Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

She was nice, but she wasn’t Sunny.

He’d finally drawn away and went back to the house where Sunny had left him earlier. Getting in wasn’t as easy this time. The doors and all the windows on the ground floor were closed. He’d been experimenting with the upstairs when he’d gotten a trace of an unmistakable fragrance. Working his way carefully along the roof, he’d approached another window and looked inside. There was Sunny, lying on a bed, asleep!

Shadow had immediately set to work on the screen in the window, trying to pull it aside so he could enter and wake Sunny up. But he’d foolishly used the paw with the broken claw. A sudden jolt of pain had made him jerk back—not a good thing when dealing with the tricky footing of a roof.

He’d found himself tumbling backward, and then there was no roof under his paws, only air. Nothing for his claws to catch hold of. And then he’d impacted on soft earth and sweet-smelling flowers—although a few of them would never be the same after he’d landed on them. Shadow got back on his feet, shook himself, and sneezed. Then he pranced out onto the grass, his tail held high. Just in case anyone saw me, he thought, I’ll act as if I planned to do that.

*

Sunny managed toget in a decent nap before Cillie Kingsbury appeared at her door. “Carson got a call. His parents are in the air. They expect to land in about an hour.”

The news shouldn’t have startled Sunny. She knew the de Kruks were due to arrive today. So why did her stomach suddenly tighten the way it used to when she was going off to interview someone for a big story? She was just a spear-carrier in this particular opera—nothing but window dressing.

And speaking of dressing, she had just enough time to take a shower and change into her other suit before rejoining Priscilla downstairs. A moment earlier, Sunny had been admiring her reflection in her cinnamon-colored suit. She’d made more of an effort to get active lately, and the results had shown. Her suit wasn’t tight, the skirt was just the right height, she’d even felt stylish. Compared to Cillie’s outfit, however . . . Well, Priscilla’s left shoe probably cost more than Sunny’s whole outfit combined.

But if Sunny felt a reporter’s buzz, Cillie radiated nervousness.

“Come on,” Sunny told her. “You look as if you expect them to eat you. Haven’t the de Kruks been here before?”

“No,” Cillie replied. “And now that they’re almost here, everything looks so moth eaten.”

“Well, you look nice.” That was an understatement. Priscilla wore a deceptively simple aquamarine dress that flattered her short, sandy blond hair. The jewelry she wore with it was silver—old silver, with a patina, probably a hand-me-down from some Victorian ancestor.

“So do you,” Cillie said. “That’s a nice color for you.”

Sure—when you can’t compliment the clothes, compliment the color. With a determined mental effort, Sunny shut her interior critic down. She wasn’t the center of attention here, the bride was. “I’d tell the de Kruks that the place is like your jewelry—old with a story behind it.”

Cillie touched her necklace. “It was my great-great-grandmother’s. How did you know?”

“Because it looks like a family piece. Augustus de Kruk’s family line may be old, but their money is new. The Kingsburys, though, have history. To be crude about it, isn’t that what they’re marrying into? Even if that includes the silver monstrosity in the rear parlor.”

Sunny’s irreverent analysis shocked a laugh out of Cillie, and seemed to put her on a more even keel.

“So where will you receive the guests?” Sunny asked.

“Down in front of the big house,” Priscilla replied. “I suppose we’d better start collecting people and get a move on.”

They came downstairs to find that Carson had already shepherded the rest of the younger guests out onto the road. He wore a cool gray suit with a muted check. Its skinny lapels and tailored fit flattered his slim build. Tommy Neal was more businesslike in navy blue. Peter Van Twissel had a suit much the same color, but his was definitely off the rack and didn’t fit him as well. And with his khaki slacks, off white jacket, and shaggy hair, Beau Bellingham looked like a beach bum crashing the party. Yardley Neal was a symphony in beige—clearly an expensive ensemble, but in a color that didn’t necessarily suit her.

“Shall we get the show on the road?” Carson suggested.

They’d barely started on the path when they had to draw off to let a motorcade of two town cars and a Range Rover pass them on the way out. Sunny caught a glimpse of Lee Trehearne in the lead vehicle, barking orders into a microphone.

“There goes the welcoming committee,” Cillie muttered.

When they arrived at the mansion, only Cale Kingsbury stood outside. “Too much hot air in there,” he told Sunny with a grin. “The Senator is still working on his welcoming speech.” He got a little more serious when he saw Priscilla, taking both her hands and stepping back to admire her. “Pay no attention to your broken-down old uncle,” he said. “Except when he tells you that you’re a lovely young woman.” He turned to Carson. “And you, my friend, are a lucky young man.”

Actually, Cale didn’t look too broken-down. He wore a summer-weight tan suit with a slightly darker knit tie. Only the width of the tie and the lapels suggested that his suit wasn’t as fashion forward as some of the others.

Sunny wouldn’t have minded a chance to talk with Cale, but she didn’t get much of a chance. He circulated among the members of the wedding party, chatting and joking. And certainly bringing down the tension level, Sunny had to admit.

The rest of the Kingsbury clan emerged, the males in almost identical navy blue suits, although the Senator’s had a pinstripe. The female side of the party all wore pastels.

A security guard stepped up to whisper in the Senator’s ear. “They’ve arrived,” the Senator announced, and everyone began to sort themselves out along a fieldstone retaining wall in front of the house. Now that Sunny came to think of it, that wall had served as a background for numerous family photos she’d seen around the place.

Sunny quickly positioned herself away from the developing reception line. Spear carrier, she reminded herself. Window dressing.

Still, it was an impressive little ceremony as the de Kruks, Augustus and his wife Magda, arrived. The Senator welcomed them, looking almost natural as he shook hands with the Emperor Augustus. Then came the political glad-handing with the governors, Lem Junior and Tom and their ladies, Deborah and Genevieve. After that, Carson and Priscilla offered handshakes and hugs, ending the formalities.

Augustus de Kruk glanced around. With his shining dome, beaky nose, and piercing eyes overshadowed by heavy brows, he really did look like a bald eagle, the alter ego used in so many op-ed cartoons.

Personally, Sunny had never responded well to the “look of eagles” she read about. To her, what eagles were usually looking for was their next meal. Certainly, the Emperor Augustus was quick to pounce when his eye fell on Beau Bellingham. “I hope you’ll be getting a haircut before the wedding, young man.” Augustus’s trademark growling voice, which he’d used to blight a hundred reality-TV careers on his various business shows, rumbled out as if the big man were perfectly willing to make his record a hundred and one.

Beau looked as though he’d been slapped, putting a hand up to his blond mop. “Oh, uh, of course, sir.”

The Emperor nodded. All was right with the world.

Priscilla suddenly appeared beside Sunny, hooking her arm and bringing her forward to the imperial presence. “Augustus, I’d like to introduce Sunny Coolidge. She’s a reporter, sort of embedded with us for the wedding.”