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Sunny barely paid attention. “How did Jake Koranda’s daughter end up in a hick town like this?”
Meg had good reason to ridicule this hick town, but Sunny was merely being a snob. “I’m taking a break from L.A.”
“Quite a change,” Sunny said.
“Sometimes change is what we need. I guess it lets us look at our lives in a new way.” And hadn’t she turned into the wise philosopher?
“There’s nothing I’d want to change about my life.” Sunny slipped her bright red sunglasses to the top of her head, where the stems pushed the long layers of dark brown hair away from her face and highlighted her resemblance to Spence. They had the same strong nose, full lips, and air of entitlement. “I like things just the way they are. I sit on the board of my father’s company. I design products. It’s a great life.”
“Impressive.”
“I have a bachelor’s in mechanical engineering and an MBA,” she added, even though Meg hadn’t asked.
“Nice.” Meg thought of the degree she didn’t have in anything.
Sunny sat on the step above her. “You seem to have stirred up the town since you got here.”
“It’s a small town. Easy to stir up.”
Sunny rubbed a smudge from her ankle that she must have picked up during the land survey. “My father has quite a lot to say about you. He e
njoys younger women.”
She’d finally gotten to the point of today’s visit, and Meg couldn’t have been happier.
“They obviously enjoy him, too,” Sunny went on. “He’s successful, outgoing, and he likes to have a good time. He keeps talking about you, so I know you’ve caught his interest. I’m happy for you both.”
“You are?” Meg hadn’t expected this. She wanted an ally, not a matchmaker. She stalled for time by untying her sneakers. “I guess I’m surprised. Don’t you worry about . . . gold diggers? You might have heard that I’m broke.”
Sunny shrugged. “My father’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. The fact that you’re a challenge makes you even more intriguing to him.”
The last thing Meg wanted was to be intriguing. She slipped out of her sneakers, pulled off her socks, and said carefully, “I don’t really go for older men.”
“Maybe you should give one of them a try.” Sunny rose from the step and came down to Meg’s level. “I’m going to be straight with you. My father has been divorced from my mother for nearly ten years. He’s worked hard all his life, and he deserves to enjoy himself. So don’t worry about me getting in your way. I have no problem with the two of you having fun together. And who knows where it might lead? He’s never been stingy with the women he dates.”
“But . . .”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the party.” Her business accomplished, she headed for her rental car.
As she drove off, Meg put the pieces together. Sunny had obviously heard about Meg’s professed interest in Ted, and she didn’t like it. She wanted to keep Meg occupied with her father so she’d have a clear field to stake out St. Sexy for herself. If she only knew the truth, she wouldn’t have wasted her time.
Meg had no trouble finding the Moorish mansion where Shelby and Warren Traveler lived. According to gossip, Kenny and Torie hadn’t been happy when their father had married a woman thirty years his junior who also happened to be Torie’s sorority sister. Even the birth of a half brother hadn’t appeased them, but eleven years had passed since then, Kenny and Torie were both married, and all seemed to be forgiven.
An impressive mosaic fountain sat in front of the house, which was built of rose-colored stucco with a crenellated tile roof straight out of the Arabian nights. One of the catering staff let her in through a set of carved wooden doors bracketed by arched windows. The English country decor was a surprise in a house with such pronounced Moorish architecture, but somehow the chintz, hunting prints, and Hepplewhite furniture Shelby Traveler had chosen sort of worked.
A pair of doors with mosaic inlays led to a terrace with high, stucco walls, long benches covered in jewel-toned prints, and tiled tables holding brass buckets spilling over with red, white, and blue flower arrangements augmented with small American flags. Shade trees and a mist cooling system kept the guests comfortable in the late-afternoon heat.
Meg spotted Birdie Kittle and Kayla huddled together, along with Kayla’s BFF Zoey Daniels, the local elementary-school principal. Several country-club staff members were helping serve, and Meg waved at Haley, who was passing a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Kenny Traveler stood next to an attractive woman with honey brown curls and baby-doll cheeks. Meg recognized her from the rehearsal dinner as his wife, Emma.
Meg had showered in the ladies’ locker room, scrunched some hair product into her rowdy curls, applied lipstick and eye makeup, then slipped into the chartreuse tank dress from the resale shop. With the elongated Modigliani woman’s head printed down the front, the dress didn’t require a necklace, but she hadn’t been able to resist attaching a couple of quarter-size purple plastic discs to each of her Sung dynasty earrings. The dramatic juxtaposition of ancient and mod complemented the Modigliani print and pulled the whole posh-meets-kitsch look together. Her uncle Michel would have approved.
Heads began to turn at her appearance but not, she suspected, because of her great earrings. She’d expected hostility from the women, but she hadn’t anticipated the amused glances some of them exchanged as they took in her tank dress. It was a perfect fit, and it looked great on her, so she didn’t care.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
She turned to see a tall, thin man in his early forties with straight, slightly disheveled brown hair and wide-spaced gray eyes visible through the lenses of wire-rimmed glasses. He reminded her of a college lit professor. “Arsenic?” she asked.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
