Engaged in Death (A Wedding Planner Mystery) (27 page)

Delilah scooted off in a huff and left me to giggle in her patchouli-infused wake.

Jesse’s broad shoulders relaxed and he turned back to me. He’d stopped apologizing for her weeks ago. “Things were on track before I found the rotting subfloor this morning in your apartment, while you met with the bride. She must be crazy or desperate to want to get married here in four weeks.”

The latest gulp of hot coffee went down the wrong pipe, and I sputtered and set the cup aside. The floor had always felt a little squishy on the third story.

“That’ll add another week, easy. Your brand new water heater doesn’t work, and it’ll be days before they send you a replacement. The existing radiators are too small to heat the bedrooms, just as I suspected, so we’ll need to convert the wood-burning fireplaces to direct-vent gas ones or electric inserts. But it’ll cost you. The three muralists I contacted about the parlor ceiling? None of them are free until spring. I can finish the basics in time for the December wedding, but for this new one at the end of October? No way.”

I became lightheaded and steadied myself against a railing.

“But I thought we were running ahead!” I motioned around me. Renovations to the outside of the house were finished weeks ago. Jesse had restored the house to its original heavy cream parchment color. There was enough gingerbread trim to outfit a Bavarian bakery, and Jesse had the intricate swirls and curlicues painted verdigris, butter yellow, and slate blue, changing the wrought iron and wood into delicate, colorful lace. It was transformed from a peeling dump to a warm, inviting house that looked like a present all wrapped up. And Jesse was a genius, designing on the fly, in addition to making the place shipshape and up to code. He’d surprised me with a thistle weathervane atop the widow’s walk on the tallest mansard tower, a nod to the house’s official name, Thistle Park. He’d added smaller weather-vanes to the greenhouse and the carriage house, and those structures, together with the mansion, reminded me of the
Nina, Pinta
, and
Santa Maria
majestically floating atop the wide green lawn. He’d said the place would be finished at the end of October, and I’d believed him.

“You can’t plan for the unexpected, Mallory. I even like to build in a grace period with all of my clients so I’m sure to finish ahead of time. But this house . . .” He scratched his scalp, where his hair had worn away. “It’s full of surprises.”

“Like what?”

Jesse dropped his voice and looked over his shoulder for his mother. “Sometimes I feel like something funny’s going on. We’ve had our share of little accidents, things we can’t quite explain, like power tools going on after they’ve been shut off. Not to mention all the missing equipment. Things keep breaking, and I know my guys. They wouldn’t sabotage a job.”

“Oh, c’mon. What are you saying? The place is haunted?” Garrett laughed, but his mirth died.

I was glad Delilah had scooted off. She was obsessed with the occult and would seize on Jesse’s pronouncement that there might be spirits hanging around Thistle Park.

“Not exactly. It’s hard to explain.” Jesse blushed and his face began to match the loud red Hawaiian shirt he wore. “Forget I said anything. I can probably hire an extra crew of guys, and we’ll try to finish by the end of October. There’s more than one way to skin a potato.”

I smothered another grin at one of Jesse’s malaprops.

“You’re my hero.” I flashed my most grateful look at the contractor.

“I thought
I
was your hero,” Garrett teased, looking fake-put out.

“You’re both my heroes.”

“It’s going to cost you, though.” Jesse showed all his teeth when he grinned, like the big bad wolf.

I heard cash register sounds going off in my head as I pictured my bank account further drained. My inheritance from artwork I’d found in the house was quickly evaporating.

From inside the doorway, Delilah called out with her spookiest affectation, “The four of coins! This renovation is going to be more costly than anything you’ve imagined, and I don’t mean money.”

“That’s the story of my life.” I picked up my sandwich and wondered what she meant.

A piercing scream ripped through the air.

Garrett, Jesse, and I raced inside, our sandwiches forgotten. Rachel stood at the top of the stairs, on the precipice of the balcony. She held onto the carved bannister, which wobbled and swayed over the hallway a good twenty feet below.

“Don’t jump!” Delilah scooted into the room, and Jesse stopped her from going any farther. Ezra, Jesse’s right-hand man, hovered under Rachel as if to catch her. His face had turned a scary shade of split pea soup green, and he looked like he was going to lose his lunch.

“I’m not jumping, you old bat!”

Rachel swung backward and landed in a pile at the top of the stairs, with her limbs all akimbo, not a moment too soon. The gleaming cherry bannister installed that morning teetered, rocked, and finally fell free, clipping the edge of the antique crystal chandelier. The bannister crashed to the floor and became a shiny pile of kindling. The chandelier swung once, twice—

“Oh
no—
”

—and crashed to the ground, where it smashed into thousands of glittery slivers, destroyed in a deafening crunch. I tore my hands from my face where they’d flown up of their own accord to protect my eyes from the raining chips of crystal. Tiny shards nicked my hands and calves. The broken prisms sparkled and winked, even in the low light, like the aftermath of a biblical plague of hail.

“See what I mean?” Jesse let out a shaky breath and headed up the stairs to console my sister.