“We could have a memorial for her in the morning,” I said slowly, trying to picture how the day would work. “I could talk to Ellie and the other teachers at Dunlap. They must want to plan something too.”
Dakota slowly nodded. “I think Ginger would appreciate that.”
“If Roxanne wasn’t in the picture, what would you have chosen?” I sat expectantly, pen poised in hand.
Dakota placed her hand under her chin, her large Asscher diamond flickering in the kitchen’s lights. “For the ceremony, I’d want to be outdoors. I don’t even care what the weather’s like. I want to see the stars. Maybe we could have a short ceremony in the gazebo.” A small smile tilted up the corners of her lips. It was the first genuine display of excitement, however muted, I’d seen her have for her wedding plans.
“And the reception?” I scribbled down ideas for an outside ceremony and urged Dakota to go on.
“It’s cheesy as hell, but I picked Valentine’s Day for our wedding for a reason. I’m in love with the holiday, and I’d have a red and pink and white explosion.” This pronouncement brought out a genuine grin, and I vowed then and there to create Dakota’s vision, despite the fact that her nuptials were a mere nine days away.
“It’ll be tight with florists already inundated with regular Valentine’s Day orders,” I cautioned. “But let’s see what we can do.” I flicked through a mental Rolodex of the three flower shops in Port Quincy and couldn’t wait for the business day to begin so I could start placing pleading calls.
“Just one thing.” Dakota clasped my hands in hers. “We have to keep these new plans a secret from my mother.”
I retracted my hands and gulped. Roxanne would freak out the day of the wedding when she saw the red and pink and white palette. I replayed the scene of Helene’s displeasure and meltdown at the secret Winter Ball reveal in my head and swallowed hard. A surprise wedding would be fun, but I was admittedly squeamish.
“Are you sure? Wouldn’t it just be better to tell her you’ve had a change of heart?”
Is Dakota really that scared of standing up to her mother?
I thought of Dakota’s revelation that her mother used to drug her and shivered. My own mother, Carole, was a formidable force, but even she wouldn’t stoop to that. Maybe I’d do things on the sly too if Roxanne were my mother.
Dakota sighed. “You have no idea what she’d do if she found out we’re jettisoning her carefully laid plans. This has to be a secret, Mallory, or it won’t happen. Besides,” she laughed, “planning a secret wedding and the final reveal will make for great TV.”
“Will Beau be on board?” I’d planned many a wedding with the bride or her family in charge, the groom a silent afterthought. I wanted to make sure he was on board too before we dug into the new plans.
“Oh, he’ll love it. He likes surprises, and he’ll really dig getting one over on my mother.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you let her make all of the choices in the first place?”
Dakota sighed and ran a hand through her golden hair. She revealed the slightest touch of red roots. I hadn’t been imagining them earlier.
“My mother has worked tirelessly to build my career. She pushed me, hard, even when I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick with acting.” Dakota sounded grateful, but I wasn’t so sure I would have been in her position. “We were poor poor for so long, I’m talking no food in the fridge and the electricity turned off. Roxanne sacrificed a lot to make my career happen. And as a result, it’s never enough for her.” She sighed and looked down at her massive ring. “Roxanne wants me to do every commercial, sponsorship, and role that comes my way. She’s always thinking of my brand. I appreciate she wants to take care of me, in a way. It just gets a little stifling.” She paused and her eyes strayed to the carriage house out back. “And it’s a shame that the wedding my mom planned won’t get used.”
I cringed at the thought of the waste of decorations and food. An idea percolated and eddied in my tired brain.
“I gave away my wedding once,” I began slowly.
“You were engaged?” Dakota sat up straighter.
“To Helene’s son,” I ruefully admitted. Dakota burst out laughing.
“You sure dodged a bullet there.”
I grinned, not insulted by her statement. “I thank my lucky stars every day that I didn’t go through with it. I ended up giving my reception to a bride in need of a wedding. We could do the same for the black and white design.”
Dakota’s violet eyes sparkled. “But who would want to take on the wedding exactly as Roxanne planned it?”
I grinned. “I know just the guy.”
“Guy?”
“Owen Holloway. He runs the Helping Hands Foundation.” Owen wanted to throw a black-tie auction and event to raise funds for his foundation, but he didn’t quite have the money to pull it off. He’d also been maddeningly unspecific when I’d told him what I could do with his minimal budget. I’d put Owen’s gala on the back burner, but now I could seamlessly transition Roxanne’s choices into a black-tie auction. A fully formed event falling right into his lap would be just the thing Owen’s foundation needed.
The glimmer in Dakota’s eyes grew, and she nodded. “Perfect.”
I glanced at the big red cuckoo clock over the stove. “We only have about half an hour before I really need to start breakfast. Let’s sketch out the new wedding plans and I’ll make calls this morning.”
We put our heads together and hunched over the legal pad, my fingers flying to record every idea. We’d welcome the cheesiness factor, and go for a hopelessly romantic Valentine’s Day theme. If we could get them, Dakota would have peonies and ranunculus in luscious bunches of petal pink, magenta, and blood red. I could order tablecloths in pink and berry, and fill bowls with pink marbles and floating red candles. We’d have pale princess pink and rose snowflakes in metallic paper strung above the guests. The ceremony would be outside, and the small reception would be held in the Thistle Park greenhouse, which we’d transform with red, white, and pink flowers. I grew more and more nervous as our ideas grew, and batted away the doubt that hunkered on my shoulders. Would we be able to pull it off? I’d have my answer in a few hours.
“And now the menu.”
“I want rich comfort food,” Dakota declared, looking longingly at the bell jar of doughnuts I kept in the kitchen for my guests. “I’ve been dieting since I was ten, and on this one day I’d like to eat to my heart’s content.” A far-away look registered in her violet eyes. “What I really want is a peanut butter cake. With chocolate and bananas.”
I tried and failed to suppress a surprised grin. “You mean like an Elvis sandwich wedding cake?”
Dakota laughed in assent and we put our heads together to come up with the rest of the menu. We scrapped the chic, health-conscious foods from the black-and-white wedding and planned on a menu of gourmet comfort food. There would be basil tomato soup, smoked salmon macaroni and cheese, lamb meatloaf, seven-cheese loaded potatoes, and bacon and scallion green beans. I’d ask Rachel if she could create a banana and peanut butter cake with chocolate icing, and we’d have an assortment of stouts, red wine, and cherry chocolate martinis.
“My dress will be bursting at the seams!” Dakota crowed.
“What’s going on here?” Roxanne’s slippered foot alighted on the last step of the back stair. She set Pixie on the floor and the tiny Shih Tzu trotted over to Dakota for pets and kisses. Roxanne’s violet eyes took in our sheaf of notes. I crossed my hands over the yellow paper and beamed.
“We’re just going over some details for your daughter’s big day.”
“You made the right decision, Dakota. Ginger would have wanted this.” Roxanne smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
* * *
Two hours later, I’d made breakfast and fed the cast and crew, placed some calls to Port Quincy’s florists, and set up a meeting with Owen Holloway to gift him Dakota’s reception. Dakota had a fun morning fluttering abo
ut, whispering news of her secret wedding plans to Beau, Rachel, Xavier, and the crew. But then she’d seemed to realize Ginger wouldn’t be there, and excused herself to wipe her eyes in the corner, a box of tissues at the ready. Dakota appeared exhausted from cycling through the emotions of mourning Ginger and trying to get excited for her new wedding plans.
The only people who didn’t know about the secret wedding were Roxanne and Adrienne. The two people who would undoubtedly flip out the most when they found out. I tamped down the feeling of dread that bubbled up whenever I thought of how the Winter Ball surprise had gone with Helene. Especially if defying her had led Helene to murder Ginger.
At 10 AM, my sister and I piled into the Butterscotch Monster with Dakota and Beau. We headed downtown to meet with Owen Holloway. The fickle February weather continued to confuse and delight, as spring had arrived early. I rolled down my window, breathing in the fresh air the rain had brought and delighting in the sun on my arm. The temperature was in the mid-sixties, and I was glad we’d changed Dakota’s wedding from a winter theme to something more traditionally Valentine’s Day.
Beau gallantly opened the back door for Dakota and linked arms with his fiancée as we entered Owen’s foundation building, an aging yet charming, skinny art deco suite of offices in the heart of downtown Port Quincy. HELPING HANDS was emblazoned above the scrolled copper patina doorway. The large front room buzzed with people sitting at card tables, calculators and computers in front of them.
“It’s tax season, and Helping Hands is doing taxes for free,” I explained to Dakota and Beau as a volunteer ushered us inside. I saw Ellie’s little sister, Leah, volunteering, bustling around the room with a clipboard, handing out pens and cups of coffee, her purple hair swinging behind her. Her punky looks garnered a few sidelong glances, but she offered a smile to each person she saw. She gave us a friendly wave.
“And this is—”
“—Dakota. It’s been too long.”
“Owen Holloway,” I ended lamely, not realizing Dakota and Owen obviously knew each other.
Owen stood before Dakota, taking her in, a guarded yet eager look stealing across his pleasant features. His auburn hair waved back from his forehead, matched and balanced by his thick beard. His chunky black glasses framed his warm, whiskey-colored eyes. He was dressed in his usual garb, a plaid shirt—today’s was black watch in shades of blue and green—and his ever-present dark washed skinny jeans, cuffed at the bottom, and brown boots. An infectious smile stole over his face, but he held back from embracing Dakota.
Dakota blinked, flustered, and her arm fell from Beau’s. She nervously raked her hand through her hair, the diamond winking under the fluorescents. A slow flush climbed up her throat and obliterated her freckles. Beau took in her reaction and cleared his throat. His eyes were narrow and missed nothing under his ten-gallon hat.
I could understand her reaction even if she didn’t seem to have some history with Owen. Owen Holloway was the quintessential boy next door all grown up, a blend of dark Clark Kent good looks mixed with a dash of hipster. The philanthropist ran the foundation his parents had started, and he was a quiet and steadfast member of the Port Quincy community, offering his foundation’s solutions to those who needed them the most. And did I mention he was gorgeous?
Rachel had been at Pilates or jiujitsu, or getting a manicure each time I’d met with Owen, and had never experienced his quiet and steady charm. But today she didn’t overlook Owen, nor the moony-eyed glances Dakota was sending his way.
“I’m Rachel,” she purred, licking her lips. Her celibacy pledge was seemingly forgotten.
“Mallory’s sister.” Owen tore his eyes from Dakota and shook hands with Rachel, including her in his warm smile.
“And I’m Beau Wright.” Dakota’s fiancé shook Owen’s hand with unnecessary force, making the foundation owner wince. His New Jersey accent was back in full effect, the twang evaporated in a puff of anger.
“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe I didn’t introduce you,” Dakota tittered, remembering Beau at last. She linked arms once again with her fiancé, and he visibly relaxed.
I stood back and observed the meet-and-greet like an armchair anthropologist. Beau was vastly annoyed, still sizing up Owen. Dakota seemed to have more natural chemistry with Owen than with her actual fiancé. I wondered if Dakota and Owen had ever been an item.
“Well, I’ll leave you ladies, and gentleman, to your plans.” Beau tipped his hat in Rachel and Owen’s direction and gallantly swept Dakota up in a dramatic dip kiss. His country, folksy accent was back, now that his temper was in check. The whole time we’d been standing around in the front room, people had been snapping pictures of Beau and Dakota on their cell phones, and now the audience cheered and whistled.
Okay, so maybe you’re wrong about them.
Beau and Dakota seemed to have real affection for each other. I chastised myself for playing closet marriage counselor instead of wedding planner, although I sometimes did think my couples should be seeing a counselor before they plunged on with their weddings.
Rachel and I followed Dakota and Owen as we made our way to the second floor of the building.
“Tell me what you have in mind,” Owen invited, when Rachel, Dakota, and I were arrayed before him in his office, settled in comfortable chairs. Dakota filled him in on gifting her original black and white reception to stand in for the Helping Hands fundraiser, her face animated and convincing.
Owen laughed, taken with the idea. “This is perfect. And the best part is that I don’t have to figure out the details of throwing a big, fancy party. You’re the best, Dakota.” His whiskey eyes turned soft as he stared at her a bit too long. Dakota swallowed and looked down at her lap, but when she lifted her face, her eyes were shining.
If these two were never together, they should have been, I thought to myself. Rachel was narrowing her eyes at Dakota, and I could practically read the thought bubble above her head. I willed her to calm down. Something may have been going on between Dakota and Owen in the past, but she was an engaged woman now.
I looked away to avoid the tension building in the room and my eyes alighted on a picture on Owen’s desk. It was the same one that sat in repose on Ginger’s desk, in a butterfly frame, featuring a young Dakota with vivid red hair, as well as Ginger and Ellie. I gasped when I realized the young man in the picture had been Owen.
Owen saw me looking at the picture and took in my startled look. “The three musketeers, and me.” A gentle smile graced his handsome face, creating a dimple in his left cheek. “I met Dakota and Ginger and Ellie when they started volunteering at my parents’ foundation while they attended Dunlap Academy.” His smile slowly dissipated. “I can’t believe Ginger is gone.”
A soft knock at the door startled us all. Leah poked her head in, clipboard in hand. “Hi, Dakota.”
“Leah’s going to be a bridesmaid in my wedding,” Dakota said carefully, almost seeming to rue any mention of her nuptials to Owen.
He nodded impassively and turned to the young woman. “What do you have for me?”
“The stats on this morning’s tax open house.” She passed along the clipboard and blew her heavy purple bangs off her forehead. “I need to go back to school—”
“—to study and write another paper,” Owen finished for her with a grin. His smile faltered. “Ginger was worried about you, Leah. She said you were working around the clock to make sure you get into Harvard. She thought you needed to take it easier.”
Leah grew somber at the mention of Ginger. “I can’t believe my mentor’s gone.” She brushed off his concern at her working too hard and bid us all farewell, sweeping from the office, her long preternaturally purple hair swinging behind her.
Owen sighed and tented his hands in front of him. “To tell you the truth,” he admitted, “Leah’s work is slipping. I think she’s spread herself too thin, and doesn’t have time to do volunteer work.”
“She’s just trying to please Iris,” Dakota
explained, a worried expression clouding her pretty violet eyes. “If there’s one mother who drives a harder bargain than mine, it’s Ellie and Leah’s mother, Iris. Nothing pleases her. She’ll stop at nothing until Leah wins a full scholarship to some Ivy League school and Ellie makes something of herself.”
I sat up sharply. “Isn’t being a drama teacher at an exclusive girls’ school enough?”
Dakota shook her head sadly. “Not for Iris. She wanted Ellie to be headmistress at Dunlap, not Ginger.”
“And look where that got her,” Owen added, a streak of vehemence tingeing his words. “Who in the hell would want to hurt Ginger?” He leaned back in his whining leather chair and stroked his beard.
“Um, Helene? Duh,” Rachel piped up, an exasperated look on her face. “She’s going down once and for all.”
Owen nodded, a lock of dark glossy auburn hair falling onto his forehead. “I know Ginger was gearing up for a fight with a faction of the board of trustees for the school, led by Helene. Ginger wanted to make the school coed in a last-ditch effort to save it, and Helene opposed her. Helene controlled the old-guard members, while most of the younger teachers and some parents were on Ginger’s side.”
“You sure know a lot about what’s going on at Dunlap,” Dakota said carefully.
“Ginger and I had dinner often,” Owen admitted, shyly studying the stats Leah had dropped off.
“Oh?” Dakota asked, her voice high and tight. She looked at Owen sharply, waiting for a reply, and received none.
“But there’s one thing bothering me,” I filled the tension-filled space. “Helene doesn’t do her own dirty work. I couldn’t picture her in her evening gown mixing up bleach and ammonia in a vase.”
“It could have been thieves after the tiara,” Rachel mused, checking out her chipping manicure. “The Eagle Herald paper ran a big feature story last Sunday about finding the diamonds in the time capsule. Helene was even quoted in the story saying how happy she was that the tiara would crown the Belle of the Winter Ball. It was like an open invitation to come steal it.”
Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue Page 7
