Weddings Are Murder Read online

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “I was just remembering that day. Jed and I didn’t have much money, but we decided to spend a long weekend at an inn by the ocean in Rhode Island. The brochure showed a huge Shingle Style building, lovely and romantic, but we got there late at night and we were both exhausted, and instead of charming, it just seemed musty and old. I thought I was going to break down and cry, but when we went up to our room, I discovered that Jed had arranged for two huge bouquets of daisies to be placed on either side of the bed. I knew everything was going to be just fine when I saw them.”

  “But the dress …”

  “Is old-fashioned and filthy,” Susan added. “I wore it as a Halloween costume once, remember?”

  “That’s right! Your pregnant bride outfit! I loved it!”

  “But can you see Chrissy walking down the aisle in a dress many of our friends and neighbors would remember like that?”

  “Definitely not. So what is Plan B?”

  Susan frowned. “Well, Chrissy has an old white tennis outfit or two hanging in the back of her closet …”

  “Your daughter is so beautiful she could walk down the aisle in an old bathrobe and look lovely,” Kathleen said, as the phone rang.

  Susan picked up the receiver and spoke a few words before a large smile spread across her face. “Thanks … No, don’t worry. It’s easier for me to pick it up than to give you directions—and I was going to be checking things there this afternoon anyway. Just hang it in an out-of-the-way spot. And thank you so much.” She hung up, her grin widening.

  “The dress has arrived?” Kathleen guessed.

  “Yes. That was the best man. He got lost on the way here and he happened to pass by the Yacht Club when he was looking for a phone. The florists’ vans were parked out front so he dropped in and called. He’s going to leave the dress there. You know, Jed can handle the group in the kitchen. Want to go pick it up with me?”

  “Love to. Why don’t I drive?”

  “Great. There are a few phone calls I should make on the way.”

  TWO

  “Ow!” Susan flinched as she shut the door of Kathleen’s Jaguar.

  “I gather you haven’t seen a doctor about your shoulder yet?” Kathleen asked, starting the car and steering out of the driveway.

  “I haven’t had the time …”

  “But you’re still carrying that monster purse. Susan, it couldn’t possibly be doing you any good. The first thing any doctor is going to do is insist you use something smaller.”

  “This purse is essential!” Susan fondly patted the pile of scuffed forest-green leather lying at her feet. “I’d be completely lost without it. Everything is here. All my lists. The addresses of everyone we’ve hired for the wedding. The responses to the invitations. Fabric samples … well, I guess I could throw those away now. But everything else is absolutely essential. I couldn’t live—”

  A shrill ring interrupted their discussion.

  “Not to mention your phone,” Kathleen added, as Susan scrounged around in the bulky satchel, pulling out the tiny black cell phone.

  Flipping the phone open, Susan answered on the seventh ring. “Damn.”

  “They hung up?”

  “Yes.”

  “If it was important, they’ll call back.”

  “I guess so. I sure hope it wasn’t the caterer. There was some question about getting the soft-shell crabs for the appetizers. Of course, we could switch to calamari, but some people are still a little squeamish about eating squid. And they were concerned about the smoked salmon for the quenelles … Irish or Scottish … or some small company in Alaska that has just started production …”

  Kathleen, who had been listening to Susan ramble on like this ever since Chrissy had called her parents from California to announce her engagement, tossed in a few reassuring words. “Susan, those kids who bought the Holly and Ms. Ivy’s building are working their butts off to make Chrissy’s wedding a success. They know this event is the best publicity they could ever ask for.”

  “They’re wonderful chefs, but they haven’t had much experience running anything this big and—”

  “Susan, you were thrilled with the plan they made for the dinner tomorrow …”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And Jed seemed equally thrilled that their bid was so reasonable.”

  “Maybe too reasonable … ?”

  “Look, any catering company that is run by people who care about the difference between Irish and Scottish salmon is bound to produce a fabulous meal.”

  “I guess, but—”

  The conversation could have gone on forever if the phone hadn’t rung again.

  This time Susan was more prepared. She had the phone flipped open and answered before the third ring. “Hello? Oh, Chrissy …” She put her hand over the tiny receiver. “It’s Chrissy,” she explained needlessly to Kathleen before resuming her conversation.

  “Where are you, honey? Uh-huh. But … Are you sure that … ? Well, if you think … Okay, but … I … Chrissy? Chrissy?” Susan snapped her phone shut. “She hung up on me!”

  “Prewedding jitters,” Kathleen suggested.

  “She just muttered something about her dress and hung up.”

  “So the dress has arrived, and Chrissy’s seen it, and you have one less thing to worry about.”

  “I suppose that’s possible …” Susan admitted, wondering if she dared relax just a little. There was so much that could go wrong.

  “So is Chrissy at the Yacht Club?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You asked …”

  “She didn’t answer. She was just babbling about how it was essential that the Canfields be driven from the church to the rehearsal dinner since there was some sort of screwup with their rental car, and Stephen said something about his father—or maybe she said his mother—having absolutely no sense of direction.”

  “How are they going to get to the church?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest. Maybe a taxi. We arranged for a limousine to pick them up at the airport and bring them to the Inn, but they were planning on renting a car once they arrived in Hancock. Jed spent hours last Sunday drawing a map of the town with everything marked out for them. It’s waiting for them in their suite at the Inn.”

  “Wow. You really are organized, aren’t you?”

  “Well, I thought we were. But now all these last-minute things are cropping up. Like, where is the dress? And what has happened to the car the Canfields rented? And there are probably a dozen other things that I don’t even know about going wrong right at this very minute.”

  “Well, not here,” Kathleen said, parking her car at the end of the line of almost a dozen vans. Six were painted with the logo of Stems and Twigs, the chain of floral and natural products stores that Erika Eden, special friend of the chief of police, owned. Two were from Hancock Fine Wines. (Which, despite its name, did stoop to selling hard liquor.) The rest were from the catering company.

  “ ‘Fabulous Fool’?” Susan read slowly, trying to make out the elegant gold script on the sides of the dark green vans.

  “I think the last word is ‘Food,’ ” Kathleen said. “But look at that,” she added, before Susan could panic.

  “The awning?” Susan stared down at the shimmering silvery-gray tunnel that led from the street, down the stairs, and across the sidewalk to the entrance of the Hancock Yacht Club.

  “Underneath the awning.”

  “Balloons … tiny, silvery, transparent balloons … but it looks like there’s something inside them.” Susan got out of the car as she spoke.

  “Hmm … But what?” Kathleen followed closely behind.

  “Flowers—peonies and hydrangeas! And streamers of ribbons! I’ve never seen anything like them!” Susan cried.

  “You sure haven’t. They were invented for your daughter’s wedding reception. What do you think?” Erika Eden walked down the pathway toward Susan and Kathleen. Even dressed for work
in charcoal gray leggings, black suede sandals, a large white shirt, and huge tortoiseshell glasses pushed up in her cap of curly black hair, she looked distinctive and chic.

  “They’re wonderful,” Kathleen exclaimed.

  Susan had just noticed the huge metallic pottery urns sitting on each step and lining the walkway. In each, white clematis vines climbed up to the top of the awning from a base of blowsy peonies—one of her favorite flowers. Tiny silvery stars twinkled amidst the vines and seemed to fall to the floor from the urns.

  “Tomorrow the awning will be draped with bunches of lilacs … three varieties: Leon Gambetta, Krasavitsa Moskvy—both double-flowered pastels—and Primrose, which is a wonderful creamy white. They’re all spending the night in a specially built refrigerator at my wholesaler in the city so they will be absolutely fresh tomorrow.”

  “You’re sure they’ll be here in time?”

  “I’m sure they’ll be absolutely beautiful—and the scent!” Kathleen, a knowledgeable amateur gardener, enthused.

  “Do you want to see what we’re doing inside? It’s not finished yet, but …”

  “Of course!”

  “I think I’d better talk with someone from Fabulous Food,” Susan said, glancing through the glass panes on the double French doors into the Yacht Club.

  “They’ve set up their main preparation area downstairs,” Erika explained. “Right now we’re building arches that will be covered with more lilacs over each of the doors, so it might be easier if you went in through the doors down there.”

  “I will,” Susan said, heading down the outdoor stairway to the bottom floor of the building.

  The Hancock Yacht Club had been built almost a hundred years earlier, when the coast of Connecticut was a chic resort area. It had seen more than its share of regattas and parties before the club dissolved. The large three-story building on Long Island Sound had fallen into disrepair during the Fifties. Since that time it had been a private club, a Chinese restaurant, an aerobics studio, a French bistro, a preschool for gifted children, an Italian trattoria, a “mini-mall” of independent antique dealers, and a Japanese sushi house. Its dark woodwork and heavy stone walls had been featured in numerous commercials, three horror movies, and a rock video. Recently restored to its former elegance, it was rented out by the owner for weddings and other large parties.

  Chrissy had always loved the building, Susan remembered, as she trotted down the wooden stairway leading to the ground floor. Three young men were coming out of the doorway, clasping large boxes labeled wine balloons in their arms.

  “Aren’t you going the wrong way?” Susan asked, grabbing the door as it swung closed behind the last man.

  “Not really,” he explained. “Wine and champagne glasses upstairs. Coffee and espresso cups down here.”

  They were gone before Susan could ask any more questions, so she headed on inside. Over the years, the various restaurateurs had all located their kitchens here, and although the food for the reception was being prepared in Fabulous Food’s kitchens, it would be served from here. Susan recognized Jamie Potter, one of the seven new co-owners of the catering firm, peering into a large commercial Traulsen refrigerator. The young chef was muttering to herself.

  “Hi, Jamie!”

  “I don’t know who you are, but if you’re here to tell me more bad news, please go away,” came the tense response.

  Susan was immediately on the alert for another crisis. “What sort of bad news?” she asked.

  “Who the hell?” Jamie Potter swung around quickly, spilling a pint of what looked like heavy cream on the floor. The irritated expression on her face changed to what almost passed as polite interest when she realized who her visitor was. “Mrs. Henshaw! I’m so glad you’re here. I have a few things to talk over with you, if you have a moment.”

  Susan didn’t have time to do what her mother always called “shilly-shallying around.” “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  Susan suspected a lie, but she didn’t say anything.

  “There have been a few last-minute changes in the menu—due to the availability of some items,” Jamie added in a more businesslike voice.

  “Such as?”

  “Well, we got wonderful soft-shell crabs. And the Alaskan salmon was so beautifully smoked that there was really no choice when we got to the fish market. But the wholesaler we use offered us the most incredibly fresh, tiny little Toulon clams—I’m afraid we couldn’t resist. I’d love to serve them raw with just some lemon juice, but I didn’t know how you would feel about raw shellfish. Our distributor has an impeccable reputation and—”

  “You mean you’re adding to the appetizers?” Susan asked. This was a problem?

  “Yes. Also, there was some … what did Sean call it? Fougeru. That’s it. Fougeru. It’s a soft French cheese only made this time of year and wrapped in fern fronds. I’ve never tasted it, but he’s the expert and he says it’s wonderful. I thought since Chrissy was having such beautiful flowers, and everything was so fresh and special, that you wouldn’t mind if I replaced the Brie with Fougeru.”

  “Of course not. You know best.” Susan had, about a month ago, realized this was one of the best answers she could come up with. Jed always said to hire good people and then leave them to get on with their work. She ground her teeth, determined to keep images from this afternoon’s dream out of her mind. “What else?”

  “Nothing. Although I should admit something to you.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I was a little hurt when you didn’t ask Fabulous Food to provide the wedding cake …”

  “I know, and I really would have preferred it if you had done the baking and decorating,” Susan said honestly. “But this woman I know has just gone into business for herself. Her first husband was murdered and then the second man she married turned out to be a rat, and she recently got a divorce. And then she practically begged me to let her make Chrissy’s cake, and Chrissy thought it would be okay—they worked on the design together—and so I …” She had a terrible thought. “Is it here? Is it awful?”

  “No, that’s what I wanted to tell you. The cake is in the refrigerator in the back room. The woman with the headband—”

  “You mean the woman who made the cake? Her name is Kelly.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Well, we had a nice talk. She finished the cake about an hour ago. I just wanted to tell you how wonderful it is. I’m going to have to ask her to teach me some of her techniques.”

  “Where’s this refrigerator?”

  “Right through that doorway. There’s a little pantry and a …”

  But Susan wasn’t going to take the time to hang around and listen for directions. She felt she had been browbeaten into asking Kelly to make this cake and she had been worried about it ever since. She jogged through the short hallway to the storage room, wondering only if the slight tinkling sound from the box she bumped into indicated breakage, but not stopping to check.

  There was a light on in the glass-fronted refrigerator. Three shelves had been removed to make a place for the six-layer cake. Susan stopped dead and took a breath.

  It was spectacular. She moved forward to admire it more closely, and her foot slid on something lying on the floor. She looked down and gasped. The tiny bride and groom from the top of the cake lay together on the scuffed brown linoleum. They had both been decapitated.

  THREE

  “Oh, don’t worry. I stepped on them when I was working. But it doesn’t matter. I brought them along as a joke. Chrissy and I have been kidding each other about putting a bride and groom on top of her cake for the past few weeks. Then they fell on the floor, and I had my hands full, and then I forgot to pick them up later.… Well, what do you think about it?” There was a short pause while both women transferred their attention from the figures on the floor to the creation inside the refrigerator. Kelly nervously adjusted the velveteen headband she wore and waited for Susan to answer.

 
Susan heard the insecurity in Kelly’s voice and rushed to reassure her. “It’s the most beautiful cake I’ve ever seen.”

  Kelly smiled modestly. “You don’t really mean that.”

  “I do. I really do.” And she did: the cake was truly a work of art. Tiers of rich fondant were topped with amazing decorations. Tiny wildflowers peeked from deep green moss on the bottom layer. Swirls of celadon vines climbed around the middle layers, culminating in small wisteria blossoms. The top two layers were covered with white peonies streaked in red. Susan, busy trying to think of an appropriate comment, had a terrible thought. “You’re sure nothing is poisonous, aren’t you? I mean, I wouldn’t want anyone to get ill at the reception.… Why are you laughing?”

  “Susan, you’ve been involved in too many murder investigations—you’re suspicious of everybody. Besides, everything on this cake is fake! Everything is made from either frosting or marzipan. I know—I made them!”

  Susan leaned closer. They were. Fabulous and fake. Perhaps she should schedule an appointment with her eye doctor right after consulting someone about this pain in her shoulder. “They’re beautiful and amazing. This is the most incredible cake ever. No wonder Jamie said she wanted to find out how you did it.”

  Kelly smiled. “I know she’s interested, but I’m hoping I can convince her to hire me to make cakes for Fabulous Food. Susan, this could be what I’ve been looking for—a career in baking. Do you think I’m nuts to try to go into business?”

  Susan remembered the time and energy this woman had once flung into social events like her annual Christmas cookie exchange and shook her head. “I think you’re the perfect person to make a success out of a business like this one. And, if this cake is an example of your work, you’ve got it made.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  A knowing grin spread across Kelly’s face. “You didn’t think the cake would be this good, did you?”

  “Well, I—”

  “You came all the way here to check me out,” Kelly reminded her. “And you must be awfully busy today.”