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gave a long peal of melodious laughter, then blinked vacantly and seemed to forget why she was laughing. Definitely something extra. I retrieved my arm. “I won’t breathe a word.”
“Good,” she murmured. “Good. Roger would be furious.”
“Roger?”
She gasped again. “How did you know? You have to keep it secret!”
“Keep what secret, Mercedes?”
She leaned close, her ropes of beads clicking and swaying.
“I’m going to marry the mayor!”
I thought I’d heard her wrong. “Mayor Wyble’s already married.”
“Not him. Roger Talbot! Roger’s going to be mayor next year, after I help him beat Wyble.” Mercedes was suddenly cold and shrewd. She was cycling through moods like a kaleidoscope. “We’ll have the wedding right before the primaries. The grieving widower finds happiness. People will eat it up.”
Apparently the widower wasn’t all that grieved, not that it was any of my business. Brides were my business, but I wasn’t sure I wanted this volatile prima donna as a client.
And yet, I thought, while Mercedes went back to fluffing her hair and humming a Motown tune. Landing another big-budget, high-profile wedding could put Made in Heaven in the news, maybe even in the trade magazines, and definitely in the black. I was still several thousand dollars in debt from starting up my business, and the dock fees on my rented houseboat were killing me. Well, time for those calculations later. I couldn’t very well hold her to a decision made under the influence.
“Congratulations,” I said, wondering if she’d apply my comment to the engagement or the election. Probably both. “But there’s plenty of time to plan. You don’t want to choose a bridal consultant on a whim. Think it over.”
“You don’t believe me,” she pouted. Mercedes had a superb pout. She slid a hand down her ragtag gypsy bodice and drew out a long gold chain with twisted herringbone links. Suspended from it, swinging inches from my astonished eyes, was a monster diamond on an ornate platinum band. “You’ll believe a girl’s best friend, won’t you?”
“Mercedes, that’s stunning!” I wanted to get away from her and her secrets, but for a moment I was mesmerized. The diamond swung back and forth, like a hypnotist’s watch. “It must be nearly three carats! Is it antique?”
“Family heirloom,” she said complacently, and lowered the treasure back into its cozy hiding place. X marks the spot. “It was his grandmother’s engagement ring, and now it’s mine. I told Roger, I’ll keep our secret, but I have to have something to put under my pillow, don’t I?”
“It’s a wonder you can sleep.”
She laughed. “I sleep very well. Roger makes sure of that.”
I wasn’t going anywhere near that one. “Well, like I said, think it over—”
“I don’t have to, I want you.” The kaleidoscope was turning faster; now she was sulky and stubborn. She rummaged in her patchwork shoulder bag and pulled out a wad of bills. “Here, take this. For a deposit.”
“Mercedes, you don’t have to—”
“Take it!” she said shrilly.
“OK, OK.” Anything to calm her down. I took the money; there were twenties, and at least one fifty. “Let’s count it and I’ll write you a receipt.”
“No, no, I trust you. Oh, Carnegie, isn’t it exciting? I’m getting married!” Looking suddenly girlish, Mercedes gave me an impulsive hug, laying her head against my shoulder. Her hair was perfumed, sweet and musky. Then she wrenched herself away.
“Just remember, wedding planner…” She fixed me with a dark, straight stare—a tiger’s stare. “You keep your mouth shut.”
Chapter Three
MERCEDES SWEPT UP HER PAINTS AND SWEPT OUT OF THE room. A black-and-gold powder compact lay overlooked under the balled-up paper towels. I picked it up but didn’t go after her. I’d had enough schizophrenic gypsy glamour for the moment. Instead, I stood pondering this unexpected glimpse into Roger Talbot’s private life. His wife had only been dead a month or so. If Mercedes and Talbot had a whirlwind courtship, it must have blown at gale force, unless they’d gotten involved while Helen Talbot was still alive. A nasty thought. Aaron had mentioned once that Mercedes was constantly in the publisher’s office. Maybe she’d been negotiating more than her salary. Maybe her move to television was really part of Talbot’s campaign. I hated to be that cynical, but— A sudden sound, at once revolting and unmistakable. The room had appeared empty, but someone was in the farthest stall being spectacularly sick. I heard ragged breathing, then a moan.
“Hello?” I called, sliding the cash and the compact into the ample pocket of my witch’s gown. “Can I help?”
The