Wedding Duress (Events By Design Cozy Mystery Series Book 2)

C
opyright
© 2015 by Ally Gray

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

C
over design
by www.coverkicks.com

T
he Events
By Design Cozy Mystery book series is dedicated to my wonderful-beyond-words husband, Michael

D
ealing
with dead people was just not on Stacy’s to-do list. She had four appointments with clients to handle before lunch, she was behind on two fittings and approval of a photo array, and she still had to get to the cleaners to pick up a mink coat that someone insisted be featured in an upcoming wedding. She simply had no time for dead people.

Of course that didn’t stop her from thinking murderous thoughts about the man sitting across from her, leaning his elbows casually on her wide antique desk as he gazed at her with eyes as big as moon pies. He’d been there for the better part of half an hour, somehow duping himself into believing that bringing her a large double-caff skinny latte with extra hazelnut flavoring—her favorite, and he knew it—gave him carte blanche to linger in her office and make flowery proclamations of love.

“Nathan, I’ve already told you a hundred times. I’m willing to keep an open mind about us going on a date, but I’m not ready to jump into a relationship. We’re coming up on the busiest wedding season this firm has ever seen. If we take on any more events, we’ll have to hire day laborers from the prison just to fill in the gaps, and I don’t think anyone wants to attend a wedding where all of the workers are wearing black and white striped jumpsuits.”

“I’m just asking for dinner! One dinner is not an event! It’s not like I expect you to come home with me and jump into bed!” he cried, but Stacy swore she heard him mumble the word “yet” under his breath.

There had been a time that “yet” between Nathan and Stacy had been incredible, everything she could have hoped for. They’d dated for several months and enjoyed those many wonderful moments of “yet,” but then the bottom fell out on the relationship: Nathan was her boss’s nephew, and that was a huge no-no in her book. Then her boss had to up and die, leaving the event planning business to said nephew, which technically transformed Nathan into her boss. At least he was still in the sad puppy dog eyes stage, and not the overbearing ‘ordering her to have dinner with him’ stage. She was sure that was coming soon.

“And I told you I’d think about it. But this just isn’t a good time. I’ve got so much going on, and the last thing I need is more complications,” she said, letting the words slip out before she realized how they sounded.

“Oh, thanks. So now I’m just a complication. That didn’t hurt at all.”

“Nathan, that’s not what I meant. You’re twisting my words! I just meant…”

“No, it’s fine. I know you weren’t trying to purposely stab me in the heart and twist the knife until my internal organs fell out of the ever widening hole. It was just an accidental stabbing, a drive by stabbing, a…”

“Okay, I get it! I’m sorry! Fine, we’ll go to dinner. Just let me get through the next few events. We’ve got four weddings, a sorority ball, the governor’s charity fundraiser—I think that’s it.”

“Oh. Great. So we’ll have dinner in a month or two?”

“Nathan, that’s just in the next two
weeks
, not two months. Get it? We’re really busy! You’d think that as owner of this firm you’d be excited to have so much going on.”

“I’m only excited about one thing, Stacy, and that’s the chance to be with you again.” Nathan’s usually boisterous personality turned serious as he sat down across from Stacy once more. “I mean it. I’ve missed you. We had a great thing going, and you took it away from me because you were afraid of how it would look.”

“It wasn’t just a matter of how it looked,” she hedged. “I did it for you, too. You didn’t deserve to be put in a position of keeping me on salary just because we were dating.” She left out the part about sleeping with her new boss, deciding no one needed to speak those words ever. “If you weren’t happy with my performance and wanted to fire me, or if you were thrilled with the job I did and thought I deserved a raise, it shouldn’t have anything to do with a personal relationship.”

“I know. But I’m kind of hurt that you thought I wasn’t a big enough person to handle a relationship with you. And if you forgot, I don’t exactly run this company. That’s your job. I’d be just as happy if Aunt Abigail had left it to someone else. In fact, I have a brilliant idea…the company is yours! Now let’s go eat!”

“You can’t just give me a multi-million dollar company, Nathan!” Stacy replied, exasperated at the fact that he failed to take anything seriously. Nathan just smiled and shook his head.

“Of course I can. I don’t want it, and I have a job, thank you very much. So the company is yours!” Nathan sat back and crossed his arms triumphantly. “Therefore, I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something sexy, maybe a backless number with a skirt that only comes to about… here.” He placed his hand on the top of his thigh and Stacy just rolled her eyes.

“Six thirty, and you might want to swing me through a drive-thru since I have exactly thirty-one minutes for dinner tonight. I’m meeting the governor’s aide at seven to do a final run through and checklist, and then it’s off to Enri’s to see about a dress fitting.”

“Oh, are you buying a dress? Any special occasion I need to know about, be invited to, or be ready to whisk you away from?” Nathan batted his eyelashes and gave Stacy his best hopeful look.

“It’s not my dress, silly. It’s Diana Barber’s dress? Remember? That little shindig we’re throwing together for the heiress to the largest lumber fortune in the entire southeastern part of the country? It’s no big thing, just some paper plates, some barbecue, oh yeah, and two thousand guests. You might have heard about it. She’s only marrying the starting quarterback from one of the largest SEC schools, the guy who won the Heisman and got picked in the first round of the NFL draft.”

The wedding Stacy was referring to had only been the talk of the South all year, and even if he didn’t want to admit it, Nathan knew as much about it as anyone else. The beauty queen and the football star, as the headlines and society pages kept calling them, were the reigning—but soon to be former, therefore allowing her to get married—Miss Georgia and the golden boy of NCAA sports, Ben Curry, the one whose shoulder on his throwing arm was already insured for millions of dollars. This was the event to attend, and invitations had finally been cut off before there was no venue big enough to hold them all.

Between Diana’s two hundred sorority sisters—and her father’s important business contacts who couldn’t be snubbed at a time like this—and Ben’s equally impressive number of teammates from the last four years of college play, there hadn’t been room to even begin thinking about the family members. That was Stacy’s job. Somehow it had fallen to the event coordinator to find room for grandmothers at this event, given that all the other seats were occupied by linebackers and bankers.

“Yeah, I might have heard something about a wedding or two,” Nathan said slyly. “I’ve got it. We’ll swing by the fitter and pick up the dress, then head over to The River Club for dinner. How about it?”

“You seriously think we’re going to drive around town with a seventeen thousand dollar, one of a kind wedding dress in the backseat? Are you completely mad?”

“What? We have insurance, don’t we?” he answered, but paled when he saw the look of rage that suddenly came over Stacy’s face. He sighed. “Fine. We’ll drop the dress off at First National Bank and tell them to lock it in the vault and keep it under armed guard for the duration, then we can go eat. Happy?”

Stacy shook her head. This was the boss she’d given up the romance for? It’s like he didn’t even know what his own company did, and yet, she had to be the one to step in and make sacrifices in order to keep things running.

She was prevented from saying anything gloriously nasty by a knock on her office door. She called out for the person to enter, and was surprised to see her new assistant leading a short, elderly Asian man, his arms loaded down with a wrapped bundle.

“Thank you, Mandy,” she said to the younger woman, looking over the tops of her reading glasses before turning to the newcomer. “May I help you?”

“Ah, yes miss. I am from the dry cleaner. I have coat for you.”

Stacy was confused for a second, but brightened immediately. She jumped up and ran around her desk to retrieve the package from the old man. “Thank you so much! You didn’t have to bring it all the way down here, we could have come to pick it up!”

“It’s no problem, miss. We do good work for weddings!” He bowed as he handed over the suit bag, smiling as he helped lay it flat on the stuffed chaise by the window. Stacy unzipped the bag and removed the mink coat, holding it up to the light. She tentatively sniffed it, smiling at the absence of musty smell from being stored in an attic trunk.

“Very good work! We will definitely call you in the future, and I am happy to recommend you to clients.” She beamed benevolently as the overjoyed man grabbed her hand in both of his and shook them eagerly, jostling her entire torso in the process. Mandy gave the man exactly twenty more seconds, then escorted him out.

“What’s with the dry cleaner?” Nathan asked, eyeing the animal fur suspiciously.

“This is a century-old mink coat, apparently, one that has been in the bride’s family forever. Her great-grandmother was known for this coat, and even wore it every day while living in a nursing home.” Nathan made a disgusted face and took a large step back from the offending wrap. “Stop it, I think it’s sweet. It’s definitely bizarre, and certainly not PC, but since the great-grandmother—God rest her soul—cannot attend the ceremony, the bride is going to have a coat rack fitted with this coat and have it stand in the corner on her family’s side.”

“The beauty queen has a weird streak? Who knew?” he asked.

“Oh no, not the beauty queen’s wedding. This is for a different wedding. Much smaller, slightly more eccentric, but still exactly as special. They’re all exactly as special,” Stacy explained with a wry smile, smoothing the grain of the dark fur to lie in the same direction.

“I’m impressed,” Nathan said happily. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I would never have believed it.”

“What’s that?”

“YOU… are a romantic.”

“I am not! This is my job, a job that I take very seriously, that’s all. And trust me, once you’ve seen the whole process from the inside looking out, romance is the last thing you can believe in.” Stacy looked smugly at Nathan, daring him to defy her. Instead, he looked even more confident, certain that this was just another case of the lady doth protesting too much.

“Don’t worry, darling, your secret is safe with me!”

“
M
iss Barber
, a pleasure to see you again as always,” Stacy said, gently thrusting her hand forward as she rose from her desk to greet the young woman who was officially the most beautiful, talented, and all-around perfect woman in the state. “If you’ll come this way, we’ve got your flower array in the florist’s viewing room.”

Stacy led the small cluster of ladies from her office and down the hall, a group which included the mother of the bride, the mother of the groom, the maid of honor, and the official handler of the reigning queen, a requirement whenever the crown’s representative was out and about in a formal capacity. This wedding, while technically the doorway to making her no longer a Miss, was about as official as things could get given the public attention on her nuptials, and the handler had to ensure that all proper protocols and decorum were followed.

“If you’ll come this way, I’ll give you a first peek at your flowers.” Stacy slid open the double French doors and let a rush of cold air from the over-air conditioned room drift over them. “Pardon the temperature, ladies, the cold air helps keep the flowers fresh.”

She stepped inside the overly fragrant room and pointed to the row of seats. Not a single rear end had hit a chair before the chaos began.

“Diana! Diana! Help, someone!” her mother screamed, reaching frantically for her daughter in order to keep her from hitting the floor. Stacy took only a split second to react, racing forward and catching the bride underneath the arms.

“Mandy! Jeremiah! Help!” she called out, begging her assistant and the firm’s lead florist to rescue them from the unseen medical assailant. Both of them arrived in the doorway in a matter of moments and helped Stacy take Diana to a chair. The bride, for her part, shook her hand frantically, flapping both of her hands at the large walnut display table where the flowers were arranged. Her mother looked from her increasingly red-faced and puffy daughter to the table, then screamed.

“Oh my word, it’s the flowers! She’s allergic to the flowers! Get her out of here!” As if working as a single being, everyone close to her hoisted Diana to her feet and practically dragged her from the room. Stacy shut the doors firmly behind them and adjusted the air conditioner to make it blow more forcefully in that room in an effort to suck the pollen from the building. She chased the group back to her office where Jeremiah led them in laying the bride on the chaise. Her mother opened a window while her handler immediately began fanning her with a magazine from the console table to bring fresh air closer to her already swollen face.

Mandy grabbed the desk phone and made ready to call for an ambulance, waiting for someone to give the word that they needed professional help. Her mother shook her head gravely, but warned the assistant to be ready to change her mind and make the call.

“Miss Barber, I am so sorry for what just happened,” Stacy said, kneeling in front of her and bringing her yet another cup of water for the coughing that still racked her slender frame. “Have you ever had a reaction like that before?”

“No, she hasn’t, not to any of the flowers on the approved list,” her mother said, wringing her hands as she watched her daughter gasp weakly. “This is just so strange, I don’t know what could have happened!”

“I went over that list several times personally,” Jeremiah said, trying to fight a guilty feeling at having almost killed the closest thing to a princess the state had. “I checked every flower myself, and I even removed the pollen pods on the lilies as I did. I always require the pods be removed since most churches have a policy about letting the yellow grains stain the carpet, but this time I didn’t leave that job to an assistant. I didn’t want to risk having any pollen overlooked since I knew the dress would be on display after the ceremony. I removed the pollen myself, every last grain!”

“Well, there must have been something in that room that wasn’t on the list,” Mrs. Barber snapped, finally getting angry now that her fear for her daughter’s safety was fizzling. “There’s a reason you were given a list!”

“I do apologize, Mrs. Barber, but please bear in mind that a deathly allergy was not the reason for the list. We took a list of the bride’s preferred floral choices, but you never indicated that she could have a reaction like this,” Stacy answered coolly in her formal tone, the one she reserved for difficult situations. It was a tone she’d learned from her boss, the world famous Abigail Prudell, the woman who could melt stone with a single glance, as well as freeze an oasis with the same look given a different way.

“I see. Well, we didn’t think there would be a need to specifically request that you not try to kill the bride. I just assumed that was included in your rather ambitious event fee,” the older woman replied sarcastically. The groom’s mother, silent all this time, put a comforting hand on Mrs. Barber’s arm.

Great, solidarity among the mothers. That’s what every wedding needs
, Stacy thought, already envisioning the ways these two could gang up and cause chaos. Her years of experience in the business had taught her that things actually went more smoothly when the mothers weren’t presenting a united front, as one could always be counted on to be the voice of reason against the other’s shenanigans. If she was willing to be completely truthful about it, Stacy also knew that it was possible to pull a few strings and manipulate both mothers into behaving and agreeing, but it was a tactic she used only as a last resort, mostly because it made her stomach churn to use people.

“I’ve said it before, and I’d like to say it one more time. I want to speak with Ms. Prudell herself. I’m certain this kind of mistake would never have been allowed to happen if she was here running things, where she belongs.” Mrs. Barber straightened up and crossed her arms in front of her chest, her magazine fanning and her daughter’s health forgotten in light of the opportunity to lodge a complaint.

“And I’ve said it before, Mrs. Barber, that I am the planner overseeing your daughter’s event. Miss Prudell is not available, but I assure you she is overseeing the entire process from her current residence while I serve as her representative. If you have any concerns about my abilities, I invite you to simply look through the references we’ve provided and inquire about the events and weddings that this firm has put on in just the last month, let alone the last year.”

They stared each other down for a few brief moments while the tension in the room became almost as thick as the aroma from the pollen had been. The awkward silence in which both members of the wedding party and the prestigious Events by Design team waited on tenterhooks was also palpable.

“We’ll see about that. I have ways of contacting her myself, and I assure you she
will
take my call. And when I let her know how your incompetence nearly killed the most important bride this firm has ever worked with, I can promise you there won’t be any more mistakes from you.”

Stacy didn’t know whether to faint or dance a jig. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Jeremiah’s slight shake of his head, urging her to behave herself. Let the old bat call Abigail…unless she had connections with the other side, she wouldn’t be successful, although after spending some time with this woman, Stacy wasn’t too sure she didn’t have the talents and the proper tools to conjure up a spirit or two.

Stacy tried not to let the fear in the pit of her gut show on her face. Thank goodness for prescription-strength deodorant, one of the tools in every event planner’s toolbox. Of course, if anyone ever found out that Abigail was not only dead but that she’d been dead for a few years now, there would be hell to pay in the reputation department. People paid a lot of money to Abigail’s firm because of her expertise, her track record of perfection, and—let’s face it—because everyone had to keep up with the Joneses when it came to putting on the glitziest event. The Prudell name was ninety percent of what they paid for, and the fact that Stacy and her staff knew how to throw one heck of a party was only the remaining pitiful ten percent.

“As you wish,” Stacy said, switching gears now that Diana was going to remain alive. “Now, for this next part, I require the bride… alone.” She stared pointedly at the mother of the bride, daring her to object. She forced her voice to become even, holding her head up higher and looming over the group in her intentionally astronomically high heels. “This part is a surprise, the moment when everyone’s breath is taken away, and only the bride can be a part of it.”

Stacy took a tiny sliver of sick pleasure in clapping her hands and ordering everyone out of her office. Diana Barber, whose color had looked better but was improving, had remained strangely quiet through the whole ugly exchange, and after shutting the doors behind the grumbling group, Stacy turned towards her bride at last.

“Well, that was unpleasant. I do apologize.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it,” Diana said in a quiet voice, finally sitting up and holding her head carefully in her hands. Stacy wet a cloth napkin from the ice water pitcher on her tea cart and handed it to her. “I’ve learned over the years that’s it’s better to just let her keep going once she gets herself good and worked up. She’ll wear herself out eventually.”

“I see. I’ll have to remember that for the next disagreement,” Stacy answered with a supportive smile. She patted Diana’s knee before reaching for the famed book, the oversized binder that every event the company arranged had assigned to it. It contained the full artist’s renderings of the day, complete with color schemes, flowers, seating charts, menu and full-color photographs of the foods, and more.

“Here. Let’s take a walk through your special day, huh?” She watched Diana’s face carefully for any signs of disappointment or discontent, but she was thrilled by the slow progression in her expression, moving from merely happy all the way up to elated and overjoyed by the time she reached the end.

“It really is going to be perfect, isn’t it?” the young woman finally asked softly, a tear in the corner of her eye as she turned the pages, her face lighting up more and more with every new piece of the picture. Stacy nodded.

“That’s our plan. We want your day to be as magical as it can be, as perfect as it would be if you had a magic wand to wave over the entire event.” She tried really hard not to sound like a company brochure, but after witnessing the entire scene when the bride took ill—possibly due to an error on her company’s part—she was willing to promise her the moon at that point.

“Well, I know you’ll do a great job. It’s going to be amazing, I just know it. Let’s just hope we don’t have any more surprises!”