Murder Wears White
Page 27
SALTED CARAMEL MARTINI
2 ounces caramel vodka
1 ounce Irish cream
1 ounce half and half
Sea salt for martini glass
Cocoa for dusting
Dip martini glass in water, then a plate of sea salt to salt the rim. Combine vodka, Irish cream, and half and half. Shake. Pour into a martini glass over ice. Dust with cocoa.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Stephanie Blackmoore’s next
Wedding Planner mystery
MURDER BORROWED, MURDER BLUE
coming soon wherever print and e-books are sold!
Chapter One
“The groundhog didn’t see his shadow!” My sister, Rachel, turned from the television with a look of anguish marring her good looks. I would’ve expected her to be upset if the furry little guy had seen his shadow.
“What’s the problem? I could do with an early spring.” We were deep into the snowy season, and I was ready to take a break from burrowing under blankets each night and donning winter boots each day. I loved an excuse to curl up next to the fire with a good book and a cup of hot cocoa, but I’d be thrilled when warmer weather arrived.
“Dakota wants a winter-themed wedding. We need the snow to stick around.” Rachel pulled back the heavy gray velvet drapes and peered outside, her eyes anxiously sweeping the grounds.
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” I soothed, joining her at the window. “Everyone knows that groundhog stuff isn’t reliable.”
Outside was a veritable winter wonderland. A lacy lattice of intricate, icy crystals spread across the library window like a delicate doily. Beyond the glass, the evergreen trees seemed to groan with the weight of a thick blanket of snow straining each branch. Tracks from deer and raccoons were the only patterns etched upon the smooth expanse of white ground. The newly risen sun reflected off the snow with slicing, blinding rays. It was a beautiful, cold, clear February day.
“I just want it to be perfect.” My sister spun around and aimed the remote at the television. She turned off the footage of Punxsutawney Phil and paced the room. I was as anxious as her, but didn’t want to show it. The crew for the celebrity wedding reality show I Do was going to arrive in minutes, and I wanted to show off my B and B, Thistle Park, at its very best.
We were hosting the wedding of actress Dakota Craig, recently anointed America’s newest sweetheart. Dakota had fallen on hard times after starring in a teen soap opera, and had risen, phoenix-from-the-ashes style this past year with a string of acclaimed film roles. Everyone loved a comeback kid, and Dakota was it. She was also a humble, generous woman, if the emails and phone calls we’d been exchanging these last few months to plan her wedding from afar were any indication.
Her fiancé, Beau Wright, was the reigning king of country music. I’d always thought of him as something of a lothario, and there had been a lot of speculation about his hurried engagement to Dakota. But he’d been gracious and polite in the few dealings we’d had planning his nuptials. I couldn’t say the same for Dakota’s mother Roxanne, who behaved like a stage mother on steroids.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Is it the crew? They’re officially late.” Rachel crowded next to me to peer at the screen. I stifled a groan.
“It’s Helene again.” Helene Pierce was once almost my mother-in-law, until I’d called off the wedding to her son. I counted my lucky stars nearly every day for that decision.
“How many times has she texted this morning?” Rachel arched a perfectly plucked brow.
“This is the fifth. Not counting the three phone calls and two emails from her. All before the sun came up. I haven’t even had my second cup of coffee.” I typed back a hasty but professional reply to her query and hit send. I jammed my cell back into my dress pocket. I promised myself to take a sterner line with my former arch-nemesis turned client. “She knows the crew of I Do is arriving today. She’s trying to rattle me.”
And it was working.
I wondered for the thousandth time what I’d been thinking when I agreed to throw a modern day debutante ball, free of charge, for the posh Dunlap Women’s Academy, at the behest of Hurricane Helene. The Winter Ball was to go off on the eve of Dakota’s Valentine’s Day wedding. It would be an almost impossibly tight turnaround, not one I’d ever agree to in saner moments. But I had needed a mammoth favor, and Helene had granted my wish as the worst incarnation of a fairy godmother a girl could have. And now she’d called in her chips. I was at her constant beck and call.
“Did we take on too much?” I turned to Rachel in a moment of panic. The start of a headache began to spread between my eyes. “How will we finish planning Dakota’s wedding, film for I Do, and pull off the Winter Ball, all with Helene underfoot?”
Rachel waved her hand and dismissed my worries, but her keen green eyes told a different story. “You pulled off Whitney and Ian’s wedding in a month, all while renovating the house. We’ve held half a dozen weddings since. You could do this in your sleep.”
I took a steadying breath and slowly let it out. “I’d just feel better if the Winter Ball plans were finalized. Helene is purposely making things difficult. I wish there were a little more time between each event.”
Rachel snorted. “You didn’t really have a choice. Let’s just make lemon slushies out of the crummy lemons we’ve been given.”
My sister was right. And being featured on a popular reality show was just what we needed to advertise our B and B and wedding planning business. Rachel and I had spent the last two weeks with a bowl of popcorn between us, watching every previous episode of I Do. We were nervous about appearing on television and wanted everything to go off without a hitch. The show was edited to highlight drama between the wedding planners, venue owners, celebrity couples, and the host of the show, Adrienne Larson. But I was determined for the Thistle Park B and B to come across in a good light, with minimal shenanigans.
“Besides,” Rachel continued, bringing me back to the present, “We have an unlimited budget for this wedding. It’s going to be spectacular.” Her eyes gleamed with Gatsby-esque plans for Dakota and Beau’s big day.
“We have to take into account their personal style, Rach,” I reminded my sister. “Dakota isn’t a fan of bling and razzle-dazzle, as far as I can tell.” The bride’s selections had been tasteful, restrained, and seemed to value sentimentality over opulence. Dakota’s measured choices hadn’t stopped Rachel from living vicariously through her, and she’d suggested some over-the-top details that Dakota had politely declined. Roxanne, Dakota’s mother, was all too willing to advocate for a flashy wedding. I’d logged some tense time already during conference calls with the bride and her mother. I’d deftly deferred to Dakota, and Roxanne had eventually come around.
“Ooh!” Rachel whipped around from the window, her wavy, honey-kissed tresses fanning out behind her. “I see a van coming down the driveway.”
The two of us raced from the library to the front hall and stationed ourselves expectantly at the front door. I smoothed down the wine-colored merino dress I’d donned for the occasion and tucked an errant curl behind my ear. Rachel shimmied the skirt of her spangly navy shift down a few inches and fluffed out her hair.
“This is it,” I whispered to my sister.
“Our chance to put the B and B on the map!” We practically wriggled with excitement and barely contained ourselves from flinging open the heavy front door until the merry peal of the bell sounded.
“Mallory and Rachel, wonderful to finally meet you.” The woman perched before us on the front porch was dressed in icy blue finery. She wore an exquisitely tailored Alexander McQueen coatdress in a vivid periwinkle. It probably cost more than my whole wardrobe put together. Lozenge-sized aquamarines graced her earlobes. Her tiny feet were ensconced in creamy suede, high-heeled boots. I stared at them with incredulous eyes. I couldn’t figure out how she’d made it from the production team’s van and u
p the front walk without a single drop of moisture falling on the buttery leather. Her shining, perfect cap of flaxen hair was protected under a jaunty fawn-colored cloche hat. She swept into the hallway and removed white angora gloves. She gave my hand a firm shake, with cold hands.
“You must be Adrienne. Welcome to Thistle Park.” I ushered the host of I Do into the front hall, where Rachel stared at her designer outfit with eyes agog. Adrienne Larson had impeccable taste, an artist’s eye, and a will of steel. She’d earned the moniker of Ice Queen through subtly vicious battles with wedding planners and celebrity brides on I Do. She was a formidable figure, and not one I wanted to tangle with anytime soon. I’d vowed to outmaneuver her overbearing suggestions about Dakota’s wedding.
The rest of the crew filed in, and introductions were exchanged. The producer and cameramen didn’t seem ruffled by Adrienne’s presence, and after a few minutes, I relaxed. We gathered in the parlor before a roaring fire and chatted with the crew over croissants, fruit, and coffee. We were about to start a tour of the house when a familiar black Accord advanced up the driveway.
“Garrett’s here,” I mused to Rachel. “I wonder what’s up?” I eagerly threw open the door before Garrett had a chance to ring the bell.
“What a lovely surprise.” I tilted my head back to receive a brief kiss and grinned up at my boyfriend.
“I can’t stay long. I’m dropping Summer off at school.” Garrett’s usually warm voice was tense and distant. I took a step back but held onto the lapel of his black wool overcoat.
“Is everything all right?” I tried to tamp down the edge in my voice.
“I just realized something. Last night, I watched an episode of I Do.” His eyes were pained.
I laughed and let go of his coat, the tension broken. “Totally not your style, but I appreciate you checking in to see what I’m up against this month.”
A wave of panic seemed to wash over Garrett. My laughter died in my throat.
“I should have watched it sooner. Mallory—”
“The TV crew is here. I saw their van.” Garrett’s thirteen-year-old daughter Summer peeked her head around the massive front door. Her heart shaped face was surrounded by a cheery red ski hat. Her hazel eyes were eager and bright.
“Summer, I told you to stay in the car.” Garrett’s voice was clipped and strange. I stared between him and his daughter, confused. She scooted around the open door and stood in the front hall, seeming to search for someone.
A plate crashed in the parlor.
Summer ran to Adrienne and almost knocked her over from the force of her embrace. Adrienne hugged Summer back with impossible fierceness and slowly raised her tear-stained eyes. They were heavy with a mixture of sadness and elation.
“Mom! You came back!”