“I can’t believe it! This simply cannot be happening!” Angela Vecchio looked up from her cell phone and burst into tears.
“What’s wrong?” I reached over to hug my best friend, aware that people, many of whom we knew, were staring. It was lunchtime, and the Cozy Corner Café was packed as usual.
Angela kept on sobbing. “Carrie, this wedding is cursed! Steve and I should have eloped.”
“Who called you?” I handed Angela a tissue.
She blew her nose loudly. “That was the restaurant.”
“What restaurant?”
“Where I was supposed to be having my bridal shower. There was a fire and—and extensive damage.”
“Oh, no!” I patted Angela’s back as a new burst of sobs threatened. I drew a deep breath, relieved that she was growing calmer and the spectators were returning to their meals and conversations. “But why did they call you and not me since I’m the one in charge?”
Angela sniffed. “The woman said her name was Brenda and apologized for calling me when she realized the shower was for me. She’ll call you later this afternoon.”
“I’m so sorry, Angela.” I was horrified as well, but I bit my lip to stop myself from saying more.
Angela and I worked together at the Clover Ridge Library—she at the circulation desk and I as head of programs and events. Our director, Sally Prescott; Angela’s boss, Fran Kessler; Marion Marshall, the children’s librarian; and I had selected the restaurant because it offered a private room with enough choices on the menu for a group of close to forty women aged twenty to ninety.
Today was Monday. The bridal shower was scheduled to be on Saturday, a mere five days away. Where were we supposed to find a suitable replacement venue in such a short period of time?
Angela pushed the plate with her half-eaten sandwich to the center of the table. “Lately, nothing is going right with this wedding. My gown needs an adjustment, some cousins on my dad’s side refuse to sit at the same table, there’s a problem with the flowers we ordered for the table settings, and now this!”
Who are you and what have you done with my best friend? Angela was a cheerful person, a positive person, and the farthest thing from a drama queen. But this was her wedding. And so I found myself making a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.
“Angela, you’ll have your shower. Once Fran, Sally, Marion, and I put our heads together, we’ll come up with a new place even nicer than the restaurant we originally chose. We could even hold it at my cottage—”
“Except that’s when Mrs. C is doing her spring cleaning,” Angela reminded me.
I grimaced. “You’re right. And Dylan finally arranged for the plumber to come on Saturday to fix the leak in the guest bathroom.”
My boyfriend, Dylan Avery, owned the cottage, which was a quarter mile down the private road from the manor, as I secretly called the large white house where he lived.
“We’ll think of something,” I finished lamely.
“Can we leave now?” Angela asked.
I waved over our waitress and asked her to wrap the rest of my sandwich.
“Are you gals in a rush?” Jilly asked, eyeing our unfinished lunches.
“Kind of,” I said.
“Do you want yours wrapped too?” she asked Angela.
Angela shook her head and got to her feet. “Meet you outside.” She handed me a twenty and scooted off.
“Too much,” I began, but Angela was gone.
I joined her minutes later. A gentle June breeze wafted past us, carrying the fragrance of flowers in bloom and newly cut grass; the sky above was a lovely shade of blue. But all this was lost on Angela.
We walked back to the library in silence, which was pretty unusual for us since we were both rather chatty and Angela loved to talk about her wedding—sometimes too much. But she was in an unusually negative mood. Maybe this was wedding jitters. I doubted she had any doubts about marrying Steve, whom she loved with all her heart. But a wedding and all that it involved was a major event.
“And he’s flying here on Thursday,” Angela said, as if we were in the middle of a conversation. “I really could do without his presence in the house.”
Angela’s brother, a movie producer of sorts, lived in California. Angela had confided to me that he’d tormented her when they were growing up, and she wanted to have as little to do with him as possible.
“Why don’t you stay in your new condo? It’s practically in move-in condition, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Angela said, “and I could, but Mom would be so disappointed. She keeps talking about how this is the last time we’ll be together as a family.”
I wrapped my arms around her. “Ange, all this anxiety will be over and done with in a few weeks’ time.”
She lowered her head to nestle in the crook of my neck. “I know, but I so wanted this to be a special time. One I will always remember.”
“I’ll round up the girls and we’ll find a new place for your shower.”
Angela smiled for the first time since she’d received that phone call. “If anyone can fix this, it’s you, Carrie Singleton.”
Smoky Joe, his bushy tail held high, was waiting for me as we entered the library’s back entrance that opened from the parking lot. Smoky Joe was the library cat—technically, my cat since he’d lived with me ever since one autumn morning when he’d made his way to my cottage from the farm on the other side of the woods.
I bent down to pet his gray flank. “Hungry?”
He meowed and set off for my office, certain that I’d follow him.
I hugged Angela. “Try not to let this get you down. I promise we will find a new place for your bridal shower.”
She answered me with a nod.
As the Clover Ridge Library’s head of programs and events, I had my own office—large enough for my desk and the one shared by my two part-time assistants—Trish Templeton and Susan Roberts—who were never here at the same time.
Trish waved to me as I entered the office, barely looking up from her computer. She was short and round, with rosy cheeks, and was as efficient as anyone could wish for an assistant to be.
When she finished what she was doing, she said, “I was just shooting off program applications to two applicants that sounded promising. One is a craftsy person who would like to do a program on fall decorations. The other is a home decorator who wants to do a program on sprucing up your home without spending big bucks.”
I fed Smoky Joe, sank back into my chair, and let out a big sigh. Which must have made Trish think I was disappointed in her, because she said, “Is there a problem? You told me to use my judgment when possible presenters call or email and you’re not here.”
I waved my hand. “Sorry, Trish. They sound fine. I’m upset. The restaurant where we were supposed to be holding Angela’s bridal shower had a fire. We need to find a new place and fast.”
“Oh, no! I’ll start calling restaurants,” Trish said.
“And I’m off to talk to Sally, Fran, and Marion. See if they have any ideas.”
My first stop was Sally’s office. Sally was our library’s director and my boss. She was shocked to hear what had happened. Shocked, but unable to come up with a viable alternative.
“Sorry, Carrie. I can’t offer our home. Bob invited a few of his friends over to swim in our pool on Saturday.”
“Not to worry,” I said. “We’ll find something.”
But Fran and Marion weren’t able to offer their homes either.
Back at my office, I emailed my three co-hostesses: “No luck so far, but Trish is still calling restaurants. I think we have to notify the bridal shower guests re the cancellation and ask if they have any suggestions.” Then I shot off an email to the shower guests and made a mental note to call those who didn’t have email that evening. Having done all I could, I turned to my library duties that I’d sadly been neglecting.
Trish left at three o’clock, having had no success with any of the restaurants in a fifteen-mile radius of Clover Ridge. She’d no sooner closed the door when Evelyn Havers appeared. Today my ghostly friend was dressed in a pretty spring dress—tiny colorful flowers against a pale blue background—that set off her salt and pepper hair, which had been cut in a glamorous new way. One day I planned to pin down Evelyn and have her explain just where she kept her extensive wardrobe and had her hair styled, but getting Evelyn to talk about that which she didn’t choose to talk about was tough going. She dodged questions as skillfully as a veteran spy.
Now she perched on the edge of Trish and Susan’s desk, her usual position when she paid me a visit.
“Poor Angela,” she tsk-tsked. “She’s so upset about her bridal shower, she can’t concentrate on what she’s doing. She told one woman that the book she was about to take out was overdue and she owed three dollars. More than one patron has complained to Fran.”
I frowned at Evelyn. “I would think you’d be more sympathetic. Angela’s been so excited about her wedding plans, and now her bridal shower has been all but canceled. We’re having a hard time finding another place on such short notice.”
“I doubt that you will. Carrie, dear, I’m afraid the restaurant fire is a bad omen of things to come.”
“That’s not a very kind thing to say.”
“I’m not trying to be mean. You know I’m fond of Angela, which is why I’m alerting you to the possibility that something major might go very wrong at her wedding.”
“Is there something you know that you’re not telling me?”
Evelyn shook her head. “Of course not. It’s just a feeling I have.”
I pursed my lips. “Well, I’m hoping that you’re wrong. But I have to admit, it will take a miracle to fix this bridal shower problem, a miracle that better happen soon.”
The miracle arrived less than an hour later in a text from Angela’s cousin, Donna Harrington.
“Sorry about the fire. Angie must be so upset. I’m happy to host the bridal shower at my house. It’s certainly large enough and a mere ten-minute drive from Clover Ridge. Please let me know how many guests to expect so I’ll know how much food to order. There’s a great caterer nearby that I often use for events. I’ll send you their menu and you can tell me what to get.”
How much food to order? I texted right back, thanking Donna for offering her home and making it clear that the shower’s three other hosts and I would be paying for the food.
“If you insist. But I’m happy to provide several yummy desserts from a local bakery, along with coffee, tea, and soda and wine. Here’s my address. Please let everyone know the change of venue.”
Minutes later I had the caterer’s information, directions to Donna’s home, and an update from Donna that she’d contacted another cousin, Roxy, who was happy to help out any way she could. Delighted that the bridal shower problem had been solved in the most pleasant way possible, I strode over to the circulation desk where Fran was attending to patrons.
“I told Angela to take a walk around the Green and get some fresh air,” she whispered to me between checking out books and CDs.
I briefly told Fran the good news and went outside to share it with Angela.
The Green had come into existence when Clover Ridge was first settled in the seventeenth century. Despite the town’s continuing growth and development, this grassy, squarish piece of land remained its heart and center, the site where festivals, concerts, and other events were held throughout the year.
The library was situated on its northeastern corner. Like most of the other centuries-old white wooden-frame buildings bordering the Green, it was once a private residence. Some buildings on the opposite side of the Green had remained private homes—my great-uncle Bosco and great-aunt Harriet lived in one of them—but most had been converted into upscale shops, a gourmet market, an inn, galleries, and restaurants.
Angela must have taken Fran’s suggestion literally because I caught sight of her walking toward me on one of the paths that crossed the Green.
I went to meet her, eager to put her mind at rest. “We have good news! Your cousin Donna offered to have the shower at her house, and your cousin Roxy is going to help her. Isn’t that wonderful?”
But Angela was scowling. “You agreed to have my shower at Donna’s house?”
“I just said—”
“And Roxy’s involved?”
“Well, yes. But Fran, Sally, Marion, and I are still handling the food. I’ve gotten the menu from the place Donna recommended. You can choose—”
Angela grabbed my arm. “Carrie, in all the time you’ve known me, have I ever mentioned Donna or Roxy?”
“Well, no, but you invited them to the shower.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “I had to, didn’t I? They’re my first cousins.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Let’s see. Where shall I begin? They’re both five years older than me, which is a big age difference when you’re a kid. They’re beautiful, savvy, and rich. They know where to buy the perfect outfit, eat in the hottest restaurant, buy tickets for the latest show on Broadway. I always felt like the poor little match girl when I was with them, so I’ve hardly spent any time with them in years.”
“Maybe they’ve changed. I mean, why would Donna make such a generous offer if she didn’t care about you?”
Angela sniffed. “So she could play Lady Bountiful. Roxy, too. They’re close friends—when they aren’t competing with each other.”
We walked slowly back to the library. “I had no idea,” I said. “I’ll call Donna back and tell her thanks but no thanks.”
Angela shook her head. “Don’t do that, Carrie. I’m being silly. You’ve worked so hard to find a new place for my bridal shower, and Donna’s house is beautiful—so my mother’s told me.” She gave me a little smile. “It’s fine. Really it is.”
“Then come to my office and tell me what selections you’d like us to order for lunch on Saturday.”
Angela managed a smile. “I’m always happy to help when it comes to menus.”