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Agnes pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and came around the counter to squint at it. It was a plain white plate, cheap pottery with a thin glaze, nothing to make a snob like Taylor get excited. “So?”
“Aren’t they the greatest?”
Agnes looked at him in disbelief. “Taylor, you wouldn’t feed Rhett off this plate. Are you telling me this is what you want to use for the catering here?”
“God, no,” Taylor said, and then recovered. “I thought you could use this as the china for the wedding. Save some money.”
Agnes took it. “It’s not china at all; it’s pottery.” She turned it over. “Incredibly cheap pottery. I can’t believe you’re not spitting on this.”
“I told you, it’s for the wedding.”
“No.” She handed it back. “It’s not. Take it back. Listen, we have a problem.”
He looked floored. “I can’t take it back. Agnes, you’ll save a fortune. Look at it again. Look at the bowls.” He pushed the box toward her. “They’re a nice shape and ...”
He kept talking, and Agnes tuned him out and looked in the box and saw the receipt stuck down the side. She reached in and pulled it out to see just how cheap this junk was. If it was more than $ 1.98 for the whole damn box, he’d been ripped off good.
She unfolded the paper and saw scrawled at the bottom of the Visa slip a signature: Brenda Dupres.
“Brenda sent you out here with this,” she said as her throat closed. “What’s going on? Why are you working with Brenda? What is this?”
“Uh,” Taylor said.
Agnes felt herself flush, heat rising with her temper. There was a plan here, Lisa Livia had been right—Brenda was up to something— except that LL had missed that Taylor was part of it and this horrible thin, ugly pottery with a cheap thin grainy glaze was part of it, she was supposed to use this horrible junk instead of the lush creamy china Maria deserved, and Brenda would have made sure somehow that Evie found out, Brenda had asked about the china that morning, and then Brenda would have looked at Evie and said, “The country club has beautiful china. ...”
Brenda was trying to swindle her out of Two Rivers and Taylor was helping her. Agnes put her hand on the table, furious that he’d lied to her—Steady, Agnes—incredulous that he could be that fucking stupid. “Agnes?”
Agnes took a deep breath, controlling her anger with everything she had.
What was he getting out of it? He was going to lose the house, too, the dimwit. What had Brenda promised him? “Agnes, what’s wrong?”
You fucking moronic lying bastard, you sold us both out. Angry language makes us angrier, Agnes.
Agnes took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. “You sold us out to Brenda.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Taylor said, his eyes shifting left.
“You lie.”
Taylor took a step back. “Agnes!”
Physical exercise is often a good way of defusing anger, Agnes, just walk away now.
Agnes gritted her teeth. “I don’t know what promises Brenda made you, you treacherous idiot, but if I lose this house, you lose this house.”
Taylor drew himself up. “There’s no need for insults, Agnes.” Running, Agnes, weight lifting, swimming ...
“There’s every need, you dumbass. You’re screwing both of us and you don’t seem to see that!” Bowling, assault, battery ...
“Agnes!” He shook his head. “You’re really out of line. Last night, trying to break off our engagement, and now accusing me of betraying you ...”
Defenestration, castration ...
“I have to tell you, Agnes, I’m not pleased.”
“Shot put,” Agnes snapped, and shoved the hall door open with her shoulder and picked up the plate and slung it into the hall, where it smashed beautifully on the black-and-white-tiled floor.
Shane placed the pistol next to him on the wooden bench and tried to relax, but the sound of breaking dishes back in the house had him on edge. That, plus he knew he was a conspicuous target sitting in the moonlight on the fixed high dock at the end of the wooden walkway, just above the metal gangplank leading down to the floating dock.
