Diamond Rings Are Deadly Things

by Rachelle J. Christensen

  “Yeah, that probably will be the case, but you never know.” He shifted the boxes, and the larger one dropped with a thud on the floor. I flinched, hoping everything inside was packed tightly. He set the smaller box on the counter and handed over his electronic pen. “What do we have today?”

  Colton always acted interested to know what was inside our boxes. Today it rubbed me the wrong way because I was in a bad mood over the dresses and in a lesser way the revelation about Luke. Besides, delivery guys weren’t supposed to be nosy, anyway. Deciding to let Lorea answer, I smiled and reminded myself that Colton wasn’t at fault—a certain fried-pickle-eating divorce lawyer was my problem. The silence stretched on, and I hesitated, leaning back to watch Lorea pull back the tape on the large box.

  “Don’t sign for that, Adri. This box is damaged.”

  “Just the outside corner. I’m sure the stuff inside is okay.” Colton crouched beside Lorea as she opened the box and moved aside some crumbled Styrofoam.

  “Uh-oh.” She lifted out a jagged piece of cream-colored ceramic.

  My heart sank as I realized what was in the box. “The cupcake stand for Sylvia’s bridal shower!”

  Lorea held up another piece with a scalloped edge. “The one she wanted to hold those cupcakes with the magic glitter. Please say this wasn’t one of a kind.”

  “I’m going to have an ulcer for sure. I ordered that six weeks ago.” My nerves were buzzing, and I shoved the signing device back at Colton, clenching my teeth together because my training at Bellisima would never let me forget: a wedding planner always exhibits self-control.

  “Hey, I’m sure the company will get you a new one.” He held out the pen again. “Just sign here.”

  “It’s broken. I’m not signing. I need a claim slip, or whatever. Your company will have to take care of the damages.”

  I turned back to Lorea and heard Colton swear under his breath.

  “Excuse me?” Lorea stood up, holding the broken cupcake platter in her hand. The fire in her eyes put Colton in his place.

  His shoulders slumped. “Sorry, I’m under a lot of pressure. Boss threatened to change my route if I couldn’t take care of the boxes. He expects me to look the other way and let things slide. I’m supposed to encourage the customers to sign no matter what.”

  “Do you have a lot of damaged boxes?”

  “We’ve been getting our fair share.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I’ll get you some paperwork.” He hurried out to the van.

  “I don’t buy that,” I said. “They have insurance for these types of accidents.”

  “Maybe his boss is trying to cut through the red tape.” Lorea put the broken pieces of ceramic back inside the box.

  My frown deepened. “I guess he found out what was in the delivery again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “Just thinking it was kind of odd how Colton always asks us what’s in the boxes.”

  “Isn’t he just making conversation?”

  “I don’t know. Can you take care of this?” I motioned to the box and then to Colton returning with a handful of papers. “There must be one similar online I can get here with expedited shipping. As long as it doesn’t get broken too.” I glared at Colton, and his eyes went hard in return. I hurried to my computer. I’d never seen him act that way before. Maybe his boss was on his case, or maybe he felt embarrassed about the damage because he thought Lorea might blame him. It was obvious he liked her. With a deep breath, I pushed down my anger and began clicking through images of cupcake stands. There was no way I was going to deliver more bad news to Sylvia.

  An hour later, some of my tension drained away as I clicked on the box that would summon a new cupcake stand almost identical to the broken one Colton had delivered—and it would be here within three days. Then the bells chimed, and I turned to greet the customer entering the shop. My mouth dropped open when I saw Luke standing next to the new cake display—in almost the same place Dallas had been when he’d visited earlier in the week.

  My lips pressed into a hard line. “What can I do for you, Mr. Stetson?”

  He smiled, and the dimple in his chin was so endearing I thought for half a second about forgiving him. Then I remembered the fried pickle I had wasted on a divorce attorney who mocked my line of work. I imagined an iron gate falling into place around my heart.

  “You said I knew where to find you. Turns out, you were right.”

  “Convenient, since I’m just a few blocks away from your office.”

  His smile faltered, but he straightened his shoulders and glanced toward the back. I wondered if Lorea was peeking around the corner but resisted the urge to look.

  “This is a nice setup you have here.” He rested his hand on the back of a cream-colored chair with turquoise buttons. It sat next to the desk where I planned weddings with my clients.

  So he was going to pretend it was no big deal that I knew he was a divorce lawyer. I narrowed my eyes. Or maybe he thought I didn’t know he specialized in divorce. When I checked the business listings, it only identified him as an attorney with emphasis in family law.

  “Thank you.” It came out sounding like I was clenching my jaw, probably because I was.

  Luke picked up one of my business cards and then a pamphlet explaining the different types of weddings I helped arrange and the plans couples could choose. He gave a low whistle and jabbed the description of the Destination Wedding Package. “People really pay this much to get married?”

  “And usually fly the wedding planner to the location two weeks before for last-minute arrangements.”

  “Man, maybe I’m in the wrong business.” He started to laugh but stopped, probably because I wasn’t laughing with him.

  “What do you want, Luke?”

  He took a step back. “I was hoping to get your phone number so I could take you on a date. Is something wrong? You seem—uh—upset.”

  “You think?” I folded my arms and tapped my right foot. The anger bubbling beneath the surface was about to explode. I ignored the voice that told me to take a deep breath. How could he ask me on a date after the way he’d mocked my wedding planning business? A niggling thought reminded me that he had apologized and rather lavishly, but I was too ticked to listen.

  Luke eyed my stance and adjusted his glasses. “Are you upset with me?”

  “I told you I was a wedding planner, so you purposely didn’t tell me you were a divorce lawyer.”

  “Why does my profession matter?”

  “I help people get married, and you help people get divorced. You don’t see any problem with that?”

  “It only has to be a problem if you make it a problem,” Luke replied. “I apologized, remember? And I said I don’t believe in marriage—that doesn’t mean I think no one else should.”

  Tightening my hands into fists, I could feel the anger rising. I tried to keep the venom from my voice. “Then why would you ask me out?”

  “I don’t care what your job is—I just wanted to get to know you. You seemed nice.” He tossed my business card and the pamphlet back onto the desk. “My mistake.”

  “What?” Flames would spurt from my mouth any second if I stayed near the creep. I couldn’t trust someone who didn’t tell the whole truth. I pointed to the door. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  Luke shook his head and dropped his hands to his sides. He turned and left my store without another word.

  “Tontua,” Lorea muttered in Basque behind me. She had been peeking. “You’re better off. Dallas is a sweet guy—maybe not as good looking, but that’s what you get.” She watched Luke crossing the street. “Dang, he’s fine.”

  She was right, but part of me still wondered about the initial connection I’d felt to Luke. When he’d said he didn’t believe in marriage, I thought it was just a front. Lots of guys say they’re not interested, so girls fishing for a ring won’t put them on their radar. But now, considering Luke’s occupation, maybe he really was against
wedded bliss. I wondered why.

  Chapter 10

  Storing Your Wedding Dress

  Have your gown professionally cleaned immediately after use, even if it looks spotless. Do not hang the dress. Keep it in a storage box in a room or closet with constant temperatures and humidity levels (attics, basements, and closets next to exterior walls usually fluctuate too much). Where possible, line any folds with nonacidic, undyed tissue paper. Check your dress once a year for yellowing. Always wash your hands before handling the gown.

  Courtesy of www.mashedpotatoesandcrafts.com.

  After the incident with Luke, I felt doubly grateful that I had a date with Dallas to distract me from what had happened. Sylvia’s bridal shower was coming up, so I worked myself into a frenzy checking every detail and trying not to dwell on the fact that she didn’t know yet that her wedding gown was missing.

  In light of the vandalized dresses, Lorea and I decided we shouldn’t wait any longer to tell Sylvia. It was Friday, so Lorea put off making the call until nearly four o’clock—hoping the weekend would find Sylvia too busy to come and personally harass us. Her fingers shook as she dialed Sylvia’s number. She kissed the Lauburu cross hanging from her neck before launching into the details of the robbery and subsequent vandalism of the gowns. I could hear Sylvia shrieking through the phone.

  “I understand. That’s why we’re prepared to offer you another gown at no charge. We’ll refund your money completely, and if you’d like to purchase a gown elsewhere, I’d be happy to offer my services to get the perfect fit.” Lorea ran a section of silk through her fingers as she spoke, struggling to keep her voice soothing and calm.

  My own hands were shaking as I listened to Lorea explain over and over again that even if Sylvia’s wedding gown could be found, it might also be ruined. Not to mention the time needed to complete the alterations.

  When Lorea hung up the phone, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wadding the piece of silk into a ball. Then she cursed. Loudly. I tensed, waiting until she finished.

  “It went that well, huh?”

  Lorea tried not to smile, but her lips twitched. Then she scowled. “She’s on her way over.”

  “Now?”

  “I hoped it would be too late, that she’d have other plans. Apparently she’s canceling whatever she had and coming right now to look at our other gowns.”

  “And to chew me out.” This day definitely wasn’t going well. Lorea and I scurried around the shop, pulling out the dresses and tidying up the fitting room. Exactly sixteen minutes after Lorea ended the call with Sylvia, the woman arrived at the store, her nostril flaring.

  “If my wedding wasn’t a mere three weeks away, I’d find a new planner.” Sylvia lifted a bright red polished nail in my direction and sniffed.

  I had been preparing myself for her. “Your wedding will be featured in bridal magazines years from now because of how absolutely stunning you are, Sylvia. I can’t begin to explain how sorry I am that this happened. Lorea and I are crushed and frightened that someone would attack us in this way.” I took a step forward and handed Sylvia the pink rose I’d cut from the antique rosebush next to my shop. “We are determined to be successful, to make your dreams come true.”

  Sylvia took the rose and eyed me suspiciously. My offering was dramatic, but I was talking to a former soap opera actress and piling it on any other way wasn’t an option. “Well, show me the other gowns.” She smelled the rose and then followed Lorea to the rack where the six remaining dresses hung.

  We both knew they paled in comparison to the countless beads and embroidery that encumbered Sylvia’s missing gown. The dresses were beautiful, but the price tag on Sylvia’s dress had been eighteen thousand dollars, and the most expensive of these gowns was seven thousand.

  She stalked along, trailing her fingers over the dresses, and then whirled around to face Lorea, her look somewhere between a glare and a sneer. Her nose gave every look its own interpretation.

  “I saw another dress here when I came for my fitting. It had lots of frills. Was that one stolen?”

  Oh, no. Just what we needed. Lorea gave me a pleading look, and I cleared my throat. “We sold that gown last week.”

  “To whom?”

  I ignored her question, speaking rapidly so she couldn’t interrupt. “Lorea has the magic touch when it comes to dresses, and she’s picked out two we’d like you to try. They are both one of a kind, and she has a few ideas to make them even more unique.”

  “Yes, this one here.” Lorea held a dress up in front of Sylvia. “It could be worn as is, or I was considering adding a detachable train.” She reached for a swath of fabric and held it up to the dress. “And I’ve ordered a belt studded with three hundred cubic zirconium brilliant cut stones. They’re all the rage in Hollywood this year.”

  “I might as well try it on. Could you put this in water for me, darling?” Sylvia handed me the rose, and I obeyed, eager to put some distance between the diva and me.

  It was nearly six o’clock when Sylvia left. She had selected a gown but wasn’t “feeling the magic,” she said, and wanted a chance to continue her search. Lorea assured her that as long as she found a gown ten days before the wedding, there would be enough time for alterations and the multiple fitting sessions needed.

  The café around the corner delivered croissant sandwiches, which Lorea and I devoured as we discussed the financial ramifications of the robbery.

  “I talked to my insurance agent, and almost half the value of the stolen dresses are covered. But I don’t want you to worry about anything. We’ll continue making payments to Walter and go ahead with ordering the next shipment.”

  Lorea folded her napkin into something akin to a bird. “Maybe we should wait to order more.”

  I shook my head. “Natalie’s dress is worth enough to cover the setback with Sylvia’s gown, and because of insurance, it’s almost as if it were sold anyway. I don’t think you should wait.”

  “I’m just worried about how everything will go if Sylvia bad-mouths us too much.”

  “Forget Sylvia for now.” I tossed my wrapper in the garbage. “When people see Natalie’s gown, I think you’ll see new customers.”

  “I hope so. Speaking of Natalie’s dress . . .” Lorea raised her eyebrows at me.

  I hadn’t told Lorea that I was practically finished but that I was scared about moving the gown. What if someone was looking for it and watching the shop? I held up my hand. “I know, I know. I promise I’ll finish with it tonight.”

  “Good, because I’ll be working into the wee hours trying to finish Natalie’s bridesmaids’ dresses.” Lorea crossed her fingers. “I hope she likes them.”

  “She’ll love them. She picked out the pattern, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, but I made a couple of alterations so they fit better and to accentuate the design.”

  “Then I’m sure they’ll be perfect.”

  Lorea and I cleaned up, and I was able to schedule another meeting with a caterer the following week, as well as a meeting with the local florist who would be doing both Natalie’s and Sylvia’s weddings. I rushed out the door at five minutes past seven to meet Dallas, grateful again for the small town of Ketchum. Frozen Tundra Treats was only six minutes away.

  Dallas seemed more talkative as we ordered our treats and settled into a cherry-red booth. “Thanks for introducing me to the finer side of Ketchum.” Dallas motioned to the ice cream parlor. “I’ve been waiting all day to find out what a frozen mud pies tastes like.”

  “You’ll love it.” I didn’t tell him that it was a new twist on a brownie sundae. That could wait until the double-chocolate brownie layered with peanut butter and frozen between slabs of vanilla ice cream was served. I took a deep breath. “I need to tell you what happened at my shop before you hear it through the grapevine.”

  Dallas tilted his head. “Something bad?”

  “Yes. Someone broke in and stole my safe and three wedding gowns.”

  �
�But you didn’t mention it last night.” He reached for my hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Pretty stressed. I was trying to pretend I could deal with it yesterday, and I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”

  “It’s not a burden. What will happen with your shop?”

  “I have insurance to cover some of the loss, but it’s really put me on edge.” I described to him the details of the vandalized dresses, and he listened intently. He didn’t grill me, and I was grateful, even though I saw the curiosity in his eyes.

  “I can tell you’d rather think about something else, so let’s change the subject,” Dallas said after I’d finished my depressing report. “The important thing is that you’re safe.”

  “Thank you.” I squeezed his hand, touched by his kindness and intuition.

  Our server brought out the frozen mud pie in a bright red dish with two long silver spoons. Dallas dug into the hot fudge and ate a huge bite. “That’s delicious.”

  And it was. I ate my fill of the chocolate concoction drenched in melting ice cream as Dallas told me about the homes he was showing in the area and how real estate seemed to be picking up for the summer, allowing him to cut back on his hours as a waiter.

  After we finished dessert, we went out to the parking lot. The sun inched toward the horizon, casting rays of pinkish light across the Sawtooths.

  “So, tell me about your family,” Dallas said.

  “They’re great. My parents are Carl and Laurel Pyper. Dad is a semiretired farmer, and my mom is basically amazing in every way.”

  “Sounds like you’re pretty close to them.” Dallas gave me his full attention, and I found myself pausing to admire his handsome face. His black eyebrows curved down slightly near his temples, accentuating the straight black lashes framing his eyes.

  “We are. Well, when I’m not working myself to death. I have an older brother, Wesley, who has always been a mentor to me. Even though Wesley returned home after college to manage the farm and allow Dad to retire, the two enjoy working together. Wes can’t keep Dad off the tractor.” An image of my dad in overalls came to mind, and I smiled. “Wes and his wife, Jenna, have the cutest little girl, Bryn. She’s three, and I just adore her.”