Engaged in Death (A Wedding Planner Mystery) (18 page)

“I’ll need to find representation for this joke fest.”

“The hearing is on Thursday.”

“In two days? I never got notice!”

Garrett’s eyes strayed to the envelope Keith had brought over and cleared his throat.

“Helene’s attorney filed the injunction yesterday and probably had it served at your Pittsburgh address so you wouldn’t get it. If you look at the filing, they tried to get a judge to decide without a hearing. I’m sure you’ll find the same notice in the envelope from Keith.”

Some attorneys, including ones at my firm, played dirty tricks like this. They accidentally-on-purpose transposed people’s addresses, so notices of hearings arrived too late. I would never do anything like that, since litigation could be nasty enough even when you played by the rules.

“So he was doing something nice, kind of, when he brought this over.” I winced at this admission. “I’ve never sought an injunction for a client, but I think I can handle this myself, since it’s a farce.”

“I’ll represent you, if you’d like. I’d love to see the look on Helene’s face when it’s dismissed.”

“Why do you dislike her so much?”

“Her
and
Keith.” Garret shook his head bitterly. “There’s always been bad blood between us. Keith and I have known each other since kindergarten. He was over here a lot to see his grandma, and my backyard connects. He was always a jerk, but his father kept him in line. Keith’s dad died when he was thirteen, and he went off the rails.”

I was familiar with the story. “Keith didn’t talk about his dad much, just to say that after his dad passed away, he got a little wild.”

“It was more than a little wild. With his dad’s good influence gone, Keith became a punk in high school. My dad wasn’t the chief then, but he was a policeman, and he brought Keith in for shoplifting and toilet-papering people’s trees. Keith always got off. Helene used her influence to make things go away.”

“Some things never change.” I hadn’t heard Keith talk about his youthful brushes with the law. What else didn’t I know about him?

“We went to college together, and Keith rubbed it in my face that he was the McGavitt Glass heir. His father had been some big-shot lawyer and I’m a cop’s son. I went to Quincy College on a scholarship and attended classes in Pierce Hall. When we graduated, Keith went off to Penn for law school, and I left for Harvard. I transferred to Pitt after a semester when I found out my girlfriend here was pregnant. Keith said I transferred because I couldn’t hack it.” He shook his head and laughed. “If he only knew.”

“Where’s Summer’s mom?” I regretted blurting out the question as soon as it had left my lips.

“She’s not in the picture.” He softened a degree. “She left soon after Summer was born. I haven’t heard from her since.”

“I’m sorry.”

Garrett gave me a level gaze. “It’s probably better that way. It wasn’t meant to be.”

“My dad walked out after Rachel was born. I understand.”

I reached out and squeezed his hand as he had done earlier. We sat for a few minutes at the kitchen table, the crickets chirping outside in the darkness.

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime, Mallory?”

My heart began to beat fast. I hesitated for only a moment, from shock more than anything. But it was enough.

“I’m sorry.” He stood. His face was marred by hurt feelings. “That was too forward.”

“No, it wasn’t! I just—”

“I shouldn’t have,” Garrett interrupted. “Summer adores you. I could never get involved and then have it not work out.”

“Garrett—”

“If you have kids someday, you’ll understand.” He gave me a sad smile, let himself out the back door, and started his long walk home through the dark backyard.

The next day, I was distracted and distraught, haunted by the thought I’d blown it with Garrett. It didn’t help matters when I pulled into the driveway after work to find Zach and Rachel canoodling on the front lawn. I was happy my sister was happy, but I didn’t need to see her relationship up close and personal.

Get a room
.
Or just disappear to one of the many in this house. Anywhere but here.

I exited the station wagon as loudly as possible, slamming the heavy tan door. Rachel faced the house and Zach wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her ear, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Hi, you two.” I was all saccharine sweetness. I stifled an inner gag, then chastened myself.
Just because you blew it with Garrett doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be happy for Rachel
.

“Zach was pointing out where the house was rebuilt after the fire.” The lovebirds broke their embrace, and I joined them, my heels sinking into the grass.

“Right there.” Zach pointed to the left side of the house. “Do you see it?”

It was barely perceptible, but the exterior wall encasing the dining room was slightly different. It extended out a bit longer, with a deeper bay window, which marred the smooth symmetry of the house.

“I think so.”

“This house was built by Otto Fassbinder, a world-famous architect.” Zach was practically drooling.

It was evident what he and Tabitha had in common now. Tabitha was obsessed with this house, and Zach was obsessed with houses in general.

“There’s no way he would have designed the house like that. The side of the house was definitely rebuilt.”

“Maybe the paintings are still in there after all.” Rachel leaned back to peer at Zach.

“Or maybe they burned down with that part of the house,” said a voice behind us. The three of us turned. Tabitha was approaching, a big box in her arms. “I came to get the glass for the exhibit.” She motioned to her car parked on the street and offered a terse smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I knew Tabitha thought the paintings did exist, but she was being contrary to disagree with Zach.

“I have to go, Rach, but I’ll see you tomorrow at the office.” Zach and Rachel kissed. To his credit, Zach tried to make it a quick one, but Rachel grabbed his lapels and pulled him in for a long, slow smooch. Her tactic worked, as Tabitha let out a loud sigh.

“See you later.” Zach tipped an imaginary hat at us as he always did. He headed for his car, which looked different. The black Lexus sedan he had been driving had been replaced with a small green convertible. It couldn’t be comfortable for chauffeuring prospective home buyers.

“What’s tomorrow?” I asked Rachel as soon as he drove away.

“I’m meeting with the manager at his office about becoming a real estate agent.”

My eyes went wide. “But I thought you wanted to turn this place into a B and B and run it with me. And do you have time to do that with Kayla’s wedding?”

Rachel gave me a look that said I was nuts. “First, everything will get done in time for Kayla’s wedding. And second, you’ve turned me down a bazillion times. I can’t keep waiting for you to make up your mind. You’ll never quit the law firm. They’d have to fire you first. I need to move in a new career direction.”

It stung hearing Rachel fling my own arguments back at me.

“But do you really think it’s a good idea, training with someone you just started seeing?” I pressed.

“Zach is very demanding to work with, not that you’re asking for my advice.” Tabitha smirked.

“Exactly. I didn’t ask for advice. From
either
of you.” Rachel tossed a hurt look in my direction and stormed off to the house.

Tabitha shifted the box to her other hip. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. It isn’t any of my business.”

“Is he really that bad?” Zach’s slick good-boy looks and heavily laid-on charm rubbed me the wrong way, but Rachel seemed utterly taken with him. And he had been forthright about Sylvia’s opinions on fracking on the property, even if he didn’t agree with it.

“Just trying to save your sister from the inevitable realization that Zach is very ambitious. And intense. A little too into certain extracurricular hobbies.” Tabitha peered into the empty box.

“What kind of extracurriculars? Nothing illegal, right?” My protective older sister antennae were triggered and alert.

“No, just that he likes to live fast, faster than this town. He likes to go to Vegas and to spend a lot of money. Then again, maybe that’s right up your sister’s alley.”

I sighed. “Rachel is already planning a trip to Vegas with Zach. They’re going together in September.”

Tabitha’s eyebrows shot up, and she blinked hard. “Oh. I probably shouldn’t be mentioning this, but . . .” She stared off into the street, following Zach’s zippy convertible as it crested the hill of downtown Port Quincy. “I think I saw Zach’s car get repossessed yesterday. Although,” she continued hastily, “maybe he was just getting it towed.”

I frowned. “Are you sure? What makes you think he wasn’t having car trouble?”

Tabitha bit her lip. “I’m not sure. I have a tendency to jump to conclusions when it comes to Zach. Forget I said anything.”

Should I bring up Tabitha’s hunch with Rachel? No, she was a big girl, and she’d never forgive me for gossiping about Zach with his ex.

We went into the house, and Tabitha selected small pieces of glass. She wrapped each one carefully in tissue paper and bubble wrap before placing it in the box and documenting it in a notebook.

“You’re a little glum.” She stopped her work and peered at me.

“I’m all right. I just screwed things up with Garrett. He asked me to dinner, and I hesitated. Then he pulled the offer off the table.”

Tabitha snorted. “Figures. He’s only dated a handful of women over the years. He’s probably just rusty. Maybe you should ask him out instead.”

“He didn’t want to start anything because of Summer.” I was still stung by what he’d said. “He’s afraid to get involved and then have it not work out.”

Tabitha sucked in her breath and set down a glass lighthouse. “He can’t use that excuse forever. And Adrienne didn’t break his heart that badly, although what she did was unforgivable. Besides, it was thirteen years ago.”

“Adrienne? That’s Summer’s mom?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call her Summer’s mother, no,” Tabitha said carefully. “She got pregnant right before Garrett went off to Boston for law school. She told him about the baby at Thanksgiving, and he transferred back here in January so he could marry her. Summer was born, Adrienne decided she didn’t want to be a mom, and she ran off. To California, to be an actress.”

“Poor Summer and Garrett. He hasn’t dated anyone since?”

“Oh, he’s dated. He’s one of the more eligible bachelors in Port Quincy. But he’s picky. He likes you, Mallory. I’m sure he’ll reconsider if you ask him.”

“I was supposed to get married this Saturday. Maybe now’s not the time to be chasing after Garrett Davies.”

Tabitha’s gimlet eyes shone with mischief. “Revenge might not be the best motive, but I’m sure it would really piss off Keith.”

“Garrett mentioned Keith always got away with murder and how they were rivals, just like you said the other day.”

“You have no idea.” Tabitha considered a glass angel, then placed it back on the credenza. “Always trying to best each other. Garrett graduated valedictorian of Quincy College, and Keith salutatorian—”

“Wait, Keith always told me he was valedictorian.” It would be just like him to slightly aggrandize his achievements, I now realized.

“No, it was Garrett. I remember. You have no idea how much Keith gloated when Garrett transferred to law school back home. He told anyone who’d listen that Garrett must’ve failed out. When, really, Garrett was stepping up for a baby he was having with a woman he didn’t love. He would have married her, too, if she hadn’t run off.”

We fell into silence. I thought about almost marrying someone I didn’t love.

“Talk to him, Mallory. Give him a chance. He’s just out of practice.”

“We’ll see.”

* * *

After Tabitha left, I returned to obsessing over Kayla’s wedding extravaganza. I only had three days to pull it off. We’d spoken on the phone every day since I’d offered my reception to her. Over a series of brief conversations, I’d tried to coax out of her what she wanted for her big day.

“You know, country-casual.” She was infuriatingly dreamy and non-specific.

“Super!” I replied each time, then pitched idea after idea, from hay bales to checkered tablecloths, to lanterns and pinecones and picnic fare.

“I trust you. Do whatever. I’m just so happy Travis and I are finally getting married, and at the country club!”

It was going to be damn near impossible to pull off “country-casual,” whatever that meant, at the country club, with its old dark woodwork and tarnished brass. Not to mention pulling it all together with only three more days to spare. And that was including the day of the wedding. I leafed through the bridal magazines Keith had left on the lawn, scoured wedding websites, and rifled through the favors and decorations I’d amassed for my wedding. Unfortunately, my would-be reception hadn’t been anything close to country-casual. The ostrich feathers, miniature crystal votive holders, and silver vases wouldn’t transfer over to Kayla’s wedding.

“Kayla doesn’t really have the money to buy decorations, and neither do we,” Rachel lamented.

“I know. But we have something better than money.”

“What’s that?” Rachel wrinkled her nose in distaste, as if I were speaking crazy-talk.

“We can go shopping right here, in this house.” I gestured around me. “Think of all the stuff we’ve run across looking for the paintings.”

So, for the next hour, Rachel and I and tore through the house, looking for props for Kayla’s wedding. We came up with navy gingham tablecloths hidden in picnic baskets in a linen closet and intricate cotton lace doilies faded to a caramel brown. Multiple laundry loads later, and they both were ready to be pressed into service again. The greenhouse yielded white trellises that needed a fresh coat of paint and copper lanterns, rusted to a soft mint green patina. The best find was a set of small glass candleholders, shaped like daisies, that threw off a soft yellow light.

“You can do this in your sleep,” Rachel assured me when we returned to the kitchen hours later.

I contemplated my wedding dress in its garment bag. I’d left it hanging on the back of the kitchen door, mocking me in all its grand pouffiness.

“I know your wedding didn’t go off, but what you planned was amazing. And you weren’t even implementing your own vision, just Helene’s. But it would’ve been something.”

“I had a year to plan my wedding. I’m glad most of Kayla’s family lives in Port Quincy and can come on such short notice. Now all I have to do is use this stuff to convert Helene’s version of the perfect wedding into Kayla’s, and do it in record time.”

I went over the to-do list for Saturday. It was shorter than the one I’d had for my botched wedding, but there were still many tasks, now that I’d committed to my vision for Kayla’s wedding. Rachel, Summer, and I were going to make flower arrangements from the abundant blooms in Sylvia’s garden, with mason jars from the basement serving as vases. We would tie them with grosgrain ribbon scavenged from the sewing notions in the attic, in line with the bride’s country-casual theme. Kayla’s sister and mother were feverishly making cookie-cutter wedding favors and shopping for matching dresses for her three bridesmaids. Her aunts were baking up a storm to supply Kayla’s cookie table with hundreds of confections, in keeping with Western Pennsylvania tradition. I was meeting with the chef at the country club tomorrow morning before the injunction hearing and work to beg him to tweak Helene’s menu choices on extremely short notice. He remembered the compromises I’d brokered between Helene’s wishes and what was technically possible, and was willing to help me out. Kayla still hadn’t found a DJ, nor could she pay for one. And as of yesterday, she was still looking for a wedding dress that didn’t need to be altered.

I squinted at the straining garment bag. “What do you think Kayla will wear?” An idea percolated in the back of my mind. Kayla was a little taller than me, and a few sizes up, but with flats and an added panel in the back, my gown just might work.

“No way. I see where you’re going with this. Your dress would need major alterations, and you’ll never find someone to do them by Saturday.” Rachel held her nose as she poured out another mason jar of ancient preserves down the drain, preparing it to stand in as a vase.

I plucked a business card from the front of the refrigerator.

“It’s worth a shot.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, I drove to seamstress Bev Mitchell’s house. She’d agreed to alter my dress as much as possible by Saturday morning, as well as give the trellises a fresh coat of paint, and Kayla had sounded tickled pink over the phone. Kayla agreed to meet me at Bev’s house, and I hoped the dress would be to her liking, or at least fit. And with a flutter of guilt, I also hoped I could find out some info about Bev’s son, Preston. Based on my conversation with Naomi Powell, I wanted to know whether he was capable of murdering Shane Hartley.

I parked the boat of a station wagon behind a rusty Cavalier and hefted the heavy garment bag from the backseat. In front of me was a neat ranch house with marigolds and begonias marching up the walkway in gold and red precision. A pale blue statue of the Virgin Mary stood in front of the house, her arms outstretched. Bird feeders, rife with robins and cardinals, hung from the maple trees edging the yard, and little solar lights shaped like butterflies lined the driveway. Three horses grazed in the distance, and odd, pill-shaped white structures dotted the landscape.