“Heads up, Nina,” Gemma called, rushing past me into the dining room while carrying a covered foil tray. “The ceremony is going to start in fifteen minutes, and we still have food to set up. Have you seen Jasmine?”
“Right here, Mom,” the girl called, hurrying in after her with a tray of her own. Like her mother, she was dressed in her official catering uniform of black slacks and white blouse topped by a white vest, though the Tanakas were also there as guests. “This is the last tray,” she confirmed, then asked, “Did Papa already set up the cake?”
“It’s all set,” I assured them both.
I pointed to the three-tiered wedding cake perched atop my vintage silver cake stand in the middle of the dining table. The layers were covered in white buttercream frosting, with rows of piped-on ribbons and cascades of roses in pale yellow and white. While I’d known Daniel was a fabulous baker, I had never seen a decorated cake from him before. I’d been even more impressed when he had confessed that this was one of his first attempts at a traditional wedding cake.
The cake topper, however, was courtesy of John Klingel. Rather than the typical bride and groom, he’d created a tiny bouquet of real flowers—miniature white roses and delicate greenery wrapped in lace and tied with tulle ribbons—to grace the cake’s top tier. Even better, the fairy-tale-like creation matched the full-size bouquet that his soon-to-be (for the second time) bride, Virgie Klingel, would be carrying down the aisle.
I was almost as excited for this wedding as the bride and groom, for Virgie and John’s nuptials would be the first actual wedding held at the B&B. True, there would be only twenty-five people, including me and the Tanakas, but given that the entire event had been planned in less than a month, I was pretty pleased with how everything had come together. Even the weather, which could turn on a dime in late October, was sunny and only a bit crisp this Saturday afternoon.
A few days earlier, I’d jokingly suggested to the bride and groom that Mattie serve as best dog. They’d laughingly declined the offer, though to my surprise John had brought a little collar corsage for her along with the rest of the flowers. Even better, the photographer had taken a few cute shots of her in all her floral glory before Mattie retired to my quarters for the duration of the ceremony.
Leaving Gemma and Jasmine now to finish setting up the food, I made a quick run out to the covered patio. White wooden folding chairs, each with a big white satin bow tied on the back, were arranged in rows, leaving an aisle in the middle for the bride to make her entrance. Jack Hill—owner of Cymbeline’s best ice cream shop and carpenter on the side—had finished my official wedding trellis just in time for the ceremony. Now it was adorned with tulle streamers and flower garlands—those being, again, John’s own creations. The trellis was situated at the entry to the Shakespeare garden, which provided a scenic backdrop for photos.
Most of the guests had arrived by now and had taken their seats on the patio. I did a quick head count inside and out. Only a few hallway stragglers needed to be ushered outside, and then the ceremony could commence. I glanced over to see the wedding’s officiant, the Reverend Dr. Bishop, dressed in his usual expensive black suit and white collar. He was appeared to be laughing at a not-safe-for-weddings joke as he chatted with the best man—who happened to be the bride’s son.
Jason Hamilton, dressed surprisingly stylishly in sharp-creased black slacks and a pale-yellow silk shirt, had turned a figurative corner following Roxanna’s murder. He’d confessed the money thefts to Virgie, who had let him off the hook far more easily than I might have done. But the fact that he’d had nothing to do with Roxanna’s blackmail attempts or her subsequent murder—indeed, seemed truly grieved by the latter—had gone a long way to mending the rift between mother and son. And from what I’d heard from Virgie, she’d gifted him the money for his new recording venture once he had approached her with a surprisingly savvy business plan.
But Jason’s hadn’t been the only confession to come out in the aftermath of the tragedy. Virgie had finally told her son and her ex-husband a long-held secret—that Jason was not the offspring of some man she had supposedly married on the rebound following her divorce but was John’s own son. That had been the violation of their “marriage of convenience” rules that John had told me about at the bridal expo. In the beginning, they’d both agreed that children would never be part of the equation. But when Virgie had unexpectedly found herself pregnant, she’d realized she had changed her mind. And fearful of what would happen once John found out, she had hurriedly divorced him and then made up a fictional new husband, even changing her last name to keep up the ruse.
Much to Virgie’s surprise, after John had gotten over his initial shock at the news, he’d asked her to marry him again, eager to try to put together a family with her after all the years spent apart. Of course, Jason had been far less keen about accepting a new father out of the blue, but he had agreed to support his mother in the marriage.
“There you are, Nina,” Polly Hauer exclaimed, shaking me from my thoughts as she grasped my arm. Dressed in a stylish yellow silk sheath and matching velvet-trimmed silk bolero straight from Virgie’s shop, Polly was the matron of honor and official wedding planner.
“The bride is ready,” she hurriedly told me. “And the parlor is working out just fine for a changing room. Now, once we get the last guests seated, I’ll let John and Dr. Bishop know to take their places. Oh, and where’s our musician? I want to hear some wedding tunes.”
And then, turning a critical eye on me, she added, “I must say, that copper-colored suit you’re wearing looks fabulous on you. It’s too bad you don’t have a date for the wedding. You know Virgie told you that you had a plus one if you wanted it.”
“Thanks, Polly,” I replied, summoning a smile. “I think since this is my B&B, I need to be paying attention to the guests and not worrying about having a good time.”
Though, to be honest, I’d considered giving Ryan Slater a call and asking him if he wanted to attend the wedding. Even after he’d picked up Gus and taken him back to Atlanta, we’d stayed in touch via email. While there weren’t any romantic sparks between us—at least, not on my side—I had come to consider him a friend. In the end I had decided that a wedding date might send the wrong message and determined to enjoy the event solo.
“Suit yourself,” Polly replied. Then, pulling out her phone, she showed me her stopwatch app. “Ready or not, I’m starting the fifteen-minute countdown. Everyone better be in place, because when the alarm goes off, the bride is walking down the aisle.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said with a grin and a salute, then headed back in to round up the stragglers. Which I could do quite readily these days, as my sprained ankle was only a little twitchy now and then.
Among the wanderers were Mason and Lowell, the latter having finally finished the appraisal on my ghastly oil painting, which he’d ended up buying from me outright. In honor of the wedding, the pair were dressed in matching black tuxedos, though thankfully Lowell had not opted to copy his boyfriend’s signature pompadour.
“The place looks great,” Mason assured me, while Lowell merely nodded his smiling approval. “All right, all right, we’ll go sit down now so you can get this show on the road.”
With the slackers shooed, all that remained was a final check of the dining room. I took a look and saw that Gemma and Jasmine had done a stellar job, the food having been arranged atop my vintage china and crystal and silver in a delightful gustatory tableaux.
“Beautiful!” I told the pair as they made a few final tweaks. “But we’re about ready to start, so come take your seats. Is Daniel ready with the music?”
“Right here.”
Daniel wore black slacks like his wife and daughter, though instead of the white shirt and vest, he sported a black-and-white aloha shirt. In his arms he cradled one of his ukuleles—this one a gorgeous mahogany instrument inlaid with abalone around its sound hole. I knew from its larger size that it was what Daniel had told me was a baritone. Like the name implied, it had a deep and rich tone that was far more full-bodied than those of the small ukes he tended to play at the diner.
“Polly wants a little mood music to warm up the crowd before the bride and groom come in,” I told him. “You think you can oblige?”
“On it,” Daniel said with a grin and a nod as he followed his wife and daughter outside. A few moments later, I heard the beautiful but plaintive notes of some island song drifting in from the garden.
At that, I heaved a sigh. All that remained was to tell Polly we were ready for the happy couple, and then I could grab a chair along with the rest of the guests. But before I could head to the parlor to give her the word, a familiar voice behind me said, “Looks like you haven’t started yet. Good. I was afraid I was late.”
Harry?
Slowly I turned, not quite believing it was really him. But it was. At least, I thought it was. For this man wore a perfectly fitted tuxedo, his dark hair gelled into a slicked-back but still edgy style that made his even features look sharper, craggier. One hand was casually tucked into a pocket as he stood there surveying me.
I stared back at him in silence for a moment; then, as realization hit, I couldn’t help a fleeting smile. “Don’t tell me, you’re the Retired Secret Agent.”
He inclined his head just a fraction. “Double-O Harry Westcott, at your service.”
And then, breaking character, he said, “You told me once that next time you were invited to a wedding, you wanted your plus one to be the Retired Secret Agent. So, if you’re interested, he’s here. Unless you already have a date?”
I hesitated, not quite believing he’d remembered that exchange, or that he’d made the effort to follow through. Slowly, I shook my head.
“No, I don’t have a date,” I told him. “But Harry, I haven’t seen you for almost a month. I thought you’d left town. I thought you weren’t coming back.”
“I thought I would…and that I wasn’t. But then I began to wonder if I’d made the wrong decision. I knew the only way I’d know for sure was to come back here again.”
“Darn it, Harry,” I replied, dismayed to find myself dangerously close to tears. “I can’t talk about this now. The wedding is about to start.”
Just on cue, from behind the parlor’s closed doors, I heard Polly’s alarm go off. I hesitated a final time—and then made a decision of my own.
“Hurry up,” I told Harry, grabbing his arm. “We need to take our seats now!”
Somehow we ended up in the last two empty chairs remaining in the last row. John was standing beneath the trellis, looking happy and proud in a dark-gray suit with a pale-yellow shirt and a darker-yellow tie. Jason, looking more than a bit uncomfortable, was at his side. Dr. Bishop stood there as well, an open Bible in his hands as he beamed approvingly at the gathering.
And then Daniel abruptly cut short the cheerful island music he’d been playing. While a smiling Polly started down the aisle, bridesmaid bouquet in hand, he switched to a heartbreakingly beautiful instrumental version of the classic Elvis tune “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
As the music washed over me, I began to hear the plaintive lyrics in my head. All at once, the weight of the past few weeks seemed to crash down on me. Roxanna’s untimely death…Meredith’s spiral into callous murder…the spunky Buddy now virtually motherless, though fortunately her father had eagerly taken her in…Ryan’s confession of lost love…even the announcement of Cam’s upcoming nuptials. Silent tears began streaming down my cheeks at all the pain and loss, and I was helpless to stop them.
And then I felt Harry’s hand on my shoulder. It was the briefest of gestures, a kind but momentary touch designed only to offer comfort. Yet it was enough. I straightened in my chair, swiped at my eyes, and smiled as Polly joined the trio at the trellis.
The song ended in a moment of silence. And then, with a harp-like flourish, Daniel launched into a dramatic version of the wedding march.
We all stood as Virgie appeared in the doorway, looking radiant in a cocktail-length dress of heavy yellow silk as she started down the aisle. Once she reached the trellis, taking her once and future husband by the hand, we all resumed our seats. Dr. Bishop cleared his throat, waiting for silence.
Finally, with another beaming smile, the reverend began.
“Brothers and sisters, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Sometimes people who think they don’t belong together finally realize that they do. And when that happens, it is a time for celebration indeed.”
He paused, gazed about at the guests for a moment, then said, “Excuse me, brothers and sisters. Can we get an amen here?”
I saw a few smiles, heard a few nervous chuckles, before Jason took a step forward, pumped a beefy fist, and shouted, “A-men!”
“A-men!” the rest of the guests happily called out, drawing an approving nod from Dr. Bishop.
“Amen,” Harry quietly echoed beside me.
I silently nodded. And then, just because it felt right, I scooted a bit closer to him and linked my arm through his, deciding that I did rather like weddings after all.