Chapter 34

It's Friday, and I'm at Smith House, helping Mrs. Rosings pick out ugly favors for her son's wedding. Since the goat lady's wedding venue got nixed, Mrs. Rosings has decided it's a "fair compromise" if she picks soaps from the selection on the woman's website, with names like Grumpy's Garden and Trixie's Trash. Most of them are molded to look like goats' heads. It's a thankless job, and an idea that's sure to get tanked by Anthony or his bride as soon as they find out, but I'm humming as I scroll through the poorly made website.

Nicole and I still don't know what happened to Dick Ricci, and even though Declan insisted that he and Nicole have reached some sort of understanding, and he even gave me his bug-out bag as a promise he won't leave without warning, it's possible he'll still decide he needs to go. But I'm happy. For the first time in a long while, I'm not just looking forward to what comes next or wishing away this week in favor of the one after. I'm enjoying myself. Even now, looking through these terribly named soaps, I'm having fun.

Lainey's coming on Sunday, and I've spent the last three nights with Declan. He and Rosie came over for a barbecue last night. Declan and Damien made all the food for dinner, and Rosie and I made the most perfect madeleines to ever bless this earth. Nicole…drank and instigated a game of Never Have I Ever, which is how I found out more than I ever wanted to know about my half-sister, my brother-in-law, my boyfriend, and my boyfriend's sister. I ended the night nearly sober and impressed. And it was as close to perfect as a night can be.

Nicole and I have agreed that we can start planning Dick's send-off party even though we haven't settled things with the insurance company. Her rationale is that if he was murdered, the killer will probably be at the party, a possibility she sounded excited about but feels like a spider fast-footing across my arm. In the meantime, she's going back to Vincenzo's to talk to Mark this afternoon, while Damien does who knows what, and I promised to try to make an appointment to talk to Anthony. Declan insists he's going with me after he gets finished with his afternoon job, and I haven't fought him on it. I'm not afraid of Anthony, but it's possible he's more dangerous than he appears to be. I'd rather not find out the hard way.

According to Nicole, she also has a surprise for me for when I get off work, and I'm both terrified and intrigued.

"Oh, what's that one?" Mrs. Rosings says, leaning over my shoulder the way she's been doing for the last twenty minutes. She's sitting in a chair next to me, but judging from the amount of times she's leaned over my shoulder, it doesn't give her a good enough of view of her laptop screen. It's ten times nicer than my computer, and used only for tormenting her son, as far as I can tell.

"Wendy's Waste." I give her a sidelong look. "I think it's meant to look like…"

"That's the one," she says with a gleam in her eyes.

"Mrs. Rosings…" I pause. "Isn't it a waste of money to go through with buying two hundred bars of soap, when there's—" How to put this…I can't think of a polite way, so I just go for it. "…no way in hell Nina is going to agree to give them out as party favors."

"She'll do it if I allow them to have the wedding out of this house," she says pointedly. "She'll agree to it, and he'll know, if he has a lick of sense left in him, that she's just using him for the Smith family name and money." Sighing, she sits back in her chair. She's wearing another of her expensive kaftans, but this one has faded colors, like maybe this long, drawn-out, and somewhat one-sided war is wearing her out.

I've learned her mannerisms enough to know she has more to say, probably a lot more, so I shift my chair slightly to face hers. "What if she only agrees to please you because she loves him?" I ask, because it needs to be said.

"Oh, pish," she says dismissively. "I was a gold digger. I know one when I see one."

My eyes widen, because I certainly hadn't expected her to admit that.

"Don't look at me that way. Back in my day, we didn't have as many opportunities as you do. A woman had to take what she could get…"

"Mrs. Rosings, you're not that old," I say. "I'm pretty sure you had the vote back in the 1970s."

Her lips twitch with a repressed smile. "Be that as it may. I did what I did, what everyone in this miserable town thinks I did, and I paid for it. For years. But if that girl marries Anthony, he's the only one who'll be paying. I know my son. If he finds out she doesn't love him after the wedding, it'll crush him."

I have about five thousand questions, none of which are appropriate to ask of an employer, even an employer like Mrs. Rosings. So instead I decide to try setting up an appointment with Anthony. Maybe I can pretend it's about the shitty soap.

"Is Anthony coming by anytime soon?" I ask cryptically.

"Probably once he receives the sample wedding favors," she says with a sly grin, but it drops, a shrewd look taking its place. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason. I thought maybe he'd want to talk about Dick."

Her eyebrows rise, and I realize my mistake.

"The person, I mean," I say, my cheeks heating. "My biological father, Dick."

"Why would you want to talk to Anthony about Dick? He hated him."

"I'm trying to form a full picture of who he was as a man," I say, halfway meaning it.

She lifts her eyebrows again, then shrugs. "I have no problem with it. Maybe Nina will assume he's cheating on her."

"Mrs. Rosings," I caution. "Don't try to put me in some kind of compromising situation."

She laughs and sits back, studying me. "I wouldn't dream of it. I've seen you around town with that young man of yours. You glow."

That's news to me. I haven't noticed her on the mean streets of Marshall, but then again, I've been so lost in loved-up La La Land, that I probably wouldn't have noticed an oncoming truck before it smashed me in the face. I wonder how Declan will feel about knowing we're the gossip of Marshall.

Then again, he knows this place well enough that he must realize we are—and yet he's still been walking around with his arm around me.

"I'm pretty happy," I admit.

To my surprise, she gives a steadfast nod, as if we've established something between us, then rises from her seat and heads over to the bar. Pours us each something.

"You said you'd never drink with me again," I comment, alarmed by this shift in a character that has always seemed carved from stone.

"I'm glad you've found happiness in love," she says, bringing over the drinks and setting one in front of me. "I never did."

"Not with any of them?" I ask, torn between disbelief and sadness. Imagine having tried three times and failed each.

"No, not with any of them," she says, her voice more than a little sad. "Which is not to say I didn't love any of them. I'm worried Anthony's making the same mistakes."

"Maybe the goat poop soap isn't the best way to express that worry," I say, because I'm done with bottling up my best advice for fear of pissing people off.

She smiles, her eyes glimmering. "No, perhaps not. But it is the most enjoyable way."

She's got me there. There's no question she's been having fun, even if behind it I see what Declan did…she's lonely. Which must be why I press her. "You don't think it's…toxic?"

She waves a hand and takes a sip from her drink as if I've driven her to it. "You young people love to throw that word around. My husband Adrien, now he was toxic, and this town loved him. He was their promised son."

This doesn't seem like a great reason for pushing her own brand of toxicity, but I can tell I've pushed Mrs. Rosings about as far as she's willing to go today. If I want to get through to her, I'll have to wait.

I take a sip of my drink, and as I do, Mrs. Rosings retrieves a notepad and pen from God knows where and scribbles off a number, handing over the piece of paper. Her penmanship is, of course, impeccable.

"Anthony's number. See if you can subtly let him know he's making a terrible mistake."

"I've never met Nina," I point out. "I have no way of knowing if she's really a gold digger, or you're just one of those mother-in-laws who hates her daughter-in-law on principal."

She gives me a pointed look. "There's nothing preventing both things from being true, although I'd like to think I'd accept a sensible daughter-in-law with open arms." She tilts her head. "You wouldn't be entirely objectionable. It's too bad that gardener laid one on you before you could meet Anthony."

I snort-laugh. I can't help it. I feel bad for Mrs. Rosings's future daughter-in-law, whether it's Nina or someone else.

"Put in the order for the Wendy's Waste," she says as if our initial conversation hadn't been interrupted. Her eyes sparkling, she adds, "We'll put them in little satin bags. Expensive. You think she'll realize it's a metaphor?"

"I think even someone who doesn't know what metaphor means would get the message," I say.

Her lips twitch. "Good, because I'm not at all confident she does."