Page 118 of What Doesn't Kill Her

Arthur, Dan and Kellen looked at each other over the top of Rae’s head. “Do they still have those?” Arthur asked.

“Apparently.” Kellen made some decisions she didn’t know she’d even considered. She quickly listed her choices, closing with “‘At Last,’ Etta James.”

“Good. I can springboard off those for the rest of the playlist. I’ve hired a talented bass player and a guitarist and am negotiating with a trumpet player. If I can’t get him, I may try for a clarinet. The instrument gives the music a ’40s vibe, but in this case, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Dan Matyasovitch turned and crawled back the way he came.

“Dan is a talented actor and musician. You can trust him with this list. When he’s done, you’ll have a reception to remember.” Arthur checked his phone, pushed buttons, made his next pronouncement. “Now, about the food for the reception—”

Kellen began to feel as if she’d been ambushed. “On that, Verona can have her way.” From across the lawn, she heard the thump of footsteps running.

Pearly Perry slid under the shrubbery like a baseball player going in to third base. She was slender to a fault, short and dressed in chef’s clothes so loose they hung on her. She beamed at Rae, glanced nervously at Kellen, looked to Arthur for guidance.

Arthur came through for her. “Pearly, Miss Adams says she wants Mrs. Di Luca to have her way about the food at the reception.”

Pearly’s dark eyes widened in horror. “Yes, Miss Adams, she knows food very well. But her baking leaves much to be desired, and the wedding cake! You must have what you want for your wedding cake!”

“You want to speak to the bakery on my behalf?” Kellen asked.

“I want tomakeit. I studied for years under a master baker!” Pearly took Kellen’s hands and clutched them earnestly. “I will make you a cake that will be the talk of your friends for years to come.”

“My friends?” Kellen chuckled as she thought about the men and women she had served with in the military overseas and at home. They were coming, all of them arriving the day before, except Birdie who would be here tomorrow for fittings and female bonding. “As long as it’s eatable, my friends will be happy.”

“What about your enemies?” Arthur asked. “What do you want them saying about your cake?”

Kellen exploded in a flurry of irritation. “For sh...pete’s sake, I don’t care what my enemies say about my cake! Why should I care what anyone thinks about my wedding cake? That’s just ridiculous!”

Arthur cut his eyes toward Pearly Perry, who sat there with her head drooping like a lovely flower on a broken stem.

An alert and sorrowful Rae asked, “But, Mommy, what about Martin’s mother? Remember when you did the self-defense class and she was cranky because everybody in camp thought you were so cool? Even her little boy, skinny scaredy-cat Martin?”

Kellen viewed Rae’s reproachful expression and the barely hidden flash of triumph in her brown eyes. This was a conspiracy, and even her daughter played a part. “All right, Pearly. Do what you do best. But I don’t want to hear about it ahead of time. Surprise me. All I demand is purple frosting trim. Purple, not—”

“—blue with a lavender tint.” Arthur scribbled on his list. “You can trust Pearly to amaze and astonish.”

Pearly shook Kellen’s hand, then shook it again, then bowed, then scooted back to allow Claude McKeith to take her place. Over one of his shoulders, Takashi Tibodo bobbed and smiled. Over the other, Mateo Courtemanche offered her a cold bottle of water and a small gift-wrapped box.

Kellen accepted the offerings and opened the box. Inside she found a specialty from the winery and a favorite of hers: Southern cheese straws.

She laughed. She couldn’t help growing more and more amused; this whole under-the-shrubbery wedding conference had a humorous side she couldn’t deny. Before Claude could speak, she held up one hand. “Hire whoever you need, as much staff as you need, for service and cleanup.”

“No limits?” Claude asked.

“Make sure they’re bonded and credible, run them past Mr. Parliman’s security team to make sure their credentials are clean, and no reporters. We’re going to have a lot of wealthy famous people here and the Di Luca family would like to avoid thieves and publicity.” As she spoke, Kellen wasn’t really thinking of the Di Luca family’s privacy; she was considering how easy it would be for an assassin to slip in and take her out, and worse, if someone was so determined to kill her, a lot of people could get hurt or killed.

There had been enough of that already.

She thought she’d been tactful, but Claude winced as if she’d hit a nerve and drew back. “I’ll do my best, Miss Adams.”

Mateo said, “Everyone on Arthur’s staff is equipped to observe, supervise and care for the guests during this special occasion.” He looked at Arthur, who nodded silently, then looked at the ground.

A silence fell that was almost awkward, so Kellen asked, “Takashi, will you sing for us at the reception?”

“I would be honored. I’ll consult with Dan and we’ll come up with something to delight you and your guests.”

Warren Golokin appeared from nowhere, smiling and anxious to please. He unrolled a stiff sheet of 24-by-36-inch drawing paper with a site plan that included tents, tables, decorations and parking.

Kellen rolled it back up, pressed it into his hand, and said, “Do you realize how much I trust you? After seeing your talent, I know you’ll make this wedding a waltz without music.”

Warren teared up. “I won’t disappoint you.”

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