Free Death of a Mad Hatter (A Hat Shop Mystery) by Jenn McKinlay

Geoffrey had to visibly shake himself loose.
    He stepped back and gave a jerky nod to Buckley, who took the woman by the elbow and began to lead her away.
    “Turn her over to the police,” Geoffrey said.
    I glanced at the crowd, everyone was watching the scene before them as if it was a reality show on TV.
    Cara dug her heels into the grass, yanked her arm out of Buckley’s grip and turned to hiss at Geoffrey.
    “I was your father’s real wife. I took care of him right up until he drew his last breath. I deserve more than to be cast aside with nothing, not even a home to call my own.”
    She sobbed, obviously going for the sympathy play. It didn’t work. Geoffrey merely glared at her. She glanced at him from under her long eyelashes. When she realized that pity wasn’t in Geoffrey’s personal makeup, she lashed out.
    “I’ll have what’s mine!” she cried. Her face turned a hot shade of red as her temper ignited. “Even if it’s over your dead body!”
    Geoffrey blinked at her in surprise. I imagined he didn’t get threatened very much. Buckley stepped forward and grabbed Cara’s arm again. This time another valet grabbed her other arm and together they marched her from the premises.
    Whispers began to fill the tent, and Geoffrey looked like he wanted to choke someone.
    He made a curt announcement that the rest of the winners for the silent auction would be notified personally later in the day, and he strode from the tent.
    “Well, that was something, wasn’t it?” Andre asked.
    “I’ll say,” I said. “I’m really glad Viv ran interference for Dotty, poor thing. She really didn’t seem to get it, did she?”
    “And thank goodness for that,” Andre said. “Can you imagine how she would have reacted, having her delusions of thirty years shattered?”
    “It would not have been pretty,” I agreed.
    A plume of glittery purple was working her way through the crowd. She was stopping at clusters of guests armed with waiters bearing trays of sparkling cider and wine. With just a short conversation, she smoothed over the social awkwardness like a fairy godmother waving a wand. In fifteen minutes the guests seemed to have regained their equilibrium.
    “Even though I don’t like Marilyn Tofts, I have to admit she’s quite talented,” I said.
    “Hmm.” Andre made a noncommittal humming noise in his throat.
    I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “Okay, spill it. What aren’t you telling me?”
    “Nothing!” he protested. “You’re so suspicious!”
    I narrowed my gaze at him. “Fine. But I’ll figure it out.”
    He rolled his eyes at me as if I was a pesky little sister, but I ignored him.
    A bell rang signaling the start of the tea. Andre was not joining us, as he was taking pictures, so I promised to save him some cake and he moved off into the crowd.
    I found Viv standing up on the patio beside a white-clothed table with teapot-shaped place cards at each seat, two of which bore our names.
    “How is Dotty?” I asked, fingering the calligraphy that spelled out my name on my card.
    “Right as rain,” Viv said. “I walked with them to the house and Lily did a great job of distracting Dotty with a fabricated problem with the caterers. She was fine when I left and seemed to have no idea who Cara Whittles is or why she appeared here.”
    “Good. I feel very protective of her, since she was Mim’s friend. Tina is the hostess for our table,” I told Viv. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “She felt we needed to be spared Liam and George. Unless, of course, you’d rather not be spared?”
    Viv turned to meet my gaze. She smiled but said nothing. Oh, why wouldn’t she tell me if she liked Liam or not? It was maddening, truly.
    The guests were taking their seats at their tables on the patio. There was no sign of our hostess Tina. I waited a moment, but when two other ladies joined our table and sat down, I figured we could as well.
    “How do you do?” one of the women, a