Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(66)

Happy Hour had just begun when we showed up and the place was doing a brisk business. It was one of those ersatz turn of the century pubs with a massive mahogany bar and mock gaslight sconces on the walls. We managed to snag two seats at the bar, in grabbing distance of the buffalo wings, and I quickly proceeded to order us two frosty margaritas.

I was thrilled to see Sylvia suck hers up like a Hoover.

This was going to be a piece of cake. She’d be tootled in no time, and dishing the dirt with a trowel!

Or so I thought.

She got tootled all right, but all she wanted to talk about was that dratted wedding of hers.

“So do you really like the A-line?” she asked, the minute we were seated.

It took me a minute to realize she was still talking about her wedding dress.

“Oh, yes,” I assured her, “it’s lovely.”

“I’m afraid it’s too plain.”

“Then maybe you should go with the Cinderella dress.”

“I know, but that might be too fussy.”

I took a healthy slug of my margarita. Yes, this was definitely going to be tougher than I thought.

No matter how much I tried to deflect the conversation 226

Laura Levine

away from her wedding, she kept coming back to it like a well-trained homing pigeon. I learned every detail of her floral arrangements (violets, to match her bridesmaids’ lilac gowns), her deejay (Hector’s cousin Ricardo, aka “Little Ricky,” who, in case you’re interested, does a dynamite Elvis impersonation), and the cake (an agonizing fifteen minute dissertation on the merits of yellow cake with chocolate cream frosting versus white with strawberry preserves). I thought I’d died and gone to Wedding Planning Hell.

“The thing that’s really got me worried,” she said, starting in on her second margarita, “is Estella.”

“Estella?”

“Hector’s mother. What a witch. I can’t tell you how awful she’s been.”

Oh, yes, she could. And she did. Another excruciating half hour dragged by as I heard each and every one of Estella’s many character flaws.

By now I’d long passed my five-Buffalo-wing limit and was inhaling them faster than the speed of light.

“She’s always criticizing me,” Sylvia whined. “Nothing I ever do is good enough. The first time I cooked dinner for Hector and his parents, I made a roast chicken. Okay, so I was stupid and didn’t know anything about cooking, and I forgot to take out the plastic bag with the liver and gizzards and stuff.

“Well, you’d think the world came to an end. That was three years ago, and to this day, Estella tells anybody she meets about the time I cooked the chicken with the plastic bag inside.”

I tsk-tsked in sympathy, desperately trying to keep my eyelids propped open.

“I just know she’s going to ruin my wedding. Somehow she’ll think of a way to screw things up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she interrupts the ceremony to tell that stupid chicken story.”

THE DANGERS OF CANDY CANES

227

“I’m sure she won’t do that.”

“Don’t bet on it,” she said, polishing off her second margarita and signaling the bartender for a third. “The woman is capable of anything. Did I ever tell you about the time I caught her going through my underwear drawer?”

“Yes, I believe you mentioned that about ten minutes ago.”

“Let me tell you, it’s been utter hell to live through.”

And listen to, too.

“At least there’s no stress at your office,” I said, gamely trying to steer the conversation back to Garth and Peter.

“Your boss sounds like a really nice guy.”

“He’s okay, I guess,” she said, licking the last of the salt from the rim of her margarita glass. “Although he can be awfully fussy when it comes to his coffee. He swears he can tell the difference between Equal and Sweet ’N Low. Heaven forbid I make a mistake and get him Sweet ’N Low—”

Enough, already! I had to be firm and nip this Artificial Sweetener Tangent in the bud.

“I guess you must really miss Mr. Janken.”

“Are you crazy? He was one nasty S.O.B.”

“Really?” I sat up straight, finally interested in what she had to say.

“Thank goodness I wasn’t his secretary. He ran through them like water. Couldn’t keep one to save his soul. So demanding. He made Estella look like a saint.”

“How did he get along with Mr. Roberts?”

“He didn’t. Peter put up with him for years, but finally he had enough. He wanted to dissolve the partnership. At first Garth didn’t seem to care. But then when he learned that his biggest client was switching his account over to Peter, he hit the roof. Garth stormed into Peter’s office, screaming at the top of his lungs.”

At last—after packing away three margaritas and two $12

shrimp cocktails—she was finally on a roll!

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Laura Levine

“I was sitting at my desk, and I heard him clear as day: If you think you’re taking The Great Litigator with you, he shouted, you’re crazy! ”

“The Great Litigator?”

“That’s what Garth called his client, because the guy was constantly suing people. You’re not taking him or anybody else with you, he told Peter. I know what you did back in Ohio, and I’ve got evidence to prove it. I intend to report you to the bar association. And when I do, you’re going to lose your license so fast your head will be spinning. ”