Page 3 of Hextreme Measures

He didn’t deny it. “It’s a father’s prerogative to be mean to his daughter’s boyfriend.”

“Husband,” Ofelia corrected.

“Whatever.” He made a face. “I’m going to be mean to him. That’s how it works.”

“Why would you be mean to him?” Ofelia looked appalled.

“I just told you, because that’s how it works. I have to be mean to him to test him, to see if he’s good enough for you.”

“What if he’s not?”

“Oh, Fe, nobody ever will be good enough for you.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and anchored her to his side. “I already know that. I just hope that the guy you settle on is 50 percent worthy.”

She giggled. “He’s going to be 100 percent worthy. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Smart move.” He kissed the top of her head, then pointed toward the magazine. “Show me what he’s going to look like.”

“Don’t you have to get back to work?”

“Not right away. I have some time for you.”

“Okay.” Ofelia opened the magazine. “This is Keanu Reeves. He’s not the best actor, but he’s totally hot.”

“I don’t think you should settle for anything less than the total package.”

“Good point.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

1

ONE

PRESENT DAY

Ofelia Archer wasn’t one for ostentatious parties. Give her a good, old-fashioned crawfish boil in a backyard with bottled beer and paper plates, and she was perfectly happy. A huge outdoor party at Louis Armstrong Park — who rented out a city park? — complete with expensive China plates and cutlery that probably cost more than her car, and she felt out of place.

That was never more apparent than when she held up the linen napkin and realized it was scalloped with what looked like lace.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.

Angelique Fleury, Ofelia’s best friend, cast a sidelong look toward the napkin. “Problem?”

Ofelia had a lot of problems.

The music wasn’t loud, and yet it felt overbearing. A string quartet. How was that appropriate for a party that was supposed to be a celebration of love?

The food was all finger food, small appetizers, and crudité. It was good but hardly filling. Where was the prime rib? Where were the crab legs? This was not what Ofelia had talked about with her future mother-in-law, Madeline Sully, when the woman had broached the idea of throwing a pre-wedding party.

No, Madeline had wooed Ofelia with promises that she would choose all of the party accoutrements. That included the music and food.

Ofelia had asked for a DJ so people could dance and enjoy the party. Madeline had hemmed and hawed before ultimately agreeing.

Ofelia had asked for a carving station with multiple sides for food. She wanted people to get a full meal. She understood that seafood would be too difficult to eat at a park party, but there was nothing wrong with prime rib and a side of red beans and red skin potatoes.

She got none of it.

On top of that, Madeline had invited people that Ofelia didn’t know. They were business associates of her husband, Zeke Sully, and if Ofelia wasn’t very much mistaken, there was a whole contingent of people from Ofelia’s mother’s social circle. That is to say that Ofelia recognized a bunch of the faces, vaguely, but she couldn’t remember speaking to them more than a handful of times over the course of her entire life. Marie Charles’ stamp was all over their faces, though.