the caller ID. But it was not Billie; it was Marla.
“Well?” she demanded. “Have you learned anything about this prenuptial agreement?”
“You mean the four mil? I thought you said it wasn’t technically a prenuptial—”
“All right, all right, this
“How can I find out anything when you’re the source of my information?” I pointed out.
“Oh, for God’s sake, can’t Tom get a subpoena or something?”
“Marla,” I explained patiently as I boxed up the leftover cookies, “in order to get a subpoena, you have to have a reason—”
“Stop right there,” she interjected. “Legal terminology gives me a headache. So…what are you serving at the wedding tomorrow?”
Although the last thing I wanted to do was discuss yet again the menu for Billie Attenborough’s dinner, I did it anyway. Marla loved to anticipate food.
“Omigod, it sounds yummy,” she said when I finished. “I’d better wear a dress that’s a size too big.”
“You know you can have any of this you want, anytime. You don’t have to wait for a wedding!”
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t even have a date for this thing. Date? Listen to me. My invitation said ‘Marla Korman and Escort,’ like I was going to hire a male prostitute.”
“Oh, Marla, come on. By the way, Sergeant Boyd will be there. He’s supposed to be helping me in the kitchen, but I’d just love it if you asked him to dance with you.”
“Really?” she said cautiously. “He is cute.”
“Oh, Lord, if you could take care of him, that would take an enormous load off my mind.”
“But won’t he be wearing a caterer’s uniform?” she said dubiously. “Black pants, white shirt? And oh man, I can just imagine what Charlotte would say if I started waltzing around the spa dining room with a cop wearing an apron.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have him remove his apron. He’ll look smashing, and if anyone threatens to disrupt the proceedings, say, like Billie herself, well, we’ll have a built-in cop, which is what Tom wanted anyway.”
“If you’re sure it’s no trouble,” Marla said plaintively, and I realized then, painfully, how much Marla wanted to have male company for the wedding, and how unwilling she was to ask for it.
“No trouble at all,” I assured her.
“It’s just that Victor Lane made me feel so damn insecure the last time I was out there,” she blurted out.
“What are you talking about?”
“Like all the rest of society, he’s nice to the slender women, and mean and judgmental to the overweight ones. And to think he owns a damn spa! He told me if I exercised and lost some weight, I’d have a much better social life. I asked him how did he know I didn’t have a smashing social life, thank you very much?”
I shook my head. “He’s a son of a bitch. Always has been, always will be.”
“I resolved never to go out there again. I mean, if I want abuse, I don’t have to look any farther than talk radio.”
“I’m so sorry, Marla.” Then, mischievously, I added, “Maybe in the not-too-distant future, I’ll be catering a wedding for you.”
She made exaggerated choking noises. “No way, I’m done with being married. Once is enough. Oh, but wait! I thought of something I meant to tell you!” She inhaled for dramatic effect. “There I was out at Aspen Meadow Country Club today, resolved to do some laps at the pool but indulging in a lobster roll instead, and you’ll never guess what I heard through the grapevine.”
I couldn’t imagine. Marla’s grapevine stretched and twined through every layer of Aspen Meadow society.
“Charlotte Attenborough told her bridge club that she expects to get married soon, maybe next year!”
“What? Get married to whom?”
“Why, your dear godfather, Jack, that’s to whom.”
I glanced around the kitchen and shook my head. “I don’t
Marla raised her voice to a singsong. “That’s what Charlotte said.”
“Well, I don’t believe it,” I asserted. “Not for one second.”
“Yeah, me either. But I thought you’d be interested to hear.”
“Thanks. Maybe I should warn Jack about what Charlotte is saying behind his back.”
“I think your godfather can stand on his own two feet.”
We signed off, and I put the finishing touches on the clean kitchen. Then I printed out my schedules for the next day, along with the list of all the foodstuffs we would need. Feeling slightly self-indulgent, I crept upstairs and drew myself a hot bath. I was determined to be as relaxed as possible for Billie’s ceremony, knowing full well that she would turn anything that did not go well around to being my fault.
But Charlotte marrying Jack? How could Charlotte ever get such a crazy-ass notion? Jack didn’t love Charlotte, of that I was sure. More than anything, he seemed to upset her, which he made up for by pandering to her. This wasn’t love, it was masochism.
But if it suited them, I thought as I sank into the steaming, bubbly water, why should I worry? Jack, as Marla had pointed out, was fully capable of taking care of himself.
All right, I promised myself as I toweled off, no more obsessing about Jack’s future.
Sufficient unto the day are the evils thereof, I thought as I buttoned myself into my pajamas.
If only I’d had any idea just how bad those evils were actually going to be, I’d have canceled Billie’s wedding myself.
13
The alarm burbled at six, and it seemed to me to be very far off. A distant rendition of Handel’s Water Music made me imagine I was floating on a raft down Cottonwood Creek. Tom had come in very late, and I’d only vaguely registered his warm presence beside me. Now I wanted him on the raft with me, so I
