She’d make them pay for it. And in private, she’d raise a glass to whoever the hell decided Conrad had lived long enough.

In her white dress, Cate carried her casserole into the Cooper kitchen.

Outside, smokers smoked, grills stood at the ready, dozens of picnic tables lined up. Inside, as she’d expected, Dillon’s ladies prepared a banquet of sides.

“I knew you wouldn’t need it, but I wanted to bring something.” She hunted up space on a counter for her dish. “And get here early enough to, well, get in on some of the action.”

“Grab an apron,” Maggie advised, “or that white dress’ll look like a drop cloth after the ceiling’s painted.”

Julia walked to her while Cate tied one on, cupped her face. “How are you?”

“I don’t know what to think about it, about her, about any of it. So I decided not to.”

“That’s a good plan. It’s a pretty day, and we’ve got enough food for a couple of armies. Maybe you could finish making that gallon of salsa. I’ve heard you’ve got a knack.”

“Happy to. Dillon? Red?”

“Likely icing down the beer and wine and soft drinks,” Maggie told her. “They gotta set up the horseshoe pit, and we usually have a bocce game going, pony rides for the kids. We’ll have some dancing, too. A lot of musicians in the crowd. Whenever Lily and Hugh make it, they have to sing for their supper.”

“I love hearing them.”

“You’ll have to get up there, too.”

“Oh, I don’t really sing.” Cate glanced up from her chopping. “Other than voice-overs.”

“What’s the difference? Anyway, it’s a kick-ass party, with good food, good people, music.”

After an hour in the kitchen Cate accepted the reality. She would forever be an occasional cook. She watched Julia season a serious vat of baked beans while Maggie checked more items off the two pages on a clipboard.

“You know, caterers and party planners make good livings doing what the two of you are doing for fun.”

Julia slid the beans into the oven. “If I had to do this for a living, I’d run away to Fiji and live on the beach. But once a year? It is fun. How’re we doing, Mom?”

“Right on target. Time for party duds.”

“I’ll go see if I can help with anything outside.”

When she stepped out, she smelled grass and herbs, horses and sea breezes. The dogs bolted toward her from whatever business they’d been about.

Bottles of beer speared through ice inside huge galvanized tubs. Apparently a wheelbarrow had been enlisted to hold bottles of wine, and another for soft drinks.

A couple of hands kept busy stringing up party lights. In the distance came the rhythmic sound of metal striking metal and someone singing—slightly off-key—Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.”

She let the dogs herd her toward the near paddock where Dillon patiently brushed out the mane of one of the two spotted ponies munching on a hay net.

He wore jeans—with a hoof pick in the back pocket—a chambray shirt rolled up to the elbow, a gray, rolled-brimmed hat, and well-worn boots.

She thought: Yum.

He paused, scratching the pony between the ears as he watched her approach. “Now, there’s a sight.”

She did a stylish turn. “Good for a summer barbecue at the ranch?”

“Good anytime, anywhere.” He held up his hands. “I’ve been sprucing up these two, so I don’t want to put my hands on you.”

“That’s okay. I’ll put mine on you.” She reached over the fence, gripped his shirt, tugged him over to kiss. “I didn’t know you had ponies.”

“We don’t. We bring a couple in for this, take shifts leading the little guys around on them.”

“They have sweet eyes.” Cate reached out to stroke a cheek.

“They’ll be bored brainless by the end of the day, but they know their job.”

He gave the pony a pat on the flank before swinging over the fence. “You doing okay?”

“I just spent an hour in the kitchen with two women who leave my culinary and organizational skills in the dust, but otherwise, yes.”

He lowered his forehead to hers in a gesture she found as sweet as the ponies’ eyes. “I have to wash my hands because I need to get ahold of you.”

As she walked with him toward the pump, Red came around the far side of the barn. “We got your horseshoes, we got your bocce, and some chairs set up if anybody wants to take a load off watching the play.”

“Thanks, Red.”

“Woman in White,” he said to Cate. “You’re a straight-out vision.”

“Aw.”

“Now, do you want to hear it, or do you want to put it aside for the day?”

“I want to hear it, then put it aside for the day.”

“You’re a sensible girl, Cate. You always were. Okay, so I’ll round it up. Dupont’s up onstage, ballroom of the Beverly Hills Hotel for this high-class do to hype her Mother’s Heart deal. She’s been mingling around, like a lot of them, then she sat down by Buster at their table for a bit before going up to do her soliloquy. She’s just over five minutes into it when, according to witnesses, Buster seemed to have trouble getting air. Then he keeled right out of the chair onto the floor.

“People scrambled, like you’d expect. It took Dupont a minute, but she scrambled, too.”

“There must have been doctors there,” Cate said.

“Yeah, there were. A couple of them got to him quick, got people to move back. Tried CPR on him, called nine-one-one. He went fast, nothing they could do. Dupont’s wailing, dragging at him. Plenty of pictures of her holding him in her lap. Cops came in. It looked like a heart attack, and it wouldn’t’ve been his first.”

Red shifted, nudged at his Wayfarers. “But the cops came in, and a crime scene team. They covered the bases. Digitalis, killing dose, in his gin and tonic. Server’s cleared, so’s the bartender who mixed it. A lot of people milling around, like I said, and they’ll do a lot of interviews. But the fact is, one person benefitted most from his death, one person sat right next to him at the table, had the easiest access, and that same person’s already getting the eye from authorities on two murders, two attempteds. She’s going to get a harder look now.”

“Do you think she did it?”

“I can’t give you a yes or no on that, but if you asked me do I think she’s capable of it? You’re damn right I do.”

“So do I.” Cate released a breath, one of cleansing. “I’m sorry the man died, and I’m sorry about the way he died. I’m not sorry she’s back in the frying pan. If she’s guilty, I hope they lock her up for good this time. If she’s innocent, well, she’s about to find out what it’s like to do nothing wrong and still pay a hard price.”

“Like I said, a sensible girl. You oughta know they’re keeping an eye on Sparks, too.”

“On this? But—”

“Cops are suspicious bastards, Caitlyn.” He said it with pride. “So you have to suspect, if you’re a cop, this whole thing is one big setup. What does Sparks do? What’s his nature? He sets up marks. He’s got plenty of motive to want Charlotte Dupont to land in that frying pan.”