Something Buried, Something Blue

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  Fifteen minutes later, he returns with most of the food untouched. This time, he’s wearing sunglasses and a jacket.

  “She wasn’t hungry?” Bella asks, sensing his romantic gesture hadn’t gone over very well.

  “No. She just wants to rest until it’s time.”

  “Does she like the bouquet?”

  “She thinks it’s a little too large. She was expecting it to be more of a . . .”

  “But . . . she didn’t say nosegay. She said shabby-chic wildflower bouquet.” Which is exactly what Bella created, following a website illustration the bride herself had preapproved.

  “I guess she changed her mind. She says she’ll fix it, and she can use the extra flowers for her hair.”

  Parker plunks the tray on the counter, sneezes twice, and takes off his sunglasses to wipe his eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m going outside to get away from all this cat dander.”

  He walks away, leaving the tray on the counter for Bella to clean up. As the door slams shut behind him, she notices that he left his sunglasses on the tray, but she doesn’t bother to go after him. He can figure it out and come back. She’s just about had her fill of him and Johneen, whom she’s barely even seen today.

  She puts the glasses, which are heavy and feel expensive, on the windowsill. Then she scrapes the untouched food into the garbage can, puts the dishes into the sink, and turns on the water.

  Beyond the window, the sun doesn’t seem to be shining quite as brightly as it was a few minutes ago. She’d better take a few more photos of the setting now. A wet, overcast backdrop won’t exactly showcase the guesthouse for Grant’s photo spread.

  Thank goodness her benefactor has finally realized the off-season wedding business might be lucrative. He may not have sentimental reasons to hang onto the guesthouse, but it sounds like he’d be willing to keep it for financial ones.

  Then again, does Bella really want to be in the wedding business ten months a year?

  Not all couples will be as difficult as Parker and Johneen are. And while the two of them might not be destined for everlasting joy, at least their wedding will start off picture perfect—Bella’s golden ticket to Lily Dale ever after.

  She finishes cleaning the kitchen and folds the last of the laundry, then heads outside with her cell phone. The battery is nearly depleted, but she can get a few quick shots.

  Parker and Johneen are sitting in the Adirondack chairs out by the lake. Bella captures the moment with her camera: a pair of blond heads so intent on conversation that they don’t even turn to notice her.

  Then, seeing a puff of smoke drifting into the air, she realizes that it’s not Johneen. It’s Virginia.

  The two tall, slim, blue-eyed blondes really do look alike from a distance. But while Johneen’s perpetual pout ruins her beauty, Virginia’s dazzling smile completes hers. No surprise that Johneen seems to envy her. Bella does, too.

  In this moment, with some distance and perception, the thought of a gun under Virginia’s mattress doesn’t seem as ominous as it did earlier. Bella is no longer convinced Virginia knew she was snooping. Perhaps her own guilty conscience read dark undertones into a perfectly innocent comment.

  As for the gun, Virginia is a tough cookie, and she’s worried that her cousin and his fiancée might be in danger. She might be armed, but it doesn’t mean she’s dangerous to anyone other than the person who might harm someone she loves.

  Spotting Bella, Virginia waves her closer. Parker, also with a cigarette in his hand, quickly stubs it out.

  “What are you doing?” he asks Bella.

  “I’m taking a few photos of the setting for the owner.”

  “Not of us, I hope.”

  “Mr. Henpeck here is afraid his wife-to-be will catch him smoking!” Virginia says with a laid-back laugh. “Here, we’ll pose for you, Isabella. It’s been years since we’ve had a photo taken together, hasn’t it, Parker?”

  “Years,” he agrees tersely, undoubtedly thinking that Johneen won’t take kindly to a framed shot of him with Virginia, with or without a cigarette in his hand.

  “You don’t have to look so thrilled about it,” his cousin teases him as Bella takes aim. “Stop scowling.”

  “I’m not scowling. I’m squinting. I’ve misplaced my sunglasses.”

  “They’re in the kitchen.” Bella steps toward the lake to get the whole guesthouse in the background. “You look great. Put your heads a little closer together and say cheese.”

  Virginia cheerfully obliges. Parker doesn’t say cheese, but he does smile for the photo.

  “I’d better get back to the house,” Bella says. “I’ve got a million things to do, but everything is coming together.”

  Virginia clears her throat. “Wait, Isabella.”

  Uh-oh.

  The lighthearted tone has evaporated. This is where Virginia accuses her of snooping in her room.

  “Yes?”

  “I know Parker told you the ring is missing, and he mentioned a letter you’d received about the wedding. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure,” she says, feeling vaguely uncomfortable, despite her relief that it’s not about the gun. It sounds almost as if they suspect Bella herself of taking the ring, and . . . what? Making up the letter to deflect suspicion?

  Virginia’s questions are in the same vein as Parker’s were earlier, though more pointed and efficient. She wants to know who might have had access to the keys.

  “I have both sets right here now,” Bella tells her, and takes them out of her pocket.

  “But you don’t usually, do you?”

  “No. I keep them in a drawer in my bedroom, and my bedroom is locked,” she says, pushing aside the thought that someone could have borrowed the entire set and duplicated them.

  Virginia asks whether Bella trusts the friends who have been in and out of the house. At least Virginia, unlike her cousin, doesn’t assume that they’re hired help or insinuate that they’re potential thieves, even if that’s what she’s thinking. Bella considers telling her about Nadine and her reported penchant for mischief when Leona Gatto was living here. But that might make Virginia think she’s just trying to deflect suspicion from herself with a crazy story about a resident ghost.

  “If you’re sure that no one you know could have taken the ring,” Virginia says, “and Parker is reasonably sure the other guests are innocent, then it had to be an outsider. Those tunnels everyone was talking about earlier . . . do any of them lead into the honeymoon suite?”

  “No. I mean, not that I know of,” she adds, reasonably sure of it, though in an old house like this, there can always be surprises. “Couldn’t Parker just have misplaced the ring or forgotten it back home? Why assume it was a thief?”

  Virginia and Parker exchange a glance. He gives a slight nod, as if to tell her it’s okay—that Bella already knows about Johneen’s jealous ex.

  “We have reason to believe someone doesn’t want the wedding to take place. We’re worried that he’s here in Lily Dale, and . . .” Again, she looks at Parker, as if for permission.

  “He might be dangerous,” Parker tells Bella.

  “And you think he wrote the letter? And broke in here and stole the ring?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Well, you did mention that it was gold with diamonds, from Tiffany. It was obviously valuable, and anyone would know that just by stumbling across the box itself.”

  “So you’re saying it’s likely that a random burglar off the street managed to get into our suite and—”

  “No!” Bella cuts him off hastily. “Of course not. This is a safe town, and the guesthouse is always secure. I’m just trying to say . . .”

  She trails off, not even sure what she’s trying to say.

  “Mom!” Max shouts from the house. “Hey, Mom! Where are you?”

  “Outside,” she calls back, then looks at Parker and Virginia. “It’s my son.”

  “Go ahead and take care of him,” Virginia t
ells her. “I’m sorry to ask all these questions. We’re just concerned.”

  Perhaps rightfully so.

  Hearing the back door open, Bella sees Max in the doorway with Millicent behind him.

  She’d forgotten all about her mother-in-law.

  “Go ahead,” Virginia urges her again, gesturing at Max, who’s waving his arms wildly. “It looks urgent.”

  Yes, it does. Bella hurries toward the house, promising herself she’ll get the letter and bring it back outside to show them.

  “I’m hungry for breakfast,” Max announces.

  “Oh, sweetie . . . it’s almost lunchtime.”

  “But I didn’t have any breakfast yet.”

  Feeling a familiar twinge of bad-mom guilt, she expects reproach from her mother-in-law, but it doesn’t come.

  “Come on back inside,” Bella says, “and we’ll see what we can find for you.”

  In the kitchen, Odelia is rinsing salad greens at the sink. Though Millicent shoots her a wary look, she’s not as stiff as she was earlier. Her makeup has faded a bit, softening her features, and her brown slacks are covered in short, silvery strands of fur.

  Did her mother-in-law actually have kittens on her lap?

  “How about some cereal?” Bella asks Max.

  “I can’t find any.”

  Probably because the cabinets are cluttered with wedding reception ingredients. Bella sighs, opening one to look. A box of crackers topples onto the equally cluttered counter and sends a paring knife over the edge. It skitters across the floor, landing a few inches from Millicent’s pumps.

  She looks down, then up at Bella, her expression slightly alarmed.

  “Oops, I’m so sorry. That was an accident.” Bella scoops it up.

  Not looking entirely convinced, Millicent says, “I know you’re busy here. I can take Max out to eat.”

  Rarely treated to a restaurant meal, Max promptly shouts, “Yes!”

  “Splendid,” Millicent says, as if it’s all settled. “Isabella, if you can you point me toward a nice restaurant for brunch, we’ll be on our way. I’ll need to borrow a car.”

  Given the circumstances, Bella isn’t comfortable with the idea of her mother-in-law driving away with her son. Nor, though, does she want him here at the guesthouse if Johneen’s stalker is lurking.

  “Why don’t you just walk over to Solstice Bistro right here in the Dale?”

  The suggestion comes from Odelia, and Bella is grateful. The recently opened café probably doesn’t meet Millicent’s definition of nice, or most people’s definition of bistro. Nor does it serve a traditional brunch.

  “Perfect! Max loves their hash browns,” Bella says, “and there’s a playground right across the way, so maybe you can walk over there afterward.”

  “Can we, Grandma?”

  She hesitates, then nods. “Of course we can.”

  Off they go, hand in hand.

  “They seem to have hit it off,” Odelia tells Bella. “Maybe she’ll decide to move here, too.”

  “I doubt that.”

  If you only knew what she thinks of Lily Dale.

  But now isn’t the time for talking. She hurries upstairs. In the Rose Room, she plugs in her phone on the night table and feeds Chance and the kittens. Then, picking up the phone again, she composes a quick e-mail to Grant Everard.

  His messages to her are always short and businesslike, signed with just his initials. She follows suit, typing at an awkward angle because the phone is attached to the cord.

  Attached, please find a few photos of the setting for the wedding today. More to come! I.J.

  She adds the files, hits Send, and sets the phone aside. Then she opens the night-table drawer to retrieve the folded sheet of paper so that she can show it to Parker and Virginia.

  It isn’t there.

  It must have gotten wedged against the top. She feels around.

  Where is it?

  Heart pounding, she fumbles through the significant clutter in the drawer. Most of the contents, like a pair of reading glasses, a bottle of prescription pills, and a small, crystal stone, belonged to the room’s previous occupant. Grant had instructed Bella to bag and donate Leona’s clothing to charity over the summer, but he wants to go through everything else himself.

  Bella is certain she left the letter stashed in the drawer, but it appears to have vanished. There’s no way she herself moved it and then forgot, is there?

  No. Absolutely not. She wouldn’t forget something that important, although . . .

  Didn’t she just tell Parker he might have done exactly that with the wedding ring?

  It’s a stressful time . . .

  Yes, it’s been a long and hectic day. Is it any wonder she’s losing track of her possessions?

  She did take the spare set of keys out of the drawer a little while ago. She’d been in a hurry. She must have taken the letter, too, by accident.

  Farfetched, but . . .

  She checks her pocket. It isn’t there.

  All right, well, maybe she dropped it downstairs or outside when she took out her phone or the keys.

  Yes, or it was Nadine.

  Except you don’t believe in ghosts.

  Someone crept in here and stole it from the drawer while she was outside.

  Spooked, she darts a glance around. The room appears in order—as much as it can with kittens romping around.

  Walking over to the closet, she checks the panel at the back wall and finds it slightly askew. Didn’t she straighten it earlier?

  The cats could have knocked it out of place again . . .

  Or an intruder did, she thinks, and fear prickles the skin at the back of her neck.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dashing downstairs, Bella finds Odelia rearranging the contents of the refrigerator to make room for the salad.

  I have to tell her. I have to tell someone.

  But before she can blurt it, the back door opens and Parker steps into the house. Spotting Bella, he asks, “Did you say my sunglasses were here somewhere?”

  “Yes, they’re . . .” She looks over at the windowsill, half-expecting to see that they, too, have gone missing. But there they are, right where she left them.

  She hands them over, wondering if he can see her hand trembling, and he tucks them into his shirt pocket.

  “Where’s Virginia?” she asks, wondering if she can get the two of them alone again for a moment.

  “She went off to buy more cigarettes. She’s running low. Stress makes her smoke more. I’m going to go upstairs and see how Daisy is feeling.” He turns on his heel.

  About to trail him out of the room, Bella hears a cry and a crash behind her.

  She turns to see a shattered jar of blueberry jam at Odelia’s feet in front of the open fridge. Purplish goo oozes from shattered glass and is spattered across the floor, the lower cabinets, and—uh-oh—the bottom of Parker’s trousers.

  With a curse, he bolts from the room.

  “I’m so sorry!” Odelia calls after him as his footsteps hurry up the stairs. She looks at Bella. “It was an accident. I don’t know if I knocked it off the shelf, or if Nadine did, or one of the others.”

  That gives Bella pause. Others, meaning last night’s ghostly party crashers?

  “Are they . . . here?”

  “Of course.” Odelia nods as if Bella asked her if today is Saturday. “There’s a lot of nervous energy in the house today. But I warned them to behave themselves.”

  Bella grabs a roll of paper towels and unspools a length. “Oh, no, Odelia. You’ve got jelly all over you, too.”

  “It’s okay. I’m going to change for the ceremony.”

  “But it stains. You need to go change and get those slacks into the washing machine,” she says as a loud knock sounds on the front door.

  “Go get it.” Odelia takes the paper towels.

  “But your clothes are—”

  “They’re fine. Go.”

  Bella goes, feeling as though she’s bei
ng propelled through this day at breakneck pace, unable to resolve one thing before another pops up.

  As she makes her way to the front of the house, she keeps an eye out for the folded paper she might have dropped from her pocket, though common sense tells her it probably happened outside . . .

  Or perhaps one of Odelia’s “others” took it?

  That’s not common sense at all, she reminds herself sternly.

  After she deals with whoever is at the door, she’ll run outside and search. It must be there. It has to be there.

  As she reaches for the doorknob, it occurs to her that she shouldn’t just blindly open it. What if the stalker is there, crazed and dangerous? Do stalkers knock?

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, luv.”

  Bella sighs inwardly. A crazed and dangerous stalker might be quicker and easier.

  She opens the door to Pandora Feeney, still wearing her bathrobe from this morning.

  “I know you’re not expecting me until later, luv, but I’ve been troubled since you left. I had to come ’round and see if I could make sense of it.”

  “Make sense of what?”

  “Spirit isn’t pleased at all.”

  “Spirit isn’t pleased with what?”

  “With this. Today. The wedding.” Still standing on the other side of the screen, Pandora reaches for the doorknob with a bony hand.

  Bella grabs the knob from the inside, poised to engage in screen-door tug-of-war. It’s one thing for Parker or Johneen to have second thoughts or concerns, but Pandora is an outsider and a notorious busybody.

  “Isabella, I need to speak with the bride at once.”

  “You can’t come in here and disrupt the wedding, Pandora. Tell me what’s going on. What are you seeing?”

  “I just want to have a word with Ms. Maynard.”

  Bella shakes her head vigorously. “I’m sorry, but you’ve never even met her. You can’t barge in with unsolicited advice.”

  “It isn’t my advice. I’m just the messenger.”

  Ah, but if anyone could kill a messenger, it’s Johneen Maynard. And if any messenger could incite a violent reaction from a complete stranger courtesy of sheer gall, it’s Pandora Feeney.