Wedding Mints and Witnesses

by Kelsey Browning

  “Decor, dear.” Lil gazed around, the closest thing to avarice that Abby Ruth had ever seen in her eyes.

  “You really love this, don’t you?”

  Lil’s smile was both sad and reminiscent. “If I hadn’t been so busy trying to be the perfect wife to Harlan and the perfect matriarch to Summer Haven, maybe I would’ve found a career I loved, like wedding planning.”

  “I’m pretty sure this is what hell would look like for me.”

  “Your personal hell would be a place with no guns or whiskey.”

  “You know me so well.” She craned her neck to look around. If there was one vendor in this place, there were a thousand. “How are we supposed to find our ginger DJ Dicky in all this?”

  Lil handed over a thick pamphlet. When Abby Ruth shook it open, it looked like a map of Six Flags on steroids.

  Lil said, “All the music vendors, including harpists and ukulele players, are on row D-6.”

  “No harps,” Abby Ruth said and took off in the direction of row D. She led the way through streams of people, the vast majority of them women, oohing and aahing over stuff like an accordion player and what appeared to be a choir of eunuchs, if their smooth faces and pretty looks were any indication.

  What was wrong with the traditional organ player?

  “I see the sign over there.” Maggie pointed to a swath of red plastic with the name DJ Dicky emblazoned on it.

  “Excellent.” Abby Ruth pivoted and strode in that direction. Sure enough, when she made it to the booth, a man—dressed in a leather vest, a backwards ball cap, and enough gold chains to sink a ship—was chatting with a gaggle of rapt young women and telling them about the hottest first dance songs of the year. It was hard to see his hair color with that hat pulled low, so Abby Ruth circled around the other women to get behind DJ Dicky.

  Didn’t take much to flick his hat from his head.

  He spun around and hunkered down in a strange attack crouch. “What the hell?”

  “Are you always this touchy?” She stooped down to pick up his hat and gave him a good look up and down. She picked up the hat and waved it around. Huh, Red Sox. She wasn’t surprised. He looked like a Sox fan.

  But he was a redhead, and that made her heart happy.

  She nodded at his pose, one only a person who’d never practiced martial arts a day in his life would think was correct. She was tempted to chest-bump him just to see how he’d respond. “Maybe you get violent and rob old ladies?”

  “What?” He straightened, which was when she noticed he barely came to her chin. Diminutive DJ Dicky. “Who are you and why did you knock off my hat?”

  “To get your attention,” she said, as if it were the most rational thing in the world. “Because it’s hard to compete with fifteen girls whose cleavage is still exactly where God intended for it to be.”

  He tried to turn back around, but she out-juked him. “Do you know an extra-friendly curvaceous gal named Virginia?”

  “Who? Lady, you’re crazy, and if you don’t leave now, I’m calling Security.”

  “Lord, not that again,” Lil said. She and Maggie had made their way into the booth and were distracting the young women.

  “Sir, I’m sorry we just barged into your booth,” Abby Ruth said, “but we have a few important questions to ask you. If you answer them to our satisfaction, we’ll be on our way and you’ll never have to see us again.”

  “Please tell me you’re not some bridezilla’s family.”

  “Did you work the Pettiway wedding?”

  “Yeah, I work any wedding E-Lite Wedding Planning coordinates.” Pushing his chest out like the only rooster in the henhouse, he tugged on his vest. “Pretty sure Elisabeth has a thing for me.”

  “Of course, what woman could resist you?” Abby Ruth wanted to laugh aloud, but she needed to save her energy to either take down this jerk or walk the rest of the way through this exhibition hall. “Do you know what Paraiba tourmaline is?”

  He shrugged. “A musical instrument?”

  He was either playing dumb or he had no idea about the type of necklace Virginia had been wearing. “Do you remember seeing a group of four middle-aged women at that wedding? One who might’ve had her assets on display?”

  His eyes lit with interest. “You mean the old chicks who like to shake it on the dance floor, drink a bunch of wine, and dip bananas in the chocolate fountain?”

  “Sounds like them,” Maggie said.

  “One of them dirty danced with every man on the dance floor.”

  “Definitely them,” Abby Ruth said.

  DJ Dicky leaned against his table, finally loosening up a little. “Yeah, they are a hoot.”

  “What about you?” Abby Ruth asked him. “Did you do the hootchy-kootchy with the well-endowed gal?”

  “She did a shimmy around me when I played Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing,’ but then she found a better mark. An old guy who looked like he could be a sugar daddy.” He stopped laughing. “That didn’t hurt my feelings.”

  “And when you saw her, was she wearing a big necklace with green stones?”

  He stared up at the ceiling then snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I remember thinking the way she was dancing around, that rock could put out a guy’s eye.”

  He was a dead end. Abby Ruth said to Lil and Maggie, “I don’t think he’s our man.”

  “Not your man for what?” he asked.

  “Wait a minute.” Lil stepped around Abby Ruth to ask DJ Dicky, “What about the wedding planner you work with. Is she here today?”

  DJ Dicky hooked a thumb in the direction of more booths. A lot more booths. “She wouldn’t miss this. She picks up boatloads of business at these bridal shows. She’s in booth R-1800.”

  “Next stop, the wedding planner,” Abby Ruth announced.

  * * *

  Staring out the front window of Summer Haven and watching Grayson practice his fastball with Red, Jenny nibbled on a bowl of pasta and butter. The crazy concoction had been a lifesaver. She mentally counted down the days until the end of her first trimester. Dr. Broussard said the morning sickness—afternoon, in her case—should ease up by then. Couldn’t come soon enough.

  Meanwhile, her mom and the grannies had been sweet enough to stash enough cooked pasta and butter in every refrigerator to get her through the first trimester. Thank goodness, because when that icky feeling came Jenny had no time to boil water or cook noodles. If she could figure a way to dehydrate the stuff she’d do it, but for now she’d resorted to carrying a baggy of it in her purse for emergencies.

  Grayson thought her pasta in a bag was gross, probably the start of his being embarrassed by anything his parents did. She watched him tug on the front of his ball cap, a frayed one that had once been Red’s. Grayson swore it was his good-luck hat and was the only reason he had such a golden arm these days.

  Red had been so generous with his time, helping Teague coach Little League since he’d moved to town. He’d also taken quite a shine to Grayson, practicing one-on-one almost every afternoon.

  Jenny had to admit that up until recently Grayson hadn’t been much of an athlete, but something had come alive in her little guy since they’d moved to Summer Shoals. Being athletic herself, it made her happy to see Grayson finally enjoying sports.

  She chomped pasta until her uneasy stomach calmed.

  In the kitchen, she washed out her bowl and put it back in the cabinet, straightening every dish on the shelf. She’d been in nesting overdrive the past two months, a welcome side effect to her condition.

  Which was good for Summer Haven because the whole place was in a state of chaos. It was clear her mom and the others had been one hundred percent focused on planning her wedding. Had to be if the wedding clutter in every corner of the room from kitchen to parlor was any indication. She straightened and neatened her way through the room.

  She grabbed a handful of Jordan almonds and chomped on them as she flipped through a couple of the magazines. Several pages were dog-eared.


  A siren rang out from her phone. Teague’s ring tone. “Hey, babe,” she said.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good now. I was looking at the plans for our wedding. Mom is out of control. If they do half the stuff they have printed out or marked in these magazines, it’ll be one hot mess.”

  “How bad could it be?”

  “You mean besides the note here about the chicken dance and a conga line?”

  “I might need to practice.”

  She could imagine him rolling his arms and sticking out his foot with a sexy flex of his hips. “Funny. Admit it, you regret not letting me put my foot down on Mom planning our wedding.”

  “It’ll be fine. As long as I walk away at the end of the day with my grandmother’s ring on your finger and you and Grayson in my life until death do us part, I don’t care what road takes us there.”

  “I’ll remind you of that.”

  His laugh made her smile. He was so easygoing, and she hoped Grayson would learn that from him.

  “I’ll be late tonight,” he said. “Town meeting.”

  “No worries. I’m over at Summer Haven. We’re eating with Mom tonight.”

  She hung up the phone, returned to the parlor, and sat down on the couch. Being pregnant had really knocked the stuffing out of her lately. She stretched out on her back, picked up the glossy book Lil had insisted she look over.

  As she flipped through the pages of the wedding planner she was surprised at the number of notes in the borders. Checkmarks and scratch-outs littered the hefty list of tasks.

  She scanned them with interest.

  Every possible detail was on the multi-page list. Santa’s list of naughty and nice around the world was probably shorter than this.

  Color: Blue.

  Flowers. White roses and Texas bluebonnets.

  “Tasteful.” Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. As long as Mom didn’t sneak in “The Aggie War Hymn” as the wedding march.

  Under the heading Mother of the Bride, the MOB dress had been scribbled out. Her mom’s doings, no doubt. She’d never expect her mom to wear a dress to her wedding.

  Under Father of the Bride, a check mark filled the box next to boutonnière. She squinted at the penciled words to the right. Red walks Jenny down aisle?

  Why would Red Jensen want to walk her down the aisle? He was great with Grayson and he was Mom’s close friend, but that was just weird.

  She glanced up as Red and Grayson zoomed past the front of the house. Grayson’s arms pumped furiously, his hands clenched into fists except for the first two fingers on each hand. Those stuck out straight as if he were punching a hole in the air with every arm swing.

  The kids in her high school had teased her nonstop about running with her fingers pointing out like that. It wasn’t intentional, just the way she’d always run, and Grayson had naturally adopted the same habit.

  The guys zoomed by in one last sprint, and Jenny’s breath caught.

  Red’s fingers were pistoled in that same action as he raced Grayson.

  Red Jensen?

  She glanced back at the list.

  Red walks Jenny down aisle?

  The breath she’d yet to release seemed to grow in her chest, making it feel as if she didn’t have enough room inside.

  How obvious was this? As obvious as the nose on her face…and the first name on her birth certificate, the one with no father listed. Jensen Elaine Cady.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there staring out the window, the world a blur in front of her as her mental calendar swished backward to her birth year.

  Was it possible?

  Her tears blurred the outline of Red through the curtains. Her stomach swirled, but this wasn’t morning sickness. A baseball soared through the air between Red and Grayson, and her heart jolted at the slap of leather against leather when Red caught the ball.

  Her own impulse to slap something made her tremble. She marched out the door, and with all the adrenaline rushing through her, she must’ve slammed the door, because both Red and Grayson spun in her direction.

  “Hey, Mom!” Grayson waved then pounded his fist into his glove.

  “Just a second. Hold it right there.” She held her hand up like a traffic cop toward her son. “Grayson, I need you to go inside and do your…” Her first inclination was to say homework, but school was already out for the summer. “… chores.”

  “What chores? Mimi doesn’t ever make me—”

  “Miss Lillian has cookies in her jar.”

  Those were the magic words. Grayson shot across the yard.

  Jenny watched until Grayson dashed through Summer Haven’s front door.

  She turned and stalked straight toward Red.

  All this time, she’d viewed him as Red Jensen, the baseball star. Now she saw him through a new lens. She considered the curve of his cheek and the cleft in his chin, just like Grayson’s. The straight nose, like her own. The strong calves that Jenny had always attributed to her years of ballet and gymnastics.

  “You’re my father, aren’t you?”

  Red’s jaw dropped and his mouth moved in a chewing motion, but no words came out.

  Chapter Twelve

  Outside DJ Dicky’s booth, Abby Ruth scoured the big fold-out convention center map until she found the listing for E-Lite Wedding Planning. She had a good feeling that this wedding planner might be the key to the wedding crashers’ missing items. “This way, girls.”

  “Excuse me.” Lil squirmed between a group of giggling twenty-something women as she tried to keep up. If it weren’t for her bright green jogging suit, she’d disappear in this crowd. “Excuse me.”

  If Abby Ruth ever had to be around this much chiffon, bubbles, beads, and rhinestones again, it would be too dang soon. Who knew there were so many ways to wrap up birdseed to throw at a wedding?

  Finally, she stopped at booth R-1800.

  The booth reeked of froufrou, shimmering in layers of silver and creamy white. She was afraid to touch anything for fear she might get it dirty.

  A cream-on-cream settee sat catty-cornered in the booth. Literature lay neatly displayed on a mahogany coffee table, complete with silver tea service and pastel-colored macarons. She was tempted to snag one to see if they were real, but she restrained herself.

  Everything about the booth said high dollar. A slide show projected images of perfect weddings. Lush flowers, beautiful couples, colossal cakes, and catering spreads to feed hundreds.

  As soon as she laid eyes on the wedding planner, she didn’t have fond feelings for her. If she had to trust her Texas instincts, she’d swear this lady was a problem right down to her dyed hair and boots too fancy to be functional.

  A thirty-something blonde, with pinup-girl good looks and a pretty scarf tying up her curls, stood at the wedding planner’s shoulder as she ticked off wedding must-haves to a young couple. Poor kids were probably being suckered into a wedding day that would cost more than a yacht.

  “I’m so excited to be working with you.” The young bride-to-be shook the wedding planner’s hand with such vigor it looked as if she was pumping water out of an old well. “And you of course,” she said to the pretty girl. “You don’t know how long I’ve been planning for this day. It was worth moving my wedding date to be able to have you plan my dream wedding. Plus, more time to save up enough money for everything I ever wanted.”

  “It is the most important day in your life.” The wedding planner cast a gaze down her nose. “You really can’t put a price on that. Ask my assistant, Honey.”

  Honey was an appropriate name for the pinup girl, who was smiling sweetly. “It really is a once-in-a-lifetime event. I would do—am doing—anything to have Elisabeth plan my wedding. She’s the best.”

  “Elisabeth is the one I want to coordinate our wedding.” The bride-to-be grabbed her fiancé’s hand so hard it looked as if his knees were buckling a bit. That was one determined gal.

  Abby Ruth’s heart gave a squeeze
for that poor sucker. His knees would surely buckle when he got a whiff of the price tag this snooty woman was going to lay out.

  “And although one can’t put a price on perfection, I will.” The woman’s haughty laugh made the young woman giggle nervously.

  “Here it comes,” Abby Ruth mumbled under her breath.

  If she hadn’t had such a strong feeling that this wedding planner might point them to who had taken advantage of Stella, she’d be so out of here.

  Instead, she plastered a smile on her face, waiting her turn to make good on her promise to Stella and Lil.

  The wedding planner scribbled furiously on a fancy three-fold brochure, then passed it to her dutiful assistant, who handed it to the couple. It was as if the wedding planner was too good to touch commoners like this young couple.

  “Elisabeth will give you the wedding of your dreams and more,” Honey said in a voice so sweet it was almost like a song. “If you’ll fill out this card, we’ll have what we need.”

  The bride-to-be scribbled on the glossy card in a hurry and passed it back to the assistant, who raised a finger, “Oh, wait a second. We have a gift for you.” She disappeared behind a silky curtain near a giant video wall, then breezed back with a organza pouch. “A little something to start your planning off right.”

  “Thank you.” The bride-to-be half-skipped down the aisle with her fiancé in tow.

  Her brightly painted lips pursed, the wedding planner turned toward Abby Ruth. “Now, how can I help you ladies?”

  Abby Ruth had a feeling the woman thought that made her look like she had high cheekbones. It wasn’t working though. She just looked ticked off.

  “We need a wedding planner,” Lil chimed in.

  “Not just any wedding planner,” Abby Ruth said. “The best wedding planner.”

  The woman lifted her nose even higher into the air. “Then you’ve come to the right place. I’m Elisabeth. With an S.” She extended her hand toward Abby Ruth.

  “Well, hello, Elisabeth with an S.” Abby Ruth played out the S like a hissing snake. “I only want the best, but I’m not a real trusting gal. I like to have references. I assume you have plenty, including some of the vendors you work with?” Abby Ruth planted the seed, praying it might be this simple to get her hands on a list of other possible perps.