Page 55 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Fewer and fewer guests were talking, visiting, noshing, or making noises of sympathy.

Unfortunately some of the people who were still hanging around weren’t her favorites. Though most of Eugenia’s friends had left, the remaining mourners were either tied more closely to Cissy than to Gran, or were unlikely attendees whose appearance had been a total surprise. Selma, for instance. What the hell was the woman from Joltz doing here? She’d come up, said she was sorry, hung out in the kitchen with Diedre and Rachelle, and was finally getting ready to leave. Cissy didn’t even know her last name.

As if feeling Cissy’s eyes on her, Selma turned, tucking her scarf around her neck. “’Bye. I’ll see you at the coffee shop.”

Cissy lifted her hand in acknowledgment. She was glad to see the woman go. Now if some the others would take the hint.

Her second cousin Cherise and her preacher husband, the Reverend Donald Favier, were still in the dining room, picking at the remaining food, the little sandwiches and cookies arranged on silver trays on the table. Cissy had avoided them at all costs. She didn’t know them well and decided to keep it that way. From the way Gran had talked, and from what she remembered growing up, Cherise’s pro-football player husband turned preacher was a large, handsome man and a master manipulator, the puppeteer who pulled Cherise’s strings. Both he and his wife always had one eye on the Cahill money.

According to Gran, Cherise thought, and her husband agreed, that Cherise’s father, Fenton, had been screwed out of the family fortune by Cissy’s grandfather, and Fenton’s brother, Samuel. The alleged shady financial double-cross had all taken place many years earlier, but the bad feelings and envy had seemed to grow over the generations rather than diminish.

Blond, forever-tanned, Cherise was always looking for a gift or handout, a piece of what she thought was rightfully hers. Gran had always refused to loan her even a dime, and there was no love lost between them, yet here Cherise was, paying her last respects and scarfing up another shrimp canape.

Jack’s family, probably under the insistence of his father, hadn’t left yet either. Jannelle spent most of her time on the back patio, smoking cigarettes and looking miserable. Jack’s brother, the usually reticent J.J., was in his element in a group of strangers. He, like his father, was never without female company. Cissy’s neighbor Sara had zeroed in on him. Even Jonathan had, after a few drinks, let his facade of formality and respect for the dead disintegrate as he flirted with women half his age.

From the corner of her eye, Cissy had seen him turn the Holt charm on to everyone from her college friend Heather, to Rachelle, to Diedre, and even Paloma. The man had no shame and even less good judgment.

Heather, of course, had eaten it up. She’d beamed up at Jonathan as she’d sipped wine, then had the nerve to tell Cissy that her father-in-law was “adorable for an older guy.”

Cissy’s high school buddy Tracy had disagreed. “If you ask me, he’s just another old lech. Sorry, Cissy, but it’s the truth.”

Cissy hadn’t argued. She’d noticed when Jonathan had tried to flirt with Tracy, she’d said something sharp that Cissy hadn’t been able to overhear, then turned her back on him and stalked away, her whole body seeming to tense in revulsion. Good for you, Cissy had thought.

Jack too had witnessed the confrontation. “Jesus, Dad,” he’d muttered under his breath so that no one but Cissy could hear, “give it a rest.”

“He can’t,” Cissy had said. “It’s in his blood.”

“That’s a cop-out. It just takes a little self-control.”

Now Jack was surveying his father as Diedre, carrying a tray of wineglasses, walked past. She offered Jack’s father a glass. He responded by flashing her his most disarming smile and winking.

To Cissy’s horror, Jonathan appeared about to touch Diedre’s butt.

She’d kill him. Cissy had witnessed Diedre’s temper in the coffee shop when a regular customer had gotten too fresh with her. The tongue lashing had been swift and cutting. Cissy had never seen the guy in the shop again.

“Uh-oh.” Jack anticipated what was about to happen. “I’d better see if someone can take him home before he embarrasses himself.”

And everyone else, Cissy thought. She couldn’t face another scene.

Before Jonathan could put his wayward hand on Diedre’s rump, she moved deftly away, doing a quick step to the side, as if she were used to dodging unwanted advances. She didn’t give him a tongue-lashing like Tracy had, just sent him a sharp are-you-out-of-your-mind glare as she turned away and almost bumped into Jack.

She stopped short, and somehow, by the grace of God, the teetering platter didn’t fall. Diedre managed to right the platter. Some wine sloshed over the rims of the glasses, but the damage was slight, as the glasses remained upright.

Jack said a quick apology and then escorted his dad outside, where Jannelle was cradling another cigarette from the wind, huddling with two men Cissy thought had once worked for Cahill Limited, the family’s company before it downsized.

Shaking her head, Diedre returned to the kitchen. “Men,” she muttered under her breath, then, spying Cissy, said, “I thought you said something about divorcing your husband.”

“It’s in the works.”

Diedre seemed to want to say something, hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, maybe this isn’t the time to hand out advice.”

“Diedre,” Rachelle warned. She was already covering some of the extra food with plastic wrap and wiping off empty trays with a towel.

“What kind of advice?” Cissy asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Rachelle said, but Diedre ignored her.

“I was married for a few years. We had a house, and when we got divorced, because the snake was cheating on me, I couldn’t afford to keep the place and he bought me out. I ended up with a few thousand dollars, and now he’s moved in with the girlfriend and the house has gone up nearly a hundred grand. So I got screwed. Whatever you do, keep the house.” Diedre glanced at Rachelle, who, as far as Cissy could tell, was happily married. “Okay, there, I said it.”

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