As Princess leaped onto the floor to disappear into the bedroom, Mavis tucked an errant curl away from her face and back into the chignon at her nape. Her thoughts roved to what had been a miserable week. Her schedule had changed at the whim of everyone else. The mahjong game had been canceled on Tuesday because Florence’s flighty daughter had decided to breeze into town unannounced. Then the wine tour had been rescheduled due to some plumbing problem at one of the vineyards. On Sunday, she’d been assigned to find drivers to deliver meals to the housebound members of the church. She intended to talk to Reverend Stark about that! And now … now her damned toenail!
She should go back to the salon.
Demand a refund or a touch-up from that smarmy little girl who hadn’t let the polish set properly. She had been too hurried, too rushed, handling Marta’s clients as well as her own.
And, damn it, she had left the wretch a hefty tip.
Mavis stood, intent on marching back to the salon when her grandmother’s voice wafted through her mind.
“Say a prayer, Mavis dear, talk to the Lord. Learn patience. It’s just a little flaw. All God’s children have flaws. No one will notice.”
“Of course they will!” she said aloud, as if her dearly departed grandmother from Appalachia could hear her. Grammy never had to deal with Savannah society! Ora-Jean would never have understood how important it was that she look perfect.
If not for herself, then for her friends.
And if not for her friends, then for Archer.
At the thought of her third, philandering husband, Mavis felt her teeth clench nearly as tightly as her fists. That son of a bitch. She should have known. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Right? But, still, just because he and Mavis had gotten together when they were both still married, that didn’t give him the right to play around on her! Who did he think he was, flauntingthat womanaround his club?
And she’d heard they’d gone horseback riding.
Really?
Horseback riding!
Archer hated horses. And riding. And anything outdoorsy aside from hunting, and that was when he was younger. But what could he do if not indulge that little slut? A woman who was only nineteen! A scheming little bitch who was barely more than a girl. Over forty years his junior, for God’s sake! Younger than his damned daughter, and, oh, God, almost as young as his granddaughter. What kind of a monster did that?
It was … disgusting. And maddening. And so, so humiliating! She slipped back onto the tufted stool and felt like … what? Crying? Weeping like a spoiled child? Well … yes. But she wouldn’t.
But now,now, her goddamned nail was chipped!
Holy Mother of God, it was amazing she hadn’t ended up in a mental institution with what she had to put up with.
But it was too late to go back to the salon, as it was now closed.
Angrily, Mavis scooted back the small stool, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and quickly, forcefully, changed her expression. The scowl produced lines around her lips and between her eyebrows, and that would never do. She wasn’t due for another Botox treatment for two more weeks … and oh, those dark circles.
No, no, no! Would nothing ever go right?
Well, surely not today.
“Take a deep breath, dear.”
“Oh, shut up!” She hated hearing Grammy’s voice these days.
“And pray.” Well, she’d done that. She was a God-loving Christian, for goodness’ sake. Just ask Reverend Stark. How many times had she chaired the Birds of Paradise, which was the ladies’ aid society for the church? She’d tried to change the name but had been steadfastly voted down by those old bitches—biddies who’d been around since the seventies when girls were called “chicks” or “birds” in England—and Paradise was in reference to heaven, of course.
Duh!
Maybe it had been cute years ago, but now it was just a stupid, silly name. Despite all the good the society did.
Disgusted all over again, she strode out of the master bath she’d so meticulously designed and rushed down the curved staircase to the living area, where the drinks cart was waiting. With trembling hands, she poured herself a stiff shot and took a long, satisfying swallow. Then another, polishing off the vodka in her glass before taking the time to fill her short glass with ice cubes from the kitchen refrigerator. Then she poured herself another—just a quick one to steady her nerves—as her cell phone rang, the sound coming from a distance.
What the hell now?
She scrambled to find the damned thing—where had she left it? Oh, hell, it was upstairs? Cautiously, so as not to spill her drink, she mounted the inlaid steps bathed with elegant light from the crystal chandelier suspended high above the staircase.
In her bedroom, she was relieved to find her cell where she’d left it, flung onto the bed in her hurry as she got dressed. Rightnext to Princess, who stared at her with wide, blue eyes. Mavis scooped up the phone, recognized the number on the screen, and sighed heavily.