Читать книгу Veiled in Death - Stephanie Blackmoore - Страница 8
ОглавлениеCHAPTER ONE
“So, are you going to get hitched or not?” My dear friend Bev Mitchell raised one artfully plucked blond brow above her purple cat’s-eye glasses. The rhinestones adorning the frames twinkled as merrily as the mirth in her eyes. Her basset hound, Elvis, opened one droopy eye to regard his mistress. His floppy ears barely moved as he swiveled his gaze from Bev to me. Then he placed one smooth paw over his eyes and returned to his nap. Apparently, he wasn’t interested in having this conversation.
That makes two of us, buddy.
“Of course!” I tried to tamp down the frisson of annoyance I heard escape my lips. I took a measured breath. Although we were dear friends, today Bev was also technically a client. I wanted to focus on the business at hand and help her plan her upcoming wedding. Meddling in my love life was not on my to-do list for today. I pasted a serene smile on my face and answered Bev in a more modulated tone. “We’re just deciding some last-minute things. Like whether to get married at work or not.”
It was true. Most brides wouldn’t give a fleeting thought about getting hitched at the place where they earned their living. It simply wouldn’t make sense. But as a wedding planner, my biggest hesitation was whether or not to get married at my home and also my place of business, the mansion where I regularly held weekend weddings.
“Oh, hogwash. I know a professional procrastinator when I see one.” Bev gave my arm a warm squeeze and returned to the task at hand, foraging for antique pieces to gussy up her own wedding. Bev and her lucky beau were due to wed in less than three weeks. Bev bestowed me with a gentle smile and amended her statement. “But you’ve only been hesitant when it comes to planning your very own wedding. You’ve been pitch-perfect planning my big day! I can’t wait!” Bev forgot her haranguing and held up her find, a daisy-themed brooch made of citrines and pearls. Her eyes grew wide with excitement as she held the bauble up to the light. She nodded and placed the brooch into an already overflowing rattan basket of wares with a contented smile. Bev was no doubt imagining her own nuptials and how the brooch tied in seamlessly with her theme. I breathed an inward sigh of relief.
I’m off the hook. For now.
Bev and I had spent the last hour pouring over the wares in the Antique Emporium. Bev showed no signs of slowing down, and I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back. We’d begun this planning session even earlier in the day, starting out with mugs of coffee in the garden behind my mansion B and B. We’d spent a contemplative and productive hour on the swath of land anchored with its very own hulking mansion, a place with its very own name, Thistle Park. Bev was set on having an outdoor wedding, and we’d strolled around the garden in the early morning sunlight, the June sunrise evaporating the fine dusting of dew glinting off each petal and blade of grass. Bev had nearly dropped her mug of steaming French roast when she alighted on a backdrop of lush and cheery daisies.
“That’s it! The perfect spot. This is where I want the trellis placed, and where I want to exchange my vows with Jesse.”
Her decree several hours ago had sealed the deal and finally given me a definitive theme for her ceremony and reception. Bev’s wedding to Jesse would be lush and sophisticatedly simple, drawing largely on elements from both the garden and the Fourth of July. I would design the wedding around the aforementioned daisies in the fields, as well as star-patterned tablecloths, and my sister would make Bev and Jesse a cake featuring red accents and sparklers.
“Is this too cheesy?” Bev furrowed her blond brows behind the frames of her bedazzled spectacles. She struggled as she held aloft a rather large oil painting of a field of daisies.
“Ooh, not at all. We could put this on an easel in the front hall, right next to the guest book. Bring a little of the magic and wonder of the outdoors inside.” I smiled as Bev placed a small green sticker on the back of the painting’s frame, claiming it for her own. I took a step back and nearly grew dizzy taking in all of the Antique Emporium’s wares. We were in a small room, one of many that made up the rabbit warren of spaces that occupied the deceptively small-looking store. It featured a narrow storefront but spanned the length of two city blocks as its depth made up for the lack of width. The store teetered on the edge of being categorized as carefully cluttered, and barely resisted sliding into chaos. The labyrinthine layout of a marching succession of small rooms kept the whole visit from becoming overwhelming. The proprietress of the store, June Battles, knew her way around the knickknack chaos. She could famously find an item in thirty seconds flat, seemingly having catalogued her wares by memory.
I cradled a small set of ceramic leaves arranged in a crystal vase. The leaves made a pleasant plink against the cut crystal.
“Looking for inspiration for your own big day, hmm?” Bev couldn’t tamp down her grin. Her cessation in nagging me about setting a wedding date of my own had been annoyingly short.
I set the pretty display down and stifled a rueful smile. “Maybe I am.”
It was time to stop being annoyed at the well-meaning friends and family in my life who could never stop haranguing me about picking a wedding date. I glanced at the pretty champagne antique diamond ring on my finger, a vintage estate piece my fiancé, Garrett, had procured from this very store.
“At least we’ve narrowed our wedding down to one season,” I added wryly. I abandoned the promise I made mere minutes ago not to take Bev’s bait, as I couldn’t resist defending myself against the gossip about my refusal to seal the deal on my fiancé’s proposal.
“Let me guess.” Bev cocked her head, her highly teased platinum beehive teetering as if she’d designed her hair to replicate the Leaning Tower of Pisa. But the beehive stayed put. Her gravity-defying do always remained artfully atop her head, with nary a spritz of hair spray, and today was no exception. A slow smile graced Bev’s face. “Fall!”
I rewarded Bev with a smile of my own. “You know my tastes well.”
My beau and I had indeed decided on an autumn ceremony and reception. The light in Port Quincy, Pennsylvania, would be mellow and cozy. The lovely tree-lined streets would be adorned with leaves in a riot of color. The orange, topaz, rich red maple, and vibrant yellow leaves would set the tone. I could picture a banquet chock-full of sweet and savory foods, seamlessly melding comfort and sophistication.
But it’s so far away.
I brushed away that nagging thought and told myself at least it was still happening, albeit months later than I’d prefer. After some crazy events had befallen me, my family, and my business, I was secretly itching to get hitched. When I joked about eloping to Vegas, my fiancé, Garrett, was all for it. But my secret rush to wed was not what everyone else saw. They saw a bride who was continually stalling and delaying and waiting for the perfect time to wed. But I was no Goldilocks bride. I just simply didn’t have the time and space in my schedule to throw my own wedding. Not just yet. Which was good, because my mother, Carole, was pushing to occupy the starring role planning my wedding, and I didn’t want the impending drama.
My phone vibrated with an angry buzz, like a taunted yellow jacket. Bev raised one brow as I let out a sigh. “It’s my mother.”
It was as if thinking of her had conjured her from the cell-phone-wave ether. I squinted to read the text in the somewhat muted light.
Sorry I can’t make it, sweetie.
I breathed a sigh of relief. My mom was well-meaning, and an expert steamroller to boot. She would have no misgivings about riding roughshod over my very own plans for my very own wedding if she disagreed stylistically. And she’d been dying to be here to help me start looking for inspiration for my wedding. But Mom’s decorating and staging business was booming. She had her own business meetings scheduled today. She had initially expressed guilt over missing a chance to go antiquing. Until she’d heard the purpose of today’s visit was to help Bev plan her wedding.
Many moons ago, after my father had left, Mom briefly dated Bev’s fiancé, Jesse. Although Mom and Jesse’s relationship was long in the past, Mom and Bev still performed a tetchy little dance each time their paths crossed in the small town of Port Quincy. While the two women weren’t outwardly hostile, unfortunately and understandably, I predicted they’d never truly feel comfortable in each other’s company.
My phone buzzed again with another text.
I did come across this today. I couldn’t help myself!
Attached to my mother’s text was a grainy photo of a cream layette set for an infant.
“Oh, c’mon, Mom!” I dropped my phone into the depths of my bag, refusing to engage and take the bait. Bev gave me an amused and quizzical look.
“You might tease me too much about how long it’s taking me to tie the knot, but at least you’re not nagging me about grandchildren. My mom really needs to slow her roll.”
A knowing look lit up Bev’s face, and I regretted my little outburst immediately. Bev was a dear friend but also the biggest gossip this side of the Monongahela River.
“Not that I’m even thinking about that yet,” I backtracked hastily. “I need to focus on your wedding, and mine!” I heard the panicked cheeriness in my voice and hastily wheeled around to hide the blush I felt warming my neck. The truth was, I’d been thinking a lot about my mom’s constant nagging to give her a grandchild.
My fiancé had been maddeningly unspecific about whether we should have a child. Up until my mother’s constant hints and nudges, I’d been ambivalent, too. I’d always thought of it as a someday thing. The door wasn’t closed and there was certainly no deadline. But lately my mother’s needling was getting to me. She’d set my biological clock a-ticking and a-tocking. And I’d realized with a start that I hadn’t had a real discussion about the matter with Garrett. Just bringing up the matter would be a big deal. It would no doubt cause seismic shocks to the little family we were about to create with the two of us and his fourteen-year-old daughter, Summer.
“Holy tamale.” I stopped pacing from Bev and stood still. Before me was a dress that was nothing short of a vision. I took it as a sign that I could push my weightier concerns away for the moment and concentrate on the present.
Bev joined me and let out a low whistle. Elvis briefly raised his head from his paw, then went back to sleep. “That dress is lovely, Mallory.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes from the pretty lace sundress silhouetted in the window. It was a deep mellow color reminiscent of French vanilla ice cream. The fit would be barely off the shoulder, with a simple yet slightly daring deep V-neck top. The bodice was fitted with subtle pleats, and the barely flared bell skirt with its whimsical lace overlay nearly floated in the soft ceiling-fan breeze. The dress was a kind of a country-chic version of Jackie Kennedy’s gown, if such a thing were possible. It was probably meant to be tea length, but if I tried it on, I bet it would skim my ankles. It would look equally stunning with low-heeled sandals, wedges, or flats. I’d come to favor wearing chic flats during big events as I bustled around making sure everything was going well. It had been difficult to return to sky-high heels the few times I’d tried. Comfort reigned in my job, but the flats I chose weren’t boring. I always advised my own brides to tuck away a comfy but pretty pair of sandals or ballet shoes for their reception. I could picture wearing stunning, but still comfortable shoes with this dress for the whole day in order to accent and accommodate the ankle-skimming and train-less length.
I couldn’t suppress a grin. This dress was some kind of lightning-bolt muse.
I was just getting started with ideas percolating rapid fire in my brain as I reached out to touch the creamy lace. I’d been excited to marry Garrett, of course, but hadn’t been too enthused about planning the wedding. I was suffering from a strong case of wedding burnout, an occupational hazard of being a wedding planner. But this dress was the spark. A catalyst to get me out of my funk and inspire my mind with hundreds of ideas.
This is it.
And I had accompanying me today the best person to consult about the dress. Bev was the owner of Port Quincy’s only bridal shop, Silver Bells, and an excellent seamstress as well.
“Can you work your magic on this dress?” I turned eagerly to Bev and rushed on in my excitement. “What would be most appropriate? A backyard wedding? Or perhaps something small in the greenhouse?” I took in Bev’s amusement and prattled on. “This is definitely a summer wedding dress. Dare I move things up?” I felt a slow, sly smile steal over my face. A moved-up summer wedding would quell the rumors of my supposed cold feet. And I’d owe it all to the unlikely inspiration from this sweet and sophisticated gem of a dress.
Port Quincy’s resident wedding-dress expert tsked and stared down her button nose at the pretty lace on the dress form in the window. Two frown lines marred the smooth expanse of her forehead beneath the beehive.
Uh-oh.
I didn’t like where Bev’s initial silent opinion was going.
“But I thought you had your heart set on fall.” Bev’s reminder sent me spiraling back to earth from the heady orbit the dress had sent me to.
“I guess so.” I felt the magic glow of the dress fade and rallied to preserve it. “But this dress could still work, right?” I turned beseechingly to my friend. “I could tweak the accessories to make it work for fall.”
Bev’s blue eyes took on a kind cast behind her outrageous glasses. “I think this dress is lovely, too, Mallory. But it’s a little informal, don’t you think? This dress is much more suited for rehearsal dinner fare. It’s far from an actual gown.”
I felt Bev’s pronouncement with a visceral stab, as if it were a long pin popping and deflating my wedding balloon hopes. Hopes I wasn’t even aware I’d had minutes ago.
Bev seemed to realize her words had wounded me and rushed on. “You could pair it with a chocolate velvet jacket or a butternut scarf for your fall wedding. It would be perfect for the rehearsal dinner, before the big day when you don a gown befitting of your prowess as a wedding planner.”
I felt my head numbly bob up and down in shocked agreement. I had indeed just revealed to Bev that Garrett and I had chosen a fall palette. Bev did know my style, but also what made the most impact, from collaborating with me on dozens of weddings. I dimly wondered if Bev’s resistance to this pretty dress stemmed from a not-so-hidden motive. I bet Bev wanted me to purchase my dress from her store. Not for any crass reasons, like earning a sale, but for the experience of helping a dear friend choose her own special dress. Bev seemed to read my mind, confirming my hunch.
“Of course I will dress you!” Bev clapped her hands together at the prospect.
I laughed and found myself reluctantly joining in Bev’s enthusiasm. I remembered trying on wedding gowns as a stunt double for my friend Olivia’s wedding. Bev had hundreds of sample gowns in her shop, and I was sure to find the perfect attire for the cozy fall wedding I’d envisioned.
“Yes, of course I will get a dress from your shop, Bev. The sundress is lovely, but maybe not for a wedding. Especially since a fall ceremony will need a slightly more dramatic dress to compete with the foliage.”
I reluctantly made up my mind and turned my back firmly against the ethereal sundress. My fingers were drawn to a display of vintage earrings hanging from wicker birdcage bars. The heavy, crystal stalactites seemed to help anchor me back in reality after I’d gone gaga over the impractical sundress.
Bev let out a squeal of delight. “Yes, this is your style, Mallory. We’ll find a gown befitting these beauties. Satin for fall, or maybe even a rich brocade if you stray into November.” She wiggled her eyebrows impatiently, the neat blond arches dancing above her rhinestone cat’s-eye purple spectacles. “We’ll know exactly the right look to go for, if you ever nail down the darn wedding date!”
A pretty trill of baby laughter announced June’s arrival. The owner of the Antique Emporium was a foster mom, and today a delightfully cooing infant peered at us from her perch in the front-facing baby carrier. June carefully approached us, weaving expertly among her room of things, giving some items a loving pat. June Battles had an affinity for history, just like her daughter Tabitha, who ran the historical society. While Tabitha curated items for posterity and the public good, June just happened to sell them and match them up with new owners.
“Hello, Bev and Mallory.” June swooped in for a hug, treating me to the sweet smell of baby lotion. The baby made a swipe for one of the crystal earrings I held in my hand.
“That’s the only occupational hazard to contend with when I bring Miri to work with me.” June chuckled as she extricated the crystal prism from the baby’s grasping hand. “Everything in this store looks like a shiny toy to a six-month-old.” The infant’s visage dimmed for a moment, before June expertly replaced the earring with a buzzing rattle. Miri laughed and turned her attention to the toy.
“I couldn’t help but see how taken you were with this item, Mallory.” June gestured toward the ethereal sundress, and gently turned me around when I refused to follow her gaze. I did, however, take in the momentary scowl on Bev’s face.
“I’m not certain this dress will work for the fall wedding I’ve tentatively planned,” I murmured to June. I shouldn’t have turned back around. I found myself falling in love all over again with the sundress, practicality be damned. It would be ridiculous to plan a whole wedding around this budget find. But I realized with a start I encouraged the couples I worked with to do just that.
“And I think the crystal earrings would actually work quite well with the sundress.” June nimbly plucked an earring from the birdcage and held it up in the air above the sundress, where the earring would hang when worn by the woman lucky enough to purchase the pretty garment.
“Hm. It’s eclectic, but it would work!” I felt my excitement growing and kindled all over again. Bev wasn’t so subtle this time. Her groan caused Elvis to wake again, his doggie head swiveling back and forth between gazing at his owner and at June and me.
“Yes, Mallory.” June shared in my excitement. “The sundress is casual, and the crystal earrings are formal. The two would be an unlikely pairing, but the juxtaposition would be interesting and unexpected.” June’s eyes quickly took me in before she turned her keen gaze to the dress. “You wouldn’t even need to alter it, I bet. It’s vintage, from the early 1960s. It would complement your figure perfectly.” June deftly unzipped the dress from the dress form. She swiveled around quickly to hand me the garment just out of baby Miri’s sticky grasp.
“Thank you.” I heard a certain note of reverence in my voice. I held the dress against my even more informal coral skirt and striped tank top and peered into a gilt mirror affixed to the wall.
It was truly a magical dress. I performed an impetuous, joyful spin and my doppelganger in the mirror broke out in an infectious grin. I recalled the not-quite-right ball gown my would-be mother-in-law Helene had once strong-armed me into choosing.
This dress was made for you.
I finally took in Bev’s terse smile hovering just behind me in the mirror.
“Or this could be a perfect rehearsal look for Mallory,” Bev put in flatly. “Or the starting inspiration for Mallory’s eventual gown choice. But not for the main event.”
June shrugged, seeming to wish to avoid a fight over a sundress. “Maybe you’re right. This pretty little thing might not have enough stature for a big autumn wedding. And you are Port Quincy’s dress expert, my dear.” June gave Bev’s arm a knowing pat without a hint of condescension.
I felt a bubble of annoyance drift up just as Bev relaxed. My friend’s wedding-gown expertise was duly noted, and territory over my dress choice was ceded. Before I could protest, June sent me a subtle wink. I felt my bubble of annoyance burst and gave a relieved laugh. June had an impressive and well-honed emotional IQ and had defused the situation expertly. As much as I adored Bev and usually sought out her wedding-gown expertise, I wasn’t giving up my dream dress without a fight. A diplomatic, well-meaning fight.
I smiled at both women. “I’ll think about the dress, June. It would certainly work well as a rehearsal dinner look, or even a second reception dress. I’ll talk it over with Garrett, and probably be back.” A wave of relief washed over me as we all pondered the dress. I instantly felt better after announcing my intentions to purchase the dress soon. As a wedding planner, I was used to making quick and decisive recommendations for my brides. But I needed a smidge more time for myself. I’d purchase the dress after chatting with my fiancé and decide later how I’d incorporate it into my wedding celebrations, whether as the starring centerpiece of my look, or merely a bit player. A shiver stole down my spine as I recalled the wedding I’d called off several summers ago. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the experience had kicked off my wedding-planner career. I wasn’t going to be strong-armed into making decisions about this wedding, the only one I planned on ever having.
“Anything else for you?” June glanced at Bev’s overflowing basket of flower-themed wares with keen approval.
“These earrings, too.” I reached beyond June to pluck a pair of heavy crystal earrings that had remained on the birdcage. These ones were faceted briolettes in the shape of fat teardrops, clear yet carved enough to throw off some subtle sparkle.
June’s eyes went wide as she took in the set. “I didn’t think I’d put these out. Pia must have found them.” She looked as if she wanted to make a grab for the jewelry, and I wondered if I’d be able to purchase them after all.
June confirmed my suspicions. She leaned in closer for a better look and rewarded me with another baby-powder whiff from Miri. “There’s supposed to be a necklace that matches this very pair.” She tut-tutted and shook her head. “I promise to find the missing crystal necklace that goes with these beauties. For now, I’ll hold on to them for safekeeping and eventually sell it to you as a set!” Before I could stop her, June grabbed the pretty baubles as if she were a magpie alighting on a particularly glittery find.
I followed June to the front of the store, exchanging a shrug with Bev. Elvis finally woke up for good, and trotted dutifully behind his mistress, his droopy basset ears nearly skimming the rose-patterned carpet of the antiques store. His short little legs needed to churn to keep up. Maybe June really was holding back on the sale of the earrings until she found the matching necklace. The pieces would look stunning on my big day, whether I ended up pairing them with the sundress or not.
And before I could give the incident of snatching back the earrings another thought, a pint-sized version of June arrived on the scene.
“There. This is the last heap of stuff from the northwest corner of the basement.” The girl before me set a stack of ancient luggage down on a wide oak table in the center of the store. A pillar of dust rose from her column of suitcases. June wheeled around to cover baby Miri until the dust had literally settled.
June leaned over to plant a kiss on the dirt-smudged cheek of the pretty girl wearing an incongruous crown of dust bunnies. “Pia, my little ragamuffin.” She spoke the term with much love.
“You need to get a little dirty working in an antique store, Mom.” The pretty redhead smiled up at her mom. Both women sported auburn locks, but June’s were cropped short and threaded with silver. The young woman’s tresses were bound in a low ponytail.
“I’ll have you know I run a tight ship around here,” June protested, gesturing to the almost-cluttered but also orderly store. “My mother, Claudia, is in charge of inventory in the basement, and let’s just say I didn’t inherit my organizing genes from her.”
I realized with a start that Pia must be my good friend Tabitha’s younger sister. Tabitha, the town historian, chose to dye her hair a striking Ariel-the-mermaid red, while Pia’s looked like her natural color, a subtler shade of auburn. Tabitha was a whole head taller than Pia, just like my sister, Rachel, who towered over me.
“Let’s see what you found.” June bounced a now-fussy Miri as she anxiously awaited the opening of the luggage.
“They were pretty heavy.” Pia started with a pretty pink leather hatbox. The pale-shell shade of the leather and smooth grain of the luggage made it look like a giant makeup compact. “Hm.” Inside the box was another hatbox, this one a more daring magenta. Pia let out a laugh as she found yet another, smaller hatbox within, this one a light pink with magenta polka dots, marrying the colors of the two larger pieces encasing them.
“They’re like girly luggage Russian nesting dolls.” I blurted out my assessment as Pia opened the last hatbox.
“Nada.” Pia’s expectant look deflated as she patted the inside of the hatbox.
“The set is gorgeous, though,” Bev cooed. “I would love to purchase this, too! All cleaned up, these three hatboxes would make a darling addition to my wedding trousseau.”
I knew Bev and Jesse were headed to Williamsburg, Virginia, with Bev’s teenage son, Preston, for her honeymoon.
June blushed again. “They’re all yours. But please don’t pick them up until tomorrow, when I’ve had a chance to scrub off all of the accumulated grime.” She made to swipe a finger through the dust adorning the bright luggage, then stopped herself at the last second. She couldn’t suppress a shudder, though. I realized that though the store was chockablock full of antiques, everything was meticulously polished and pristine with nary a speck of dust anywhere. Well, until Pia had brought up the luggage.
“Claudia promised me she’d get the basement under control.” June rolled her eyes and gestured below her. “My mom doesn’t keep the most meticulous records. The upstairs of the Antique Emporium is my domain. I like to think of this floor as carefully ordered chaos. But Claudia’s basement? Pfft.”June shook her head. “That’s true chaos.”
A small frown stole over Pia’s pretty face. She had a chameleon look, sometimes recalling the sharper features of her sister, Tabitha. At other angles, she favored her mother’s slightly softer features. “Grandma Claudia finds the neatest stuff, though, Mom. She has the best eye of the three of us. You can’t argue with that.”
June seemed to melt at the defense of her mother given by her daughter. “Fair enough, sweetie. The three of us make a great team.”
I beamed at her admission. It was fun to imagine three generations of women working together in this store. Though I’d never set eyes on Pia until this very day. I knew she’d been away at college in Washington, D.C.
“Hold up.” Pia bit her lower lip as she patted the inside of the last hatbox. “Do you feel something?” Her slim fingers hovered over a slight split in the top panel of the luggage. There seemed to be a barely perceptible rent in the now faded, but once-lurid red satin lining the hatbox.
“Ooh, let me see.” Bev ran her plump and capable fingers over the torn fabric. “I can fix this right up. But I think I know what you mean, Pia. Maybe there’s something in there?”
The nested hatboxes seemed to contain even more surprises.
“This is like a little treasure hunt.” Pia ran her hands over the interior of the hatbox once more, her eyes lighting up. Bev took her turn, trying to smoosh her rather plump fingers into the tiny slit in the fabric. She gave up a moment later. “Mallory, can you get in there? I don’t want to tear the fabric any more.”
I slid my ring and pinky fingers into the tear in the faded satin.
Pay dirt.
My fingers connected with some kind of soft fabric, smooshed down at the bottom of the hatbox’s top panel. I felt a thrill of excitement ripple through me, heralding what seemed like a portentous occasion.
Don’t be silly.
“What is it?” The three other women crowded around me as I worked on extricating what felt like a soft bundle of flattened fabric. Even baby Miri looked mildly curious as she gummed her silicone rattle.
“I almost have it.” In a final whoosh I pulled out a swath of stunning and ancient-looking lace. The fabric kept coming and coming, much like a silk tie produced by a magician performing a trick.
“It’s just gorgeous.” Bev stood back reverently as I spread the swath of antique lace out on a second, pristinely clean table. “It’s the perfect length to serve as a long bridal veil.” Bev appeared just as smitten with the fabric as I was.
“Is this for sale?” I heard the catch in my voice as I stated my query. The pretty sundress was long forgotten now that I was smoothing out this lovely and intricate piece of lace.
“Yes!” Pia gave her blessing and promptly gave way to a sneezing fit. “I mean, is that okay, Mom?”
June handed her daughter a tissue and paused for a second as she turned her keen eyes on the runner of lace. “Of course, honey.”
“It’s a bit aged,” Bev mused as she traced a delicate star pattern around the edge of the fabric. The pretty lace was largely intact, with only a few snags in the delicate pattern. But the fabric had mellowed over who knew how many years into a deep champagne color. “Nothing a little OxiClean won’t gussy up!”
“No!” This time both June and Pia yelped at the same time. Baby Miri gave a little jump in her carrier.
“It’s too delicate for that,” June clarified, a bit more gently.
“I guess we could take it to a fabric restorer,” I chimed in. I knew such a person existed since I’d had some work done on the turn-of-the-century tapestries in my inherited mansion.
“We?” Bev turned to me with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.
“Of course! I can see how much you love it, too.” I cocked my head and regarded the veil. “Is this something you’d want to wear on your big day? You could wear it in July, and I could wear it in the fall. It’s even long enough to ask the fabric restorer about dividing it in half.” Bev nodded enthusiastically at my ideas. But I caught June’s wince at my suggestion to divvy up the lace into two pieces.
June recovered nicely. “I’d be honored if you two ladies wore this veil at your weddings.” She pivoted and reached an arm around Pia, who had succeeded in brushing much of the dust from her sleeves and hair. “My Pia knows a thing or two about weddings.”
Pia blushed and wriggled out from under her mother’s embrace. “That was my part-time job in D.C., but this summer is dedicated to helping you make sense of all the inventory Grandma Claudia has stashed in the basement. Until I get a full-time job, that is.” She smiled. “Hopefully back in D.C.”
“You have event-planning experience?” My spidey senses perked up. My sister, Rachel, and I were looking for a new assistant to help us with our ever-burgeoning slate of weddings, parties, and events. We were thrilled to expand our business, but we’d reached the point of turning away new gigs because we didn’t have enough hands on deck.
“Just a bit. I’ve assisted eight weddings, a few retirements, and planned two baby showers on my own.” Pia grew less bashful as she described the work she’d done as an assistant in D.C. on the weekends.
“She even has a digital portfolio of her work,”June gushed. She dashed behind the front counter rife with glittering estate jewelry pieces and emerged triumphant with a slim tablet. “Look!”
Pia narrowed her eyes at her mother, then burst out laughing. “I see what you’re doing, Mom.” She included Bev and me in her amused gaze. “Now that I’ve graduated college, I’m here for the summer to help out. But then back to D.C. I go. Not that you’d have any openings in your wedding planning business anyway.”
“As it so happens, I do have an opening for an assistant.” I murmured this as I flicked through Pia’s extensive résumé and accompanying photos in her digital portfolio. “You have a wonderful eye.” The photos displayed nuanced and fresh table settings and layouts.
“I taught her well.” June beamed.
“Your personal website is lovely, too. You made all of this?” I gestured to the tablet.
Pia blushed prettily again and rightfully claimed the praise. “Yes. And I do adore event planning. Weddings are my favorite,” she added. “But Mom needs my help.”
June shook her head. The mama bird seemed to be gently pushing her daughter out of the nest, whether she liked it or not. “While business is doing well, Pia, you know I can’t take you on as a permanent employee. Even with Claudia retiring.” June sighed and took in her large store overflowing with wares. “Cataloguing and making each item here available online has stemmed some of the slowdown in antique sales. But it hasn’t cured everything.”
I sympathized with June’s sharing of her business woes. With nearly every physical good also available to shoppers online, one had to be nimble.
“And while I love helping out, I’m not sure I’d want to join the family business full-time.” Pia laughed at her mother’s mock shock at her pronouncement. The young woman was very pretty, even with a streak of dust marring her rosy cheeks.
“I don’t want to force you to apply, but we are holding interviews tomorrow to fill the full-time wedding assistant position,” I tentatively offered. “I know it’s quite last-minute.”
Pia cocked her head and seemed to ponder the invitation. Then she nodded with a serene smile. “I’d love to interview. Thank you for the invitation.”
I scheduled Pia’s interview for the next day to occur just after the other three candidates my sister and I would be meeting. As far as I was concerned, Pia was all but hired. This impromptu process was a little rushed, but sometimes the universe presented you with an opportunity. I just hoped my sister would be okay with my on-the-spot interview invitation. I gave an inward shrug. I knew Pia would be excellent, and I bet Rachel would think so, too.
June gently clapped her hands, causing baby Miri to squeal with delight. I gave the shop owner an appraising look. It seemed as if June had artfully nudged her daughter into working for me. June was a slick one. I’d let her know earlier this week that Bev and I would be stopping by. Maybe Pia just happened to be in the store, or perhaps June had arranged our chance encounter. I decided I didn’t care. Good employees were hard to find, and I had a feeling Pia would be a perfect fit.
“Now that that’s settled, let’s ring up this veil.” Pia would be a good businesswoman. She crisply changed the subject back to the sale at hand. “What do you think, Mom? Twenty dollars?”
June was contemplative as she considered the long swath of lace laid out on the table.
“Mom? Are you sure you’re okay selling it?” Pia seemed to call her mother back from somewhere far away.
“Of course! It certainly is a pretty lace veil.” June looked up and graced Bev and me with a warm smile. “I’m glad it’s found a good home. Twenty is a fine price, Pia. After all, this lace will need a bit of repairing, even though it’s mainly intact.” June observed her daughter carefully folding up the veil. “Ladies, you’ll spend a pretty penny with a fabric restorer if you choose to go that route.”
Bev and I produced ten dollars each and solemnly handed the bills over to Pia. She rang us up and handed me the receipt and the veil ensconced in a clear plastic bag, the brick red curlicue script logo of the Port Quincy Antique Emporium printed on the front. It was a done deal.
“You know what this veil is?” Bev pointed to the bag with a jab of excitement. “A sign!”
Uh-oh.
Bev was beginning to sound like Delilah, her fiancé’s tarot-card-reading mother.
“We should have a double wedding! Look at this fabric, it screams summertime, with the flowers and the trim of embroidered stars. It’ll be a perfect tie-in for my wedding a few days before the Fourth of July. And if you’re going to wear this veil, too, and divide it up, you may as well coordinate your look!”
“I love the idea of getting hitched this summer, and there’s no one I’d want to share a wedding with more than you.” I beamed at my close friend. “But I’m enjoying my engagement to Garrett, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a wedding planner, it’s not to rush things.”
I watched Bev deflate before me. I did wonder if today’s events were some kind of sign. First, I recalled the enchanting sundress at the back of the store, which I’d just pledged to buy. It was really suited to a casual summer wedding, just the kind Bev was having. I could almost see it. A double wedding with one of my best friends would be both silly and wonderful. I had promised in a weak moment, after I’d gotten engaged, to have my own wedding featured in a glossy bridal magazine. This would be a good hook. But more importantly, it would be good fun.
June seemed to pick up on my wordless considerations. “If you marry this summer, the sundress would work, Mallory. I could remove it from the dress form and have it sent over.”
Bev frowned at the idea of me wearing a dress that didn’t come from her shop, but seemed to like her double-wedding idea more. “I’d be happy to do alterations on the sundress.” She sighed. “Though I thought we all agreed it would be better as a rehearsal dress.”
But I couldn’t get the vision of myself standing in the garden at Thistle Park, my inherited mansion-turned-B-and-B, out of my head. I could picture my sandy curls peeking out from half of the swath of that gorgeous lace, a champagne-colored chiffon wrap adorning my shoulders to tie the aged lace and retro sundress look together. And I’d be married to the love of my life sooner, in the summertime, no less.
Darn it. I knew I’d end up marrying at my house. Maybe I’m destined for no separation of life and work after all.
A nagging voice in the back of my head cautioned me from following the whims driven by serendipitous finds at the Antique Emporium. I loved working as a wedding planner, marrying the analytical with the creative. I always encouraged brides and grooms to find inspiration around them and from their personal histories and to build new memories and celebrations around those experiences. But I also advised them to be practical with the funds and the logistics of planning a wedding and reception. This practicality part seemed to be missing for me, as I was changing up plans fast and furious based on the things I’d found in this very antique store one random June morning.
“I need to run this all by Garrett.” I felt a rueful smile tick up the corners of my mouth. “Contrary to popular opinion, the other half actually does have a say.” Some brides and families assumed it was their show, with no input needed from their partners.
June sagged, perhaps seeing the sale of the sundress slip away. But Bev was triumphant, no doubt thinking she could dazzle me with some dress in her store’s stock. I guess she wasn’t as invested in her momentary plan for a double wedding as she initially appeared. It was probably better this way. It had still been a productive day shoring up the details of Bev’s wedding theme, and we’d found the lovely veil to boot.
“Ready, friend?” I gave Bev a warm smile. There was still time to sort out all the details.
Bev nodded, and we bade the Battles women goodbye. And were nearly taken out by a human cannonball barreling through the storefront door.
“Out of my way!”
In rushed Claudia Battles, dressed head-to-toe in colonial-era soldier’s garb. June’s mother, the matriarch of the Battles family, sported a tricorn hat knocked askew and a brown homespun outfit. She flew through the door as if being pursued by the British. She carried what looked like some kind of ancient gun, perhaps a rifle. Claudia’s wispy bun was disheveled and about to unravel, with strands of snow-white hair peeking out, probably once the same red as the other women in her family. She must have just come from the practice battlefield. My event-planning duties for this summer included a new gala celebrating Port Quincy’s founding as a town. We’d christened the event Cordials and Cannonballs. The big day would feature a reenactment of a Revolutionary War battle waged over two hundred years ago right here in Port Quincy. It appeared that Claudia had been practicing in earnest.
Before we could ooh and aah, the look of consternation on Claudia’s face was suddenly understandable. She slammed the glass door behind her, and it snapped shut on the silhouette of my nemesis and once-upon-a-time almost mother-in-law. Hurricane Helene Pierce pushed the heavy glass door open with her bony hands dripping in rubies and pearls and made a nimble beeline after Claudia with her kitten heels striking hard on the wooden floor.
June quickly unsnapped the baby carrier and handed baby Miri to me. The little infant seemed to instinctively cling to my front and I shielded her from the wrath of Helene. I drank in her baby smell and gently bounced her up and down as I planned a quick exit if necessary.
Bev leaned over with a conspiratorial smile. “You’re a natural, Mallory.”
Good grief. Not with the baby talk again.
And in that moment, I realized why all of the seemingly good-natured comments about hurrying up and finally getting hitched and growing a family were getting to me. I confronted the issue that Garrett and I hadn’t discussed the possibility of kids. I hadn’t had the heart to bring it up, partly because I was so busy and partly because it would change the dynamic between Garrett, his daughter Summer, and myself. And mainly because I was scared of what his answer would be, either way. I gulped and held baby Miri closer.
“Women are absolutely not allowed to participate in the Revolutionary War reenactment.” Helene punctuated her decree with a little stamp of her kitten-heeled foot. Her vicious tap made her ubiquitous nude pantyhose pool a bit around her bony ankles.
“Fiddle-faddle.” Claudia righted her tricorn hat and dismissed Helene’s statement with a wave of her hand. Her nonchalance only made Helene even more furious. “I will be participating as a soldier this weekend, and nothing you can do will stop me.”
“I took a vote!” Helene sputtered, her usual command of the situation faltering.
Interesting.
“A vote that the town council agreed did not count.” Claudia’s lined face took on a particularly sour cast. She rolled her eyes in consternation. “Did you really think you could pull off making up some tale about a fire alarm and canceling the meeting, then holding it at your house with the only other two misogynists left on the historical planning commission board? It doesn’t count if you jury-rig the vote. You violated the sunshine law!” Claudia jabbed the air with this claim and succeeded in making Helene flinch. “Thankfully, the other members are more forward thinking and voted the correct way. Four to three, women can participate in the reenactment battle.” Claudia drew herself up to the impressive full height that June and my friend Tabitha had inherited, but Pia had not. “Now get the heck out of my store. You’re not wanted at our establishment.”
Helene was ever ready with a stinging volley, the kind I’d been on the receiving end of quite frequently several years ago when I’d almost married her son. “This old collection of junk? I haven’t set foot in this abomination of a business since the 1990s.”
I snickered. Coincidentally, the early 1990s is when Helene’s fashion awareness seemed to stop, as well. Helene favored pantyhose, shoulder pads, Chanel bouclé jackets, and Bill Blass and Halston suits. Being in her proximity was as much a time-capsule experience as being in the Antique Emporium or planning Cordials and Cannonballs.
Claudia said not a word but let her actions do the talking for her. She took one step toward Helene. She coolly rested her hand on her waist-high replica rifle.
That had better not be a working gun. Of course not, she wouldn’t.
Claudia put that idea to rest and simultaneously skyrocketed my hackles into the stratosphere. “This baby is full of fresh gunpowder. And I know how to use it.”
I took an involuntary step back with the infant in my arms, and Helene flinched, but held her own. The resident dowager-empress of Port Quincy, Pennsylvania, turned her steely powder-blue eyes on me at last.
“Hello, Mallory.”
I should have been cheered that it had taken all of this time for Helene to acknowledge my presence. Miri whimpered as I held her ever closer.
Claudia seemed to come to her senses seeing her daughter’s foster child. She leaned her rifle against a puffy ottoman and squared off against Helene with folded arms. “I mean it, Helene. Out. Now.”
It was Helene’s turn to dismiss Claudia with a flick of her heavily jeweled hand. “Not until you listen to reason, Claudia.” And she couldn’t resist a dig at yours truly. “I’m not surprised you’re consorting with this riffraff, Mallory dear.” Her term of affection slapped on at the end was as cozy and sweet as a cup of battery acid.
“Why, you . . .” Bev made a step toward Helene, bouncing on her heels like a pugilist. It was no easy feat holding back Bev while cradling Miri.
But June rescued us. “You’re free to go, ladies.” It was a compassionate command to leave, not really a request. She seemed to want to rescue Bev and me from Helene’s shenanigans. I reluctantly handed over the baby, but not before taking one more whiff of her sweet smell. I was rewarded with an adorable coo.
“I can’t believe we left them in there.” Bev nearly collapsed as she leaned against the maroon brick front of the Antique Emporium.
“We needed to get the heck out of there as soon as we could.”
It was night and day, breathing in deep gulps of fresh summer air on the sidewalk. We were a safe distance from Helene and her irrational demands. Outside the store, Bev and I exclaimed over the veil. It felt good to examine our find in the clear, bright June sunlight.
“Ooh, it’s more gorgeous than ever.” I traced the outline of delicate stars smattered around the edge of the floral pattern. The veil’s lace was even more intricate and lovely in the bright summer sunlight. “I’ll call the fabric restorer,” I promised Bev. “I suppose she can give good advice about whether we can divvy up the veil or if it’s better to keep it intact.”
Bev gave an excited nod, her eyes sparkling behind the cat’s-eye frames. “This will somewhat change the look I decided on for my big day, but it’s worth it. This is meant to be.”
Or perhaps not.
A whoosh of cold air bathed us as the door to the Antique Emporium hurtled open.
Uh-oh.
Helene wasn’t done with us. Claudia and June must have finally kicked her out of the store. Helene flounced onto the sidewalk in her red Bill Blass suit, her pageboy teased out over her ears so she resembled a king cobra. Her shoulder pads were as tall as ever, padded enough to land her a guest role as a linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers. The metal spikes of her suede kitten heels struck the mica-studded concrete sidewalk with considerable force. Her still-sharp, eagle-eyed gaze landed on the delicate length of fabric held in my hands. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
I rolled my eyes. Helene didn’t faze me. Now, if I hadn’t serendipitously jettisoned my engagement to her son a few years ago, I’d be in a heap of trouble. But my better senses had saved me from that debacle. That and my ex, Keith’s, wandering eye.
“Where did you get this?” Helene’s voice was so enraged, it was nearly an inaudible hiss.
I instinctively swiveled around to protect the veil as if I were still holding baby Miri.
“I don’t need to talk to you, Helene.” There. Boundaries. I wouldn’t consort with this maniac, not today.
“That veil is a long-lost family heirloom! It belongs to me. And I will take it back.” Helene’s bony talons gripped my shoulder and spun me around with surprising force. A small group of walkers at the nearby corner paused to sip their coffee and take in the show.
“Take your hands off of me, you loon!” I barely had time to extricate myself from her clutches. But Helene was just getting started. The audience at the corner grew by three more people, and Helene didn’t disappoint. She lunged forward and grabbed the lace from my hand. I held tight to my end.
In a single, sickening second of time, the veil ripped in two.
I didn’t even hear the primal gasp that slipped from my lips. Instead I heard the collective inhalation of the small crowd now watching it all go down.
“You idiot! Look what you did!” Helene was incandescent with rage. The septuagenarian leapt like a cat and lunged for the remaining, now jagged, piece of veil in my hands.
“Catch!” I sidestepped Helene and flung the fabric at Bev, who, in her finest hour, caught the piece of lace as it pirouetted through the air like a delicate, oversized snowflake.
“Not so fast.” Like a ninja, Helene plucked the other piece from a surprised Bev and hightailed it down the street. I was too stunned to follow the purloined veil.
“What the heck just happened?” Bev buried her distraught face in her plump hands.
“Beats the heck out of me.”
The melee only grew in intensity, as we were treated to a show of flashing lights and wailing sirens. I’d never welcomed the squeal of tires from a Port Quincy police vehicle more than in this moment. The crowd on the corner, and the steady thrum of traffic sliding down Main Street, blocked Helene’s exit. The police car could barely drown out Helene’s indignant caterwaul.
