The look Melanie shot her was withering. “I don’t care. Just clean up your dog’s mess.”
Then the woman who she’d thought would always be her bestie spun on her heel and went back to her friends and family, leaving Tennyson to finish her smoke and somehow clean up dog shit without a scoop, shovel, or paper towel. Such was the story of her life.
An hour later when Tennyson pulled away from the Laytons’ perfectly tasteful house, she desperately needed a drink. She’d endured the remainder of the party, talking to Coco, who was about as interesting a person as Tennyson had ever met. Coco had been a Rockette back in the day and married an investment banker who’d come home to manage his family’s estate. She spoke three languages and owned a Picasso. She also hinted that she was into swinging, which was admirable for a septuagenarian. No one else approached Tennyson, but she received a lot of guarded looks. Especially from Anne Brevard, Melanie’s mother. The tiny Japanese woman had watched her all night, her gaze obsidian chips of sheer hate.
Well, ol’ Annie had good cause, she supposed.
Tennyson had never liked Melanie’s mother—she was cold, critical, and used her money to buy advantage for her daughters, but what Tennyson had done to her and to Mel’s family had been wrong. Still, it wasn’t like Anne hadn’t deserved what she’d gotten. She had. But it shouldn’t have been done out of revenge or spite.
When she pulled into her driveway, she was surprised to find a Toyota 4Runner sitting in the drive. Perhaps one of Emma’s or Andrew’s friends? The kids would probably be home much later. She overheard them planning to go out and have drinks after the party.
She passed the darkened car, weaving her cute red Mercedes coupe into the garage, immediately closing the garage door before she climbed out of her locked car. Living in the city had made her cautious. Not to mention the raccoon break-in from a month ago had revived the doubt of living in a house alone. Prada popped her head out of Tennyson’s bag as if to say we’re here? The little dog gave a yippy yawn and pawed the side of the bag.
“Okay, out you come,” she said, lifting the puppy once the garage door settled against the slab and climbing out. When she entered the house, she deactivated the alarm and set Prada on the floor, hoping the dog wouldn’t do her business before she had a chance to take her outside.
Just as she set her purse on the counter, the doorbell rang.
She shouldn’t be as nervous as she felt. Perhaps it was because the whole night had been unsettling. When she’d dressed to kill earlier, she’d been determined to take the high road, play the charming mother of the groom, and work the room as only she could do when her mind was right. And things had been good until she saw Kit with Charlotte, and her “cheating” antennae rose a few inches. Then once she’d shown her boobs to the room and watched the cake crash to the floor, she’d gone into survival mode.
Clacking to the door, she peeped through the hole, very aware that if a murderer were on the other side, he’d shoot through the door and kill her. Common ploy in action films. Use the peephole advantage.
But on the other side of the door stood Officer Rhett.
Tennyson fluffed her hair and opened the door. “Officer Rhett.”
“Hi, Mrs. . . . uh. Or is it Miss?” he asked, his face so serious. She wondered how a man could always look so grave. And then she remembered the one time he’d smiled. It was almost orgasmic. And now Officer Yummy stood on her front porch, wearing his uniform very well.
“It’s Tennyson, remember?” she said, opening the door wider. Prada toddled toward them. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He looked discomfited. “I’m off duty.”
She looked out at his car. “So I see.”
“I thought I would check on you. I told you I would. Remember?”
Something sweet bloomed inside her as she realized his “I’ll check on you” was the same ploy she’d used when she called him about the “dangerous” black bag the pool guy had left behind. Hot Cop had wanted to see her.
“Oh, well, that’s awfully nice of you. Would you like to come in? I just got home. Maybe you could check for rabid raccoons?” She smiled to show she