Page 13 of The Party Plot

Their eyes met. Casey saw his own incredulous amusement reflected in Laurel’s expression. He looked away.

“Well gosh, Casey just sounds like he’s heaven-sent,” Laurel said. “What a blessing that he showed up in town to help you find your calling, Mom.”

“Isn’t it? He’s worked with someveryexclusive people,” Denise said. Her hand was still on Casey’s arm, uncomfortably warm. “I just know my Halloween ball is going to be sensational. Maybe we’ll even get intoCountry Living.”

“Wow,Country Living.” Laurel took a sip of his drink, watching Casey over the rim of the glass. “Have you ever been featured in a magazine before, Casey? You must have, what with all the rubbing elbows with Hollywood types.”

“I prefer to stay out of the spotlight.” Hollywood had been a magic word to get him into Denise’s good graces and convince her to open up her wallet, but it hadn’t been a lie. Now he was wondering if he should have mentioned it at all.

“But you at least can drop some names, right?” Laurel asked.

“I signed an NDA,” Casey said tersely.

“Laurel, stop pestering him.” Denise let out a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, you’d think he wanted to plan the party himself, with all the questions he’s been asking,” she told Meredith. “I keep telling him not to worry. I trust Casey to figure everything out. It’s going to be the event of the season, right, Casey?”

Casey licked his lips, mouth feeling dry. “Yes, absolutely.”One way or another. He felt Laurel’s gaze on him, and a bead of sweat ran down his neck. “It’ll be the talk of the town.”

*

Back at the house, Miss Mina was leaning against the sideboard, fanning herself. She stood upright as Casey came into the kitchen, reaching for a dish towel that sat discarded on the counter.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Miss Mina. It’s too hot to be cleaning kitchens.”

“It sure is.” She patted her forehead with the towel, posture growing more relaxed. “Are you hungry? I made lemon bars.”

Casey desperately wanted an ice-cold lemon bar, could practically feel it dissolving on his tongue, like liquid gold. But he said, “Just an unsweet tea, if you have some.”

“You know, the sweet kind wouldn’t hurt you any,” Miss Mina said, opening the fridge. “Neither would a lemon bar. Put some meat on your bones.”

Casey made a noncommittal noise. Miss Mina was always trying to feed him. Maybe he reminded her of some grandson, the same way she vaguely reminded him of his grandmother, another nice yet formidable working-class lady. But he didn’t need the sugar; he hadn’t gotten all of his acne scars lasered away just to break out again, and he refused to gain back any of his adolescent chubbiness. That could stay in the past, along with all the other grubby aspects of his childhood.

“So how is the ball coming along?” Miss Mina handed him a glass.

Ugh. The ball was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Denise was drunk on her own power after the success of the dog wedding, and her demands were getting wilder and wilder. He was having a hard time keeping track of what he’d agreed to. Not that it mattered, in the long run.

“It’s coming. We were in talks with the band today, putting together a set list. She wants to sing.”

“Uh-huh.” A wry expression flashed across Miss Mina’s face, almost too quick to see.

“Some song calledMoon River. I guess it’s from an old movie?” Casey had grown up on Christian talk radio and, later, crime dramas and 80’s action movies, so his knowledge of the classics was limited.

“They love their old movies, those two,” Miss Mina said. “I’m surprised she doesn’t want Laurel to sing, too. Now that he’s back in town.”

“Oh yeah?”Ugh, again. Laurel was the last person he wanted to think about right now, but he kept popping up. The nape of Casey’s neck tingled, and his hands tightened slightly around the glass. “He sings?” He hadn’t mentioned it in Vegas. Casey really didn’t know much about Laurel at all, besides the fact that he traveled a lot, liked horses and French poetry,lovedgiving head, and what his face looked like when he—

“He used to, as a kid,” Miss Mina said, mercifully derailing his train of thought. Casey felt heat rising in his cheeks, and he took another sip of tea. “He had the voice of an angel. Sang in the church choir every Sunday. But he was lonely, too, it seemed like, always trying to please. He used to follow me around like a little puppy, trying to help with the chores. Of course, I couldn’t let him.” She paused. “She’s hard on him, I think. Mrs. Denise.”

Casey rolled his eyes.Oh, boohoo, he didn’t get to help clean. But he got all sorts of other things. A trust fund. A college degree. A dad who wasn’t in and out of prison and court-mandated rehab. “What’s he like now?” It didn’t matter; Casey didn’t want to get to know him. There probably wasn’t anything to get to know, anyway. Rich pretty boys like Laurel were a dime a dozen, French poetry or not. But maybe Miss Mina knew some of his secrets, or something embarrassing. Housekeepers, in Casey’s experience, often knew much more than their employers thought they did.

Miss Mina shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. He comes and goes whenever he feels like it. He’s never settled down, or really had a girlfriend, besides the one in college.”

“Right. Weren’t they engaged, or something?” Denise had talked his ear off about it. Apparently the college girlfriend had been a perfect beautiful blameless angel, and Laurel had fucked it up somehow. Sounded about right; he seemed like the type to fuck things up. He was definitely ruining Casey’s whole month, just by being here.

He thought of Laurel’s smug little smile at the polo match, the way his long-lashed eyes had sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. The sly, conspiratorial tone in his voice as he’d called Caseyheaven-sent. Inadvertently, he felt a little shiver go down his spine. From the cold of the iced tea, surely. He was drinking it too quickly.

Miss Mina gave Casey a look. “Engaged to be engaged, maybe. I don’t think his heart was ever in it.” She went back to the sink, polishing one spot on the faucet over and over again.

Interesting. Laurel clearly hadn’t told his mom anything about his sexuality, but Casey wondered if Miss Mina had her own suspicions. Leaning against the counter, he asked, “And what about the girl who crashed the party the other day? Melody? White girl, long black hair, about five-ten? Kind of a bombshell?” She had something of a reputation, from what he heard. Casey had only met her in passing, at the Bonard Fourth of July Jamboree a few months ago. She’d been pretty out of it, if he remembered correctly. “She’s a friend of his, right?”

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