A Merry Christmas Wedding Mystery, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #4 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series)

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “If all else fails, grab her by the scruff of the neck and drag her back in here,” Jack whispered as I passed. He gave me a thumbs-up and then sidled over to Max who was speaking to him.

  “Come join us, Jack, while we wait for Georgie to do her magic. Mara can tell us what’s on the menu for lunch.”

  Circus music was playing in my head as I turned the corner and headed down the corridor. Half a dozen doors lined the hallway. Most had nameplates or blank spots for nameplates, but one of them was covered entirely in a poster bearing a life-size picture of the star. I knocked, lightly, on the door. No response, so I rapped harder on that door.

  3 The Talent

  “Who is it?” A voice said just as I turned away in the hope that I was off the hook. No talent, no wrangling.

  “Georgie Shaw.”

  “Who?”

  “Georgie Shaw. I’d like a moment of your time, please.” As soon as I uttered those words, the door swung open. There, in all her glory, stood “the talent.” Hollywood’s 20-something superstar, Brigit Margolis, appeared annoyed. I detected no sign of concern about holding up a multimillion dollar movie production.

  “You’d like a moment of my time, would you?” she asked, looking me up and down. “Are you someone, my agent, hired to teach me to speak old maid?”

  I felt like turning on my heels and stomping off. I’d had more than my share of annoyances for the day. Time was of the essence, as they say, so I stood my ground. The manager part of me understood the plight Max and his crew were facing. Even after filming was complete, the studio would need every minute they had left to get it ready for release as the summer blockbuster Max hoped it would become. Maybe she was too young and inexperienced to know that.

  “No. Max asked me to check on you—to make sure you’re alright. He said you left the set in a hurry and he’s concerned that you’re indisposed.”

  “Indisposed? Really? You go around saying stuff like that? Are you an actress in one of those Downton Abbey shows?”

  In all honesty, I had chosen that word “indisposed” realizing it might irk her. She succeeded in irritating me back. I fought for control, remembering my promise to Jack not to resort to any childish outbursts. Someone in the room needed to act like an adult. Before I could speak again, the princesses’ phone rang.

  “Where are you? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago. Thanks to your tardiness, I remain indisposed, and Max has sent the Vice Principal after me,” she said in a haughty tone as she smirked at me. “Hurry up, please?”

  At least she said please, I thought. My dislike for this young woman was growing by the moment. The bratty look on her faced softened a bit as whoever was on the other end of that phone must have responded appropriately to her command to hurry up. I gave her the once over as she had done to me moments before.

  She did look the part of the princess bride. Brigit was the spitting image of the cartoon figure of Christiana, Tristan’s love interest in The Lonely Swan Prince. A willowy blond waif with perfect features, bright blue eyes, and blinding white capped teeth, even the smirk, seemed perky. A few more years, though, and the bitter, cynical personality would completely spoil the angelic cast to her face. Sooner rather than later, depending on what she had in that glass she held. I could smell alcohol when she spoke. Drinking would take a toll on her voice, too. A shame since that had also been labeled angelic by some.

  It was going to take some acting skills, however, for her to play the humble daughter of a toymaker. In the story, a kind-hearted, innocent commoner, Christiana, asks her father to put the lonely prince to work believing he’s a down on his luck townsman. Of course, she’s soon smitten and has no idea the young man is, in fact, the Swan Prince who’s gone into hiding to avoid marrying a woman he does not love. Not just any woman, either, but the beautiful, cunning Black Swan Queen. A skilled sorceress, only true love can prevail against her dark arts. A classic fairy tale of two women pitted against each other—one evil, the other innocent. Not such an easy distinction to make in the real world.

  Suddenly, as if my thoughts had been a premonition, an ugly look stole over Brigit’s face. Gone was any semblance of anything angelic. She took a step toward me and hurled that phone. It whizzed past my head, out into the hall and barely missed a woman wearing a stunning white silky dress.

  “Aha! Caught you! You're snooping, again. The only thing she’s queen of around here is gossip,” Brigit snapped.

  I was transfixed. Not by the eruption of violence from the spoiled young actress, but by the dress worn by the woman she had targeted. It was almost exactly what I had imagined as my wedding dress. Narrow straps supported the sweetheart neckline with a fitted bodice. A beautiful lace inset cinched the waist, and then the skirt gradually opened wider as it draped to the floor. Jennifer would have said it was more trumpet than sheath in its styling. That didn’t matter to me.

  I was so distracted by her dress that I hardly noticed that she had decided to pick up that phone. As she turned around, I got a look at the back of the dress. Way too much was exposed as it dipped to her waist, with nothing but a couple of silver strands draped across her back. Imogene could fix that quickly. My eyes continued to follow the elegant sweep of the dress as it reached the floor, where the train was inset with more lace.

  “Missed me,” was all the beautiful woman said as she handed that phone to me. Black hair made her pale skin look like porcelain, especially set off by her red lips and flashing green eyes. I recognized her instantly as Gloria Chamberlain, star of stage and screen. She’d just ended an extended run on Broadway that had brought her lots of acclaim.

  “Get out of here you, old witch!” Brigit flew past me and slammed the door to her dressing room in the woman’s face. I was startled by the sound of that door slamming. “Perfect casting when they chose her to play the cougar chasing Tristan. It’d take sorcery to get any prince to choose her over Christiana.”

  As that door slammed shut, I was struck speechless, once again. Not by the noise, but by the sight of another dress. This one was clearly “the dress.” A version of the one that Imogene was promoting for me to wear. Puff sleeves and a scoop neck set off a form-fitting bodice of sheer fabric encrusted with crystals. Knowing Max as I did, I presumed those were Swarovski crystals. The classic ball gown that you’d expect to see on any Marvelous Marley World princess sported an enormous skirt that bloomed from the tiny waistline. Made of what looked like tulle over taffeta or satin, more crystals were placed at gathers of fabric and scattered about elsewhere on that skirt.

  “There’s no hoop!” I exclaimed as I examined that dress thoroughly and my eye dropped to the floor.

  “You bet there’s no hoop. I threatened to cut that thing off unless Imogene made me a new dress.” Brigit stepped forward and lifted a corner of that skirt. “I told her she didn’t need stupid hoops or steel rings. A petticoat makes the dress puffy enough.”

  Aha, I thought. I’ll bet Imogene has that first version hanging around just waiting for some other bride to wear. It wasn’t going to be me. What was she thinking? At 5’6,” and several sizes larger than the petite princess, Imogene would have had to alter it so much for me she might as well have started over again anyway. “You won’t get any argument about that from me. I don’t do puffy.”

  That got a smile from the surly princess bride. “It weighs a ton with all of those crystals sewn into the bodice and the skirt. I know Max wants to shoot the waltz scene in the ballroom today, but I need more practice to move the right way on camera in that dress. It would have been worse if I hadn’t insisted Imogene remove the steel hoops. I tried to tell Nelson I need another afternoon to learn how to waltz in it properly, but he thinks he knows better. Those guys ought to try waltzing in a suit of armor.” That made me laugh.

  “That sounds reasonable to me. Max will understand even if Nelson doesn’t. Once you figure out how to make that dress work, it’s going to be dynamite on film. When you move, it’s going to pick up the ligh
t and sparkle like magic, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly. If Imogene had delivered the dress a couple of days earlier as she promised, we could have stayed on schedule. She says I need an attitude adjustment, but her attitude could use some work, too, if you ask me.”

  “I won’t disagree with you entirely. Maybe something's going on for Imogene. She’s been with Marvelous Marley World a long time. As you can see from looking at that dress, she is a remarkable designer.”

  “Yes, and she has way more credibility than I have when I ask for changes. I don’t like it when people blow me off!”

  “Well, Max may not like it, but I’m going to tell him that you need the afternoon. Your request seems reasonable to me.”

  “Let the she-beast shoot her scene. Her dress is ready. All she’s got to do is slither around in it until she sits down at a piano and pretends to play. The Black Swan Queen is not my biggest fan either.”

  “Throwing objects at people isn’t the best way to win friends or to be taken seriously.”

  “People expect me to be immature, shallow, and snarky. I give them what they expect.”

  “Why? You’re oozing talent—although drinking your lunch isn’t the best way to preserve it. Your talent must give you clout.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? It’s amazing what an older, male agent can do for you. On the set, though, I get treated like a child. Worse, even! Max and Nelson were talking as if I wasn’t even in the room, so I left.”

  “I hear you. Max can be hard to handle. In fact, I came over here expecting to tangle with him myself today. From what I gather, he and Nelson just want to know how to use the rest of the day. Max is anxious about staying on schedule.”

  “We had blocked out the wedding scene, and I managed to get through practice with that clumsy oaf Tristan. He’s the one who needs more practice. The doofus might have stepped on my feet less often if he hadn’t kept staring at his main squeeze.”

  “It sounds like there’s no point in practicing in that dress all alone. I’ll tell Max that Christiana needs her Tristan to join in on the session with her this afternoon.” Brigit shrugged her shoulders as though it didn’t make any difference to her. “Uh, I know Tristan’s your one true love onscreen. You don’t have a thing for him off screen, do you?”

  “Oh heck no. Off screen, my dance card is full, Georgie.”

  “Now who sounds like she walked off the set of a Masterpiece Theater production?” That got a giggle from Brigit. “Do you want to come have lunch with me? You might get to see me and Max go at it.” I did the fisticuffs thing I had done earlier. “I promised my main squeeze not to shake my fists in the man’s face, but I’m going to have to get rough if he doesn’t listen to what you have to say.”

  “That does sound tempting, but lunch is on its way. I’d love to see someone smack Max Marley around. I’m on a strict diet so I can continue to fit into that dress after finally getting Imogene to change it. She might kill me if I ask her to alter it again.”

  “I doubt that, but there’s no need to test your theory.” Just then I noticed a photo of a large cat. “That looks like Marmalade!”

  “Yeah, my favorite cat of all time. Ginger always brings me luck.”

  “Why were you upset about having them on set?”

  “I love cats, but I’m allergic. Mara was supposed to tell me when they’d be around so I could take my meds ahead of time. Not even the Production Assistants take me seriously!”

  “It’s none of my business, but is that why you let the cats out of their cages?”

  “What? I wouldn’t do that! Cats aren’t good with change or being in strange places. It must be hard enough for the poor things to be in a noisy, unfamiliar setting.”

  “You are so right about that. It was a week before my new baby girl made herself at home, see?” I pulled my phone from the pocket of the jacket I wore. I showed her several pictures of my little, blue-eyed Siamese, Ella. Jack had given me the sweet little kitten as a gift when he proposed.

  “Aw, she’s adorable. Who’s that?” She pointed to the big handsome Siamese seated next to Ella in those photos. “Miles, her new best friend,” I replied.

  “Ella and Miles, huh? You’re a jazz fan, aren’t you?”

  “Yes! Ella Fitzgerald and Miles Davis are only two of my favorites.” Her eyes sparkled as we chatted for a few minutes about cats and jazz. I had inadvertently stumbled upon two subjects dear to her heart, apparently. I might have been in that dressing room longer if our conversation hadn’t been interrupted by a phone call.

  “I’ll let you take that,” I said. “Nice talking to you, Brigit.” To my surprise, she stepped forward and clasped me in a hug, the little topknot on her head tickling my face as I hugged her back. When her phone rang again, she let go. I reached behind me, feeling for the door handle, pausing to catch her eye with a goodbye wave.

  “Hello,” she said. “Yes, this is Brigit Margolis. Yes. Are you sure?” Brigit gulped. “Can we do another test? Okay, okay. Monday morning’s fine. Nine-thirty. Got it.” She hung up the phone, and her thumbs began flying as she sent a text message. Her brow was furrowed in worry. She bit her bottom lip.

  When she looked up, and we made eye contact, I had the door open. Marmalade brushed past me and darted into her room. I took a step toward the huge yellow-orange cat. Brigit, who was back on her phone again, covered the phone with one hand and spoke, “It’s okay. I’ll bring the big guy out with me later.” Marmalade brushed against her legs.

  “Okay.” I waved as I backed out into the hall. She gave me a little wave in return as she picked up that glass she had been drinking from earlier and dumped the contents into a potted plant.

  Hmm, why was that phone call so distressing? I wondered, dodging a guy pushing a coffee cart in the corridor outside Brigit’s room. Maybe there was more than alcohol in that glass. Did “another test” mean drug test and more trouble for the actress?

  4 The Puppet Master

  When I reached the spot where I had left Max and the others twenty minutes before, there was no one there. I followed the murmur of voices and soon picked up a blend of aromas that made my mouth water. Caught up in all the drama about wedding dresses and a troubled young actress, I had lost track of the fact that I was hungry.

  “Here comes the bride,” Max said. “The detective here was about to go see if the two brides had decided to make a run for it like Thelma and Louise.” Jack looked up and shook his head no.

  “He’s making that up, Georgie.” Turning to Max, he added, “I already got her to promise not to take off without me. Georgie is a woman of her word.”

  “So she is,” Max agreed.

  “Good grief, I wasn’t that long. You wanted me to find out what’s up with Brigit, and I did. You don’t do that in two minutes.”

  “Sit down and have lunch with us,” Jack said, patting the chair next to him. “We’re sampling the new dishes you and your team added to the menu to woo potential investors in New Arcadia.”

  I could tell from the linens, china, and fresh flowers, that our caterers were on the job. It was quite lovely even in such an industrial-looking hangar-like space. The mouth-watering dishes on the table were beautiful, too.

  “They look delicious. I love the idea of being able to try more than one main course with these scaled-down portions.” That was the “old witch” speaking from where she sat with Max and Jack and half a dozen other people around the long table that had been set up in a large, open area. Gloria was no longer in “the” dress, but wearing a lovely silk robe that sported a vintage Chinese dragon design.

  On the table in front of her was a white rectangular plate with small servings of turkey over dressing, medallions of beef, and salmon. I had not imagined that combo would pop up on the same plate but to each her own. Even odder, though, was the fact that she had separated each portion of food with a savory, herby bread stick. I had heard that some people want to make sure their food didn’t touch. I hadn’t consider
ed that challenge when proposing to offer guests a selection of small entrees on a single plate.

  “Georgie, the roasted asparagus wrapped in prosciutto is unbelievable. The cheese puffs cut into Christmas shapes are fantastic too. Perfect with the spicy tomato soup in shot glasses.” That was Mara speaking in between bites as she shoved food into her mouth.

  “Brigit made the wrong decision to ditch us today,” Nelson added. “The tiny cheese balls rolled in cranberry and nuts are my favorites—so far.” I shifted from one foot to the other, trying to decide whether to sit down. Brigit worried me. Should I go back? I wondered.

  “Is all this praise getting to you, Georgie?” Jack knows I’m not always comfortable with compliments. A control issue maybe. If you acknowledge compliments, you also open yourself up to criticism. Food is so much a matter of personal taste that the same dish rarely works for everyone. On the other hand, you’re no good as a chef if folks don’t enjoy the food. Since Jack had pointed out my discomfort, I had tried to become more gracious about acknowledging kind words from others.

  “Your feedback is welcome, so thank you,” I said as I stood there still feeling uneasy. There had been something in that hug from Brigit that had made me hesitate to let her go. Worse, that second phone call had scared her.

  “Come on, sit down next to me. I saved you a seat. I already had the catering staff bring you the Caprese appetizer you love. See? Her appetizer is one of the menu items for our wedding reception—Georgie’s choice. Along with the asparagus wrapped in prosciutto—my choice. If it’s true that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, I never stood a chance.”

  That did it. I settled in next to Jack and tried to forget my uneasiness about Brigit. I took out my anxiety on one of those breadsticks, chomping on it.

  Why no aroma of fresh coffee? My restless mind nagged as I recalled that near-collision with the guy wheeling the coffee cart. The scent rising from the cup being poured for me now was intoxicating. What an unpleasant man, I thought. He hadn’t spoken but glared as he stopped that cart to avoid hitting me. Fortunately, there wasn’t much on that cart except for what looked like a stack of table linens. No spilled coffee or jumbled cups and saucers or anything like that to anger him.