And she could already tell that it was going to feel good.
Still, looking in the mirror as she painstakingly blow-dried her hair straight again, she experienced a moment when the new Carly almost wimped out on her. Discovering that she looked like hell was definitely
not
a confidence booster. The new Carly she saw in her head was prettier, younger, sexier-looking than the woman in the mirror. It took her a while to argue herself around to believing that the new Carly was about how she felt inside, and not about how she looked, but she did it. Finally she accepted the slightly depressing truth: This was how the new Carly looked, same as how the old Carly looked, especially when she’d had a total of about three hours of sleep. As always, lack of sleep gave her dark circles and bloodshot eyes and dull skin, to say nothing of an extra dollop of crankiness. But the crankiness might pay off, especially today, when she was hoping to be at her new Carly best while she had one final conversation with Matt, which she planned to begin by suggesting he go do unmentionable things to himself and end by ordering him to stay the hell away from her because she never wanted to see him again as long as she lived.
If he wanted
friends,
he could watch TV.
On that bright note, she headed downstairs. Descending with head held high and one hand carefully clutching the rail—no point in taking a chance on ruining the cool, confident, and in-control image she was trying to project by tumbling head over heels down the stairs—she scanned the living room for her quarry. No luck. The room was empty. Her shoulders slumped—she’d been psyched for the kill—but then she bucked herself up and headed for the kitchen, which she could tell from the chattering voices and breakfasty smells was where a significant number of the occupants of the house had
gathered. The prospect of telling Matt where to go in front of an audience was tempting—the old Carly would never have done that—but then, she really didn’t want anybody except herself and Matt to know just why she wanted him to take a long walk on a short pier. Therefore, her best course of action would be to ask him if she might, please, have a word with him in private.
Pinning a pleasant smile on her carefully glossed lips in anticipation of making just that request as soon as she set eyes on him, clamping firmly down on the vain wish that she had packed something with a little more of a va-va-voom quotient than white capris and an orange tee shirt with a pair of big red kissy lips on the front, Carly walked into the kitchen.
A cheerful mix of sounds greeted her that included water bubbling on the stove and cutlery clanking against dishes and people talking a mile a minute. The smell of breakfast—pancakes and syrup, eggs, bacon, coffee—filled the air. Ordinarily it would have made her stomach rumble. This morning it left her unmoved. She was, she realized, too keyed up at the prospect of finally facing Matt down to feel the least bit hungry.
The room was positively packed with people, she saw as she hesitated on the threshold, glancing around for him. Which was, she decided after an instant’s consideration, probably a good thing. At least they could have some privacy elsewhere in the house while she bade Matt a not-so-sweet farewell.
Sandra was at the stove with her back to the door, wearing black pants and a tunic-length black tee shirt, looking comfortable as a duck in water as she stirred a spoon around in a steaming pot, with nary a sign of the previous night’s bad attitude to be seen. Lissa, wearing a bright green sundress with her long hair streaming over one shoulder, was hanging over the back of a wooden chair in which sat another girl who looked so much like her that she had to be another of Matt’s sisters. This girl, who was perhaps a little taller and slimmer than Lissa, had her black hair styled in a smooth shoulder-length bob and was wearing a black knit top. She was frowning over what appeared to be a book of material swatches that was spread open on the big round kitchen table in front of her. Seated beside her and pointing
to a particular swatch was a woman of about Carly’s age in a sleeveless white silk blouse and pearls, with carefully upswept honey-blond hair, delicate, slightly sharp features and a slim build. Next to her was a man in a white shirt and a red tie with features and coloring so similar to hers that they almost had to be related. Rounding out the table were a couple of Matt’s uniformed deputies—big, burly Antonio from last night, who was digging into a plate of pancakes with gusto, and another, much younger man with a bristly russet-colored buzz cut who appeared to be finished and was pushing his empty plate away. A third girl with short black hair—undoubtedly Matt’s final sister—was just turning away from the refrigerator, a carton of orange juice in her hand. She was wearing a knee-skimming turquoise shift.
It struck Carly that it was Sunday morning, and Sunday mornings in Benton, at least in her experience, meant church. Everyone except the deputies seemed dressed to attend. A pang of residual guilt reminded her that Sunday mornings in Benton had once meant church for her, too. Her grandmother, a pillar of the First Baptist Church of Benton, had never permitted her to miss a single Sunday unless she was really, truly (as in running a high temperature) ill. Since leaving for college, she had gotten out of the habit, and the only times she and John had gone inside a church had been to attend weddings and funerals.
She was all grown up now, she reminded the shadow of her younger self who still lurked uneasily inside. She might have come home to Benton, but that didn’t mean she had to totally revert. She could still do any damned thing she wanted to do.
Like not go to church. Today, at least. Darn it all, her clothes weren’t even unpacked, and she just had too much to do.
As she continued to look around, she was forced to conclude that her first impression had been right on target: Matt was not in the room.
“This is the best darned breakfast I’ve had in years,” Antonio said to Sandra, popping a forkful of pancakes into his mouth and chewing happily.
“No way am I wearing a bubblegum pink bridesmaid’s dress,” the
girl with the black bob said with revulsion. “The dress I tried on was dark green.”
“I wouldn’t call it
bubblegum.
” The blond woman sounded slightly affronted. “And dark green’s more suited to fall than summer. It’s the same dress, just a more summery color.”
“Hey, Dani, why not give it a chance? Maybe bubblegum pink’s your color,” Lissa put in with a grin.
Dani—Carly remembered she was Matt’s middle sister—scowled up at Lissa. “You’re going to be wearing it too.”
“Thanks for the breakfast, Miss Kaminski. It sure was good,” the second deputy said, chugging along on the original conversational track.
“Sandra,” Sandra said to him. Then, to Antonio in a honeyed tone, “Would you like another egg? Or some more pancakes?”
Carly’s antennae went up. Sounded like Sandra had Antonio in her sights. If so, talking her out of heading home to Chicago might be less of a battle than Carly had been prepared to wage. Which was good news for the success of their bed-and-breakfast, but probably bad news for Antonio’s waistline. Those whom Sandra cared about, she fed.
“Can’t do it,” Antonio replied, patting his stomach and looking regretful. “It’s going to be all I can do to finish this. I sure would like to, though.”
“What, are you finally getting full?” the other deputy asked. “I don’t believe it.”
“Shut your trap, Toler,” Antonio said, scowling at him. “Or next time I’ll let
you
run the raccoon out of Miz Nichols’s attic.”
“Erin, could I get some more juice here?” the blond woman’s male clone asked.
“Sure, honey.” The girl with short black hair smiled and crossed to his side, carton in hand. Erin was the oldest of Matt’s three sisters. Carly sort of recognized her now, although the petitely pretty woman in front of her certainly looked different from the dirty-faced, smart-mouthed little girl she vaguely remembered.
“Weren’t you planning to match the men’s ties and cummerbunds to the bridesmaids’ dresses?” Lissa asked, looking at Erin.
“That’s usually how it’s done,” the blond woman answered before Erin, who was busy pouring juice, could reply.
Lissa and Dani exchanged looks.
“Matt is going to look
so
fantastic in bubblegum pink,” Lissa said solemnly, and the two of them burst out laughing.
“Hey, Collin’s wearing it too,” Erin said, shooting her sister a reproving look.
“Collin would,” the second deputy muttered. He probably meant the sour-toned observation to go unheard, but he’d spoken into a lull in the conversation. All eyes swung to him—and in the process Carly was discovered standing just inside the doorway.
“Oh, hi.” It was Lissa who spotted her. She grinned, her eyes sparkling wickedly. “Want some breakfast?”
It was now all eyes on Carly.
“Uh, no thanks,” Carly said, feeling suddenly awkward. Matt was clearly nowhere in the vicinity, and the rest of these people, with the exception of Sandra of course, were virtual strangers. For her part, Sandra waved her spoon vaguely in greeting, then turned back to her cooking. Reminding herself of her mission, Carly moved on into the room and added in a more purposeful tone, “Is Matt around?”
“No, and he probably won’t be until sometime tonight,” Erin said, making no bones about looking her up and down. At the news, Carly felt both relieved and let down. Her inner No More Ms. Nice Girl had been ready, willing, and able, but she wasn’t all that sorry to be put on hold, either. Carly had never been confrontational by nature, and she was discovering that girding herself up for battle and then staying in attack mode until the enemy could be located required a lot more psychic energy than she would have thought. “He went into work early.”
“Yeah, real early. Like around five
A.M.
He was on his way out when I was coming in,” Dani said with a grimace. “He was in a lousy mood, too.”
There, at least, was some good news, Carly thought.
Having finished checking out the newcomer, Dani exchanged a significant look with Lissa.
“If you were just coming in at five in the morning, I can see why.
Five in the morning’s no time for a young girl to be getting home,” Antonio said, pointing his fork censoriously at Dani, who made a face at him.
“Hey, I did better than Erin. She didn’t come home at all. At least, not until just about an hour ago, and then only because she had to get dressed for church,” Dani said.
Erin looked self-conscious. The two younger men at the table looked less than happy at the revelation. The blond one shot Dani a dirty look. The red-haired deputy glared at Erin. Watching, Carly thought,
uh-oh, something’s up.
But, thankfully, if there was a problem, it wasn’t hers to solve.
“Shut up, Dani,” Erin said, glaring at her sister.
The blond woman, meanwhile, was looking hard at Carly, who felt her gaze and glanced over to meet it.
“I know you,” the blond woman said suddenly. Carly realized that she was right. The reason she realized this was because, now that she took a good close look at the blonde, she recognized her too.
“You’re Carly Linton,” the other woman said.
“And you’re Shelby Holcomb,” Carly replied.
Shelby had been two years ahead of her in school. Head cheerleader. Homecoming queen. Voted Most Popular Girl. Perfect hair. Perfect clothes. Perfect teeth. Studious, curly-haired little Carly hadn’t even been on her radar screen. The only reason Carly knew who Shelby was, as someone other than one of those high school superstars the rank-and-file students could only watch with envy from a distance, was because Shelby had had a huge thing for Matt.
The year Carly had been a freshman, Shelby had been a junior and Matt had been a senior; Shelby had chased Matt relentlessly. Probably the only thing that had kept her from catching him had been Elise Knox.
Carly had never, ever thought that she might feel grateful to Elise Knox, but now, suddenly, she did. At least Matt’s involvement with Elise had kept him out of Shelby’s hands.
But Elise was no longer in the picture to run interference, and Shelby had obviously caught Matt at last. Because here she was early on a Sunday morning in Matt’s house, eating breakfast at Matt’s
table, on the most informal of terms with Matt’s sisters. Last night Lissa had said that Matt never brought girls home, and Shelby was going to die because he had. Carly hadn’t realized that Lissa was talking about
this
Shelby, Miss Queen of Everything.
If, in Matt’s immortal words, Carly was his only girl
friend,
then Shelby was obviously one of the girls—or
the
girl—he fucked.
The realization burst upon her like an exploding firework lighting up an inky night sky.
Carly’s first instinctive thought was,
I’ll kill him.
It made her beyond furious to think that Matt had been cheating on her with Shelby. Then she realized: no, wait, it was the other way around. Appalled, Carly faced the hideous truth: she had only reentered the picture last night. If Matt belonged to Shelby now, then Matt had been cheating on Shelby with
her.
I’ll kill him,
Carly thought again.
I am going to kill him.
That she’d already pretty much intended to do that was beside the point. Now that the true extent of his perfidy had become clear, she felt like killing him
twice.
“How long are you back in town for?” Shelby asked, looking her over with the slightest of frowns.
“Permanently, I hope.” Carly managed a small, polite (she hoped) smile.
“We’re opening a bed-and-breakfast,” Sandra piped up. This evidence that Sandra had apparently abandoned her intention to run back to Chicago should have cheered Carly up. It didn’t. The way she felt at the moment, nothing short of Matt’s disembowelment in front of her eyes could make her feel chipper.
“You can count me in for the breakfast part,” Antonio said, putting down his fork at last. Sandra beamed at him.
“Oops, I guess we forgot about introductions,” Lissa said to Carly. The teenager was looking pleased about something, but Carly had a sneaking suspicion that she was better off not knowing what that something was. “Since you know Shelby, and you know us, then that just leaves Matt’s deputies, Antonio Johnson and Mike Toler, and Shelby’s brother Collin, who’s also Erin’s fiancé—oh, I guess if you know Shelby, you probably know Collin too.”