Something Buried, Something Blue

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  Back downstairs, Bella sets out a platter of sliced strudel, then pulls out her cell phone. Odelia always runs late, but not this late. Bella had tried calling her several times earlier, but she hadn’t picked up.

  In her hurry, Bella bungles the password three times.

  That does it. She opens the phone’s settings and disables the password feature. She can enable it again when life is back to normal and she’s not scrambling to jam countless tasks into every minute.

  Odelia’s line again goes to voice mail. Bella leaves a quick message. “Hey, it’s Wedding Bella. Where are you? We have chairs and tables to arrange and flowers to pick, remember?”

  As she hangs up, Parker pokes his head into the sun-splashed breakfast room. He responds to her cheery “Good morning” with a terse “I’m just letting you know that my shower was ice-cold.”

  “I’m so sorry. There’s a sign in the bathroom warning that the hot water tank acts up once in a while. If you wait it out, it gets warm again pretty quickly.”

  “It didn’t. I saw the sign, and I waited ten minutes.”

  “That’s unusual.” So is the fact that it’s happened twice in one day. Does it mean the hot water tank is finally on its last legs?

  “You need to get a plumber here before Daisy wakes up. The last thing she needs on our wedding day is a frigid shower.”

  Bella smiles, assuming the irony is intentional.

  Parker doesn’t return the smile, indicating that it was not.

  Alrighty then.

  “It’s not an easy fix,” she explains, running the kitchen tap to test the temperature. “The whole thing needs to be replaced, and the owner is planning to do that soon. But it doesn’t happen very often.”

  “It obviously happens often enough for you to have posted signs in the bathrooms.”

  Ignoring that, she turns off the steamy tap. “This water is plenty hot. I’m sure the shower will be fine for the rest of the day.”

  “Let’s hope so. Is everything else under control?”

  “Yes. I was just waiting for Odelia to come over so that we can gather the wildflowers for the tables and bouquet, but she’s late.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “No, it’s fine.” He musters a brief smile. “What better way to start the wedding day than picking daisies for my Daisy?”

  With a warm shower, maybe? Or even a lukewarm wife-to-be?

  Eying his white dress shirt, navy slacks, and polished wingtips, Bella asks, “Do you want to change into something more casual?”

  “This is casual,” he informs her, taking his designer sunglasses out of his pocket and putting them on.

  Ten minutes later, they’re stepping out the back door with a couple of pairs of garden shears and two large buckets Bella found on a cobwebby basement shelf. As she cleaned them out and watched a couple of scary-large daddy longlegs wash down the drain, she remembered Odelia’s vision.

  Was Spirit warning them to beware of spiders lurking in buckets on the wedding day?

  Probably not, but considering Bella’s profound distaste for arachnids, you never know.

  “I hope Daisy gets some sleep. She was up half the night,” Parker confides as Bella pulls the back door securely closed behind them.

  “Why?”

  “I suppose she was worried about the weather. But on a morning like this, it’s hard to believe it’s going to snow later.”

  “I know. And this is my first winter in Lily Dale, but according to the locals, October snow isn’t unheard of. Don’t worry, because I’m sure—”

  “Oh, I’m not worried. Our guests are already here, so no one has to travel on treacherous roads. As far as I’m concerned, let it snow.”

  His attitude is surprisingly cavalier. Is he thinking that the treacherous roads might just keep interlopers away?

  Is now a good time to bring up the note?

  Before she can figure out how to make that segue, Parker moves on. “But before it snows, we have to find our flowers, so we’d better get busy, right?”

  Now is not the time.

  “Right. There are some daisies in Odelia’s garden. We’ll start there. I’m sure she’ll come out and join us.” With luck, Bella’s mother-in-law won’t do the same.

  A warm breeze off the lake showers them with brilliant leaves as they cross the dewy lawn, weaving their way through the maze of bare round tables. Before Bella can set them, she needs to run one more load of linens through the dryer.

  Yet here she is, picking daisies with Parker, who doesn’t seem thrilled with Odelia’s crop.

  “The stems are a little short, don’t you think? And Daisy wanted baby’s breath. I don’t see any.”

  “I don’t even know if that blooms at this time of year or where we can find it.”

  “Well, we need something white and delicate, and we need more daisies. And—” He jumps back, startled, crushing more blooms with his polished black shoes. “There are rodents in here! Daisy would be horrified.”

  “Rodents? Where?”

  “There.” He points, and Bella peers at a small furry creature darting into a clump of asters.

  “That’s not a rodent!” she realizes, watching it peek out from beneath a dense, grounded trail of morning glories. “It’s a kitten.”

  Max and Jiffy were right. Its plush fur isn’t quite as deep a shade as the sheltering blooms, but it is a startling silvery blue.

  “I’m allergic. Scat, cat.” Parker stomps his foot, and the tiny creature dashes into distant shrubs.

  Bella bites her tongue and looks at her watch. Drew—kind, animal-loving Drew—will be arriving within the hour. Not soon enough for her taste.

  Time to move Parker along, she decides, away from innocent kittens and inferior flowers.

  “Odelia said there’s a meadow filled with wildflowers by the main gate,” Bella tells him. “Let’s head down there.”

  She leads the way out to the street. On a summer Saturday, Cottage Row would have been clogged with slow-moving car and pedestrian traffic even at this hour. Today, it’s deserted.

  They haven’t walked more than a couple of feet before Bella hears someone calling her name. Turning, she sees Pandora Feeney beckoning from the porch of her pink cottage across Melrose Park. Her gangly frame is swaddled in a long, red, floral-print bathrobe. Her gray-streaked hair, usually worn in braids down her back, hangs in loose waves.

  Bella waves at her but keeps walking.

  “Come on over, luv!” Pandora trills in her English accent.

  “Who,” Parker asks, “is that?”

  “It’s Pandora Feeney.”

  “Bella! Do come across!”

  “She seems to want to speak to you.”

  “Do you mind if we stop for a second?” she asks him reluctantly.

  “Not at all.”

  No, Bella is the one who minds. She doesn’t dislike the woman, as opposed to Odelia, who loathes her. But she isn’t in the mood for a lengthy exchange of pleasantries followed by the usual barrage of pointed questions.

  As they approach Pandora’s cottage, Bella sees that not only has her neighbor replaced her summer window-box geraniums with burgundy chrysanthemums, but she’s gone all out with autumnal decorations. There are additional potted mums on her porch steps, along with fat white pumpkins. The pillars are adorned with cornstalks. Wispy cotton cobwebs are strung between them. Bats, ravens, and large spiders dangle in the gingerbread eaves.

  All that’s missing are the ghosts, Bella notes without surprise. Pandora might enjoy Halloween, but she takes Spirit far too seriously to display campy, white-cloaked figures with round black eyes.

  “How is our dear Chance the Cat?” Pandora asks Bella. “I heard she had surgery yesterday.”

  Bella doesn’t bother to ask how Pandora heard. Somehow, she seems to know about everything that goes on around the Dale.

  “She’s doing really well, thanks. It was just a routine spay.”


  “None too soon. I hear she’s been a bit of a slag.”

  “A slag?”

  “Let’s see, how would an American put it? She’s rather been . . . getting around.”

  Bella can’t help but grin. “Are you calling my cat a slut, Pandora?”

  “If the shoe fits, luv . . .” Pandora returns the smile, then focuses on Parker. “You must be the bloke who’s marrying Calla’s university friend this afternoon.”

  “I am. Please don’t tell me she’s been . . . getting around.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it!” Pandora laughs delightedly and shakes his hand. “Brilliant to meet you. I’m Pandora Feeney, and you’re . . . Parker Langley, is it?”

  “Is there anything you don’t know, Ms. Feeney?”

  “Now that you mention it, I don’t know why I’m not singing ‘Oh, Promise Me’ at your wedding.”

  Oh, no. Bella should have known that was where this little summons was headed.

  “I beg your pardon?” Parker looks from Pandora to Bella, who shrugs.

  “When I heard there was a wedding at Valley View and that Bella and Odelia were trying to rent a grand piano and hire a singing pianist, I offered to bring over my portable keyboard and play ‘Oh, Promise Me.’ I had vocal training in my younger days, and I’ve serenaded many a bride down the aisle.”

  She pauses to clear her throat, then sings a few bars in an operatic soprano.

  “Very nice,” Parker tells her, then turns to Bella. “I don’t recall being asked about this delightful lady singing at the wedding. Did Daisy say no?”

  “She was very specific. She requested a grand piano and the song ‘Fields of Gold,’” she reminds him, “but she’s agreed that we can use a recording of it instead.”

  “‘Fields of Gold’?” Pandora echoes.

  “It’s our song,” Parker tells her. “It reminds me of my Daisy.”

  “And that reminds me, we’d better get moving,” Bella says. “We have lots of flowers to pick and not a lot of time to find them.”

  “If it’s daisies you want, I’ve a garden full of smashing Shastas,” Pandora tells them, then adds, eyeing the meager contents of their buckets, “The stems are much longer than those. My, but they’re in a dreadful state. Where did you get them?”

  “In Odelia Lauder’s yard,” Parker says, and Bella sees a glimmer of satisfaction in Pandora’s expression. “You wouldn’t mind if we cut some of yours?”

  “Not at all, and help yourselves to any other flowers you’d like.”

  “Do you have any baby’s breath?”

  “My Gypsophilia is long past bloom and mulched over,” the always botanically correct Pandora informs them. “But if you need delicate white blossoms, I’ve scads of Queen Anne’s lace. Take all you need. There’s a killing frost coming tonight; most everything will be withered by morning.”

  Parker thanks her profusely, and she invites them to deposit the “beastly” flowers they’ve already collected into the rubbish behind the house.

  “Meanwhile, I’ll dash inside and take a quick listen to ‘Fields of Gold,’” Pandora decides. “I’m sure I can learn it by . . . what time did you say the wedding is?”

  They didn’t.

  “Three o’clock,” Parker tells her. “I’d love to surprise Daisy with a live musician if you think you can do it.”

  “I’m quite certain that I can! I’ll come ’round before three with my keyboard!”

  She might as well, Bella thinks as she trudges into the garden with Parker. Pandora and her keyboard are the least of her troubles, what with Johneen’s moods, Odelia’s visions, anonymous letters, wedding crashers alive and dead, and a storm brewing.

  As they move through the flower beds, stooped over and filling their buckets, she steers the conversation awkwardly to Johneen.

  “I hate to see her so stressed. Is everything okay?”

  She expects Parker to brush off the question, but he straightens and looks at her in a way that lets her know she’s struck a chord.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just . . . all brides are jittery, but she really seems on edge.”

  He hesitates and then looks over his shoulder to make sure there are no eavesdroppers. “Please don’t mention this to anyone, all right?”

  Her pulse quickening, she nods.

  “Before I met Daisy, back when she was still living in Philadelphia, she ended a difficult relationship.”

  “With whom?”

  “I don’t know his name. She never wanted to tell me. Maybe she was afraid I’d . . . I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “He was just someone she met at a charity ball.”

  “In Philadelphia?”

  “I think he lived in New York but traveled in the same circles.” Vastly wealthy society circles, Bella figures.

  “All I know for certain is that he was a possessive control freak. That didn’t go over well with Daisy. She likes her space. When she broke up with him, he told her that if he couldn’t have her, no one would. She moved to Pittsburgh to get away from him, made a fresh start. She thought she’d put it all behind her.”

  “But . . . ?” Bella says when he trails off, shaking his head.

  “Breakups are always difficult. Lots of people say things in the heat of the moment that they don’t mean.”

  “But you think he did mean it?”

  “Lately, Daisy’s been feeling as though he might be . . .” Again he trails off, as if searching for the right way to phrase it.

  “Stalking her?”

  “Stalking is a strong word.”

  “So she’s seen him around?”

  “No. But there were a few times when she’s felt as though someone might be following her. One night last month, she came home from work and thought someone had been in her apartment.”

  “Did she call the police?”

  “She didn’t want to because nothing was missing, and she thought she might have imagined it. I insisted she file a report, but that was the end of it.”

  “Is he . . . does he know she’s getting married?”

  “We haven’t made any official announcements in the press or on social media, if that’s what you mean. We’ve tried to keep it as private as possible.” Toying with the clippers in his hands, he shrugs and looks at her. “Now you know why my fiancée is on edge and why we wanted the wedding to be low-key and in a remote location but within reach of our friends. This place is perfect.”

  She nods. It absolutely makes sense. The Dale isn’t all that far off the beaten path, but at this time of year, it might as well be a deserted island thousands of miles from civilization.

  But even a deserted island is within reach if someone knows where to look.

  Her mind made up, she says, “Parker, I wasn’t going to mention this, but I got a strange letter about the wedding the other day.”

  His eyebrows shoot up above the rims of his sunglasses. She can’t see his expression, but she can sense the immediate concern as she tells him about it, especially when she mentions the Lily Dale postmark.

  “Can I see the letter? Do you have it?”

  “It’s back at the guesthouse. I’ll show it to you. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything right away, but I thought it was some kind of . . . I don’t know, practical joke.” She stops short of mentioning that she thought it might have come from Odelia, who’s been having visions of danger at the wedding.

  There’s no reason to alarm or burden Parker with superfluous details. The information she just shared is based on something tangible.

  “Have you told anyone about it?”

  “Not a soul.” Yet.

  Relieved, he says, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone. I just don’t know whom to trust. Even among friends. I just . . . you never know.”

  She considers bringing up Luther, but that’s complicated. Instead, she asks simply, “Do you think we should call the police?”

  “I don’t know. It isn’t a threat. What would the
y do?”

  “I guess . . . I guess they’d just file a report.”

  “And Daisy will have to know, and that will be it. She’ll want to flee. Even if I can convince her to stay, she’ll be a wreck.”

  Bella nods. He has a point.

  “The wedding is just a few hours away,” he continues, looking at his watch. “If we can just hold out until then, she’ll have her wedding, and we’ll be married, and we can escape together if need be.”

  “But what if he”—whoever he is—“shows up here?”

  Parker’s jaw is set. “Then I’ll protect her.”

  Working quickly, they fill two buckets with daisies, along with delicate white Queen Anne’s lace plus goldenrod and sedum. All pass the sniff test, lacking fragrance per the bride’s request. As they lug their floral bounty back across Melrose Park, Bella spots Drew’s car pulling up in front of Valley View.

  “Who is that?” Parker asks sharply as Drew steps out of the car.

  “Don’t worry, he’s a friend.” Bella picks up her pace, relieved to see him.

  Wearing jeans, work boots, and a blue flannel shirt, Drew hoists a large, metal toolbox from the trunk and starts toward the house.

  “Drew!” Bella calls, and he turns.

  She sees him look from her to Parker, then down at the buckets of flowers.

  “This is Parker Langley,” Bella says when they reach him. “Parker, this is Drew Bailey.”

  “I’d shake your hand, but mine are full and dirty.” Parker sounds jovial, as if he hadn’t just been wondering whether Drew might be a violent stalker.

  “It’s all right. Good to see you, Bella. I didn’t even have to remind you not to call me Doctor Bailey this time.”

  “You’re a doctor?” Parker asks.

  “A veterinarian.”

  “Are you here to see the cat?”

  “I’m here to see Bella.” Again, Drew looks down at the buckets of flowers they’re carrying, then shoots a questioning look at her.

  “These are for the wedding.”

  “You . . . you’re getting married?”

  She frowns. “What? No! He is. Didn’t I mention that I was hosting a wedding at the inn today?”