by Sofia Belle
When I'd taken on Clive and Hailey as clients, I'd been sure that their love was true. I'd never been wrong yet, but there was always a first time. What if this was the first time?
“What are you talking about?” Clive asked, taking a step closer.
I tried to make myself disappear against the driver's seat. There were so many things wrong with this moment. First of all, there was the small possibility that even if Hailey and Clive loved each other, Clive could still be our killer.
Loving Hailey and killing Linda were two separate things entirely, and I could have missed Clive's dangerous side because I'd been all too focused on the couple as a pair. Hailey's sweet side more than made up for Clive's temper.
In fact, they made the perfect pair. She was the only person I'd seen be able to calm him down. A touch of her fingers on his wrist, and Clive melted into a puddle of goo. I'd seen it firsthand, and it was one of the aspects of their relationships that'd made me agree to take them on as clients; that sort of love was hard to come by.
True love wasn't always about being perfectly compatible. Sometimes it was about having the ability to mute the other's flaws. It was a bit like the pairing of lime and tequila: sometimes tequila burned on the way down, but the lime cut the aftereffects and made for a combination that somehow worked, even though separately, drinking tequila and eating limes weren't pleasant experiences. Together, they complimented one another.
“Well, you snuck off during the fitting for the bridesmaids’ dresses,” Layla said. “You conveniently disappeared during the time of the murder, and to my knowledge, you haven't given a viable alibi.”
“You're not the cops. I don't owe you an alibi,” Clive said. “You don’t know anything.” His lips formed a thin, tight line. “It's none of your business.”
“No, but it is the cops’ business,” Layla said. “And we're headed there right now, as a matter of fact.”
“Why?” He looked between us. “What are you insinuating?”
“They have some questions for us, and we have some information for them,” I said, sounding a lot more confident than I felt inside. “That’s all.”
“This little car chase might make for some interesting water cooler conversation with the chief,” Layla broke in. Then she paused, futzing with her nails for a few more minutes before giving Clive a wide smile. “Unless you have a good reason to be cruising the back alleys of Fairyvale? And sneaking away from your fiancée's estate? And wandering around without a valid excuse during the short window in which a murder was committed?”
Clive did not look happy. His eyebrows drew together, and his cheeks puffed with air as he sucked breaths in and out. He rested a hand on the roof of my car, squinting up into the sky as if hoping to find the answers in the clouds. Eventually, he looked down, ducking beneath the arm on top of my vehicle. “I have business over here.”
“Ah. Business. Great.” Layla turned to me. “I think we've got what we need. If the chief asks, we can just tell him that of course Clive has an alibi. He had ‘business.’ Business so important that it couldn't wait until after the biggest day of his life.”
Clive's lips turned down. After a long, tense pause, the final straw landed. His eyes flashed, and he said spoke much louder than necessary. “I'm getting help, okay?” He shook his head, as if unable to believe he was really telling us this. “You are nosy! And rude! I was getting help, okay? I have someone who can vouch for me during the time of Linda’s murder.”
His confession stunned us into silence. Layla was the first to recover.
“Like, professional help?” She wrinkled her nose. “Are you talking to a shrink?”
“Yes. No, I mean no,” Clive shook his head. “Not a shrink, but she's a professional.”
“There's nothing wrong with that, whatever it is for,” I said, my voice soft. “But you might want to pass the name of the person who can provide your alibi to the police. The chief is looking for suspects, and right now, I have to imagine you're on the list. I’m not the police, so I’m not privy to their files, but I am your wedding planner, and I care about you and Hailey.”
“I don't want word to get out.” Clive's face turned from anger into a crumpled sort of grimace. “If it gets out, I just...I don't want Hailey to find out.”
“Find out what?” Layla leaned over. “You really shouldn't be doing anything that'll get you in trouble this close to your wedding, ya know.”
“Or ever,” I added. “Best to avoid getting in trouble at all.”
“It's not like that. Nothing like that.” Clive gave a resigned shake of his head. “It's my vows.”
It was my turn to have my jaw drop open. “Your vows?”
Clive gave a tight sigh. “Yes, my vows, okay? Mrs. Thompson, the psychic, is my alibi. You can ask her. I stopped by during the bridesmaids’ fitting, since it's only a few doors away. I grabbed a coffee first, so I could use that as an excuse if anyone asked. She was busy then, but she told me to stop by today so she could help me.”
“I don't understand.” I shook my head. “How can a psychic help you with your vows?”
I'd had plenty of clients come to me before with requests for help on their vows. Many of them didn't need help; they were just worried, or they needed a bit of encouragement or a piece of advice. Most of the time, I didn't do much except give them a kind word and tell them to write from the heart. Once they did that, they didn't need help from anyone else. But a psychic—that was a new one.
“I wanted to write something Hailey would love,” Clive said. “I...I'm in finance. I deal with numbers and spreadsheets and analysis. I make decisions based off of data, not off of feelings, and Hailey deserves more than that.”
“She deserves you,” I said, my words gentle. “Whatever you can come up with will work.”
He scowled. “No matter what I did, no matter what I wrote, it always sounded stilted and fake. I was running out of ideas, so I figured going to a psychic was worth a shot. Maybe she could see into the future and tell me what Hailey wanted to hear. Or, worst-case scenario, she could look into the future and tell me how I ruined the vows and how I could avoid it.”
Clive’s face melted into such a pitiful expression right then that my heart could hardly handle it. His sneaking around, his not wanting Hailey to know where he was going—it all made sense. I let out a huge sigh of relief; Clive had never seemed like a killer to me, but his actions had been too suspicious to ignore.
I smiled. “Clive, that's...”
“That is so friggin' sweet.” Layla burst into sobs, fanning her face. “Holy Hannah, if you weren't getting married, I'd propose right now. I want someone who cares that much about me.”
I reached over and patted my friend on the shoulder. “We all do. There, there, Layla...no, Layla, do not get snot on my sleeve. Oh, okay. Well, I need a new jacket.” I shrugged out of the shawl I'd been wearing and donated it to the Layla cryfest. I turned back to Clive. “Listen, I owe you a huge apology. I am really, really sorry about everything. Tailing you, sneaking around. I should have been up front with you, and I'm sorry about that. I hope you can understand I was only doing it to protect Hailey.”
After some consideration, Clive gave a succinct nod. “I suppose we were both doing it for Hailey.”
I smiled. “It is her day, like you said. The police might want to speak with Mrs. Thompson, though.” I didn't think he was lying, but it was better to warn him than not. See if he had any reaction. “I’m sure they’d keep it private.”
He sighed with resigned acceptance. “Yes, I figured it'd only be a matter of time. They've talked to me once already, but I was sure they'd be back. I don't care. I don't have anything to hide—except the fact that I need help with my vows.”
“Plenty of people need a little direction,” I said. “It's nothing to be ashamed about.”
“I love Hailey so much,” he said. “I feel like a failure needing to get help on these. I wish they'd just come out how I felt inside; I love her, I w
ant to be with her, so why can't I get it on paper?”
I extended a hand. “Let me see what you've got.”
In my experience, most grooms struggling with the wording on their vows carried a crumpled sheet of paper in their pocket, hoping that a stroke of genius would magically give them all the information they needed. In Clive's case, I wasn't wrong. He extended that crumpled sheet of paper then shoved his hands into his pockets.
I read it over, flinching at the dryness of the words on the page. “Well this...it's...” I wanted to say it wasn't bad, but that'd be lying. “This is a start.”
“It's horrible!” Clive turned in a circle, his gaze up at the sky. “See? Even you can't tell me it has any redeeming qualities.”
“It's just very...specific.” I read over the sheet of paper again. Clive had listed out Hailey's accomplishments like a resume. He wrote down the reasons he loved her as if it were a math exam. Even the descriptions of her physical appearance read like a police report: pretty, five-foot-four female with blonde hair. I shook my head. “Here. Let me give you a few ideas.”
I scratched out some of the specifics, cut out a few of Hailey's less-than-interesting accomplishments—things like winning the second-grade chess tournament and donating twelve inches of her hair back in eighth grade to Locks of Love—and whittled the rest down to a paragraph. “Read that.”
Clive took the paper, read it once, and then looked up. With a mystified gaze, he turned back to the paper, read it again, and then looked up a second time. “That is exactly what I was trying to say. That's what's in here!” He pointed to his chest then shook his head. “Can I use this?”
“Those are your words, Clive,” I said. “I just took out the boring ones and left the interesting ones. You don't need help and you don't need a psychic. That came from you.”
Finally, for the first time in the past week or two, he cracked a smile. A real, genuine smile. His shoulders dropped as if the tension had just slipped right out from his body, and he raised a hand in excitement. “This is perfect. Thank you, Bel. Thank you so much.”
“I didn't do anything.” I smiled back. “You're ready to get married, Clive.”
He turned around, his footsteps light as he practically floated back to his car. When he reached the front door to his vehicle, he turned around. “You are the Wedding Witch for a reason.”
I turned to Layla and pulled the car out from the back alley and onto the main road. “And that, my dear, is why they pay me the big bucks.”
Chapter 14
** **
Twenty minutes later, the two of us walked through the front door of Whitman's flower shop. I’d spent the rest of the drive over there grinning from ear to ear.
Moments like these were some of the most satisfying aspects of my job. Taking someone, giving them a guiding hand—turning their fears into happiness, and helping their dreams come true, that was the true magic of my job. People thought it was all planning and details and folding napkins into swans; sure, some of that was true. Like all jobs, mine had tedious tasks too. But unlike some jobs, mine had other moments that were more rewarding than I ever could have imagined when I’d first gotten into the business.
“All these flowers make me want to get married,” Layla said, waltzing into the place. She did a twirl with her arms spread wide, gazing at the beautiful arrays of flowers hanging from every surface imaginable.
Tulips popped up from windowsill trays, while lilacs bloomed against another wall. A garden of roses lined a beautiful path from the front door to the counter at the back, and the entire room looked alive. Another store filled to the brim with a touch of magic.
The Whitman family business had been around for ages, passed down to the first daughter in each family. At the moment, Eva Whitman ran the shop, a middle-aged woman with three daughters—all of whom could be found planting, digging, or weeding with their mother more days than not.
“You? Want to get married?” I winked at Layla. “I would never have guessed.”
“You're right. Anyway, I think I'd prefer chocolate to flowers. I don't know what got into me.” Layla blinked. “I don't even like flowers, but then I walked in here and it was like the scent of the flowers just got my hormones racing.”
I, too, had felt it. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that Eva's green thumb had a little extra zing to it...the zing being a very magical sort of zap. Though love potions were technically illegal, there was something, something in the flowers that caused high levels of attraction or desire.
“I see you caught a whiff of the bleeding hearts,” Eva said, appearing from behind a branch with tiny little flowers dangling from it in the shape of hearts. She winked. “Some say that Aphrodite herself planted the first seeds.”
Layla snorted. “Right. There definitely are not any extra pheromones added to them suckers.”
Eva gave her wide-eyed, innocent stare tinged with mischief. Witches couldn't outright talk about their magic to non–family members, but when a family had been in business for as long as the Whitmans and I had the sort of track record with the weddings that I did, it was a mere formality. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
I laughed. Though we couldn't confirm or deny magic, Eva walked the fine line with her hints. “Right, right. The Whitman touch.”
She grinned. “Of course. Now, I don't want to assume, but I'm hoping you're here with news about Hailey's final decision?”
I nodded. “Great news! She wanted to go ahead with the Whitman order we've discussed.”
“Oh, wonderful. I was really hoping there wasn't competition.” Her eyes darkened slightly. “I know that Anderson shop has been in business for a few months now, but I've never seen anyone coming in or out of there. When I checked the city records, I couldn't find out who owned the store. Was Hailey seriously considering going with them?”
As much as I liked Eva as a person and thought she did a wonderful job with flowers, it was also my job to consider budget. I always presented as many options as possible to my clients, letting them decide what would make their day the most special.
For some couples, money was a huge factor. For Hailey, it was not. Sometimes this caused friction with my most valued vendors, but at the end of the day, I brought in so much business for these shops that they couldn’t argue much.
“She didn't take long to decide to go with Whitman's,” I said. “Hailey wants the best, and you are, undoubtedly, the best.”
Eva clapped her hands. “Good. I have the order sheets that we've previously discussed. Does that still work for you?”
I looked over her shoulder and reviewed the sheet. I made a few changes based on my last-minute visit to the venue, reviewed it again, and when I was satisfied that the order would transform Hailey's wedding into a flourishing fairy tale, I handed it back. “It's perfect.”
Eva scanned the list, doing a good job of keeping her expression neutral when she'd noted that I'd added a few more items to the already astronomical list. With an order this size, Eva wouldn't have to sell a flower for the next year, and she'd still be profitable. “Wonderful. I'll get this to my assistant, and we'll get started right away with the preparations. Cris?”
A gangly kid just out of high school appeared from the back room. A frown bent his lips downward, and his slouch made him look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame's long-lost brother.
He reached for the order, glanced over it, and grunted. Then he returned to the back room as slowly as he'd emerged. He reminded me of a grumpy grizzly bear who'd been dragged out of hibernation to run an errand.
“New help around here?” I asked. “I haven't seen him around.”
Eva fought to keep her face a mask, though her lips couldn't quite hold their smile. “I'm doing it as a favor to Andy.”
“Andy Sweet?”
Layla perked up at the mention of her crush's name. “Andy? What about him?”
“Andy's assistant, Amelie, is dating Cris, and they were hoping to move in together,
” Eva said. “I know Amelie, and I like her a lot. She's sweet and does a great job working for Andy. But she wouldn't agree to move in with Cris until he got a job. Andy thought I could use a young, able-bodied man around the place to help lift flowers in and out of trucks for delivery days.”
“So you hired him as a favor?” I asked. “That's nice of you.”
She shrugged. “I could use the help, and, like I said, I like Amelie.” She leaned forward, dropping her voice low. “I just don't understand why she's with this kid.”
“He's not from here?”
“No, he’s new in town,” Eva said. “That's why he was struggling to find work. You know how this town can be a bit narrow minded when it comes to outsiders, and I thought I'd give him a chance to work.”
“And it's going well?” I peeked into the back room, where the kid was busy sorting through stacks of single-stemmed roses.
“It's only been a few weeks.” She hesitated. “He's young. He'll learn.”
“Well, that's nice of you. I actually have to talk to Amelie,” I said. “She's not around by chance, is she?”
Eva shook her head. “She stopped by on Cris's lunch break. She left the second his lunch hour was up, and she told him to get back to work for me.” Eva laughed. “She's feisty, that one, and I know she likes Cris. Still, I'm glad she agreed not to move in with him until he showed his ability to hold down a job for at least a few months.”
“Smart girl,” I said, spinning around to look for Layla. Somehow, I'd lost her. “They're young, anyway. They have time. Speaking of time, I should be going. I'm going to swing by Dungeons and Donuts to see if Amelie’s around. Where is Layla? She was just here.”
A clatter behind Eva drew both of our eyes to the back office, where Layla was standing over Cris's shoulders, pointing at flowers. Cris didn't look happy, and Layla looked less than overjoyed.
“Can I help you, Layla?” Eva opened the door between the back room and the front office. “Is Cris able to help you find everything you need?”
