by Ally Gray
Stacy tried to look sympathetic or understanding to offset the harsh tone of her words. Cat wasn’t buying her attempts at being supportively critical.
“But even more important, when you look back on your wedding day in twenty years, will you be proud of this? Will you be happy with the portrait hanging in your hallway? What will you say as you thumb through your wedding album with your children? If the answer to those questions is one that you can comfortably live with, then by all means we are here to make your day perfect. But I want you to think about what this day will mean to you in the future. Not to your mother or your father’s campaign manager, but to you. I just don’t want you to have any regrets, that’s all, especially not where your future with Derrick is concerned.”
Cat looked down for a long, thoughtful moment, so long that Stacy felt a glimmer of hope that this rebellious girl was finally seeing reason. Instead, she jumped up from the sofa, curtsied to Stacy, and said, “You’re assuming I won’t have killed him and feasted on his corpse by then.”
“Okay, but what about the recent death at that property? This woman died trying to make your wedding turn out the way you wanted. Don’t you have any respect for her?”
Cat shrugged. “That just adds to the ambiance, as far as I’m concerned.” She turned to go sample the cakes, leaving Stacy with her mouth hanging open. It only took her a minute to get over the shock. Smarter girls than this one had tried to outsmart Stacy, and it never worked.
“I don’t think you mean that. Actually, I don’t think you want to get married at all.” Stacy smiled politely and waited for Cat to come back.
“What?”
“Did I stutter?” she asked, matching Cat’s perennial attitude problem with one of her own. The difference is Stacy was only kidding, and Cat not only knew it, she respected it.
“No, I mean, what do you mean? Why would you say I don’t want to get married?” the girl asked, her black-ringed eyes growing wider.
“It was something you said about your father. You said he told you to get married, and that having the wedding your way was the deal. Now, far be it from me to say you’re only doing this to get back at him, but… are you only doing this to get back at him?”
Cat didn’t answer. She looked away for a moment, and then the first hint of life came into her voice since she’d arrived in Stacy’s office.
“I really do love Derrick. I mean, Dog. That’s what he goes by now. You know, as in Cat and Dog? Anyway, I just don’t know about getting married.”
“Do you mean because you two are too young, or you don’t know each well enough?” Stacy asked, trying to sound sympathetic.
“No, it’s not that. I love him, I can’t imagine ever loving anyone else. I can’t even describe it. No, I just don’t want to get married. I mean, seriously… look at my parents. Would you want to end up like that?” she asked, piercing Stacy with a cold look that morphed into an embarrassed smirk.
“Wow. I admit, that’s not what I usually hear from the young ladies who come through these doors. Half the time I’m the one who’s torn, the one who wants to scream at them to run away and see the world before settling down. But what is it that you want? Not your father… you?”
“I don’t know. I guess there’s no reason not to marry Derrick. Like I said, we’re crazy about each other. And Daddy’s already promised to pay for the divorce if it doesn’t work out.” Stacy tried hard not to choke at Cat’s callous explanation of divorce before there was even a marriage.
“But I don’t get it. Why is he so determined for you two to get married? Is it really some political image thing like your mom said?”
“No, even Daddy isn’t that caught up in these kinds of things. But Derrick and I have plans. We want to backpack through Europe, we’ve both applied to go on a three-month conservation expedition through the Amazon, you know… stuff like that. Daddy said it doesn’t look good for his daughter to be shacking up with some guy, especially since he campaigned on this whole family values platform. I hate to admit it—and I mean I really, really hate to admit it—but I can see where he’s coming from, I guess. A lot of girls’ fathers wouldn’t even let them do the whole backpacking and Peace Corps thing, so I guess the least I can do is not throw it in his constituents’ faces that I’m sharing a tent with my boyfriend while we change the world.”
Stacy blew out a breath and relaxed against the back of the sofa, her posture now identical to Cat’s. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded thoughtfully.
“You know, I’ve got to say, that’s the least romantic love story I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing!” She and Cat both stared at each other for a second before breaking into a fit of laughter. “But at the same time, I can’t remember the last time I had a bride on this couch who sounded so level-headed about it, either. If you’re sure Derrick—I mean, Dog—is the one for you, then I guess it makes sense. And I can see why you’re determined to go into this whole thing in the most unconventional way possible.”
“Thank you, Miss East. That really means a lot to me.” Cat smiled, and for only a nanosecond Stacy could see the genuine, warm person who hid behind the layers of pasty caked on makeup. “But if you tell anybody, I’ll put a curse on you.”
Chapter 6
“Miss East?” a burly voice behind her asked. “Where do you want this… um, thing?” One of the many on-staff body builders slash security guards slash heavy lifters held up a tangle of black chains and metal bars, eyeing it as though he wasn’t sure he should be touching it.
“Oh, that’s actually a chandelier, and it’s going to go over the bride and groom’s table at the reception. So it will go over there with reception and dining for now. Thanks, Bo!” She pointed to the corner of the back patio and watched wistfully as he moved to the other side of the property, enjoying the fit of his jeans a little too much. Mandy caught her staring.
“Busted, Stacy! You cannot go around looking at guys like that! You’re engaged, and besides, I’m pretty sure it’s grounds for a lawsuit.”
“Stop it! I wasn’t doing anything wrong! I was just letting my mind take a tiny vacation to a land where I’m not elbow deep in dead bodies, frogs, and chain mail. And why aren’t you working instead of standing around judging me for my eye candy choices?”
“I was working inside in one of the rooms where the cops are letting us enter, and then I found this.” Mandy held out her smartphone and pointed to the little screen. Stacy squinted at the picture on the display. “What do you think it is?”
“What is that? Why is the wall shiny?” she demanded, grabbing the phone with both hands.
“From what I can tell, it’s salt. It’s running down the wall from somewhere, but I can’t find it.”
“No! Nothing is allowed to run down the wall! I specifically said there would be no bleeding walls!” Stacy cried. “How do you know it’s salt?”
“I might have tasted it,” Mandy said nonchalantly, looking nonplussed about the whole thing as she took her phone back.
“You licked the wall? Ewwww! What’s wrong with you?”
“I did not lick the wall, thank you very much! My mama raised me better than that. I ran my fingers down the wall and then licked my fingers. It was salt.”
“Oh my god, Mandy, that could have been ectoplasm or something! I saw Ghostbusters, you know!” Stacy tried to look serious, but cracked up when she realized she’d just referenced an eighties film as her proof of something dangerous.
“It’s not ectoplasm,” a voice behind them said, causing both women to scream. He ignored their fright and continued, “There used to be a salt water aquarium in that room. The salt water evaporated and left the residue on the wall.” Mandy dropped her phone in her shock and had to scramble to pick it up from where it slid beneath a console table.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Stacy asked, blinking rapidly. The twenty-something man with skin the color of a strong latte could have walked right off the set of a photo shoot if it weren’t f
or the toolbox he carried and the annoyed scowl on his face. Stacy nudged Mandy to remind her to breathe with her mouth closed.
“I’m Corey, the caretaker. Mr. Lariviere called and said for me to keep an eye on things. I’d say from your investigative journalism you have everything under control, though.” He laughed and pointed at Mandy’s phone.
Mandy grabbed Stacy’s arm, but she didn’t have a chance to respond to Corey’s introduction. Instead, an oversized security guard burst into the room carrying a familiar face by the back of his neck, his collar cinched up around his ears and his feet just barely brushing the floor.
“I found this guy outside, ma’am. I know we were told to keep him off the property. Do you want me to take him outside and make sure he doesn’t come back?” The guard looked almost hopeful as he waited for permission to maim a fellow human being. Stacy thought it over for a moment but decided it would be best not to. She shook her head.
“No, I’ve got a better idea. Sit him down somewhere and don’t let him out of your sight.” Stacy reached for her phone and punched her contact for her detective friend. “Rod? I’ve got your paparazzi sitting here in the parlor if you want to have a crack at him. Uh huh… he’s under close guard. Why no, he’s not bleeding… not yet anyway. Okay then, see you when you get here.”
She dropped her phone back in her pocket and smiled. “Detective Sims will be here soon, and he’ll want to know why you were taking pictures the other day after you were specifically told not to. You might want to think of a reason before he gets here.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything! A reporter doesn’t have to reveal his sources!” the man shouted, growing more and more nervous as all eyes turned to stare him down.
“Dude, that’s in court. A court can’t compel you to reveal your sources,” the security guard scoffed. He turned to look at the others and shrugged. “What? I’m in night school to become a lawyer.”
“Did you even go to journalism school?” Stacy asked. “You don’t seem to know a lot about this stuff.”
“Well, I do know that I don’t have to tell you anything. I don’t even have to tell your detective buddy. I have a right to cover the news, and this place is news!” He turned his head and looked away, signifying that he was done speaking to them.
“You know, I could still take him outside and—”
“No, there’ll be none of that. It’s not necessary just yet. I’m sure Rod can get him to talk, and probably even hold him in jail at least until this event is over.”
“On what grounds?” the reporter demanded shrilly.
“On the grounds of pissing me off!” the guard answered, drawing back a fist as though he was going to punch him right where he sat. Stacy put a hand on the guard’s arm to stop him. She did love a nice good cop bad cop routine, and this time she didn’t even have to twist anyone’s arm into playing along.
“Now, I’m sure there’s no need for violence yet,” she said sweetly, perching on the edge of the bench beside the reporter. “If there’s a news story here, we certainly want to help you get it. After all, our events are often covered in the papers, and there’s no reason an up-and-coming reporter like yourself can’t have an insider look at one of the most important events of the year.”
He sat up straighter and adjusted his jacket, intrigued by the possibility of having access to a career-making story. Then, just as quickly, he folded like a cheap umbrella, letting his shoulders sag as he constructed his story.
“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I got a tip that there’s a big story here involving the ghost, that’s all. I was told it’s the kind of news that could turn the whole state on its head. I’ve been trying to get inside the house to get to the story, but no one will talk to me. That’s all I know, I swear.”
Stacy looked at him thoughtfully for a second, trying to get a read on his character. He seemed genuine enough, and his story about a lead for a story was certainly plausible. But there was a reason she was an event planner instead of a detective.
“Well, I might be tempted to believe you, but we’ve already called my friend. You’d better be able to answer his questions in a convincing way since he has his own methods for dealing with trouble. Trust me, it involves trying to find someone to post your bail three days from now.”
* * *
“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Rod said after he arrived and had a long chat on the porch with the visibly paler reporter. “Our guy really doesn’t seem to know anything, and you can go back in the house. The police have made an initial ruling on it and have cleared the crime scene. I’ll do my best to get the paperwork pushed through so you can have your authorization to enter.”
“Oh goodie,” Stacy answered, “but you’ll have to explain to me which of those things is the good news and which one is the bad news. So what did the police have to say?”
“They’ve ruled it a suicide. She tied the rope to the doorknob and wrapped it around the beam and ceiling fan, which is why it wouldn’t turn. Hung herself right there in the famous ghost’s bedroom.”
“What? That can’t be right!” Stacy answered, shocked.
“Okay, let’s hear your theory, Matlock,” Rod answered jokingly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and waiting for her to explain.
“First of all, what kind of moron would hang herself from a ceiling fan? It would never work, it would drop her like third period French and then crash down on her head! But more important, Lady Persephone came to see me before she died. She was determined to get close to the ghost in this house, and even told me that several members of her family before her had tried. Why would she go up to that room and kill herself?”
“Um, maybe because ghosts aren’t real and therefore wanting to talk to a ghost means you’re already not really stable? That would make her not stable enough to hang herself and do a crappy job of it, don’t you think?”
Stacy shook her head. “I just don’t think so. I’ve talked to her. I just can’t envision it.”
“There was something else. It was really strange,” Rod admitted. “The medical examiner thinks it was a setup of some kind. The woman had a separate rope underneath her arms.”
“Like she’d been tied up, you mean?” Stacy looked horrified at the thought that Persephone had been bound and brought to that room against her will. “What if someone tied her up and killed her, but tried to make it look like a suicide?”
“I don’t think that’s what they came up with,” he answered, shaking his head. “They ran tests on the body and could have uncovered signs of a struggle. They didn’t find anything.”
Their conversation was cut short by a scream from the floor above them. Rather than a cry of surprise or alarm, it was an otherworldly scream that went on forever. Whoever it was had to have been a trained opera singer to sustain a note like that, and for that long.
“Stay here,” Rod ordered, flipping open the strap on his holster but leaving his gun in place for now. Instead of following his orders, Stacy raced up the stairs behind him. They reached the second floor hallway and looked in both directions, searching for the source of the noise, but didn’t see anyone. The deafening sound was definitely louder, but fluctuated in volume as the doors to all the rooms upstairs flew open and shut, over and over, all on their own.
As suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped. The doors swung gently on their hinges from the momentum of their violent movements, but otherwise the second floor was dead.
“It’s time for everyone to—” Rod began, but he was interrupted by a low moan that grew in volume until it reached normal levels. The moan transformed into words.
“Geeeeeeeeet… ooooooout.”
Chapter 7
“So, this is what passes for a staff meeting in my company? If I’d known that, I’d have shown up for work years ago,” Nathan said when he finally joined them for drinks that night. As Stacy’s boss slash fiancé, he was in tune with the goings on at Events by Design by double defaul
t: he owned the company—on paper at least, even if he was hard pressed to interrupt his daily golf game to care about it—and he was crazy in love with his fiancée, a certain Anastacia East, meaning her triumphs were his triumphs. Of course, it also meant that her headaches brought on by deranged, psychopathic clients were his, too.
“I’ll have you know this is a research trip,” Stacy answered coolly, pointing to the faces seated around the bar’s tables. “We have to come up with a variety of death-themed cocktails that taste awesome, look gruesome, but don’t break the budget or our digestive systems.”
“There was booze research taking place and you didn’t automatically think of me? I’m crushed, really. Tell me, though, what’s Wednesday Adams’ most recent problem?” he asked, lifting a glass of swirling grey and red liquor and eyeing it cautiously before taking a sip.
“Oh, let’s see,” Stacy began, holding up her fingers to tick off the list. “Her mother doesn’t approve of her style of wedding, Jeremiah can’t promise the black roses and black icing on the cake, our in-house caterer is too superstitious to get involved in a wedding like this, and the venue she’s chosen is haunted. Of course, there’s the small matter of the dead person who was hauled out of the venue the other day, turning the whole place into an off-limits crime scene for a time, and then the ghost that screamed at us to vacate the premises. How was your day, dear?” She looked up at him and smiled, greedily accepting his kiss as he pulled up a chair. There were cat calls and shouts of “get a room” from her best friends, but that didn’t deter her one bit.
Nathan had only proposed recently, and Stacy had only in the last couple of months made peace with her long-standing inner battle to not be the kind of girl who dates her boss. Instead of fighting the stereotype, she pushed it aside and decided to enjoy it. All those brides were on to something, she’d decided. It was called blissful happiness, brought on by lots of lace and fondant.
