Jane. Do all these things still have their price stickers on them?"
“It's not my fault," Jane said. "Livvy's dad's idea. And if you're smart, you'll stay as far from him as you can. He'd mop the floor with you. He's already scraped the windows with me."
“Daddy Dearest?" Larkspur asked. "I love strong-minded men."
“Well, you're not going to love this one," Jane said. "And if you do, I don't want to hear about it. Ever!"
“Have you met the groom's family yet?" Larkspur asked. "They were just coming in as I drove up. Not quite crème de la crème."
“I hope this meeting goes better than the last one," Jane said. She fluffed up her hair, took a deep breath, and forced a pleasant smile as she went back to the main room. The Thatchers and the Hesslings were chatting. Jane hung back, pretending to be studying one of her notebooks rather than interrupt.
Dwayne Hessling, the groom, was easy to spot. He was a stunning young man. Curly dark hair, blue eyes, a Cary Grant cleft in his chin. But as Eden had said, there was a touch of the cheap gigolo about him. His stance was cocky, his hair a bit too long and shiny, his trousers just a bit too tight. While the others spoke, his gaze was darting around the room in an acquisitive manner.
Dwayne's brother Errol was standing next to him. He was to be the best man. Superficially, they were alike in coloring and features, but Errol was burly, and he smiled a lot and when he did, his eyes crinkled. Jane thought that Livvy had picked the wrong brother. Errol looked a lot more open and friendly and was staring at Livvy with the unabashed admiration of a hunting enthusiast for a really good dog.
The third member of the family group was their mother, Irma, who was clearly out of her element. She was a short, dumpy woman who was wearing what was probably the best dress from a cheap store. Her ensemble was a shell blouse, a skirt, and lightweight coat that might have been fashionable ten years ago if it had been linen and an attractive color. But it shouted polyester in mustard tones. She kept oozing back away from the group, and Errol kept taking her arm and bringing her back. She answered the few remarks addressed to her with a nervous giggle.
Jane felt enormously sorry for her and now understood why Irma had insisted that she and Errol would stay in the nearby motel rather than at the lodge. She'd known, or feared, she'd be out of place with the Thatcher crowd. Dwayne was the one marrying into the Thatcher clan, not his mother.
Jack made a gesture that seemed to be an orderto take a tour of the house. Livvy and the Hessling brothers followed obediently. Irma slipped the noose and sat down in a high-backed chair, took her right shoe off, and started rubbing her foot. Jane approached her and Irma hastily shoved her shoe back on with a grimace.
“New shoes," she explained. "I should have known better."
“Mrs. Hessling, I'm Jane Jeffry. I'm the wedding planner. We've corresponded."
“Yes, yes. I've appreciated you keeping me up on the plans. I'm a waitress, you know," she added as if it were relevant.
“No, I didn't know," Jane said, confused. "Uh — you must meet a lot of interesting people."
“You do," Irma Hessling said, nodding sagely. "And you learn a lot about how they think and act. That Mr. Thatcher… he's the kind who'd send his hamburger back if it wasn't cooked just right and then refuse to pay because of the delay.”
Irma was sharper than she looked. Common sense in the place of fashion sense.
“I believe you're right," Jane said, thinking uneasily about the final payment that was due on her work at the completion. He'd probably dock her for Mrs. Crossthwait's death.
“And poor little Livvy would bury a burnt bit in her mashed potatoes before she'd complain.”
Jane thought for a moment and said, "You're not very pleased about this match, are you?”
Irma leaned forward and spoke in almost a whisper. "No, not really. It's not good for any- body. 'Course,
“It's not my fault," Jane said. "Livvy's dad's idea. And if you're smart, you'll stay as far from him as you can. He'd mop the floor with you. He's already scraped the windows with me."
“Daddy Dearest?" Larkspur asked. "I love strong-minded men."
“Well, you're not going to love this one," Jane said. "And if you do, I don't want to hear about it. Ever!"
“Have you met the groom's family yet?" Larkspur asked. "They were just coming in as I drove up. Not quite crème de la crème."
“I hope this meeting goes better than the last one," Jane said. She fluffed up her hair, took a deep breath, and forced a pleasant smile as she went back to the main room. The Thatchers and the Hesslings were chatting. Jane hung back, pretending to be studying one of her notebooks rather than interrupt.
Dwayne Hessling, the groom, was easy to spot. He was a stunning young man. Curly dark hair, blue eyes, a Cary Grant cleft in his chin. But as Eden had said, there was a touch of the cheap gigolo about him. His stance was cocky, his hair a bit too long and shiny, his trousers just a bit too tight. While the others spoke, his gaze was darting around the room in an acquisitive manner.
Dwayne's brother Errol was standing next to him. He was to be the best man. Superficially, they were alike in coloring and features, but Errol was burly, and he smiled a lot and when he did, his eyes crinkled. Jane thought that Livvy had picked the wrong brother. Errol looked a lot more open and friendly and was staring at Livvy with the unabashed admiration of a hunting enthusiast for a really good dog.
The third member of the family group was their mother, Irma, who was clearly out of her element. She was a short, dumpy woman who was wearing what was probably the best dress from a cheap store. Her ensemble was a shell blouse, a skirt, and lightweight coat that might have been fashionable ten years ago if it had been linen and an attractive color. But it shouted polyester in mustard tones. She kept oozing back away from the group, and Errol kept taking her arm and bringing her back. She answered the few remarks addressed to her with a nervous giggle.
Jane felt enormously sorry for her and now understood why Irma had insisted that she and Errol would stay in the nearby motel rather than at the lodge. She'd known, or feared, she'd be out of place with the Thatcher crowd. Dwayne was the one marrying into the Thatcher clan, not his mother.
Jack made a gesture that seemed to be an orderto take a tour of the house. Livvy and the Hessling brothers followed obediently. Irma slipped the noose and sat down in a high-backed chair, took her right shoe off, and started rubbing her foot. Jane approached her and Irma hastily shoved her shoe back on with a grimace.
“New shoes," she explained. "I should have known better."
“Mrs. Hessling, I'm Jane Jeffry. I'm the wedding planner. We've corresponded."
“Yes, yes. I've appreciated you keeping me up on the plans. I'm a waitress, you know," she added as if it were relevant.
“No, I didn't know," Jane said, confused. "Uh — you must meet a lot of interesting people."
“You do," Irma Hessling said, nodding sagely. "And you learn a lot about how they think and act. That Mr. Thatcher… he's the kind who'd send his hamburger back if it wasn't cooked just right and then refuse to pay because of the delay.”
Irma was sharper than she looked. Common sense in the place of fashion sense.
“I believe you're right," Jane said, thinking uneasily about the final payment that was due on her work at the completion. He'd probably dock her for Mrs. Crossthwait's death.
“And poor little Livvy would bury a burnt bit in her mashed potatoes before she'd complain.”
Jane thought for a moment and said, "You're not very pleased about this match, are you?”
Irma leaned forward and spoke in almost a whisper. "No, not really. It's not good for any- body. 'Course,