Deadly Traditions, page 22
As one of Flat Falls’ only wedding and event planners, I could have argued that I was more than capable of creating the ambiance she desired but decided not to risk the much-needed paycheck. So I showed up dutifully to our meetings and spent today arranging snacks on silver trays and trying to placate the woman who was determined to spend the holiday season meddling in her only son’s love life.
After Beverlee wandered off to check on the champagne, I stood back to ensure that the guests were appropriately awed as they boarded the boat. From the way their faces lit up with wonder as they took in the holiday decorations covering nearly every surface of the luxury yacht, I already considered the event a success.
Eliza stood near the front of the line to welcome people aboard, her strappy silver romper catching the lights from the trees flanking the gangway and making her look like a human disco ball. Hampton was at her side in a gauzy white button-up shirt that hung loose over fitted khaki pants. His floppy, sun-bleached hair and tan leather flip-flops were an ode to beach life, despite it being near the end of December.
After greeting a pack of young women boarding the boat in short dresses and high heels, Mia joined Hampton. She leaned into him, her hands tucked into the pockets of the floral sundress that brushed against her ankles. Her long brown hair was pinned up in an elegant bun and embellished with a delicate crystal comb, and as he gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek, ideas for their wedding swirled around in my head. Although I’d only met her a few times, I could already tell that Mia would be a pleasure to work with. Unlike her future mother-in-law, I thought with an interior eye roll that didn’t match the fake smile I had plastered across my face.
Her friends, though, I could do without. The tallest of the bunch, mainly because she wore heels that provided more height than the stepstool I kept in my kitchen, gave the boat a slow once-over. Her red-lacquered lips turned downward.
“Christmas trees on a boat,” she said with a sneer. “How quaint.”
I was tempted to offer her a quick exit by tossing her overboard, but since it was my job to keep the guests happy, I grabbed a glass from a passing tray and presented it to her with a flourish. “May I offer you some champagne?”
I tried not to snicker when, eyes narrowing, she grasped the delicate stem between well-manicured fingers and studied the frozen cranberries that floated in the glass. “Is that… fruit?”
“Yes, the berries keep the champagne nice and cold,” I said. “And they look so festive, don’t you think?”
She pushed the glass back into my hand and walked away without saying a word. So much for my grand gesture.
I was about to return the glass to the galley when Mia approached. She tugged it from my fingers and took a sip. “Don’t mind Jordan—she doesn’t eat carbs.”
I was willing to overlook Jordan’s Bad-Tempered Barbie act, but only because I’d be grumpy without carbs, too. The loud clanging of a brass bell and a final boarding call from the captain signaled that the Christmas Cruise was officially underway. The deck hands threw their lines onto the dock and the High Tide’s motors rumbled to life. I gave Eliza a thumbs-up as we began the twenty-minute journey across the Intracoastal Waterway to a hidden cove where we would anchor for the rest of the evening, and I interpret her lack of a frown as whole-hearted approval.
The sun had completed its descent, and except when we crossed the wakes of the trawlers returning from a day on the Atlantic Ocean, the waves were low and steady.
The first hour passed in an uneventful blur, with guests chatting, humming along to Christmas carols, and filling their plates with tiny quiches and lobster meatballs. I watched the event from my post near the dessert bar, and Beverlee stationed herself on the side of the boat that housed the dance floor, where she had decided to watch the festivities from the arms of Hampton’s college roommate, a redhead named Chad. She flashed me a toothy grin when she twirled him across the deck.
Beverlee liked to flirt with people almost as much as she liked to mother them, so it didn’t surprise me that she had gravitated toward the younger crowd. But Chad, in his trendy bow tie and deck shoes, had no idea how to handle my vivacious aunt, and every time she whirled past me, I made a slitting motion across my neck to get her to stop. The last thing I needed was Eliza having a fit about the “hired help” mingling with her highbrow party guests, especially guests who were a third her age.
As if on cue, Eliza crossed the deck, tucking her chin-length frosted hair behind an ear and clinking on her champagne glass with a fork. The only person besides me who even noticed was Santa, and he turned a disinterested gaze back to his overflowing plate.
When clinking on her glass and stomping her foot didn’t divert the guests’ focus from the buffet line, she let out a loud screech that sounded like a wounded owl had been released on deck. More than a few people ducked and glanced up at the sky.
“May I have everybody’s attention, please?” She placed her glass on the narrow rail and clapped her hands, barely acknowledging when an errant wave shook the boat, sending her champagne tumbling into the darkened waters below.
The crowd finally settled down, and Eliza cleared her throat. “I’m so happy you joined us this evening for our annual Christmas celebration. But tonight is even more special than usual, and I’d like my son, Hampton, to tell you why.”
Hampton stepped forward, lurching slightly, either from the rolling waves or the one-too-many bottles of locally crafted beer he’d been indulging in with his buddies. After he greeted his mother with a kiss on the cheek, he swept his arm out to the crowd. His other hand clutched a beer bottle. “Thank y’all for coming tonight. As you are aware, it has been a long and busy year for our family, and I appreciate you sticking with us through the ups and downs.”
Everyone knew the Bullards had been going through some tough times since Eliza’s most recent husband croaked on the fifth green during a charity golf tournament at the Flat Falls Country Club. Nobody was surprised, of course. He had to be pushing ninety and smoked hand-rolled Cuban cigars as if it was his full-time job. But she handled his death like a champ, changing back to her maiden name and using her dead husband’s fortune to buy a beach-front mansion and a new wardrobe so she could go on the prowl for her next victim.
Hampton pressed his fist to his chest and gestured to his mother with the bottle. “First, I want to thank my mom for hosting this wonderful party. It’s great to see so many friendly faces. Let’s give her a round of applause for doing such a fantastic job.”
The crowd gave Eliza a polite acknowledgment, which she responded to as if receiving an Academy Award. She waved. She bowed. She beamed. And when she kept preening while everyone else on board had already stopped paying attention, Hampton continued his speech.
“We’ve had a lot of heartaches this year. But there have also been so many things to celebrate.” He motioned for Mia to join him, and when she stepped toward him, he wrapped his arm around her waist. “I was lucky enough to find my true love.”
Mia’s friends let out a collective romantic sigh. The one holdout was Jordan, whose pursed lips and dramatic eye roll made it look like she had just been force-fed a bucket of lemons. When another girl elbowed her, she finally forced out a polite smile.
“I’m sure many of you know my father’s family came from Germany,” Hampton went on. “And to celebrate our heritage, we had a special tradition each Christmas.” He motioned toward the Christmas tree. “When I was a child, Santa would hide a pickle ornament in the tree every Christmas morning. Whoever found it got a surprise gift and good luck for the whole next year.”
Mia’s friends inched forward, obviously ready to throw down the gauntlet Girls Gone Wild-style to find the ornament.
“Not the first time they’ve fought over a pickle, I’d wager,” Beverlee whispered as she came up beside me.
I didn’t have a chance to shush her, because Hampton seized Mia’s hand and tugged her toward the tree. “Mia, I’d like you to have the honor of finding this year’s pickle.”
Beverlee’s snicker was contagious, and I grabbed a napkin from the shrimp cocktail table to cover my mouth so nobody could see me giggling.
But Mia took it in stride. She gave Hampton a curious smile, then craned her neck to examine the tree. When she didn’t immediately locate the ornament, Hampton encouraged her with a playful push. “You don’t think it’s going to be right up front, do you?”
Soon, the entire crowd was shouting directions at her.
“To the left, Mia,” one man said.
“Check the top,” Chad suggested.
“Why don’t you come back here and sit in my lap, and I’ll help you find it?” came Santa’s booming voice.
But after fifteen minutes elapsed, Mia still hadn’t found the ornament, and the guests got tired of watching a party game they weren’t allowed to play. Even Eliza was growing impatient, and I could tell from the hawk-like focus in her gaze that she was less than a minute away from shoving her future daughter-in-law out of the way so she could produce the pickle herself.
When Mia finally discovered the green glass ornament hidden inside the branches, almost near the tree’s trunk, a collective whoosh of relief reverberated through the crowd. She raised it in triumph. “I found it.”
“What do you think your surprise is going to be?” Hampton asked, practically bouncing out of his flip-flops.
Mia shrugged and dangled it out in front of her as if she was holding a bomb. “I honestly have no idea.”
“Why don’t you open it and find out?” Hampton asked with a robust laugh, his cheeks pink and his eyes twinkling with excitement.
Mia gave him a tentative smile and flipped open the ornament’s hinge. Hampton dropped to the deck in front of her. He misjudged the distance, though, so he ended up sprawled out on the deck with his face pressed to Mia’s sandal instead of on his knee.
He righted himself, brushing his hand down the front of his shirt before turning back to Mia with his hair flopping over his cheek. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”
Eliza motioned for the photographer to start filming, then she edged past him so she would be in the frame as he captured the impending proposal.
Except there was no proposal.
Mia inspected the pickle and displayed it to the crowd, pasting a smile on her face. “It’s a lovely ornament, Hampton. Thank you.”
Hampton’s eyes widened as he looked at his mother for support. She brushed past her son and marched up to Mia, yanking the pickle from her hand. “You just need to look a little harder, dear. There’s a special gift in there…”
Eliza flipped the ornament over and shook it, then scrutinized it in front of her face when nothing came tumbling out.
“I put the ring here myself,” she said, her lip trembling. She held out the pickle as an extension of her finger, pointing it at her son, who had awkwardly risen to his feet. “Your engagement ring is gone!”
Mia whipped her head back and forth between Hampton and Eliza. “My what?”
But Eliza dismissed her with the flick of a wrist and marched over to me, her pickle hand still extended. “What is the meaning of this?”
The crowd went quiet, and even Santa stopped shoving crab wontons into his mouth long enough to stare.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mrs. Bullard.” My voice came out steadier than it felt as my insides bounced around like they were being tossed about in hurricane-force waves. I motioned to the tree. “You handled the surprise yourself.”
Her glare turned accusing. “But you were one of the few people who knew about it.”
Which wasn’t actually true. She had been bragging about the evening’s plans to anyone who would listen. I even saw her flashing a photo of the ring to Hampton’s old baseball coach over a plate of goat cheese crostini.
My fists clenched. Despite being taught the customer was always right, I couldn’t allow the loss of a gaudy piece of jewelry to tarnish my already semi-rusted reputation as a wedding planner. It wasn’t my fault crimes kept happening at my events.
Luckily, Beverlee was nearby, and she swooped in with a reassuring pat on Eliza’s shoulder. “I’ll bet it just took a tumble onto the deck. How about we all help you find it?” Beverlee said, her Southern accent even thicker than normal. She only pulled out the extended drawl when she was trying to get free guacamole at Fat Hectors or defuse an oncoming brawl.
Fortunately, it worked as well on crotchety, uptight social climbers as it did on drunk rednecks. Eliza agreed, and, within seconds, most of the guests were shining the lights from their cell phones into every nook and cranny on the High Tide.
As Beverlee edged closer to the buffet table, I wrapped my fingers around her wrist and pulled her toward me. “We have to find that ring,” I whispered through a fake smile.
“Why? It’s much more exciting this way. And I’m kind of enjoying watching Eliza Bullard pretend she’s not about to throw up all over her expensive suede pumps. I mean, really. Who wears shoes like that on a boat?” Beverlee scoffed.
“We have to find it because the last wedding I planned ended up featuring a corpse.” I shuddered. “I don’t want to add suspected jewel thief to my list of business accomplishments.”
Just then, Eliza stormed up to us, her cheeks as red as Santa’s suit. “I have called the authorities,” she said. “And I have also instructed the captain to return the boat to the Flat Falls marina.”
I inhaled slowly through my nose. Beverlee had seen on television that it helped to ward off stress-induced headaches. “Eliza, there’s no need to end your party early. I’m sure the ring just fell out of the pickle. Give us a minute, and we’ll locate it for you.”
“It didn’t just fall out!” she snapped, her voice getting louder with each word. “It was stolen.”
“Nobody hijacked your pickle, Eliza,” I said, irritation rising in my chest.
She narrowed her gaze. “We’ll let the authorities determine that. When they discover the ring was swiped on your watch, that will be the end of you and your little party business. And you’d better believe I’ll be expecting a full refund.”
She stomped away before I could react, but Beverlee had never refused an opportunity to confront a bully, so when she tucked her chin like she was heading into a roller derby, I clutched her arm. “We have more important things to worry about than Eliza’s gloomy personality.”
“Such as?”
The boat rocked as the captain started the engines and began the journey back to shore. “Well, for starters, we probably have less than twenty minutes to find that ring before we get back to the dock, and Hollis joins the party.”
Hollis Goodnight, the Flat Falls police chief, had been a fixture in my life since I was a child, probably because he was half in love with Beverlee. But during my rebellious teenage years, I spent more than my fair share of time on the wrong side of his desk receiving lectures for everything from stealing bubble gum from the hardware store to getting caught making out with a loser under the bleachers during a high school football game.
Hollis had kept me on the straight and narrow, and I adored him, but I didn’t want him anywhere near this Christmas party.
Beverlee unzipped her purse and rummaged through the contents, finally scooping out her cell phone with a triumphant wave. “I can call him to see if he can speed it up a bit.”
“No!” I snatched the phone out of her hand. “We need to keep him off this boat.”
“Why?” she asked, squinting her eyes as she studied me.
“Because every time I organize an event, Hollis has to swoop in and pick up the pieces. My business cards should read, ‘Carolina Weddings, Your One-Stop Shop for Party Planning and Criminal Activities.’”
She considered that for a moment as if it was a viable business plan but finally patted my arm. “All those dead bodies weren’t your fault, Glory.”
Shivering, I recalled how many of my recent weddings had resulted in somebody kicking the bucket.
“We need to find that ring before he gets here, so yet another party foul doesn’t go on my record.” I pulled her toward the tree and crouched down, using my cell phone as a flashlight. “Help me look.”
We searched the area around the tree for a few minutes, and then Beverlee stood, her hands at the base of her spine. “I’m going to need a massage after this. Maybe I should find that young fellow I was dancing with earlier.”
“What if she was right?” I asked, choosing to ignore how she craned her neck to scan the boat for her new friend. I drug her away from the crowd toward the now-abandoned buffet table. “Maybe the ring was stolen after all.”
She jerked her head around and took in the crowd. Some guests were still looking along the floor for the ring, while others had moved on to the upper deck to enjoy the breeze as the boat motored back toward the dock.
“Since we’ve been on the water this whole time, nobody has left the boat,” I said. “It should be easy to make a list of suspicious people.”
When Beverlee grabbed a napkin, I assumed it was because she needed somewhere to note our list of potential suspects. But instead, she piled it high with Christmas cookies and decapitated a gingerbread man with a satisfied smirk.
“Why did you eat his head first?”
“I always picture gingerbread people as the folks I don’t like, and it gives me great satisfaction to eat their faces,” she said, snapping another cookie at the neck and popping it into her mouth. “I do the same thing with chocolate Easter bunnies. So where should we start?”
I shook my head slightly to rid myself of the image of her as a cookie executioner. “My first thought is Santa.” I tilted my chin toward the man sprawled out on the sleigh with a plate of food and a bottle of champagne with no glass in sight. Now and then, he’d throw up a peace sign when someone took a selfie with him.
Beverlee gasped. “You can’t possibly think Santa had anything to do with this.”
