Free Say Yes to the Death by Susan McBride

arriving by helicopter,” Cissy added, as if that would change my mind. “Good thing there’s a landing pad on the roof of the house. That’s how Les gets around town. He doesn’t like traffic.”
    I glanced across the table at the oilman and decided some people just had too much money and too little sense. So Lester Dickens’s house for sale had a helipad and, like, two bathrooms? That was what I’d call having your priorities in disorder.
    â€œWatch my lips,” I told Mother. “I do not want to stay,” I said, enunciating every word in case I’d been speaking in a tongue that she didn’t understand.
    â€œSpoilsport,” Cissy replied and set her face in a sad little moue.
    â€œI could take a cab,” I told her, and she clicked tongue against teeth.
    â€œAnd pay with what? Life Savers?”
    She was right. I hadn’t brought along any cash. Silly me.
    â€œAll right, we’ll leave early,” she said reluctantly, “but not until after the cake’s cut.”
    â€œDeal,” I replied. Once I had a piece of Millie’s gorgeous seven-­layer creation—­and told Olivia how absolutely divine it was—­I would be more than ready to escape. I had no intention of staying until the bride tossed her bouquet. I didn’t need to catch it. I already had Malone.
    I’d just finished devouring the herb-­crusted Chilean sea bass with champagne sauce when I heard the chime of silverware tapping crystal. Then Olivia’s voice boomed through the microphone again. “Ladies and gentleman, it’s time for another sweet moment,” she said in her honeyed drawl, and she waved her arm at the circular table that held Millie’s towering, flower-­encrusted seven-­tiered confection. “The bride and groom will now cut the cake!”
    I had to shift position to see around a few large hats. As I did, I spotted Pete in his dark garb with his shoulder-­camera, lurking in the background.
    The sleek silver knife that Olivia had brandished at Millie earlier now glinted in the glow of candlelight as the newlyweds raised it, hand in hand, to cut through the first and largest layer. Before they lowered the knife, I saw Olivia motion Pete closer. Penny and Jeff hesitated for a moment, as if they realized they were about to vandalize a piece of art. Truthfully, it was a crime they had to cut it up. Millie’s cake was a thing of beauty.
    â€œGo for it,” I heard Olivia urge to nervous laughter.
    After counting “one-­two-­three” aloud, the pair finally brought the knife down onto the bottom tier of ivory fondant ringed with lifelike orchids glistening with sugar. I found I was holding my breath, waiting. Others must have done the same as a collective sigh followed when the knife plunged into the cake. Only instead of sliding through, it got stuck like the sword in the stone. Though the newlyweds pushed, the knife resisted.
    â€œWhat’s the damned thing made of?” I heard Lester Dickens say with a snicker. “Concrete?”
    Penny and Jeff both let go and glanced anxiously at Olivia, which is when La Belle from Hell marched toward the cake and bent down to take a closer look.
    â€œMy God, it’s Styrofoam!” Olivia remarked quite loudly enough for everyone to hear. And then she pulled the knife from the cake, shook her fist to the heavens, and shouted, “Millllieeeee!”
    I felt like I was watching a scene ripped from the Star Trek movie that Malone had made me watch last weekend where Captain Kirk screwed up his face and screamed, “Kaaaaahn!”
    To say I was startled by the outburst was putting it mildly. It seemed so staged that I had a strong suspicion Olivia had rehearsed her reaction, although Penny and Jeff seemed earnestly surprised, and not in a good way. In fact, Penny’s eyes welled up and a big sob escaped her throat.
    And all the while Pete moved about