Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(106)

Once they’d ordered, he slid right back in. “I think it’s Astrid.”

“Why Astrid?”

“She’s the first. She was there, obviously, from the start. And since we accept she’s been in the manor since, she’d have seen the rest. She’s a witness, too.”

“That’s logical—in this illogical situation.” And it helped, so much, to have someone who could be logical, someone she trusted, to talk through it all.

“One of the details? I don’t think Agatha was in love with Owen Poole. Not like crazy, deeply. And she struck me as … I don’t think she was a particularly nice woman. More just a snob. I think he cared about her, but same goes—not the snob. He seemed warmer somehow. But I think it was what they called a good match, if you follow.”

“He remarried, under two years later. Pretty sure it was less than two.”

“About a year and a half—I checked. And he and his wife, Moira, had six kids and nearly five decades together. I don’t know if that matters, but apparently second brides aren’t in the danger zone.”

“One a generation.”

“Which means me. Or I guess any bride of my generation who gets married in, or lives in, the manor. It has to be there because Dobbs is stuck there, too. After my mother left Sunday? I went out to play fetch with Yoda. He’s getting the hang of it. The shadow I’ve seen, at the library window? I waved. It waved back.”

Because it made him laugh, she grinned.

“And right after? Hester started slamming the windows in the Gold Room. Very pissy. I gave her the middle finger salute.”

The way he looked at her, in just that moment, had her heart doing a slow roll.

“You’re one in a million, cutie.”

“I don’t know about that, but I know how to get pissy right back.”

When Dana served the mains, Sonya looked at her plate, then up at Dana. “I can tell you were right.”

“Never wrong.” She winked and left them alone.

“Tell me about the wedding. The one that didn’t end with a dead bride.”

“Please don’t make me. Fill me in on your weekend instead.”

“What’s one thing—no, two,” Sonya amended. “Two things that stick out, then we’ll close the door on your weekend adventure and move to mine.”

“The bride’s uncle Jerry got shit-faced, jumped onstage with the band, and belted out AC/DC’s ‘You Shook Me All Night Long.’”

He waited a beat.

“While stripping. They managed to stop him before he lost his pants—there were children present—but it was close.”

As she laughed, he tried some of her risotto.

“And for the second, I found the best man and the bride’s brother in an extremely compromising situation in the men’s room.”

“You walked in on them?”

“Lock the door, man.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “Use a stall. Rent a room. Before I could back out, they told me to congratulate them. They’re engaged.”

“Aw. Did you?”

“Congratulate them? Yeah, while my retinas were bleeding because I’d seen entirely too much of both of them, things I can never unsee. I said congratulations and got the hell out of there.”

“I hope those crazy kids make it. Your family has exciting weddings. I wish I’d been there.”

He studied her over a sip of wine. “You actually mean that. I worry about you.”

“I like weddings. They’re full of color and drama and joy.”

“And drunken relatives.”

“The best ones are.”

“Your turn.”

“My weekend can’t compare to yours. But there is my mother’s reaction to spending hers with ghosts. Which was surprisingly steady.”

She told him.

“It sounds like I had it right. You got a lot of your steady from your mother.”

“I didn’t realize when my father died how much she had to take on. You don’t think of things like that when you’re twelve. And by the time I grew up enough to realize it, it just was. She gave me stability.”

“It says something that she senses your dad with her.”

“What does it say?”

“That love, the real deal, lasts. The real deal gives you strength.”

“You must be right because I don’t know anyone stronger than Winter MacTavish. By the way, since she immediately and correctly interpreted my term dating?” She pointed a finger at him, then at herself. “She demands to meet you the next time she’s here.”

“I’ll look forward to that.” He glanced over. “Here comes Bree.”

This time the chef scooted Trey over to look directly at Sonya. “I can’t look in your eyes with a text, so tell me again you didn’t overcook the scallops or pasta.”

“You scared me enough on that. I set timers. My mother was so shocked and impressed she forced me back to the kitchen on Saturday and whipped me through a chicken dish. So my thanks is qualified by fear and annoyance, as she told me she’s going to teach me a different dish whenever she visits.”

“Didn’t she ever teach you growing up?”

“She tried. I’d chop and stir if cornered. But I was slippery, and I stand as one of her few failures.”