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"When you say that there's a bonfire in the ballroom, what do you mean exactly?" I asked my best friend, Richard Gerard. Even though he owned what was arguably the best catering company in Washington, D.C., and had plenty of weddings of his own, Richard had agreed to help me with the huge Persian wedding I was planning at the Mayflower Hotel.
The prestigious Grace Ormonde Wedding Style magazine was covering the event for its spring issue, and thanks to Richard the word had spread around town faster than it took for his spray-on tan to set. He said that if I could pull off a wedding this elaborate, it would put my company, Wedding Belles, on the Who's Who list of wedding planners for good. Naturally he would be the caterer of choice for all my weddings once I hit the big time.
"You know very well that I'm not given to dramatics, Annabelle." Richard fanned himself with a lime green and hot pink striped silk handkerchief. "I meant exactly what I said. The father of the groom is building himself a bonfire in the middle of the room."
I motioned for Richard to lower his voice. We stood near the bank of brass elevators in the brightly decorated hotel lobby. A lighted green garland was draped from the balconies that overlooked the gilded lobby, and a Christmas tree decorated entirely with wide swaths of deep red silk and burgundy organza stood across from us, next to the wooden concierge desk. The hotel seemed even busier than usual with holiday visitors, and people were beginning to stare at us. I hoped they weren't wedding guests.
"Just when I thought this day couldn't get much worse," I grumbled. "I already had a run-in with Carolyn Crabbe."
Richard's eyes widened. "The Grand Dame of wedding planning spoke to you?"
"If you consider warning me to stay out of her way a conversation. This must be Wedding Planner Central today because I also bumped into Gail Gordan and Byron Wolfe."
Richard glanced around him and winced. "I hate it when there are multiple weddings at the same site. That means multiple brides and wedding planners."
"Hello?" I said. "I'm a wedding planner, remember?"
"I don't mean you, darling. You're perfection. But Gail and Byron are too puffed up for my taste. You'd think they were the only planners in town doing high-end parties."
"Well, they were both perfectly nice to me. Maybe a bit stressed, but their bride was running late to the church so I understood completely. Carolyn was out and out mean."
"Did she threaten you with her pointer?"
"She really uses a pointer? I thought that was just a story people had made up to make her seem scarier."
Richard leaned in. "The last I heard, she was still using one of those expandable metal pointers to direct vendors at weddings."
I gulped. "No, she didn't threaten me with her pointer. Yet."
"I wouldn't worry about her. She's just jealous that your wedding is getting media attention and her wedding is in the smallest ballroom in the hotel." Richard gave a dismissive wave with his hands. "All the big wigs in the industry earned their chops being tormented by her. Trust me, darling. Being threatened by Carolyn Crabbe is a step in the right direction."
"That's one way to look at it." I rubbed my temples. "I'm still going to steer clear of her. Now how far along has our father of the groom gotten with his bonfire?"
Richard placed a hand on his hip. "I don't know. He's got wood in a pile. Do I look like I was a Boy Scout to you?"
"Not exactly," I admitted.
"I mean, really." He gave a quiet snicker. "Can you imagine me in a green polyester uniform?"
"I think the Girl Scouts wear green, not the Boy Scouts."
"Then do I look like I was a Girl Scout?" Richard held up a hand before I could speak. "Don't even think of answering that. All I know is that the man is hell-bent on starting a fire."
"I guess he isn't in favor of the marriage." I tucked a few loose strands of long auburn hair back into my wilted French twist. We'd been running around the hotel for the past six hours getting ready for the wedding, and I knew I looked as frazzled as I felt. I was glad that I'd worn one of my comfortable and practical black pantsuits with a shimmery silk top the color of cranberries. I didn't think I could bear wearing a dress and heels for this long.
Richard ran a hand through his dark, choppy hair. "Apparently he's paying tribute to his ancient Zoroastrian heritage. A sacred flame is one of their wedding traditions."
"Whatever happened to traditions like throwing rice?" I muttered, wondering why I couldn't have one wedding where someone didn't forget the marriage license, leave the wedding dress in a taxi, or set the ballroom on fire.
"They're throwing rice?" My assistant, Kate, stepped out of the elevator in front of us with her ten page wedding schedule in hand. Kate's blond bob had lost its usual bounce and her pink lipstick had worn off. Although she also wore black, her short black cocktail dress and cropped jacket could never be considered conservative. No matter how many hours we were on our feet, Kate dressed to show off her legs and her absurdly expensive high heels. I could bet money that she was the only wedding planner in town who worked in Jimmy Choos. "When did that get added to the schedule?"
"I'd like to see people throw rice again." Richard tapped his chin. "Kitsch is in, you know."
I rolled my eyes. "There's no rice."
Kate shoved her schedule in the pocket of her black jacket. "Good. If I have to make any more marks on my timeline, I won't be able to see the paper."
To Love and To Perish
Excerpted from To Love and to Perish: An Annabelle Archer Mystery by Laura Durham
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
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