Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle, Pauline Jones [top 100 novels of all time .txt] 📗

in robes, Miss Theo and Miss Hermi in drifting silk and Miss Weena in chiffon, to linger over a breakfast buffet prepared by Louise. The caterers milled around, wondering when they would be able to begin preparations.

Mickey, who was trying to finalize preparations for the security detail during the party, found himself fielding party detail questions instead.

“If we have two roving details—” Delaney, bent over the floor plan of the house, a plan they were using to assign the security teams Pryce had given them.

“Where do you want us to put the tables, sir?” asked one of the caterers.

Mickey, his hands braced on the table, looked up. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask the housekeep—”

Delaney cleared his throat, giving a small shake of his head.

Mickey bent his head. “You’ll need to talk to the ladies. That’s all I can tell you.”

The florist came next. Then the bandleader. Then a group of carefully sculpted young men calling themselves the Hepplewhites.

That’s when Mickey lost it. “Look I don’t know a damn thing about anything. Let me take you to the women with the answers!”

He strode across the hall and shoved open the dining room door. They were all seated around the table, empty plates pushed away, chatting.

“Oh, Mickey, dear!” Miss Hermi turned, her voice comfortable. “Have you had breakfast yet? Louise is about to clear away—”

“No thank you. However, these people all have questions about the party that I can’t answer. Do you think—”

Luci stood up, moving around the table, wearing a plaid robe that came down far enough on her legs to be tantalizing without being either too generous or too stingy.

“I recognize the caterers, the florist, and the band, but who,” she moved closer to a well-muscled chest and looked up, her eyes lit with admiration, “are you?”

White teeth gleamed when the young man smiled. “We’re the Hepplewhites—”

“I hired them for the party,” Miss Weena explained, gazing at a pair of well-formed pecs just visible through the deep vee on one young man’s shirt.

Luci looked at her aunt. “All right, Miss Weena. Give me five!” Miss Weena obliged. Luci sighed deeply enough to make her robe gap briefly.

Mickey reached for his aspirin, but the bottle was empty.

Luci, subtly buffering her aunts from the worst of the confusion, flitted from room to room. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the confusion began to resolve into a sort of order. Tables appeared in the garden just off the dining room where the caterers were busy. The smell of breakfast food was replaced by the smell of party food. Flower arrangements began to appear on tables and shelves. The band—brass, not string—set up in the garden inside the newly finished gazebo. Someone took the police tape away from the bougainvillea and set up some chairs over the spot where Reggie had been buried.

Mickey and his men were kept busy issuing ID’s to arrivals, making a final security check over the house and going over last minute problems with the teams Pryce had sprung for the occasion.

Half an hour before the scheduled party time, Luci rounded up the aunts and started herding them upstairs to dress.

“Aren’t you cutting things a little close?” Mickey asked, the radio in his hand crackling with voices.

“Don’t worry! This is the Big Easy. No one will actually come on time.”

Mickey watched her hips swish up the stairs out of sight. Then he looked at Delaney. “My uncle will.”

It was a good thing Eddie was on time. Since he was the only one who noticed the bride hadn’t joined them yet. Pryce was about to order a lock down and search when Luci descended wearing a black mini skirt, red off-the-shoulder blouse, and cowboy boots.

“Something wrong?”

“Unabelle’s not here.” Mickey was terse.

“Has anyone checked her room?” Luci looked at each upturned male face as chagrin dawned. She shook her head. “Men!”

Fern gave her wispy bun a pat, spritzed it with cheap hair spray, then leaned over to smooth her red lipstick with a bent pinkie. The bright color looked uneasy on her thin mouth, but Fern was happy with the result as she rubbed the edges together, then pursed her mouth.

“Time to go,” Donald muttered.

Fern turned as he tugged at the tie around his thin neck. Fern straightened it, then patted his cheek. “You scrub up pretty good, old man.”

“You ain’t bad yourself.” Donald grinned. “You got the invite?”

Fern nodded, picking up the bag that matched her flowing flowered dress.

“Where’s the gun?”

“In my cast. Don’t forget the gift.”

“I won’t be forgetting anything.” Donald’s look was wolfish, eager. “Let’s do it.”

“Your people in place, Ross?” Pryce looked up from the plan.

Mickey spun around and nodded like a military man. “Yes, sir. We’ve got good coverage. Thanks for the extra men.”

“It’s was easy once the governor decided to come.” Pryce looked down again, his gaze assessing. “Any last questions? Problems?”

Thousands of both, but none that could be voiced. Mickey looked at Delaney but echoed his, “No sir.”

“Right. Let’s do it then.”

Dante looked up as his aunt came in the room. “Cloris, you look—amazing.” He took her hands, kissed both her cheeks and tried not to notice her red-rimmed eyes or the bird nestled in the flowers of her straw hat. At least the dress was perfect. He’d taken her to the best boutique in the city and outfitted her in classic black. If she’d lose the hat…but of course, she wouldn’t. Arvin had bought it for her and she was hoping he’d see it, remember what they’d had and come back to her.

She was so deep in denial she couldn’t crawl out without a little help from a bullet aimed well-and-true at Marvin’s faithless heart.

“Should I wear gloves?” Her body was fluttering with nervousness. “I’ve never been to a posh party before.” She dropped her purse, waiting until Max had retrieved it for her before saying, “Are you sure Marvin will be there, Harvey? I’d much rather stay home—”

“You want to find him, don’t you?”

Her lower lip quivered. “Of course I