What Doesn't Kill Her (Cape Charade #2)(87)

Kellen exploded in a flurry of irritation. “For sh...pete’s sake, I don’t care what my enemies say about my cake! Why should I care what anyone thinks about my wedding cake? That’s just ridiculous!”

Arthur cut his eyes toward Pearly Perry, who sat there with her head drooping like a lovely flower on a broken stem.

An alert and sorrowful Rae asked, “But, Mommy, what about Martin’s mother? Remember when you did the self-defense class and she was cranky because everybody in camp thought you were so cool? Even her little boy, skinny scaredy-cat Martin?”

Kellen viewed Rae’s reproachful expression and the barely hidden flash of triumph in her brown eyes. This was a conspiracy, and even her daughter played a part. “All right, Pearly. Do what you do best. But I don’t want to hear about it ahead of time. Surprise me. All I demand is purple frosting trim. Purple, not—”

“—blue with a lavender tint.” Arthur scribbled on his list. “You can trust Pearly to amaze and astonish.”

Pearly shook Kellen’s hand, then shook it again, then bowed, then scooted back to allow Claude McKeith to take her place. Over one of his shoulders, Takashi Tibodo bobbed and smiled. Over the other, Mateo Courtemanche offered her a cold bottle of water and a small gift-wrapped box.

Kellen accepted the offerings and opened the box. Inside she found a specialty from the winery and a favorite of hers: Southern cheese straws.

She laughed. She couldn’t help growing more and more amused; this whole under-the-shrubbery wedding conference had a humorous side she couldn’t deny. Before Claude could speak, she held up one hand. “Hire whoever you need, as much staff as you need, for service and cleanup.”

“No limits?” Claude asked.

“Make sure they’re bonded and credible, run them past Mr. Parliman’s security team to make sure their credentials are clean, and no reporters. We’re going to have a lot of wealthy famous people here and the Di Luca family would like to avoid thieves and publicity.” As she spoke, Kellen wasn’t really thinking of the Di Luca family’s privacy; she was considering how easy it would be for an assassin to slip in and take her out, and worse, if someone was so determined to kill her, a lot of people could get hurt or killed.

There had been enough of that already.

She thought she’d been tactful, but Claude winced as if she’d hit a nerve and drew back. “I’ll do my best, Miss Adams.”

Mateo said, “Everyone on Arthur’s staff is equipped to observe, supervise and care for the guests during this special occasion.” He looked at Arthur, who nodded silently, then looked at the ground.

A silence fell that was almost awkward, so Kellen asked, “Takashi, will you sing for us at the reception?”

“I would be honored. I’ll consult with Dan and we’ll come up with something to delight you and your guests.”

Warren Golokin appeared from nowhere, smiling and anxious to please. He unrolled a stiff sheet of 24-by-36-inch drawing paper with a site plan that included tents, tables, decorations and parking.

Kellen rolled it back up, pressed it into his hand, and said, “Do you realize how much I trust you? After seeing your talent, I know you’ll make this wedding a waltz without music.”

Warren teared up. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Kellen realized how exhausted she was when she teared up in response, and had to hug him. “I know you won’t.” She hadn’t been sleeping well; the worry about Rae’s safety and the assassin, the wedding and most of all, about the gray coma that hovered at the periphery of her mind.

Warren backed away, and Kellen asked Arthur, “Are we done now?”

Arthur made a whisking motion with his fingertips, and his cohorts disappeared the way they came. “Thank you, Miss Adams, I promise you you’ll have the wedding of your dreams, and everyone is so much happier knowing your desires in these matters.”

“Everyone is happier except my future mother-in-law,” Kellen said with some humor.

Rae said, “That’s not true!”

“What do you mean?” Kellen asked Rae and turned to Arthur. “What does she mean?”

Arthur gave Kellen one stricken glance and tried to flee.

Just like that, Kellen figured it out. She grabbed his sleeve and brought him to a halt. “This intervention was done on Verona’s behest.”

Arthur sat up very straight. “Absolutely not. Mrs. Di Luca was simply—”

Rae interrupted. “Grandma cried because you didn’t care about our wedding.”

“But I don’t...” Kellen came to a halt, dismayed and confused. “Cried? Why?”

With great precision, Arthur put his notebook and pen into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Mrs. Di Luca doesn’t wish for you to look back on this grand event with regret because it was not to your liking.”

“I won’t! I honestly don’t care!” Why wouldn’t anyone believe her?

Large feet in size twelve white running shoes came to a halt just outside the shrubbery where Kellen had fruitlessly tried to hide. Max leaned over far enough to look at the small group beneath the leafed canopy. “Arthur! Rae! Go on, I’ll talk to Kellen.”



49


Arthur Waldberg didn’t scramble away; he had too much dignity for that. But he crawled briskly back the way he came.