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Chapter 1
“If you don’t get your fanny out of that dressing room in the next thirty seconds, I’ll come in and drag you out.”
I recognized the tone in my grandmother’s voice well enough to realize she meant business. Three hours of trying on every bubble-gum-pink bridesmaid dress in South Harbor’s one and only wedding shop had left all of us in a foul mood. I took one last look at my reflection in the mirror and resigned myself to my fate. The hoopskirt under my ballroom gown was so large I had to turn sideways and wiggle to get through the dressing room door, but given this was the seventh or eighth dress I’d tried on, I had mastered the technique fairly well.
In the main viewing area at the back of the large store, I walked up the two stairs and stood atop the platform designed to look like a wedding cake to showcase the dresses to loved ones. I stood atop the platform of shame and waited for the laughter I knew was inevitable.
My timing was impeccable. Three other brides and their guests had just walked to the back of the store, so my audience had tripled since my last humiliation. I heard snickers and one guffaw from the store personnel. Initially, the sales consultants had contained their reaction much the same as the Queen’s guard outside of Buckingham Palace, not showing one iota of a smile. However, three dresses ago that all changed. Now, they smiled and snickered openly.
My grandmother, Nana Jo, and my mother, the impending bride and source of my current embarrassment, sat on a comfy sofa sipping champagne. Nana Jo had just taken a sip when she looked up and saw my latest ensemble.
Nana Jo snorted and champagne squirted from her nose. “You look like a giant pink piñata.”
I turned and stomped down the stairs and headed back to my dressing room.
In between the laughter, my mom said in a confused voice, “I don’t understand it. It looked so cute on the hanger.”
I squeezed back into the dressing room, caring little if this satin and tulle monstrosity got snagged or not. My sales consultant helped me get out of the dress while she avoided making eye contact. I suspected a few of the chuckles I’d heard had come from her, although I couldn’t be sure.
“Your mom has a very distinct taste.” She picked the pink piñata off the floor and made sure it was returned to its protective plastic.
“You can say that again.” I took a drink from the glass of champagne she’d snagged for me after I’d walked out in a hot pink version of the velvet draperies Scarlett O’Hara had fashioned into a ball gown in Gone with the Wind. “How many more?”
I should have been suspicious when she didn’t respond and quickly turned away, but I was too busy texting my missing sister, Jenna, who’d managed to back out of today’s humiliation by declaring she had an important legal brief to write. Her day would come and revenge would be sweet. When I turned around and saw the next fluffy pink concoction, I nearly spit my champagne. Instead, I grabbed the champagne bottle and took a long swig.
The eighth, or was it ninth, dress was a tight-fitting mermaid-style gown with a super tight sequined gold bodice layered to look like scales that went down my hips to my knees and then the fluffy tulle skirt expanded in waves into a long train of pink, which puddled at my feet. I didn’t even bother looking in the mirror. One look at the sales consultant’s face told me everything I needed to know. From her raised eyebrows to the twitching lips, I knew I looked absolutely ridiculous. I contemplated taking it off and refusing to wear it out of the dressing room, but it was the last one. I might as well get it over with.
Mermaid dresses looked great on tall women, but I was only about five feet three, so the tight part of the dress fell lower on me. The sequined upper part of the gown was so tight I couldn’t open my legs to walk and had to shuffle out of the dressing room. Climbing the stairs to get atop the platform required the help of two sales consultants and a great deal of tilting on my part.
Nana Jo laughed so hard and so long, she started gasping for breath and tears rolled from her face. My mom just stared at me as though I truly had just crawled out of the sea.
“Look, we’ve been at this for over three hours. I’m tired and hungry and my patience has waned,” I announced to anyone listening.
I was about to turn and shuffle back to the dressing room when I looked up and saw my mom’s fiancé, Harold Robertson, and my friend-who-is-more-than-a-friend, Frank Patterson, gawking at me from behind my mom’s chair.
“You’re just hungry, dear. I’m sure you’ll feel better after you eat something. That’s why I invited Harold and Frank to meet us for lunch.” Mom smiled.
I stared openmouthed into Frank’s eyes and saw the look of shock and mirth he tried to hide reflected back at me. I’d endured ridicule and degradation from my family and complete strangers, however, Frank Patterson was different. It had taken quite a while after my husband Leon’s death before I was even ready to entertain the idea of a male friend, let alone a romantic relationship. So, I wasn’t quite ready for Frank to see me in all of my mermaid glory.
I took a step backward in my haste to find a place to hide and tumbled off the back of the platform. My only consolation was if I’d still been wearing a ball gown with a Gone with the Wind hoopskirt, when I fell on my rear, my dress would have lifted like the rear hatch of my SUV. Instead, the long flowing train got wrapped around my feet and I lay trapped on my back like a mummy.
I didn’t believe Nana Jo could have laughed harder, but she managed. After my first few seconds of stunned embarrassment, where I flopped and wiggled around on the floor like a fish out of water, Frank’s arms went around my waist as he lifted me to my feet.
Once I was upright, I made the mistake of trying to walk and realized my legs were still trapped and nearly toppled over again. Thankfully, Frank was still there and grabbed me before I fell again. His soft brown eyes sparkled and his lips twitched as though a laugh was just seconds away.
“Laugh and you’re a dead man,” I whispered and gave him a look that had once brought a two-hundred-pound football player to tears when I taught in the public high schools.
The look worked, and Frank wiped the mirth off his face and helped the sales consultants untangle the fabric binding my feet. Once I was free, I turned and stomped, well shuffled, back to the dressing room with as much dignity as I could muster. Oh, yes, my sister, Jenna, would pay dearly for leaving me to suffer alone.
Dressed, and in my own clothes, I marched out of the dressing room to find my audience had dwindled down to a party of one, Frank Patterson.
“Where’d they go?” I looked around.
Frank opened his arms and engulfed me in a warm hug. “You look like you could use a hug.”
I sighed and snuggled closely. I took a deep breath and released the tension that had built up in the past few hours. Frank owned a restaurant a few doors down from my North Harbor bookstore and he always smelled of coffee, bacon, herbal Irish soap, and red wine. I took a large sniff and felt the ripple of laughter rise up inside him.
“Let me guess, I smell like bacon and coffee?”
I took a big whiff. “Don’t forget the Irish soap and red wine.”
He laughed. “It’s a good thing I don’t serve liver.”
My stomach growled. “I’m so hungry I’d probably eat it if you did. Where’d they go?”
He pulled away. “I told them we’d meet them at The Avenue.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, that was Harold’s idea?”
“Actually, I think Grace suggested it. Your mom wants you to taste some pastries or cake or something.”
I sighed. “I thought when they said they wanted a small wedding, it would be simple.”
We walked to the front of the store and Frank held the door. “Small doesn’t necessarily mean simple.”
I should have known my mother well enough to know better. She’d always had grand taste. Nana Jo blamed my grandfather. He’d always referred to my mom as his little princess and she’d spent her entire life living up to it. My father had been equally guilty of perpetuating the princess mindset. He’d done everything for her. When he died, she couldn’t write a check or pump her own gas and she had never paid a single bill. Jenna and I spent quite a bit of time arranging her finances so her rent and utilities were automatically withdrawn. Jenna took away her credit cards and arranged for Mom to have a weekly allowance, which was the only way she seemed to grasp the concept of budgeting. Now, she’d met and fallen for Harold Robertson, one of the wealthiest families in Southwestern Michigan. Harold was a widower who seemed content to continue the princess legacy.
Frank drove us the short distance to The Avenue hotel, one of the finest hotels in South Harbor. The Avenue was an older building that sat atop the bluffs and looked out over the Lake Michigan shoreline. From a distance, the hotel looked grand and imposing. Up close and personal, the wear and tear of chipped paint, cracked marble floor tiles, and wallpaper that had once been white but was now yellow showed. The bones were there, but the building needed an update. Despite these shortfalls, the grand staircase that greeted guests at the entry was still quite impressive.
Guests entering the building from the semicircular driveway found themselves on the landing and could ascend to the lobby or descend to the dining area. We spotted Mom and Nana Jo and followed the downward path to the restaurant. Waiters hovered around in red livery with gold braids and black pants. Frankly, it seemed a bit much for lunch, in my opinion, but my mom loved it and smiled brightly at the young freckle-faced youth who brought her iced tea.
“Are you sure you’re warm enough, Grace?” Harold took my mother’s hand and stared into her eyes.
Mom shivered and looked into Harold’s eyes like a lost fawn in a vast forest. “It is rather chilly, but I don’t like to be a bother.”
Harold hopped up and removed his jacket. With a flourish, he draped his suit coat around her shoulders. Then he turned and got the attention of a passing waiter. “Can you please see the heat is turned up?”
The waiter practically snapped to attention and hurried off to see the heat was increased.
Before Harold was settled back into his seat, the manager came to the table, apologized for the inconvenience, and offered a complementary hotel blanket to go over her lap, and another log was added to a nearby fireplace.
I felt drenched just watching all of the activity.
Nana Jo picked up a menu and fanned herself. “Grace it’s an oven in here. Your hormones must be out of whack. You need the patch.”
Mom ignored her mother, a skill she’d honed over the decades, and I removed my cardigan and drank a half glass of ice water to help lower my core temperature.
Ignoring Nana Jo wasn’t an easy task. She was tall, loud, and very opinionated. Few people would recognize Grace Hamilton as a relative, let alone the only child of Josephine Thomas. Nana Jo was tall, while my mom was petite, barely five feet tall. Nana Jo was about a hundred fifty pounds heavier than Mom, who weighed an even one hundred pounds. However, the two women were alike in their ability to annoy and aggravate their children.
Lunch itself was uneventful, apart from seeing the attention the hotel and restaurant waitstaff dedicated to Harold and consequently to Harold’s guests. Harold Robertson was a tall, white-haired, bearded man who was one of the only people I had ever met I would describe as jolly. He had been a successful aeronautical engineer with NASA for over forty years. However, his brain power wasn’t the reason the waitstaff were falling over themselves to ensure his every wish was fulfilled. Harold’s claim to fame in Southwestern Michigan was that he had the good sense to be born into one of the wealthiest families in either North or South Harbor. Robertson’s Department Store had been the premiere store in this area for over one hundred years. The store catered to the lakeshore elite. As a child, I remembered the grand building with its high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and marble columns. Even though we couldn’t afford to shop on the upper floors, I remembered the red-coated doormen and elevator operators. My excursions to Robertson’s were limited to the bargain basement. The store had weathered the economic downturn of North Harbor better than most and had only closed its doors completely about ten years ago. In fact, I went to the liquidation sale, expecting to finally buy things like furs and jeweled evening gowns like the ones I’d dreamt about as a child. Unfortunately, the old building had lost its charm. I was underwhelmed and depressed by the yellowed, peeling wallpaper, the threadbare carpets, and the smell of mothballs that assaulted my senses when I stepped through the door. The world had changed, but Robertson’s had failed to adapt. The old cage-styled elevators were a fallback to a time that no longer existed.
Harold inherited the store and the family fortune, but he had pursued his dreams by becoming an engineer with NASA. He’d only returned after his wife became ill and he wanted to be close to family. He nursed her until she took her last breath. He now seemed dedicated to caring for my mom in much the same way.
I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the way he catered to her every whim. No detail was too small.
Nana Jo leaned close and whispered in my ear, “I wonder how she manages to find men who fall over themselves to make her happy.”
I shrugged. “Luck, I guess.”
Nana Jo snorted. “Luck, my big toe. More like a curse, if you ask me.” She shuddered. “Who wants that kind of attention?”
I agreed with Nana Jo. Harold’s constant attention, no matter how well-meaning, would drive me batty. However, my mother was a different breed.
“I prefer a man with more spunk, someone you can argue with.” She laughed. “You should have seen some of the fights your grandpa and I had.” She gazed off into the distance. “Makes a marriage stronger.” She tsked. “Of course, then you get the fun of making up.” She guffawed.
“Nana Jo, I don’t want that image in my brain.” I shook my head as if trying to erase an Etch A Sketch.
She laughed.
Lunch was tasty. Good food and a glass of wine restored my humor. After lunch, we ate cake. In fact, cake was the main reason Mom wanted us to eat at The Avenue. The pastry chef presented us with samples from three different cakes as possible choices for the reception.
The pastry chef was a tiny little woman with electric blue hair. She presented the first sample. “This is a chocolate almond cake with raspberry mousse filling topped with chocolate ganache.” She watched our faces as we tasted.
“This is delicious. Chocolate cake is my favorite.” Harold’s eyes sparkled, but then he turned to my mother. “What do you think, Grace?”
Mom took a small bite and then washed it down with a long drink of water. “It’s very good, and I know a lot of people like chocolate, but . . . well, I was hoping for something a little more . . . well, unique.”
Harold promptly nodded in agreement. “Of course, you’re right. It’s delicious, but you can eat chocolate cake anywhere. A wedding is a special occasion.” He gazed at my mother as though she was the first person to entertain the idea the earth was round.
For the second tasting, we were presented with a white cake. “This is a traditional white cake with vanilla mousse filling and white fondant topping.”
I’d never quite understood if you’re supposed to eat fondant. It made the cake look nice and smooth, but it wasn’t the tastiest topping I’d ever had. This one was no exception.
Based on the look on my mom’s face, she wasn’t a fan of this one either. “White is definitely traditional, but not very unique, is it?”
I agreed with her on that one.
The third tasting was presented. “This is a pink champagne cake with a filling of rum-infused custard and whipped cream frosting.”
“Hmm. That’s good stuff.” Nana Jo licked her fork.
Harold turned to see my mom’s reaction so he could know what his opinion should be.
Mom took a bite and smiled. “I really like the pink, don’t you, Harold? It will go with the color scheme.”
The cake wasn’t the bubble gum color my mom seemed to like best, but it was definitely pink. Regardless of the cake’s color, it was by far the tastiest of the selections. The chef explained she used champagne in place of water for the cake. I struggled to think of anything that wouldn’t taste good if it was doused in champagne.
Cake choice made, we moved on to the ballroom, which was massive. The crystal chandeliers and marble columns, with views of Lake Michigan from nearly every window, would be an ideal space for a large wedding.
“Grace, I thought you wanted a small wedding? You could hog-tie cattle in this room,” Nana Jo said.
Mom fluttered her hands around. “Well, we want to make sure the guests have room to dance, but maybe you’re right.”
“Our library can accommodate up to thirty-six guests comfortably and the patio could be used for cocktails,” the manager continued his sales pitch.
“Well, this room isn’t big enough to cuss a cat,” Nana Jo said.
Frank whispered in my ear, “How much space does it take to cuss a cat?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. None of us have one.”
“What do you think, Sam?” Mom asked.
“I agree with Nana Jo.”
The manager looked as though he was about to provide all of the sales features for the library, but I’d beat him to the punch.
“The ballroom is too big. The library is too small. The—”
“If you say, there’s a room that’s just right, I’ll gag.” Nana Jo stuck her finger in her mouth but thankfully didn’t actually gag.
“Actually, I was going to say the library is too small for the reception, but it might make a nice place for a family breakfast.”
“Oh, what a wonderful idea,” Mom said with such amazement the compliment made me question when was the last time I’d had a wonderful idea.
I mumbled, “I do get good ideas every decade or so.”
Frank chuckled until he saw the look my mom shot my way and then coughed to cover up his laughter.
We reserved the library for a family breakfast and avoided the manager’s sales pressure to reserve the ballroom to ensure it would be available. His, I’m only looking out for your best interest suggestion would require a nonrefundable thousand-dollar deposit, which Harold was glad to pay, but Nana Jo’s Midwestern frugal nature refused to concede.
“I have to get back to work,” I said.
“I’d better go with you.” Nana Jo grabbed her purse.
“Well, if you must go.” Mom fluttered and looked around in the “I’m so helpless” way she had.
However, Nana Jo and I were immune.
“Yep, we gotta go. See you tonight at Frank’s place for the family dinner. We’ll talk then.” Nana Jo gave Mom a kiss on the cheek and hurried out of the door mumbling, “Once I’ve had a glass of whiskey to steady my nerves.”
“Don’t be late to dinner tonight,” my mom yelled at our retreating backs as we made a quick exit out the door.
Despite my frustration with shopping for bridesmaid dresses, I wouldn’t have missed tonight’s family dinner for all of the fish in Lake Michigan. Tonight, my mom and Harold were introducing the two families. I didn’t know a lot of truly rich people. This would be my chance to see how the other half lived. Plus, it would allow me to be nosy and learn what I could about my mom’s intended.
Frank drove us back to my car, and I drove the short distance over the bridge from South Harbor to North Harbor. All of the one-way streets in downtown South Harbor made the drive about two miles total. However, the differences between North Harbor and South Harbor felt like the twin cities were separated by more than a bridge. The two cities shared the same Lake Michigan shoreline but were light-years apart. South Harbor was affluent and thriving, with cobblestone streets, a bustling downtown, and beachfront property both on the beach and on the bluffs above the Lake. In contrast, North Harbor had abandoned and burned-out buildings and boarded-up houses and downtown offered very little foot traffic. There was a small area of renovated buildings, bakeries, art galleries, and cafés, which were trying to revitalize the economy and bring people back downtown. My bookstore, Market Street Mysteries was one of those. The brick brownstone stood on a corner lot with a parking lot shared with a church. There was an alley that ran behind the buildings, and I was fortunate to have a garage. The previous owner built a fence to connect the garage to the building, probably in an attempt to keep the homeless and late-night bar hoppers from trespassing. However, the result was it created a nice courtyard area where my dogs, Snickers and Oreo, loved to play. The garage had an upstairs studio apartment my assistant, Dawson Alexander, called home.
Nana Jo and I entered the store through the back. There was a glass door that led up a flight of stairs to the right. Snickers and Oreo must have heard us coming because they were waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The two chocolate toy poodles pounced and barked their greeting. I hurried to let them out to keep the noise down while Nana Jo went through to help Dawson take care of the Christmas crowds. This was my first Christmas season, and I’d been pleasantly surprised by the traffic we’d received so far.
December in Southwest Michigan was cold and snowy. Christmas was only a few weeks away, and the wind off Lake Michigan was harsh and bitterly cold. Snickers, the older of the two poodles, true to her nature, stepped over the threshold, squatted and took care of business quickly, and hurried back inside to heat and warmth. Despite the red and green Christmas sweater she wore, she didn’t like the cold and would just as soon have taken care of her bio needs inside as out. Oreo, on the other hand, had a more carefree, frolicking nature. He leapt into the air and tried to catch snowflakes. He was halfway across the yard before he realized his paws and his underbelly were cold. He then hurried to the back door, expecting to be let back inside. After ten years of Michigan winters, you would expect him to have caught on that snow was cold. Unfortunately, he was a slow learner. Snickers and I coldheartedly stood our ground and watched him through the glass until he hurried to the corner of the fence, hiked his leg, and heeded the call of nature. Snickers looked up at me as though to say, Remind me again why you wanted a second dog? I shrugged and opened the door to admit him as he bounded inside. He shook, scattering wet snow around the room, and then pounced, getting my jeans wet. I pulled the towel I kept at the back door off its hook and cleaned as much snow from his underside and legs as I could before letting him down. The static from the towel made the hair on his ear flaps stand out, and I smiled. Oreo might not be the brightest member of our pack, but his zeal and energy always put a smile on my face.
I went upstairs to the area I’d converted into a loft where I now lived. I grabbed a couple of dog biscuits from the jar I kept on the counter and tossed them into the dogs’ beds and then hurried downstairs to help.
Each time I went into my bookstore, I was overcome with joy. Owning my own mystery bookstore had been a dream my husband and I shared. After his untimely death just over a year ago, I fulfilled my promise to him to sell our house and take the insurance money and live out our dream. Death of a loved one helped to put things into perspective. For me, Leon’s death reminded me life was too short not to be happy. So, I quit my job as an English teacher at the local high school, sold the house Leon and I had lived in, and bought the brownstone we’d walked by and dreamed of one day owning. It was bittersweet to live the dream without him by my side, but, over the past year, I’d found a host of friends and family who helped to fill the void.
The store was bustling and Nana Jo was running the cash register. My assistant, Dawson Alexander, was stocking a shelf. Dawson was the quarterback for the Michigan Southwest University Tigers—or, MISS YOU, as the locals called it. He was tall and slender, the MISU trainers asked him to “bulk up.” So, he’d gained over twenty pounds of pure muscle, which was helpful on the football field and also came in very handy for hoisting boxes of books. The fact Dawson loved to bake, and was exceptionally good at it, provided the conduit for some of the weight gain. Unfortunately, I suspected I too had gained a good ten pounds since he started working here and baking all sorts of sweet delicious items.
Market Street Mysteries wasn’t on the same level as big-box stores, but business was steady and that was enough to keep the lights on. My staff consisted of my grandmother, Nana Jo, who refused to accept a salary; Dawson, who rented the studio apartment above my garage and received a small salary, which he more than earned by providing baked goods; and my twin nephews, Christopher and Zaq, when they were on break from college, which thankfully, would be in a few days.
Dawson, Nana Jo, and I worked steadily for the remainder of the afternoon. When my older sister, Jenna, walked in, I looked at the time and realized we’d been working nonstop for four hours. It was time to close shop and it wasn’t until I sat down that I realized how tired I was.
“You owe me big-time.” I glared at my sister, who stared innocently and fluttered her eyelashes.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
I pulled out my cell phone and swiped until I came to the selfies I’d snapped before I gave up and delegated the task to my sales consultant.
Jenna looked at the pictures and tried to keep from laughing but failed and eventually gave up and laughed long and hard.
Nana Jo and Dawson looked over her shoulder. Nana Jo had seen the originals but still laughed at the shots as much as Dawson and Jenna.
“Great. Laugh, but I won’t be alone in those pink concoctions. Just remember that.” I pointed at my sister.
“Your mother is crazy if she thinks I’m wearing any of these clown dresses.” Jenna handed back my cell phone. It was always your mother when Mom was being demanding or irritating.
“I don’t understand how she thinks she’s going to plan a wedding in three weeks.” I hoisted myself out of the chair and went to the back and got the broom. After sitting for just a few minutes, my joints felt tired. I knew if I continued sitting, I’d never get the store cleaned and ready for tomorrow.
Christmas was just three weeks away, and my mother was getting married on Christmas Eve. I tried not to stress out about all of the things that needed to happen in the next three weeks. Bubble-gum-pink-piñata-gone-with-the-wind-mermaid dresses were just the tip of the iceberg. Unlike most brides, who spent over a year planning the perfect wedding, my mother told us just two weeks ago she was getting married on Christmas Eve. Thinking about everything that needed to happen made me want to scream. I must have looked like a crazy woman.
“Don’t worry about cleaning, Mrs. W. We’ll take care of that.” Dawson took the broom from my hands and held out a chair.
I stared. “Who’s we?”
The bell that chimed whenever someone entered the store jingled and Jillian Clark and Emma Lee entered the store.
“Hello, Mrs. Washington,” both girls said.
Emma Lee gave Jenna a hug. “We knew you’d be tired after wedding shopping.” She took off her coat and placed it over the bar at the back of the store.
Emma was a petite southern belle with long, dark hair and almond-shaped eyes that showcased her Asian heritage. Emma was a student at MISU and was dating my nephew Zaq. At about five feet and one hundred pounds, Emma was often dwarfed by my nephew’s six-feet frame. When the two were together, he towered over her, but the two didn’t seem to notice or care.
“We would have been here earlier, but I had a rehearsal.” Jillian placed her coat on the bar next to Emma’s and went to the back to get a duster.
Dawson followed her and I couldn’t help but smile. He and Jillian were a couple, and he followed her so they could have a few moments alone.
Jillian was the granddaughter of one of Nana Jo’s friends, Dorothy Clark. She had a tall, slender body and walked with the grace that only a ballerina possessed. She had dark eyes and dark, frizzy hair, which she’d tried to tame by braiding and pinning to her head tonight. However, several curly tendrils refused to be contained and created lovely curls on the sides of her head.
When Jillian and Dawson returned, she was wearing an apron and proceeded to dust. “Now, you better go upstairs and get dressed or you’ll be late for the party.”
I looked at my watch. “You’re right.”
“Shake a leg.” Nana Jo hurried to the steps. For a woman in her seventies, who was a couple inches under six feet and well over two hundred fifty pounds, my grandmother was still pretty spry. It probably had something to do with her yoga and aikido classes. She was a brown belt.
I followed at a slower pace. This was the first opportunity any of us, my mother included, had had to meet Harold’s family. I knew she was nervous and, despite the humiliation she planned for me in a pink bridesmaid gown, I wanted to make a good impression.
I showered and dressed in a vintage print A-line-high-waist dress. The top was navy with three-quarter-length sleeves and a scoop neck, while the skirt had a bold navy and white floral imprint. Since I’d started writing historic British cozy mysteries, I’d found myself drawn to clothes from the late 1930s and early 1940s, the period I wrote about. The dress had a vintage feel, without being too kitschy. I had a pair of navy heels that matched the outfit perfectly. The dinner was only a few blocks away, which was the only reason I dared wear the shoes in the middle of winter in Michigan. Plus, Frank promised to make sure the sidewalk from my store to his restaurant was not only free of ice and snow but was well salted.
When I came out to the main living space, Jenna and her husband, Tony, were sitting at the large dining room table with their sons, Christopher and Zaq. The twins were dressed in dark jeans with white shirts and jackets. Despite the fact that the twins were dressed in similar items of clothing, their personal style showed through, distinguishing each boy. Christopher was serious with a preppy style, while Zaq was the techie and tended to be nerdier in the way he dressed. Tonight, that was obvious from the tweed jacket and bow tie Zaq wore. Christopher looked dapper with a solid-color suit jacket and tie. Only when I got close enough to hug him and took a good look at the tie, did I realize what I had initially mistaken for a paisley print was actually a skull and crossbones.
I hugged my nephew. “Nice tie.”
“Thanks, Aunt Sammy.” Christopher bent down to hug me.
“Don’t encourage him,” Jenna said.
Tony shook his head. He was a man of few words.
I looked around. “Where’s Dawson?”
Jenna tore a page from a catalog.
“What are you doing?” I walked over and picked up the page.
“You’ll thank me.” She smiled and ripped another page from the catalog I’d just recognized was one of my favorite stores.
“Not likely. I just got that catalog today and I haven’t even had a chance to look at it.” I picked up the other pages she’d ripped out and scattered across the table. “What are these?”
“Potential bridesmaid dresses.” She smiled. “I’m not wearing that pink crap you tried on today.” She cocked her head to the side and looked at another picture but must have decided against it and flipped to the next page. “Besides, we don’t have time to get any of those dresses altered and delivered in three weeks. We’re going to order nice dresses or suits that we won’t be ashamed to be seen in public with and can wear for more than a few hours.”
I picked up the pages again. “I’m sold, but how are you going to convince your mother?”
“Simple. I’ll just tell her I saw it in a fancy magazine and it’s the latest thing for the twenty-first century.” She folded the pulled pages and put them in her purse. “The boys will need interview suits, so they’ll be fine.” She looked at her sons.
Nana Jo came out of her bedroom dressed in a royal-blue pantsuit with rhinestones around the neck and cuffs. Her statuesque build and auburn hair looked stunning.
The boys whistled. “Looking good, Nana Jo.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” She twirled. “Now, let’s go so we can get this party started before your mother has a cow. She’s texted me at least four times, reminding me not to be late.”
I realized I’d left my cell phone in the bedroom and hurried to get it. Sure enough, I had several messages from Mom too.
We bundled up for the short walk down the street. Dawson looked as though he’d rather have a root canal but helped Jillian with her coat.
“Dawson, can I talk to you for a minute?” I stood back to allow the others to pass. “You all go on ahead. We’ll catch up.”
Jillian smiled and hurried downstairs with the others. Dawson lingered back, head down.
“Is anything bothering you?” I asked.
He shook his head but avoided looking at me.
I waited. Years as an English teacher in public schools taught me the power of silence and it didn’t fail me this time either.
“I just feel awkward. I mean, this is a family dinner and I’m not family. You’ve all been really kind to me, but I was thinking your mom might not want me there.”
I suspected this was the problem. Leon and I had never been blessed with children, but, in the months since Dawson moved into the garage loft, I’d come to view him as the son I’d never had. He’d never known his mother and his father was, last I heard, in prison. When Alex Alexander wasn’t in jail, he was an abusive alcoholic. I prayed for the right words to say. I looked at Snickers and Oreo, who’d been fed, let out to take care of business, and were waiting for me to leave and drop their dog treats on the floor, a ritual whenever I left. “Family is about more than blood and shared DNA.” I picked up Snickers. “I’ve had this dog since she was six weeks old. She’s fourteen and has a bad heart, but she’s still my baby. If anyone tried to hurt her, I’d . . .” I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat. “I don’t know what I’d do, but she’s my baby.” I looked up. “I may not have given birth to you, but I’ve come to look at you like a son. I care about you just as much as I care about Christopher and Zaq.” I looked at Dawson and saw his eyes fill with tears. “We consider you a part of our family. Families aren’t finite. When Jenna married Tony, he became a part of our family. When my mother marries Harold, our family will expand again, and each time someone special enters one of our lives, we expand and make room in our hearts. My mom invited you because she looks upon you as family. I can’t force you to come, but you are welcome.”
Tears streamed down his face, and I reached up and hugged him. We stood that way for several minutes until Snickers squirmed her way up and started to lick away Dawson’s tears. He made the mistake of laughing. When he opened his mouth, she stuck her tongue in.
“Eww, plagh, ick. She got me.” He tried to wipe the dog kiss out of his mouth.
I put Snickers down and reached in my purse for the bottle of Listerine spray I kept for just such situations as this.
He sprayed his tongue and Snickers made a deliberate maneuver to sit with her back to Dawson. He laughed. “I think I hurt her feelings.” He picked her up and gave her a hug, careful to keep his mouth well out of reach of her tongue.
For several seconds, she turned her head and refused his friendly overtures. Eventually, he found the right spot on her stomach and scratched while she closed her eyes and leaned back against his chest.
“Do you two need a moment alone?” Jillian joked from the top of the stairs.
Dawson put Snickers down and gave Oreo, who had been waiting patiently by the biscuit jar, a pat. He then reached into the jar and pulled out a couple of dog biscuits and tossed them down for the poodles. I picked up the remote and turned on the jazz station so they would have something to listen to while we were out, and we all made our exits while they were distracted with treats.
North Harbor Café was just down the street from my bookstore and the cold December night meant we wouldn’t linger to look in store windows along the way. Frank’s restaurant had a reputation for good food and drinks and business had been doing very well since he’d opened. The crowds standing and waiting for seats was a testament to its popularity with the locals.
We waved at the hostess as we passed on our way to the back of the restaurant and walked up the stairs. I glanced back at the looks we received from some of those waiting. While the upstairs of my building had long ago been converted into a loft apartment, Frank’s restaurant was not. One day, he planned to open the upstairs up for dining, but for now, it was closed off and only opened for private parties.
The rumble from a multitude of conversations and televisions mingled with laughter and the clang of plates and glasses followed us through the restaurant and wafted up the stairs. As we climbed, the noise from below grew fainter. The first-floor ceiling was high, so we had to climb quite a few steps to make it to the second floor. I’d accounted for the walk in heels from my store but had neglected to account for the trek up Mount Everest. In tennis shoes or flats, I could have made the climb like a pro. In three-inch heels it was an adventure. At the top of the stairs, I stopped to get my breath. I expected to be assaulted by the same noise level I’d encountered on the first floor. However, the silence hit me like a ton of bricks. The contrast between the noisy lower level and the funerary silence upstairs was jarring, and I felt disoriented. I looked around to get my bearings and reorient myself.
There were less than twenty people milling around. After less than a minute, it was clear there were two distinct camps. The Robertsons huddled on one side of the room. The Hamilton clan was on the other.
Dawson leaned close and whispered a quote from The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, one of my favorite movies, in my ear, “You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard.”
Frank Patterson walked up to me and handed me a glass of champagne and kissed me on the cheek. “I think you’re going to need this.”
I made eye contact with Jenna and looked the question, What’s going on? She shrugged and inclined her head toward Nana Jo.
I walked over to my grandmother. Nana Jo was certainly no wallflower and could talk to anyone about anything. I was shocked she hadn’t extended an olive branch and crossed the chasm that separated the two families. “What’s going on?”
She sipped her champagne. “I used to believe I could talk to anyone, but those tight-lipped, hoity-toity aristocratic wannabes can kiss my grits.” She tossed back the champagne and sauntered over to the drink table and picked up another glass.
I was so shocked I didn’t hear Emma’s approach until she spoke. “Boy, you guys missed the sparks. I thought Nana Jo was going to drop-kick Harold’s sister in-law.” She inclined her head slightly, and we glanced in that direction.
A middle-aged woman with dark eyes and dark hair in a black suit, with a matching fur coat and more jewelry than I’d seen on one person, stood near the window. She looked as though she was afraid to touch anything. Next to her stood a short, bald man with glasses. He was one of those nondescript men who blended in with their environment so well people never noticed them.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much jewelry before,” Dawson said.
“Check out the fur coat,” Jillian whispered.
“Full-length sable.” Emma nodded knowingly. “My great-aunt Vivian Anne has one. Although if I didn’t know better, I’d say this one is fake.”
“She probably needs it to cover up that stick up her—”
“Nana Jo!” I turned and stared at my grandmother, who merely shrugged. “What on earth happened?”
There was silence for several minutes and then Nana Jo reluctantly explained. “I waltzed over to the Ice-Princess over there and held out my hand and introduced myself.” She took a sip of her champagne.
I waited for the rest.
“Frosty looks down her nose, sniffs, and refuses to shake my hand.”
“Really?” I asked.
Emma and Nana Jo both nodded.
I stared openmouthed. “Maybe she . . .”
“Maybe she’s deaf, dumb, blind and was raised in a barn?” Nana Jo added.
I shook my head. “I can’t think of any good reason for bad manners.”
“There are no excuses for bad manners.” Nana Jo finished her champagne and exchanged her empty glass for mine and took a sip. “She looked down at me like Mr. Darcy looked at Mr. Collins in that movie you like to watch.”
“Pride and Prejudice,” Emma, Jillian, and I all said together.
“Whatever.” Nana Jo sipped my champagne. “I was madder than a wet hen and about to give that stuck-up ninny a piece of my mind when Harold and Grace strolled over. Harold was so excited and wanted to introduce Grace to his sister-in-law, Margaret.” She stared daggers at Margaret across the room. “That uppity witch had the nerve to sneer at Grace as though she’d just pooped on her best shoes.”
I was shocked by bad manners and poor breeding until I learned she’d snubbed my mom. “Really?” I could feel my eye start to twitch.
Jenna and the others had joined the group while Nana Jo was talking.
Jenna nodded. “That’s not all. So, Harold introduces Mom and Margaret stares down and says, ‘I thought you worked here,’ as though Mom was a servant or something.”
I raised an eyebrow, cocked my head to the side, and stared openly at the enemy. It was one thing for Jenna and me to mock our mother. We were entitled, but how dare this pretentious upstart think she was going to do anything to ruin my mother’s happiness.
“Who’s the man?” I asked.
“What man?” Nana Jo didn’t even bother to look. “The marshmallow is Harold’s brother, Oscar.”
I turned to Frank. “Would you get me another glass of champagne, please.”
He looked warily at me.
My brother-in-law, Tony, patted him on the back. “I’ve seen that look before. When a Hamilton woman gives you the look Sam just gave you, it’s best to walk away. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Just walk away.”
Frank started to speak, but Tony shook his head. “It’s best not to know. Plausible deniability.”
Frank nodded knowingly. Christopher and Zaq nodded and the four men walked away.
I glanced at my mom, who was standing near the center of the room. She looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment. Harold too looked as though he would weep. He petted and attended to my mother.
Jenna leaned close. “Okay, what’s the plan?”
I looked at my sister. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t give me that. I know my sister. When you start enunciating each and every syllable and you get that look in your eye, I know something’s up and you have a plan. Now, spill it.”
I shrugged. “No plan. Not yet anyway.” I sighed. “Let’s just provide as much support to Mom as we possibly can and get through this.”
Everyone nodded and we walked over to where my mom and Harold were to provide a wall of love and support.
Jenna held back and whispered in my ear, “So, we wait until it’s over and then we slash her tires, right?”
I shook my head. “Nope. We wait until it’s over and then we let Nana Jo shoot her. She can claim she thought it was a bear.”
I walked over to the Ice Princess and introduced myself. “Hello, I understand you’re Harold’s sister-in-law.” I emphasized the in law. She looked as though she didn’t appreciate the reminder she wasn’t a direct descendent of the wealthy Robertson family. Score one for our side.
She stared down her nose at me, but I stood tall and straight and stared back. “Since we’re going to be related, albeit by marriage, I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Samantha Washington. Grace Hamilton is my mother.” I turned to my sister. “This is my sister, Jenna Rutherford.”
Frank, Tony, and the twins walked over. Frank handed me a glass of champagne.
I took a sip. “And this is her husband, Tony. They’re both attorneys.” I didn’t bother to wait for her to acknowledge them but continued on with my introductions. “These are Jenna and Tony’s sons, Christopher and Zaq.”
The boys bowed.
“We’re so proud of them. They’re both on the dean’s list at Jesus and Mary University.”
JAMU was to the Midwest what Harvard and Yale were to the East Coast. In fact, in some polls, JAMU actually ranked higher than the two prestigious Ivy League schools.
I turned to Dawson. “This is Dawson Alexander, he’s the quarterback for the MISU football team and like a son to me.”
Dawson bowed respectfully.
“Frank Patterson is the owner of this establishment and a very good friend.” I noticed, with each introduction, my words became more clipped and my tone dropped. Unlike most people, when I was angry, I tended to get very quiet and enunciated more.
Frank inclined his head. “My pleasure.”
“I think you’ve already met my grandmother, Josephine Thomas.”
Nana Jo glared.
“Nana Jo recently returned from a performance in New York.” I leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “She’s a bit of a local celebrity.”
Margaret’s expression became shocked as she nodded to Nana Jo.
I looked around. “I can’t forget our dear friends, Jillian Clark and Emma Lee. Jillian is a student at MISU. She sings, dances, and was just offered an internship with the Bolshoi Ballet for the summer.”
Jillian blushed but stood tall and straight.
“And Emma Lee is a brilliant premed student at MISU. She comes from a long line of doctors.” I turned to Emma. Did you say there’s been a doctor in every generation of your family for two hundred years or three hundred?”
Emma smiled. “Actually, it’s four hundred.”
“Of course, she can trace her family lineage back to the Mayflower.” I looked around. “I think that’s everyone.” I stared at Oscar. “It’s obvious you’re Harold’s brother. I can see the family resemblance.”
He smiled and nodded but didn’t say anything.
I turned to Margaret. “And you are?”
She hesitated and a flush rose up Margaret’s neck and left her skin blotchy.
“I’ve heard so much about southern charm. You are from the South, aren’t you?” I added.
She gave a false nasally laugh. “Well, yes. Yes, I am. I’m from a small town in Virginia. I doubt you’ve heard of it. Few people have.”
“Try me,” I said.
She hesitated a few seconds.
“Sam used to be a teacher before she retired to start her own business,” Jenna said.
Margaret plastered on a fake smile. “Lexington. I’m from Lexington.”
“Lexington is where Washington and Lee University is. My uncle’s the president of the university,” Emma said with enthusiasm.
I smiled. “Emma Lee, you know, descendant of General Robert E. Lee . . . Washington and Lee.”
Emma laughed. “Well, we don’t talk about that much, other than to mention how grateful we are he wasn’t successful.”
Harold walked over to our group. “Aren’t you a relative of General Robert E. Lee too?”
Margaret laughed deprecatingly and fanned herself. “A distant relative . . . a very distant relative.”
Harold muttered, “I could have sworn you said you were a descendant.” He waited for an explanation, but none came.
* * *
Eventually, dinner arrived and we sat down to eat. Margaret barely said a word throughout the entire meal. However, we kept up a steady stream of conversation and ignored her. Mom no longer looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment, and we were on cruise mode. Engagement cake and coffee and we could get out of here. I breathed a sigh of relief too soon.
Margaret looked at her watch and leaned across the table. “What plans have you made for the wedding?”
Mom fluttered her hands. “Well, we haven’t nailed down our exact plans yet.”
Margaret gasped. “Not nailed down your plans? But, I thought I understood you are getting married on Christmas Eve.”
“We are getting married on Christmas Eve.” Harold patted Mom’s hand. “There are a lot of decisions to be made, but we’ve picked the cake and are close to picking the venue.”
“Dear me.” Margaret tsked. “I was afraid of this. The longer you wait, the less likely you are to get the best venues.” She glanced around the room as though to say this was clearly not the best, and I had reached my fill when it came to swallowing my words.
“Are you implying there’s something wrong with North Harbor Café?” I folded my napkin and stared at her. “Because if you are, I’m about two seconds from—”
No one got to hear what I was two seconds away from doing because, at that moment, a whirlwind came up the stairs wearing three-inch heels and a white suit with a white mink coat and matching hat. When she reached the top step, she stood for dramatic effect, shrugged out of her coat, tossed it over the railing, and announced, “No fear, Lydia Lighthouse is here.”
We stared at the figure, but before we could figure out what on earth a Lydia Lighthouse was, Margaret hopped up from her seat. “Lydia, darling.” She hurried over to the woman and the two air-kissed. Then Margaret turned to face the group. “When I heard my brother-in-law was planning to get married in a few weeks, I knew I’d find the perfect wedding present.” She turned to the white clad figure. “Lydia Lighthouse is the wedding planner for the elite. She’s traveled all over the world and will be able to insure all of the right people are invited and the wedding will be in the society pages and best magazines.” She paused as though waiting for applause. None came.
Lydia Lighthouse was my mom’s height, slightly over five feet, but not by much. She was as thin as a rail and looked to be in her early fifties.
Nana Jo leaned close to me. “She’s got on more makeup than a five-dollar hooker.”
Lydia Lighthouse definitely wore a great deal of makeup and her false eyelashes were so long, it looked as though she had caterpillars on her eyelids. She had blue eyes, fair, pale skin, and her hair was bright red; she wore it pulled back under her mink cap. Lydia Lighthouse waltzed across the room, placed a white clutch handbag on the table, and pulled out a long cigarette holder and gold lighter.
“Is that a real cigarette?” I was stunned. It had been such a long time since I’d been around anyone who smoked a real cigarette, let alone inside a restaurant.
“Sure is.” Nana Jo grinned.
Frank walked over to Lydia Lighthouse. He discretely whispered, but he might as well have saved his breath.
Lydia stared at him as though he’d just landed from an alien spaceship. “What do you mean I can’t smoke inside? What kind of establishment is this?”
Frank gritted his teeth. “It’s actually illegal to smoke inside restaurants in this state.”
Lydia made an elaborate motion of flinging her lighter down. She huffed and then collected herself and plastered on a smile. “Oh, well, when in Rome.” She smiled. “Would you please get me a glass of champagne,” she ordered rather than asked.
Frank hesitated for a moment but smiled and gestured to one of the waitstaff, who promptly brought the whirlwind a drink.
Unlit cigarette dangling from one hand and glass of champagne in the other, the whirlwind stood at the head of the table. “A toast.”
Everyone stood and raised their glasses.
“To the happy couple, may they enjoy many years of wedded bliss.” Lydia raised her glass.
We all raised our glasses and toasted Mom and Harold.
Lydia sipped her champagne.
“Who the hell are you?” Nana Jo asked the question that was dancing around inside all of our heads.
Lydia looked up in surprise. “I thought I’d introduced myself.” She smiled and spoke loud and very slowly as though Nana Jo was hard of hearing and losing her faculties. “I’m Lydia Lighthouse.”
Nana Jo narrowed her eyes and stared. “I heard you the first time you gave that ridiculous name. What I mean is why are you here? This is a private party. Who invited you?”
Lydia’s smile froze and her icy blue eyes grew as cold as Lake Michigan right before a storm.
Margaret must have noticed the temperature drop and a quick headcount had to tell her she was drastically outnumbered if a brawl started. She hurried to intervene. “I was just explaining that Lydia Lighthouse is the premiere wedding planner in the country and she’s agreed to help plan Grace and Harold’s wedding.”
You could have heard a cricket chirp in the silence that followed.
“Now, who is the bride?” Lydia looked around the room. Her gaze rested on Emma and Zaq and her brow furrowed. “I always tell my couples how important breeding and pedigree are.”
Emma colored and Zaq started to stand, but Emma restrained him. His eyes were stormy and he looked ready to explode.
I could see Jenna bristling. However, Lydia continued, oblivious to how closely she was to being tossed out on her ear. “I breed Yorkies. You have to be really careful of the bitch because you never know what you’ll get in the end.” She laughed.
Nana Jo stood. “What in the name of God are you talking about, and you’d best be careful because you’re pretty close to getting stabbed.” Nana Jo fingered her knife.
Lydia looked at Nana Jo, puzzled. “I was talking about the importance of breeding. Weddings are a union. What you put into this union will determine what you get out of it.” She stared at Margaret, who looked embarrassed and blushed. “For example, my entire family is full of blue-eyed redheads with a fiery temper. Me, my brother, my husband, my parents, my grandparents—nothing but redheads. So, you always know what you’re getting.” She laughed, but when no one joined in, she sighed. “However, when you combine a loving, generous man and a sweet, caring woman, you will have a union that overflows with love and is able to survive anything.”
Nana Jo sat down and muttered something that sounded like “crazy witch.”
“Who’s the bride?” Lydia looked around.
Mom raised a tentative hand. “I am.”
Lydia waltzed over to my mother. “You just leave everything to Lydia. I’ll make sure your wedding is the event North Harbor, Michigan, will never forget.”