by Adrianne Lee
The only plans I knew we had were X-rated and did not involve food. Unless we got creative. The thought flushed heat through me. But as disappointment moved across Seth’s face like a gray cloud, my inner warmth chilled. He sighed, regretful. “Can I get a rain check, Susan? I’ve got film to put together for WPD and they need it before morning.”
“Of course. Anytime, Seth. You’re always welcome.” She left us alone.
“Will you also give me a rain check, Blessing?” He didn’t need to say for what. The smoldering in his eyes left no room for doubt but doubled my own disappointment.
“I’m holding you to it.”
His sexy grin appeared, and longing raced through me as he planted a chaste kiss on my lips. I warned him, “If you start that again, I guarantee you’ll be using that rain check here and now.”
“Don’t tempt me, woman.” But I could see that I had tempted him, and my disappointment flew away like a bird heading south for the winter. He grazed his hand down my cheek. “God, I want to stay more than I can say, Blessing, but I’m leaving. When we finally do get together, it won’t be rushed. I intend to take my time and for you to enjoy every second of it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Crayola-blond hair, hot-pink dress, and bubbling enthusiasm. Zelda Love was like a party favor. Sweet. Colorful. Merry. Recently wed to Meg’s father, Big Finn Reilly, Zelda retained that honeymoon glow, her happiness spilling over like a chocolate fountain as she welcomed us into her compact shop. “Come in, come in.”
We’d arrived armed with giant latte cups of our individual choosing from Pre-Wedding Jitters. Jenny was also toting an electronic tablet, for note taking, I guessed. Meg had a shoe box under one arm, and I had a head full of stress. I’d spent a restless night dreaming of weddings, my own wedding in particular, an old dream that I hadn’t had since moving to Los Angeles but one that had occurred pretty regularly throughout my teens. Starting when I’d first fallen for Seth in my impressionable, romantic youth. It seemed a few hot, sexy kisses shared with that man were all it took to rouse long-forgotten fantasies.
“Sit anywhere,” Zelda said, directing us around a silk screen that divided what had once served as the living and dining rooms of this converted, century-old, shotgun-style home. She lifted a catalogue from the round table that was positioned directly beneath an antique crystal chandelier. Next to her steaming mug of coffee, she set a ringed binder with Meg and Troy lettered on the cover, then sat, her back to the only window.
“Call me old school if you want for using a pen and paper to keep my notes,” Zelda said, “but one computer crash that wiped out every speck of information I’d gathered on three weddings taught me a lesson. Always keep a hardcopy.”
I flashed back to the binder she’d had for Meg’s wedding to Peter. In the last couple of days before the ceremony, it had resembled a sandwich with its stuffing trying to escape. Every contingency planned for… except the one that no one had foreseen. Murder. Proof that no plan is foolproof.
“Where do we start?” Jenny asked, breaking into my dark thoughts.
“I like to start with a theme,” Zelda said, plunging ahead. “What kind of wedding does the happy couple want? Indoor or outdoor? Formal church, informal garden, beach, barn, or backyard? Is it a holiday wedding? If so, which one? Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, Fourth of July, Halloween? Even St. Patrick’s Day. Once I know the theme, then we can move on to selecting the appropriate gown, flowers, food, invitations, et cetera.”
Jenny’s fingers flew across the virtual keyboard on her electronic tablet as Zelda spoke.
“Meg, honey,” Zelda said, “have you and Troy discussed any of that yet?”
Meg sat as stiff as one of the mannequins in the bridal shop window, her face unreadable. And I’m usually pretty good at reading her. Not today. Sure, the redness remaining in her big green eyes bespoke of a night spent crying, but Meg was a wizard with hair and makeup. Any other signs of distress had been powdered, fluffed, and glossed away.
Her silence concerned me. “Meg?”
“We don’t have a theme. Or a date.” Meg’s sigh sounded like a resigned moan. She shoved the shoe box into the middle of the table and flipped off the lid. “But I want the wedding to work with these.”
We all leaned forward, peering into the box as Meg gingerly edged aside a layer of creamy tissue paper. Nestled inside were five-inch, bloodred, satin high heels with flat bows across the toes. A collective “aah” echoed through the room. I felt an odd little jolt. I should’ve recognized that box. I’d been with Meg the day she bought these shoes. It was shortly after we’d moved to Los Angeles, where we’d discovered everything cost more than we’d planned on. Money was so tight that we’d taken to shopping at a certain vintage clothing store. More of a thrift shop, in my opinion.
Meg had noticed the heels right off, remarking how brand-new they appeared to be. The sales clerk recognized an easy mark when she heard one. She scooted to our sides, regaling us in the tale of the crimson slippers. She claimed the heels were worn only once by a young starlet attending her first Oscars award night. The starlet had won Best Actress that year. The next morning, she awoke to find the world at her feet, her agent’s phone ringing off the hook, and incredible roles being offered. Every actor’s dream come true. But within the month, the starlet gave up her career and ran off with her Prince Charming. A real prince.
I’d watched Meg swallowing the story like a hungry salmon taking bait. Hook, line, and sinker. Coming off the breakup with Troy, Meg was in a vulnerable place. She was touched by the story and by the possibility that her own prince would one day sweep her off her feet and carry her away. I’d tried talking her out of the purchase, pleading for the sake of our budget. She went ahead and tried on the shoes anyway. They fit her like gloves, of course. Meg danced in a circle, laughing, declaring that those satin heels were meant for her. I’d thought her impulsive. Insane. Infuriating. Especially since she’d never worn them. But as I stared at those crimson slippers now, something strange and wonderful reduced my cynical side to a small black lump.
“Can you do that?” Meg asked Zelda. “Build a wedding plan around these heels?”
“Absolutely,” Zelda enthused, balancing one shoe on her palm as if it were a precious stone. “There’s something magical about these, isn’t there? Wherever did you find them?”
Meg told the story as I watched the light in her eyes dancing. She seemed much happier today than yesterday. Was she putting on a show for her new stepmother and Jenny? Or did this mean she’d decided to ignore the curse and accept that Troy was the Prince Charming she longed for?
“Indoors or outdoors?” Zelda asked.
“Definitely indoors. In a church,” Meg said. “I don’t want a repeat of anything we’d planned for the other—”
“No. Of course not,” Zelda interrupted, touching her stepdaughter’s hand lovingly. “This is going to be a very happy wedding. And a joyous union.” The tissue paper crackled as she gently placed the high heel into the box beside its mate, then took up a pen and jotted notes into her ringed notebook. “And I expect everyone in town will want to be there, so the big church.”
“Sure,” Meg said, sounding like she meant “whatever.”
“I’m having an outdoor wedding,” Jenny said softly, as if to herself, but there was envy in her eyes as they steadied on Meg. “In Brad’s parents’ backyard.”
I frowned. While that might seem an ideal setting in which to wed for many people, I guessed from her tone that Jenny had had something else in mind. Like her own church wedding. I hadn’t met her future in-laws, but I was getting a less-than-favorable impression of them. I felt sorry for Jenny. She seemed easily persuaded, unable to stand up to anyone stronger willed than herself. A sure target for bullies.
“Do you have a theme?” Zelda asked Jenny.
“Cheap,” Jenny said. “We’re doing most everything ourselves. Fixing the food. Flowers from the garden.”
A d
ress she didn’t want to wear.
“DIY weddings can be lovely, dear,” Zelda said, smiling sweetly, offering Jenny hope. “It’s who you’re marrying, not how you get married, that counts.”
“How could you say that?” Jenny looked taken aback. “You’re a wedding planner. Don’t you believe your customers should have the most elaborate wedding they can afford?”
Zelda didn’t take offense. Not that Jenny had meant to be rude. She seemed more shocked by the wedding planner’s suggestion than anything else. Zelda laughed. “Well, dear, I don’t mind a big commission, but it’s not about the size of your bank account. I work with brides on every kind of budget. I try to make even the most inexpensive wedding as special as the elaborate ones.”
“So, Meg,” I jumped in, purposefully changing the subject, “what kind of dress are you thinking to wear with these incredible heels?”
“Definitely not a ball gown.” The gown she’d chosen for her marriage to Peter had been a peachy, full-skirted, Cinderella dress. I would never forget how beautiful she’d looked before the ceremony started or how horrible once it had all gone wrong. She sighed. “Maybe a tea length, and this time I want white. Do you have anything like that on the sales racks?”
Absolutely. And she knew it. She’d helped me organize those racks only a few days ago. I narrowed my eyes. Why had she asked me that? Did she now intend to go ahead with the marriage? Had she given up worrying about the curse? Or was it still messing with her emotions? “Have you set a date yet?”
“I just said we haven’t.” The hard gaze she returned spoke louder than words. It was what I’d feared. She was going through the motions of planning this wedding, probably for Zelda’s sake and likely to keep her father from learning how unhinged she was about the curse. Crap. Troy was probably freaking out, wishing he’d given her a different engagement ring. Because Meg’s mind was set. Unless or until Granny O’Malley’s ruby ring was found and on her finger, she wasn’t getting married. Crimson slippers or no crimson slippers.
* * *
I dragged Meg and Jenny out of Zelda’s and down the street to the Ring Bearer. When I say dragged, I mean it was like taking a couple of cats for a walk. If I’d had them on leashes, they’d have pulled my arms in opposite directions, out of their sockets.
Meg balked, scowling. “I really don’t want to go into that shop.”
“Me neither. I already have an engagement ring,” Jenny said, flashing a modest cut diamond set in gold. “And I thought Meg did, too. Isn’t your ring getting resized or something?”
Meg and I blanched in unison. We weren’t supposed to know what was stolen from the jewelry store. And here we stood, wearing matching guilty expressions. Somehow we had to keep from letting it slip to Jenny that Meg’s ring had been swiped. I blurted, “Troy wanted her to look at wedding rings.”
“Get us matching ones,” Meg said, picking up where I’d left off.
I didn’t advocate lying, but sometimes, as a secret sleuth, one had to. I was aware of time slipping away; the air losing its morning chill, the increase in traffic, consumers coming into town, businesses preparing to start another expo day. We’d need to get to the bridal shop very soon. I stopped, hands on hips. I’d hoped to avoid telling them this, but I could see now that it was inevitable. I hadn’t thought it out clearly enough. I needed their help. And cooperation. That meant Jenny would need to be told what I was doing, if not why. “Please indulge me. I want you two to distract Mr. Ring so that I can drill the temporary clerk for details of the robbery.”
“Why?” Jenny asked, shying away from me.
Meg glared. “She’s playing Sherlock again.”
Jenny’s gaze bounced between me and Meg. “Who’s Sherlock?”
“Holmes,” Meg said, “the detective.”
The leery confusion remained in Jenny’s expression. “Are you in a play or something?”
I glanced toward the sky, watching seagulls swoop and dive, and wondered if Jenny had ever read a book or watched anything besides reality TV. “I’m just doing a little private detecting.”
“But why? Oh, I know. To help clear Whitey’s name.” Jenny nodded as if it made perfect sense to her now.
The sudden eagerness that appeared in her eyes worried me. Maybe it was better to cut her loose. “Would you prefer to go back to the bridal shop?”
“No. I wouldn’t actually.” She was all but rubbing her hands together. “This might be fun.”
Another doubt spiraled through me as I imagined all kinds of ways this could go wrong, like someone letting slip that Meg’s ring was among the stolen items. Perhaps I should do this alone. No. Elton Ring was as sharp as any diamond facet he’d ever cut. He’d see right through whatever ploy I might come up with and boot me out the door. Meg was key to this but was still looking hesitant.
Maybe I was asking too much of her. It had seemed a simple, unassuming plot. One I’d formed without taking into account my best friend’s feelings. I seemed to be doing that a lot to Meg lately. But the truth was, Meg was the best distraction I could hope for. Elton would be eager to help her select another ring. He might even offer to pay for it. After all, hers had gone missing while in his possession. But then he might accidentally mention that and then Jenny would know… “Uh, Meg, maybe we could do this another time.”
Like when it was just the two of us.
“No. Let’s get it over with,” Meg said.
I tilted my head toward Jenny, hoping Meg would take the hint. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She gave a toss of her fiery curls. The determined set of her jaw told me that she wanted me to find the stolen ring as badly as I wanted to. No matter what laws we bent.
“Well, then, you two know what you need to do…,” I said, still tamping down my own misgivings.
“Keep Elton so busy that he doesn’t pay any attention to what you’re up to,” Meg said. “I think we can do that. Right, Jenny?”
“Sure.” Jenny removed her own engagement ring, put it in her pocket, and started down the sidewalk. “Let’s do it.”
But when we arrived at the jewelry shop door, we discovered changes were under way.
A new sign hung in the window: APPOINTMENT ONLY. Obviously no more walk-ins. The necessity for this new reality flushed me with sadness.
“Hey, isn’t that Whitey’s van?” Meg said, nudging me.
I glanced toward the street and spied the vehicle at the curb. “It is,” I said. “Wonder what he’s doing here?”
Jenny gave a bark of disapproval. “Can anyone say, ‘Closing the barn door after the cows escaped’?”
“They already have a security system.” The bitterness in Meg’s voice was as thick as a felled tree. Thankfully, Jenny didn’t seem to notice. Meg went on. “Fat lot of good it did. Probably installed when the loggers ran this town.”
Whitey came around the corner of the building, whistling. A baseball cap covered his pale blond hair, and a tool belt bunched the middle of his coveralls. He had a surveillance camera in hand.
“Hey, good morning,” I said. “Whatcha doing here?”
“Hi, Daryl Anne, ladies,” he said, nodding to me and then to my companions. “I’m taking Ring’s security system out of the Jurassic era. Replacing it with state of the art.”
“Told you.” Meg nodded. “Too bad you didn’t do that sooner.”
Whitey shrugged. “Yeah, I tried to get Mr. Ring to consider it last week, but like most everyone else in town, he was reluctant. Never had a robbery, he said. If I was one of those hard-sell guys, maybe he could still say that.” As he strode to his van, we trailed after him.
I sighed, feeling sad again. “The good citizens of Weddingville want to think they can trust their friends and neighbors not to rip them off.”
“Maybe they need to get out of this town and take a look at the real world,” Jenny said.
Meg huffed. “Hah. Live in Hollywood for a while and you’ll lock up your cat.”
Whitey opened the
tailgate on his van and reached inside for something. “Billie told Susan and me last night that she’s going to suggest a town meeting to discuss the increasing stranger danger with the council. She said everyone is enjoying the profits of the town’s newfound fame but is unprepared for the increased criminal element that can come with it.”
Jenny shuddered, clutching her iPad to her chest as though fearing it would be snatched from her. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What’s the council going to do, pass a law that requires everyone to install a security system?”
“That works for me.” Whitey grinned.
“Would such a law even be enforceable?” Meg didn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm in Jenny’s voice.
“Probably, but it would be ludicrous and overkill,” I said. “The current crunch of consumers isn’t a year-round problem. Just during the expos.”
“I don’t know about any of that. I’m just telling you what Billie intends to do.” Whitey pulled a ladder from the depths of the van and carried it to the front edge of the jewelry store as we trailed after him. “I’m just happy to have the business. I had a couple more folks phone for appointments since this latest robbery.”
“Crime is paying off for you, then,” Jenny suggested, sounding as if she suspected him of doing something illegal.
Whitey spun toward her, his face growing red, his carefree manner gone. “I don’t advocate crime. I’m all about preventing it.”
Instead of his protest calming or reassuring me, it caused a wayward thought to stumble through my brain. Could Whitey be pulling a few heists to stir up business for his company? A hot ball of guilt boiled inside me for even considering the possibility. But I couldn’t remove Whitey from my meager suspect list. Okay, so his is the only name on that list at the moment. There will be others. Once I start doing interviews and collecting actual facts about the robberies.
Not that I was going to do any interviews if we couldn’t get into the jewelry store right away. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number. Elton Ring answered. I identified myself and told him Meg wanted to see some rings. He immediately unlocked the door, as I’d suspected he might, and we scrambled inside.
