Mama aimed a disposable camera at me and clicked. Little red dots from the flash danced in front of my eyes.

“My stars and garters, Mace. You look like the governor just signed your death warrant. Would it kill you to crack a smile? You’re supposed to be playing a beaming bride.”

I hadn’t been able to escape the shower games. I slapped down my “bouquet,” a paper plate adorned with ribbons from the shower gifts, on Betty’s coffee table.

“I’m wearing a veil made out of toilet paper, and y’all have me wrapped like a mummy with at least three rolls. I look more like an explosion in an outhouse than I do a bride, Mama.”

The excitement had died down. Betty brought out store-bought cookies to replace the ruined cake. My cousin Henry had arrived. And with Mama and him fixing the votes, guess who got roped into portraying Himmarshee’s next bride?

Sal had finally managed to pull apart C’ndee and Alice. D’Vora took the widow Hodges into Betty’s bedroom to help her clean up. C’ndee, cursing, stormed out the front door with Sal right behind her. I started to make my exit right behind them, but Marty and Mama stopped me.

“We’ve got to stay and help Betty,” Marty said.

“My shower is a disaster.” Mama’s lower lip quivered.

Maddie clapped her hands like the teacher she’d once been. “Why don’t all of us pitch in to help Betty pick up, and then we’ll all play the wedding gown game?”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Marty immediately chimed in.

I wasn’t the only one to roll my eyes and start for the door. But Maddie shot the dissenters her principal glare, and we all fell into line.

Now, I was the make-believe bride, and Mama was snapping pictures, probably figuring a TP wedding dress might be the only kind I’d ever get. Meanwhile, Henry was taking advantage of the fact I’d been toilet-papered into paralysis to steal a cookie off my plate.

“I saw that! It’s not my problem you got here late and missed both the catfight and the cake, Henry.”

“Mace, please,” Mama said. “A bride is supposed to be gracious and giving, not surly and snide.”

“You must not have ever watched that Bridezilla show on TV,” I told her.

Henry gulped down the stolen cookie and then reached for the last one on my plate. “Aunt Rosalee, you can’t expect Mace to play along. She’s extremely literal. She was never blessed with a good imagination. Mace sees only toilet tissue where we might see a lovely white gown.”

“That must be the problem. It’s a white gown!” Dab’s stage whisper was followed by a burst of laughter.

Henry popped my cookie into his mouth.

“Thanks for the analysis, you overeducated weasel. I forgot about your legendary imagination: Michelangelo, Shakespeare, and Henry Bauer, Himmarshee’s Courtroom King of the Slip-and-Fall.”

Henry and I might have gone a round if Betty’s doorbell hadn’t rung just then. Our exhausted hostess yelled from her reclining chair, “It’s open.”

A few moments later, Sal trudged into the living room. Head hanging, shoulders slumped, C’ndee limped in his wake.

“C’ndee has something she wants to say.” He nudged her to center stage.

The room was so quiet, I could hear the remainder of my punch gliding down Henry’s gullet.

“Start tawking,” Sal said.

“I’m sorry, Rosalee, to have acted the way I did at what should have been a happy day for you.” C’ndee looked down as she twisted her hands. “And, Betty, I’ll pay for the cake, and whatever we broke. I’ll also take care of getting your carpet cleaned.”

She lifted her eyes, scanned the crowd, and then stepped backward as if to leave.

“You’re not done yet, George Foreman.” Sal gripped C’ndee’s wrist. “Where’s Alice?”

“Let her through,” came a muffled voice from the back.

Arm around Alice’s shoulders, D’Vora led her into the living room. She wore a loaner running suit from Betty, purple of course. She’d had a shower, but I noticed punch-colored pink splotches on her white canvas shoes.

C’ndee looked worse than Alice, though. She’d repaired her makeup, but her mass of curls was flat and sticky in the back. A clump of purple-and-white frosting showed clearly. A rip gaped at the left shoulder of her leopard-print blouse, and the spike heel of her right shoe had snapped off. That explained the limp.

Sal elbowed her in the ribs. “Well?” he prodded.

“I’m sorry, Alice.”

C’ndee’s voice was more like a breath than a whisper. Her dark lashes were wet against her cheeks.

For a long moment, Alice said nothing. Then, letting loose a sigh that shook her whole body, she began to cry.

C’ndee’s eyes flickered up for an instant to Alice’s contorted face. Looking horrified, she quickly returned her gaze to the floor.

I felt awful. The fight had been entertaining, like a white trash pileup on Jerry Springer. But this raw emotion wasn’t funny. Marty and Mama moved quickly to comfort Alice. She waved them away.

“I’m okay,” she stuttered between sobs. “It’s … it’s not C’ndee’s … fault. I hit her first. I’m not crying over the fight.”

At that, C’ndee lifted her face. She dug in her pocket, pulled out a pack of tissues, and peeled off a couple for Alice.

“Thanks.” Alice blew her nose. “It’s Ronnie … it’s everything, you know?” she looked at several of us in turn.

“We know.” Mama patted her shoulder.

“Of course,” another guest echoed.

“I knew he was cheating.” She dabbed her eyes, took a step toward C’ndee.

“You weren’t the first,” the widow told the mistress. “You wouldn’t have been the last.”

As a dozen pairs of eyes focused on C’ndee, her face turned as pink as the spilled punch. I was surprised. I wouldn’t have imagined she was capable of feeling shame.

“Ronnie told me your marriage was all but over.” She raised her face to Alice’s. “He said you were getting a divorce. I’ve been cheated on myself. I know how it feels. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Surprisingly, Alice smiled. “You mean with Ronnie, or with that hard kick you landed on my shin?”

A chorus of giggles rounded the room. Relief flashed across C’ndee’s face.

“If it makes you feel any better, these were three-hundred-dollar shoes.” C’ndee raised a foot to display the broken designer creation. “And I can’t find the heel anywhere. I even searched Betty’s front yard on hands and knees.”

Alice said, “Yes, I think that does make me feel a little better.” She lifted her shoe with its pink stains. “At least these were just from the markdown bin at the Sebring dollar store.”

Everybody laughed, including C’ndee. Then the levity quickly left her face. “I mean it, Alice. I really am sorry. About everything.”

She reached out a hand. The widow took it. They shook, and kept their fingers entwined.

“Ronnie wasn’t completely lying, you know? He and I had stopped living as man and wife. I took my marriage vows seriously, but I was so angry after he strayed.”

She looked out Betty’s front windows to the dark street outside. I thought of that wedding picture at Alice’s house, with the groom razored out.

“But now that he’s gone, I realize I still loved him.” She gave a sad shrug. “Too late.”

Alice’s words and a sense of loss hung in the air. Maddie whispered, “It’s a good time to question C’ndee, Mace. Everybody’s being so honest.”

At my other shoulder, Marty warned, “Don’t you dare! Mama can’t take another title bout.”

Heeding Marty’s advice, I held my tongue. Maddie plowed into the silence, voice carrying like she was yelling at kids in a cafeteria food fight.

“There’s something we’ve been wondering, C’ndee.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you heard you’re a suspect in Ronnie’s murder?”