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“Oh my God, Bea, I’m so sorry. What happened to her?” Wren was actually summoning tears for my loss. Awful, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was in the presence of someone who openly referred to herself as anempath, a woo-woo self-diagnosis that is meant to herald emotional intelligence, but it really means the empath in question centers themselves in whatever tragedy or drama is at hand, instead of the person it’s actually happening to—classic narcissism in my opinion.
Sure, I could have just said that Wren was my best friend, avoiding the dead friend conversation entirely, but then she would have been insufferable about it all throughout the wedding planning and I’d rather spin incessant lies than sealthatdark picture as my fate for the coming months. Why not lie? I was very good at it.
“She was murdered in my hometown,” I whispered, a hush in my voice, really turning it on.
“Oh my God, are you serious, bywho?” Wren drunkenly smacked me across the arm. I shrugged at her before looking out the window, wistful.
“The police never solved the crime.”
“You mean her killer is stillat large?” Wren exclaimed.
Ah, so she was a true crime fanatic like so many of her peers, a hobby I never understood. Grisly business that could happen to any one of us, at any time. I don’t think most women realize how close we could all be to death at somebody’s hand. Instead, they all seek out sordid stories for entertainment purposes, salivating over them, lapping up every horrifying detail. A false, not to mention sick, escape. But a breakup with tech bro Braden and consuming brutal murder investigations from the sidelines were probably all Wren’s brain waves could handle on any given day. She was a fool. Mother would have thought so, too.
I nodded at Wren, solemnly for effect, and looked out the window again, signifying I wanted a change in subject, but she kept on talking. “Jeez. Remind me never to go to Wilmington.”
I looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
“What makes you think the killer stayed in Wilmington?”
•••
WE ROLLED UPto the Case compound and it was enough to send Wren into absolute hysterics again. The sheer size of the home was admittedly an arresting sight, one that I had gotten used to by then, but I delighted in her amazement at the grandiosity. Sure, I was equally agog the first time I saw the Case manse myself, the 1 percent in all its glory that very few are privy to, but I didn’t let on externally. I pranced in there alongside Collin like I already belonged there. Another lesson from Mother. One of the most, if notthemost, valuable. Meanwhile, Wren Daly had no earthly idea how to behave socially. For my purposes, she was perfect.
“So does she like to be called Haven or Mrs.Case? Are his sisters nice? Oh my God, I just got so nervous. Why am I so nervous?” She had every reason to be nervous. She would not receive a warm reception.
“Just be yourself, Wren,” I said, purposely giving her terrible advice. “They’re all going to love you. Relax, this is going to be fun!” I grabbed her hand as we walked up to the door. Once again, Calliope was on greeting duty, radiating her hippie harlot energy, in a pale-yellow off-the-shoulder frock, bare feet and hot-pink toenails.
“Here comes the bride,” she sang, a tinge of taunting in her voice. “Hello, I’m Calliope Case.” Calliope held out her hand for Wren to shake, her signature saucy grin growing even larger at the sight of a stranger. Who did I bring to the lion’s den?
“Nice to meet you. I’m Wren Daly.” Wren waited a beat, as if Calliope would recognize her from social media. It took everything I had not to laugh out loud.
“Okay, come on in. All the ladies are eager to hear what the bride has to say today. Especially Gale. Were you at the engagement party, Wren?”
“Oh, I was in Ibiza,” she said, exactly how you’re hearing it, with the lisp. “I had to go for work, but yes, I was invited.” She actually wasn’t, but I could blame the guest list on Haven if it came up later.
“Let’s get a look at that thing in the light of day,” Calliope said, snatching my hand to inspect my ring more closely.
“Isn’t it fabulous?” Wren stuck her nose in next to Calliope’s. “Did you post it on IG yet, Bea?”
Calliope scoffed at Wren, answering for me. “Not unless she wants to be robbed. Never post the family jewels online. Amateur hour.”
Calliope openly laughed at her and I could tell Wren was embarrassed. I nearly felt bad for the girl, but I had wanted the sharks to attack someone else in that house for a change. It was Wren’s whole reason for being as far as the wedding party was concerned.
Wren and I followed Calliope through the halls and out to the back terrace that overlooked the pool and the gardens. Wren could hardly form words at the sight of it all, which was probably for the best. The words would come eventually, I was banking on it. Haven, Chloe and Gale were seated outside with drinks. “There they are.” Chloe sighed, sporting dark sunnies, a big hat and a red lip.
“Hello, girls,” Haven chimed in, cracking only the smallest of smirks, alluding to being on her second G and diet T.
“Hi, everyone! I’m Wren Daly!” Wren felt the need to announce herself again and at a much higher decibel, digging her own grave even further in Calliope’s estimation, who snorted to herself.
“Come join us.” Haven motioned to empty seats.
“I was just admiring Bea’s ring in the sunlight,” Calliope said as I took an open seat next to Haven, asserting myself once again to my mother-in-law-to-be. I noticed she did a once-over on it and nodded in approval. A hard-fought acknowledgment considering they wouldn’t bequeath the family heirloom. Gale was in a floral sundress, shockingly appropriate for the event, and it made me wonder if Chloe had given her some guidance, and if so,why? Was Chloe in on whatever Gale was scheming? I was wary, but I greeted both of them with sweet smiles.
“Did Sylvia help him pick it out?” Gale asked, that venom in her voice again.
“Who’s Sylvia?” Chloe asked.
“Coll’s new assistant. Apparently she’s super hot. I heard Dad use the termleggy, so we know what that means.” Calliope grinned, but Haven didn’t look amused by that at all.
