“SMOB and MOB altercation. Mac and Carter have the bride occupied and unaware.”

Laurel whipped the clip out of her hair, shoved it in her suit jacket pocket. “I thought we had detente there.”

“Apparently that’s over. Del, good you’re here. We might need you.”

As they approached, the sound of shouting pumped out of the Great Hall. And something crashed. Then someone screamed.

“You might need the cops,” Del commented.

They burst in to see Emma, her hair tumbling from its pins, trying desperately to separate the two snarling, elegantly dressed women. The bride’s stepmother’s hair and face dripped with the champagne tossed from the flute still in the mother of the bride’s hand.

“You bitch! You’re going down!”

Shoving, flailing arms sent Emma skidding on her heels then onto her ass as the women flew at each other.

Game, and with a hot beam in her eye, Emma scrambled up as Parker and Laurel sprang forward. Grabbing the closest body, Laurel hauled while curses spewed like grapeshot.

“Cut it out! Stop it now!” Laurel dodged a fist, then blocked an elbow with her forearm. The force of the contact sang straight up to her shoulder. “I said stop! For God’s sake, it’s your daughter’s wedding.”

“It’s my daughter’s wedding,” the woman Parker and Emma struggled to control shouted. “My daughter. Mine! Not this home-wrecking bimbo bitch’s.”

“Bimbo? Bimbo? You tight-assed lunatic, it’s your last face-lift I’m going to wreck.”

Emma solved the mother of the bride problem by sitting on her while Laurel grappled with her opponent.

As Del risked his skin by stepping between the two women, Laurel spotted reinforcements coming. Jack, and oddly Malcolm Kavanaugh, rushed into the melee.

Kneeling on the floor, Parker spoke quietly and steadily to the MOB whose temper was already giving way to wild tears. Laurel put her mouth close to the stepmother’s ear. “This isn’t solving anything, and if you care about Sarah, you’ll put it away, you’ll suck it up for the day. Are you listening? If you want to fight, you’ll do it another time, another place.”

“I didn’t do anything, and she threw champagne in my face. Look at my hair, my makeup. My dress.”

“We’ll take care of it.” She glanced at Parker, got a nod. “Del, I need you to bring a couple glasses of champagne up to my room, then you can take—I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“I’m Bibi,” the SMOB said in something close to a wail. “It’s all ruined. Everything’s ruined.”

“No, we’ll fix it. Del, you can take Bibi’s dress down to Mrs. G. She’ll fix it up. Come on with me, Bibi. We’re going to take care of everything.”