“Percy,” Greer hisses as she swats his tail.
“What?” he swats her right back with his feathers, and a few plumes dissipate in a spray of light blue stars. “I’m providing commentary. And culinary tips. What more can you ask for?”
Dolly swallows hard. “I don’t know what Gigi is talking about.”
“She also said,” I continue softly so as not to cause a scene, “that five years ago you took forty thousand dollars from the fund. That you’ve been paying it back. That Vivienne found out and was planning to expose you.”
Dolly’s fingers tremble around her lemonade. Her lipstick has feathered at the corners, and I suddenly realize how tired she looks. How pale and stretched thin she looks, too, like a woman who’s been walking on a tightrope for years.
“Lottie,” she grits my name out with a rough voice. “I don’t know what Gigi is trying to pull, but that’s not true.”
“Not true?” I echo.
“Not like that.”
Percy tilts his head. “Here comes the remix.”
Dolly looks me dead in the eye. “I never embezzled money from the Daughters. Not a single penny. I was never that desperate.”
Her words hang between us.
“I…” I blink. “But she said the records?—”
“I know what the records say.” Dolly’s jaw tightens. “I know what Vivienne hinted at. I know what people whisper about me when they think I’m not listening. But I didn’t steal that money. I might be naïve. I might be stupid. And I might have trusted the wrong person.” Her gaze flickers toward the crowd, then back. “But I certainly didn’t do that.”
“So why would Gigi—” I stop. It’s time to rewind. “Why would Vivienne say she had proof?”
Dolly gives a humorless laugh. “Vivi loved proof. She loved leverage. She especially loved watching people squirm. But if you’re asking why she’d choose me as a scapegoat?” Her lips press into a thin line. “It’s because I was convenient. Because I was loyal. But mostly because I would never dare contradict her—at least, not where anyone could hear me.”
Greer floats over to Dolly and examines the woman at close range. “I don’t know, Lottie. I think she’s telling the truth,” she murmurs. “In fact, I’d put money on it. That is, if I still had any money.”
Percy nods. “I don’t detect murder vibes. Panic, yes. Guilt, some. But not that kind of guilt.”
That doesn’t mean a thing, or at least I don’t think it does.
I take a quick breath. “Dolly, I have to ask. I know you were at the estate that night, but where exactly were you around the time she died?”
“In the kitchen,” she says without hesitation. “With Midge. We were prepping desserts and arguing about whipped cream versus meringue. Midge was looking to chop some walnuts. Half the caterers saw us. So did Suze. You can ask them.” Her expression crumples for a moment. “I cared for Vivienne. Even when she decided she didn’t care for me all that much. I would never… I’m not that desperate.” She trails off and swallows hard.
If she’s lying, she’s very, very good at it. And from what I hear, Dolly Hatchett is not good at much besidesdeviled eggs.
“Someone out there was very desperate,” I add, glancing around the garden.
Dolly follows my gaze—over to Midge, who happens to be laughing near the dessert table, over to Gigi who’s chatting with a cluster of board members, then over to Francine Dundee, holding up a banana pudding cup like it’s a holy relic. Not my relic.
“Of course, someone was.” Dolly laughs. “Do you think Vivienne got killed over nothing? She knew everyone’s secrets, Lottie. And she was about to start using them. Publicly. She said herself that this week would betransformational.” Her mouth twists. “For someone out there, that meant prison. Or divorce court. Or worse.”
“Do you know who she meant?” I ask.
Dolly hesitates. And just like that, the shutters slam down behind her eyes.
“No,” she says. “I know there was someone else she had leverage on. Some serious leverage. But I don’t know who.” She stands, smoothing her floral skirt with trembling hands. “I should go see if they need help in the kitchen. Happy Mother’s Day, Lottie.”
“Happy Mother’s Day,” I echo without any heart.
She moves off into the crowd, swallowed by petticoats and chatter and the clink of champagne flutes.
I sit there for a moment and let her words sink in.
