4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly (33 page)

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to blow up at you, but that man’s been a thorn in my side ever since he orchestrated the hostile takeover of our magazines. Just once I’d like to see justice win out over greed.”

Tino rose and stepped into the aisle. I followed. “You just might get your wish,” he said.

“Something else you’re not telling me, Tino?”

“Not my place to say, Mrs. P.” Then he winked at me.

“What happens now?” I asked as we stepped onto the platform.

“I’m heading back into the city. By now the cops have picked up Mrs. G.”

We headed downstairs together. “So I guess this is it? We probably won’t see each other again.”

He bent down and kissed my cheek. “You never know, Mrs. P. You stay safe, hear?”

“You, too, Tino.”

“Count on it.” He headed for the door to Platform One to catch the train back into the city, and I headed for the nearest food stand to buy a bottle of water before making my way to Platform Five for the train to Westfield.

~*~

Once settled into a seat on a Westfield bound train and sufficiently rehydrated, I called Cloris to explain why I’d gone AWOL.

“Park Avenue matron Sylvia Gruenwald, a cold-blooded killer? Who would’ve guessed?”

“In a way, I did. One of my first theories was that Gruenwald was covering for his wife.”

“But he wasn’t?”

“No. That man is in for a rude awakening when he learns she not only killed his mistress and her girlfriend but was plotting his murder.”

“If he wasn’t such a scumbag, I might feel sorry for him.”

“My feelings, exactly.” I sighed heavily into the phone.

“You sound exhausted.”

“I am. The last thing I want to do this evening is deal with Ira, his bratty kids, and Mama drama.”

“I don’t suppose you can get out of the rehearsal and dinner?”

I laughed. “Only if Tino had turned out to be the killer and got to me before I got away. And even then, Mama would probably be pissed with me.”

Cloris gasped. “Don’t even joke about such a thing!”

“At least we get half a comp day out of today’s extravaganza. I’ll get through the weekend somehow, then take Monday morning off.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan. Hopefully, tonight and tomorrow will go smoothly for you.”

I laughed again. “We’re talking Mama here. How likely is that?”

~*~

By the time I trudged the several blocks from the train station to my home, only the late afternoon sun winking through the autumn leaves could convince me it was really half-past four in the afternoon and not in the morning. The adrenaline rush that carried me through the events of the last couple of hours had long since dissipated, leaving every fiber of my body numb, every muscle screaming from exhaustion.

Only the crisp breeze kept me from collapsing onto the nearest lawn. I hugged my arms around my body, quickened my steps, and cursed not having my coat.

Like a Siren’s call, my bed beckoned from my house down the street, but unfortunately, we were due at the church in thirty minutes. Far too many hours loomed ahead before tonight’s threesome rendezvous between me, my pillow, and my mattress.

Yelling coming from inside the house greeted me as I approached the front door. I recognized the two screaming banshees immediately: Mama and Lucille. Coward that I am, for a split second, I considered not entering the house. What if I turned around, got into my car, and drove straight to Tahiti? Then I laughed. With my brain suffering from sheer exhaustion, my thoughts made little sense. No bridge across the Pacific, I reminded myself.

I shook the absurd idea from my head, took a deep breath, and stepped into the house, nearly tripping over one of Mama’s suitcases.

TWENTY-SEVEN

I found Mama and Lucille standing nose-to-nose in the living room, both shouting at each other, spittle and venom spewing forth. I slammed the door to grab their attention. “What in the world is going on?”

Lucille jabbed a finger at Mama. “This harlot is not moving back into my room! I forbid it.”

“Your room?” screamed Mama, swatting at Lucille’s hand. “This is my daughter’s home, not yours, and if I want to spend the night, you have no say in the matter, you socialist freeloader.”

Just what I needed. If it’s not one thing, it’s my mother. Or my mother-in-law. Dealing with murder obviously wasn’t enough drama for one day, not in my life.

I stepped between the two of them, pushing each back an arm’s length from me. “Enough! Both of you shut up!”

Lucille shoved my arm away. “You can’t speak to me like that.”

“I can and I will. Now what’s this all about?”

They both began yammering and pointing fingers at each other.

“Stop!” I glared at my mother-in-law. “I understand that you’re upset about sharing a bedroom.” I turned to Mama. “Why are you here with a suitcase? Have you decided to cancel your wedding?”

“Of course not!”

I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for a further explanation.

“I can’t stay at the condo tonight.”

“And why not?”

“Really, dear, everyone knows it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Superstitious nonsense,” said Lucille, “but I wouldn’t expect any less from a silly twit like you.”

Given the fates of Mama’s last four husbands and one fiancé, I understood why she didn’t want to take any chances. She needed all the good luck she could get for her latest trip down the aisle. “It’s only one night, Lucille.”

My mother-in-law crossed her arms over her voluminous sagging breasts, set her jaw, and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care if it’s only one hour. I don’t want her in my room.”

“You’re living in my home,” I reminded her.

“So there!” said Mama, emphasizing her statement by sticking out her tongue.

“Enough!” I said. “Act like adults, or you’ll both find yourselves out on the sidewalk.” With that, I marched down the hall to my bedroom, slammed the door behind me, and collapsed onto my bed.

Big mistake.

Twenty minutes later Mama was shaking me awake. “For heaven’s sake, Anastasia, what are you doing napping? We’re due at the church in ten minutes!”

Sometimes I think the last nine months have all been a bad dream. Then I wake up and realize the dream is my new reality. At which point I want to pull my quilt over my head and go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, Mama had whipped the quilt off my body. “You’re not even dressed yet!” she said. “What is the matter with you?”

For a split second I toyed with the idea of telling her but bit my tongue. Literally. Not only didn’t I have the energy, Mama is too self-absorbed to accept any excuse that throws a monkey wrench into her perfectly orchestrated works. She and Lucille have much more in common than either of them would ever admit. Each thinks the world revolves around her.

“Give me five minutes,” I mumbled. I dragged myself off the bed and headed into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and run a comb through my hair.

Two minutes later I found Mama, the boys, and Zack waiting for me in the living room, Lucille nowhere in sight. Mama looked pissed; the boys looked uncomfortable; Zack looked concerned. He crossed the room, draped his arm around my shoulders, and planted a kiss on my temple. “You look beat. Everything okay?” he whispered.

I nodded.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you know me so well?”

He raised both eyebrows. “Now you really have me worried.”

“I’m fine, but it’s a long story. We’ll talk later. Let’s get through this evening first.”

Mama clapped her hands together to interrupt us. “We need to leave. Now. We’re already late.”

~*~

We needn’t have rushed. Lawrence and the minister greeted us at the church, but Ira and his kids were nowhere in sight.

“Ira’s running late,” said Lawrence.

Mama threw her arms up in the air. “Of course, he is! Why should I expect anything to go as planned?” She pulled out her cell phone and called the restaurant to push back our dinner reservation a second time.

Ira finally arrived—
sans
brats—an hour later. “I’m so sorry,” he said, hurrying down the aisle to the front pew where we all sat.

“Where are the children?” asked Lawrence.

Ira offered up a chagrined expression accompanied by a shrug. “They refused to come. I finally called a babysitter and left them at home.”

I wondered if they’d dare pull a similar stunt tomorrow for the wedding. Not my problem, I told myself as we began to go through the motions of the rehearsal.

Without Ira’s three belligerent offspring to cause problems, we finished quickly and were soon on our way to the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. The remainder of the evening went by without any problems, although Ira seemed subdued and a bit distracted throughout the evening.

“Is everything all right?” I asked him at one point between courses.

He smiled weakly. “Sorry. Just a lot on my mind.”

Perhaps he’d finally come to the unpleasant conclusion that he needed to do something about his children. I chose not to pursue the topic.

We arrived back at the house by nine o’clock. “If you’ll excuse me,” said Mama, “I need my beauty sleep.” She headed toward the bedroom she used to share with Lucille. A moment later we heard them arguing.

“I’m not sure how much sleep—beauty or otherwise—she’s going to get tonight,” I said.

The boys took off for the den. A moment later a baseball play-by-play drowned out their grandmothers’ bickering. “A person can’t hear herself think in this house,” I said.

“We don’t have to stay.” Zack entwined his fingers through mine and led me out the back door and up the steps to his apartment.

“Alone at least,” he said, once inside. He grabbed a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the refrigerator and two glasses from the cabinet. We settled onto the sofa, and he poured the wine. After handing me a glass, he said, “Now suppose you tell me what happened today.”

~*~

I woke up the next morning in Zack’s bed with no idea how I’d gotten there. The last I remembered, I was relating how Sylvia Gruenwald killed Philomena and Norma Gene and planned to rid herself of her husband.

The aroma of brewing coffee wafted into the bedroom. I slipped into Zack’s discarded shirt, and padded barefoot into the main room to find him whipping up an omelet. He stopped to pour me a cup of coffee. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Hmm. Did I at least enjoy myself?”
 

He laughed. “Sweetheart, you were out before your head hit the pillow.”

“Oh. So I guess you didn’t enjoy yourself, either?”

He grinned. “I didn’t say that.”

I swatted his arm.
 

~*~

As I stood at the altar watching Mama and Lawrence take their vows, I sent up a silent prayer that this time my mother would find long-lasting happiness. Along with some financial security. I had my doubts about the latter, though, given that Lawrence seemed content to sponge off Ira, a man soon to be his
ex
-son-in-law. How long would Ira continue to foot the bills for a man no longer his relative?

Poor Ira. He thought he could buy love. Had he always been this way or only since his first wife’s death? Either way, all that money he tossed around certainly wasn’t buying him any happiness. Or respect. He’d married a gold-digger, and his kids alternated between using him as a personal ATM and a doormat. Even though he swam in Benjamins and I was stuck with both Karl’s debts and his curmudgeon of a mother, I’d never trade places with Ira Pollack.

I glanced over to where he sat sandwiched between his twins and his son and wondered what he’d promised them to show up today. Apparently, not enough to keep them from slumping in their seats, scowls plastered on their faces, chips the size of two-by-fours on their shoulders.

After last night, Mama came to her senses and decided to forego including twin flower girls and a ring bearer in the ceremony. No woman wants to be upstaged at her own wedding by a three-pronged adolescent plot to sabotages the event. Ira tried to convince us his kids would behave, but I voiced my doubts, and for once Mama agreed with me.

After the
I do’s
we posed for photos in the church. No matter how much Ira cajoled them, his kids refused to cooperate with the photographer.

“They’re doing this on purpose,” I whispered to Zack. “I’m going to put a stop to their manipulative behavior.”

I took a step in the direction of Ira’s kids, but Zack reached for my hand to stop me. “Allow me.”

He stepped between the photographer and Ira’s three brats. One by one he whispered something into each child’s ear. One by one their eyes grew wide with fear before each nodded, then plastered on a smile.

Zack returned to my side. “That should do the trick.”