Take It To The Grave Bundle 1: Take It to the Grave parts 1-3

“It’s an old dancer’s trick. You eat nothing but toilet paper and popcorn for a few weeks, and bam! Bye-bye, baby weight.” She giggles again, and this time there’s a maniacal edge to her laughter. I turn my shoulder toward her so my son is safely out of reach.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” I stare at Genny like she’s insane, knowing I’m alienating her but unable to do anything but gawk. Fumbling for a better response, I say the only thing that comes to mind. “But I’m nursing.”

Rather than seem shamed, she shrugs. “So put him on a bottle for a while. Or don’t. It didn’t hurt the twins. It’s your choice, but you don’t hear Tad complaining about my weight, do you?”

That’s it. It’s time to treat my old friend to some dessert. My fingers unclasp and are reaching for a pie when a familiar voice cuts the tension.

“Genine, is that you? You’re looking stunning, my dear—absolutely stunning.”

My so-called friend spins around in time to be embraced by my mother-in-law. As put together as Genny is, it’s no contest. Eleanor has the kind of untouchable beauty you usually only find in history books. Her cornflower blue suit perfectly complements her eyes and pale blond hair. She looks like she’s emerged from an English garden party instead of the raucous village fair. Her clothing doesn’t dare wrinkle.

“As are you, Mrs. Taylor-Cox.” Genny returns the expected air kisses with the deference drones always show the Queen Bee.

“Please, darling.” Eleanor waves a hand in the air so her diamonds sparkle. “Call me Eleanor. You’re a grown woman now.” Pretending to notice me for the first time, her mouth forms a tiny O of surprise. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Certainly not enjoying myself.

“Manning the bake stand.”

The slightest hint of a frown creases her forehead. “This won’t do. This won’t do at all. You should be in charge of the flower stall, or in handicrafts. Somewhere with less temptation.”

Genny’s hand flies to her mouth but not fast enough to block her snigger. My face burns hotter. Before I can remind Eleanor that she was the one who assigned the tables, my mother-in-law makes a tsking noise.

“I swear I would lose my head if it weren’t attached. I forgot my coconut cake in the car.”

“Oh, you can’t forget that. It’s the most popular item at the fair,” Genny says, all but batting her eyelashes. “There’ll be a revolt when people see it’s not here. You’re such a wonderful baker, Eleanor.”

Yeah, right. As if Her Royal Highness would ever risk getting her hands dirty. Everyone knows Hannah, Eleanor’s Michelin pastry chef, is the baker of the house. I suspect no one cares enough about the woman to give her proper credit. She’s only a servant, after all.

“I’ll pop out and get it. No sampling while I’m gone, Sarah.”

Before I can so much as snarl in reply, my mother-in-law disappears in a drift of French perfume.

“I should go, too. It was great to see you. Remember what I said.” Genny winks at me as she walks away. “It’ll help.”

A scream begins in the pit of my stomach, bubbling toward my throat. Only one thing can stop it. Opening my Louis Vuitton diaper bag, I stuff it with the last of Tessie’s sweet buns. For good measure, I throw in some of the shortbread, too.

Andrea Waterton coos in delight when I roll Elliot’s stroller across the path that separates our stalls. Her expression changes to sympathy when I explain my predicament. “Are you all right? You’re a bit flushed.”

“I’m fine.” The smile feels frozen on my lips. “I just need to use the bathroom.”

“Well, of course I’ll watch him. We’re in this together, aren’t we? Take your time.” She grins. “It’ll only cost you a cookie.”

My smile is faltering. The facade is slipping. I can’t keep up appearances for much longer. “Help yourself,” I call over my shoulder as I hurry to the toilets.

Luckily the stalls are empty. I lock myself in the one farthest away from the entrance after checking to make sure the toilet is clean. Close enough. I crouch on the seat, hiking my dress around my thighs to ease the strain on the fabric. Popping the clasp on the diaper bag, I inhale the sultry scent of sugar. Heaven.

Genny’s voice whines in my brain like a mosquito I can’t escape. The subject of your weight may have come up...

Remembering the disapproval on Eleanor’s face makes my head ache.

No sampling while I’m gone, Sarah.

No sampling...

“Of course not, dearest Eleanor. Why sample when you can eat the whole thing?”

My control lasts until the first morsel of bread passes my lips, and then I stuff the caramel buns and cookies into my mouth, faster and faster. Crumbs shower my vintage dress, but I don’t care. When every last sweet is gone, my stomach lurches. I lift the lid of the toilet.

Hoping I’m still alone in the washroom, I vomit until my body shakes with dry heaves. Take your toilet paper and stuff it, Genny. I know a few tricks, too.

My hands tremble as I fix my makeup in the cloudy bathroom mirror. My color is too high, my eyes too bright. Eleanor will realize something’s up. Patting my French twist into place, I clean my face with a damp paper towel. My mascara is smudged and there’s nothing I can do about it—not even baby wipes will budge it. Deciding I’m as good as I’m going to get, I straighten my dress and leave the washroom, hoping my mother-in-law won’t notice the smirk on my face.

By the time I return to the bake stand, Eleanor is waiting. She’s making small talk with Andrea, but keeps glancing in the direction of the bathroom. Her mouth curves downward when she sees me. Crap! How long was I gone? Any bravery inspired by my little act of defiance disappears, and I quicken my step.

“Really, dear, if you’re going to leave the table for that long, you should have let me know.”

“It’s okay. She asked me to keep an eye on things.” Andrea brings over my son’s stroller. “It’s not like anyone goes near that table, anyway. God forbid one of these ladies ate a carb.”

As Eleanor glares at her, the laugh dies in Andrea’s throat, but the damage is done. My mother-in-law’s reprimand has lost its sting. I decide I really like Andrea. Back in the days before Elliot, I didn’t spend much time with her. She wasn’t considered glamorous or sophisticated enough for our group of friends. But things have changed.

Everything has changed.

Turning her back on Andrea, Eleanor thrusts the coconut cake into my arms. It’s heavier than expected, and my little episode in the bathroom has left me weak. My hands shake as I search for the right place on the table—front and center, but not too much so. Eleanor wouldn’t want anyone to think she abuses her influence.

“Have you heard from your sister yet?”

The question comes from out of nowhere, startling me so much I almost drop her cake. Caught off guard, I blurt out the truth. “No, not yet.”

“That’s strange, isn’t it? How long ago did you contact her?”

I sigh, using the task of rearranging the table as an excuse to avoid her eyes. She knows exactly how long it’s been because she’s asked me the same question multiple times. “It’s been two weeks. But I’m not sure how often she checks email when she’s traveling. Maybe Wi-Fi isn’t available where she is.”

Maybe she doesn’t feel the need to jump when you snap your fingers. Even though I haven’t seen my sister in years, I suspect she doesn’t jump for anyone. My sister is having adventures I can only dream of.

My mother-in-law’s eyes narrow. “Wi-Fi is available everywhere. What kind of girl can’t be bothered to keep in touch with her own family? It’s terribly rude, if you ask me.”

I didn’t ask, not that it matters. I struggle to keep my temper under control, but my shoulders stiffen at her criticism of my sister. Where does she get off? Maisey is a million times better than anyone in Eleanor’s sad, shallow family.

“Maisey’s a nurse who spends her days helping people in developing nations countries, Eleanor. She has less time to check her phone than the rest of us.”

If I’d hoped that would shame her, it failed miserably. Eleanor lifts her chin, managing to look even haughtier than usual as she shifts the baked goods around—anything to better show off Hannah’s masterpiece. “The party is in two weeks. How can I be expected to welcome your family properly when I don’t know if they’ll trouble themselves to attend? All I’m asking is for you to get in touch with your own sister. I can’t understand why that’s so difficult.”

Before I can respond, her attention is captured by something over my shoulder. Her face brightens as she yanks Elliot’s stroller from beside me. “Ah, there’s Grace. I have to show off my grandson.”

“No, wait!” But she’s already gone. My son’s tiny hand waves in the air like he’s bidding me goodbye. Cramps ripple through my stomach and I’m afraid I’ll be sick again. I lean against the table, breathing heavily, as a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. This is ridiculous. Eleanor is his grandmother. She’d never hurt him. Still, I can’t stop scanning the crowd for my son. My mother-in-law has vanished into a cloud of women in pastel suits, and for a minute I’m tempted to run after her.

A tentative touch on my arm makes me flinch. It’s Gretchen, channeling Grace Kelly with her soft waves and demure sundress. It’s obvious from her figure she doesn’t eat any of her own shortbread. “Are you all right? You look like you’re about to faint.”