I left my sister in the kitchen and hurried to my office to start brainstorming up a drink. I stopped short at the door, the yellow crime tape still looped over the doorknob. I could picture Ginger slumped over my desk, the enormous bouquet of blue flowers perched in front of her like a sentinel of death. If I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, I swore I could still catch a whiff of the awful, nose-burning chemical smell. I’m sure it had dissipated by now, and my mind was just playing tricks on me, conjuring olfactory hallucinations when the air was really safe to breathe.
I backed away from my office and wondered when I’d ever feel comfortable working there. I dashed off a few emails to vendors in the parlor, trying to find some closer to Pittsburgh who could supply the magenta, crimson, and blush linens for Dakota’s secret reception. After half an hour of emailing out queries, I turned to concocting a special drink.
I wandered over to the library, the room rich and warm and light and airy. It was one of my favorite rooms in the house with a massive yet cozy marble fireplace, buttery-yellow walls, and a new, soaring tin ceiling after the original had suffered a mishap while renovating last fall. Soft gray velvet drapes framed sweeping bay windows with fluffy crimson pillows and sweeping views of the grounds. Cozy mysteries, romances, and thrillers nestled next to volumes of Freud and The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. The books were plentiful and eclectic, with something for every reader. I was proud of this little collection, and guests always said it was one of their favorite things to take advantage of during their stay.
I pulled out a giant encyclopedia about gardening, plants, and herbs. The tome was heavy and elaborate, a gold leaf reference work given to me as a gift by my contractor, Jesse Flowers. He’d restored the greenhouse, but left it barren. He’d suggested I leaf through the book to get ideas for planting. I rested the big book on a low-slung table in front of the fire. I spent half an hour reading about edible plants, herbs, and spices. I absentmindedly thumbed to the page on bleeding hearts, and the one on belladonna. I marked my pages with the gold foil butterfly bookmark that had come with the book, and thought of Ginger.
Who wanted to kill her, and why?
My mind kept circling back to Helene. She had the most reasons to want to get Ginger out of the way, from keeping Dunlap Academy an all girls’ school, to putting the tiara back into rotation. But then there was the tiara itself. The Port Quincy Eagle Herald had practically rolled out an invitation for thieves by quoting Helene about the tiara’s use at the Winter Ball. And then there was Sterling Jennings, furious at Ginger for missing their meeting and not putting his daughter on the lacrosse team. But that didn’t seem like a dire enough reason to kill.
A slip of paper caught my eye, peeking out from behind a claret cushion. I recognized one of Rachel’s notebooks, and my mouth crooked up in a sad smile. She must be working here too, too distraught to use our joint office. The little book fell open to the most recently used page. There was a pros and cons list hastily jotted down, detailing whether it would be better to pursue the destination wedding show with me or to go it alone. In the half hour I’d spent emailing vendors from the parlor, Rachel had already planned to abandon me to remain on TV. I dropped the notebook back behind the cushion, stung by the realization that Rachel was going to try to get on the show, with or without me.
* * *
I buried my hurt over Rachel’s plans and wearily sank into bed. I awoke bright and early, fed my two kitties, and served up a buffet breakfast of cinnamon rolls, bacon, and fruit salad. After breakfast, I avoided Rachel and straightened up the rooms. Then I wandered around the first floor to find Dakota for our meeting with the florist. The doorbell clanged its clarion carol, and I opened it to find a beaming Summer and Garrett on the doorstep.
“I’m going bowling with my mom,” Summer explained, leaning in to give me a hug. I pulled her close, then did a double take. Summer wasn’t wearing her usual weekend garb. She was dressed in head-to-toe pale blue, the kind of pastels Adrienne favored. Just this past July, she’d been a goth princess, complete with inky hair and ripped clothes. She’d settled into comfortable tomboy style as of late, her hair back to its usual blond, cut rather short.
I raised my eyebrows over Summer’s shoulder in silent conference with Garrett. He returned my concerned gaze.
She skipped into the parlor, where I could see Roxanne playing with Pixie. The Shih Tzu bounded over to see Summer, and Roxanne gave her a proud-doggie-owner smile.
“And I’m just glad to see you.” Garrett leaned in for a kiss, the beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow tickling my face. I thought of his strange dinner with Adrienne yesterday and held on to him longer than usual. He broke away with an amused look in his laughing dark eyes.
“I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you, too.” He broke into a grin, effervescent and warm.
See? You have nothing to worry about.
“Only a few days, but it’s been long enough.” I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and was treated to a lightly cleared throat.
“Ahem. Are we ready?” Adrienne materialized at my elbow, a vision in blue, from her skinny jeans to her perfectly figure-hugging sky-blue angora sweater. She held out her hand and Summer took it with a smile. They could have been sisters in their matching outfits, rather than mother and daughter.
“Xavier isn’t feeling well.” Adrienne’s face clouded over for a moment; then it passed. “Could you check in on him in a few hours, see if he needs anything?” I promised I would, and Adrienne started to fix Summer’s scarf.
“See you soon?” Garrett leaned in for a rather perfunctory kiss, distracted by Adrienne’s fussing over Summer. They were soon out the door, leaving me staring in their wake.
“Mallory?” Dakota broke my reverie and I turned with a start.
“Oh! Sorry.”
That was a quick good-bye.
I chastised myself for worrying about Garrett and Adrienne’s dinner and settled down across from Dakota. She was knitting, at work on a pretty shawl of some sort in shades of green and yellow. She reminded me of a reverse Penelope, working on her knitting each night before the fire this week, as if to stave off her suitor.
“Penny for your thoughts?” She set down the knitting needles and rested her chin in her hand, her engagement ring winking.
“If you were me, would you do a destination wedding show?” I heard myself blurt the question out before I could stop.
“Ah, Xavier’s newest project.” Dakota smiled and nodded. “He always has something up his sleeve.” She cocked her head in thought. “I love acting, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t like being on set for too long. It’s hard to see your family when you’re away shooting. But the offer is for you and Rachel too, right?”
If Rachel doesn’t go behind my back and negotiate the show for herself, that is.
“It is,” I affirmed, still doubtful.
“I saw you there with Garrett just now. Are you guys serious? Everyone will tell you it doesn’t matter if you’re gone part of the year, but it does.”
I sat for a minute.
How serious are things with Garrett?
It was a damn good question.
“Things are going well. I don’t know if they’re well enough to withstand being away so much though,” I admitted.
Dakota sighed. “If I could do it all over again, I’d stay here and work with Ellie and Iris at their nursery. I let Roxanne convince me to return to L.A. after I finished school, when all I wanted to do was stay in Port Quincy.” She grew wistful and took a sip of tea. “I’d wanted to return to Port Quincy since I was on Silverlake High. I was miserable on the show, and Ginger and Ellie and Owen were back here. They got to go to school and be normal and hang out together.”
“And then Caitlin died,” I mentioned carefully, gauging her reaction. I was still curious as to why it was a taboo subject, remembering Dakota’s stern demand in the greenhouse not to mention it.
She nodded
gravely. “Do you know why I feel so guilty about Caitlin? I feel like I wished it upon her.”
My eyes went wide, but I stayed silent so Dakota would continue.
“I couldn’t help thinking when she went on strike that the show would end. My mom liked to think I was the bigger star, but I’m not blind. It was Caitlin. I wished something would happen so the show would be cancelled, and then it came to fruition. Caitlin died on set and the show ended. I feel like I willed it to happen, inadvertently.” She shivered, despite the rollicking flames dancing in the fireplace, the peacock tiles reflecting the fire in hues of electric blue, aqua, purple, and green. She set down her knitting needles again.
“I never wanted anything to happen to Caitlin, but I can’t say I wasn’t glad the show ended.” A tiny tear beaded in the corners of Dakota’s violet eyes, and she sniffed, seemingly embarrassed.
“It was an accident?” I procured a box of tissues.
“It was gas,” Dakota affirmed, nervously twisting her huge Asscher ring. “All my friends were visiting. Ginger and Ellie and her little sister, Leah, and her mother, Iris. Everyone but Owen.”
The big man-in-the-moon grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten times, and I sat up straight with a start.
“We’ll be late for the florists. Time to go.”
And time to see what it is that Becca Cunningham wants.
We had no more time to dwell on Caitlin Quinn’s death from thirteen years ago. We needed to meet with the new florist to put Dakota’s secret red and pink Valentine’s Day wedding plans into play, as well as Owen’s black-tie event.
I pulled the Butterscotch Monster up to the curb and started to giggle.
Becca skulked beneath the eave of the florist’s door, dressed like a 1940s detective. She sported big glasses that nearly covered the top half of her face and had a colorful orange Hermes scarf tied around her head and under her chin. She’d completed her look with a long camel trench. Her face swiveled right and left in herky-jerky motions as if she were looking for someone following her.
“You came.” She gripped my hands in hers, her fingers cold and clammy.
“Yes,” I said guardedly. I wondered if she was going to ask for something impossible, like a kidney or a Rumpelstiltskin-esque favor.
“I need your help planning my elopement.”
I relaxed, then broke out into a grin.
“That is an excellent idea.”
Why didn’t I think of that for myself ?
I recalled my aborted nuptials with Keith, now Becca’s fiancé. I’d come up with idea after idea for our wedding, only to be shot down by Hurricane Helene. I’d finally acquiesced, worn down by her constant strident objections, and planned the wedding of her dreams, not mine. Before I’d discovered Keith’s infidelity with Becca, and thankfully called the whole damn thing off.
Could I really help the woman who had stolen my fiancé?
It was his choice, too, I chastised myself. I’d resisted trying to paint Becca as the enemy in the fiasco that had been my engagement. It was Keith who’d decided to break our engagement, not Becca.
I took a deep breath and glanced at Dakota, who wore an amused and quizzical look on her face.
“When were you and Keith planning on escaping—er, getting married?”
The wild look returned to Becca’s eyes, and she glanced behind me and shuddered.
“We’d like to leave tomorrow.”
I stared at her, stunned. I considered myself a good wedding planner. I’d learned a lot through trial by fire over the last half year, and I could whip up some pretty amazing plans in a pinch. But leaving tomorrow?
“That’s impossible.” I took an inadvertent step away from the increasingly desperate woman before me. But Becca wasn’t ready to hear no.
Becca clutched the lapel of my green coat and pulled me closer, a definite streak of madness marring her usually cool and dismissive demeanor.
“Please, I’m begging you.”
I carefully removed her hands from my collar and put a foot of space between us.
“Becca—”
“We’ll need travel arrangements, and an intimate venue for two. Something far, far away from her. I mean here. I mean far away from her and here.” Her left eye twitched again, her heavily mascaraed lid doing a jumpy tango. “Preferably the Caribbean. Helene must not know.”
She’s gone mental.
“It’s going to cost you.” I jumped as Dakota waded into the fray. “Mallory can’t plan a wedding in a few hours’ time for nothing.”
“Um, Dakota, I haven’t agreed . . .”
“Of course I’ll pay!” Becca’s voice was near hysterical. “Twice your going rate.”
Dakota shook her head.
“Triple. Quadruple!”
“All right, all right!” I stopped this madness before it could get out of hand. “Becca, we need to meet with the florist for Dakota’s wedding, but I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Becca grabbed me in an impetuous, crushing hug. She pushed her glasses up her nose and disappeared down a narrow alley between the florist’s shop and the bakery, pulling her orange scarf tighter around her face.
“What have I done?” I buried my face in my hands, my head swimming with ideas and buzzing with despair.
“I’d want to run off as soon as possible if Helene were my mother-in-law, too,” Dakota breathed through her laughter.
We pushed open the door to the Petal Shop, a soft chime announcing our entry. The store was a modern space in pink and black, flowers neatly displayed and chilled behind sleek glass cases. Bright white overhead lights illuminated the hundreds of blooms lining the walls. A giant worktable stood raised in the middle of the store, where the florist, Clarissa Crosby, artfully built a large pink and red arrangement, stem by careful stem.
“You must be Mallory.” Clarissa stepped down from the raised platform and gave my hand a hearty shake. “And of course I know who you are. Dakota Craig! I can’t believe I’m doing the flowers for your wedding.” Twin spots of pink that matched the roses she’d just arranged dotted Clarissa’s smooth cheekbones.
“I’m so grateful you could squeeze me in on such short notice.” Dakota clasped Clarissa’s hands in hers and offered her a warm smile. I couldn’t help but think that, much like the favor I was going to try to pull off for Becca, the florist could only attempt to deliver a bounty of red and pink blooms in a mere week because Dakota and Beau were paying through the nose for it.
“I’m sorry about Ginger,” Clarissa gushed, dropping Dakota’s hands. “I hear you were friends.”
“Yes,” Dakota breathed, the pain etched in her face anew.
“She received a standing order every Friday,” Clarissa said, her eyes far away.
“Excuse me?” I dropped my bag and knelt to retrieve it.
“From a mystery admirer.”
“Her secret boyfriend,” Dakota muttered. The hurt was written on her face, clear to see. “I still can’t believe she didn’t breathe a word of it to me.” She cocked her head in thought. “Can you tell us who it was?” Her violet eyes were pleading and bright, innocent and hopeful.
Damn, she really is a great actress.
But Clarissa shook her head, her giant sunflower earrings brushing her shoulders. “I couldn’t tell you even if I did want to breach confidentiality. The person was quite careful to protect his or her identity. They mailed in a rather large sum in cash at the beginning of the year to pay for a recurring weekly delivery.”
“Where was the money postmarked from?” I broke in.
“Here in Port Quincy, I believe.” Clarissa began to look nervous.
“So she got the flowers for a year,” I mused. “Does the chief of police know this?”
Clarissa’s eyes went wide. “Do you think he needs to know?”
“Of course!” Dakota softened her voice. “I would let him know as soon as possible.”
Clarissa seemed unsure, and
I made a note to tell Truman myself. The florist disappeared into the back room to bring out a representative arrangement for Dakota, and I turned to her.
“What if she was murdered by her secret lover?”
“It’s possible,” she said with a frown. “Especially if he was someone she felt the need to keep a secret. Maybe he was dangerous or he was blackmailing her.”
Or maybe it was someone who admitted to having dinner with her weekly. Someone you seem to have a bit of a crush on.
“What are you thinking?” Dakota’s eyes narrowed.
Here goes nothing.
“Do you think she was seeing Owen?”
“No!” Dakota lowered her voice. “Absolutely not. They were just friends.” Her voice was testy and hot, and she swallowed hard. But she seemed to be trying hard to convince herself as much as me.
“Here we are. Ranunculus, roses, tulips, and freesia.” Clarissa carried a conical arrangement and set the heavy silver vase before us, the flowers lush and fragrant, a sumptuous mosaic of pink, red, cream, and white.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous.” Dakota reached out to run her hands over the soft petals and breathed out a sound of delight. I was happy the flowers had arrived to take her mind off my musings about Owen.
“If you come into the back room, I have a few more arrangements to choose from,” Clarissa beamed, clearly over the moon at Dakota’s reaction. We followed her back to gaze at gorgeous bunches of flowers in monochromatic arrangements of pink and red.
“Excuse me a moment.” The tinkling chimes of the door sounded again, and Clarissa disappeared. A heated argument commenced, and I recognized the other party.
Uh-oh. She wouldn’t dare.
“Mallory? Dakota?” Clarissa’s voice was impossibly small and meek. “I’m so sorry to have wasted your time. I can’t do the wedding.” The last pronouncement was said so softly I barely heard her.
“I’m sorry?” Dakota didn’t understand, but I did.
“Excuse me.” I brushed past Clarissa to find the source of the problem.
“Helene.”
Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue Page 11
