For Better or Worsted Read Free

outfit, huh?” I joked, doing a twirl in my ruffly dress and sport shoes.
    He cracked a smile. “I’m sure it will be fine for the ride home.” He started to leave it at that, but took a step closer. “I meant to mention before that you look really nice, even with the sneakers.” He held the door until I got in and had my seat belt on, then he shut it, not stepping away until he’d made sure I’d locked it.
    Thursday had crushed herself into the passenger seat and somehow managed to get her seat belt over the elaborate wedding dress. With its full skirt and train, it definitely wasn’t meant for riding around in a car. As she adjusted herself in the seat, I heard the sound of fabric ripping and buttons popping off. Not that she seemed to care.
    I put the car in gear and continued down the dark side street. For a moment I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. What if Thursday was like Mason’s ex? Weren’t daughters usually like their mothers? The thought of dealing with a junior Jaimee filled me with dread. Let’s just say I could understand why Mason divorced her.
    But Thursday didn’t look like her mother. Even with her extravagant dress, professional makeup and flower petals twisted into her short hair, she was cute rather than pretty. I wasn’t sure if it was the events of the evening or just the way she always sounded, but there was a little rasp to her voice that pulled at my heartstrings as she thanked me for helping her escape.
    As I finally turned onto Ventura Boulevard and headed west for the short drive from Encino to Tarzana, I wondered how to make conversation. First I considered what I knew about her, which wasn’t that much. All that Mason had told me was that she taught second grade at Wilbur Elementary, which was a few blocks from the bookstore where I worked. Mason had said little about the groom, other than he wondered if anyone would seem good enough for her. It seemed like a pretty common sentiment among parents, so I didn’t take it to mean much.
    I really wanted to ask Thursday about Jonah. If the cops hadn’t asked her yet who might have wanted to kill him, they would soon, and probably again and again. Even though I wondered what kind of person her late groom was, I didn’t have the heart to ask her while everything was so raw and fresh. And I certainly didn’t want to let on that she would probably be viewed as a suspect or a
person of interest
, the toned-down term common nowadays that really meant the same thing as
suspect
. Instead I asked her about her job.
    “Jonah wanted me to quit,” she said, sounding amazingly calm. “I’m glad I didn’t. I just took off the time for our honeymoon.” Her voice didn’t falter, and for a moment I wondered if she understood what had happened or was simply in some la-la land of shock. There was nothing to do but let her talk and be ready to catch her when she finally fell. She turned to me. “My dad was very vague about your relationship.”
    When I hesitated, she kept talking and seemed relieved to be talking about something other than the wedding. “I know he tried to keep his social life separate from us. But who did he think he was kidding? Both my sister and I knew he was seeing somebody. And then when he kept talking about you . . .”
    “What did he say?” I asked, curious.
    “He said you worked at a bookstore and were in some kind of handicraft group, and that you were some kind of amateur investigator, and that he helped you out sometimes. It sounded like he had a lot of fun.”
    “And you don’t mind if your father sees someone?” I said, still surprised by the line of conversation.
    She chuckled just like her father, then caught herself. “I hope you don’t think it’s odd that I’m talking about my father’s social life.” She looked down at her dress. “I’m still processing everything.”
    I let out a breath of relief before she continued. At least it showed she had some recognition about what had