Diamond Rings Are Deadly Things

by Rachelle J. Christensen

  Chapter 6

  Simple Wedding Card

  1. Fold a 4¼’’ x 11’’ piece of white cardstock in half to make a 4¼’’ x 5½’’ card base.

  2. Stamp a flower image on white cardstock. Using scissors or a shaped punch, cut around the image. Attach the flower image to the front of the card, about 1⁄3 of the way down on the left side of the card base, using self-adhesive foam dimensional.

  3. Using the same color ink as the flower image, stamp a greeting on white cardstock. Cut out the greeting by using a medium oval punch or decorative-edged scissors.

  4. Use a large scallop oval punch to create an oval piece from the same color cardstock as the flower image. Attach the smaller greeting oval on top of the larger oval, then attach the larger oval to the card front, lower right corner, using self-adhesive foam dimensional.

  Courtesy of www.mashedpotatoesandcrafts.com.

  A twinge of guilt struck my heart when my phone vibrated with a text message from Dallas.

  Looking forward to seeing you tonight.

  I tapped out a response:

  Me too.

  I tried not to think about how I wished I’d given Luke my number. I smoothed the emotions from my face before I entered the shop. Hopefully Lorea wouldn’t see anything in my eyes that hinted at a story to tell. I was saving Luke the Harley owner for later.

  “You look better. Maybe Clay puts something in your fried pickles.” Lorea stepped forward and wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a barbeque, though.”

  I laughed. “Someday I’ll get you to come with me.”

  Lorea waved me off and smoothed out the fabric she was stitching. “Thanks for listening to me whine earlier.”

  “We’ll figure this out,” I said. “For now, I’m going to concentrate on finishing those bridal shower invitations someone tricked me into making.” I hoped that keeping my hands busy would give my mind a break from worrying about the missing dresses and my looming financial ruin.

  Lorea lifted her chin. “I didn’t trick you. You practically begged me to let you design them.”

  “Ha! If I left it up to you, Natalie’s shower guests would have received an invite on dollar store party notes.”

  With a snort, Lorea tossed a wad of packing tape at me. “I would never, not when I have a mashed crafts expert within spitting distance.”

  I shook my head at Lorea’s nickname for mashedpotatoesandcrafts.com. She knew that I’d been creating handmade cards with my family long before rubber stamping hit the big time. Some of my mom’s stamp sets were more than twenty years old, and she still used them for her thank you cards. “Wait until you see the finished product. I’m using vintage buttons as an accent.”

  That got the seamstress to look up. “Thanks, Adri. I would be a pretty wretched bridesmaid without you.”

  “You know that isn’t true. Natalie is lucky to have you as a friend and her assistant wedding planner.”

  Lorea smiled as I carried a basket full of card-making supplies to my desk. Within thirty minutes, I had creased all the cards, added a punched lace edging, and stamped a bouquet of roses onto nearly fifty cream-colored squares of paper. I rounded the edges of each square and glued the image of the roses to the front of the cards. Then I attached a button near the right edge of each card, threaded burgundy embroidery floss through the back, and looped it over the button. The guests would unwind the simple closure to open the card and read the details of Natalie’s bridal shower. The date and time were printed on vellum and attached with a flower-shaped brad to the inside of the card.

  “I can feel you peeking,” I said.

  “Well, aren’t you going to show me?” Lorea leaned over my shoulder. “Those are gorgeous.”

  I handed her a finished invitation. “Tell me what you think about the inside.”

  Lorea read the details and nodded. “Thank you for making these. They’re perfect.”

  “I’m glad you like them.” I gave in to a yawn as I finished cleaning up scraps of paper and stamp supplies. “I’m bushed. I think I’ll head out early.”

  “Have fun on your date tonight,” Lorea said. “You deserve a break. Oh, and shut off your inner critic and give Dallas a chance. He was so cute the other day when he stopped by the shop.”

  “I’ll try,” I replied. “I forgot I wanted to straighten my hair.” I tugged at an unruly curl. “I’m going to have to hurry to get ready.” At least there would be a silver lining to my cloudy day. “Try not to worry about Sylvia. We’ll figure something out, and maybe the police will find the dress.”

  “Natalie’s coming Monday afternoon for her fitting. Can I stop by tomorrow and pick up her gown?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t finish taking out that hem yet.” Not thinking of diamonds! I gave her a half smile.

  Lorea nodded. “I might have to forgive you, especially since you made all of those invites.”

  With a grimace, I stacked the cards. “What was I thinking when I offered to help you with that hem?”

  “That you love me. Also, you’re very kind, and I would never turn down service.” Lorea laughed and backed away as I tried to swat her with a stack of paper.

  “I think I’ll let you handle Sylvia’s next tantrum.”

  Lorea rolled her eyes. “I want to hear all about your date.”

  I headed for the back door, jingling my keys. “Let’s hope I have something good to tell.”

  It was difficult to relax when scenes of murderous rage—starring Sylvia Rockfort with me as the victim—kept flitting through my mind. Lorea had called Sylvia, hoping to schedule an appointment for Tuesday, but Sylvia insisted on coming first thing Monday morning. If the dress hadn’t turned up by then, we would have to tell her. And there was the other problem concerning a certain quilt in my living room, but I wasn’t thinking about that right now. It all felt too overwhelming.

  At fifteen minutes to six, I sat at my kitchen table trying to reconstruct some of the details from Natalie’s stolen wedding binder. My fingers kept wandering to a loose string near the hem of my minidress, or extra-long shirt, depending on who was describing the outfit—my mother or me. With black leggings under the turquoise dress, my clothing was appropriate for an evening ice show.

  The night breathed cool air from the peaks of the mountains down on the valley, keeping the evenings crisp and just right for cuddling. My thoughts wandered to the sexy biker guy I’d met at lunch. Luke was attractive, but it was probably better if I didn’t pursue my initial fascination. His obvious lack of appreciation for marriage should have kept thoughts of him at bay, so I was frustrated with myself for even contemplating him.

  I forced myself to think of Dallas and the dark lashes that rimmed his green eyes. I wondered if he would kiss me good night at the door, or hope for an invitation inside. The latter definitely wouldn’t happen—I hadn’t dated him long enough to let him see my living space.

  The doorbell rang. I swept my papers into a pile and grabbed my purse. When I opened the door, I had to command myself not to grin like an idiot. Dallas definitely looked kissable. He wore a dark-blue dress shirt and khakis, and I loved the way he spiked the front of his black hair. “You look pretty, Adri.”

  “Thank you.” Excitement thrummed in my chest. “You look nice too.”

  He held his hand out just as I swung the door shut behind me. Before I could take it, his nerves got the better of him, and he shoved it into his pocket. “The weather’s perfect.”

  My eyes lifted to the cloudless sky above us. “It is. I bet the stars will be bright later on.”

  “Maybe we’ll have a few minutes to stargaze after the show.”

  I thought of linking my arm through his as we strolled to the car, but my own courage was faltering for some reason. He held my door for me, and his eyes lingered on my legs as I tucked them in. As Dallas shut my door and walked around to the driver’s side, I thought about the night we had met less than two weeks before.

  A vendor from my preferred list h
ad given me a gift certificate to the Roosevelt Grille. It was a place where I had always wanted to dine, but the thirty-dollar-a-plate price tag was outside my budget. Lorea and I used the gift certificate to celebrate our fourth month in business and our two major clients—Sylvia and Natalie. Our waiter was Dallas Reynolds, and in what I could tell was a bold move for him, he asked for my number when he left the bill.

  Dallas cleared his throat, interrupting my thoughts. “I hope you’re in the mood for Italian because I wanted to take you to Rico’s.”

  “I love that place.” A lot had changed in the Ketchum–Sun Valley area since my teenage years, so I’d enjoyed walking up and down the streets and getting to know the merchants. Six months of living here had given me a taste for fine cuisine, as well as fried pickles, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to confide that guilty secret to Dallas yet. As I watched him, something passed over his face. He clenched and unclenched the steering wheel as if trying to remind himself to relax. I had never struggled with shyness, but I could see that Dallas was definitely out of his element.

  “So, you mentioned that you’re hoping your second job will take off this summer?” I ventured—maybe talking about his new job as a realtor would help him relax.

  “Yes, the housing economy is still down, but the agency I’m with is projecting a strong season. I’m scheduled to show quite a few homes next week, and tomorrow I’m helping with an open house on a mansion that went into foreclosure.” His face lit up as he spoke, all nervousness seeming to dissipate.

  “Sounds great. That’s how I came by my condo. It was a short sale.”

  “Looks like you chose wisely. I bet it’s nice being so close to your shop.”

  I nodded. “It does help to be close to Sun Valley. I never dreamed I could afford a place here—then I found my house.” Ketchum and Sun Valley were interlaced. The resort hugged the Ketchum streets, and the businesses all catered to the tourists who traveled to the area year round. And I did feel fortunate that things had fallen into place so nicely, as if I was meant to start over in Sun Valley.

  Dallas and I talked easily through a dinner of linguine with prosciutto and sun-dried tomatoes. Rico’s signature toasted breadsticks tasted delicious. There were a few moments where I could see Dallas’s nerves return, and I did my best to steer the conversation to light topics to ease the tension.

  He unfolded his napkin, and I noticed the ring finger on his left hand. When we’d first met, I’d checked to see if he wore a ring—he didn’t, but what surprised me was that his ring finger was just a nub.

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Dallas held up his hand.

  I nodded.

  “I appreciate that you didn’t ask, although I’m certain you were curious.”

  I shrugged. “I thought you’d tell me if you wanted me to know.” I was curious. I’m observant, and I’ve always felt like you can tell a lot about people from the details—especially the little ones they don’t think you notice.

  “Well, it was an accident in wood shop class in high school,” Dallas explained as he showed me the stub of finger on his left hand. “Nothing really exciting, and most of the time I forget until I see someone staring at my hand.”

  “Maybe they’re just checking to see if you’re available.” I winked and then laughed when I saw a bit of color creep up his neck.

  “We have time to walk around the lodge before the show if you’d like.”

  “Yes, that’d be fun. Thanks for dinner, Dallas.”

  I drank the last of my ice water while he paid the bill and noticed the nice tip he left for the waitress. I wondered if he felt nervous socializing with someone he’d waited on. He seemed more at ease as we drove to the ice show. We parked, and when Dallas started to reach for my hand, I grasped his before he could change his mind. He smiled and gave my fingers a gentle squeeze as we walked toward the Sun Valley Lodge. Three swans floated gracefully across a pond in front of the main entrance. The temperature was perfect for the end of May—the summer heat wasn’t far off, though.

  “Do you plan many weddings here?” Dallas motioned toward the building.

  Wood paneling spanned the huge hotel as we walked through the covered entryway. “The lodge actually has a wedding coordinator who schedules for here and the Sun Valley Country Club.” I nodded at the doorman. “But I’m working with her for a wedding the end of this month.”

  “I bet it will be magical,” Dallas said.

  Tilting my head, I laughed. “Actually, it will. The theme is, ‘The Magic of True Love.’”

  The interior of the Sun Valley Lodge exuded an aristocratic feel from days gone by. Low lighting was enhanced by the giant wall of windows at the back of the lobby, which looked onto the ice arena. Dallas and I turned down a hallway lined with antique wallpaper and decorated with dozens of picture frames.

  I had never stayed at the hotel, but plenty of Hollywood superstars enjoyed the rustic mountain retreat. The placard below a photo of the founder, Averill Harriman, stated that the lodge was opened in 1936, driven by the enthusiasm of Count Felix Schaffgotsch of Austria, who purchased 4,300 acres that would become the resort town. When he had happened upon the old mining town of Ketchum, the count declared the area rivaled Switzerland or Austria for a winter resort.

  Although I had been down this hallway several times in my youth, I never tired of looking at the old black-and-white photos of such entertainment legends as Lucille Ball with her two children and Louis Armstrong on skis. A shot of Marilyn Monroe from 1956 and Ginger Rogers in 1938 always made me wonder what it must have been like to be in the spotlight back then. I motioned for Dallas to notice more recent photos of Clint Eastwood and Arnold Schwarzenegger, who stood by a ski run named after him. Dozens of photos of ice skaters and other Olympic athletes as well as presidents and dignitaries covered the wall. I took my time examining both sides of the hallway.

  Dallas squinted to read Ernest Hemingway’s letter dated June 15, 1961, not long before his suicide. Fans of the great writer enjoyed visiting a memorial not far from the lodge. “This is interesting,” Dallas murmured. “No indication from the letter that he felt unhappy.”

  “I know.” I motioned to the array of pictures. “I’d forgotten how many different celebrities came here.”

  “It was definitely a happening place by the looks of these.” Dallas motioned to a picture of Jackie Kennedy on a horse-drawn sleigh.

  The hallway ended near the entrance to the hotel’s spa and guest services, so we walked back toward the lobby and observed the crowd of people enjoying the extravagant buffet set up for the ice show. Dallas and I would sit on the bleachers right by the rink, while nearly two hundred people would watch the show from the patio after their dinner.

  “I think there’s still time for us to look around back.” I linked my arm through his and was rewarded with a smile. “Have you seen the pavilion where they hold the summer symphony?”

  “No. This is actually only my second time up here. The first time, I didn’t walk around much because it was too cold.”

  Dallas had mentioned that he was a newcomer, having moved here from New Hampshire in March, not quite three months earlier. It was fun to see through his eyes as he observed his surroundings for the first time in a way that left me wondering what was going through his head. He noticed a bunch of daffodils late in bloom and surprised me by calling the flower by name. Then he pointed out a chipmunk dashing up a fir tree and laughed. His boyish curiosity was contagious, and I congratulated myself on how comfortable I felt on our second date.

  The sidewalks lined freshly manicured grass, and several older couples strolled by with wraps and blankets, probably for the ice show. I was grateful I had remembered at the last minute to grab an old quilt—the bleachers by the rink could become quite cold as the night progressed.

  “Here it is, the Sun Valley Pavilion.” I waved my arm with a flourish. “I think this would be a beautiful setting for a wedding.”

  “And have the sympho
ny play the ‘Wedding March’?” Dallas asked.

  “That would make it pretty special.” I leaned over the edge of the wall separating us from the stage. It was crafted out of dark brown wood and flanked by chairs for the musicians. It would be fun to see a musical performed there. I admired the backdrop of mountains and greenery behind the pavilion. “I’ve always loved weddings.”

  “Me too,” Dallas said and cleared his throat. “I mean, the idea of two people starting a new life together always holds so much promise.”

  He shuffled his feet and his cheeks reddened, but I touched his arm and looked into his eyes. “That’s just how I feel.”

  He stared at the ground. “Well, we’d better get seated. I’m looking forward to my first ice show.”

  Most men would be embarrassed to have spouted such romantic notions, but I thought it was sweet that Dallas shared his feelings anyway. It was a welcome difference from the way Luke had reacted to my wedding business. Another point in Dallas’s favor.

  Chapter 7

  Keep Your Diamonds Sparkling

  Soak your diamond ring in a warm solution of liquid dish detergent and water for five minutes. Use a soft brush if necessary to remove dirt. Soft is the key—don’t use a brush with bristles that are stiff enough to scratch the ring’s metal setting. Swish the ring around in the solution and then place it in a colander (so you don’t lose it down the drain). Rinse it thoroughly in warm water. Dry with a lint-free cloth.

  Courtesy of www.mashedpotatoesandcrafts.com.

  Shivers of excitement zipped through me when the ice show began. I’d been to a handful of the summer performances, but the last had been more than ten years ago. The professional ice rink stayed open year-round, and nothing quite compared to skating outdoors in the heat of the summer. Dallas put his arm around me when a cool breeze drifted through the arena, and I let my thoughts wander. At barely six feet, he was shorter than my ideal guy, but that was mostly because I knew if I wore my three-inch heels I might be taller than he was. I glanced at his fine profile and the glossy blackness of his hair and mused that I might be okay with the height issue.