Читать книгу Death Comes to Dogwood Manor - Sandra Bretting - Страница 10

CHAPTER 5

“Which brings us back to our eleven o’clock appointment.” Beatrice glanced at a Timex on her wrist, the only accessory she still wore. “I could always call the bride back and find out whether she can come in later today.”

“That’d be great. It’ll give me some time to visit Lance at the police station. Do you mind cleaning up the studio a little while I’m gone?”

“Not at all.” Beatrice winced. “But I forgot to tell you something else. The little darling from this morning broke our coffee table.”

Sweet mother-of-pearl. “And our budget is so tight right now.” Even though August normally brought in tons of customers and lots of new orders, it also meant tons of expenses. I normally reconciled the two in September, when I tallied the profits.

“Maybe there’s a bright side.” Beatrice was doing her best to sound perky. “Didn’t you say it was time we redecorated the studio anyway?”

“I suppose.” My gaze flew around the room. When I first came to Bleu Bayou, some two and a half years ago, the “shabby chic” look was popular, complete with distressed furniture, flower-print linens, and old-fashioned chandeliers. Now, however, people wanted more classic lines, with clean edges, bold colors, and even a little midcentury-modern furniture thrown in.

“There’s no time like the present,” Beatrice said.

“Maybe you’re right.” I tried to ignore the dollar signs floating in front of my eyes. “I didn’t plan to do it right now, but this place really could use a face-lift.”

Beatrice and I spent a few moments discussing how we’d change the studio if we found any extra money in the budget. After chitchatting for a moment, we were interrupted by the ringing of the studio’s telephone, and Beatrice leaned across the counter to answer it.

“Crowning Glory. May I help you?” After listening for a moment, she covered the mouthpiece with her palm. “It’s an editor from one of the brides’ magazines,” she whispered. “He wants to talk to the owner.”

I motioned for the phone, which she gladly gave me. Magazine writers usually called our shop to get quotes for their stories, but not their editors. I only hoped it wasn’t an advertising salesperson in disguise, trying to get me to spend more money I didn’t have.

“Hello, this is Melissa DuBois. May I help you?”

“Yes. I’m Peter Kleinfeld, from Today’s Bride. Are you the owner?”

I quickly flipped through my mental Rolodex. Glossy cover…oversized pages…readership in the thousands. Today’s Bride was definitely one of the better brides’ magazines. “Yes. Yes, I am. How can I help you?”

“We’re doing a feature on bridal trends. Everything from food to flowers and wedding clothes. Thought I’d give you a call.”

“I see.” My shoulders relaxed, since he probably just wanted a quote. “There’s a lot going on in our industry right now. Do you mind if I ask how you heard about us?”

He chuckled. “Not at all. I found you on the Internet. Either you have a damn good search engine optimization person, or everyone’s clicking on your website.”

I smiled at Beatrice, although she had no idea what was going on. “That’s good to hear. It’s not our SEO person, because that’s me. So, what can I do for you, Mr. Kleinfeld?”

“Like I said, we’re doing a feature on bridal trends. That’s where you come in. We’d like to do a sidebar on your shop. Your design background, the hats, the whole shebang. Would you be game for that?”

I almost shrieked “shut up,” like Beatrice had done, but stopped myself in the nick of time. “Of course we’d be game for that! We’d be honored. Flattered, even. You can use the photos on our website, and I’d be happy to give you a telephone interview.”

He chuckled again. “That’s not quite what I had in mind. I’d like to send a writer down to Louisiana, along with one of my best photographers.”

“A photographer?” My gaze circled the room again, only this time noticing every crack and scratch and flaw. The broken coffee table, the missing hat stands, even a large scuff mark on the far wall. “To take pictures?”

“Yes, that’s what they usually do. How does Wednesday sound?”

“You mean this Wednesday? That’s two days from now.”

“I know what day it is. Is there a problem?”

I shook my head vigorously, even though he couldn’t see me. “No, of course not. Heaven forbid! Wednesday will be fine. Perfect, as a matter of fact.”

“Good. That’s good.” He sounded satisfied. “I’ll have my crew there first thing Wednesday morning. Bright and early. Give me a call if anything comes up between now and then.”

With that, he hung up. I silently passed the receiver to Beatrice, too astounded to speak.

“What did he want?” Her eyes blazed with curiosity as she returned the phone to its cradle. “What’s happening Wednesday?”

“Looks like we’re going to have some visitors.” I spoke cautiously, since it was better to give her this news in tiny tidbits, too, or I’d work us both into a panic. “That was Peter Kleinfeld. From Today’s Bride.”

“Shut up!” This time, she didn’t bother to cover her mouth or to apologize, for that matter. “I love that magazine!”

“So do I.” First things first. “But you’ve got to stop telling me to ‘shut up.’ You’re not supposed to say that to your boss. Consider this your final warning.”

She gulped. “Sorry ’bout that. What did the magazine guy want?”

“He’s going to send a writer out here. And a photographer.”

“Aaaiiieee!” She paused, mid-shriek. “Wait a minute…why aren’t you happy? You should be smiling.”

She was right, of course. This was one of the best things to have happened to Crowning Glory in ages. A New York brides’ magazine—one of the very best—didn’t travel fourteen hundred miles for nothing. It would bring national exposure to our studio…whether we were ready for it or not.

“Hey, there.” Bo’s voice sounded in the doorway, and I immediately turned. “What’s all the excitement about?”

He loped through the door to our studio, no doubt summoned by Beatrice’s high-pitched squeal. I fully expected to see a pack of yapping hound dogs behind him, lured by the shriek.

“Hi, Bo. Sorry if we’re being loud,” I said. “We just got some news, and Beatrice is a little excited.”

“You’ll get excited, too,” she said, “when you find out who called.”

Bo sidled up to the counter and casually draped his arm around my waist. “I’m already excited. So, who called?”

“Today’s Bride!” She squealed again, just in case some hounds didn’t hear her the first time around.

“That’s great!” Bo quickly planted a kiss on my cheek, but he pulled back when I didn’t respond. “Whoa. What’s wrong? You should be doing a happy dance. Why aren’t you?”

“Because,” I said, “he wants the crew to come Wednesday. This Wednesday. Two days from now. Forty-eight hours—”

“Okay, okay.” He turned to Beatrice. “What have you done with your boss? The stranger here obviously doesn’t know a good opportunity when she sees one.”

“Haha.” I swatted his arm away, even though I knew he was teasing. “I do want them to come. Just not now.”

“Why not?”

“Look at this place!” I gestured wildly around the room. “We’re not ready for a photo shoot. The camera will pick up every little flaw.”

“It’s not that bad.” Unfortunately, he didn’t sound convinced. “Sure, you could use some paint. Maybe replace a floorboard here and there. And the mirror…is that blackberry jelly in the corner?”

I groaned. “You’re not being helpful. I know it needs a lot of work. Maybe I should’ve told him no.”

“You couldn’t do that.” Thankfully, Beatrice had the good sense to lower her voice. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You had to say yes.”

“She’s right,” Bo added. “And we’re both going to help you through it. Starting right now. I only came here to invite you to lunch. I heard about Mr. Solomon’s death this morning, and I thought you’d want to talk about it.”

“My gosh. I completely forgot about that.”

Bo hadn’t heard my side of the story, what with all the hullabaloo.

“But I couldn’t possibly leave the shop right now.”

“Yes, you could.” Beatrice nodded earnestly. “I can watch things while you’re gone. Nothing is gonna change in the next half hour.”

“See. It’s unanimous.” Ambrose gently pulled me up from the stool. “And I won’t take no for an answer, so you might as well give in now.”

I sighed as I rose. “Fine. I can’t fight both of you. But let’s get it to go so I don’t spend too much time away.”

“Deal,” he said. “We’ll visit Miss Odilia’s and order some of her fried chicken.” Little by little, he’d inched us closer to the door. “Like the lady said…what can happen in the next half hour?”