Night of the Living Wed

by Laura Durham

  “Maybe he’s crazy,” Fern suggested, his “Wake Me For Mimosas” eye mask firmly in place.

  Kate met my eyes. “That’s always a possibility. He does work in the event world.”

  “So how do we prove that he’s the one who’s been sabotaging the hotel?” Mack asked.

  Fern pulled his mask off his face and sat up, his eyes wide. “We set a trap for him.”

  Hermès yipped in apparent agreement and scampered over to lick his hand.

  “Setting a trap for a pretend ghost?” Richard put a hand over his eyes. “Where have I seen this before?”

  Chapter 17

  “Is everyone in place?” I asked, pressing the ear buds further into my ears and adjusting the cord that ran from my ears to the phone in my pocket. I sat on one of the upholstered wing chairs in the resort lobby, facing the stairs that led from the upstairs ballroom level.

  I breathed in the scent of fresh coffee and wood-burning fireplaces that I’d come to associate with Bedford Springs. The resort had begun to rouse itself as guests walked through the lobby with bags on their way to check out, and the valets pulled up cars under the portico. We didn’t have long until we needed to be gathering our bags and checking out. If our plan went off smoothly, we’d have no problem making the deadline. If it didn’t, getting late checkout would be the least of our worries.

  “I’m set,” Richard said. “I can see the door to Kerry’s room from the crack in mine. I’ll know when she leaves.”

  “Perfect. Buster and Mack?” We’d conferenced in all of our cell phones so we could hear what was going on, but I’d been very clear that we had to keep the chatter to a minimum. Knowing my crew, a conference call could devolve into a party line very quickly.

  “Ready.” Buster’s booming voice made me turn down the volume on my phone. “We’re hiding near the executive offices.”

  I wondered if men as large and noticeable as the Mighty Morphin Flower Arrangers could ever be truly inconspicuous. I glanced over to where Kate and Fern stood near one of the fireplaces. I was glad that Fern had removed his pink eye mask, but he still made quite a statement in his outfit, especially since he’d topped the ensemble with a red fitted jacket. He looked more suited to a foxhunt than a hotel lobby. I half expected him to carry a whip and cry “Tally ho!” Someone who didn’t know Fern might think he was getting in the spirit of Halloween, but I knew that costumes were far from a once-a-year occurrence.

  Kate gave me a twitch of a nod from across the room, and Fern waved with his fingers while keeping his arms by his side.

  “Too bad we couldn’t incorporate an ape man costume or an elaborate booby trap into this plan,” Richard said.

  “Ha ha,” I said. “Don’t knock the plan. It’s a good plan.”

  “After this, can we call ourselves Archer’s Six?” Fern asked, adjusting his one-piece Bluetooth earpiece. “You know, like Oceans Eleven?”

  “Definitely not,” Richard said.

  “There he is.” I spotted Mr. Anderson walking across the lobby but averted my eyes so he wouldn’t notice me looking at him. I’d had the front desk call him a few minutes ago to pick up a delivery, so his appearance was right on schedule. I noticed that although he wore a button-down shirt and a tie, he didn’t have on a suit jacket. Maybe his version of cutting loose for Sunday fun day.

  He strode up to the front desk, where they handed him two oversized shopping bags from one of the resort’s boutiques. It had been Richard’s inspired idea to use shopping bags from Harriet Lane with poofs of tissue paper bursting from the top. The assistant manager looked at the bags with a curious expression then turned to head back to his office.

  Kate and Fern intercepted him before he made it out of the lobby. Kate rushed up and gave him a hug, pressing the arms holding the shopping bags to his sides while Fern darted his hands into both of the man’s pants pockets.

  “We saw you and had to come over and say thank you before we left,” Kate said in her most breathless and girly voice.

  Mr. Anderson stumbled a bit to regain his balance, so Fern steadied him by throwing an arm around his shoulders. “We can’t thank you enough.”

  “You-you’re welcome,” Mr. Anderson stammered, smiling weakly.

  I saw Fern glance down at the cell phone he’d palmed and frown. It must be a locked screen, I thought.

  Kate must have seen the same thing because she took Mr. Anderson’s face in both of her hands and kissed him full on the mouth. Fern gaped for a second before touching the man’s thumb to the phone as Kate kissed him enthusiastically.

  Kate released the assistant manager and gave him a wink. “Have a great day.”

  Mr. Anderson looked dazed as he left the lobby, looking back once to smile at Kate.

  “The Artful Dodger himself couldn’t have done a better job,” I said quietly.

  Fern gave a small bow as Kate took the phone from him and began scrolling.

  “Got it,” she said. “He actually has Kerry’s name in his contacts. I’m texting her now. ‘Need to talk. Have new scoop. Meet me in the Colonnade ballroom ASAP.’ That should do it.”

  My heart started to beat faster. So far everything was working perfectly.

  Fern craned to look over Kate’s shoulder. “She’s typing back.” He jumped up and clapped his hands. “She took the bait. She’s on her way.”

  “Now dump the phone,” I said. “Somewhere on the floor so it looks like he dropped it.”

  Kate placed the phone near the leg of a tufted ottoman. “Okay, now we’re going to scram.”

  I nodded, picking up a nearby newspaper and burying my nose in it while keeping one eye on the stairs to the ballroom.

  “She’s on the move,” Richard whispered. I heard the click of a door and the panting of a small dog through my earpiece.

  Buster’s voice made me jump. “Anderson is back in his office. I can’t tell if he’s opened the bags yet or not.”

  I wondered how the assistant manager would react when he saw the two bullet-ridden throw pillows wrapped up in tissue paper and ribbon. I hoped he would do something stupid and incriminating so Buster and Mack would be there to catch him.

  “Hold position,” I said in a low voice, raising the newspaper as I saw Kerry hurry up the stairs to the Colonnade ballroom. I waited until she was on the second level, then I dropped the paper and followed her. Time for a little confrontation and, hopefully, confession.

  I took the steps two at a time and spotted one of the double doors to the ballroom closing. I caught the handle before it clicked shut, slipping in behind Kerry as she walked into the empty ballroom.

  Even though the lights were off, light streamed in from the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows along the left side of the room and reflected off a square wooden dance floor that lay in the center. There were no tables and chairs set up, so I knew there were no Sunday events in the ballroom. I got a faint whiff of stale champagne and fish and reminded myself that post-event smells were never great.

  Kerry’s shoes clicked on the parquet as she walked onto the dance floor. “Quentin? Are you there?”

  So they were on a first-name basis. Interesting.

  “Looking for someone?” I asked.

  Kerry spun on her heel. “Oh, it’s you.” She put a hand to her heart. “You scared me.”

  I took a step onto the dance floor. “Quentin isn’t coming.”

  Her eyes scanned the room. “What?”

  “We know the assistant manager was the one feeding you information,” I said. “False information.”

  Kerry shook her head, her dark hair swinging. “You don’t understand. He’s trying to keep people safe. The ghosts here are dangerous.”

  I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. “There are no ghosts. At least not the ones that Mr. Anderson made up.”

  “You heard the gunshot.” She pointed at me. “And you inspected the room yourself. No bullet holes. How do you explain that if it wasn’t a ghost of some kind?”

  “We
found the cushions that were shot into so there wouldn’t be any bullet holes,” I said. “They were shoved into a trash can on the hotel’s loading dock.”

  She furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

  I stepped closer and reached out a hand. “He used you and your blog to try to ruin the hotel.”

  She jerked her arm out of my reach. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he want to ruin the place where he works if he wasn’t doing it to keep people safe?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that he’s related to the original owner of the resort, Dr. Anderson. Maybe he’s trying to get his boss fired so he can take over and an Anderson will finally be back in charge. Maybe he thinks his family has a chance to get the hotel back if it’s less attractive to the owner. Maybe he’s crazy. Who knows?”

  Kerry put her hands over her face and started crying. “I had no idea. He told me he just wanted to keep people from being hurt. I thought I was helping.”

  I slipped an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. He fooled everyone.”

  I led her out of the ballroom and walked her slowly down the stairs as she sniffled and wiped her eyes. When we reached the lobby, I spotted Richard wearing his leather cross-body bag with Hermès’s head poking out of one end.

  “Annabelle!” Buster’s voice boomed in my ear. “He’s making a run for it.”

  Before I could head for the executive offices, I heard screaming and felt the floor shake under my feet.

  The assistant manager ran into the lobby, a deranged look on his face and his combover falling into his eyes. He looked over his shoulder and shrieked. I didn’t blame him. Buster and Mack, decked out in black leather and chains from head to toe, both lumbered after him at a remarkably quick pace given their bulk.

  Mr. Anderson tried to head for the front door, but Mack leapt into the air and tackled his legs. The men landed with a thud that shook the lobby. Buster piled on, and I heard the assistant manager squeak as a gun flew out of his pocket and bounced across the carpet. Hermès let out a torrent of barks and jumped out of Richard’s bag, dashing over to growl at the fallen man.

  Stuart rushed into the lobby, breathing hard. “What’s going on?”

  I pointed to the gun at my feet. “There’s your phantom gun.” I then pointed to Mr. Anderson, whose limp form was being peeled off the floor by Mack while Hermès yipped in approval. “And there’s your ghost.”

  Chapter 18

  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Reese said on the other end of the phone. “Both of your biker florist friends tackled the perp and he survived?”

  I stood a few feet away from my friends as we waited in the lobby for my car. “He was a bit shaken up, but nothing was broken. He did get fired and arrested, though, so it still wasn’t a great day for him.”

  “And was I right about following the money to find the motive?”

  “Actually, you were,” I said. “The assistant manager was related to the original founder of the hotel and had grown up feeling like his family had been cheated since the resort is worth so much now. He’d cobbled together an investment group to buy the hotel if he could decrease its value enough, hence the poltergeist stories.”

  “And it might have worked if you hadn’t come along. I’ll bet he didn’t expect a wedding team to blow his plan out of the water.”

  I laughed. “That’s what he said as they dragged him off, but he used the word meddling.”

  I didn’t mention the pleasure that I’d taken in seeing Brianna and Kerry leave with their tails between their legs after being questioned by the police for their part in the fraud. I felt a little bad for Kerry, who’d been taken advantage of because of her naiveté, but not the least bit bad for Brianna, who’d taken glee in slandering the resort.

  “I’m just glad you’re safe.” Reese’s voice became serious. “And I’m glad you’re coming home.”

  “Oh, really?” I twirled a strand of hair around my finger.

  “Yes, really.” His voice became low. “I have lots of plans for you. Starting with a romantic dinner out.”

  I felt my face become warm, and I pulled my sweater away from my neck to cool off. “That sounds perfect.”

  “Annabelle,” Kate called. “Your car’s here.”

  “I’ve got to go,” I said to Reese, hating that I had to wait to find out about his plans for me. My imagination was already going into overdrive.

  He sighed. “Drive safe, and call me when you get home.”

  I said I would and disconnected, slipping my phone into my pants pocket. I joined my crew in grabbing our bags to carry to the car, taking a last look at the beautiful lobby. I would miss the wood-burning fires and the fresh mountain air, not to mention the slower pace.

  “Remind me never to go on vacation with you again,” Richard said, holding his Prada duffel bag in one hand and Hermès in the other.

  I hoisted my black overnighter onto my shoulder. “I don’t know why you’d say that. It was a perfectly lovely weekend.”

  He gaped at me. “Guns were fired, and we ran a sting operation that ended up in a person getting tackled in the lobby.”

  “I thought it was a hoot and a half,” Fern said, holding the door open. “I especially liked getting to practice my lifting skills.”

  “Should I be worried you’re such a good pickpocket?” I asked.

  He inspected my hair and tucked a loose strand behind my ear as I passed him. “Not as long as rich women need their hair done.”

  My black Volvo sat idling under the portico. I opened the trunk with my car keys, wishing I had a newer model car so I could pop the truck with a remote, then I dropped my overnight bag inside.

  “I’m with Fern.” Kate tossed her carry-on bag next to mine. “We all made a pretty good crime-fighting team. Maybe we should do it professionally.”

  Buster snapped his fingers. “Like the A Team.”

  Richard placed his designer duffel bag gingerly in my trunk and shook his head. “Heaven preserve us.”

  Mack swung both Fern’s and Kate’s suitcases up into my car. “It couldn’t be harder than working with brides.”

  “You know that’s right. I love it when a plan comes together,” Buster said. “And I have to admit that it was a rush to apprehend the suspect.”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is crush,” Richard said.

  Fern put a hand on Mack’s arm. “I thought it was spectacular. It was like watching a pair of water buffalos take down a gazelle.”

  “If the gazelle had a bad combover,” Kate said.

  Fern opened the door to the back seat and placed his Louis Vuitton duffel bag in the middle. Richard put Hermès down in the car, and the Yorkie ran to take his place on the hump between the back seats.

  “We should all be proud that we saved a bunch of people’s jobs,” I said.

  “Including mine,” Stuart said as he joined us outside.

  I threw my arms around him. “Thank you for spoiling us with the dinners and spa treatments.”

  He patted me on the back as I hugged him. “After what you did for me and for all the hotel staff, I don’t feel like I did enough. You’ll have to come back for a weekend on us when you don’t have to flush out fake ghosts.”

  Kate raised her hand. “Count me in.”

  I nudged Stuart. “Unless you’re working at a luxury hotel in New York or DC, in which case we’ll be your first visitors.”

  “Fingers crossed,” Stuart said. “I do have one question for you, though. How did you figure out the connection between our assistant manager and the hotel’s founder?”

  “It was a tip from one of your guests,” I said. “A little girl I met in the pool. She mentioned a Dr. Anderson, and we took it from there.”

  Stuart raised his eyebrows. “Anna?”

  “How did you know?” I tilted my head at him. “Don’t tell me you learn the names of all your guests.”

  Stuart shook his head. “No, Anna’s been
here for years.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Anna drowned in the pool over a hundred years ago. She’s a ghost.”

  Suddenly, I felt cold. “That’s impossible.”

  “Was she wearing a dark old-fashioned dress each time you saw her?”

  Now that he mentioned it, the dress had struck me as a bit out of fashion, but I thought that was because I couldn’t see her well from so far away. I thought about Anna and felt a pang of sadness that she’d drowned so many years ago.

  “Quite a few of our guests have seen Anna.” Stuart put a hand on my shoulder. “She’s perfectly friendly. As is the gentleman in room 217.”

  “So your resort is definitely haunted after all?” Kate asked.

  Stuart held up a finger. “We’ve never claimed it wasn’t haunted. We just said that the story about poltergeists was false. Our ghosts are delightful.”

  “I, for one, hope not to run into any spirits for a while,” I said. “I’ll be happy to get back to our ghost-free weddings.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Annabelle,” Kate said, sliding into the passenger’s seat. “Just because our weddings don’t have ghosts, doesn’t mean they aren’t deadly.”

  I had to admit, she was right.

  * * *

  deadringer.lauradurham.com

  * * *

  For a preview of the next novel in the Annabelle Archer Wedding Planner Mystery series, go to the next page!

  Preview of “Eat, Prey, Love”—Annabelle Archer Book #7

  Chapter One

  * * *

  I dropped my black carry-on bag in the foyer of the hotel suite and rubbed the deep groove it had left in my shoulder. Next time I wouldn’t pack so much for the plane, I told myself. Not that I’d be getting on another thirty-plus hour flight anytime soon.

  The trip from Washington, DC to Bali, Indonesia had gone through New York and Taiwan before reaching the exotic island that would be home for the next week. It had taken over a day of travel to arrive, and I could feel the exhaustion begin to overtake me as I followed my Balinese room butler while he gave me a tour of the spacious suite.