Say Yes to the Death by Susan McBride Page A

she echoed, then cracked that Cheshire cat grin again. “I don’t have that scheduled any time soon, pumpkin, not before I get you married with a house full of babies.”
    â€œGood,” I said, “because that might be a while.”
    â€œNo, no, it’s not about me. It’s about you. Since you’re so dead-­set against hiring a wedding planner, we’ll need to get started toot suite on planning your wedding ourselves. Won’t that be fun, sweet pea? Just you and me and my checkbook?” she asked, then added in a singsong voice, “Dum dum da dum, dum dum da dum!”
    My mouth fell open.
    â€œ Hasta la vista, pumpkin!” Cissy wiggled her fingers in a wave as she rolled the window up.
    Then she backed up the car and drove off.

Chapter 8
    I was lucky Mother didn’t roll the Lexus over my foot because I couldn’t move. I’d gone catatonic at the idea of Cissy taking charge of my wedding. Because that was exactly what would happen. She would do what she wanted come hell or high water, taking over like that bossy Tabatha on Bravo who bulldozed bad beauty shops. I’d end up in a frothy frou-­frou dress that made me look like a giant marshmallow for starters. She’d invite five hundred of her closest friends and have a staid and formal reception and sit-­down dinner at the Dallas Country Club. It would be her dream wedding, not mine.
    Suddenly, I felt the Chilean bass lurch in my stomach.
    â€œHey, Kendricks! What’re you doing standing in the parking lot when there’s a hockey game going on?”
    At the sound of Malone’s voice, I glanced up.
    He must have spotted my arrival out the window as he stood on my tiny porch, wearing his St. Louis Blues T-­shirt and waving his arm.
    â€œIf you hurry, you can catch the tail end. We’re heading into triple overtime!” he said and waved again, clearly wanting me to move it. When I stepped onto the sidewalk and headed toward the porch steps, he cocked his head and let out a whistle. “What the heck are you wearing? That’s not the dress you left in. So was it a theme wedding? Are you supposed to be some kind of mutant flower like the one that only blooms once a year and stinks?”
    â€œYou’re getting warm,” I said as I preceded him through the doorway and into the tiny condo that had been my sanctuary since I’d moved back to Dallas after college. “What happened was worse than being a stinky flower in a theme wedding. I ended up being a bridesmaid.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œSadly, yes.”
    He smothered a laugh. “I want to hear the whole gory story,” he remarked, and his hand attempted to squeeze my shoulder but grabbed a fistful of the humongous chiffon butterfly instead. He knit his brows and tried to fluff the fabric that he’d crushed.
    â€œGory sums it up pretty nicely,” I replied with a sigh. I felt lucky to be marrying a guy who was such a good listener, especially since I did a lot of talking. Brian reminded me of my dad in that respect. My father was never too busy for me, never too wrapped up in work or my mother to pause and lend me an ear, and I had loved him all the more for it.
    When I got inside, I dropped my bag and the borrowed shoes to the floor. Then I turned and reached for Malone. I needed a hug, and how. Only all I caught was air. Malone wasn’t right behind me anymore. He’d skedaddled over to the sofa and plunked himself down in front of the TV.
    Ah, so much for being a good listener, I thought, although I noticed he was paying very close attention to the hockey announcers.
    I walked over and stood in front of him, my hands on my hips. “I thought you wanted to hear the whole gory story,” I griped.
    He leaned to the right so he could see around me. “Third overtime has started, babe,” he said without shifting his gaze from the screen. “Can it wait until the game