"Come for lunch." Ellen stood on my doorstep dressed in a cream suit with a black tailored shirt. Her skin was a light tan and her hair white-blonde. The only spot of color on her person was her blood-red lipstick and fingernails. It was Sunday, but Ellen didn't believe in dressing down on the weekend. It was Chanel or nothing.
"I can't," I said, trying to think up an excuse.
"Why not? It's not like you're doing anything."
"I'm helping Blake and Robbie in the summer house."
"They don't need you. You're just getting in the way."
I bristled.
"Come for lunch. It's just the Kavanagh women."
I narrowed my gaze. "You're the only Kavanagh woman that I know of."
"There's Cleo now."
"She's still a Denny."
"Semantics." She waved her hand, almost swiping me with her talons. "Rebecca Denny i
