Free Bet Your Bones by Jeanne Matthews

right woman for him. But he will. I’m a very spiritual person. I don’t come at God the same way Hank does, but I understand his spiritual quest better than Claude Ann did. She should be happy for us both. I don’t think she ever really loved Hank, but she’s fond of him.”
    “Have you told her your plan?”
    “No. And don’t you tell her, Dinah Pelerin. Not yet. I’ll tell her, myself, but not ’til after she comes back from the honeymoon.”
    “Do you know that Hank’s been writing Claude Ann crackpot letters and filling Marywave’s head with a lot of claptrap about it being a sin for Claude Ann to remarry?”
    “He’s just venting. He wants what’s best for Marywave just like Claude Ann does. He needs to focus on a new life goal is all. Clear life goals and a positive outlook, that’s what visioneering’s all about.”
    Dinah’s less than positive outlook veered toward the decidedly pissed-off. Why did so many hot potatoes have to land in her lap? Now she had another one to toss or not to toss and this one was sure to turn Claude Ann’s honeymoon into a crowd. If there was even a ghost of a chance that Phoebe might invite Hank to Hawaii for some clandestine quality time with Marywave, Claude Ann would have a conniption.
    Phoebe’s eyebrows rushed together. “I can see it in your face. You’re going to tell her, aren’t you?”
    “No, you are. There are too many secrets swirling around this wedding already. I have to go try on my dress and you have to go to your seminar. But If Claude Ann doesn’t know about you and Hank by tomorrow night, I’ll blow the whistle.”

Chapter Nine
    The tiny bridal shop on Kalakaua Avenue was crammed with so many pouffy white gowns and veils that Dinah had the sense of breast-stroking through an avalanche. She could scarcely move without bumping into another snowbank of dresses.
    “Hello? Claude Ann? Anybody?”
    “We’re back here,” called Claude Ann from somewhere in the muffled depths. “Behind the mauve curtain.”
    Dinah pushed on through the racks, through the smothering billows of charmeuse and chiffon and georgette and satin, through the pervasive incense of dried rose petals. “I don’t see anything mauve.”
    “Dinah, where are you?” Abruptly, the whiteness parted in front of her and Lyssa appeared like a bonfire in tangerine chiffon. Whether it was the hot color or the result of a good night’s sleep, her disposition had warmed. “Isn’t this place fantastic? Follow me. The work room is back here.”
    She led Dinah through a mauve curtain into a large open space with floor-to-ceiling windows and bright overhead lights. Claude Ann stood in the center of the room on an elevated platform while a bird-like woman with a beaky nose and a row of straight pins clamped between her teeth knelt at her feet, pinning the hem of her billowing white skirt. A dress form clothed in tangerine chiffon stood behind her like a headless vestal virgin. That, thought Dinah, would be my cross to wear.
    Claude Ann appeared euphoric. “Dinah, this is Yvonne, the shop owner. She’s an absolute genius with a needle and thread. She stitched up Phoebe’s dress in nothin’ flat just from the measurements Phoebe sent.”
    Around the pins, Yvonne said, “Have a seat on the sofa. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
    “Well?” prompted Claude Ann. “Do I look fabulous or what?”
    “Fabulous,” said Dinah, preoccupied with Eleanor’s threat and Xander’s failure to disclose who she was and Phoebe’s lech for Hank and Claude Ann’s six figure loan to Xander.
    “That’s pretty lame,” said Claude Ann.
    “You look sublime. Enchanting. Ravishing. Beyond compare.”
    “Bullshit. I know you don’t approve of my wearin’ white. You don’t have to say it.”
    “I don’t care what color you wear, Claudy, as long as you’re happy. And what does my approval have to do with it? It’s your wedding.”
    “Yeah, but I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re