“Surprisingly, no, although that is one of his favorite things to do to me. He called to tell me he got a minister’s license online and that he wants to be the one to marry us.”
Blake grins. “I think it would be great, but both of our mothers would have an aneurism at the mere mention of it.”
“That’s exactly what I told him.”
Blake’s phone beeps, and he groans. “Sloane has been texting me all day, bugging me about some summer social he wants me to cover this evening. I’ve told him repeatedly I’m busy, and let’s face it—covering a summer social isn’t important enough to waste my time on. Would you read that text to me, please?”
I bite back a grin. I love Blake with my entire being, but he has an ego the size of Texas. He’s the lead investigative reporter for the Liberty Chronicle, where we both work, and it’s true, an article on a small town summer social could be easily handled by any of our reporters. No need to bring in the big dog for this one. The problem is, you don’t just say “no” to our managing editor/drill sergeant, Ed Sloane, and get away with it.
Picking up Blake’s phone, I read, “I want you on this assignment. The new mayor will be there scooping ice cream, and I want that to be front and center in the next edition.” I furrow my brow. “Sounds like Sloane is trying to kiss the new mayor’s ass.”
Blake shakes his head. “Sloane is only the errand boy. It’s Mason who’s doing the ass-kissing. He’s decided he wants to be best bros with the mayor, so it’s my job to glad-hand and do the good ol’ boy thing with Mayor Rickard and then turn out an article singing his praises.”
Ronald Mason, the publisher of the Liberty Chronicle, is a nice enough guy, but he’s a serial social climber and an all-around suck-up. Blake likes to write hard-hitting stories and ruffle feathers, while Mason would prefer puff pieces intended to stroke the egos of the town’s most influential people.
I let out a snort. “You’re the fluffer, then?”
He cuts his eyes to me, grumbling, “You’re not wrong, but you don’t have to say it like that.”
I reach over and pinch his cheek. “Sucks to be the Golden Boy sometimes, doesn’t it? Would you like me to write a nasty reply to Sloane for you?”
“No, I’ll deal with it later.” Giving my knee a squeeze, he says, “Right now all I want to do is take my gorgeous wife-to-be to a lovely wedding.”
***
When we get to the church, Blake hands me his phone, wallet, and keys to put in my purse. “I don’t want all this stuff in my pockets while I’m standing up front. You don’t mind holding everything, do you?”
“No problem.” I get up on my tiptoes and give him a kiss. “Have fun doing your groomsman thing.”
A frown mars his handsome face. “I don’t see how this is going to be particularly fun.”
This whole groomsman situation is rather odd. Blake has only met the groom, Aiden, like twice. The bride’s father, Blake’s friend and financial advisor John Barnes, is the one who asked Blake to be a groomsman, because Aiden’s actual friends are “idiots who would completely ruin the wedding.” This is definitely true. Aiden ran with some real rejects growing up. It seems that John doesn’t have much use for Aiden himself, either. Even though Blake felt weird about being a plant and a glorified babysitter for the other groomsmen, he agreed to help John out because of their friendship. John’s a serious control freak—I guess him choosing his soon-to-be-son-in-law’s groomsmen isn’t much different than my mother taking over the task of planning my entire wedding. I sincerely hope I’m never that kind of parent.
“It’ll be fun to see whether John can actually go through with giving his daughter away.”
Blake shakes his head. “I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. That Buckley guy is a delinquent. I don’t know what Anna sees in him.”
“Maybe she has a thing for bad boys.”
“Maybe so.” He gives me a quick kiss. “I hate to have to ditch you, but duty calls.”
We part ways, with Blake heading down the hall to one of the Sunday school rooms and me heading to find a seat in the sanctuary. It’s early, so there’s hardly anyone in the pews yet. I keep myself occupied by playing on my phone until my best friend Julia Simmons plops down beside me.
“Hey, chickie,” she says.
I take in her perfectly coiffed fiery red hair and stunning emerald green dress. “Wow. You look amazing.”
Julia smiles. “Thanks. I’ve finally been able to fit back into all of my pre-pregnancy clothes. This one was the last holdout, but I finally made it.”
“Good for you. Where’s Dillon?”
“At home with Margo. She came down with a bit of a cold last night, so I managed to talk Daddy into staying home with her. It wasn’t hard. He doesn’t like coming to weddings anyway.” Julia’s daughter is eleven months old and completely adorable in every way.
I jut out my lower lip. “Oh, poor baby Margo. Tell her Auntie Lizzie hopes she feels better soon.”
“I will.” She links her arm through mine. “You know, I’m actually happy about coming here solo. It’s a nice break from baby duty, and with Blake busy being in the wedding party, my BFF needs a date.”
“I didn’t think about that, but you’re right. I probably won’t get to hang out with him much at all today. Thanks, BFF.”
Julia and I start chatting happily until my purse starts beeping. I open it up and realize I forgot to silence Blake’s phone. It’s another message from Sloane.
“Would you listen to this?” I huff. “Sloane is breathing down Blake’s neck about covering some dumb summer social tonight. He says: You’re covering the summer social, so get used to it. Get Lizzie to proof the article and have it to me no later than ten tomorrow morning.”
Crossing her arms, Julia complains, “Not that I wanted the story anyway, but I got passed over because I don’t have a penis.”
Julia is another one of the reporters at the Chronicle. Our desks are near enough that we can chat all day as long as Sloane doesn’t catch us, so most of the time we absolutely love being at work. I know, though, that she is always considered second string next to Blake, who had been a hotshot reporter at a big newspaper in Chicago before he moved to Liberty a few years ago to oversee his ailing grandfather’s estate and holdings. I know getting passed over gets to her sometimes.
“Trust me, this time you lucked out. Mason wants this to be a feel-good story about the new mayor, not an article with actual facts.” I get up. “I’m going to go show this to Blake. He needs to know about this new ultimatum so he can make plans to duck out of the reception early.”
I hurry out of the sanctuary and head in the direction of where Blake had gone earlier. It’s not difficult to figure out which room the guys are in—their deep voices are carrying down the hallway. In front of the door, there’s a beautifully wrapped box with a card addressed to Aiden, the groom. I pick it up and knock. A moment later, a groomsman, Anna’s cousin Roy, opens the door wide.
I hand him the box. “Hey, I found this outside the door. And I need to speak with Blake for a moment, too.”
“Come on in,” Roy says.
Aiden and his brother Josh, his best man, are getting their picture taken in the requisite “looking impatiently at their watches” pre-wedding pose. That one’s an oldie, but a goodie. My parents have the same exact shot from their wedding of my dad and his late brother. The version today is different in that the groom and best man have unsightly tattoos creeping out of the necks of their shirts and several earrings in each ear.
Blake comes over to me. “What’s up?”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Sloane’s at it again.” I hand him his phone.
I can nearly see the steam coming out of his ears as he reads the text. He gripes, “He doesn’t own me.”
“I know, but trust me, it’s better to stay on Sloane’s good side than to be on his bad side.”
My former enemy (and now close friend) Bethany McCool and I used to gi
ve Sloane some major headaches with our catfighting at work. He once threatened to fire us both if we had one more altercation. Luckily, it never came to that. He still likes to yell at us whenever he gets the chance, though.
“Mr. Morgan? Sorry to interrupt, but we need you for another pose,” calls Lyle Ford, the photographer. Lyle was the photographer for our cluster of an engagement party a few months back.
Blake gives me a quick kiss. “Text Sloane back and let him know I’ll do it, but I’m not happy about it.”
“Will do.”
I head back to the sanctuary and settle into my seat next to Julia. I key a short text to Sloane and switch off Blake’s phone. Julia and I resume our earlier conversation for a while longer. We quiet down when a young woman takes her place at the microphone up front and begins singing the song for the mothers to walk up and light the family unity candles.
Julia leans over and whispers, “Are you doing a unity candle?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” She rolls her eyes. “Your mom is the biggest mother-of-the-bride-zilla I’ve ever seen. It would drive me nuts to have no control over my own wedding.”
I shrug. “You have to admit it takes a lot of stress off me. I basically only have to show up and get married. That doesn’t sound too difficult.”
“Still…”
I’ve quit listening because the groom and the groomsmen have taken their places at the front of the church. If it’s possible, Blake looks even more handsome standing up there than he did a few minutes ago. I can’t wait until our wedding when he’s standing by the altar watching for me to walk down the aisle. I’ll probably swoon halfway there and need to have my dad drag me the rest of the way.
The bridesmaids enter, all of them wearing pretty pale yellow gowns. After they’ve taken their places up front opposite the groomsmen, the organ swells and everyone stands for the bride, Anna, to be escorted down the aisle by her dad, John. She is absolutely gorgeous in her full-length lacy gown. Poor John’s expression is a mix of sadness and anger. Aiden looks his bride up and down, grinning wolfishly at her as John stiffly steps aside and allows her to take Aiden’s hand. It’s painfully obvious that John still isn’t on board with this marriage.
After everyone sits, the minister, Reverend Halloran, begins the standard mini-sermon on marriage. It’s funny how every bride (or bride’s mother in my case) strives to make her wedding unique and unusual, yet every wedding still turns out exactly identical. I guess there’s comfort in ritual.
The minister didn’t talk long, and now Anna’s cousin has gone up to the podium to read some scripture. The groomsmen are evidently getting bored with the proceedings already, because they’re all fidgeting—even Blake, who normally has perfect manners in any given situation. I have to admit I don’t mind that his mother browbeat proper etiquette into him when he was growing up. Normally he instructs me on how to behave politely in a given situation.
As Anna’s cousin leaves the podium, I notice her glance questioningly in the direction of the groom and groomsmen. Aiden’s brother Josh cries out and doubles over, suddenly taking off and sprinting back up the aisle and out of the sanctuary. A rumbling murmur goes up from the crowd, and Aiden casts a worried glance after his brother.
Clearing his throat, Reverend Halloran jokes awkwardly, “Usually it’s the groom who’s clutching his belly and running out of the ceremony.” He gestures to a woman in the back of the sanctuary I think is his wife. “Clara, would you mind to check on Josh?”
Clara leaves, meanwhile the groom and remaining groomsmen are still acting strangely—they begin weaving from side to side and wiping their brows. It isn’t particularly hot in here, so I don’t know what’s going on with them. Reverend Halloran turns to Aiden and begins with the vows. Aiden seems to be slurring his speech a bit and is having trouble remembering the few words the minister is feeding him. I’m beginning to get the sneaking suspicion that these guys got into the booze before the service. I can’t believe Blake as babysitter would allow that to happen, but it would certainly explain their odd behavior. Anna knows something’s up, and her face is a mix of concern and anger.
Aiden has gotten stuck on “in sickness and in health.” He mutters, “In sick…in sick…in sickness…”
He trails off and drops Anna’s hands, slumping forward. He clutches his chest and groans. Anna’s eyes grow wide, and as she reaches out her hands to steady him, he collapses at her feet. She lets out an ear-piercing scream. Aiden’s parents jump up from their place in the front row and hurry to kneel over their son.
As Mr. Buckley works to loosen Aiden’s bowtie, Mrs. Buckley cries, “He’s not breathing! Someone call nine-one-one!”
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the author’s new USA TODAY Bestselling cozy mystery series!
Buy it here!
Death Before Decaf
A Java Jive Mystery
USA TODAY BESTSELLER • Caroline Fardig’s captivating mystery novel takes readers behind the counter of a seemingly run-of-the-mill coffeehouse . . . where murder is brewing.
After her music career crashes and burns spectacularly, Juliet Langley is forced to turn to the only other business she knows: food service. Unfortunately, bad luck strikes yet again when her two-timing fiancé robs her blind and runs off with her best waitress. Flushing what’s left of her beloved café down the toilet with her failed engagement, Juliet packs up and moves back to her college stomping grounds in Nashville to manage an old friend’s coffeehouse. At first glance, it seems as though nothing’s changed at Java Jive. What could possibly go wrong? Only that the place is hemorrhaging money, the staff is in open revolt, and Juliet finds one unlucky employee dead in the dumpster out back before her first day is even over.
The corpse just so happens to belong to the cook who’d locked horns with Juliet over the finer points of the health code. Unimpressed with her management style, the other disgruntled employees are only too eager to spill the beans about her fiery temper to the detective on the case. Add to the mix a hunky stranger who’s asking way too many questions, and suddenly Juliet finds herself in some very hot water. If she can’t simmer down and sleuth her way to the real killer, she’s going to get burned.
Death Before Decaf
PROLOGUE
I hate college kids. From their unwashed righteousness to their impossibly naïve view of the “real world”, they really piss me off. So, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, what did I do? I went and moved into a craphole apartment building full of the little buggers. Oh, and I took a job at a university-area coffeehouse, so that I could serve them, too. Brilliant idea. Truly brilliant.
Now why would I go and do a stupid thing like that, you ask? Necessity. I was broke. It was either move in with my parents (again), or accept a job from an old friend and strike out on my own, penniless. I would choose loneliness and poverty over suffocation and nagging any day. Not that my parents aren’t wonderful people, because they are. It’s just that I can’t stand living under the same roof with them.
So there I was, back in Nashville, in my old college stomping grounds. I have a degree in vocal performance from Belmont, but that doesn’t do a person with paralyzing, all-consuming stage fright much good. That was why I took the job at my friend Pete’s coffeehouse, because you can’t be a teacher or a lawyer or a rocket scientist with a vocal music degree. You can, however, be a damn good restaurant manager, which I am. Well, if you don’t count the time my dickhead fiancé stole all of the money from the café we owned together and left town with my best waitress.
Life has given me lemons. What’s a girl to do? I’m going to make some coffee.
About the Author
CAROLINE FARDIG is the USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR of the Java Jive Mysteries series and the Lizzie Hart Mysteries series. Fardig's Bad Medicine was named one of the "Best Books of 2015" by Suspense Magazine. She worked as a schoolteacher, church organist, insurance agent, funeral parlor associate, and stay-at-home mom
before she realized that she wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Born and raised in a small town in Indiana, Fardig still lives in that same town with an understanding husband, two sweet kids, two energetic dogs, and one malevolent cat.
Sign up for Caroline’s newsletter here: http://www.carolinefardig.com/mailing-list/
Visit her website at http://www.carolinefardig.com/
My Funny Valentine Page 10
