Better Off Wed Read online

  Better Off Wed

  An Annabelle Archer Wedding Planner Mystery

  Laura Durham

  Broadmoor Books

  Contents

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  Better Off Wed Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

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  Also by Laura Durham

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  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Winner of the Agatha Award for Best First Novel!

  Planning weddings can be murder. But stumbling across dead bodies usually isn’t on the itinerary. Can a wedding planner use her skills to discover who’s killing her clients?

  Society wedding planner Annabelle Archer is no stranger to wedding day stress, but a dead body at her latest fete takes the cake. When suspicion falls on her best friend and caterer Richard Gerard, she knows she must find the real culprit before his career is ruined along with her reputation for solving problems. But it’s no easy feat since the slain mother-of-the-bride was the most hated socialite in the city. As Annabelle navigates DC’s powerful social scene to unmask the culprit, there’s no telling how many more victims the killer will claim or if Annabelle and her friends will be among them.

  Chapter 1

  Planning a wedding can be murder. Planning weddings for a living is nothing short of suicide.

  “Is there a patron saint for wedding consultants? Because I think after this wedding, I just might meet the requirements.” I stood near the top of the wide marble staircase that swept down the middle of the Corcoran Gallery of Art’s central foyer. Below me, dozens of tuxedo-clad waiters scurried around the enormous hall filled end to end with tables and gold ladder-backed chairs. After having draped ivory chiffon into swags on all forty tables, I massaged the red indentations left on my fingers by the heavy pins.

  “Annabelle, darling, I may be a lapsed Catholic, but I’m pretty sure you have to be dead to qualify for sainthood.” Richard Gerard had been one of my closest friends since I arrived in Washington, DC three years ago and started Wedding Belles. At the time he’d been the only top caterer who’d bother talking to a new wedding planner. Now I worked with him almost exclusively.

  “The wedding isn’t over yet.”

  “At least your suffering hasn’t been in vain.” Richard motioned at the room below us. “It’s divine.”

  The museum’s enormous hall did look magical. The side railings of the staircase were draped with a floral garland, leading to a pair of enormous white rose topiaries flanking the bottom of the stairs. Amber light washed each of the three-story limestone columns bordering the room, and white organza hung from the ceiling, creating sheer curtains that were tied back at each column with clusters of ivory roses.

  “I just hope the MOB is happy.” My smile disappeared as I thought of the Mother of the Bride, Mrs. Clara Pierce. I started down the stairs to double-check the tables.

  “I don’t think she does ‘happy.’” Richard followed, his long legs catching up to me quickly.

  “If I’d known she would make my life so miserable, I wouldn’t have taken this wedding.” I brushed a long, auburn strand of hair out of my face and tucked it back into my tight bun. I wore my hair up to make me look older and more experienced, but it didn’t make me feel any different. I still got butterflies in my stomach at every wedding I planned.

  “You must be kidding, darling.” Richard lowered his voice as we reached the floor, and a waiter walked past us. “This event is your ticket to all the big society weddings.”

  “If society weddings mean more women like Mrs. Pierce, then I’m not interested.” I leaned over the table closest to me and smoothed one of the organza bow napkin ties.

  “Well, sure, she’s been difficult. . .” Richard came behind me and fluffed the bow back up.

  “Difficult?” I narrowed my eyes at Richard and picked up another napkin. “I had to drive her fifteen-year-old, incontinent poodle to the church this afternoon.”

  “Her dog was a guest?”

  “Not a guest. The ring bearer.” I watched as Richard began to shake with laughter. “Turns out there wasn’t enough room in the limousine for the wedding party and Muffles, so I got the honors.”

  “Look at the bright side.” Richard ran a hand through his dark, choppy hair. “You’re barely thirty, and you beat out all those older consultants for this wedding.”

  “Probably because I charge less than they do. The first thing I’m doing on Monday is raising my rates.” I picked up an unlit votive candle, and Richard produced a long butane lighter from his suit pocket.

  “Then we’re going shopping.” Richard gave me the once-over and shook the flame of the lighter at me. “If I see you in one more pantsuit, I’m going to cry.”

  “But they’re so practical for working.” I looked down at my “lucky” navy-blue suit. “Lucky” because the long jacket covered up the fact that I’d been eating way too much takeout. “And this one is silk.”

  “It’s a blend.” Richard shook his head as he rubbed the fabric of my jacket lapel between his fingers. “If you want to be an A-list wedding planner, then we’re going to have to dress you like one.”

  “Fine. As long as you promise not to go overboard.”

  “When would I ever go overboard?” The spread collar of Richard’s fuchsia-and-green Versace shirt peeked out from underneath his black four-button suit.

  My eyes darted to his neck, and I cleared my throat.

  “You don’t like the shirt?” Richard extended his arm so I could see the French cuffs. “It looks just darling with my white linen suit. I’d have worn that tonight, but I never wear white before Memorial Day.”

  “Thank God for small favors.”

  “Speaking of doing favors, I’m also going to take you to the makeup counter. What’s the use of having great cheekbones if you don’t accentuate them?”

  “I appreciate the flattery, but you know I don’t like to wear lots of makeup.”

  “No kidding.” Richard studied my face. “I’m amazed you look half decent with that drugstore garbage. Imagine how great you’d look if you used a designer line.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “It would be cruel to tease me.” Richard formed his lips into a pout.

  “If there’s any teasing to be done, I should be the one to do it.” My assistant, Kate, came down the staircase behind us, her high heels clicking on each step. Kate always wore heels to weddings to show off her legs and make her look taller. She said you never knew whom you might see at a wedding, and I was pretty sure she didn’t mean old family friends.

  “How’s it going upstairs?” Richard asked. The nearly four hundred guests were being served cocktails on the upper level of the museum, which overlooked t
he foyer.

  “Well, the sushi chefs almost quit because Mrs. Pierce timed them and took notes on their presentation.”

  “That damn notebook again.” I rubbed my temples with my index fingers. “I can’t believe she actually brought it to her daughter’s wedding.”

  “Have you ever heard of someone making notes each time you do something she doesn’t like?” Kate put a hand on my arm for support as she stepped out of her heels.

  “There are a lot of things I’d never heard of before I became a wedding planner,” I said. “After working for Mrs. Pierce, I’ve seen it all.”

  “Tell me about it.” Kate flicked her short blond hair off her face. I noticed her perfectly painted nails and instinctively hid my hands behind my back. I couldn’t remember the last time I had my nails done. “She finally left the sushi guys alone, and I haven’t seen her harassing anybody else.”

  “Annabelle Archer!” A shrill voice came from above us.

  “I spoke too soon.” Kate fumbled with her shoes as she tried to wedge her feet back into them. We all turned around to greet Mrs. Pierce as she barreled unsteadily down the stairs toward us, a mass of overly bouffant blond hair and turquoise chiffon.

  “Lord have mercy, she’s drunk as a skunk!” Richard scurried out of her way. She plowed past us, pulling me by the sleeve as she went.

  “I have some additional changes to make in the seating.” Her words slurred as she staggered against the tables, craning to read the names on each place card. I averted my eyes at the mass of wrinkled cleavage barely contained by her strapless gown as she leaned over.

  “The invitation clearly said ‘black tie,’ but there are some women here in pants, if you can imagine the nerve.” She cut her eyes to me and appraised my outfit. “Of course it doesn’t matter what you wear because you’re just the help, but I won’t have shabby guests sitting near my table.”

  “You want to change the names around now?” I felt a wave of panic begin to rise as I looked at my watch.

  “Change names?” Mrs. Pierce paused then gave a harsh laugh. “Yes, that’s exactly right. There will be plenty of name changing at this wedding. The ambassador does not go at this seat. . .”

  “But Mrs. Pierce.” I cringed as she knocked a water glass over. “The cocktail hour ends in ten minutes, and the guests have already picked up their table cards. I’m sorry, but it’s too late . . .”

  Clara Pierce stopped me with a sharp snap of her fingers and turned to face me. I could feel my face begin to burn. After staring at me for a few seconds, she produced her notebook with a flourish and scrawled my name on the top page.

  “You’ve turned out to be a great disappointment, Miss Archer. We’ll discuss this matter later.” She zigzagged her way back up the staircase.

  “How much longer until it’s all over?” I asked Kate, squeezing my hands into tight fists by my side.

  “Four hours and six minutes, to be exact.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Annie.” Richard patted my arm. “She’s so drunk she probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow morning.”

  Kate punched a fist into her open palm. “I’d love to beat her to death with that tiny notebook of hers.”

  “That would take forever.” I picked up a votive candle that Mrs. Pierce had doused with water and sighed.

  “That’s the whole point, sugar.” Richard winked at me. “Now I’ve got to go check on the kitchen. We’re supposed to invite guests downstairs in five. Are we still on schedule?”

  I managed a smile. “Always.”

  “Good.” Richard started down the stairs. “I’ll tell the chef.”

  “Do you have your itinerary?” I asked Kate when Richard walked out of earshot. “I think I lost mine again.”

  Kate rolled her eyes.

  “I know, I know. I always leave my schedule lying around.” I searched my pockets. “I remember having it during the family portrait session in the Salon Dore.”

  “The room in the back that looks like it’s been hosed down in gold foil?” Kate started downstairs. “Well, let’s go get it before the guests start coming down for dinner.”

  “We’ll go through the rear galleries. It’s faster and we don’t have to push past all the waiters.” I started walking up the staircase and stopped so Kate could catch up. “I can’t wait until this night is over.”

  “You say that at every wedding!” Kate followed me up the stairs toward the back galleries.

  “But this time I really mean it, Kate.” I reached a hand up to rub my neck. “I don’t care how high-profile this wedding is anymore. It’s not worth it!”

  “If we survived melting wax to seal three hundred envelopes with the Pierce family crest, we can take a few more hours of this.” Kate held up the finger I’d accidentally poured hot wax all over.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. Kate put an arm around my shoulder as we reached the landing between the foyer and the upper level. I could see that the cocktail hour was in full swing above us. The sound of the Dixieland jazz group we’d flown up from New Orleans could barely be heard over the din of the crowd. Body-to-body guests. Almost everyone in black. A typical Washington wedding.

  “We never did talk about worker’s comp,” she continued as I raised my eyebrows. “All I’m asking for is one Friday night off to go out on a real weekend date.”

  “With the congressional aide?” I found it difficult to keep track of Kate’s social life.

  “No, I’m off politics for a while. This one’s a lobbyist.”

  “How do you meet all these men?” Kate’s ability to put in a sixty-hour workweek and still have an active social life amazed me. I felt lucky if I had time to water my plants.

  “I don’t find them.” Kate shrugged, grinning. “They find me.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot you’re the innocent bystander.” I started to walk through the rotunda at the top of the landing. The lights in the back of the museum were turned off to discourage guests from wandering, and the room got dimmer as we walked. “Okay, I’ll run next week’s rehearsal, and you can take the night off.”

  “You’re the greatest!” Kate hurried behind me. “I’ll cover for you one night, if you ever want to go out.”

  “That’s a pretty safe offer.”

  “Are you sure we should be going this way?” Kate held onto my sleeve. “The big statue back here always gives me the creeps.”

  “I think when it’s this expensive they call it a sculpture.”

  Kate ignored my comment. “Why don’t you let me introduce you to someone? How about the assistant to the assistant of the White House chief of staff? He’s too tame for me, but he’d be perfect for you.”

  “Thanks, Kate, but I’m too busy to get involved with anyone.”

  We reached the top of the staircase that led down to more of the back galleries, and each held on to one of the side railings as we descended.

  “Who said anything about getting involved?” Kate’s clicking heels were like sonar pings on the dimly lit stairs.

  “Then I’m definitely too busy!”

  “Come on, Annabelle, you haven’t been out with anyone since that doctor who moved to Algeria last year.”

  “Armenia.”

  “Close enough.”

  “They’re not even on the same continent!”

  We reached a small landing, and I could make out the final few stairs barely illuminated by the red-and-blue glow of a stained-glass window on display.

  “We’re going to kill ourselves.” Kate started down ahead of me and then let out a small scream as she went sprawling off the last step and onto the floor.

  “Are you hurt?” I knelt down next to her, my concern mixed with slight vindication that her absurdly high heels had finally gotten the best of her.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “It can’t be that bad, Kate. You probably just twisted your ankle.”

  “No, not that. I mean her." She pointed behind me, and I turned to see a woman’
s body crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

  The woman’s neck twisted so sharply that, even though she lay on her stomach, I could see the contorted wide-eyed expression on her face glowing in a mottled pattern of red-and-blue light from the stained glass.

  Oh, God. I never meant it. Though I’d wished for it more times than I could remember over the past year, I’d never imagined it would happen. Not really.

  The mother of the bride was dead.

  Chapter 2

  I pulled Kate to her feet as a waiter appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Get Richard,” I called out. My mouth felt numb. “And make sure no guests come down here.” Kate and I walked slowly up to the landing.

  “Go ahead, Kate. I’ll wait for Richard.”

  “I’m not going to leave you here.” Kate motioned behind us. “With her.”

  “Just make sure nobody else comes back this way. We don’t want to start a panic.”

  Kate paused, and I gave her a push. “Go on, and find a light switch.”

  She started shakily toward the main staircase, where guests began to filter downstairs for dinner. I watched her fumble along the wall and find the switch for the ambient lighting recessed high in the ceiling. It gave the room a dim glow. Better than being in the dark at least.

  When Richard appeared, Kate whispered something to him and he hurried toward me.

  “What’s Kate babbling about? What’s going on? Who hit a big one?”