Since he couldn’t do anything about the rain, he’d probably say something only a man would appreciate, such as, “Bet you nobody will even notice.” Which made no sense, because I obviously noticed. Not to mention the wedding photographer would, since she’d have to change her plans and take all of the pictures indoors now.
Being a superstitious sort, Ambrose had decided to spend the night with his best man, Hollis. Hollis owned an alligator farm nearby, and he practically grew up in Ambrose’s shadow.
Sadly, Hollis lost his grandmother Ruby last fall, who was the closest thing he’d had to a parent. Ever since that time, Ambrose had taken him under his wing, and now Hollis and he were inseparable. When Ambrose asked Hollis to be his best man at the wedding, I thought the boy would melt into a puddle of happiness.
Before I got too far into the kitchen, the telephone next to the stove rang. I reached for it cautiously, since I had no idea who’d be calling me this morning.
“Good morning!”
It sounded like Bettina LeBlanc, the lady who owned Pink Cake Boxes. Bettina was known far and wide for creating the most amazing cakes and pies, and her waiting list during the wedding season ballooned to three months or more. Since she was a personal friend of mind, though—not to mention my neighbor at the Factory—she’d agreed to bake my cake with only a month’s notice.
“Is that you, Bettina? Can you believe it’s raining? Raining!”
“Now, Missy.” Sure enough, I’d recognize her tone anywhere. Bettina and I had worked on many weddings together, and she always managed to stay cool, calm, and collected.
“You know what they say,” she continued. “It’s—”
“Don’t say it! Don’t you dare tell me it’s good luck when it rains on your wedding day! We both know that’s not true.”
“Oohhh…should I come over? You sound like you’re about to jump out a window.”
“All my windows are on the first floor.” Despite everything, I felt a grin coming on. “I can’t exactly jump off a one-story building.”
“Good. No need to. Not when you hear what I have planned.”
My curiosity piqued, I momentarily forgot about the weather long enough to pull out a barstool by the counter and take a seat. “Fire away. I need some good news this morning.”
“Well, I was just about to put the finishing touches on your cake. But then, I had this brilliant idea. I know we talked about decorating the top with orchids, but how about if I use a lady’s hat instead?”
Again, I smiled, despite myself. “That’s an awesome idea! I absolutely love it. You can pull one of the hats out of the shop. Pick any one you think will work.”
Being neighbors at the Factory, I kept a key to Bettina’s studio, and she kept one to mine. That was one of the best things about living in a small town like Bleu Bayou. Everyone watched out for everyone else. Since we all minded each other’s property, crime stayed at a minimum. Except, of course, for the murders that happened to pop up every now and again. Add those into the total, and our small town’s crime stats went through the roof.
“Well, I’d better dash,” she said. “I have another surprise for you, but I don’t want to tip my hand.”
“Wait a min—”
She clicked off the line before I could finish. Another surprise? Whatever could she mean? We’d discussed the cake in detail just this past week. Thank goodness she was a true professional and I trusted her judgment, since I pretty much gave her carte blanche to create a cake for the ceremony. Time would tell whether that was a wise decision.
I spent the next hour slowly waking up with a cup of Community Coffee in one hand, and the latest issue of the Bleu Bayou Impartial Reporter in the other. By now, everyone knew about the arrests of Lorelei and Jamie, but the paper continued to provide updates as the case moved through the St. James Parish Criminal Court.
It turned out both of them changed their pleas to “not guilty” at their arraignments, so they’d be eligible for jury trials. The first step was to hold preliminary hearings, where Lance and his team provided enough evidence to a judge to bring the cases to trial.
The next step involved sitting two separate grand juries to hear the charges. Based on the juries’ decisions, the duo would be indicted for their crimes, or not. Not surprisingly, defense attorneys had a heck of a time finding twenty-three people for each jury who didn’t know the Carmichaels, the Honeycutts, or Jamie Lee’s family.
So the defense attorneys filed motions to change the venue to a larger city, like New Orleans or Baton Rouge, but there was no telling whether that would happen at this point.
I thought about the case, and everyone involved in it, until a strike of lightning jolted my attention back to the kitchen. Rain began to fall, softly at first, and then with a thunderous clap that almost obscured the sound of my ringing doorbell. Almost.
I yelped and slid off the barstool. By the time I reached the front door, Beatrice was already entering the room.
“Hello, hello,” she said, brightly.
“Hey.”
“You don’t sound like someone who’s getting married today.”
“Do you blame me? Look outside.”
“What’s a little rain on a day like today? Look at it this way, your ceremony’s inside and so is your reception. What more do you want?”
“How about a dry spell between the hours of four and midnight?” I was only half-joking, but she laughed along with me anyway.
“You might just get it. In the meantime, I brought enough Saran Wrap to cover you up like a mummy when you have to go from the church to the reception.”
“I knew there was a reason why I loved you so much.”
We opened a bottle of Dom right then and there, and then she set to work doing my hair and makeup. By the time she finished, a lovely updo swept my auburn hair to one side, and we’d polished off an entire bottle of Dom. Then we gossiped about this, that, and the other thing while I returned the favor and fixed her hair and makeup.
Once finished, we decided we’d carry my dress to the church, since we didn’t want to risk muddying the hem. I’d chosen a lovely A-line dress I found at a local resale shop. The way I figured it, I had more than enough expenses at Crowning Glory, not to mention all the bills that would come due after the wedding, so a brand-new dress was out of the question.
And although the dress wasn’t new, it was pretty, with an illusion neckline and a frothy tulle skirt that swirled around my ankles when I tried it on. Best of all, the color was ivory, instead of white, so the antique lace veil would match the eggshell fabric.
Fortunately, the rain slackened slightly—although it didn’t stop altogether—by the time we wrapped everything up at the house. I headed to the coat closet to retrieve the dress, and that was when the telephone stopped me short.
“Sassafrass!” I said. “I’ll never make it to the church at this rate!”
“Leave it.” Beatrice reached for the doorknob with her free hand, since she carried my veil and shoes with her other one. “You can’t be late today.”
My insatiable curiously got the best of me, though, like it always did, and I lunged for the phone before the ringing subsided. “Hello?”
A chuckle sounded. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the church soon, Mrs. Jackson?”
“Ambrose! I thought you were worried about bad luck. Doesn’t talking with your bride right before the ceremony count?”
While I liked to tease my fiancé, the sound of his voice was like music to my ears. It was incredible the way one word from him could change my whole outlook.
“I’m making an exception this time. I need you to get something out of my closet.”
Since Ambrose and I shared the cottage, I knew his closet about as well as my own.
“Well, what do you need?”
“It’s hanging in a black garment bag, front
and center.”
“Ambrose! Don’t tell me you forgot to bring your tuxedo to the church!” While I tried to sound angry, I wasn’t very convincing.
“It’s no big deal. But I need you to grab the bag for me.”
Before I could ask him any more questions—or chide him about his memory—he hung up.
Beatrice tapped her foot impatiently. “C’mon, Missy. We have to go.”
Whether because of the champagne or the sound of my fiancé’s voice, my mood had improved considerably. “Hold on. Ambrose forgot something in his closet. It’ll only take me a sec.”
I left her standing at the door, where a frown darkened her face. To be honest, we still had a few minutes to go before they expected us at the church, and I couldn’t very well leave my fiancé twisting in the wind, now could I?
I headed for his room and ducked through the half-closed door. Like me, his room had seen better days, and dirty clothes covered every available surface. He’d made a path to the bed by kicking aside dirty T-shirts and gym shorts, and a pile of used dress shirts puddled near the closet. I understood completely, because neither of us had time to eat or sleep during the wedding season, let alone clean our rooms.
I stepped over the dress shirts when I reached his closet. Just like he promised, the garment bag hung front and center inside, and the sides puffed out curiously. I grabbed the bag, and the thing fell into my arms with a thunk. What was inside…half his wardrobe??
I threw the bag on the bed and quickly unzipped it. While I expected to find black tuxedo pants and a stiff white dress shirt, something sparkly winked at me instead. My mouth rounded into an O as I realized what he’d stashed inside the bag.
It was a gown: a frothy confection of tulle, glass crystals, and lovingly applied seed pearls. Cautiously, I reached for the dress and gently dislodged it from the hanger.
“What the—”
“Missy?”
I turned to see Beatrice standing in the doorway, her expression curious.
“Look, Bea!”
I swept the dress from the bag and held it up. We both gasped at the same time when we saw the beautifully embellished silk bodice, which was nipped at the waist, the cascade of seed pearls, which tumbled down the tulle skirt, and the delicate scalloped edges lined with genuine Swarovski crystals.
“He didn’t!” she gasped.
“He did.” I moved over to a full-length mirror Ambrose kept on the back of his door. While Beatrice scooted out of the way, I clasped the dress in front of me, too stunned for words.
It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen.
“You have to try it on,” Beatrice said. “Now!”
I slipped out of my sundress and kicked it aside. Then I carefully stepped through the folds of fabric. Once I stepped through the waistband and shimmied into the bodice, which featured a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves, I turned to let Beatrice button up the back. More than two dozen covered buttons cinched the lace together, and the look on her face when she finished fastening them told me everything I needed to know.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I fluffed out the dress with my palms, and then I watched it softly billow back into place in the mirror.
“Missy, you look like a dream.” She cautiously reached out to touch the dress, the tulle separated from the silk bodice by a rhinestone belt. Like me, she couldn’t wait to feel the exquisite texture of the fabric. Between the sprinkle of seed pearls and the glimmering rhinestone belt, it all sparkled like sunlight.
“It’s official,” I said, once I took it all in. “I have the best fiancé ever.”
“And you can’t even see the back. It’s beautiful.” Beatrice sounded flabbergasted. “Do you know how long it must’ve taken him just to attach the buttons?”
“Trust me, I know. Can I have my phone, please?”
While Beatrice left to grab my cell, I took one last look at Ambrose’s gift. The waist…the length…the bodice. Everything fit to a T. Knowing Ambrose, he’d kidnapped some of the dresses from my closet to get the dimensions just right. If I had any reservations about the ceremony today—rain and all—they disappeared in a swirl of off-white tulle and sparkly silk.
Beatrice returned with the cell a moment later.
“Here…could you please hold this?” I carefully passed her the dress while I dialed Ambrose’s number.
After three rings, the recorded message clicked on.
“You’ve reached Ambrose’s Allure Couture. I’ll call you back—”
I hung up the phone, disappointed. “Guess I’ll have to thank him at the church. It’s now or never.”
Beatrice and I left the cottage soon afterward, the voluminous ballgown tucked back into the garment bag for safekeeping. Although the clouds managed to hold back the worst of the rain, a soft shower fell all around us. Meanwhile, Beatrice juggled my shoes, accessories, and makeup bag in her arms as she steered us toward her classic Ford truck.
I was about to toss my duffel bag into the truck bed when I noticed something else.
“Beatrice? What the heck?”
Someone had attached a hand-painted sign to the pickup’s tailgate that read His & Hers. Pink streamers trailed from the sign to the ground, and each one held an empty can of Parish Brewing Pale Ale, which was Ambrose’s favorite beverage. Mardi Gras beads covered every leftover inch on the sign.
“That’s Uncle Hank’s handiwork.” She winked.
I’d grown close to Hank Dupre, Beatrice’s uncle, over the years, and I considered him my uncle by now. Hank was the one who purchased the old Sweetwater mansion next door, even after Ambrose and I made a gruesome discovery in an outbuilding, and it was Hank who loaned me a pirogue anytime I needed to navigate the Atchafalaya River. Leave it to him to add a touch of whimsy to our ceremony, Cajun style.
Beatrice and I hopped into the truck and thumped along the road until we reached the Rising Tide Baptist Church. Thankfully, traffic was light, since few people traversed the roads on a Saturday, especially so near the dinner hour. By the time we arrived at the church, the parking lot was half full, and I immediately recognized several cars.
Over there, by the back door to the sanctuary, sat Ambrose’s gleaming Audi Quattro. The car had taken us on many interesting adventures, including a fast getaway from a voodoo ceremony, of all things, and a memorable drive to Commander’s Palace in New Orleans.
Next to the Audi was Grady Sebastian’s hulking Ford Mustang. The shiny red muscle car was as brash and brawny as its owner. Although it seemed like a century ago now, I once went out with Grady, back when I thought Ambrose and I might be on the skids. My, how times had changed.
Finally, I noticed Lance’s Buick Oldsmobile on the other end of the row. Like always, dirt and grime covered the car, and streaks of dried mud splashed around the wheel wells. Obviously, Lance had yet to visit the Sparkle N’ Shine, although I mentioned it all the time.
“Missy?” Beatrice turned to face me once she put the Ford in Park. “Is something wrong? You just sighed.”
“No, nothing’s wrong.” I shook my head to clear it. “You know, when I first moved here, I wondered if I’d made a big mistake. If maybe I should’ve stayed back in Tennessee when I graduated from college. But you know what? I wouldn’t trade this place, or these people, for anything.”
She chuckled. “I know just what you mean. I always tell people Bleu Bayou is a real small town but the people have real big hearts.” She quickly sobered up. “Are you ready to do this?”
“I am.”
We stepped from the car, and I grabbed a duffle bag from the back. Hallelujah, the clouds managed to hold back the rain now, and a few sunbeams even pierced the gloom. I’d been instructed to use the door on the left, which would take me straight to the bride’s room…and then the altar.
Chapter 25
Someone
waited for me inside the door to the social hall, and I recognized the old man right away.
“Hello again.”
It was the deacon who went out of his way to help Ambrose and me during the fashion show a few years back. Like before, he wore a powder-blue suit, and he’d slicked his hair back with about a gallon of Brylcreem. “Hello, Miss DuBois. I’m supposed to escort you to the bride’s room.”
He automatically reached for my wedding gown, but I drew it close to me. “I’ll carry this, if you don’t mind.”
Instead, he offered me his arm, and we walked through the foyer and into the social hall, which Darryl and his helpers had turned into a veritable wonderland of flowers and lights.
To begin with, my favorite handyman/gardener had installed a blanket of roses where the theater curtain once hung. The blooms’ colors gradually blurred from white on one end to fuchsia on the other, with stops at cherry blossom, blush, and raspberry in between.
Then Darryl created miniature topiaries for each table, the three tiers strung with dozens of tiny lights that extended from their bases to their tippy-tops. To complement the garden theme, he draped each place setting with a spray of pink wisteria.
I found Darryl by the side of the social hall, leaning over a centerpiece that wasn’t up to snuff.
“There you are!” I quickly gave him a big hug.
Although Darryl tried to come across as gruff on the outside, I suspected marshmallow fluff filled his insides.
“Thank you so much for the beautiful decorations! You’ve outdone yourself.”
His cheeks instantly turned about as red as the last color on the curtain of roses.
“’Tweren’t nuthin’.” He bashfully stared at the ground while he spoke, and I imagined he tried to grind his toe into the floor, although I couldn’t see it.
“You’re wrong about that. Everyone will feel like they’re sitting in a garden. A magical garden. Thank you.”
What the Hatmaker Heard Page 19