Powdered Murder

"Well." I swallowed her dirty compliment. "I had it in my closet so…" I cleared my throat and looked at her wine. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," she answered. "Much better actually. Your sister sent a masseuse to my suite. A beastly man who calls himself Ivan. He fixed me right up." She took a relaxing breath and glanced around the room as servers began bringing out silver buckets of chilled spirits. "Turns out my back was full of knots."

"Imagine that," I muttered.

I spotted Bebe looking graciously at a server. She smiled as he handed her a glass. I glared in her direction, desperately hoping she would see us and immediately come over. Bebe studied the room first before she finally singled us out.

"Gold," Lila quietly complained. "Of course Bebe would wear something angelic like that. With her blonde hair and light complexion she looks like a ray of sunshine and I look like…" Lila touched her lacy, black dress. "An undertaker."

"Don't be stupid," I replied. "That dress makes you look dignified." I couldn’t find the right words to say other than the dress made her look conservative compared to the rest of her wardrobe.

"True," she agreed. If this was Lila's way of fishing for compliments than it was working. She was awfully good at it. "But is it too dignified. I don't want to come off as too snotty when I meet Patrick's parents."

"You haven't met the Jayes?"

"Not officially," she answered. "A web chat with Patrick here and there, and they send cards."

"But you haven't spoken with them in person?"

Bebe joined the two of us with a giant smile on her face. I noticed that even in formal attire, she was still wearing the white wristband she sometimes snapped against her wrist. She'd attempted to hide it with matching gold bangles.

"This place looks amazing, y'all." Bebe held up her glass before taking a sip.

"Excuse me, girls." Lila left without even acknowledging Bebe. Bebe shook her head but kept the smile on her face.

"She seems calmer," Bebe commented.

"Really?" I folded my arms. "I don’t see much of a difference other than she's keeping most of her comments to herself at the moment."

"Oh, Essie," Bebe teased. "What would I do without you?"

"Where do you think she's going?" Lila left the room and walked quickly down the hallway.

"She's going to change her dress, honey." Bebe's eyes widened when she studied my ensemble. "Have you seen yourself? You look like the cover of Maxim."

"I do not," I argued, feeling my face go warm.

"You do and she's jealous." Bebe lowered her voice when Patrick entered the room escorting his parents.

When the Jayes first moved to Bison Creek, Joy and I used to think of Mr. and Mrs. Jaye as a real life cowboy and cowgirl. It was the way they talked, the way they invited all their neighbors over to sample homemade sweet tea, and the cowboy boots Mr. Jaye wore in place of snow boots. They were a town spectacle back then, but over the years they'd adapted to mountain living as if they had been born here. The only thing that didn't fade away was their southern accents.

Patrick's mom, A

Patrick's father kept his arm around her. He was taller and his hair was the same shade of dark blonde as Patrick's. He was a simple man, and he spoke with an especially thick, southern accent. Being a former lawyer, he was dressed a little more appropriate for the di

He normally looks at me like I'm hiding something. It makes me want to spill all my secrets even though I'm not eight years old anymore. But he looks at everyone that way. Everyone except his wife, and his little boy. In his eyes, the world is guilty until proven i

"Essie," Patrick gasped. His tie matched the color of his hazel eyes. "You look great."

"Thanks."

Bebe looked from me to Patrick and bit the corner of her lip.

"You look very handsome, Patrick," Bebe complimented him.

"Thank you." He took a step back and let his parents move forward. "I would like to introduce you to my parents, A

"Hello," Mr. Jaye replied.

"Oh, Gwenessa," A

"Thank you, Mrs. Jaye." I looked at her homemade plate of sweets. She uncomfortably tried to cover most of it with her arm. "Are those what I think they are?"

"Oh I … uh…" A

"I haven't had one of those in a long time," I went on. "May I?"

"Yes, of course." Patrick's mom gratefully handed me the platter. I folded back the plastic wrap and picked up a square. On any other day I wouldn't eat something this rich and sugary because then I would have to eat another, and another, and another after that. A

"Oh my," Bebe commented. "My grandmama used to make something like that." She copied me and took a bite of one too. A

"Oh, that's very kind of you." Mrs. Jaye nodded.

"I hope you don’t mind if we hoard a few," I added.

"Please do." She nodded and her husband carefully took her arm and led her to the di

"Thanks." Patrick gri

"You're a lucky man," Bebe said, nudging his shoulder. "My mama doesn't cook at all anymore."

Patrick raised his eyebrows and glanced at the door. Two more guests appeared. I stared at their faces, a little confused before placing a hand on my chest. Patrick watched me with a worried look on his face.

I wasn't worried anymore about losing my cool and binge eating every sweet thing in sight anymore, because my appetite had been shot.

"Is it okay that I invited them?" he asked. "It was my mom's idea actually. The second she heard you were in the wedding party she called your mom."

"It's fine," I answered, watching my parents approach us.

I don't have anything against my parents, but ever since I came home from college my relationship with them changed. I became less like their child and more like a good family friend. That's around the same time I started searching for my birth mother. A journey that was cut short when the lady at the adoption agency told me my records were lost years ago in a fire. If I'd started my search earlier, I might have had a chance at finding her. Now I'll never know.