Chapter Eight
It was Becca Cunningham. The stress of fulfilling the role of Helene’s almost daughter-in-law must have been wearing on her. Up close I could see that her trademark stripe of dark roots stood out against the blond hair in an even bigger swath than usual. She’d lost weight and her left eye twitched with a suspicious tic. The surprising rush of sympathy I’d felt for her in the dining room returned. She may have absconded with my fiancé, but I wouldn’t wish her current position under Helene’s thumb on anyone.
But I had to get out of Pellegrino’s. Garrett would be returning to his dinner with Adrienne any minute now. I was already embarrassed enough, I didn’t want him to think I’d been spying on him.
“Um, this isn’t the best time.” I glanced at my green dress, awash in a pungent, sticky mixture of Shirley Temple, iced tea, and cosmopolitan. It was time to make a graceful exit.
Okay, so the graceful ship has sailed.
“Please.” Becca’s eyes were wild and frantic. She glanced furtively at the dining room, where Keith was busy helping Helene into her fur coat. Becca’s hand gripped my arm like an eagle’s talon. “You’re my only hope.”
Rachel smirked at Becca’s Princess Leia speech and gently removed her grasping hand from my arm. The large ring on her left hand had left an imprint on my skin, the princess-cut diamond biting into my flesh from the force of her pressing fingers.
“Sorry, we’ve got to scram.” Rachel gave Becca a no-nonsense glare and we slipped on our coats.
“I need to meet with you tomorrow. I’m desperate.” Becca winced and fingered the ruby pendant around her neck. “I’ll forever be in your debt.”
I shivered, thinking of how I’d been in Helene’s debt, and ended up throwing the disastrous Winter Ball. But Becca seemed to be in dire straits, and part of me was downright curious.
I felt my face soften. “Fine. I’m meeting with the florist at the Petal Shop tomorrow at ten-fifteen. Can we speak right before then?”
A wave of gratitude seemed to crest and break over Becca’s shoulders. She sagged with apparent relief, and a tenuous smile quivered on her lips. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it.” And with that, she wheeled around to join Keith and Helene in the dining room.
“What in the heck was that all about?” I stared at her retreating form for a few seconds before Rachel and I finally slipped out the side exit. I glanced behind me and caught a glimpse of Garrett helping Adrienne into her coat. I pushed the sight from my mind and let the door shut behind me.
“Becca probably wants some survival tips on making it out alive as Keith’s fiancée,” Rachel quipped as we reached the Butterscotch Monster.
I put thoughts of Becca out of my head and replayed the scene with Adrienne and Garrett in the restaurant.
“Did you see what I think I saw?” I leaned back in my squeaky seat, the leather worn and cold. I recalled the small diamond ring in its little velvet box and took a few calming breaths. It didn’t work.
Did Adrienne just propose to Garrett?
“It wasn’t what you think.” Rachel waved her shiny acrylic fingertips in a dismissive motion. But her eyes were wide and incredulous, revealing her true thoughts. “Garrett is just being a good co-parent. I bet they’re talking about Summer.”
“But I saw a ring!” My voice was high pitched and hysterical, and I swallowed hard and jabbed the key into the ignition.
You’re not Garrett’s keeper or warden. Besides, Rachel is probably right. They’re just discussing Summer.
Maybe I’d seen something else on the table. The lighting at Pellegrino’s was kept low to create a cozy atmosphere, and it could have been anything glinting on that table.
Right?
I had my doubts but turned the key. The engine coughed and sputtered in the cool night air.
Rachel began her campaign immediately.
“I know what you’re thinking, Mallory. You’re making a mental pro and con list about why we should or shouldn’t do the destination show.” Rachel sat back in the worn leather seat and clicked her seat belt with a satisfied smirk.
“You know me well,” I grudgingly admitted as we pulled onto Main. “It’s an interesting opportunity, but—”
“But what! It’s the chance of a lifetime!”
“I don’t know if I’m cut out for constant filming.” I thought back over the past few days and the ever-present cameras. I was getting used to them at an alarmingly fast rate, and for the last day, I had forgotten they were even there. Still, I wasn’t sure if I could deal with the fabricated drama of reality TV on a daily basis.
“I really, really want this for us.” Rachel batted her long sable lashes. “Pretty please? I have it all figured out.”
I laughed and kept my focus on the road. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
Rachel beamed and launched into her pitch. “Mom and Doug could run the B and B while we’re gone.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Mom has plans to un-retire and start a new decorating and staging business after she moves from Florida. I don’t know how she’d feel about being recruited to run the B and B.”
I thought back to the colossal debates my mother and I had had about decorating Thistle Park and shivered. I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave the B and B in my mother’s undoubtedly capable hands for half the year. She might be caught by the decorating bug, and I’d come back to a completely different house.
“And we don’t even really know what Doug is planning to do,” I volleyed. Our stepfather was in agreement about moving back to Pennsylvania soon, but I wasn’t sure he’d be keen on running the B and B.
“You just don’t want me to succeed.” I turned my head away from the road for a split second, in time to catch one of Rachel’s maudlin pouts.
We’d advanced on the slalom-like road down the hill leaving the business section of Port Quincy and its rows of pretty but worn art deco office buildings, and crested the hill leading to Sycamore Street. Downtown gave way to a valley of neat saltboxes, cape cods, and cottages before we started our ascent again. Soon, we turned onto Sycamore Street, where Thistle Park rose like a crown jewel, an Italianate mansion holding court over a coterie of painted lady Victorians.
“Oh, good grief! Of course I do.” Had my sister forgotten she’d talked me into this B and B and wedding-planning business in the first place?
Rachel slammed the car door behind her and hurried up the herringbone path. I gave a weary sigh and chased after her.
Rachel wheeled around when we reached the front hall. “Maybe if we get out of Port Quincy, I can find someone to date and not have it blow up in my face.” Hot tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill over. “Owen is the first guy I’ve had the guts to go out with in four months. I’m not sure if Port Quincy is a big enough pond for me.”
“Oh, Rach.” I reached out to give my sister a hug. “We’ll talk this over and come to a decision together.”
“Promise?” Rachel pulled back, a single tear streaking down her face. She hastily wiped it away and broke into a tentative, quivering smile.
“I promise. But I wanted to ask one thing. Don’t mention this to Mom and Doug yet, okay?”
“Deal.” Rachel beamed and held out her hand, her new manicure sparkling under the chandelier. She crooked her smallest finger and we sealed our promises with a pinky swear.
“Excuse me, ladies.” Adrienne advanced up the path and hurried through the front door. I breathed a sigh of relief. Her meeting with Garrett was over. Adrienne bustled up the stairs, her spiky heels striking each stair with angry taps. She took a sharp left down the upstairs corridor. A door slammed with surprising force. Rachel and I glanced at each other and headed off in that direction.
* * *
We could hear the argument, muffled and intense, from a great distance at the top of the stairs. It was emanating from the blue room, the one I’d given to Adrienne and Xavier. Rachel and I tiptoed over the heavy brocade carpet, our steps muffled and quick.
“We shouldn’t be—”
“Shh!” Rachel clapped a hand over my mouth and motioned to the door.
I rolled my eyes and followed my sister to the threshold. I didn’t want to admit I was just as curious.
Rachel leaned against the door, her eyes wide.
“Let’s get out of here—”
“You promised!” Adrienne’s voice was strangled and shrill through the door. I gave up any pretense and leaned against the carved mahogany wood, pressing my ear as close as possible.
“You were going to do everything you could to keep I Do on the air.”
“It’s not up to me, babe.” Xavier’s cadence was as calm and Zen as usual. If I were Adrienne, it would have been mildly infuriating. “I’ve made entreaties to the producer and the network, but things aren’t looking good.”
Rachel’s brows arched in surprise and she leaned back against the door.
“This will probably be the last episode of I Do.” Xavier’s voice was reluctant yet firm.
A wail, undoubtedly Adrienne’s, resounded through the door. “I need to be gainfully employed if I’m going to try to get more custody. I’ve fought so hard to make something of myself for her.”
A stab of sympathy slipped into my side. So Adrienne was serious about trying to be more present in her daughter’s life. I wondered if she’d made her plans known to Garrett tonight or to Summer herself. I heard the muffled sound of sniffles; then Xavier resumed the conversation.
“Don’t worry. If Dakota and Beau’s wedding continues to be the train wreck it is so far, we’ll catapult up the ratings.” Xavier’s voice was matter of fact without a hint of glee, but I still felt disgusted.
“But even if this episode isn’t enough to save the show, I have another plan. I was devastated when Caitlin died and Silverlake High was cancelled,” Xavier continued. “I promised myself I’d always have something new in the works. The network is scouting for talent for a new destination wedding show. The executive producer asked me to keep an eye out.”
“Oh, Xavier! I’d love to do a destination show.” Adrienne’s voice cracked with relief. Rachel’s eyes went wide.
“She’s stealing our—”
“Shh!” This time I clapped my hand over my sister’s mouth and shamefully continued to listen, my ear pressed so hard to the door I was sure it would be red.
“Actually, I’m going to suggest Mallory and Rachel as hosts.” Xavier’s voice was not unkind, but it didn’t matter how he broached it. The explosion that followed could be heard without pressing our ears to the door.
“What?” Adrienne’s voice was a genuine squawk. “That mousy wedding planner and that hussy? What are you thinking? I’d be perfect to host a destination show, but you’re considering them?”
“That’s it—” A wave of fury washed over Rachel’s face and she put her hand on the brass doorknob. “She just called me—”
The door flung open and Rachel and I toppled into the room. Adrienne gasped, then composed herself with startling swiftness.
“Well, excuse me.” She stepped over the tangle of limbs and red faces that was me and my sister and primly exited down the hall, with nary a backward glance. Her steps were as precise and delicate as usual, but her back was uncomfortably ramrod straight. I felt a rush of embarrassment from openly spying. Adrienne’s ring finger was bare, so I guess Xavier hadn’t popped the question just yet.
And neither did Garrett.
I peeled myself off the floor for the second time this evening and dared to look Xavier in the eye. His lips were twitching, and his eyes were filled with mirth. I could finally see a few wrinkles in his impossibly smooth face, the laugh lines daring to come out.
Phew.
“We were just, um, checking up on you,” I lamely lied. “You didn’t look so hot at dinner.”
Xavier nodded, giving us an out. “I think I’m coming down with the flu.” He rested his hand on his flat stomach and sat down in a striped navy chair with a weary sigh. He drew his warm and luxurious merino wool hoodie closer around him, and shucked off his ever-present Adidas shoes.
“I could get you some cold medicine,” I suggested, ticking the options off on my fingers. “We have NyQuil, Robitussin—”
“Oh, no, no thank you.” Xavier screwed up his face as if the mere suggestion of over-the-counter cold remedies were an invitation to ingest poison. “I never take that dreck. Adrienne’s been on me all season to get a flu vaccine as well, but I don’t believe in them.”
Just what we need. The flu going around.
“I think I’ll make a nice, healing smoothie.” He winced and cradled his stomach again. “Perhaps lemon, wheatgrass, and mint. A pinch of sea salt. A base of green tea.”
His latest concoction actually sounded delicious, not like his usual noxious mixtures.
“The last time I had the genuine flu, I was laid up for a week.” He shuddered and leaned into the striped wingback chair, pulling the hood over his head with a shiver. “It was that awful week when Caitlin Quinn died on set.”
I thought back to Ellie and Iris’s recounting of that fateful week thirteen years ago and leaned in closer. Xavier closed his eyes as if recalling the incident.
“Caitlin was holding up shooting to try to get more money in her new contract. We couldn’t film, so Dakota had her friends from Port Quincy out for a visit. The studio was considering replacing Caitlin, and I got to weigh in on the final decision. I watched a bunch of auditions, and then the flu hit me full force. Knocked me flat on my back.” He shivered as he recalled his illness. “I stayed at home for the next two weeks in a NyQuil fugue, and when I came out of it, Caitlin was dead, Dakota’s visitors were gone, and the show was cancelled.”
“You were incapacitated when Caitlin died?”
“Roxanne took care of me.” Xavier’s eyes fluttered open and he seemed to stare into the past. He shivered again.
A thought skittered across my brain.
Roxanne used to drug Dakota when she had trouble sleeping. Could she have drugged Xavier when he had the flu?
But all I said was, “Roxanne?”
“We were a couple back then.” He offered a rueful and blinding white smile through his evident pain. “I think I shocked the hell out of her when she saw me this week. I guess Dakota didn’t tell her I’d be directing, or Roxanne never would have allowed her to take this gig.” He chuckled mirthlessly.
Rachel and I held a silent conference over his head.
So Roxanne and Xavier were a thing.
“We’ll let you rest.” I practically dragged Rachel from the room and we headed down the back stairs to the kitchen.
“The plot thickens.” Rachel raised a brow and motioned upstairs. “So Roxanne used to date Xavier.”
“And from the looks of it, she never got over it.”
We clammed up as we hit the last stair, but we couldn’t be heard anyway over the whir of the blender. Adrienne was whipping up a restorative smoothie, and from the looks and smell of it, the ingredients were the ones Xavier had mentioned.
A grain of an idea seeded itself in my head.
“What if we used some of the herbs in Ellie and Iris’s greenhouse to craft a signature drink for Dakota?”
Adrienne whirled around, her face genuinely excited and interested. “That’s a lovely idea, Mallory.” She offered me a small smile and advanced up the back stairs.
“She’s not so bad,” Rachel sighed. “When she’s not giving you the evil eye for being with Garrett, or trying to redo all your wedding plans.”
I left my sister in the kitchen and hurried to my office to start brainstorming up a drink. I stopped short at the door, the yellow crime tape still looped over the doorknob. I could picture Ginger slumped over my desk, the enormous bouquet of blue flowers perched in front of her like a sentinel of death. If I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, I swore I could still catch a whiff of the awful, nose-burning chemical smell. I’m sure it had dissipated by now, and my mind was just playing tricks on me, conjuring olfactory hallucinations when the air was really safe to breathe.
I backed away from my office and wondered when I’d ever feel comfortable working there. I dashed off a few emails to vendors in the parlor, trying to find some closer to Pittsburgh who could supply the magenta, crimson, and blush linens for Dakota’s secret reception. After half an hour of emailing out queries, I turned to concocting a special drink.
I wandered over to the library, the room rich and warm and light and airy. It was one of my favorite rooms in the house with a massive yet cozy marble fireplace, buttery-yellow walls, and a new, soaring tin ceiling after the original had suffered a mishap while renovating last fall. Soft gray velvet drapes framed sweeping bay windows with fluffy crimson pillows and sweeping views of the grounds. Cozy mysteries, romances, and thrillers nestled next to volumes of Freud and The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. The books were plentiful and eclectic, with something for every reader. I was proud of this little collection, and guests always said it was one of their favorite things to take advantage of during their stay.
I pulled out a giant encyclopedia about gardening, plants, and herbs. The tome was heavy and elaborate, a gold leaf reference work given to me as a gift by my contractor, Jesse Flowers. He’d restored the greenhouse, but left it barren. He’d suggested I leaf through the book to get ideas for planting. I rested the big book on a low-slung table in front of the fire. I spent half an hour reading about edible plants, herbs, and spices. I absentmindedly thumbed to the page on bleeding hearts, and the one on belladonna. I marked my pages with the gold foil butterfly bookmark that had come with the book, and thought of Ginger.
Who wanted to kill her, and why?
My mind kept circling back to Helene. She had the most reasons to want to get Ginger out of the way, from keeping Dunlap Academy an all girls’ school, to putting the tiara back into rotation. But then there was the tiara itself. The Port Quincy Eagle Herald had practically rolled out an invitation for thieves by quoting Helene about the tiara’s use at the Winter Ball. And then there was Sterling Jennings, furious at Ginger for missing their meeting and not putting his daughter on the lacrosse team. But that didn’t seem like a dire enough reason to kill.
A slip of paper caught my eye, peeking out from behind a claret cushion. I recognized one of Rachel’s notebooks, and my mouth crooked up in a sad smile. She must be working here too, too distraught to use our joint office. The little book fell open to the most recently used page. There was a pros and cons list hastily jotted down, detailing whether it would be better to pursue the destination wedding show with me or to go it alone. In the half hour I’d spent emailing vendors from the parlor, Rachel had already planned to abandon me to remain on TV. I dropped the notebook back behind the cushion, stung by the realization that Rachel was going to try to get on the show, with or without me.
* * *
I buried my hurt over Rachel’s plans and wearily sank into bed. I awoke bright and early, fed my two kitties, and served up a buffet breakfast of cinnamon rolls, bacon, and fruit salad. After breakfast, I avoided Rachel and straightened up the rooms. Then I wandered around the first floor to find Dakota for our meeting with the florist. The doorbell clanged its clarion carol, and I opened it to find a beaming Summer and Garrett on the doorstep.
“I’m going bowling with my mom,” Summer explained, leaning in to give me a hug. I pulled her close, then did a double take. Summer wasn’t wearing her usual weekend garb. She was dressed in head-to-toe pale blue, the kind of pastels Adrienne favored. Just this past July, she’d been a goth princess, complete with inky hair and ripped clothes. She’d settled into comfortable tomboy style as of late, her hair back to its usual blond, cut rather short.
I raised my eyebrows over Summer’s shoulder in silent conference with Garrett. He returned my concerned gaze.
She skipped into the parlor, where I could see Roxanne playing with Pixie. The Shih Tzu bounded over to see Summer, and Roxanne gave her a proud-doggie-owner smile.
“And I’m just glad to see you.” Garrett leaned in for a kiss, the beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow tickling my face. I thought of his strange dinner with Adrienne yesterday and held on to him longer than usual. He broke away with an amused look in his laughing dark eyes.
“I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you, too.” He broke into a grin, effervescent and warm.
See? You have nothing to worry about.
“Only a few days, but it’s been long enough.” I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and was treated to a lightly cleared throat.
“Ahem. Are we ready?” Adrienne materialized at my elbow, a vision in blue, from her skinny jeans to her perfectly figure-hugging sky-blue angora sweater. She held out her hand and Summer took it with a smile. They could have been sisters in their matching outfits, rather than mother and daughter.
“Xavier isn’t feeling well.” Adrienne’s face clouded over for a moment; then it passed. “Could you check in on him in a few hours, see if he needs anything?” I promised I would, and Adrienne started to fix Summer’s scarf.
“See you soon?” Garrett leaned in for a rather perfunctory kiss, distracted by Adrienne’s fussing over Summer. They were soon out the door, leaving me staring in their wake.
“Mallory?” Dakota broke my reverie and I turned with a start.
“Oh! Sorry.”
That was a quick good-bye.
I chastised myself for worrying about Garrett and Adrienne’s dinner and settled down across from Dakota. She was knitting, at work on a pretty shawl of some sort in shades of green and yellow. She reminded me of a reverse Penelope, working on her knitting each night before the fire this week, as if to stave off her suitor.
“Penny for your thoughts?” She set down the knitting needles and rested her chin in her hand, her engagement ring winking.
“If you were me, would you do a destination wedding show?” I heard myself blurt the question out before I could stop.
“Ah, Xavier’s newest project.” Dakota smiled and nodded. “He always has something up his sleeve.” She cocked her head in thought. “I love acting, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t like being on set for too long. It’s hard to see your family when you’re away shooting. But the offer is for you and Rachel too, right?”
If Rachel doesn’t go behind my back and negotiate the show for herself, that is.
“It is,” I affirmed, still doubtful.
“I saw you there with Garrett just now. Are you guys serious? Everyone will tell you it doesn’t matter if you’re gone part of the year, but it does.”
I sat for a minute.
How serious are things with Garrett?
It was a damn good question.
“Things are going well. I don’t know if they’re well enough to withstand being away so much though,” I admitted.
Dakota sighed. “If I could do it all over again, I’d stay here and work with Ellie and Iris at their nursery. I let Roxanne convince me to return to L.A. after I finished school, when all I wanted to do was stay in Port Quincy.” She grew wistful and took a sip of tea. “I’d wanted to return to Port Quincy since I was on Silverlake High. I was miserable on the show, and Ginger and Ellie and Owen were back here. They got to go to school and be normal and hang out together.”
“And then Caitlin died,” I mentioned carefully, gauging her reaction. I was still curious as to why it was a taboo subject, remembering Dakota’s stern demand in the greenhouse not to mention it.
She nodded gravely. “Do you know why I feel so guilty about Caitlin? I feel like I wished it upon her.”
My eyes went wide, but I stayed silent so Dakota would continue.
“I couldn’t help thinking when she went on strike that the show would end. My mom liked to think I was the bigger star, but I’m not blind. It was Caitlin. I wished something would happen so the show would be cancelled, and then it came to fruition. Caitlin died on set and the show ended. I feel like I willed it to happen, inadvertently.” She shivered, despite the rollicking flames dancing in the fireplace, the peacock tiles reflecting the fire in hues of electric blue, aqua, purple, and green. She set down her knitting needles again.
“I never wanted anything to happen to Caitlin, but I can’t say I wasn’t glad the show ended.” A tiny tear beaded in the corners of Dakota’s violet eyes, and she sniffed, seemingly embarrassed.
“It was an accident?” I procured a box of tissues.
“It was gas,” Dakota affirmed, nervously twisting her huge Asscher ring. “All my friends were visiting. Ginger and Ellie and her little sister, Leah, and her mother, Iris. Everyone but Owen.”
The big man-in-the-moon grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten times, and I sat up straight with a start.
“We’ll be late for the florists. Time to go.”
And time to see what it is that Becca Cunningham wants.
We had no more time to dwell on Caitlin Quinn’s death from thirteen years ago. We needed to meet with the new florist to put Dakota’s secret red and pink Valentine’s Day wedding plans into play, as well as Owen’s black-tie event.
I pulled the Butterscotch Monster up to the curb and started to giggle.
Becca skulked beneath the eave of the florist’s door, dressed like a 1940s detective. She sported big glasses that nearly covered the top half of her face and had a colorful orange Hermes scarf tied around her head and under her chin. She’d completed her look with a long camel trench. Her face swiveled right and left in herky-jerky motions as if she were looking for someone following her.
“You came.” She gripped my hands in hers, her fingers cold and clammy.
“Yes,” I said guardedly. I wondered if she was going to ask for something impossible, like a kidney or a Rumpelstiltskin-esque favor.
“I need your help planning my elopement.”
I relaxed, then broke out into a grin.
“That is an excellent idea.”
Why didn’t I think of that for myself ?
I recalled my aborted nuptials with Keith, now Becca’s fiancé. I’d come up with idea after idea for our wedding, only to be shot down by Hurricane Helene. I’d finally acquiesced, worn down by her constant strident objections, and planned the wedding of her dreams, not mine. Before I’d discovered Keith’s infidelity with Becca, and thankfully called the whole damn thing off.
Could I really help the woman who had stolen my fiancé?
It was his choice, too, I chastised myself. I’d resisted trying to paint Becca as the enemy in the fiasco that had been my engagement. It was Keith who’d decided to break our engagement, not Becca.
I took a deep breath and glanced at Dakota, who wore an amused and quizzical look on her face.
“When were you and Keith planning on escaping—er, getting married?”
The wild look returned to Becca’s eyes, and she glanced behind me and shuddered.
“We’d like to leave tomorrow.”
I stared at her, stunned. I considered myself a good wedding planner. I’d learned a lot through trial by fire over the last half year, and I could whip up some pretty amazing plans in a pinch. But leaving tomorrow?
“That’s impossible.” I took an inadvertent step away from the increasingly desperate woman before me. But Becca wasn’t ready to hear no.
Becca clutched the lapel of my green coat and pulled me closer, a definite streak of madness marring her usually cool and dismissive demeanor.
“Please, I’m begging you.”
I carefully removed her hands from my collar and put a foot of space between us.
“Becca—”
“We’ll need travel arrangements, and an intimate venue for two. Something far, far away from her. I mean here. I mean far away from her and here.” Her left eye twitched again, her heavily mascaraed lid doing a jumpy tango. “Preferably the Caribbean. Helene must not know.”
She’s gone mental.
“It’s going to cost you.” I jumped as Dakota waded into the fray. “Mallory can’t plan a wedding in a few hours’ time for nothing.”
“Um, Dakota, I haven’t agreed . . .”
“Of course I’ll pay!” Becca’s voice was near hysterical. “Twice your going rate.”
Dakota shook her head.
“Triple. Quadruple!”
“All right, all right!” I stopped this madness before it could get out of hand. “Becca, we need to meet with the florist for Dakota’s wedding, but I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Becca grabbed me in an impetuous, crushing hug. She pushed her glasses up her nose and disappeared down a narrow alley between the florist’s shop and the bakery, pulling her orange scarf tighter around her face.
“What have I done?” I buried my face in my hands, my head swimming with ideas and buzzing with despair.
“I’d want to run off as soon as possible if Helene were my mother-in-law, too,” Dakota breathed through her laughter.
We pushed open the door to the Petal Shop, a soft chime announcing our entry. The store was a modern space in pink and black, flowers neatly displayed and chilled behind sleek glass cases. Bright white overhead lights illuminated the hundreds of blooms lining the walls. A giant worktable stood raised in the middle of the store, where the florist, Clarissa Crosby, artfully built a large pink and red arrangement, stem by careful stem.
“You must be Mallory.” Clarissa stepped down from the raised platform and gave my hand a hearty shake. “And of course I know who you are. Dakota Craig! I can’t believe I’m doing the flowers for your wedding.” Twin spots of pink that matched the roses she’d just arranged dotted Clarissa’s smooth cheekbones.
“I’m so grateful you could squeeze me in on such short notice.” Dakota clasped Clarissa’s hands in hers and offered her a warm smile. I couldn’t help but think that, much like the favor I was going to try to pull off for Becca, the florist could only attempt to deliver a bounty of red and pink blooms in a mere week because Dakota and Beau were paying through the nose for it.
“I’m sorry about Ginger,” Clarissa gushed, dropping Dakota’s hands. “I hear you were friends.”
“Yes,” Dakota breathed, the pain etched in her face anew.
“She received a standing order every Friday,” Clarissa said, her eyes far away.
“Excuse me?” I dropped my bag and knelt to retrieve it.
“From a mystery admirer.”
“Her secret boyfriend,” Dakota muttered. The hurt was written on her face, clear to see. “I still can’t believe she didn’t breathe a word of it to me.” She cocked her head in thought. “Can you tell us who it was?” Her violet eyes were pleading and bright, innocent and hopeful.
Damn, she really is a great actress.
But Clarissa shook her head, her giant sunflower earrings brushing her shoulders. “I couldn’t tell you even if I did want to breach confidentiality. The person was quite careful to protect his or her identity. They mailed in a rather large sum in cash at the beginning of the year to pay for a recurring weekly delivery.”
“Where was the money postmarked from?” I broke in.
“Here in Port Quincy, I believe.” Clarissa began to look nervous.
“So she got the flowers for a year,” I mused. “Does the chief of police know this?”
Clarissa’s eyes went wide. “Do you think he needs to know?”
“Of course!” Dakota softened her voice. “I would let him know as soon as possible.”
Clarissa seemed unsure, and I made a note to tell Truman myself. The florist disappeared into the back room to bring out a representative arrangement for Dakota, and I turned to her.
“What if she was murdered by her secret lover?”
“It’s possible,” she said with a frown. “Especially if he was someone she felt the need to keep a secret. Maybe he was dangerous or he was blackmailing her.”
Or maybe it was someone who admitted to having dinner with her weekly. Someone you seem to have a bit of a crush on.
“What are you thinking?” Dakota’s eyes narrowed.
Here goes nothing.
“Do you think she was seeing Owen?”
“No!” Dakota lowered her voice. “Absolutely not. They were just friends.” Her voice was testy and hot, and she swallowed hard. But she seemed to be trying hard to convince herself as much as me.
“Here we are. Ranunculus, roses, tulips, and freesia.” Clarissa carried a conical arrangement and set the heavy silver vase before us, the flowers lush and fragrant, a sumptuous mosaic of pink, red, cream, and white.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous.” Dakota reached out to run her hands over the soft petals and breathed out a sound of delight. I was happy the flowers had arrived to take her mind off my musings about Owen.
“If you come into the back room, I have a few more arrangements to choose from,” Clarissa beamed, clearly over the moon at Dakota’s reaction. We followed her back to gaze at gorgeous bunches of flowers in monochromatic arrangements of pink and red.
“Excuse me a moment.” The tinkling chimes of the door sounded again, and Clarissa disappeared. A heated argument commenced, and I recognized the other party.
Uh-oh. She wouldn’t dare.
“Mallory? Dakota?” Clarissa’s voice was impossibly small and meek. “I’m so sorry to have wasted your time. I can’t do the wedding.” The last pronouncement was said so softly I barely heard her.
“I’m sorry?” Dakota didn’t understand, but I did.
“Excuse me.” I brushed past Clarissa to find the source of the problem.
“Helene.”
The reining doyenne of Port Quincy set down the rose she’d been admiring and offered me a chilling smile.
“Mallory. We meet again. I was just letting Clarissa know that it would be advantageous if she remembered the Valentine’s Day party for the Daughters of the American Revolution. She is contracted to create quite a few arrangements for us, and she can no longer be of service to you.”
“You snake!” I advanced toward Helene, then thought better of it. I stood rooted to the floor, quaking with anger. I didn’t need a charge of assault on my plate.
“You would have done well not to cross me regarding the Winter Ball, Mallory, after all I did to put you on the map.”
“I don’t need you to put me on the map! I’m hosting a celebrity wedding, haven’t you heard?” A fleeting thought zinged through my brain. I thought of Helene’s face, contorted with anger, when she’d soon realize Keith and Becca had absconded right from under her surgically enhanced nose. I felt my mouth twitch up in an inadvertent smile.
“You dare to mock me?” My smile must have set Helene off. “I helped you renovate your B and B in record time, and you go behind my back?” She drew herself up to her full height, balancing on her kitten heels. “You can’t even keep people from expiring at your events.”
“How dare you speak of Ginger that way.” Dakota took a step forward, no longer acting.
“She got what she deserved.” Helene clapped a hand over her mouth, even she realizing she’d gone too far. With that, she swept out of the store, and I swore I caught a whiff of brimstone.
“That horrible, horrible woman.” Tears coursed down Dakota’s face.