An impressive mosaic fountain sat in front of the house, which was built of rose-colored stucco with a crenellated tile roof straight out of the Arabian nights. One of the catering staff let her in through a set of carved wooden doors bracketed by arched windows. The English country decor was a surprise in a house with such pronounced Moorish architecture, but somehow the chintz, hunting prints, and Hepplewhite furniture Shelby Traveler had chosen sort of worked.
A pair of doors with mosaic inlays led to a terrace with high, stucco walls, long benches covered in jewel-toned prints, and tiled tables holding brass buckets spilling over with red, white, and blue flower arrangements augmented with small American flags. Shade trees and a mist cooling system kept the guests comfortable in the late-afternoon heat.
Meg spotted Birdie Kittle and Kayla huddled together, along with Kayla's BFF Zoey Daniels, the local elementary-school principal. Several country-club staff members were helping serve, and Meg waved at Haley, who was passing a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Kenny Traveler stood next to an attractive woman with honey brown curls and baby-doll cheeks. Meg recognized her from the rehearsal dinner as his wife, Emma.
Meg had showered in the ladies' locker room, scrunched some hair product into her rowdy curls, applied lipstick and eye makeup, then slipped into the chartreuse tank dress from the resale shop. With the elongated Modigliani woman's head printed down the front, the dress didn't require a necklace, but she hadn't been able to resist attaching a couple of quarter-size purple plastic discs to each of her Sung dynasty earrings. The dramatic juxtaposition of ancient and mod complemented the Modigliani print and pulled the whole posh-meets-kitsch look together. Her uncle Michel would have approved.
Heads began to turn at her appearance but not, she suspected, because of her great earrings. She'd expected hostility from the women, but she hadn't anticipated the amused glances some of them exchanged as they took in her tank dress. It was a perfect fit, and it looked great on her, so she didn't care.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
She turned to see a tall, thin man in his early forties with straight, slightly disheveled brown hair and wide-spaced gray eyes visible through the lenses of wire-rimmed glasses. He reminded her of a college lit professor. "Arsenic?" she asked.
"I don't think that will be necessary."
"If you say so."
"I'm Dexter O'Connor."
"No, you're not!" The words came out before she could stop them, but she couldn't believe this bookish man was the glamorous Torie Traveler O'Connor's husband. It had to be the mismatch of the century.
He smiled. "Obviously, you've met my wife."
Meg swallowed. "Uh . . . It's just that-"
"Torie is Torie, and I'm . . . not?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I mean . . . I guess that could be a good thing, right? Depending on how you look at it?" She'd just unintentionally insulted his wife. He waited, a patient smile on his face. "I don't mean that Torie's not terrific . . ." She stumbled on. "Torie's practically the only nice person I've met in this town, but she's very-" Meg was only digging herself in deeper, and she finally gave up. "Crap. I'm sorry. I'm from L.A., so I have no manners. I'm Meg Koranda, as you probably know, and I like your wife."
His amusement at her discomfort seemed more appreciative than mean-spirited. "So do I."
At exactly that moment, Torie came over to join them. She was startlingly beautiful in a sleeveless, embroidered Chinese red top and royal blue mini that showed off her long, tanned legs. How could a firecracker like this be married to a man with such a quiet, scholar's manner?
Torie hooked a hand through her husband's elbow. "See, Dex. Now that you've met Meg you can see she's not the bitch everybody makes her out to be. At least I don't think so."
Dex gave his wife a tolerant smile and Meg a sympathetic one. "You'll have to forgive Torie. Whatever pops into her head comes out her mouth. She can't help it. She's spoiled beyond belief."
Torie grinned and gazed at her egghead husband with such affection that Meg felt a surprising lump form in her throat. "I don't get why you think that's a problem, Dex."
He patted her hand. "I know you don't."
Meg realized that her initial impression of Dexter O'Connor as a gullible egghead might not be accurate. He had a quiet manner, but he was no fool.
Torie dropped her husband's arm and grabbed Meg's wrist. "I'm getting bored. It's time to introduce you to some people. That'll liven things up for sure."