by Eliza Daly
Praise for Eliza Daly
Under Her Spell
“Quick moving, funny and romantic, you can’t help but love Monica, the characters, and the tangles they get into.”—Chick Lit Club
“ . . . weaves a spell on all romance readers alike. With humor and an amazing heroine, Monica readers are sure to love it. Those looking for a magical and funny read will love Daly’s Under Her Spell. I look forward to reading more from the author.”—The Pen Muse
“I love [it] when the character that fights the hardest against love falls completely!”—Romance Bookworm’s Reviews
“ . . . the author creates these situations that have you laughing till your sides hurt . . . if you are looking for something on the lighter side, you should definitely check this book out.”—Busy Moms Book Reviews
“Daly has solid comedic timing, and her novel is filled with great one liners and funny situations. Her humor is often fresh and unexpected . . . I don’t want to spoil any punch lines for you, but trust me, the humor and characters in this book will charm you, too.”—Books With Benefits
Identity Crisis
“Eliza Daily did a wonderful job moving the story from point to point and keeping the pace moving forward. There was just the right amount of romance, suspense and mystery to hook the reader and keep them guessing until the end. I would highly recommend this book to other readers.”—Harlequin Junkie
“All of the characters in this story are so very authentic, so genuine that I felt as if I were surrounded by a whole cast of quirky neighbors. The settings were fantastic and the pace impeccable. The mystery was solid, the romance sweet and the chemistry explosive, this story had a little bit of everything and was picture-perfect read on a bright sunny day or a cold winter night.”—Night Owl Reviews
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’Til Death Do Us Part
Eliza Daly
Avon, Massachusetts
Contents
Cover
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Acknowledgments
‘Under Her Spell’ Excerpt
Copyright
Guide
Cover
Contents
Start of content
For my friend and fellow author Laura Iding. Thank you for all the brainstorming sessions over dinner, motivating me to sit my butt in the chair and write, and listening to me whine.
Chapter One
“Remember how Artie used to belch out the National Anthem?” said a guy in a Green Bay Packers jersey, standing at the front of the chapel in Thompson’s Funeral Home. He slammed his beer, then proceeded to pay “musical” tribute to his recently deceased buddy.
Several men joined in, slapping their foam Cheeseheads or Packers caps against their chests out of respect for Artie Gardner. Although they held non-alcoholic beer cans—Thompson’s forbade alcohol consumption due to liability issues—the contents had undoubtedly been replaced with “real” beer.
And, unfortunately, if Cassidy Baldwin didn’t turn a blind eye, she’d have to turn away 25 percent of their business.
Planning themed funerals was going to be the death of her. Six months ago, she’d been one of Milwaukee’s premier wedding planners. Now, she was one beer-guzzling, football-themed funeral away from taking a swan dive off the Hoan Bridge.
The tribute ended and the men raised their cans, toasting the deceased as the Packers kicked off against the Seattle Seahawks on the large-screen TV. “Go Pack,” they roared, plopping down on the recliners and couches, which temporarily replaced the chapel’s folding chairs.
The women congregated around the buffet at the back, removing lids from salad containers and dumping chips into bowls. A woman walked in carrying a large platter. The stench of greasy bratwursts overpowered the scent of the crisp fall day drifting through the window of the Victorian house, now home to the funeral parlor.
Kenny, the funeral director, materialized at Cassidy’s side. He brushed a hand down his Packers tie, his shifty brown eyes twinkling with pride. “One of my best makeup jobs ever,” he said, referring to the green-and-gold goop on the deceased’s face. Wearing a wide grin, Kenny slithered off.
He was slimier than that gel he used to slick back his hair. If he weren’t married to her friend, Lucy, and also de facto boss and landlord—she temporarily lived with them above the funeral home—she’d tell him so.
The scent of patchouli replaced the stench of beer when Lucy strolled over. She wore a red-and-white-striped dress with a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. The nautical hues—“best for the career zone”—were part of her plan to feng shui her new business, An Herb a Day Café, to success. Lucy removed her red eyeglasses and perched them atop her blonde bob.
Cassidy glanced over at the men singing “Beer Barrel Polka.” “And I thought getting fired for something I didn’t even do was the low point of my life. One more beer-guzzling funeral and I’m seriously hurling myself off a cliff.”
“I thought it was the Hoan Bridge?”
“The cliff is closer, just across the street.”
“Please wait until after Aggie Cornwell’s funeral.”
“What? Aggie Cornwell died?” The heiress to the country’s fourth-largest brewery was a Milwaukee icon.
“Just got a call. She fell out of a tree rescuing a cat. Died instantly.”
How ironic. Aggie Cornwell donated loads of money to the Animal Rescue Squad. Her mansion’s guesthouse was a foster home for dozens of cats.
“Her lawyer attended the Morris funeral here last month and was totally impressed. When I told him you were actually a wedding planner by trade, that cinched the deal.”
“Why? Aggie Cornwell wanted to get married at her funeral?” Cassidy laughed faintly, but Lucy didn’t.
“Seemed she’d planned her wedding down to the last detail, yet she never married. Guess her funeral is her last opportunity to at least hold the reception. And the perfect chance for you to show your creative planning skills to the city’s elite and get back into the wedding industry.” Lucy rattled off ideas for the funeral/wedding. “What do you think?”
“I could use a beer.”
Chapter Two
Two weeks later, beneath a large, white tent on Aggie Cornwell’s sprawling estate, a black cat missing its tail and an orange tabby with a good chunk
out of one ear batted at a stuffed felt mouse perched atop a metal spring.
Lucy studied the cat toy from behind a pair of white sunglasses. “Are Aggie’s remains inside the mouse?”
“God, no, they’re in the base,” Cassidy said. Bad enough she was encased in the bronze base with bright-colored fish painted on it. “Yet if being in the mouse had been her request, I’d have honored it. I can’t believe she wanted to spend eternity in a cat toy.”
“Not like they’re using her remains for kitty litter. She wanted to be close to her cats. That’s so sweet. A guy once had his wife’s remains infused in a hand-blown glass vase. He keeps it on the dining room table filled with daisies. Her favorite flower.” The corners of Lucy’s mouth twitched, and her eyes misted over. She plucked a tissue from the breast pocket of her red-and-white polka-dotted dress. “How romantic.”
Lucy sometimes had a strange idea about romance.
Her friend sniffled, discreetly gesturing toward the mayor’s wife chatting with a group of ladies. “You know her daughters are in college. Could be getting married before long. Just think of all the prospective wedding clients here.”
“Too bad Aggie didn’t give me more creative liberty in planning her wedding/funeral. I could have done wonders with the unlimited budget.”
“Yeah, but it reflects her personality, which is what people are going to remember. The pigs in a blanket are a hit.”
Cassidy nodded faintly. “I better go check on the food.”
She headed toward the buffet stations, passing by a pictorial montage of Aggie Cornwell’s life covering a large board. Seemed she’d been quite active even in her later years, traveling the world with numerous lovers. She’d done a mule trek through the Himalayas, hang-glided over Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, and scuba dived shipwrecks in the Caribbean. Then she lost her life falling from a tree in her own backyard.
The funeral wasn’t merely a celebration of Aggie Cornwell’s life but of her donating a large sum of money and the mansion’s guesthouse to the Animal Rescue Squad. The five hundred-plus guests were encouraged to bring their pets. Pets and rescued animals had to be on leashes, and dogs were restricted to the pool area, away from cats. However, Aggie’s own three cats were taking full advantage of their freedom.
A gray Persian lapped up the Cornwell beer flowing down a fountain of crystal champagne glasses. A waiter stood guard next to a buffet where the scent of brats and beer-battered cheese curds wafted from the chaffing dishes. Given a choice, Cassidy would have highlighted Aggie’s travels with foods like jerked Caribbean chicken and Nepalese curry dumplings.
Frustrated, she shooed the cat off the fountain. Although the waiters weren’t serving beer from the fountain, she didn’t need to contend with a bunch of drunken felines. Aggie’s staff was drunk enough. Like Fiona, the cook.
The short, plump woman wearing a black velvet dress and black lace veil pushed herself up off a chair. Teetering on her heels, she raised a shiny silver flask high in the air. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, a funeral without whiskey is a bloody bust,” she said in a thick Irish accent. She dropped down, missing the chair and landing on the ground with a thud.
Cassidy rushed over and crouched next to her. The woman’s wide eyes and bright red lips were visible behind the lace veil. Her breath was so potent it made Cassidy’s eyes water.
“Are you all right?” Cassidy asked.
“Who took me chair?” the woman demanded.
Aggie’s nephew, Ryan Mitchell, materialized out of nowhere and knelt down on the other side of the woman. “Fiona, why don’t we go for a walk?” he said in a calm, soothing voice.
Cassidy hadn’t yet met Ryan. Her main contact while planning the funeral was his aunt’s lawyer, and while he’d been presenting his eulogy, she’d been dealing with unruly animals. Last year, Milwaukee Beat magazine named Ryan the city’s most eligible bachelor. From the photos plastering the pages of local magazines—in which he was rarely seen with the same woman twice—it appeared he worked hard at maintaining his bachelorhood status. Photos might capture his blue eyes and silky dark hair, but not the charisma he exuded.
Fiona attempted to suck another drop from the flask. “Outta me whiskey, I am. What sort of funeral runs out of whiskey? Ya better have plenty at me funeral or I won’t be going.”
“There’ll be plenty,” Ryan said. “I promise.”
Ryan gave Fiona’s shoulder a compassionate squeeze and smiled faintly at Cassidy. A dimple creased his cheek, giving his sexy smile an innocent boyish charm. The type of smile that made a woman want to jump in bed with him while giving her hope he’d still be around come morning. Rather deceiving. From the number of women he dated, it was unlikely he watched a sunrise with any of them. Yet Cassidy went warm all over.
Together, with a bit of effort, they heaved Fiona off the ground. They each looped an arm through the woman’s, helping her maintain her balance as best they could.
Ryan glanced over at Cassidy. “I better get her inside.”
She nodded. “I’ll help.”
“Hate to drink alone, I do.” Fiona slapped the empty flask against Cassidy’s chest.
She took an imaginary drink.
Fiona snatched the flask from her hand and brought it to her mouth. She let out an annoyed grunt. “Ya drank all me whiskey.”
“I’m . . . sorry.”
Ryan shrugged, shaking his head good-naturedly. “Let’s go get you some more whiskey,” he told Fiona.
They guided the woman out of the tent and across the lawn, toward the massive stone mansion. She began singing a lively tune. Cassidy struggled to keep a solid grip on Fiona’s arm as she attempted to do a jig.
“They started out for the graveyard, all holy and sublime, but found out when they got there, they’d left the corpse behind . . . ”
Cassidy exchanged amused glances with Ryan. This was one of the more bizarre funerals she’d planned, but she’d take it over one with beer-belching guys any day.
They approached the terrace where a crowd of people were watching Charlie, a short, spindly man in a black tux, belt out “A Six Pack to Go.” His chauffeur’s cap rested on his ears, which stuck out from his balding head. He grinned wide at Ryan, his gray eyes twinkling. He was another one of Aggie’s staff. Humphrey Bogart, or rather an actor hired to play the part of one of Aggie’s prospective grooms, joined the man in singing. Bogie, with his white dinner jacket and refined demeanor, looked like a pompous snob alongside the chauffeur, whose enthusiasm was contagious and had everyone singing along. Charlotte, the housekeeper, was dancing the Charleston, dressed in a champagne-colored flapper dress with a matching sequined headband. In her early sixties, Charlotte’s short, black hair had curlicues framing her face. Her blue eyes were big and round despite coats of black mascara weighing down the lashes. Red lipstick was haphazardly smeared across her pouty lips.
Fiona about yanked Cassidy’s arm out of its socket when she tried to detour over to the microphone, singing at the top of her lungs. They steered her past the crowd and managed to walk her up the terrace steps to a set of French doors.
Ryan smiled appreciatively at Cassidy. “I can take her from here. Thanks for your help.”
“Not a problem.”
Ryan and Fiona disappeared inside, and she closed the door behind them.
Guess she shouldn’t have been so quick to judge Ryan Mitchell based solely on his playboy reputation. He seemed like a caring man.
After checking the food—in case there’d been a run on chicken wings—she headed over to the pool to make sure the lifeguard wasn’t texting again rather than watching over the dogs. On her return to the tent, she noticed Ryan standing beneath the large oak from which his aunt Aggie had fallen to her death. He peered up into the lush canopy of autumn-colored leaves. Great. Another cat up a tree.
She squinted back the sunlight, gazing up. “Where is it?”
Ryan spun around, a startled expression on his face.
“Sorry,” s
he said, stepping back. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
His gaze remained fixed on hers, his expression slowly relaxing. “Guess I’m a little on edge.”
“Thought you might need some help getting a cat down. We worked so well together a few minutes ago.”
His mouth slowly curled into a smile. “Yes, we did.”
She forced her gaze from his gorgeous blue eyes and glanced back up in the tree. “I don’t see it.”
“I was just admiring the memorial someone carved. My aunt would have gotten a kick out of it.” He gestured toward the bark.
Last “Fall”—No More Alcohol
“At least she died doing what she loved.” He scanned the sprawling lawn filled with towering oaks, a distant look in his eyes. “I used to climb these trees as a kid. Had a fort in one over there.”
Everyone knew he’d come to live with his aunt at a young age, but Cassidy couldn’t recall ever having heard what happened to his parents.
“Must have been a great place to grow up.”
Ryan nodded. “The best.” He peered over at the swimming pool shaped like a beer bottle where a bulldog cannonballed a German shepherd. “This is how she’d have wanted it.” He glanced over at her. “You did a great job with the funeral. Been doing this awhile?”
“No, actually I’m a . . . was a wedding planner. Only been doing funerals a few months.”
He arched an intrigued brow. “Wedding planner?”
Here it comes. The jokes guys always made. If she couldn’t marry ’em, she might as well bury ’em.
“I took this job to help my friends expand their funeral business. I saw it as a challenge.”
Yeah, right. Her old company had been involved in a scandal and used her as the scapegoat. The owner’s daughter had substituted designer wedding dresses with knock-offs and pocketed the difference. Cassidy had unknowingly purchased several dresses for clients, making it even easier to be framed. After stealing many of Cassidy’s creative ideas, the company had the nerve to accuse her of stealing money. She hadn’t had any evidence, or funds, to prove her innocence. Even though the scandal had stayed out of the media, local wedding planning companies heard the rumors and wouldn’t touch her. The only event planning job she could get was themed funerals.