Mother of the Bride (15 page)

“Did you inspect the house before the crew left?” She asked hopefully. If he said yes that would get her off the hook—sort of—but he said, “No,” and scowled. “I just wrote the check. Why?”

“I think you should go look at the great room.”

“I think we should
both
go look at the great room,” Munroe said, and grabbed her hand.

Cydney let him tow her into the house, down the steps and across the living room. No point trying to duck this. She deserved it for shooting off her mouth. She'd take her lumps, retrieve her keys and her suitcase and slink back to Kansas City where she belonged.

The pocket doors her mother had slapped shut in her face stood ajar. When Munroe banged them all the way open with a crack like a pistol shot, Georgette and Herb turned away from the fireplace, a metal carpenter's tape stretched between
them. Bebe was sitting on the dais, watching Aldo with a broom in his hands draw a giant heart pierced by an arrow in the dust on the floor, the initials
B.P. + A.M.
in the middle.

“My God,” Munroe said, letting go of Cydney's hand.
“It's filthyl”

“Oh Angus, it's just a little dust, a little dirt,” Georgette replied in a swift singsong. “A little soap, a little water—”

“Don't you so much as touch a dust rag, Georgette. I paid a small fortune to have this place cleaned from top to bottom.”

Munroe strode into the room and turned a circle looking up at the ceiling. He shook his head and glanced at Cydney with a rueful smile.

“You're right,” he said. “I should've checked their work.”

Wait a minute. She wasn't right. She was wrong. She'd accused him of creating this mess. Any second now he'd realize what she'd said and how she'd meant it. Then the dust balls would hit the fan.

Munroe walked up to Aldo and pursed his lips at the heart drawn in the dust. “Did you learn this in architectural drawing class?”

“Heck no, Uncle Gus.” Aldo grinned. “It's just sort of impromptu.”

“Take a picture of it. Then get a dustpan and sweep the floor so we don't track dirt all over the house.” Munroe clapped a hand on his nephew's shoulder, then turned toward Herb. “Show Georgette and Cydney to their rooms, would you, Herb? I've got a phone call to make.”

He glanced Cydney a nod—just a nod, no scowl—and strode out of the room. She was stunned, amazed that Munroe hadn't accused her of accusing him. She didn't realize until she heard a door close somewhere beyond the great room that he'd taken her car keys with him.

Her car keys and her chance to escape.

chapter

thirteen

For the second time in two days, Cydney considered drowning herself in the shower. Grace and Aplomb, whoever the heck they were, had totally abandoned her. If things didn't change—and
fast
—by the time she left Tall Pines she'd hold the world record for the number of times a so-called intelligent woman could put her foot in her mouth. And that was figuring she could get her keys back from Munroe and be out of here before dinner.

She felt funny using the shower, like she was imposing, since she knew she was leaving, but the hot spray beating on her shoulders felt
s-o-o-o
good. She'd need it for the long drive home, providing she could find her way out of here. Before she left, she'd suggest the signs she'd thought of and draft Aldo for the job. Munroe hadn't paid the cleaning crew to trash the great room, but that didn't mean he wouldn't put the signs up wrong and send the wedding guests to Arkansas.

It didn't mean he wouldn't try something else, either. The strong anti-wedding stand he'd taken with her in his hospital room Tuesday morning, followed by the one-eighty he'd made at dinner and his offer of Tall Pines for the ceremony just didn't add up. Cydney still didn't trust his motives, but it wasn't her wedding and it wasn't her problem. Her mother was wise to Munroe. Let her keep an eye on him. Cydney was going home to Kansas City where she belonged.

She'd come back on Saturday for the ceremony, slip in around noon and make herself useful washing glasses in the scullery. She could handle a few hours of being eclipsed by Gwen, but a week of knocking herself silly for Bebe, then
watching her niece forget she existed the second her mother came through the door—not only no, but
hell
no.

Cydney shut off the water, opened the glass door and reached for a towel. The Plexiglas shower surround was the only modern convenience in an otherwise charmingly quaint bathroom. A pedestal sink with a wood-framed mirror, a washstand and open shelves and thick, loopy white rugs on the tile floor. She dried off, wrapped up in the towel and padded into the adjacent bedroom where her suitcase lay open on a blanket box at the foot of the Victorian four-poster bed.

Because Georgette was an antiques freak, Cydney knew it was old enough not to be a cedar chest. It was a lovely thing, made of mahogany with a carved front and just enough dings and dents to give it character.

All the furniture was antique, an oddly pleasing mix of styles. A Duncan Phyfe desk, a Shaker dresser and a Chippendale chest, a Bombay chest that served as a nightstand. A lovely wing chair with an ottoman sat in one corner with a brass art nouveau floor lamp.

Munroe's Aunt Phoebe haunted Tall Pines as surely as if she were a ghost. Cydney just couldn't see Munroe hanging embroidered curtains, folding an afghan crocheted in ecru yarn at the foot of the wedding ring quilt or tatting the lace throw cushions.

What to wear, she wondered, staring into her suitcase. She didn't want to look like she'd been planning to leave since she'd come through the door. The cover story she'd concocted was squirrels in the attic. Surely Munroe would buy that, since he looked at her half the time like she had a bird's nest for brains. She planned to say the neighbor she'd asked to keep an eye on her house called on her cell phone to report the squirrels. She'd lie and say she'd be back in a day or two. When she got home she'd make up some other crisis to keep her there.

She took a pair of navy crop pants and a blue shirt with sleeves she could roll up out of her suitcase and put them on with a pair of sandals. A little makeup—powder foundation,
blush, mascara and lip gloss. Picked out her damp curls and glanced at her watch. Ten past five. Her mother had set dinner for five-thirty so they could get to bed early. She had plenty of time to tell her squirrel story, come back for her suitcase, lug it out to the Jeep and be on the road before it was totally dark.

The room assigned to her was tucked into an alcove around a corner from the rest of the bedrooms. The stairs that led to the dining room were just outside the door. Cydney started toward them, heard a door open in the main hallway, then a thump and a loud “Shhh!” and poked her head around the corner, just as Angus Munroe stepped into the pine-paneled hall from the gallery at the other end. Bebe, with a black nylon tote bag over her shoulder, and Aldo, lugging a black duffel, froze in the middle of the long, carpeted corridor.

“What are you doing, Aldo?” Munroe asked.

He and Bebe blinked at each other, then Aldo put down the duffel and faced his uncle. “Moving my stuff into Bebe's room.”

“Oh.” Munroe nodded. “Why?”

“We aren't sneaking around. We're engaged to be married.”

“Yes, I know. But until you
are
married, you don't sleep together in my house.”

“My Uncle Cyd doesn't mind if we do it in her house,” Bebe said.

“I most certainly
do
mind.” Cydney stepped around the corner, stung that Bebe would say such a thing. “And I
never
gave you and Aldo permission to
do it
in my house.”

“But you didn't say anything on Monday,” Bebe argued.

“What could I say? I came home early and caught you in bed. You were there because you thought I wouldn't be. Your mother told you to celebrate your love.
I
told you to get dressed.”

“Hey, Beebs,” Aldo said sharply. “That's not what you told me.”

“But—but,” Bebe blubbered, her big brown eyes filling with tears. “I
love
you, Aldo! I just want to be with you!”

“You'll be with him for the rest of your life a week from Saturday,” Cydney said. “In the meantime, this is Mr. Munroe's house, and you'll respect his rules and his wishes.”

Bebe dropped the tote bag and whipped toward Cydney. “You're not my mother!”

She flung the words at her like a slap, then rushed past her into her room, half the length of the hall away from Aldo's, and slammed the door. Aldo muttered, “'Scuse me,” and went after her. When the door shut, Cydney looked at Angus Munroe. He scowled. Her face burned.

“I'm sorry,” she said, just as he said, “I'm sorry.” Not quite in sync, but close enough to make them both smile a little.

“‘We're engaged to be married,’ “Cydney said, “was Bebe's justification for necking in the backseat.”

“Aldo said they weren't sneaking,” Munroe replied. “But it sure looked that way to me.”

“Oh yes. They were definitely sneaking.”

“I put them in separate rooms. I didn't think I had to spell it out.”

“I can't believe Bebe said I didn't mind.”

“It didn't sound to me like something you'd say.”

Ahem,
said Cydney's little voice.
The squirrels?

“Oh right.” She snapped her fingers. “The squirrels.”

“Do you mean Chip and Dale or Aldo and Bebe?”

“I think Chip and Dale are chipmunks,” Cydney said with a laugh. “I had a call from home, on my cell phone. My neighbor—”

She heard the door open behind her and turned around. Bebe and Aldo stepped into the hall. He picked up his luggage and put it back in his room, shut the door and walked back to Bebe.

“I apologize, Mr. Munroe,” she mumbled to the carpet. “Aldo sleeping in my room was all my idea.”

“I doubt it,” Munroe replied dryly, and Aldo flushed. “But I accept your apology, Bebe.”

“Thank you.” She nodded and started toward the stairs with Aldo.

“Just a minute,” Munroe said, and they turned back. “I think you owe your aunt an apology, too.”

Bebe fixed a flat-eyed stare on Munroe. “Do I have to do everything you say while I'm in your house?”

“No, but it seems to me—”

“Then I'm not going to apologize,” Bebe cut him off. “I'm an almost married
woman
and I'm tired of being treated like a
child.'”

“Then stop behaving like one,” Cydney shot back.

“You're
still
not my mother,” Bebe hissed at her, then swept away with Aldo down the back stairs to the dining room.

“Sorry again,” Munroe said quietly. “I meant well.”

“It's not your fault. It's mine. Mine and my mother's.” Cydney felt tears in her eyes, blinked them away and turned around.

Munroe leaned on one shoulder against the paneled wall. He'd changed into steel blue khakis and a windowpane checked shirt about the same color that made his gray eyes look navy, socks and a pair of black loafers with tassels. Darn it. She was hoping for one last glimpse of tanned, muscled skin dusted with dark hair.

“I think we went overboard,” she said with a sigh, “trying to compensate for Gwen just dumping Bebe and going on with her life.”

“When was that?” Munroe asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Bebe was three and a half,” Cydney said, glancing away from him.

She shouldn't have blurted that about Gwen. She thought fast for something to soften what she'd said, something that didn't make her sister sound selfish and heartless.

“It really was the best thing for Bebe, but it's been hard on her. Hard on Gwen, too, believe it or not.”

“I don't believe it,” Munroe said, and Cydney swung him a sharp glance. He smiled. “I'll tell you what I do believe. I believe you're the nicest person I've ever met, Cydney Parrish.”

“Gee, thanks. I've waited all my life to hear that from a man.”

He laughed. Cydney didn't think he knew how, but the grin that came with the laugh flashed his white teeth and lit up his face, made his eyes shine and creased a dimple in his left cheek. It made her breath catch, too, and her stomach jump.

“Hal-loo-ooo!” Georgette yodeled up the stairs. “Din-wer!”

Then she rang the bell.
Cling-cling, ding-cling.
Cydney listened closely. It was definitely cling-cling, not ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling.

“That's not my bell,” she said.

“It's Aunt Phoebe's.” Munroe stepped forward and took her elbow. “She has a whole collection in the breakfront in the dining room.”

“Oh God save us. My mother loves bells.”

“So did Aunt Phoebe.” Munroe steered her toward the back stairs. “She rang one to announce every meal. I hate the damn things.”

“My mother gave me one made out of crystal, about this big.” Cydney held two fingers a few inches apart. “No matter where I hide it she always finds it.”

Munroe laughed again, a rich baritone rumble that spread a warm flush through Cydney. She'd made him laugh twice. It wasn't even close to any of her fantasies, but it was
real.
He was real. A living, breathing, warm male. She felt his hand on her elbow, smelled a whiff of his aftershave. He didn't want to drag her to bed and ravish her—damn it—but he thought she was the nicest person he'd ever met.