Page 34 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
I try to concentrate for another hour and fail. I keep thinking about my upcoming lunch with Margot—why she wants to see me, why she’s approaching me, why she’s doing it now of all times, when she didn’t bother to come to our engagement party. That event wasn’t exactly a secret. My gut says whatever her reason may be, it can’t be anything good.
Should I text Tony and let him know his mom wants to see me? But that seems overly needy, like I’m asking him to shield me from her. Even if he’s been disowned, we might run into his parents occasionally. I can’t expect him to…do something about it every time that happens.
As soon as the clock hits noon, I grab my purse and go out. Bobbi follows.
“Lunch with Tony again?” she asks as we wait for the light to change.
“No. His mom. She called.”
She looks down at me.
“Do you know anything about her?” I ask.
The light changes, and we start across the intersection. “Not much. She came from a middle-class background in the Midwest. Comfortable, but not rich, not like her husband’s family. It was a pretty upwardly mobile marriage for her, if you know what I mean. She’s respected in her community for her charity work. Reputation is important to her. She also heads a lot of other projects in Tempérane.”
“This is what you mean when you say ‘not much’?”
“Just standard background stuff. I always look into people before agreeing to work for them.” We reach the restaurant, and she puts a hand on the door. “I’m going to sit by the bar, so you and she can talk freely. If she does anything, just drop your fork, and I’ll come bail you out.”
“It’s a restaurant during lunch hour. I don’t think she’s going to do anything crazy.” I can’t picture that icy woman losing her cool enough to lunge across a table. She doesn’t strike me as the type to soil her perfectly manicured nails.
“Broad daylight, busy location. Perfect for an attack, because nobody expects it.”
I shudder at her cold, flat tone. I start to point out that it was nighttime when the killer tried to run me and Tony over, but decide against it. Bobbi’s basing what she’s saying on past experience, and I’m not going to lecture her on how to do her job.
She opens the door, and we walk in together. She takes a seat at the bar, just like before, and a smiling hostess brings me to Margot’s table.
She looks just like she did on Saturday: beautifully coiffed hair, impeccable makeup and cool eyes. Her clothes are different, though—a dark blue wrap dress. Diamonds drip from her ears and throat. But even without all that, it’s obvious she’s an expensive woman with pricey tastes.
Her facial bones are exquisite. I can see that Tony and Harry got their looks from her. And how she was able to marry so well. What rich man could resist someone who looks like her? Although she has three fully grown sons, she could appear on Edgar or Tony’s arm and nobody would realize she’s their mom.
She studies me, just the same way I’m studying her. But her gaze remains cold and impassive. I’d get more emotion out of an ice cube.
So. This isn’t going to be a warm, friendly meeting. I brace myself.
“What would you like to have?” she asks. “You used to love pepperoni pizza. Is that still the same?”
“I’m in the mood for pasta pescatore today,” I say, not wanting to split a pizza with her. It feels a bit too open and friendly. And my gut says we don’t have that kind of relationship.
Her lips curve into a smile, but her eyes remain untouched. “Of course. As I said, my treat, so feel free to order whatever you like.”
I give her the same pat smile, wishing I’d never agreed to this lunch. “Thanks.”
We order. She gets a grilled chicken Caesar salad and mineral water. I resist the urge to skip the pasta and go straight for tiramisu. When our server vanishes, I turn to Margot. “So. What’s this about?”
She folds her hands and places them on the table. “Well. I’m wondering about the engagement and wedding plans.”
What?I blink and resist an urge to stick a finger into my ear and wriggle it around. Those are the last items I expected her to concern herself with.
“Assuming there is a wedding, of course,” she adds.
My face heats. Damn it. She must’ve noticed the missing ring.
“Of course. I had to leave my ring with the jeweler for some minor touch-up work,” I lie, wanting to wipe the smug expression on her face.
“That’s good to hear.” Her tone is tighter than a string about to snap.
Guess that’s not what she wanted to hear, even though her face is still the same serene mask. My shield goes up a few inches higher.
