Shane spared a moment for what Wilson would say if he ever had to explain this-The dog wanted the window rolled down, and he’d saved me from being shot, so I violated procedure from gratitude-and then headed for Joey’s.

If he wasn’t careful, Keyes was going to be the death of him.

Agnes had heard the car doors slam and had said a fast prayer before she smoothed down the skirt of her red cotton sundress in an attempt to look like a lady or at least like Brenda, shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and picked up the tray of lemonade and sweet tea.

Then she’d carried the tray into the hall and out through the beautiful big carved double front doors, propped open now for some cross-ventilation because it was hotter than hell in the house; across the lovely veranda that would be even lovelier if it had some goddamn paint on it; down the wide gracious front steps that were a real bitch to negotiate with a tray that heavy not to mention sandals with heels, thank you; and over the front lawn to meet the new arrivals: Brenda, looking beautiful as ever in a full-skirted rayon number, and

Evie, looking cool and boring in white piped beige Chanel and pearls, all but screaming, I got good taste and you don’t.

“Agnes, you look lovely,” Evie said as she glided toward her.

“Evie, I’m sweating like a racehorse,” Agnes said. “Let’s have the tasting in the gazebo, shall we?”

“Certainly,” Evie said, changing course around the house toward the gazebo without missing a step.

“Oh, Agnes, honey,” Brenda said, slowing as she saw the front door open. “You shouldn’t leave that door open, sugar, it’s bad for my grandfather clock.”

You shouldn’t leave your grandfather clock here, it’s bad for my hall, Agnes thought, and then felt guilty because Brenda had given them such a deal on the mortgage, especially the first three months’ payments in exchange for holding the wedding there, so she just said, “Well, whenever you’re ready to move it out, Brenda, it’s right there waiting for you,” and steered them around the side of the house.

“The gazebo looks beautiful,” Brenda said, gliding along the flagstone walk in her three-inch heels, and Agnes smiled because it really did and because Brenda was pleased with it. Then Brenda added, “That fresh paint just gleams, Agnes,” and let her eyes slide to the scabby-looking house.

“Doyle’s putting the primer on the house today,” Agnes said, feeling guilt swamp her. “By Saturday, this place will look like Tara.” With butter.

“I do hate to see you go to so much trouble,” Evie said, sweetly, “when the country club is just-”

“No trouble,” Agnes said brightly. “Wait till you see the gazebo ceiling. It’s going to be perfect for the ceremony. Maria and Palmer will look adorable up there.” Did I just say ‘adorable’? She shook her head and led them across the lawn and up the steps to the table inside. “There now. Isn’t this lovely?”

“You know, it is,” Evie said, sounding surprised as she looked up at the rafters that Doyle had painted blue and Agnes had added gold-leaf stars to.

Brenda looked up at the ceiling and said, “Oh, Agnes, you do like things bright, bless your heart.”

Agnes smiled uncertainly and looked up at the stars again. She’d thought they were beautiful, like an illustration out of an old book. Maybe she should have checked with Brenda first…

“Well, I think they’re very nice,” Evie said firmly. “Neoclassical.”

Agnes blinked at her in surprise.

“Of course,” Brenda said, smiling at Evie. “Neoclassical. Maria’s coming with Palmer. They’re just so darling together, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Evie said, with a noticeable lack of warmth. Her face remained smooth, so it was hard to tell if the coolness was for Brenda for being too familiar with a Keyes or for Maria for having the audacity to marry into the family. Nobody could object to Maria herself, but it might very well be sticking in Evie’s craw that this wedding meant she was eventually going to be the grandmother of a child who shared a bloodline with Frankie “Two Hands” Fortunato, now deceased, the whereabouts of his body unknown but presumably shod in paving material.

On the other hand, Evie could rest assured that her grand kid would not be getting beat up on the playground nearly as regularly as his father had.

Brenda said, “Agnes, where is that sweet old bloodhound of yours?”

“Rhett? He went into town-”

The bridge rattled and gravel crunched, and Agnes looked back to see a plain dark sedan pull up and Detective Hammond get out.

Wonderful. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and crossed the lawn to tell him that he could do anything he wanted in her basement, not adding, as long as you stay away from the gazebo so they don’t hear words like attack and death. And frying pan.

She went back to the gazebo, and Brenda and Evie leaned away from each other, as if they’d been conferring about something.

Brenda looked past her and said, “Isn’t that Robbie Hammond? Whatever is he doing out here?”

“Checking on some things,” Agnes said. “Now, I’ll go get the cakes-”

“He was Maria’s first boyfriend,” Brenda said, sitting back with a fond smile. She turned to Evie. “They were very close.”

What the hell are you doing? Agnes thought as Evie’s eyes narrowed, but before she could say anything, a bright pink Mustang convertible came over bridge. “Mother of God,” she said, appalled at what had been done to a classic car.

Evie sighed. “The people at the Flamingo are very pleased with the golf course Palmer designed,” she said faintly. “So they sent the car.”

“It’s pink” Agnes said, still staring.

“Flamingo pink,” Evie said. “Palmer gave it to Maria.”

“He’s no dummy,” Agnes said without thinking.

“Well, isn’t it the cutest thing?” Brenda said, exchanging a glance with Agnes of mutual agreement that it wasn’t while Evie grew grimmer.

“I’ll just go inside and get the cakes,” Agnes said.

When she got back with the cake plate, Maria was in the gazebo, looking incredibly lovely, her long glossy dark hair caught up in a knot at the top of her head, making her big brown eyes and pointed features even more striking. For once, Palmer wasn’t staring at her adoringly, his slightly foolish features and slightly receding blond hairline fixed in her direction. Instead he was surveying Agnes’s extensive lawn, an unfocused look in his eyes, a dress bag draped over his arm as if he’d forgotten it was there.

“Agnes!” Maria threw her arms around Agnes.

“Hello, honey.” Agnes hugged back with one arm while she held the cake plate steady with the other. “How are you?”

Maria smiled at her at little too widely, her eyes a little too bright. “Fine, now that I know you’re doing the cake.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Can you really do this?”

“Yep.” Agnes sat the cake plate down to get better traction on the hug. “I have some ideas to cover up the fact that I’m not one of the world’s great cake artists, but I will bet you six M amp;M’S that you will have abeautiful cake anyway, and I swear it will be delicious, much better than Bern the Baker’s. His cake tastes like cardboard because he’s always concentrating on his sugar paste.”

“Six M amp;M’S. High stakes.” Maria grinned the way she had when she’d been little, and Agnes felt her heart tug at the memory. “You’re on.”

“Such a pity Bern canceled on you,” Evie murmured, watching her son from the corner of her eye, as if waiting for a sign that he wanted out of his engagement.

“I was shocked when Bern told me he wasn’t going to do it after all,” Brenda said, her lovely face growing serious. “Some people do not know their places.”

“So true,” Evie said, looking at Brenda.