Veiled in Death. Stephanie Blackmoore

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СКАЧАТЬ might tease me too much about how long it’s taking me to tie the knot, but at least you’re not nagging me about grandchildren. My mom really needs to slow her roll.”

      A knowing look lit up Bev’s face, and I regretted my little outburst immediately. Bev was a dear friend but also the biggest gossip this side of the Monongahela River.

      “Not that I’m even thinking about that yet,” I backtracked hastily. “I need to focus on your wedding, and mine!” I heard the panicked cheeriness in my voice and hastily wheeled around to hide the blush I felt warming my neck. The truth was, I’d been thinking a lot about my mom’s constant nagging to give her a grandchild.

      My fiancé had been maddeningly unspecific about whether we should have a child. Up until my mother’s constant hints and nudges, I’d been ambivalent, too. I’d always thought of it as a someday thing. The door wasn’t closed and there was certainly no deadline. But lately my mother’s needling was getting to me. She’d set my biological clock a-ticking and a-tocking. And I’d realized with a start that I hadn’t had a real discussion about the matter with Garrett. Just bringing up the matter would be a big deal. It would no doubt cause seismic shocks to the little family we were about to create with the two of us and his fourteen-year-old daughter, Summer.

      “Holy tamale.” I stopped pacing from Bev and stood still. Before me was a dress that was nothing short of a vision. I took it as a sign that I could push my weightier concerns away for the moment and concentrate on the present.

      Bev joined me and let out a low whistle. Elvis briefly raised his head from his paw, then went back to sleep. “That dress is lovely, Mallory.”

      I couldn’t tear my eyes from the pretty lace sundress silhouetted in the window. It was a deep mellow color reminiscent of French vanilla ice cream. The fit would be barely off the shoulder, with a simple yet slightly daring deep V-neck top. The bodice was fitted with subtle pleats, and the barely flared bell skirt with its whimsical lace overlay nearly floated in the soft ceiling-fan breeze. The dress was a kind of a country-chic version of Jackie Kennedy’s gown, if such a thing were possible. It was probably meant to be tea length, but if I tried it on, I bet it would skim my ankles. It would look equally stunning with low-heeled sandals, wedges, or flats. I’d come to favor wearing chic flats during big events as I bustled around making sure everything was going well. It had been difficult to return to sky-high heels the few times I’d tried. Comfort reigned in my job, but the flats I chose weren’t boring. I always advised my own brides to tuck away a comfy but pretty pair of sandals or ballet shoes for their reception. I could picture wearing stunning, but still comfortable shoes with this dress for the whole day in order to accent and accommodate the ankle-skimming and train-less length.

      I couldn’t suppress a grin. This dress was some kind of lightning-bolt muse.

      I was just getting started with ideas percolating rapid fire in my brain as I reached out to touch the creamy lace. I’d been excited to marry Garrett, of course, but hadn’t been too enthused about planning the wedding. I was suffering from a strong case of wedding burnout, an occupational hazard of being a wedding planner. But this dress was the spark. A catalyst to get me out of my funk and inspire my mind with hundreds of ideas.

      This is it.

      And I had accompanying me today the best person to consult about the dress. Bev was the owner of Port Quincy’s only bridal shop, Silver Bells, and an excellent seamstress as well.

      “Can you work your magic on this dress?” I turned eagerly to Bev and rushed on in my excitement. “What would be most appropriate? A backyard wedding? Or perhaps something small in the greenhouse?” I took in Bev’s amusement and prattled on. “This is definitely a summer wedding dress. Dare I move things up?” I felt a slow, sly smile steal over my face. A moved-up summer wedding would quell the rumors of my supposed cold feet. And I’d owe it all to the unlikely inspiration from this sweet and sophisticated gem of a dress.

      Port Quincy’s resident wedding-dress expert tsked and stared down her button nose at the pretty lace on the dress form in the window. Two frown lines marred the smooth expanse of her forehead beneath the beehive.

      Uh-oh.

      I didn’t like where Bev’s initial silent opinion was going.

      “But I thought you had your heart set on fall.” Bev’s reminder sent me spiraling back to earth from the heady orbit the dress had sent me to.

      “I guess so.” I felt the magic glow of the dress fade and rallied to preserve it. “But this dress could still work, right?” I turned beseechingly to my friend. “I could tweak the accessories to make it work for fall.”

      Bev’s blue eyes took on a kind cast behind her outrageous glasses. “I think this dress is lovely, too, Mallory. But it’s a little informal, don’t you think? This dress is much more suited for rehearsal dinner fare. It’s far from an actual gown.”

      I felt Bev’s pronouncement with a visceral stab, as if it were a long pin popping and deflating my wedding balloon hopes. Hopes I wasn’t even aware I’d had minutes ago.

      Bev seemed to realize her words had wounded me and rushed on. “You could pair it with a chocolate velvet jacket or a butternut scarf for your fall wedding. It would be perfect for the rehearsal dinner, before the big day when you don a gown befitting of your prowess as a wedding planner.”

      I felt my head numbly bob up and down in shocked agreement. I had indeed just revealed to Bev that Garrett and I had chosen a fall palette. Bev did know my style, but also what made the most impact, from collaborating with me on dozens of weddings. I dimly wondered if Bev’s resistance to this pretty dress stemmed from a not-so-hidden motive. I bet Bev wanted me to purchase my dress from her store. Not for any crass reasons, like earning a sale, but for the experience of helping a dear friend choose her own special dress. Bev seemed to read my mind, confirming my hunch.

      “Of course I will dress you!” Bev clapped her hands together at the prospect.

      I laughed and found myself reluctantly joining in Bev’s enthusiasm. I remembered trying on wedding gowns as a stunt double for my friend Olivia’s wedding. Bev had hundreds of sample gowns in her shop, and I was sure to find the perfect attire for the cozy fall wedding I’d envisioned.

      “Yes, of course I will get a dress from your shop, Bev. The sundress is lovely, but maybe not for a wedding. Especially since a fall ceremony will need a slightly more dramatic dress to compete with the foliage.”

      I reluctantly made up my mind and turned my back firmly against the ethereal sundress. My fingers were drawn to a display of vintage earrings hanging from wicker birdcage bars. The heavy, crystal stalactites seemed to help anchor me back in reality after I’d gone gaga over the impractical sundress.

      Bev let out a squeal of delight. “Yes, this is your style, Mallory. We’ll find a gown befitting these beauties. Satin for fall, or maybe even a rich brocade if you stray into November.” She wiggled her eyebrows impatiently, the neat blond arches dancing above her rhinestone cat’s-eye purple spectacles. “We’ll know exactly the right look to go for, if you ever nail down the darn wedding date!”

      A pretty trill of baby laughter announced June’s arrival. The owner of the Antique Emporium was a foster mom, and today a delightfully cooing infant peered at us from her perch in the front-facing baby carrier. June carefully approached us, weaving expertly among her room of things, giving some items a loving pat. June Battles had an affinity for history, just like her daughter Tabitha, who ran the historical society. While Tabitha curated items for posterity and the public good, June just happened to СКАЧАТЬ