Page 9 of Say Yes to the Death

Claire jabbed the skimmer in the woman’s direction. She flinched as a droplet of pool water splashed onto her cheek. An expensive pair of Italian shoes tapped impatiently on the concrete as she wiped it off. Fine lines shrouded her mouth despite looking like she had never smiled before.

“I’m Rachel. Lucas’s mother,” the woman said.

Shit.

“Oh my god. Ms. Islestorm, I am so sorry.” The pool skimmer clattered on the concrete. Rachel looked nothing like the carefree woman in the yellow dress in the picture in Luke’s den. Her cheekbones were more severe, and the light was gone from her eyes.

“We didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” Claire’s face was hot.

Rachel’s perfectly manicured eyebrows raised at the use of the word “we.”

Claire turned her back to Rachel and grabbed the beach towel that was draped over the only lounge chair left standing. She wound it around herself, absolutely mortified.She took a deep breath and searched for composure before turning back to the dragon of a woman.

“I’m Claire. Very pleased to meet you. Luke has a lovely picture of you in the den.” She shook the hand that was coolly offered. Rachel clutched her hand as though she was trying to squash a bug.

“Lucas never mentioned a Claire.”

What the shit? Claire bit her lip. “He didn’t?”

“I daresay I would have remembered my son mentioning that he was employing a topless pool girl.”

Oh no she didn’t. Claire drew herself up to her full height of five feet and three inches, but her eye level still only hit Rachel’s shoulder pads.

“I am not a pool girl,” she said, enunciating very clearly. “I work with Luke, not for him.”

Rachel let out a shrill laugh. It was a strange noise, as though she weren’t used to making it. “In what capacity?”

“We collaborate on various projects. He assists with the filmmaking portion of my business.” Her hands were clenched into fists.

“And what is your business?”

Here we go. Luke’s distaste for marriage was clearly learned from somewhere. Something told her this oversized bird of prey in Prada pumps had something to do with it.

“Event planning. Specifically marriage proposals,” Claire said. She squared her shoulders and stared Rachel down.

Rachel blinked in surprise. “Marriage proposals? Is planning really necessary? Aren’t they supposed to be quite simple?”

“For some couples, yes. Others prefer a greater degree of thoughtfulness. Rosie, hush,” Claire said to her dog, who was still barking in the pool.

Rachel glanced at the dog with disdain. She brushed an imaginary hair from her blouse.

Claire’s hands were balled into fists at her side, but her mother’s stern instruction on manners floated to the surface. Rachel had already seen her topless. But maybe she could mitigate some of the damage. “Could I get you anything, Rachel? Something to drink?”

“That’s quite unnecessary, thank you. I believe I’ll wait in the guest room until Lucas comes home.”

“Let me help you with your bags,” Claire said, picking up a Louis Vuitton weekend bag.

“I’ll get that, thank you,” Rachel said, snatching it away. She turned in a whirl of CHANEL N°5 and stormed across the patio tiles to the house.

Claire fought the urge to flip her middle finger at Rachel’s retreating back.

“Oh my god,” she whispered to herself, retrieving her phone. She dialed Luke’s number.

“Lucas Eugene Islestorm.”

“Oh, shit. What did I do?”

“Remember that time that you told me your very rigid, very stern, perpetual-stick-up-the-ass of a mother was coming for dinner at your house tomorrow?” She glanced behind her, fully expecting to see Rachel rounding on her with a machete.

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