Have Your Cake and Kill Him Too (38 page)

Libby straightened and adjusted her hat to dislodge the pesky flower once and for all. “Don't apologize, Nora. I'm sure your mind is scattered after such a long vacation. We began to worry you'd run off permanently with That Man.”

“He has a name, you know.”

Blandly, Emma said, “You'll notice she's wearing the Rock of Gibraltar again.”

Libby seized my left hand and goggled at the giant emerald-cut diamond ring that flashed on my finger. “Oh, sweet heaven, what have you done?”

“Be careful,” Emma warned. “You could endanger the Hubble telescope with that sparkler.”

“It's huge!” Libby cried. “It's not stolen, is it?”

“No,” I said tartly, “I think he won it in Vegas.”

Her eyes widened. “You're kidding!

“Of course I'm kidding.”

She peered more closely. “A diamond that size can't possibly be real.”

“You actually gonna marry Mick this time, Nora?” Emma asked.

I took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Libby dropped my hand and cried out in anguish. “Nora, think of your family! You can't besmirch our good name this way!”

“Hell, think of Mick,” Emma said. “You realize this is his death sentence?”

The Blackbird women all shared such genetic traits as auburn hair, an allergy to cats, and well-documented widowhood at a young age. Emma and I had lost our husbands before we turned thirty, and Libby's marriages—three so far—had all ended in disaster. The joke around our social circle was that the only men interested in marrying us must be suicidal.

I had fallen hard for Michael Abruzzo, however, and he insisted he was strong enough to withstand a little family curse—even one that dated back more than a hundred fifty years. I had refused to endanger his life, of course. But after months of holding out, I was finally weakened by too much champagne and a glorious Caribbean sunset. When he'd asked me again, I said yes.

The fact that he was the son of New Jersey's most notorious mob kingpin didn't matter to me anymore. Not much, at least. But our love match was going to turn Philadelphia society upside down. The Blackbird family had been welcomed into sedate drawing rooms since the days of the Continental Congress, and a union with the Abruzzos—known for racketeering, not racquet club memberships—was going to be the scandal of the season.

Libby groaned. “We'll never live this down!”

Emma patted her shoulder. “Take it easy. Maybe the mayor will get caught with a hooker or something.”

Libby nodded. “Let's hope there's a catastrophe so we won't suffer the glare of the spotlight.”

“Let's hope,” I agreed, only half joking.

“Anyway, where the hell have you been?” Emma asked Libby. “Lucy said you were going to seduce your accountant.”

Libby was prim. “We met to review my tax situation, which stretched into the dinner hour, so we—”

“Spent the night getting each other's numbers straight?” I asked.

“Wait a minute,” Emma said. “Wasn't your accountant sent to jail for embezzling?”

Libby waved her hand. “Oh, that was a simple misunderstanding. He explained it all to me. What a miscarriage of justice! A man with a soul like Malcolm's is hardly going to cheat people.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway”—she sneaked a look to make sure her daughter wasn't listening, then lowered her voice just in case—“last night was a one—well, a brief encounter, that's all. I can't be tied down right now, you know, and I've learned Malcolm is a strictly by-the-book kind of person who—well, he's better suited to dealing with the IRS than tending to my more esoteric needs.”

“He was lousy in the sack,” Emma guessed.

“No,” Libby said sharply. “We are simply not suited for an intimate relationship. So I'm at loose ends. Ready for a new challenge! I need a creative project to focus all my energy. It gets pent up, you know, and then I'm all jittery. I need an outlet!”

“Maybe getting reacquainted with your children could be an outlet for all your energy,” I said. “You could save yourself the jitters by cooking their dinner tonight, as a matter of fact.”

“What kind of creative outlet is that? No, I need something really exciting—something that will engage my mind while making the best use of my social skills and boundless creativity. I want a real challenge! Look around at this wonderful party. Every single hostess here has indulged her fantasies and—” Libby's face lit up. “Why, I have just the idea! It's a brainstorm!”

“Just make sure the rain doesn't start falling on me,” Emma muttered.

But Libby was already in raptures and didn't hear. “I know what I'll do!” she cried. “It's perfect! Nora! I'll plan your wedding!

I choked.

Emma burst out laughing.

“It will be wonderful!” Libby crowed. “We'll have a tent and beautiful clothes and—oh!—I know just the cleric to conduct the ceremony! She's a Wiccan with absolutely the best karma of any person I've ever known.”

“Libby—”

“And flowers! We could construct a Maypole with braided flowers! With the right music, a pagan fertility dance might break out!”

Emma doubled over laughing.

“The Druid tradition of marriage is unlike any other. Nora, you'll simply adore the radiance circle. And the procession to the fire where the man unfastens his flowing white poet shirt as a symbolic opening of his heart to—”

“Libby, Michael won't go for the whole Druid thing.”

Emma said, “I want to see him in the flowing white shirt!”

“No,” I said. “No flowing shirts.”

“I'll talk to him!” Libby cried.

“That won't help. Michael doesn't want a wedding.”

“How can you marry without a wedding?”

“He doesn't want a big fuss. It will only create a lot of publicity.”

“What kind of man is afraid to declare his love in public? We'll keep everything secret from the press, I promise. Look, I'll come up with a few ideas and make a little presentation. Maybe some sketches to go with my ideas. No pressure, no commitment—just brainstorming. Oh, it will be such fun! We'll bond—the whole family! Can't you see the twins acting as dual ring bearers?”

“Why not?” Emma said. “Just frisk them for weapons first.”

“And Lucy in a perfect little pink dress!”

“It'll look great with her sword,” Emma said.

“And what about me?” Libby suddenly clapped both hands to her bosom. “I'll need to find an outfit for the occasion! Something beautiful. Something that says I'm adventurous! And available! Do you know what percentage of couples actually meet at weddings? I might meet the perfect mate!”

“If you can't get laid at a wedding,” Emma said, “you might as well throw yourself naked into a baseball stadium.”

“Don't give her any more ideas,” I said.

Emma's cell phone rang, and still laughing, she pulled it out of her shirt pocket. “Yeah?”

Libby said, “Nora, I've had three weddings already, so I know all the pitfalls. It's important to focus on a theme as soon as possible.”

“Michael and I aren't exactly the theme-wedding types, Lib.”

“Okay,” Emma said into her phone. “I've got an opening at midnight. You want me to pencil you in, big boy?”

Libby and I forgot about weddings and turned our stares onto Emma.

“Sure, baby,” she said to her caller. “A thousand bucks. In cash, of course. See you then.”

She terminated her call, and Libby said, “Lord above, now what are you doing?”

“None of your beeswax.”

I said, “You told me you had a couple of jobs. I thought you meant teaching children to ride ponies!”

“That's what I do in the daylight hours. But a girl's got to entertain herself after dark, too, right?”

Our little sister had recently freelanced at a dungeon that specialized in S and M. Heaven only knew what she was doing now. “Em—”

“Hey,” Emma said. “Where's Luce-ifer?”

The three of us glanced around.

Sure enough, my niece had disappeared, foil and all.

Looking around, Libby cried, “Nora, you should have kept an eye on her!”

“Do I look like her mother?”

“You were in charge of her today!”

“Why—Oh, never mind.” Once again, being with my sisters felt like being strapped to a speeding train headed for an exploded trestle. “Lucy's not going to be kidnapped in this crowd. Everybody knows she can make Linda Blair look like a Girl Scout.”

Libby's eyes began to tear up. “That's my only daughter you're talking about!”

Emma said, “Oh for heaven's sake, let's split up. We'll find Lucy faster that way, and the two of you can stop bickering.”

It was a bad day when Emma was the voice of reason.