Marry Christmas Murder

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  She’s not going to show.

  Half an hour later, we’d run out of polite chitchat to sustain our guests.

  “Oh, let’s just get on with it,” Clementine announced. She gestured with her green-tipped manicure to the food on the sideboard. “Olivia obviously isn’t coming.”

  “You know how hard she’s working in her final push to make partner.” Alan frowned at his mother-in-law as he defended his absent daughter. “I’m sure she has a good reason for not being here.”

  And on cue, my cell phone buzzed with a text from the bride.

  “Something has come up at the firm,” I murmured. Olivia and I had met at the high-powered law firm where we’d both once been starry-eyed associates. I’d lasted half a decade at Russell Carey before decamping to become a wedding planner. Olivia had stuck out the grind of corporate litigation with its long hours and pressure-cooker atmosphere. She was on the cusp of making partner this winter. I knew her excuse was one hundred percent legitimate and no fault of her own, if not ill timed.

  “Sorry I’m late.” The groom-to-be ducked into the room, a warm smile gracing his handsome face. Toby Frank, a tall redhead, was just as busy as his fiancée. Toby was a surgeon at the McGavitt-Pierce Memorial Hospital in town, and his work and shifts on call made his attendance at this wedding meeting just as unlikely as his busy bride’s.

  “I’m sorry my mom couldn’t make it. She’s got a trial she thought would wrap up yesterday.” Toby’s mother, Ursula Frank, was Port Quincy’s most notorious judge, a woman who was fair and honest, but fierce in her decisiveness both on and off the court.

  “Well, both women with careers in law are absent today.” Clementine subtly drew censure at her granddaughter and gave a pointed gaze at the large cuckoo clock in the corner. With the groom in attendance, we began our meeting.

  Olivia’s family and fiancé gave appreciative murmurs as they tucked into the springtime menu.

  “This will be lovely for our daughter’s April nuptials.” Goldie’s pronouncement was tinged with as much excitement as her buttoned-up demeanor allowed. I began my presentation of ideas on the tablet, and smiled as Clementine donned a pair of sparkly green reading glasses to better see the screen.

  “That’s the March family dress!” The older woman beamed with delight as a photograph of herself, then one of Goldie, slid onto the screen. “Each woman in our family has worn the gown since the turn of the last century.” Clementine frowned. “But Olivia is quite small boned. The dress will need to be cut down.”

  “And we’ll have plenty of time before April to do so,” I soothed. I finished the presentation, and Olivia’s family chatted excitedly about the wedding.

  “I’m sorry to cut and run.” Toby stood and glanced at his heavy nautical watch. “I’m on call soon, and I’d like to be a bit closer to the hospital with the roads growing slick.” He gestured outside, where a fine sheet of sleet slithered down from leaden clouds. “Give Olivia my love.” He offered his future in-laws a winning smile, asked me for directions to the bathroom, and ducked into the hallway.

  Clementine waited a moment before he was gone. “I knew Olivia would put that career of hers ahead of her wedding.” She held up her hand as Alan began to protest. “I know she has no choice. And I’m as proud as anyone that she’ll make partner. But this is a special time in her life, and her absence, well, it’s a bit telling.”

  I tamped down a similar feeling and took a deep breath. I’d been so pumped when my best friend had excitedly tasked me with planning her big day. I’d introduced her to Toby and had a hunch the two would be a perfect match. They’d agreed and had gotten engaged in lightning-quick fashion. But I’d conveniently forgotten that as long as Olivia worked for Russell Carey, her allegiance was to the firm, first and foremost.

  I recalled trying to plan my own defunct wedding to my ex-fiancé Keith, all while striving to be a model associate. We didn’t marry, but it had been an exercise in extreme multitasking to try to pull off planning a wedding while working eighty hours a week. Olivia was on the precipice of making partner, and I had to excuse her absence today.

  Goldie and Clementine must have read my mind.

  “She won’t be able to keep up these hours when she’s wed,” Clementine sniffed. “She ought to take up a second career, like my yoga. Then she could be an attentive wife and eventually a mother—all while feeling personally fulfilled.”

  Her daughter Goldie rolled her dark brown eyes so forcefully they nearly ricocheted out of her head. “Come on, Mother. Olivia’s worked so hard for this. And Toby understands more than anyone else could, for Pete’s sake. He’s gone at the hospital just as much as she’s at the firm.”

  “Which is why she needs to leave that horrid place and relocate to Port Quincy. There’s no way her new marriage can withstand a long commute to Pittsburgh each day on top of working such inhospitable hours.”

  She has a point.

  I’d wondered how Olivia and Toby would rearrange their lives after their wedding in the spring. As of now, the busy careerists saw each other on weekends only. Olivia had made no mention of cutting back on billable hours or moving south to Port Quincy. And Toby seemed quite committed to remaining at the hospital, unless something had recently changed.

  “Will Toby be taking the March name?” Rudy stroked his white beard from his perch on a rose love seat. I did another double take, expecting to see a red hat atop his head to complete his Santa affect. “It’s important for our family legacy. At least their children could carry it on.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen this time, Rudy.” Alan drily arched a brow above his wire-framed rims and threw back the last of the scotch he’d been consuming. I realized with a start he must have taken on the March surname, as he shared it with his wife’s parents.

  I hadn’t heard any cars advance down the drive. I hoped Toby hadn’t stuck around to hear any of the current conversation.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure.” Clementine folded her green-tipped manicured fingers together. “Mallory, since Olivia won’t be an active participant planning her own wedding, I think it’s time to deputize you to make all of the choices.”

  I gulped as the rest of the attendees swiveled their gazes in my direction. Little did they know Olivia had made a similar request of me just a mere week ago.

  “Absolutely not!” Twin spots of pink appeared on Goldie’s cheekbones. “This is Olivia’s big day. I’m sure she can find time to make a few key decisions.” Goldie shot her mother a glare and sank into her wingback chair with arms crossed.

  I felt myself grimace and quickly made my expression neutral. If this was the kind of atmosphere Olivia faced within her family, maybe it was better that she cast her lot with the hostile climes of my former law firm. It might be safer for her to reside there than bask in the cruel rays of her mother and grandmother’s dueling expectations.

  I swallowed and waded into the fray. “It might be necessary to make some decisions to keep the ball rolling. And if Olivia—”

  “Good. And now let’s turn to the auction.” Clementine rolled over me like a freight train and redirected the conversation to other matters.

  In addition to Olivia and Toby’s wedding, I’d be hosting a holiday auction to benefit the local animal shelter. The auction was tomorrow, and all of the details were nearly wrapped up. The auction was sponsored by the company Olivia’s family owned—March Homes—and would be the company’s formal foray into Port Quincy society.

  “We’re ready to host a wonderful gala,” I promised. “Paws and Poinsettias will be such a success that you’ll want to make it an annual event!”

  Rachel nodded beside me, her red bead earrings jingling. “You’ll be the toast of the town.”

  Clementine beamed at my sister’s declaration and clasped her husband Rudy’s hand. “This is our chance to introduce ourselves to the town of Port Quincy properly.”

  Olivia’s family helmed one of the largest real estate developm
ent companies in Western Pennsylvania. I’d grown up in a March Homes house myself, surrounded by a maze of March Homes developments carved into the green hills and countryside of the suburbs north of Pittsburgh. The style of the company’s homes had changed over the decades, from neat split-levels and colonials in the seventies and early eighties to peaked and gabled McMansions in the nineties and aughts. The homes Olivia’s family built now were more customizable, but there was a serious contingent of Port Quincy citizens who were wary of their onslaught into our small town. March Homes had already broken ground on two behemoth housing tracts in Port Quincy last month. Like it or not, the March family was here to stay. And if the Paws and Poinsettias auction and gala went off as well as I was sure it would, then Olivia’s family would endear themselves to the doubting denizens of our town in no time.

  I distantly heard the double front doors open. A frigid gust of air slipped into my office. I excused myself and found Olivia sharing a sweet kiss with Toby under a sprig of mistletoe in the hallway. They parted, and Olivia gave me a beatific smile.

  “I made it after all! I’m so happy you’re still here, Toby.” Olivia shrugged off her cheery red pea coat. The couple were like two ships passing in the night, or mid-afternoon, as it were. “Do you have a minute to stay?”

  Toby glanced at his watch and then his fiancée’s face. “How are the roads? If they’re not icy yet, I’ll stay and keep my pager on.”

  The happy couple followed me into the room, and Olivia’s family exclaimed in delight at the bride’s appearance. I served a remaining portion of the tasting, and Olivia dug in with gusto. My best friend was tiny and bird-like, with big brown eyes, dark near-black hair, and a pretty smattering of freckles. She could put away an impressive amount of food despite her small frame. She momentarily blanched at the fish, which I found odd. She’d been so excited about the proposed dish in her email response. She saw me take in her reaction and gamely recovered. “It’s all lovely, Mallory. This is the perfect menu.” She took a swig of peppermint tea and settled back into a chintz couch, Toby’s arm wrapped protectively around her. She gave him a portentous glance, and Toby cleared his throat.

  “Olivia and I have a surprise.” He bestowed a warm gaze on his bride.

  “Toby and I are so in love.” Olivia sent a melting smile Toby’s way. “We can’t wait to marry. Mallory,” her smile wavered, and her eyes turned pleading, “we’d like to marry before Christmas.”

  A swig of peppermint tea from my own piping hot cup went down the wrong way. Rachel patted my back as I attempted to stop sputtering.

  Christmas is in less than three weeks. No way, no how can I whip up a winter white wedding.

  “We want to take advantage of the festive season,” Olivia rushed on. “And we’ll downgrade the guest list from two hundred to just fifty.” She dragged her eyes from her lap and seemed to peer plaintively at mine.

  I can’t say no.

  Olivia and I had been through so much at the firm. She’d personally held my hand when my own engagement had imploded in my face, and along with Rachel had nursed my injured psyche back to good health. We didn’t see much of each other these days, but she was a dear friend.

  Rachel rubbed her hands together next to me. “What day were you thinking of?”

  The bride and groom exchanged a glance. “How about December 23? That’s the day before you leave for Key West, right?” Olivia directed her question to her grandparents, who slowly nodded in unison.

  “We’ll be able to see our dear grandbaby get married before we leave town.” Rudy beamed his assent, while Clementine wore the beginnings of a smile, slowly seeming to warm to the idea. Goldie and Alan looked confused. They swiveled their attention between Olivia and me.

  I counted down the days in my head and stymied another panic attack. It was December 8. That left just fifteen days to pull off a super sped-up plan for Olivia.

  Toby seemed to pick up on my hesitation. He sought to reassure me. “Less guests will actually attend the wedding so close to Christmas.”

  “It’ll be so dear and intimate,” Olivia promised. “Just family.”

  “Of course.” I felt a small smile tick up at the corners of my mouth. “It’ll be a blast!”

  Now that I’d officially agreed, Olivia’s family was ecstatic. Well, everyone but Goldie, who seemed flummoxed by her daughter’s rush down the aisle.

  “Where will you hold the wedding on the twenty-third? And what will be the theme?”

  “Why, Christmas, of course.” Rudy slapped a large hand on his knee and shook his head, his white beard swishing against his plaid shirt. It was as if Santa himself had decreed the wedding theme.

  “And we Marches are British on one side and German on the other. We can have Christmas crackers as favors and real candles on the Christmas trees.”

  Alarm bells rang distantly in my head. “Um, real candles? I’m not sure how that will comply with the fire code.”

  “And my family is Italian on my mother’s side,” Toby mused. “So we’ll need an elaborate cookie table.”

  Olivia’s family and her fiancé began to chatter excitedly about the menu, a proposed glorious culinary mishmash of holiday traditions.

  Olivia spoke in a small voice. “I’m not really sure what my ethnic heritage is.”

  I recalled for a moment that Olivia had been adopted. She rarely mentioned that fact, and I hadn’t considered it when her family planned the menu based on their cultural affinities.

  “Nonsense! You’re one hundred percent March.” Clementine left her seat beside her husband and plopped next to her granddaughter.

  Goldie followed suit and crossed the room to clasp her daughter’s hands. “These are your traditions.”

  Olivia sent her mother and grandmother a wavering smile.

  “Where will we hold the wedding?” Goldie turned to me expectantly.

  “We could have it here.” It would encroach mightily on my personal plans for the holiday, and it would break my December wedding moratorium. But I’d do anything for my best friend.

  “Actually, we were thinking of the cabin.” Olivia turned expectantly to her grandparents. “It’s two miles west of town, close to where we’re breaking ground for one of the new developments.”

  It was the first I’d heard of the cabin, but I was game. It would be easier to set up and break down the wedding off-site from the B and B, without the worry of the event impeding on Christmas with my mom and stepdad.

  “I do have an idea for the theme,” Olivia quietly put in. She pulled a small glass figurine from her pretty red leather bag. “This was my first ornament. It’s a tree topper, actually. I’d like to incorporate this into the wedding decorations.”

  She solemnly held out the piece of glass, which took up the length of her palm. It was a vibrantly colored angel, designed to perch on the highest branch of a Christmas tree. The vivid blue, gold, and white glass was heavy and unique, exactingly cut into thousands of etched lines that sparkled under the subdued office chandelier.

  Goldie blanched at the appearance of the ornament and shook her head. “Oh, Olivia, that old thing? I think you could come up with a better muse for your wedding.”

  Olivia’s face momentarily crumpled. She recovered from her wounded expression and shook her head. “No, Mom, this is what I want.” A small smile returned to her heart-shaped face. Her big brown eyes sparkled beneath her heavy fringe of bangs. “This is the first ornament I remember. It means Christmas to me.”

  Alan retrieved the piece from me and removed his wire frames. “This is good Czech glass. An old world piece.” He returned the angel to Olivia. “I think you’ve made some fine choices today, honey.” He beamed at his daughter, who seemed to glow with her father’s approval.

  But Goldie wouldn’t let her irritation go. “It’s such a common piece, sweetie. Are you sure you don’t want something more sophisticated to plan your wedding around?”

  “Mallory, hello!” My mother Carole’s voice than
kfully broke through the tense undercurrent brewing between Olivia and her mother. “We made it!” She burst into my office, my stepfather in tow, laden with luggage and a half-empty bottle of antifreeze. Her pug, Ramona, trotted dutifully into the room. She wore a toasty-looking snowflake doggie sweater. The little gal settled next to the gas fireplace, no doubt exhausted from her travels.

  My mom didn’t seem to notice I was having a work meeting. She plucked the large plastic bottle of blue liquid from my stepfather’s gloved hands. “No thanks to the rental company! We nearly perished on our trip here. The car was out of antifreeze, and we had to stop to get more.” She shrugged off her electric blue wool coat and seemed to realize she’d crashed a planning meeting. “Oh, I beg your pardon!”

  “Hello, Mrs. Shepard.” Olivia stood to give my mother a hug, blessing her appearance. The rest of Olivia’s family seemed somewhat amused at my mother’s shenanigans.

  “Congratulations, Olivia. You are a lucky fellow, Toby.” My mother beamed at all assembled. She was soon chatting amiably about Florida with Clementine, comparing the March family getaway in Key West with the home she and my stepdad had just sold on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “Did you say you were a stager?” Clementine seemed to perk up at some morsel of my mother’s conversation. “We could use some fresh ideas for our newest developments in Port Quincy.”

  Goldie shook her head at her mother. “I’m sorry, Carole, but that’s not true. We have a stager, and we’re quite happy with her work.”

  Clementine raised one artfully plucked gray brow in challenge. “Some of us are not, as it were. This is something we need to discuss, Goldie.”

  My mother swiveled her head from Clementine to Goldie, trying to determine which woman wore the most powerful pantsuit at March Homes.

  “For instance, the decor at this B and B. It’s lovely.” Clementine sent me a warm smile, and I appreciated her praise. “But it’s utterly predictable. This is just the kind of thing Lacey would come up with.”

  I shriveled at her rescinded praise and bristled on Lacey’s behalf. I’d worked with the Marches’ stager, Lacey, planning Paws and Poinsettias. She’d given me some ideas for the very setup I’d put in place at the mansion.