Dying on the Vine

by Marla Cooper

  I chewed on the end of my pen for a second. “You don’t happen to have files at home or receipts or anything, do you?”

  “Well, we paid Babs and she paid the vendors, so she had all the receipts.” A hint of regret tinged her voice.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Lots of people do it that way.” It wasn’t uncommon—although it sure would have been easier for me if she hadn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I love a low-maintenance bride, but in this particular scenario it would have helped me out a lot if she’d been a little more of a control freak. Not that Babs would have tolerated that. Her motto may as well have been, Leave everything to me—or else!

  I looked at the next item on my list. “Anything you can tell me about the cake?”

  “Oh, it’s gorgeous. Three tiers, kind of looks like it’s covered in lace.” She paused. “That’s not what you meant, is it?”

  I laughed. “Well, I was hoping you could be more specific.…”

  “It does sound really pretty, though,” Laurel added encouragingly.

  Haley smiled. “I don’t remember the name of the bakery off the top of my head, but I think it was in Yountville, if that helps.”

  “Yes! Actually, that does help. I remember one time hearing Babs rave about Renee at The Sweet Spot. Is that it?”

  Haley nodded. “I’m pretty sure that’s right. Oh, Kelsey, this is so embarrassing. I’ll ask Christopher if he can remember anything, but I doubt he can. Maybe I can look up Napa caterers on the Internet and see if anything rings a bell.”

  “You do have your dress, though?”

  “Yes, I definitely have the dress.”

  “That’s good,” I said, looking at my mostly blank list. “We have a bride, a groom, a venue, and a dress. I can work with that.”

  After getting what information I could out of her, I sent Haley on her way and promised to see what I could do. After all, being resourceful is part of my job description.

  That said, I was stuck. Without the files, there was no way to confirm with the vendors. And without confirming with the vendors, I had no idea who would show up—or even if they would show up.

  As much as I didn’t want to, there was only one thing I could do: call Stefan and ask him for the files. Ugh. The timing couldn’t be worse, and he especially wasn’t going to like it coming from me. I briefly considered my options. And I do mean “briefly” because there were really only two options—one of which involved breaking into Babs’ office.

  It was time to deploy my secret weapon.

  “Hey, Laurel?” I said in my sweetest, most persuasive voice.

  She tilted her head at me. “Yeah?”

  “You want to do me a favor?”

  “Sure, boss,” she said. “What is it?”

  “You know how you wanted to be more involved in the planning side of things?”

  “Yeah?” she answered, her tone suspicious.

  “Since you and Stefan have never met, I was hoping you could call and ask for his files on Haley and Christopher’s wedding. Pretty please?”

  Laurel gave me a look of reproach. “Dude! We can’t call him now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Hello? Babs? It’s too soon. Give the guy a chance to grieve.”

  “I know. You’re right.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was definitely too soon, but the clock was ticking. “I hate to bother him, but this wedding’s only a couple weeks away and I don’t even know where to start!”

  “Can’t we at least wait until after the funeral?”

  I thought about it. In reality, “never” was the only time that it was going to feel right, but we didn’t have until then.

  “I wish we could, but I don’t think we have the luxury of waiting until an appropriate amount of time has passed.”

  She sighed. “Oh, okay, fine. I’ll call him.”

  “Don’t even mention my name. As far as he knows, you’re just some random wedding planner, okay?”

  “Random, check.” She headed off down the hall.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m not going to call with you watching!”

  “Why not?” Just because I didn’t want to call him didn’t mean I didn’t want to listen in.

  “Because you’ll start waving your arms around, trying to get my attention so you can tell me what to say. No thanks.”

  She had a point there. While she was off calling the Ankle Biter, I looked up the number for Higgins Estate, the winery where Haley and Christopher were scheduled to have their wedding, and punched it into my phone. Divide and conquer. Maybe someone there would know something about something.

  After pressing 1, then pressing 5, then pressing 1 again, I was connected with a real, live, and very bubbly female. “Good afternoon, Higgins Estate, how may I direct your call?”

  “Hi, may I speak to your events coordinator?”

  “Um … we don’t really have one specific person. Were you wanting to throw an event?”

  “Yes. I need to talk to whoever handles your weddings.”

  “Oh, weddings! We do beautiful weddings here, but they book up pretty far in advance. What month were you and your fiancé thinking?” Her enthusiasm for the topic was evident from the tone of her voice.

  “Oh, no, it’s not for me. I’m a wedding planner. I just wanted to know who I should talk to about a wedding happening there in a few weeks, like maybe if you have an events coordinator?” I hoped my tone didn’t say, Can you put your mommy on the line?

  “Hmmm, I guess you would want to talk to Lucas Higgins. He’s the business manager.”

  “Okay, great,” I said. “Can you connect me?”

  “Oh, he’s not in the office. He’s out of town for a couple of days on business.”

  “All right, then. Can I leave a message?”

  “Oh, sure!” She sounded really pleased to be able to help at long last. “Let me put you through.”

  I left a message begging Lucas to call me back and hung up the phone. How long would it take him to get back to me? And would he even know anything? Luckily, Laurel was probably fixing everything, right at that very—

  Interrupting my thought, she poked her head in my office, phone to her ear.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said calmly while pointing frantically at the phone.

  “What’s happening?” I mouthed.

  She held up one finger. “I understand.”

  Another pause. “Okay, hold on. I’ll put her on.”

  She tossed the phone to me. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Caller ID. He recognized the number.”

  I picked up the phone. I tried not to sound sheepish, although I was totally busted. “Hi, Stefan. How are you holding up?”

  “So I take it you’re planning the Riegert/Bennett wedding now?”

  Okay, straight to the point. I got it. “I’m sorry, Stefan. I feel horrible about calling you now with all you’ve been through. But they don’t have any records and I can’t help them without knowing who the vendors are.”

  “What did I tell you about staying away from my clients?”

  “Stefan, I didn’t seek them out. They came to me.”

  “Well, how lucky that you were around to accommodate them.” The sarcasm practically dripped from his tongue.

  “I didn’t call to cause a fight, Stefan. Haley’s father fired Babs and now she needs someone to oversee her wedding.”

  “Whatever problems he had with Babs are irrelevant now. You can send them back to me and I’ll take care of them.”

  “C’mon, Stefan, you’re being ridiculous. I have plenty of clients and so do you. It’s just not going to work out with you guys, okay?”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

  “Look, it’s nothing personal. They just wanted to start fresh with someone new.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but what was I going to say? “So can you just help me out and give me the files? You’ll still get paid for everything you and Babs did up till now. In fact, send me an invo
ice and I’ll make sure it gets paid right away. Please, help me out here.”

  “Drop dead,” he said. And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER 6

  The memorial service was held at Grace Cathedral—a fitting venue for a woman of Babs’ stature. Sitting at the top of a steep hill across from the Fairmont hotel, with cable cars passing by right outside, the grand, hundred-year-old church was a San Francisco icon.

  I’d been to Grace Cathedral before. I’d even planned a wedding there once. But I’d never seen such a glut of flowers surrounding the altar. The place was crammed with supersized bouquets, colorful wreathes, and elaborate sprays, and the bottom half of the casket was draped in a blanket of roses that would look right at home on a Kentucky Derby winner.

  Babs looked impeccable, as usual. She was wearing a vintage Chanel suit along with her signature leopard-print glasses that showcased her expertly applied makeup. No way that was done by the mortuary. Someone must have hired one of the professional makeup artists she worked with. Probably Thierry Beland. He was a pro with a mascara wand.

  As the guests filed in and took their seats, a string quartet that was usually impossible to book during the busy summer season played Pachelbel’s Canon. Sure, it’s known more for weddings than funerals, but if it was good enough for Princess Diana’s funeral, it was good enough for Babs’.

  I smiled to myself. This event had Babs’ touch all over it, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d planned the whole thing herself, leaving explicit instructions for someone else to carry out in the event of her death. Babs had always liked to make sure everything was perfect, and today was no exception.

  Laurel nudged me in the side, then leaned over and whispered, “Don’t look. Stefan’s here.”

  I nodded discreetly to let her know I’d heard, and I locked eyes on Babs’ portrait. Don’t look at him. Just focus on Babs. But, in my peripheral vision, I could still see him glowering at me.

  Just then, Brody slid into the seat next to me. “Sorry it took so long. The lot where I usually park was full.”

  “I take it you found a spot?” I said, my eyes still focused on the front of the church.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” he said, sounding a tad defensive. He waved a hand in front of my face. “Hello? What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, not daring to shift my gaze.

  “Why won’t you look at me?”

  “She’s avoiding Stefan,” Laurel offered.

  “Well, stop it,” Brody said. “It’s creepy.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Is he looking?”

  “No,” Brody said, “he’s whispering to someone and he has kind of a pissy look on his—oh, wait. Yeah, he’s looking.”

  “Great,” I said.

  “And pointing,” Laurel added helpfully.

  “At me?” Against my will, my voice went up an octave.

  “At us,” Laurel said.

  “The pointing is definitely at you,” Brody said.

  “Thanks for the clarification,” I said, sinking down lower in the pew and wishing I’d worn a hat with a black veil. Perfect for funerals and avoiding people you don’t want to see.

  I pretended to be immersed in the program while the Ankle Biter took his seat, and soon enough the service began.

  The room was packed with people, and I wasn’t surprised. Babs was well known, both in San Francisco and up in the wine country, and it seemed like every caterer, photographer, and florist in a hundred-mile radius had come to pay their respects. I couldn’t help but think Babs would be proud, not only of the turnout but also of the production values.

  After the minister led us in prayer, a stylishly dressed woman of a certain age approached the front of the church.

  “Who’s that?” Brody whispered.

  I shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “And now,” said the officiant, “we’ll hear a few words from Babs’ sister, Margot.”

  “Oh. It’s Babs’ sister, Margot,” Brody said, the tiniest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

  I shot him a look as he gave an innocent shrug.

  Margot was dressed in an emerald-green suit, dark hair swept up into a tidy updo. I could see the resemblance now. Partly the way she looked, but more the way she carried herself. Confident. Bold. Efficient.

  “My sister was a force of nature,” Margot began, kicking off a twenty-minute-long eulogy that had half the crowd in tears—myself included. I didn’t know how Babs’ sister managed to keep her composure. As stunned as we all were by the loss, I couldn’t imagine how she must feel.

  “As most of you know, my sister loved a party. Please join us for a final celebration of Babs’ life at my house immediately following the interment. It’s what she would have wanted.”

  As Margot folded up her notes and made her way back down the steps to the front pew, the string quartet started playing once more. “My Way.” Yep, Babs had definitely planned her own funeral.

  We filed out of the church, stopping to offer our condolences to Margot. “I’m Kelsey McKenna,” I said, taking Margot’s hand in mine. “I’m also a wedding planner and I’ve known Babs for years. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” she said. If she knew I was the one who’d found Babs’ body, she didn’t let on.

  I gestured to my friends. “This is Brody. He’s a wedding photographer.”

  “My condolences,” Brody said.

  “And this is Laurel; she and I work together.”

  “I hope you’ll all join us afterward,” Margot said as she took Laurel’s hand. “Babs told me once she’d come back and haunt me if I didn’t make sure there was a good turnout at her after-party.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “That sounds like Babs.”

  Laurel looked at me, eyebrows raised. “I think we can stop by, right, Kelsey?”

  “Of course. We’d be honored.”

  “Great,” Margot said. “The address is in your program.”

  We stepped outside into the bright morning sun.

  Brody pointed down a steep hill. “I’m parked down Taylor Street. Want me to go get the car and pick you two up?”

  “Oh, Brody, you’re amazing. These heels are meant for flat surfaces. I’m not sure I could make it.”

  “Okay, wait here,” he said before disappearing over the crest.

  Laurel and I leaned against the wall, nodding to people as they filed out of the church and greeting old friends.

  I noticed a man approaching, but I didn’t immediately recognize him. I groped around my memory for a name. Expensive suit. Expensive haircut. Tall, blondish, tan. I couldn’t place him, but he seemed to know who I was.

  “Kelsey McKenna?”

  I held up my hand to shield my eyes from the sun as I looked up at him. “Yes?”

  “Lucas Higgins, from Higgins Estate Winery.”

  “Oh! Hi,” I said, taking his outstretched hand. “So nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

  “You have? I mean, thank you.”

  “Sorry I haven’t had a chance to return your phone call,” Lucas said. “You’re taking over one of Babs’ weddings, right?”

  Over Lucas’ shoulder, I noticed Stefan walking out of the church. He spotted us immediately, but I quickly looked away, determined to ignore Stefan’s stare. “That’s right. I’m coordinating a wedding that’s scheduled at your winery on the eighteenth. Haley Bennett and Christopher Riegert. Can we set up a time to talk?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you come up next week and we’ll meet in person? I could give you a tour and answer whatever questions you might have.”

  “That would be great. The sooner, the better.”

  Lucas lowered his voice to a more confidential level. “I’d also like to talk to you some about your availability over the next couple of months.”

  I was taken aback but tried not to show it. “My availability?”

  “Sorry, I hope thi
s doesn’t come across as insensitive, but Babs did a lot of weddings for us, and with her gone … well, let’s just say we’re going to need to fill some gaps.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Stefan, arms crossed in front of his chest. He was glaring at me with all his might, barely listening to the woman standing next to him.

  Laurel nudged me in the side with her elbow. She probably would have kicked me in the shin if she thought Lucas wouldn’t have noticed.

  “Sorry,” I said, snapping out of it. The whole reason I’d had to call Lucas in the first place was because Stefan had refused to talk to me, so Stefan was just going to have to deal. “Of course. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll set something up.”

  “That would be great,” he said. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  I grabbed Laurel’s arm and dragged her in the opposite direction, keeping my head down as I went. “C’mon, let’s go wait by the curb.”

  She stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Okay, weirdo, what was that about?”

  “I’m sorry, okay? Did you not notice Stefan standing ten feet away that whole time?”

  “So what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I know that. But you know how it is. He’s going to assume Lucas and I were talking business.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but there’s no reason to antagonize him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, Stefan’s going to have to put on his big-boy pants.”

  She was right, of course. There was just one problem: I wasn’t sure if Stefan owned any big-boy pants.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, we pulled up in front of a brick Tudor that sat high atop a hill in Pacific Heights. It was modest by Pacific Heights standards, but in the real world it would have fully qualified as a mansion.

  A tuxedoed cater waiter greeted us at the door, and I gladly plucked a flute of champagne from his extended tray as he gestured down the hall to where the party was. Nice touch, Babs. I made a mental note to leave some instructions to be opened in the case of my death and to make sure they included champagne.