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

S
urprises wasn’t
a strong enough word to describe the next three days. As the wedding countdown continued and as Stacy grew more and more tempted to reach for the nearest bottle of anything strong, more “surprises” happened at every turn. If it wasn’t the wrong shade of periwinkle in the ribbon that would festoon the backs of the chairs, causing a clash with the sorority colors, it was salt instead of sugar in the sweet tea for the bridesmaids’ brunch. If Stacy didn’t know better, it would seem someone was out to sabotage Abigail’s company, and she had a fair idea who might find these little tricks harmless enough to be acceptable while still effective enough to make her let her guard down.

“Nathan, this is Tori. I think you two have met before?” she asked sweetly, knowing that they had met, and also knowing that Tori would eat Nathan alive if she found out he was behind any of the recent mishaps. Nathan was smart enough to turn a little bit pale as Tori glared at him fiercely. They shook hands, and he managed to stay upright as Tori crushed his fingers on behalf of her friend.

“Um, yes, Tori. Good to see you again.” Nathan rummaged in the pocket of his khaki pants, but it wasn’t enough to cover up the fact that he was rubbing his sore knuckles. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve that welcome, but it must have been quite spectacular.

“Nathan, always a pleasure,” she answered, keeping her tone as polite as possible, considering she was both pissed off at him and aware that his name was on her paychecks, even if it was forged by Stacy.

“We were wondering if you’re aware of any missteps in our upcoming wedding,” Stacy said, shooting Tori enough of a warning look to tell her to tone it down a little bit. “We’ve noticed some… pranks… and would love to find the culprit so we can—”

“—make sure he understands that his life is in very real danger,” Tori interjected, earning another exasperated look from Stacy.

“—express to him how much we’d really love for him to stop, since we’re all very busy and working very hard right now on an important event.” Stacy paused, her heart sinking a little bit at the sight of Nathan’s blank face, or blanker than usual face. He looked back and forth between Stacy and Tori, unsure about their question.

“Missteps? You mean, like, problems? And you think I did it?” He shook his head. “Why would I try to mess up your wedding?”

“Oh, we thought maybe you were just having some fun with us. You know, fun… like when someone nearly threw the bride into anaphylactic shock by swapping out her flowers with a kind she’s apparently deathly allergic to.” Stacy’s voice trailed off sadly as she realized that the fun little pranks not only weren’t Nathan’s doing, but also weren’t all that fun.

“And you immediately thought of me for some reason? Why would you think I would do something like that to you? To this company?” He looked genuinely hurt, and for a moment Stacy was ready to wrap him in a big hug and apologize.

Instead, an ear-splitting scream from somewhere down the hall interrupted them. Stacy and Tori raced to see what was happening, followed by Nathan who was as confused as he was helpless. Mandy, who looked up to see three executives from the company—including its owner and her own direct boss—running towards the sound of a high-pitched, blood curdling scream, jumped up from her desk and followed them down the hallway.

“What in the world—” Stacy began, but stopped in the doorway. The sight made the bile rise in her throat, and she pressed her fist against her mouth to hold back the vomit that she was sure was on its way up. Tori and Nathan stood behind her like mirror-image bookends, framing Stacy’s wilting frame. The catering assistant, still wearing her chef’s coat and a smudge of flour along her jawline, had mercifully stopped screaming like a vapid teenager in a horror movie, but was instead supporting herself against the doorway, as though the sight was too much for her.

“I was walking by,” the assistant said, panting between light sobs, “and I just happened to look in here. I can’t believe it. Who would do something so awful? I can’t even look at it anymore!” She dissolved into real sobs by that point, tears coursing down her cheeks and mixing with the flour, forming a gummy paste that ran to her jawline and dropped in moist globs onto her white double-breasted jacket.

Stacy, Tori, and Nathan stood in silent awe, while Mandy dabbed at the corners of her eyes and reached to pull the assistant chef into a comforting hug. There were no words for the brutal scene in front of them: Diana Barber’s dress stood in the middle of the fitting gallery, still hanging on the dress form to avoid wrinkling, but the words, “Fat Cow” had been painted along the length of the front from bodice to hem in bright red letters.

Nathan looked around nervously, afraid to speak in the face of so much gut-wrenching emotion. He finally recovered and said, “That’s it? That’s what the screaming was about?”

All eyes turned to this callous individual. They seethed with rage at the thought that he could be so cold, so uncaring. It was as if they didn’t even know him anymore, and to be honest, most of them had had so little interaction with him that it was like seeing a stranger, one with a cruel, unloving heart.

“What do you mean, ‘That’s it?’ Her gown! Look at what some vicious monster has done to her gown!” Tori screamed, her fists instinctively balling at her sides. She flung an arm in the direction of the ruined dress for effect, but quickly pulled it back, unable to bring herself to be even an inch closer to the ruthlessness of it all.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, but it’s not like somebody got hurt or anything. The way that one was screaming you’d have thought there was a sledgehammer sticking out of someone’s head.”

“Is that what it would take to break through your inhuman walls?” she demanded, her voice quivering with emotion.

“Uh… I’m still not getting it.”

“Her gown! It’s destroyed! Her perfect day is OVER!” Tori screamed, the tears coming faster as she thought of having to break the news to the families. “Oh god, Stacy, what are we going to tell them?
How
do we tell them?”

Nathan opened his mouth to speak, but Stacy put a hand up to stop him before he could say something that further jeopardized his life. He would thank her later, she was sure. She turned her attention to Tori and said, “Okay, we don’t need to panic. Fortunately, we still have the backup gowns.”

“Back up gowns?” Nathan asked in disbelief. “The bride has wardrobe changes for her own wedding? What is this, the Oscars?”

Stacy ignored his flippant attitude and began listing off the other dresses for her employees. “There’s the second place to this gown—an exact replica, of course, even though it will still need to be fitted—and then there are the two alternate gowns from the photo shoots she did for the regional designers competition. We’re going to be okay. We still need to let her know so she can come in and have the replica fitted, but she’s going to be okay. She’s tough, she can handle it.”

Stacy sniffed before taking a deep breath, her hand now pressed against her midsection as she struggled to compose herself. Nathan still looked confused, watching two women comfort each other through their tears, and two other women stand resolute. He shook his head and turned to go, muttering to himself as he left the scene of the crime.

“This is why I didn’t want to run this company!”

L
ater that afternoon
, Nathan—who’d tried to escape to his country club for a little golf and a lot of drinking—was still held prisoner in Stacy’s office. She’d caught him trying to make his escape but insisted he be there when she told the bride and her official handler.

“It will be better if there’s someone here from the family business,” she reminded him. “They’re bound to be hurt and angry, and the last thing we need is for them to demand to see your aunt. That wouldn’t be good.”

“Yeah,” he replied sarcastically, “especially since she’s looking pretty rough these days.” Stacy slapped him hard across the shoulder, causing him to wince and clutch at his arm.

“What was that for?” he demanded in a hurt voice.

“Show some respect! Now hush, here they come.” Stacy stood up behind her desk and smoothed the fabric of her navy blue suit, straightening her pencil skirt and making sure it hadn’t ridden up past the tops of her knees. Miss Georgia and the crown she represented were the pillars of decorum, and it never served anyone well to have to deliver bad news while looking unkempt.

“Miss Barber, thank you for coming all this way, and at such a terrible time as this,” Stacy said, extending her hand before placing a comforting arm around the bride’s shoulders. She led her to the chaise, the same one the young woman had recovered from a bout with allergies on, and sat beside her, speaking in hushed, reverent tones. “As I said on the phone, there’s been an accident. A tragic accident, I’m afraid.”

Diana twisted a well-used white handkerchief in her hands while her escort looked around silently, her lips pressed into a tight line. She nodded her thanks at Stacy’s condolences.

“Who would do such a thing? Do you think it’s a jealous pageant competitor? Someone from the competition?” she asked, obviously grasping at straws to make sense of it. From where he sat behind the ladies, Stacy watched as Nathan let his head fall back against the wall behind him with a loud thud, mimicking stabbing motions into his own chest. She shot him a look of pure venom before turning back to the bride.

“I wouldn’t think so at this point, considering your reign is almost over. A competitor would have had all year to try to make a mess of things for you, so why wait until the end? It just wouldn’t make sense, not that anything about this tragedy does make sense.”

She was certain she heard Nathan muttering to himself angrily, but knew there was no way she could have heard him correctly. He’d have to be the stupidest male animal alive to make disparaging remarks at a dark moment like this.

“Can I… can I see it?” Diana said in a whisper before choking back another sob. Her handler immediately looked alarmed, and Stacy shook her head.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, dear. You don’t want to see it like this. I know you’ll want to remember it as it was, you know… before.” Diana nodded and her escort relaxed slightly, knowing that the bride wasn’t going to put herself through the trauma of viewing the grim scene. Nathan grabbed his necktie and mimed hanging himself with it.

Finally, a good idea out of you
, Stacy thought angrily, baring her teeth at Nathan and silently hissing in his direction.

“But we’re going to put this behind us,” Stacy said, trying to brighten for the bride’s sake. “I’ve already called our in-house designer, and she’s bringing her team over right now to fit the second dress. You just stay here and take all the time you need, then when you feel ready we’ll go to the fitting gallery and get to work.”

“It’s not still… in there, is it?” Diana asked, trembling.

“Oh no, dear. We had it removed and the whole room thoroughly cleaned. There’s not a trace, I promise. It did have to be turned over to the police since it was a victim of vandalism, and we’ll need to file a report in order to send it over to the insurance company. But we’ll handle all of that for you.” Stacy patted Diana’s hand and stood up, gesturing to Nathan to follow her and give the bride some time to adjust to the loss. She moved to close the office door behind them and give Diana some privacy, but her escort blocked the doorframe, slipping into the hallway and closing the door to speak to Stacy alone.

“I know you can’t be everywhere at once, and I know you have other events on your calendar, but what in the hell happened?” Mrs. Perkins demanded in a voice that was eerily similar to the mother of the bride’s voice. Stacy blinked at the blatant use of profanity from someone whose entire job revolved around reputation and etiquette, and somewhere behind her Nathan snickered at the old woman’s language.

“As I’ve said,” Stacy began, recovering quickly from the shock, “we are just as in the dark as you are. I’ve wanted to ask but I didn’t want to upset Diana, is there anyone who is out to get her? This is certainly not the first incident that has happened involving her wedding day, and it’s only escalating.”

Mrs. Perkins shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone who would want to harm Diana. She’s a lovely young lady.”

“Are you sure? Maybe an old sorority sister who has a grudge, or who didn’t get asked to be a bridesmaid?”

“Oh no, we made sure to go through her wedding party list with a fine toothed comb. The last thing we needed is anyone besmirching the crown with old dirt. That couldn’t be it.”

Stacy thought for a minute, her hand pressed to her chin. It was her signature thoughtful pose, the stance she took after years of Abigail drilling it into her head that she couldn’t possibly bite her fingernails. It was crude. Keeping her fingers at her chin alleviated the stress that nail biting used to do for her, but kept her from looking low-class. An idea occurred to her, one that stopped her in her tracks.

“What if it has nothing to do with Diana? What if this is an old girlfriend of Ben’s?” Stacy suggested in a conspiratorial voice.

Mrs. Perkins instantly jumped at the chance to spill the beans on the quarterback’s “colorful” past where girlfriends were concerned. She spent the next fifteen minutes rattling off a list of his many exploits and antics, ending with the three different times his parents had bailed him out of jail and paid an attorney handsomely to cover up the reports of his fondness for wild partying and college co-eds. By the time the older woman had finished dishing all the details, Stacy’s mind was reeling and—for the second time that week—she pushed down the urge to throw up in her mouth; who would possibly want to marry someone who’d been around the track so many times he might well have been an Olympic sprinter instead of a football player?

“It definitely sounds possible,” Stacy agreed. “I hate to even ask, but since we’re dragging the skeletons out of the closet kicking and screaming, are we sure it’s not some old flame or frenemy of the bride’s?” Stacy hated to ask since there was absolutely no way to do it in a way that didn’t smack of ugly gossip. She felt a layer of grime settle all over her skin just for having asked, but she immediately felt better when Mrs. Perkins shook her head quickly.

“No. It’s not possible. The committee won’t even accept an application for Miss Georgia unless the girl has a spotless dating history, and believe me, they check. Boy, do they ever check! A doctor’s report confirming she’s a virgin is worth serious points in the judging.”

Stacy looked horrified, and the older woman had to insist that she was only kidding about that last part before she could continue. “Diana has lived a very sheltered life, her mother was good about seeing to that. All kinds of doors get slammed shut if you have even a hint of scandal, especially where your ‘maidenhood’ is concerned, and Mrs. Barber has groomed Diana since infancy for this kind of future. Face it, it might be the 21
^st
century, but the public still wants their flowers of Southern womanhood to be pristine.”

She felt the pressure of her own past bubbling under the woman’s gaze. Why, just the fun she’d had with Nathan over the course of their brief relationship—the glorious, insatiable, sweat-and-scream-inducing fun—would have excluded her from many of the clubs and opportunities that Mrs. Perkins was at that very moment alluding to. She tried her best to keep her composure under the imagined scrutiny of the old matron.

“So is the mother of the bride devastated that Diana didn’t win the national crown?” Stacy asked, thinking back to the scrawny but surgically top heavy corn-fed blonde from the Midwest who came away with the title, leaving Diana as a top-five finalist. Maybe this was a sick form of revenge against her daughter for not being the winner she’d been raised to be? Mrs. Perkins once again shook her head, leaving Stacy to wonder if she’d ever learn to figure out what the older woman was talking about.

“Not in the least. The last thing a mother wants is for her daughter to make it all the way to the top spot. It’s life changing, and there’s no going back once they place that crown on top of your hair sprayed and teased head. That’s when the real jackals come out of the woodwork to dig up every little secret that you thought you’d paid to have buried. If you only win state, you become a comfortable celebrity, someone who’s revered, who’s petted and pampered for the rest of her life. Diana will head up any committee she comes within a ten-foot radius of, forever. She’ll never have to lift a finger at a car wash fundraiser or sling a spatula for a bake sale. From the moment she gets married until the day her last grandbaby graduates from one of the state colleges, Diana will be the queen bee.”

“Did anyone think to ask her if that’s what she wanted? Maybe she really just wanted to live the quiet life, you know, get a degree and have a career? Or maybe she wanted the American Dream, where she could settle down with a nice man, have a minivan-full of kids, and be a part of the PTO.”

“Oh honey,” Mrs. Perkins said in a patronizing tone, patting Stacy’s hand, “no one wants to be a part of the PTO. Not ever.”