I glance at Macy, who’s currently sticking a straw up her nostrils.
I sigh hard as I look around the ballroom, where people are wandering among the Christmas displays, sampling more artisanal cookies, and probably trying to process the fact that they just received relationship advice that makes reality TV look subtle.
Mom and Georgie are deep in conversation with some of the other attendees, no doubt comparing notes on Matilda’s more outrageous suggestions, while Macy has suddenly sauntered overto one of the many Christmas trees with the kind of intensity usually reserved for spotting the last designer bag during a half-off Christmas sale.
Matilda stands alone near the stage, her public mask finally slipping just enough to show the real worry underneath. For the first time all day, she looks less like a relationship guru and more like someone who’s genuinely terrified about her missing cat and possibly regretting every decision that led her to this moment.
“Here’s our chance,” I say, adjusting Ella’s stroller and preparing for what could be the most important conversation of this entire investigation.
Sometimes the best time to crack someone’s carefully constructed façade is right after they’ve spent an hour telling a room full of strangers that love is just another business transaction with better lighting and higher profit margins.
CHAPTER 12
Before I can get to Matilda Westoff, right here in her marble ballroom, Mom intercepts me near the refreshment table with the kind of efficiency that suggests she’s been planning this maneuver since we walked in.
“Give me that baby,” she says, reaching for Ella’s stroller with all the grandmother authority she can muster. “Go do whatever investigating you’re planning, but don’t get arrested before Christmas dinner. I’m making my famous ham, and it would be a shame to waste it on visiting you in jail.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply, handing her the stroller.
“I’m just being practical,” Mom says, already cooing at her granddaughter. “Besides, Georgie is probably going to need bail money after whatever she’s planning with that waiter, so the family legal fund can only stretch so far.”
Your mother has excellent priorities,Fish points out.Food first, family legal troubles second, looking fabulous third.
“Did you see her slip that poor boy her phone number?” Mom continues, shaking her head. “It was written on a napkin with little hearts drawn around it. The woman has no shame.”
“At least she’s consistent,” I say, watching Georgie chat up another tuxedoed server near the chocolate fountain like she’s conducting a very important job interview for the position of boy toy.
Buffy falls into step beside me as we make our way toward the corner of the ballroom where Matilda stands alone near what can only be described as the Christmas tree that ate Manhattan. This thing has to be twelve feet tall and probably required a small crane to install. It’s decorated with gold and crystal ornaments that catch the ballroom’s chandelier light like tiny disco balls, and I’m pretty sure the angel on top is wearing actual diamonds because apparently even the tree toppers need to match Matilda’s net worth.
The tree sits in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the estate grounds, and the late afternoon light streaming through creates the kind of magical Christmas glow as if the room itself is wrapped in holiday cheer and lightly dusted with cinnamon.
Matilda looks up as we approach, and her face lights up with the kind of genuine delight that suggests she’s just spotted her next victims—er, clients.
“Now,” she says, clasping her hands together as we approach, her face lighting up like she’s just spotted fresh prey, “which one of you is looking for some premier relationship advice? I could tell during the session that you both had questions you were too polite to ask publicly.” She gives Fish a quick scratch behind the ears and an appreciative nod as well.
Oh great,Fish mutters.She’s still in professional consultation mode. This should be more entertaining than watching Georgie flirt with men young enough to be her grandsons.
This should be great. Grandma always gives the best advice,Fudge adds, settling down near the Christmas tree with the resigned air of a cute kitty who’s about to witness a train wreck.And seeing that he lives with Matilda, I’m betting he sees them weekly.
“Well, I’m married,” I say matter-of-factly, watching her expression like a hawk. Matilda knows I’m married to Jasper, doesn’t she? Well, if not it might bode better for my investigation.
One perfectly sculpted eyebrow rises toward her hairline in a gesture that suggests she doubts the quality of my matrimonial union.
“I’m single, but like I mentioned during the Q&A, I’ve been burned before,” Buffy admits with just enough vulnerability to make Matilda’s eyes light up like she’s just discovered oil on her property.
Matilda looks my way and frowns.I bet Bizzy is having trouble in paradise and is too embarrassed to inquire publicly about what to do next,she thinks to herself with the kind of smugness that suggests she thinks she’s solved a challenging puzzle.She did just give the man a child—she probably feels trapped and is wondering if the grass is greener elsewhere. Classic postpartum relationship crisis. I’ve seen it a million times.
A million? It almost sounds as if the odds are stacked against me. I wonder if I’m having more problems than I’m aware of? Maybe Jasper and I are on the brink of divorce, but I’ve been too preoccupied with homicide investigations to notice?
Her gaze shifts to Buffy and she frowns.And this poor dear already confessed to dating from the clearance rack of the romance department,continues Matilda’s internal monologue as she studies my sister.She probably keeps falling for broke artists and unemployed musicians who think passion pays the bills. Someone needs to teach her that chemistry doesn’t cover the mortgage or buy designer shoes.She glances down at Buffy’s footwear and sniffs.Apparently, she’s painfully aware of that part.
Thank goodness Buffy can’t read minds, because that assessment would probably send her straight back to whatever rock she was hiding under before we found each other.
“Marriage is like a business partnership, dear,” Matilda says to me with the authority of a woman who’s never been wrong about anything. “Make sure you’re getting equal ROI on your emotional investment. Have you considered a prenup review?”
Did she just reduce my marriage to a financial transaction?
“A prenup review?” I blink. “But we’ve been married for years.”
