Death on the Aisle, page 6
As Kate and I stepped out of my car and started across the street, Mack opened the glass door of Lush and waved from under the pale green awning. To say Mack didn’t fit the usual image of a florist would be an understatement. Although he didn’t have any hair on top of his head, he sported a red goatee, a pierced eyebrow, and enough black leather to make a vegan weep. At slightly under six feet and topping three hundred pounds, he was the smaller of the two men.
“Come on in, girls,” he said, hurrying us over in his gravely voice. “We just got an espresso machine for the shop, and I’m playing barista. Can I make you a cappuccino?”
“That would be perfect.” I followed Mack into the shop and hopped up onto a metal stool. I normally only drank coffee that came Frappuccinoed, but after the morning at the docks, I needed something to get me back on track.
“Do you have skim milk?” Kate asked.
Mack put a hand on her arm. “Buster and I only drink skim nowadays.” He patted his massive waist. “We’re trying to cut back.”
While Mack fiddled with the elaborate espresso machine in the back, I looked around the über-chic floral studio. Nothing frilly about Lush, just concrete floors and galvanized metal buckets of flowers on chrome racks lining the walls. I sat at the long, high metal table that ran through the center of the room, taking in the vivid hues of blooms lined up in square glass vases in front of me: pale blue hydrangea, fluttery pink roses with orange centers, crisp green orchids, buttery yellow ranunculus with hearts of celadon.
“Two skinny caps with just a touch of chocolate shavings,” Mack said, balancing two bulbous white cups on their saucers as he walked toward us. He set them down on the table. “Do I sound like a barista?”
“Mmmm.” Kate made an appreciative noise as she took a sip from her cup.
“Can you make me one?” Buster appeared from the back of the shop, where there was an entrance to their workroom. His deep voice reverberated off the concrete and metal. “I need some energy before this bride and MOB get here.”
He came over and pecked us on the cheeks. Buster was the more imposing of the two men with an extra few inches and quite a few more pounds. His goatee was dark brown, he didn’t have any piercings, he kept his motorcycle goggles perched on top of his head, and he shared Mack’s penchant for black leather. The pair reminded me of overgrown teddy bears who’d gone rogue.
“Remind me why we’re meeting again.” Buster sank onto a metal stool next to me, and it groaned from the impact.
“Because they were too tipsy at the last meeting to remember what we discussed,” I said, sipping at my cappuccino.
“Well, this time we can dry them out with coffee,” Mack called from his post at the espresso machine.
“Unless you plan to make it Irish coffee, good luck getting them to drink it,” Kate said.
I suspected Kate was right. Debbie and Darla had been on a “liquid diet” for the wedding since we’d started the wedding planning. They avoided anything that wasn’t clear and served straight up. I think the only exception they made was for olives.
Buster sniffed the air. “Do I smell fish?”
Kate slapped me on the arm. “I told you we stayed at the docks too long. I’ll have to rewash my hair for my date tonight.”
Buster cocked an eyebrow. “What were you two doing on the docks?”
“We have a wedding on a yacht there this weekend,” I said.
Mack brought Buster his coffee and then folded his arms over his chest, causing several of the metal chains to jingle together. “Who’s doing the flowers?”
“The stepmother insisted on using her own New York designer. The bride tried to talk her out of it months ago but finally gave up,” I said, hoping to mollify Mack. “It was out of our hands.”
“He’s a nightmare,” Kate said. “Can you please come push him overboard and take over?”
Mack uncrossed his arms and gave Kate a playful push that almost knocked her off her stool. “You know we’d do it for you.”
“He’s dreadful,” I agreed. “He’s trying to do a South Beach meets South of France theme.”
Mack wrinkled his nose as if he, too, had gotten a whiff of fish. “How perfectly awful.”
“What’s his name?” Buster asked. “We know some designers from New York.”
I took a sip of my cappuccino and dabbed at my top lip. “Jeremy Johns.”
Mack sucked in air. Buster’s face darkened, and he muttered some words I’d never heard escape his pious lips.
“They do know him,” Kate said.
“Consider yourself warned, girls,” Buster said, as Mack fanned himself with a nearby palm frond. “Jeremy Johns is not to be trusted.”
I was beginning to believe that about everyone involved in this wedding.
Chapter 14
“So what’s the scoop on Jeremy Johns?” Kate leaned closer to Mack and Buster, ignoring the fact that both men had flushed red under their leather and piercings.
Buster fanned Mack with a legal pad, not noticing it was upside down and dangling yellow paper in Mack’s face. “He’s a thief and a liar.”
Mack swatted the legal paper away from him and stood. “Not to mention, a talentless charlatan.” He sank back onto a metal stool, looking spent.
“Wow,” Kate whispered to me. “ I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to like Jeremy less than Richard does.”
I put a hand on Mack’s arm. “It sounds like you know him well.”
“And personally,” Kate added.
Before Buster and Mack could elaborate on how they knew so much about the despised floral designer, Debbie and Darla Douglas swept into the shop in a cloud of expensive perfume and top-shelf vodka.
“Darlings,” Darla cried, running over on pink kitten heels to exchange air-kisses with everyone. Her daughter, Debbie, followed her, and I got a flash of red from the soles of her impossibly high Louboutin pumps. I’d always been impressed by their ability to balance on heels while maintaining a state of perpetual intoxication.
Buster and Mack perked up instantly, recharged by the sight of clients wearing expensive clothes and carrying big checkbooks. After we all kissed and hugged without actually touching, the mother and daughter duo settled in at the table, and I couldn’t help thinking how at home they seemed on bar stools.
Buster opened the thick file he had on the Douglas—Grant wedding and clicked his pen. “So, are we ready to finalize details and quantities, ladies?”
“The wedding is only a few weeks away.” Mack tapped his finger on his oversized black rubber watch and smiled.
Darla and Debbie exchanged conspiratorial looks and my heart sank. We’d changed their wedding look as often as they’d gotten their roots done, and I didn’t know how much more indecision I could handle. I pulled my small blue wedding journal out of my bag. This was going to require notes.
“Well,” Debbie began, “I’m just not sure if we’ve personalized the wedding enough.”
“The wedding cake will be handpainted to match your antique floral china pattern, which was also replicated for your letterpress invitations,” I said. Darla and Debbie were from the upper echelons of the Deep South, and their family’s antique china pattern had been passed down from Southern belle to Southern belle and was central to the wedding design.
“And the wedding cake designer is coming over from Scotland just to do your cake,” Kate reminded them.
“We’ve sourced the perfect heirloom flowers in the pattern, so your bouquets will be identical to the china.” Mack held up the order from the flower grower it had taken him months to track down.
“Not to mention you have four signature cocktails and a bourbon tasting bar,” Kate said.
Darla’s face lit up. “Don’t get us wrong, we love all of it.”
“Especially the bourbon bar,” Debbie said. “Turner’s daddy is tickled pink about it.” She leaned in and gave us all a wink like she was letting us into a big secret. “Grant men are bourbon men through and through.”
“Then this is a match made in heaven,” Kate muttered only loud enough for me to hear her.
“We’re just worried we might have given up the magnolia leaves too easily,” Darla said.
Buster flipped through the file, and I knew he was looking to see which revision had included the swags of magnolia leaves. Luckily, Buster and Mack were sticklers for keeping paperwork, so they tracked every revision we’d ever done. It was the sign of seasoned professionals and a team used to working with brides prone to changing their minds.
“Here it is.” He produced a sheaf of papers from the massive stack. “Revision 7. Swags of magnolia leaves draped along the banisters and balcony of the museum with floral catch points.”
“What about the wall of magnolias behind the bar?” Debbie asked. I was impressed she could remember details about something so many revisions ago since she was rarely coherent for the meetings.
“Which one?” I asked. “You’re doing five bars.”
“The bourbon bar,” Darla and Debbie said in unison.
“And we should have two of those,” Debbie added to me as I hurried to make notes about the bars.
“So we’re adding the magnolia leaves back in,” Buster said, one eyebrow raised as though he didn’t quite trust the decisions were final. “But we’re not removing any of the other floral décor, are we?” He eyed the specialty floral order waving in Mack’s hand.
“Remove?” Darla laughed. “Of course not. We’re going for a serious wow factor here.”
Mack stopped waving the floral order and sighed. “As long as we aren’t changing my heirloom rose order.”
“Since you won’t let us do the miniature ponies during cocktail hour,” Debbie said, “we just want to make sure the wedding is special enough.”
I wasn’t sure who Debbie was accusing of nixing the concept of livestock as décor, but I was happy to take the blame for what I confidently felt was the worst wedding idea ever. It was tricky enough getting a permit for an elephant to walk down Constitution Avenue. I was not going back to try to get one so miniature livestock could saunter around inside a museum.
“Don’t worry.” I looked up from my notes. Six bars, four signature cocktails, two magnolia leaf walls, several hundred feet of garland, a five-tiered handpainted cake created by a designer we were flying in just for the occasion, and letterpress invitations so thick we’d had to mail them in individual boxes. “I think you’ve got serious wow.”
“What about vintage furniture groupings?” Debbie asked. “To go with the vintage look of the bars? Can we do that?”
“Of course.” I wrote a note to myself to call Primrose and Poppy, the company we used for all vintage rentals, and add furniture groupings to the order.
Darla put her hand over her daughter’s hand and squeezed it. “My friends are just going to die.”
“So are those the only changes?” Buster held his pen over revision twelve, where he had added back in the magnolia leaves.
Debbie slipped off her bar stool and smoothed the front of her Lilly Pulitzer print dress. “That was it, wasn’t it, Mother?”
“That’s it.” Darla looked at her diamond-encrusted watch as she stood up. “My word. We don’t want to be late for drinks at The St. Regis with Turner.”
Kate glanced at the metal clock on the wall and shot me a look. I knew without a glance at the clock it wasn’t even close to happy hour. After another flurry of air-kisses, Debbie and Darla were out the door and well on their way to afternoon cocktails.
Mack put a hand to his heart. “What just happened?”
“They just doubled the cost of their proposal is what happened,” Buster said.
“Better that way than the other,” Kate said.
Mack winked at us. “Isn’t that the truth?”
I took out my iPhone. “I need to call Richard and tell him about the extra bar.”
“Do you think he’s back at the office by now?” Kate asked. “He wouldn’t still be on the boat, would he?”
Buster looked up. “Richard’s working with you on the yacht?”
I nodded. “Unfortunately for him. He and Jeremy Johns are about to kill each other.”
“Well, if he needs help killing Jeremy, tell him to give us a call,” Mack said, his expression dark again.
“Okay, spill it,” Kate said. “What did Jeremy do to you?”
“He ruined us.” His words came out more like a growl.
Buster patted Mack on the shoulder. “We used to have a shop up in New York.”
Kate looked at me and I shook my head. This was news to me. As long as I’d known Buster and Mack, they’d only been running Lush in Georgetown.
“When did you work in New York?” I asked.
“Over ten years ago,” Mack said. “Before you came onto the scene.”
“Before Jeremy Johns ruined our business and ran us out of town,” Buster said, one fist clenched by his side. “He told everyone we spray-painted our flowers.”
Mack muttered what sounded like a curse under his breath, even though the boys had a hard and fast rule against cursing. Then again, being accused of spray-painting flowers would be enough to make any florist let fly a few profanities—even the Christian biker ones.
“He’s a liar who will do anything to get ahead,” Mack said. “Don’t ever trust that man.”
I rubbed my head. “Richard’s problems with him seem pretty small compared to yours.”
“Trust me,” Mack said. “No one hates Jeremy Johns as much as we do.”
Kate looked at me with wide eyes. “The ‘I hate Jeremy Johns club’ seems to be getting bigger by the moment.”
My iPhone vibrated, and I read the text message that had just come in. “And so do our problems with the wedding,” I said.
Chapter 15
“So what exactly did Fern say in his text yesterday?” Kate asked the next morning as I let her in. The morning sun streamed in through my windows and highlighted the dust on my hardwood floors. After this wedding was over, I needed to do some serious housecleaning.
“I already told you, remember?”
“Tell me again,” Kate said. “I was distracted by Mack and Buster. And I’m pretty sure those cappuccinos were Irish.”
“Just that he’s with Kristie at her hideout. You know how attached he gets to some of his brides.”
Kate scratched her head. “I didn’t know she had a hideout.”
“Wouldn’t you want a hideout if you had a stepmother like Babs Barbery?”
Kate dropped her purse on the floor and sank onto my couch, throwing her feet up onto the coffee table and knocking a pile of papers off the side. “I’d leave the country.”
“Well, Kristie doesn’t want to be anywhere near her or the boat until the negative energy has been cleared out,” I said.
“So now we’re supposed to clear negative energy too?” Kate sighed. “Just add that to the weird list of things people ask us to do.” She snapped her fingers. “Remember that awful bride who got married at Belle Haven Country Club? What was her name . . . Angel? Angie?”
“The one who ordered us to clean her kitchen and take out her trash?” I asked, sitting down next to Kate.
“Could you believe that? She didn’t even ask nicely.” Kate folded her arms over her chest. “I’d like to tell her where she could put those rubber gloves.”
“It wasn’t as bad as having to give her grandmother a pedicure.”
Kate made a face. “Please, don’t remind me. Grandma Hammertoes ruined feet for me forever.”
“Not all of our clients are like that,” I reminded her. “Some of them we love.”
“You’re right,” Kate said. “But it’s the evil ones who seem to be seared into my brain forever.”
I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and ran my fingers through it. “At least this bride is sweet. Remember the thank you cookies she sent us after we talked the printer into rushing her invitations?”
“Sure, but she has a stepmother from hell. I think we’re going to need a lot more cookies.”
“You can’t win them all,” I said, pulling my hair up into a high ponytail. “What should we do for lunch?” I knew the answer would have to be takeout considering the perpetually sad state of my fridge. “It’s almost one o’clock.”
“Annabelle?” A deep voice came from the doorway as Mike Reese poked his head inside.
I yelped and put a hand to my heart.
The detective stepped into the room. “Did I scare you? Leatrice let me in downstairs.”
Of course she did. And no doubt Kate didn’t pull the door all the way closed when she came in.
Kate let out a breath. “You’re lucky I didn’t have a weapon.”
I knew Kate would never carry a gun until they came out with a designer version that coordinated with a Kate Spade clutch, and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that day was a long way off. If the world was lucky, it would never arrive.
Mike held up his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He smiled at me and raised his eyebrows. “I thought I might catch you alone.”
I felt my pulse quicken a bit. “Well, it is a workday. Is this about the case?”
Reese closed the distance between us. “Not really. I thought you might be free for lunch. To make up for me having to leave our date before it started.”
I glanced at Kate who’d picked up a magazine from the floor and was pretending to be engrossed by it. I could tell from her smirk she was listening to every word, and I knew I would have plenty of explaining to do later.
“I should be working,” I said. “We still have a big wedding this weekend and a security team encamped at the venue.”
He grinned as he reached back and pulled my ponytail so it spilled over my shoulder. “Touché.”
I touched his arm and looked up at him, hoping he couldn’t hear the hammering in my chest. “A girl does have to eat though.”
