“There.” He gently kissed the back of her head. Such a gentle touch compared to the wild intensity of their embrace yesterday. “Go home and get some sleep.”
She did, thanks to his healing massage, only to wake up several hours later to the sound of someone banging on her front door. Rosebud was barking, doing her rotweiller guard dog impersonation.
Peering out her bedroom window on the second floor, Pam discovered Louise Lewin on her front steps yelling, “It’s all your fault!”
At the sound of Louise’s screeching voice, Rosebud dove beneath Pam’s bed. Pam wished she could follow her pooch.
“It’s your fault that she’s run away!” Louise continued when Pam reluctantly went down and opened the front door.
“Who has?”
“My baby girl! She’s disappeared!”
“Did you call the police?”
“They don’t care.”
Pam grabbed her cell phone from the foyer table and dialed 911. “This is Pam Greenley. Did you know that Joy Lewin is missing?”
“So’s her mom.”
“No, her mom is here. At my house. Banging on my door.”
“Hold on.” The dispatcher was back in a second. “The sheriff wants to know what kind of shoes she’s wearing.”
“You tell him it’s his job to protect and defend no matter what footwear she’s got on,” Pam growled.
Sheriff Norton showed up a few minutes later, lights flashing but siren turned off on his police car.
“It’s all her fault!” Louise sobbed against the sheriff’s broad chest while pointing an acrylic-nailed finger at Pam. “She didn’t take my baby girl’s floral concerns seriously.”
“She kept vacillating between the different kinds of roses,” Pam explained to the bemused sheriff.
“The pressure was just too much for my Joy to handle!” Louise sniffed.
“Did you call her fiancé, Jay, and see if he’s heard from her?” the sheriff asked Louise.
The distraught woman nodded. “I left tons of messages on his cell phone voice mail but got no answer.”
“Maybe the two of them are together. Did you consider that?”
“On the night before their wedding?” Louise was outraged by the sheriff’s question. “What are you suggesting? That they’re off somewhere having s-e-x?” She spelled out the word. “My baby girl is a virgin!”
“Maybe she’s out with her friends, at some kind of bachelorette party,” said Pam.
“Never! She’d never associate with male strippers!”
“Calm down now.” The sheriff tried to listen to news coming over his shoulder radio. “What? Where are they? Okay, thanks.
“We found your daughter,” he told Louise.
“Thank heavens! Where was she?”
“Uh . . . with her fiancé.”
“I’m going to kill him!” Louise leaned down to remove her shoe and wave it in the air, but the fuzzy slipper lacked any real intimidation power. “They couldn’t wait twenty-four hours?”
Pam and the sheriff just stood back and let her rant.
“Weddings don’t always bring out the best in people,” Pam had to admit.
CHAPTER SIX
Another night with little sleep. Pam kept having nightmares featuring Louise as a giant mutant spider stalking her while wearing eight shoes—all of them sharp Marc Jacob stilettos.
Pam had to turn on the TV after that and watch infomercials, since nothing else was on at four A.M. She’d almost ordered a food dehydrator with two sets of free knives before coming to her senses and heading downstairs for some coffee.
Three weddings down, two to go. Including Joy’s elaborate fairy-tale extravaganza today. Unless she’d eloped in the middle of the night.
No such luck. Diva Bridezilla Joy called Pam at five in the morning. “Are you sure that the flowers match the bridesmaids’ dresses?” Joy demanded. “I have four of them, you know. Bridesmaids. And two hundred and fifty guests. Everyone who’s anyone will be there.”
“Right. And yes, I am sure the flowers match the dresses. We compared them to the sample dress.”
“Which one?”
“The most recent.”
“Because I changed the bridesmaids’ colors.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Several times.”
“Yes, I know.”
“The first red was too yellowy and the second was too glaring. The third was just right.”
“You and Goldilocks,” Pam muttered.
“Huh?”
“Never mind. You should get some sleep.”
“My mom told me she was over there earlier.”
“Yes.”
“She wasn’t real happy about the fact that Jay and I were together.”
“I gathered that.”
“She’s old-fashioned that way.”
“Uh-huh.” Pam’s eyelids started to droop . . . then to close.
“Hey, are you listening to me?”
Pam jerked awake at the nails-on-chalkboard sound of Joy’s high-pitched, demanding voice.
“You’ve got a path of red rose petals along the aisle in the church, right?” Joy continued. “The latest red, not the yellowy one.”
Even Chloe the perfectionist micromanager hadn’t been this bad. “Everything is under control,” Pam assured Joy. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“My mother believes that saying brings bad luck.”
“Then I’ll knock on wood, how’s that?” Pam rapped her knuckles on her nineteenth-century pine dining table and ended up ripping a nail in the process.
“I’m wearing a tiara, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Pam waved her bleeding finger in the air, which made Rosie jump up and down, ready for playtime. “The strand of Swarovski crystals in your bouquet will add the perfect touch of sparkle to go with your tiara.”
“I’ve been dreaming about my wedding since I was five. I want to look like a princess.”
And I want some more sleep, Pam thought.
The bottom line was that Joy had more chance of her royal princess dream coming true than Pam did of grabbing a few more Z’s.
After talking to Joy for another twenty minutes, there was only enough time for Pam to grab a quick shower and let Rosebud out into the backyard for a quick potty break.
Breakfast was an energy bar stuffed in her purse for later. A quick glance in the gilded antique mirror by the front door alerted Pam to the fact that she had her yellow Bloomers polo shirt on inside out. Muttering under her breath, she rectified the fashion faux pas before verifying that her khaki pants weren’t suffering from the same mistake.
Outside, Pam was stopped on her way to her red PT Cruiser by Mrs. Selznick, who was walking her anxiety-ridden, afraid-of-his-own-shadow Chihuahua named Terminator.
“I should warn you that I may be giving you a run for your money,” Mrs. Selznick told her.
Pam’s fuzzy, buzzing brain couldn’t make sense of her words. “What do you mean? Are you going to stop taking Rosebud out for her walks with you and Terminator?” She panicked at the possibility.
“Of course I’ll still take Rosie. I meant that I’ve signed up to take a home course in what you do.”
“What I do?” Like having sizzling sex with my high school boyfriend? And then tackling him in a bed of manure? Or do you mean the way I wrapped myself around him like a lap dancer at work?
“Wedding floral design,” Mrs. Selznick explained. “I registered for it on the Internet.”
Mrs. S, as everyone who knew her called her, loved taking classes. She’d already taken tons of them, from clog dancing to scrapbooking.
“So you’d better watch out,” Mrs. S cheerfully informed her.
“I’ll do that.” No sooner had Pam said the words than she stumbled over her own two feet.
“I told you to watch out.” Mrs. S shook her head. “Young - people these days, they just don’t listen.”
Pam was tired of listening. She just wa
nted this weekend to be over. The sooner, the better.
Serenity Falls’ Wedding of the Century, as diva bride Joy liked to bill it, was taking place at St. Mary’s, with the reception being held afterward beneath a huge white tent set up on the oak tree-studded grounds.
Pam had gotten there early because she knew this would be a difficult event. She was right.
She’d barely gotten out of the Bloomers van when she was accosted by Louise, who was wearing a very expensive pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes that she’d been bragging about for months.
“The bridal bouquet is missing!” the mother of the bride dramatically declared.
“I have it right here,” Pam reassured her.
Louise glared. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I told Joy I’d bring it with me—”
“Never mind. We’ve got another crisis. Terry has broken out in hives. She’s one of the bridesmaids.”
“Have you contacted a doctor?”
“It’s your fault.”
Pam was getting tired of hearing that accusation from Louise. “How do you figure that?”
“She’s allergic to something in her bridesmaid’s bouquet.”
“I asked about any allergies months ago, when we first started planning the floral arrangements!”
“She’s my husband’s cousin-in-law’s daughter. How am I supposed to know her allergies?” Louise retorted. “Now I can’t understand a word she’s saying because her face is swollen. Maybe you can decipher her gibberish.”
“I ad amegency woot canal,” Terry muttered thickly. “Flowas made swaying woose.”
“Swaying? Oh, swelling. You had an emergency root canal and your face was already swollen, but your reaction to the flowers made the swelling worse. I get it. Do you know what you’re allergic to in the bouquet?”
“Ucawupus.”
Okay, that one was harder to translate, but Pam figured it out after a moment or two. “Eucalyptus. Right. Okay, I’ll remove that from all the bridesmaids’ bouquets. Meanwhile, you check with your doctor to see if you can take some Benadryl or something to help your allergic reaction.”
Pam hurriedly gathered up all the bridesmaids’ bouquets and set to work on them, removing the offending greenery.
“Are you Pam Greenley?” someone asked.
“Yeah,” she muttered, her focus still on the final bouquet she was adjusting.
“Hi, I’m Roxie Smith.” A woman’s hand was thrust into Pam’s line of vision. “I tried calling your cell but only got your voice mail.”
Because Pam had forgotten to recharge her phone last night, distracted as she’d been by Louise’s middle-of-the-night visit. The 911 call Pam had made at that time had been the battery’s last gasp.
“Your brother told me I could find you here,” Roxie cheerfully continued. “I’m a photographer with Bridal Magazine. We’d like to get a few shots of you in action today.”
Pam froze. “Today?”
“Yes. Is there a problem with that?”
Yes. Big-time problem. As in I’m not ready for my close-up, Ms. DeMille.
What was it with this magazine anyway? First the reporter showed up without advance warning and now the photographer, who had at least tried to call first but not enough ahead of time.
Really, people, was twenty-four hours’ notice too much to ask for? Pam really didn’t think so. Inside she was working up a good head of steam that sputtered as she muttered, “Well, I . . . I don’t know if the bride would approve.”
“If she doesn’t, we won’t proceed. Why don’t you check with her?”
“Bridal Magazine!” Joy shrieked a few minutes later. “Everyone across the entire country will see my wedding and me in my tiara! Of course it’s okay with me. Are you crazy?”
Pam returned to give the news to Roxie, who was sitting on a bench in front of the church reading a book. Not just any book. How to Hook Your Guy.
Noticing her interest, Roxie said, “Everyone in the office is talking about this book. They either love it or hate it.”
“I can understand why.”
“You’ve read it?”
Pam shrugged. “Part of it.”
“I finished it a week ago. Gave me the courage to dump my boyfriend. I was just rereading a bit.” Roxie closed the book and returned it to her large tote. “So what did the bride say?”
“I don’t think she’s read the book.”
“I meant about the photography shoot.”
“Right.” Pam felt like an idiot. “She was fine with it.” In fact, Joy had almost tripped over herself to sign the release form that Pam returned to the photographer.
“I’m here to focus on your work,” Roxie reminded Pam.
“My designs, not me, right?” Pam had seen a brief glimpse of herself in one of the many mirrors in the large anteroom where Joy was holding court. It hadn’t been a pretty picture. Pam’s dark hair was turning frizzy in the June humidity. Her face was already flushed and sweaty. The stress that had caused her insomnia last night had created a zit on her chin today. No, definitely not a pretty picture.
“We want to include you at work.”
“How about some shots of me at my shop tomorrow?” Pam suggested. By then she could slather on enough foundation to hide a zit the size of Mount Everest.
Roxie shook her head. “Sorry, I’m only in town for today.”
“She’ll be ready in a sec,” Jessica declared, showing up out of no place to take Pam by the arm, leading her back inside the church to the ladies’ room. “My mom’s an Avon lady so I’ve got, like, lots of stuff to make you look good,” Jessica reassured her, already applying a coating of shimmery powder to Pam’s face.
Pam grabbed her arm. “Don’t make me look weird.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “You should learn to, like, trust me. I mean, I didn’t put anything in my blog about you and that hottie Michael making out in the back room.”
Pam groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“Stop talking.” Jessica waved a lipstick at her. She was a magician, pulling cosmetics from her huge bag like rabbits out of a black hat. “I’m an artist at work here and I need to concentrate.”
Pam was afraid that no amount of concentration could make her look good for this photo shoot, or make her truly forget about Michael.
“Why are you calling me on a Sunday?” Michael asked his editor and former college roommate Tommy Ito. “Don’t those New York publishers give you any time off?”
“I’ve got good news to share. Since your book hit the bestsellers lists, it’s going back for a second printing.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m totally serious. I told you it would be big.” Michael and Tommy had often talked about women, and what the female sex wanted from men. Michael had logically expressed his views, not caring if they were politically correct. His long-time buddy just so happened to think that it would make a great book. So Tommy had convinced Michael to write his views down, just as he’d voiced them.
How to Hook Your Guy was the result. Michael had only broken the news that he’d written a book to his mom about an hour ago. Surprisingly, she hadn’t sounded very surprised.
“You did get that writing award,” she’d reminded him.
“That was in the third grade, Mom.”
Tommy’s voice brought him back to the present. “So when are you going to give me the next installment?”
Michael frowned. “What next installment?”
“I don’t know. Think of something. Maybe How to Keep Your Guy Hooked. Get me some preliminary pages ASAP. Gotta go.”
Michael had taken the call on the grounds of the Granite Inn, not realizing he wasn’t alone until he looked down to find a dog at his feet. Not just any dog, but a dachshund that looked familiar to him. A giant Tootsie Roll with legs.
“Rosie! Come back here!”
Michael didn’t recognize the woman’s voice frantically calling for the dog, but he knew it didn’t bel
ong to Pam.
“Rosie!”
The dog just looked up at Michael with big brown eyes and then plopped over and showed him her belly, indicating he should rub it.
That was when it hit him. He’d been conning himself. Trying to make himself believe what he’d written in his book.
But Pam hadn’t followed any of his suggestions to hook him.
Yet that’s exactly what she’d done. Hooked him good. Embedded herself deep in his heart with lightning speed.
It wasn’t logical, but it was true.
Shouldn’t he have been looking into Pam’s eyes when he got this epiphany? Not staring down at her dog.
What was wrong with him? He bent down to pet the animal, hoping that simple gesture would help get his tangled thoughts in order.
“There you are!” An older woman approached. “You naughty thing, you.”
Was she talking to him, or the dog?
“Running out like that.”
The accusation could apply to him as well as the dog. He’d run out on Pam a month ago.
But he’d come back. The wedding was just an excuse. He was good at making those. He’d really come back because of Pam. He was realizing that now. Or maybe he was just willing to finally admit it now.
“Shame on you,” the woman continued.
Right.
“You should know better,” she added.
Absolutely.
“Now tell this nice man you’re sorry.”
Huh?
Rosie the dog had her eyes closed in ecstasy as he absently continued petting her tummy.
“I’m so sorry,” the older woman apologized. “Rosie got away from me when Terminator and I went for a walk.” She held a shivering Chihuahua in her arms. “She seems to like you.”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly.
“You’re Michael Denton, aren’t you? I’m Mrs. Selznick. You lived a few blocks away from me when you were growing up.”
Michael nodded absently, his mind still consumed with the giant aha moment he’d just experienced regarding his feelings for Pam.
He gave the terrified Terminator a look of empathy. He could definitely relate. Getting swept off your feet by a female was a very, very scary thing.
Catch of the Day Page 6
