Maria looked at her, outraged, and then looked at her mother for support.

Lisa Livia shrugged. “Hello, how are you, beautiful day for a wedding.”

“Oh, well that’s just fine,” Maria said, and flounced off, but there was a wavering edge to her voice that gave Agnes hope.

Lisa Livia looked back at the dress. “Brenda did that.”

Agnes said, “Yep, and if she was nuts enough to do that, then she’s going to do some more stupid things today and get herself caught.”

She heard a door slam below and this time it sounded like a van, but when she looked out, she saw only Joey and Frankie getting out of Carpenter’s van.

“No,” she said, her blood going cold, and ran for the stairs.


Shane was surveying the backyard when he felt somebody sack him from behind, her arms going around him so tightly, his air went out with an oomph. He turned around, not easy as tightly as Agnes was clinging to him, and said, “Hey,” as his arms went around her. She said into his chest, “I thought you were dead, I didn’t see you come back with Joey and Frankie,” and he said, “Nah, I told you, I’ll always come back.” Then she lifted her face, and he saw how terrified she’d been and he kissed her hard, and she held him a little longer than he’d intended, and the longer she held on and kissed him, the more the ugliness of the past receded, and all the good that was Agnes and Two Rivers washed over him.

When she broke the kiss, she said, “I want you to quit that damn job,” and he nodded. “Okay, then,” she said, and kissed him again, and then he let her go and realized she was wearing something very un-Agnes, a low-cut, tight pink dress that made her look like Jessica Rabbit.

“Nice dress,” he said, trying not to laugh, and more of the ugliness went away. It was never all going to go away-there was too much of it, and some of it still had to be dealt with-but Agnes was a pretty good antidote for right now.

“Lisa Livia picked it out,” Agnes said, starting to grin, too, which was good; he hated it when she was worried. Another reason to stop killing people for a living.

“Well, it looks great,” he said, because it did. Kind of.

“She bought one for Evie, too,” Agnes said. “I don’t believe Evie’s going to wear it, but it was kind of a mother-of-the-bride thing. Or something. Sometimes I don’t follow Lisa Livia’s thought processes.”

“I don’t follow Carpenter’s either sometimes, but it’s always good,”

Shane said, holding her away from him to look at the dress again. “It’s not the kind of dress yon could run in.”

“That’s very practical of you, dear,” Agnes said, and turned to go back to the house, which was when Shane saw that it was really tight through the rear and had no back at all.

“I really like that dress,” he said, and her laugher floated back to him.

Shane grinned, thinking, That’s my girl, and she turned and smiled back at him, and just for that second before she went on he imagined that she looked like his mother might have, smiling back at his father, and the need for vengeance rose up again like a knife. But vengeance had been Frankie and Joey’s to take, not his. And his father and mother had found each other in the beginning, had had each other for a while, had had a life together for a while.

It would have been so much worse never having found each other.

Agnes stopped at the porch door and looked back at him again in her Jessica Rabbit dress, so much love in her smile, so grateful he was back, and he grinned at her and she went inside and he walked down to see what was going wrong at the wedding.

Because everything was just fine at the house.


Agnes walked into the kitchen, trying not to beam, but it was hard. He was going to quit. Maria was mad but she was going to marry Palmer. If Butch would just show up with his van and pick up Cerise and Hot Pink, and Frankie would cough up the money, and she could get her column done-

“Uncle Michael isn’t here,” Maria said, her hands on hips, splendid in her pink wedding dress.

Agnes blinked at her. “What?”

“Uncle Michael. The Don.” Maria folded her arms. “The guy who was giving me away. He’s not here.”

“He ain’t gonna be here,” a brand-new Frankie said from the doorway as Rhett padded past him, oblivious to the drama going on around him. “And you ain’t gonna miss him.” He straightened the jacket of his tux and lifted his newly shaven chin, and he looked every inch a Fortunato.

“Oh, God,” Agnes said. “What happened to the Don?”

“I’m giving you away, Maria,” Frankie said, offering Maria his arm.

Maria blinked at him. “Doyle?”

“I’m your grandpa Frankie, honey,” Frankie said.

Maria looked at Lisa Livia.

“This is my daddy,” Lisa Livia said. “Frankie Fortunato. Your grandmother tried to kill him twenty-five years ago, so he swam the Blood River and got away from her, but now he’s come back and he’s going to walk you down the aisle.”

Maria sat down on of the kitchen chairs.

“Want a drink?” Agnes said. “‘Cause I’m thinking I’m going to need one after the next question.” She looked at Frankie. “Where’s the Don, Frankie?”

“He’s sleeping with those he did wrong to,” Frankie said.

“Oh.” Agnes got out the bourbon. “Did Shane kill him?”

“Nope,” Frankie said while Agnes poured herself a shot. “Don’t ask no more questions, Agnes,” he added with affection.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Frankie,” Agnes said, and knocked back her drink. “Maria?” she said, offering her the bottle.

“No, I’m good,” Maria said. “So. Grandpa. You’re going to walk me down the aisle. Okay.” She looked at Agnes. “You find out who ruined my dress yet?”

“Oh, that was Brenda,” Agnes said.

Maria’s nodded. “So when she sees me coming down the aisle in her dress with Grandpa Frankie…”

“Could be a coronary,” Agnes said. Maria stood up. “Hello, Grandpa.”

“Wonderful,” Agnes said. “And you really do look beautiful, Maria.” When Maria didn’t look at her again, she thought, Well, I have to earn that, and started for the door, almost toppling over as her knees met the hem of her pencil skirt, a problem she’d been having all morning. Small steps, she told herself, and tried again.

To Do List, she thought as she minced her way down the porch steps. Take back Maria’s wedding from the clowns. Get Brenda to incriminate herself. Get Lisa Livia her money back. Get Shane a better job. Write column.

Burn this damn dress.


Shane surveyed the wedding party. There were about a hundred people gathered. The Don’s goombahs were clustered together on Maria’s side, and they were going to be surprised when Frankie walked down the aisle instead of the Don. Brenda was not there yet. Probably waiting to make an entrance. That should be good, too.

He checked off the players on the groom’s side: the groom, best man, ushers, preacher, musicians, and photographer were in place, and yes, there in the front row was Evie wearing something in that same pink that Agnes had been slinking around in. Evie had a jacket over hers, though. Good plan, Shane thought. Then he frowned as he looked out past the lawn: Wilson’s boat was back, anchored just off the dock and to the left of Brenda’s yacht. Coming to watch the hit?

Had he watched a hit before? Shane wondered. Had the consigliere reported to him so that he knew the details of the deaths-the words they say echoing in his mind-or had Wilson known firsthand? What the fuck was the real deal?

Shane walked across the lawn to the photographer, an attractive woman with several cameras dangling on straps around her neck. “Could I borrow your camera with the best zoom for a second?”

The woman turned to him and smiled. “Sure.” She pulled one off and held it out for him.

Shane took it. “Thanks.” He took the camera and zoomed in on the yacht. Wilson was on the bridge with another old man Shane recognized from intelligence briefings: the head of the mob in New York City. Another of Wilson’s puppets, Shane thought. Come to see the coronation of the successor in New Jersey. He handed the camera back to her.

“Appreciate it,” he said.

“No sweat.” She went back to the guests, and Shane walked over to Carpenter at the edge of the gazebo.

“You do what you had to?” Carpenter asked.

“Joey and Frankie handled it,” Shane said. “There’ve been some changes in the plan. Let’s find Casey Dean first.” He pulled out the pink cell phone he’d taken from Abigail’s bag the night before and hit number 1 on the speed-dial.

Shane stiffened as a woman’s voice answered: “Where are you, sis?”

He was still processing that when Carpenter nudged him and pointed. “Over there.”

Shane looked across the cluster of guests. The photographer had a cell phone in her hand, and she tossed her hair away from it as she listened in a way Shane remembered.

“Princess,” Shane said into the phone. “What’s your sign?”

He saw the photographer turn her head and stare right back at him.

“Where’s Abigail?” she said into the phone

“I’ve got her,” Shane said. “Casey Dean, I presume? We met before. In a bar in Savannah.”

“What do you want?” Casey Dean asked, glaring at Shane. “The Don’s dead, so your contract is, how should I say, defunct.” Shane could see her go rigid. “Bullshit.”

“You see Don Fortunato or his consigliere anywhere around?”

There was silence. Shane continued. “When the grandfather of the bride escorts her down the aisle, you’ll know I’m telling the truth. You do anything, I’ll have your ass.”