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Agnes looked at LL’s empty glass. “I don’t suppose you’d want to pace yourself.”
“I don’t suppose,” Lisa Livia said, putting her glass on the counter. “Hit me, I’m having a bad day.” She looked over at the Venus. “Hit her, too.”
“She has enough problems.” Agnes looked for something to distract LL from more bourbon, went over to the CD player, and punched up the song she’d been playing that morning before breakfast. “Remember this song? You had this on when you bailed me out after I cracked Rich with the frying pan. You made me sing it with you in the car on the way home, remember?”
Lisa Livia bit her lip and looked away.
“There is no good reason,” Agnes sang as she leaned over the counter to LL, “we should be so all alone.”
LL took Agnes’s bottle of bourbon and poured herself another glass and then joined in, and they belted out the Chicks paean to self-pity. “God, I love the Chicks,” Agnes said when the song was done and she’d moved the bourbon out of LL’s reach. “And God do I need them this week.”
“They’ve gotten us through some real bad times,” Lisa Livia said, pushing her empty glass across the counter as “Hello Mr. Heartache” began. “Hit me. Again.”
“If you could slow down a little,” Agnes said, “I could use some help destroying your mother.”
“Right, the house.” Lisa Livia nodded. “How’s that goin’?”
“I’ve decided to take your advice and embrace the killer within, and I’m trying to be a colder, more effective murderous bitch. No emotion. Run silent, run deep. The female Shane.”
“Oh,” Lisa Livia said. “Well. Glad I could help.”
They looked at each other and Agnes poured them each another drink while they tried to work out a plan. All of Lisa Livia’s ended up with “and sink her damn boat,” so Agnes eventually called a halt to both the planning and the liquid refreshment.
“I can’t get drunk,” she said as she sipped her last one, knowing she was well on her way. “I have to write a column and make wedding cakes and write a column today. And you have to prepare to be a mother of a bride. All of this mess is making us forget the wedding. Our little Maria is getting married to a rich kid who loves her. To Maria!” She lifted her glass to Lisa Livia.
“I can get drunk,” Lisa Livia said, and then added, “To Maria!” and knocked the rest of her drink back.
“Okay, then.” Agnes put her drink aside and got out her mixing bowl, trying to keep her mind from sliding back to the chaos of real life, because she was going to stay cool and calm. She thought of Shane, walking through the kitchen the night before, firing that gun with no expression on his face. Yeah, that was gonna be her from now on.
“Speaking of Maria ...” Lisa Livia slid her now-empty glass across the counter and picked up Agnes’s full one. “Are you ready for this? Brenda’s been sabotaging Palmer, too. Remember I told you she’s been telling Maria that Palmer is just like his daddy, the drunken whoremonger?”
“Right.” Agnes went to the refrigerator for butter, sour cream, milk, and eggs.
“Well, she’s been telling Palmer that Maria’s marrying him for his money.”
Agnes stopped and turned around, her arms full. “And he believes this garbage?”
“She’s subtle. She just tells him how excited Maria is about living in a big house and having great cars and lots of clothes and big diamonds. He asked me about it, trying to be discreet, poor dork, and I told him Maria doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of that, but Brenda’s been working on him for a while. He really believes it, and it’s giving him cold feet. And having that moron Hammond hanging around isn’t making him feel any better.”
“Crap,” Agnes said, transferring ingredients to the counter. “Okay, so I’ll fix that, and then we’ll have the wedding, and Brenda will lose the house and die screaming, ‘I’m melting, I’m melting.’“ It sounded like a plan to her, but Lisa Livia looked skeptical.
“I don’t think my mother’s going to be that easy to defeat. Not without holy water and a stake.”
“Reverend Miller will call again tomorrow morning to ask if Maria’s ever been a whore,” Agnes said. “I’ll ask him to bring some holy water to the wedding to sprinkle on Brenda. He’s met her. He’ll understand.”
Agnes went to the sink to fill her measuring cup with water, glanced out the window at the sun sparkling on the water, and froze.
There was an old paint-peeling yacht easing up to the shore, bobbing up and down in concert with the floating dock, taunting her. It banged clumsily against the rubber bumpers and then the engine cut, and Brenda climbed over the side onto the dock to secure the mooring lines.
“Fucking bitch,” Agnes said, and dropped her measuring cup. “What now?”
“Your mother has her goddamned yacht moored off my dock!”
“What?” Lisa Livia came around the counter to look out the window. “I’ll be damned.” She shook her head in reluctant admiration. “She’s getting ready to move back.”
“Bitch,” Agnes said again, staring at the boat. “We’re sinking that damn thing.”
“Now?” Lisa Livia said, sounding sedated but ready.
