She invites them in, thinking of the note in her pocket and almost wishing that she could take the anonymous advice to stop the wedding.
But that would lead to homelessness, which in turn would lead her right back to Millicent. No way. This wedding is going to happen.
“What’s that stench?” Johneen asks, sniffing the air as she steps over the threshold.
Bella looks around, wondering if one of the kittens wandered too far from the litter box and had an accident. “I don’t smell anything.”
“It’s . . .” Johneen sniffs again, making a face. “It’s like fruity bathroom spray or something.”
“Fruity . . . um, I baked a strudel.” And if you call that stench, you’re in the wrong house.
She’d better make sure Johneen stays away from the kittens—and from Jiffy, who isn’t always successful at blowing the stink off.
Zeroing in on the pumpkin candle flickering on the registration desk, Johneen walks over to extinguish it with a sharp exhalation and an exaggerated “P.U.”
“She doesn’t do scents,” Parker informs Bella.
“I already told her that,” Johneen says, as if Bella is invisible.
Parker drops a bag at the foot of the stairs, then returns to the car to unload three more suitcases and two garment bags as Johneen stands by, yawning and complaining about being exhausted. She wonders aloud whether there’s time for a nap before the rehearsal dinner.
“If you’d like to go lie down, I have the suite all set for you.”
“Suite? What are you talking about? We requested the Teacup Room, didn’t we, Parker?”
“Yes, we did.” He deposits the last suitcase on the hardwood floor with a dent-worthy thud. “You said the Teacup Room was the biggest room here. Were you holding out on us, Isabella?”
“No, it’s actually the same room. I just gave it a makeover last week, and you’ll be the first ones to stay in it. Fresh paint, brand-new curtains and duvet . . .”
“I’m so relieved! I didn’t want to have to look back on my wedding night in some dingy, old room filled with chipped saucers and an ugly bedspread and that awful threadbare rug.”
Bella’s smile vanishes, magically transferred onto Johneen’s face. She, for once, is beaming.
Is now the time for Bella to mention that the awful, threadbare rug is still there? No. She rearranged the furniture to cover the worst worn spots. Johneen might not even notice.
Oh, who are you kidding? Of course she’ll notice. Just like she’ll notice the rain when it turns her into a drowned rat. Instead of a regular rat.
“Why don’t you two sign the guest register?” She directs them to the desk and hands the suite key to Parker. “And help yourselves to some M&Ms, too. The previous owner always kept this bowl filled for her guests, so I’ve kept up the tradition.”
“Mmm,” the bride replies. Not mmm as in “yummy,” but mmm as in “who cares?”
Parker turns to Bella as Johneen signs the register with a flourish. “The previous owner . . . is she the one who was murdered by that—”
“Murdered?” Johneen echoes, dropping the pen. It rolls off the desk and skitters across the floor. “Someone was murdered in this house?”
“No, not in this house. She was drowned.” As opposed to she drowned, which is what Bella was told when she got here. If she’d had an inkling then that it wasn’t an accident, she never would have spent that first night here.
“But she was murdered? Do you mean there’s a murderer out there who might—”
“No! The person responsible is in jail, and it wasn’t a random crime.” Bella quickly explains what happened.
Parker nods. “I suppose everyone has her share of enemies.”
Johneen, who undoubtedly does, clutches his sleeve. “How can we get married here after—”
“Now, Daisy, you need to just take a deep breath and—”
“How can I? This is awful! The wedding is ruined!” she rails on melodramatically. “I can’t believe you didn’t mention this earlier!”
Bella isn’t sure whether Johneen’s accusation is aimed toward her or Parker. Her gray gaze flits wildly from one to the other and then around the room as if she’s expecting to find Leona Gatto’s killer lurking behind the potted palm.
“You’re a wreck,” Parker says in a soothing voice. “Calm down and don’t start crying. Your face will get all puffy.”
Johneen, who doesn’t do puffy, does appear to be on the verge of tears.
“Come on, Daisy.” He picks up two large suitcases. “Let’s go up to the suite and you can lie down and think this through.”
“Think what through? We can’t get married here now.”
“Of course we can. You heard yourself that there’s no danger. The killer is in jail.”
“But it’s . . . tainted. How can we—”
“How can we not? Everything is ready. Our guests are on their way. We’re in love and we’re getting married tomorrow. Isn’t that all that matters?”
Johneen’s face softens just a bit. “I never meant that it wasn’t. I just suddenly feel so rushed. I’ve dreamed of the perfect wedding since I was a little girl.”
“And that’s what you shall have. I promise, and so does Isabella. Right, Isabella?”
“Absolutely.” Again, she pushes the thought of the anonymous letter from her mind. “It’s going to be just . . . perfect.”
“See? All better now?”
“I guess so,” Johneen says. “Thank you, Parker.”
You’re welcome, Bella thinks. Sheesh.
She’s momentarily gratified when Parker turns to her, undoubtedly intending to share the credit.
“Isabella, would you mind giving me a hand with these bags, please?”
Seriously?
Johneen, already on the stairs, empty-handed, doesn’t even look back.
Yes. Seriously.
Fine. The sooner Bella gets them out of here, the better. She doesn’t want to say or do anything she’ll regret.
Like show them the evidence that an anonymous correspondent doesn’t want them to get married tomorrow. Maybe she should, and maybe she will, but not until she’s had time to reexamine the letter and perhaps run it by someone.
Ordinarily, she’d turn to Odelia. But if she’s behind this, she’ll deny it. And if she isn’t, she’ll take it as a sign that she’s not the only one having wedding premonitions.
Bella picks up one of the garment bags and reaches for the other.
“Careful—that’s Daisy’s gown,” Parker says. “She’s very particular about it.”
Then she shouldn’t expect minions to cart it around for her, should she? Bella wants to growl.
“I’ll come back down for it,” he tells her. “You just get that other suitcase.”
Good thing I’m strong, Bella thinks as she lugs it up one step at a time, with Parker behind her, still wearing his sunglasses. Otherwise, I might lose my grip and let this stupid thing drop on his stupid head.
“Try not to bump it around too much,” he says behind her. “She has fragile jewelry in there.”
Right. Bella might just lose her grip anyway. On the suitcase and everything else.
At the top of the stairs, she can hear muffled laughter from the Rose Room: Calla and Max, playing with Chance and the litter. With any luck, they’ll all stay behind closed doors for the time being. Johneen might be thrilled to see her old friend, but she assuredly won’t feel the same about a kid and eight kitties.
Down the hall, the door to the honeymoon suite is ajar. Bella can see that Johneen is already lying on the bed, her shoe-clad feet plunked down on the brand new white duvet.
Bella dumps the garment bag on the upholstered bench just inside the door. She’s not about to play bellhop, hanging things in the closet and fetching ice—ice! She forgot to refill the freezer trays for the cocktail party tonight.
She swivels and shoulders past Parker, heading back down the hall and down the stairs. At the botto
m of the flight, she pauses, hearing the door to the Rose Room open above. Calla’s and Max’s voices float out into the hall.
“Careful, Calla! Saturday is trying to escape!”
“Whoa, get back in there, little girl! Got her, Max?”
“Got her. She’s a bad influence on Spidey, by the way. Now he wants to escape.”
“Aw, Spidey, you’re too tiny for the big, bad world! You stay here with Max. He’ll protect you!”
Bella smiles. Apparently, her son and the kittens have made another friend in Lily Dale.
Then she hears Parker’s voice. “Calla?”
“Yes? Oh—are you Parker?”
“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Congratulations! Where’s Johnny?”
“I’m right here,” the bride calls, sounding almost like a regular person.
Eavesdropping below, Bella smiles, listening to a happy reunion between old friends. Then Calla introduces Johneen and Parker to Max, Chance, and the kittens.
“It’s nice to meet you. All of you.” Johneen is civil, but it’s clear from her stiff tone that she isn’t thrilled to find children and animals sharing the same roof on her wedding eve.
“Hello, there . . . everyone.” Parker’s attempt at an avuncular greeting ends in a strangled cough. Or maybe it was a sneeze. Possibly fake, Bella finds herself thinking.
“Are you all right?” Calla asks.
“I am. I’m just . . . allergic.”
“To kids?” That’s Max, sounding intrigued.
“To cats.”
“Really? You never told me that,” Johneen says.
“You never asked. I didn’t think you were interested in having pets.”
“I’m not. I just—”
“You had a kitten in college,” Calla cuts in. “Remember? Her name was Coco.”
“Like Cocoa Puffs?” Max again.
Calla laughs, and Johneen, who probably hates puffs as much as she hates puffy, promptly sets him straight. “No! After the designer.”
“Huh?”
“Coco Chanel,” Calla explains. “Don’t worry, Max. Before I met Johnny, I never knew the difference between Coco Chanel and Cocoa Puffs either.”
“We should probably let you know, Calla”—that’s Parker—“that she’s not going by that nickname anymore.”
Bella rolls her eyes at the stiff admonishment.
It’s followed by a high-pitched cry from not-Johnny. “This cat! It’s . . . it’s trying to eat my foot!”
“Chance!” Max scolds. “Stop that! Sorry, she’s just really hungry today.”
Calla’s laughter fills the upstairs hall, punctuated by the sounds of Johneen hurriedly retreating to her suite and Max wrestling Chance back into the Rose Room. Two doors slam shut, and Bella sighs.
As she turns toward the kitchen, she spots something white poking out from beneath a fold in the long draperies at the window. Stooping to lift the hem, she sees that it’s one of her bras.
“Terrific,” she mutters. Chance is forever dragging garments out of the laundry room and stashing them around the house. She thought she did a thorough search and recover earlier today, but she was bound to miss something. Oh, well. At least it wasn’t a pair of Max’s dirty underwear tucked under Johneen’s pillow—yet.
It’s going to be a long weekend, she thinks, glancing at the steamer trunk still waiting on the front porch.
A white-clad figure stands beside it.
She gasps. For a split second, Lily Dale has rubbed off on her and she’s certain it’s an apparition.
Then a decidedly alive-and-well human voice drawls an apology: “Ah’m sorry! Did ah frighten you? Ah was just about to ring the bay-ell.”
Bella’s first ghost has turned out to be a regular old person. Probably one of the wedding guests. Maybe even a relative, judging by her appearance, though Johneen and Parker had said there would be no family here.
She’s wearing a white sweater dress that clings to her curves. With her creamy complexion, delicate features, and lithe figure, this lovely blonde could pass for a more mature version of the bride herself. She appears to be in her late thirties. Maybe an older sister? Perhaps a youthful aunt?
Before Bella can find out, she hears Parker behind her, halfway down the stairs, sans jacket and the sunglasses.
“Virginia? What are you doing here?”
A smile lights the visitor’s face. “Surprise!”
“What are you doing here?” he repeats, hurrying down.
He does look surprised to see her. Surprised, dismayed, and yet delighted, all at once. He gives her a heartfelt hug but repeats his question a third time.
This time, she drawls a simple explanation: how could she not be here on his wedding day?
“You didn’t have to come all this way. You really shouldn’t have.”
Bella detects the hint of drawl she heard in his voice the first time she met him and remembers that he has southern roots. This guest must not be from the Maynard side after all.
“It wasn’t all that far, Sugar.”
“Sure it was.”
“I’d do anything for you.”
“I know you would, Ginny, but we were planning a reception later for the family.”
“I’m the only kin that matters, Parker, and I couldn’t miss y’all’s big day,” she says sweetly, all ah’m and ah and way-ell and Pah-kah.
“I should have known you’d show up.” With a pleased, helpless smile, he turns to Bella. “This is my cousin, Virginia. Virginia, this is Isabella. She’s the wedding planner, and she’s singlehandedly running this place.”
“Well, bless your heart.” Virginia clasps Bella’s hand warmly, telling her it’s wonderful to meet her. “How on earth do you do it all? You must have housekeeping help, at least.”
She glances down at the bra in her hand. “I wish.”
“What is that?” Virginia asks.
Embarrassed, Bella admits, “It’s . . . one of my bras. I have a cat who likes to carry laundry around the house. Particularly anything with straps she can chew.”
Virginia bursts out laughing. “See now, this is why I love kitties so much. They’re always up to something!”
Bella wants to hug her. Resemblance or not, she should have known right away that this sweetheart isn’t related to the ice queen upstairs. Parker isn’t exactly a teddy bear, but who would be, dealing with a woman like Johneen on a daily basis?
Not, Bella reminds herself, that they even live together, or plan to immediately after the wedding. But distance must work in their favor. Clearly, absence doesn’t just make the heart grow fonder; it makes the brain overlook gaping character flaws.
“I can’t wait to meet your future wife,” Virginia tells Parker. “Where is she?”
“She’s having a little lie-down. You’ll meet her later.”
You might want to change your outfit before you do, Bella wants to warn her. Only the bride is allowed to be all dressed in white.
“I’m sure she needs her rest. Poor thing has been through so much.” Virginia shakes her head sympathetically, as if planning a wedding is akin to mortal combat.
Unless Bella is mistaken, Parker gives her a warning look and shakes his head slightly, as if she’s said something she shouldn’t have.
Yes, and Virginia’s eyes flick to Bella before she adds hastily, “I’m sure it was a long drive up here.”
It was only a few hours from Pittsburgh. And Parker had flown there last night from Toronto so that Johneen wouldn’t have to make the trip alone.
Virginia turns to Bella. “I hope y’all have room for me here at the inn? I probably should have called ahead, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Bella’s thoughts whirl. There’s the third-floor room with the leaky ceiling. Unlike Millicent—or, for that matter, Johneen—Virginia strikes Bella as the kind of woman who won’t fuss over a dollop of dampness.
“Actually, I do have a room for you.”
&nbs
p; “Really?” Parker’s cousin thanks her profusely and thanks her lucky stars; Bella, smiling, silently does the same. Now, no matter what happens next door, she really doesn’t have room for her mother-in-law.
Bella quickly explains the ceiling issue but assures Virginia that it’s dry now. She offers a low rate and runs through the usual check-in spiel, running through the hours for coffee and continental breakfast and adding that she’ll make up the room between eleven and one tomorrow.
“Any questions?” she asks, handing over the key.
“Just one. I’m assuming the inn is nonsmoking?” At Bella’s nod, Virginia says, “Then I’ll just step outside and have a quick smoke before I go on up.”
“And I’ll come with you and bum one,” Parker says.
“I thought you quit.”
“I did. Daisy hates it.”
“Well, then, maybe you shouldn’t be sneaking cigarettes.”
“Consider it my last hurrah,” he says, holding the door open for her.
Her good-natured reply is lost as the door slams shut on its squeaky hinge.
Bella starts toward the stairs, needing to make sure there’s no stray Lego bricks littering the empty room. Conversation drifts through the open screen on a whiff of tobacco smoke.
“I probably shouldn’t have just shown up last minute,” Virginia is saying. “It’s ever so rude, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to surprise you. I’m sorry, Parker.”
Unlike Virginia, Maleficent hadn’t bothered to apologize. And she came with an ulterior motive, besides.
It’s going to be a long, hard weekend, Bella thinks. I just hope I can survive it.
“You did surprise me, but you can’t fool me,” Parker says, out on the porch. “I know why you’re here, Virginia.”
“Well, you can’t blame me, can you? I’d never forgive myself if something were to happen on your wedding day.”
Bella freezes with her foot on the bottom step, eyes wide.
“Nothing is going to happen,” Parker says. “That’s why we chose this spot. It’s secluded and safe. No big splashy wedding to draw attention and tempt fate.”
“But no place is really safe. You could have been followed here.”
“Well, if we were, I’m here to protect my Daisy.”
Something Buried, Something Blue Page 9
