“Not just angry. Totally pissed off.” I didn’t turn around. “Where’s your blond sidekick? I thought maybe y’all would come to the wedding together and heckle Mama as she took her first dance with Sal. Or maybe it’d be funny to toss rotten tomatoes at them as they cut their pretty cake.”
“Mace, I’m sorry.” When I still didn’t turn my head, he stroked a ringlet that lay next to my cheek. My skin burned where his finger brushed it. “As a target, you and your Gone with the Wind get-up were far too easy. I should have shown more restraint.”
“Restraint would have been nice.”
“I’ll make it up to you, niña.” He stepped in front of my chair. “How about you let me uncurl your hair? I’ll brush it out, nice and slow. Nice and slow. Then I’ll give you the best shampoo you’ve ever had. I’ll make it last as long as you want.”
Black eyes. Sexy smile. A snazzy dark suit that draped perfectly across his broad chest. My treacherous will was weakening.
“You wouldn’t want to wash my hair in that suit. It looks expensive. You might get it wet.”
He trailed a finger from my cheek, down my neck, and under the ruffled strap of my lime-green gown. My skin tingled.
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t wear the suit. That way I won’t have to concern myself about it getting wet.” He gave my strap a little tug. “But you’ll have to take off all your clothes, too. We wouldn’t want to ruin this beautiful dress.”
My desire for him was about to betray me. Again. I wondered if the warm feeling spreading through my lower regions was making the ruffles on my skirt quiver. And I wondered if anyone was using that manager’s office in the back of the hall.
“Well?” He leaned in close, his lips just inches from mine. “What do you say about that shower?”
“My shower?” Mama stood beside us, seemingly clueless about the conversation she’d walked in on. “My shower was perfect, Carlos. We had a singing cowboy.”
He straightened and took a step away. I looked up from my chair at Mama. A worried frown creased her brow.
“Have you seen Sal? I can’t find him anywhere.”
I took what I hoped was a steadying breath. I was still conscious of the heat from Carlos’ body beside me. “Sal wasn’t feeling well before the ceremony, Mama.”
“Nerves,” she announced knowingly. “They always hit him right in the bowels.”
“Too much information, Mama.”
“Well, they do, darlin.’ He’s probably sitting on the pot in the bathroom right now.”
She peered more closely at Carlos and me; seemed to notice for the first time the flush on my face, and his hands stuck deep in his pockets. The DJ played Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon.” Mama’s matchmaking mode kicked in.
“My, my,” she said. “You look like a million dollars in that suit, Carlos. Doesn’t he, Mace?”
“No, Mama.”
He lifted an eyebrow at me.
I smiled. “He looks like two million dollars.”
Encouraged, Mama said, “We’ll be opening the champagne soon. This would be the perfect time for the two of you to have a dance.” She gave him a little push toward me. “And Carlos, make sure you stick right beside Mace. You won’t want to go anywhere near that men’s room for at least fifteen minutes after you see Sal step out.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome, honey. I heard y’all arrested Tony. I’d never have believed it. He had such good manners.” Waving at someone across the room, Mama began to glide away. “Go dance!” she said over her shoulder.
“What do you say, niña? Shall we do like your mother says?”
His eyes smoldered. His voice was low and caressing. I had a better plan: tear off that suit, sweep away the place settings, and have my way with him right there on the table for eight. But a dance would have to do. I gave him my hand.
“I have to do what she says. This is Mama’s Special Day.”
As we spun onto the floor, I nestled comfortably into his arms. This, at least, felt right. We might scrap and argue, but I couldn’t deny the physical attraction. It was like a drug. And what about the rest of it, the more complicated aspects of our relationship?
To borrow a line from Scarlett O’Hara: I’ll think about that tomorrow.
I kissed him on the cheek.
“What was that for?”
“Just for being here,” I said.
We continued dancing to the next song, too. “At Last,” the classic Etta James version. I was acutely aware of Carlos’ delicious, spicy scent; his body pressed against mine. I figured I’d better get my mind on something else, or those china place settings on the table weren’t safe.
I looked out the window, where the sun was beginning its downward trek through the sky. It wouldn’t be long now before Sal and Mama made their exit as husband and wife. I saw his Cadillac, fully decorated and tied with tin cans, courtesy of his groomsmen. A gleaming, vintage muscle car was parked just beyond the Caddy. Could that possibly be the rusting hulk from the fish camp? If so, Rabe had worked wonders in record time.
Then, a scene next to the Camaro caught my eye.
Linda-Ann stood there in her hot pink party dress. Trevor towered over her, wearing beige coveralls. Shaking her head, she backed away. Trevor, his face red and contorted, waved his arms wildly. He looked like he was shouting, but I didn’t hear the words since the hall’s windows were closed, the AC was cranked on high, and the music was loud.
He grabbed her arm; she pulled it away. That seemed to antagonize him even more. He raised a clenched fist, like he was going to hit her. But Linda-Ann stood up to him. Her face was inches from his as she shook her finger and gave him hell. Now, Trevor was the one backing up, surprise written all over his face. She turned and stalked back toward the VFW. He stared after her, his mouth hanging open.
I was about to ask Carlos what he thought about Trevor, and his potential for violence, when we spun away from the window. My gaze settled on Ronnie’s widow, solitary in that cone of sorrow again. She sat at an otherwise empty table, staring into a full glass of what looked like bourbon. Was it grief and loneliness she was trying to drink away? Or was it something else?
Another turn, and I saw C’ndee and Rabe, huddled together in a far corner of the dining room. Maybe they were cooking up something that would focus suspicion on Darryl for Ronnie’s murder. I was almost certain Tony didn’t kill the caterer. Which left the question: Who did?
The song ended. Sliding his hand to the small of my back, Carlos pressed me close. “A peso for your thoughts, Mace.”
“I was just thinking about Ronnie …”
Before I got the chance to finish, Mama took the microphone from the DJ at the foot of the stage. As she tap-tap-tapped, people covered their ears at the noise pain.
“Listen up, everybody. We’re going to serve the champagne now. But before we do, I just want to say how grateful I am that all of you could be here with us.” Her eyes found my sisters and me in the crowd. She blew us each a kiss. “All my favorite people in the world are here, and it’s only fitting that y’all will share Sal’s and my Special Day.”
She dabbed her eyes with a cornflower-colored handkerchief she carried as the bride’s “something blue.” Sniffling a little, she cleared her throat.
“Now, C’ndee’s going to start opening bottles and the servers will pour and pass.” She raised her voice, aiming it toward the bathrooms way back in the far reaches of the hall. “I surely hope by that time, my new husband will be here to join me on stage.”
A muffled bellow issued from behind the closed door of the Men’s: “Don’t worry! I’ll be there, Rosie.”
Amid laughter, the first pop of a champagne bottle sounded. The crowd cheered. And then pop, pop, pop. The servers quickly loaded glasses onto trays and began making a circuit of the room. They handed out sparkling wine, pink of course, until all the guests held a glass. “Don’t forget the bride and groom,” Mama said into the microphone.