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Francesca Day Beaudine sailed into the room and flung open her arms. “Teddy!”
Chapter Fourteen
Ted’s mother wore black skinny pants and a hot pink corset top that shouldn’t have looked so good on a woman approaching her midfifties. Her shiny chestnut hair showed no signs of gray, so she was either lucky or she had a skillful colorist. Diamonds glittered at her earlobes, the base of her throat, and on her fingers, but nothing about her was overdone. Instead, she reflected the elegance of a self-made woman possessed of beauty, power, and personal style. A woman who still hadn’t spotted Meg as she launched herself at her beloved son’s bare chest.
“I’ve missed you!” She looked so petite in the arms of her tall offspring, it was hard to believe she could have given birth to him. “I rang, honestly, but your bell is out of order.”
“It’s disconnected. I’m working on an entrance lock that can read fingerprints.” He returned her hug, then released her. “How did your interview with the hero cops go?”
“They were marvelous. All my interviews went well, except for that beastly actor person, whose name I shall never again speak.” She threw up her hands. And that’s when she spotted Meg.
She must have seen the Rustmobile parked outside, but the shock that widened her green cat’s eyes suggested she’d assumed the car either belonged to a service person or the most lowborn of Ted’s unorthodox group of friends. Meg’s and Ted’s disheveled appearances made it more than obvious exactly what they’d been up to, and every part of her bristled.
“Mom, you remember Meg, I’m sure.”
If Francesca had been an animal, the fur would have stood up on the back of her neck. “Oh. Yes.”
Her enmity would have been comical if Meg hadn’t felt like throwing up. “Mrs. Beaudine.”
Francesca turned away from Meg and focused on her beloved son. Meg was used to seeing anger in a parent’s eyes, but she couldn’t stand seeing Ted on the receiving end of it, and she cut in before Francesca could say anything. “I threw myself at him just like every other woman in the universe. He couldn’t help it. I’m sure you’ve seen this at least a hundred times.”
Francesca and Ted both stared at her, Francesca with overt hostility, Ted with disbelief.
Meg tried to tug the hem of his T-shirt lower over her bottom. “Sorry, Ted. It . . . uh . . . won’t happen again. I’ll—be going now.” Except she needed the car keys stuffed in the pocket of her shorts, and the only way she could retrieve them was to return to his bedroom.
“You’re not going anywhere, Meg,” Ted said calmly. “Mom, Meg didn’t throw herself at me. She can barely stand me. And this isn’t any of your business.”
Meg shot up her hand. “Really, Ted, you shouldn’t talk to your mother that way.”
“Don’t even try to suck up to her,” he said. “It won’t do any good.”
But she made one final attempt. “It’s me,” she told Francesca. “I’m a bad influence.”
“Cut it out.” He gestured toward the food containers on the counter. “We’re getting
ready to eat, Mom. Why don’t you join us?”
That so wasn’t going to happen.
“No, thank you.” Her clipped British accent made the words even icier. She drew back on her strappy heels and gazed up at her son. “We’ll talk about this later.” She shot from the kitchen, her shoes beating a furious tattoo across the floor.
The front door shut, but the scent of her perfume, faintly overlaid with hemlock, lingered behind. Meg regarded him glumly. “The good news is, you’re too old for her to ground you.”
“Which won’t stop her from trying.” He smiled and lifted his beer bottle. “It sure is tough having an affair with the most unpopular woman in town.”
“He’s sleeping with her!” Francesca exclaimed. “Did you know this was going on? Did you know he was sleeping with her?”
Emma had just sat down to breakfast with Kenny and the children when the doorbell rang. Kenny had taken one look at Francesca’s face, grabbed the muffin basket, snatched up the kids, and disappeared. Emma ushered Francesca onto the sunporch, hoping her favorite place in the house would soothe her friend, but a scented morning breeze and a lovely view of the pasture weren’t nearly enough to calm her.
Francesca jumped up from the shiny black rattan chair she’d just collapsed into. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, not that she needed much of it, and she’d shoved her small feet into a pair of clogs Emma happened to know she only used for gardening. “This was her plan from the beginning.” Francesca’s small hands flew. “Precisely what I told Dallie. First get rid of Lucy, then move in on Teddy. But he’s so wise about people. I never thought for an instant he’d fall for it. How can he be so blind?” She stepped over a battered copy of Fancy Nancy and the Posh Puppy. “He’s still in shock or he’d see right through her. She’s wicked, Emma. She’ll do anything to get him. And Dallie is completely useless. He says Ted is a grown man and I should butt out, but would I butt out if my son had a serious illness? No I would not, and I won’t butt out now.” She snatched up Fancy Nancy and pointed the book at Emma. “You had to have known. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I had no idea it had gone so far. Let me get you a muffin, Francesca. And would you like some tea?”
Francesca tossed the book on a chair. “Someone must have known.”
“You haven’t been here, so you can’t comprehend how complicated things have gotten with the Skipjacks. Spence is obsessed with Meg, and Sunny wants Ted. We’re fairly sure that’s why Spence came back to Wynette after the wedding fell through.”
Francesca dismissed the Skipjacks. “Torie told me about Sunny, and Ted can handle her.” Hurt shadowed her eyes. “I can’t understand why you or Torie didn’t call me?”
