Dead Ringer Read online

  Dead Ringer

  An Annabelle Archer Wedding Planner Mystery Novella

  Laura Durham

  Broadmoor Books

  Contents

  Book 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

  Free Book!

  Sneak Peek of Book #4

  Also by Laura Durham

  Leave a Review

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  *Agatha Award-winning Series!*

  * * *

  A glamorous bridal show. A sophisticated jewelry heist. Can Annabelle track down the baubles and nab a burglar?

  Wedding planner Annabelle Archer knows that the only thing as crazy as a wedding day is a bridal show. When DC’s most stylish bridal showcase is disrupted by a jewelry heist and a quarter of a million dollars worth of diamond rings disappear, Annabelle and her team are determined to find the bling to help the jeweler and save the show. One problem: the jewelry was stolen during a blackout and no one saw a thing. With the clock counting down to show time, Annabelle and her sassy assistant, Kate, must hunt for a sophisticated jewel thief and unravel a clever caper.

  Chapter 1

  “Where are you?” I asked, holding my phone against my ear and carrying a pair of overstuffed canvas bags in my other hand. The hotel elevator had deposited me on the basement level of the W Hotel and I sidestepped cardboard boxes, bolts of gold sequined fabric, and bright orange buckets of flowers as I made my way to the ballroom.

  “We’re in the middle section about halfway down,” Kate’s voice crackled through the phone. The W Hotel sat right across from the White House, and I wondered if this had anything to do with the dodgy cell reception or if it was merely a basement issue.

  The modern hotel had once been one of the oldest historic hotels in the city, the Hotel Washington, but after declining for many years, had been snapped up by a ritzy hotel group and refashioned into a sleek W Hotel. The classic lobby with brocade settees had been replaced by the Living Room with a black-and-white tile floor, a 360-degree bar that pumped out club music, and a virtual fireplace projected onto a flat screen. The rooftop, with its impressive open-air view of the White House and frequent sightings of the president’s helicopter detail, had become a highly selective spot for cocktails, featuring willowy women in skimpy black dresses as gatekeepers. I never felt quite hip enough to be at the W.

  “Okay, I’ll see you in a second.” I slipped my phone into the pocket of my jeans and shifted one of the heavy bags to my now-free hand. I stepped carefully down the staircase that led from the elevator bank to the ballroom level, avoiding the lighting crew on tall ladders at the bottom. Almost every inch of the floor was covered in boxes, crates, or tables yet to be unfolded.

  “A bridal show is even more chaotic than a wedding,” I muttered to myself as I snaked a path through the ballroom foyer. And as the owner of one of Washington DC’s top wedding planning firms, I knew firsthand how chaotic weddings could be. I passed through the propped-open double doors to the ballroom and peered across the room, which had already been divided into thirds with panels of ivory fabric that reached from floor to ceiling. A pair of modern crystal chandeliers shaped like massive, glittering cones dominated the ceiling in the long rectangular space and drew my eyes away from the set-up clutter covering the dark carpet. I spotted my assistant’s blond bob about halfway down the center, as promised. She waved at me with both hands and what appeared to be a to-go coffee in each one.

  “I hope one of those is for me,” I said to Kate, dropping the bags on the floor once I’d maneuvered across the room to reach her.

  She held out a cup ringed in a brown cardboard holder. “The Annabelle Archer signature drink: a mocha with mint.”

  “You’re the best.” I took a sip and let the warmth and caffeine do their work. “But you know that not every person needs a signature drink.” Sometimes the signature drinks and custom signage and personalized details that had taken over the wedding world were too much for me.

  “Well, you’ve got one,” she said. “And I’ve got doughnuts behind the bar.”

  “District Doughnuts?”

  She grinned at me. “Yep. The cinnamon sugar ones.”

  My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. I glanced at the eight-foot-long gold bar with mercury glass panels set against the tall fabric wall. A white-framed mirror with our Wedding Belles logo painted in gold on the reflective surface hung in the middle of the drape.

  “You’re sure about the bar?” I asked as I ducked behind it to search for the box of doughnuts. Kate had convinced me that instead of a tablescape like all the other DC wedding planners would do for their display, we should have a bar. Even though I’d started Wedding Belles five years ago and was no longer considered the new kid on the block, I still wasn’t completely comfortable being a trailblazer.

  I found the white box, grabbed a doughnut, and took a bite. The cinnamon sugar atop the warm cake doughnut made me glad I’d skipped breakfast. Not that I’d had any food worth eating in my apartment.

  “Of course I’m sure. What bride doesn’t want to belly up to a bar?” Kate hopped up onto one of the ornate gold bar stools and crossed her legs, exposing most of her legs as her black miniskirt slid up her thighs. Most people wore jeans and T-shirts to setup but Kate considered every time she stepped out of her apartment as an opportunity to meet Mr. Right. Hence the miniskirt, snug red sweater, and full makeup. I actually had to think hard to remember if I’d put on mascara after throwing my long auburn hair up into a ponytail this morning.

  “Frankly, I’m hoping for sober brides.” Richard walked up and gave me a peck on the cheek. “It would be a nice change.”

  “You’re only saying that because our last drunk bride got up on the stage and started rapping as the band was breaking down,” Kate said.

  He shuddered. “Girls that white should never rap.”

  “Doughnut?” I offered and motioned to the box.

  Richard shook his head. “I don’t need sugar all over my shirt.” He picked at a piece of non-existent lint on his crisp lavender button-down shirt. Richard was another one who didn’t do jeans and T-shirts for setup.

  Richard was the owner of Richard Gerard Catering, one of the top caterers in the city, and had been my go-to caterer and best friend since I’d hit the wedding planner scene. Richard prided himself on impeccable taste and was a stickler for good behavior. I was amazed he’d survived in weddings as long as he had.

  “Where are you set up?” I asked, giving a cursory glance around. From the pile of foliage on one side of me and the glass case on the other, it seemed like we were between a jeweler and a florist but, I didn’t see a catering setup.

  Richard swept a hand through his spiky brown hair and motioned behind the drape wall. “I’m on the dark side of the moon.”

  I patted his back. “I’m sure it won’t be so bad once all the lighting is on.”

  “You must be out of your mind, Annabelle. Anyone who’s anyone is in the center.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” I said.

  Richard narrowed his eyes at Kate. “Who did you flirt with to land a space in the middle of the room?”

  “Hey,” Kate said in her affronted tone. “I’ll have you know that the show staff is all women.”

  “And Kate would never use her feminine wiles to get us a better spot in the show,” I said with more conviction than I felt.

  “Thank you,” Kate said, then put a hand over her mouth and lowered her voice. “But you know I’d take one for the team if they had a hot guy in charge.”

  I nodded even though I didn’t think flirting with an attractive man was the strict definition of “taking one for the team.” Especially since I couldn’t seem to stop her from flirting with hot guys.

  Richard lowered his voice to a hiss. “I have a cosmetic dentist next to me.”

  “What’s wrong with dentists?” Kate asked. “I’ve dated several nice ones. They make good money.” Kate probably knew the average salary of every man she met off the top of her head.

  Richard tapped one foot on the carpet. “Nothing. Unless you’re trying to convince people to sample your crème brulee tartlets and profiteroles wrapped in spun sugar.”

  I could see his point. Sugar was a hard sell next to photos of yellowed teeth.

  He began fidgeting with one of his silver cuff links. “The only thing worse would be someone next to me offering on-site colonics.”

  Kate put her cup down on the bar. “And I’m done with the coffee.”

  “Brides are coming here to drink Champagne and eat cake,” I said. “They want to indulge. And no one can say no to your brownie meringue pops.”

  Richard allowed himself a tiny smile. “Of course they can’t. Those babies are like heaven.” He gave me a quick hug. “You always know what to say.”

  “That’s what they tell me.” I’d honed my skill of calming down skittish brides and their nervous mothers by being the voice of reason for my neurotic colleagues.

  “Well, I’d better return to my s
ide before those dental assistants run out of sugar-free gum and start eyeing my sweets display.” He disappeared around the corner of the drape.

  I stepped back and gave our bare bar a once-over. “Speaking of setting up . . .”

  “Don’t worry.” Kate slid off the bar stool. “Buster and Mack promised to drape the rose gold branches over our bar for us.”

  I gaped at the huge pile of leafy, spray-painted tree branches that nearly covered the floor next to us. “Is all of that for us?”

  “Not all of it. Buster and Mack are using some of it. The canopy will cover both of our displays.”

  “So the Mighty Morphins will be next to us?” Buster and Mack’s flower shop was called Lush, but everyone called them the Mighty Morphin Flower Arrangers.

  Kate nodded. “Isn’t it going to be fun?”

  I sipped my warm mocha, then took a bite of doughnut. Kate was right, I thought. We were hanging out with our friends, we were stocked up on sugar, and we didn’t need to get anyone down the aisle. Today was going to be fun.

  “Annabelle!” I heard my name shrieked across the room. Fern, short for Fernando, was headed my way. He’d pulled his dark hair up in a man bun and wore a velvet-green smoking jacket with a green and yellow paisley ascot. No one could say that DC’s top hairstylist didn’t make a statement.

  “Thank heavens you’re here,” he said when he reached me. His breath was ragged from either exertion or hysteria.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He pressed a hand to his chest. “I can’t work under these conditions. It’s a disaster.”

  “Take a breath.” I led him over to a bar stool to sit down. “What do you need me to do?”

  “I’m so glad you asked.” Fern collapsed onto a stool and peered at me from under the arm he’d slung across his eyes. “You and Kate are so good at organizing. I need you to help me stage a coup.”

  So much for our fun day.

  Chapter 2

  “And who are we overthrowing today?” I asked Fern as he fanned himself with a monogrammed handkerchief he’d produced from the breast pocket of his smoking jacket.

  “Christopher.”

  Kate tilted her head to one side. “Who’s Christopher?”

  “Exactly.” Fern pointed at her. “Who is he? Why is he here? Why do I have to work with another hairstylist for the fashion show?”

  Things began to click into place for me. “So you’re doing the models’ hair for the fashion show?”

  Fern flung the handkerchief over his face and tilted back on the bar stool. “Of course. I always do the hair for the show. Alone.”

  “And now you have to work with another stylist.” Fern didn’t like to share the spotlight with anyone so double billing on the biggest bridal show of the year could push him over the edge.

  He peeked at me from underneath the handkerchief. “Not just another stylist, Annabelle. A newbie. A nobody.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. Talking Fern off of the ledge was nothing new for either of us.

  “But you’re the senior stylist, right?” Kate asked. “The veteran must be the one to call the shots.”

  “Veteran?” Fern let the handkerchief fall off his face as he sat up. “That makes me sound so old and . . .” He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “So butch.”

  “You know what Kate means.” I sat down on the stool next to him. “You can use your wealth of experience to guide him. Be a mentor.”

  Fern shook his head. “Too late. He’s taken over and changed my entire style concept for the show.”

  Kate leaned one elbow on the gold bar. “How did that happen? Do the show directors know?”

  It was hard to imagine a personality as forceful as Fern’s getting steamrolled into anything. Even the most hardened bridezilla became putty in his hands once he told them to sit down and be quiet. It was a transformation I relished watching, even though I knew I could never get away with talking to brides the way he did. He was famous for lovingly calling his brides tramps and hussies, and they adored him for it. I had a pretty good feeling that I would be fired if I attempted the same tactics.

  Fern nodded, then picked up his handkerchief from his lap and dabbed at his eyes. “They’ll go along with anything this Christopher suggests.”

  Kate expression told me that she felt as perplexed as I did. Something wasn’t right about this story. Fern was a legend in the wedding-hair world and had been doing the hair for this bridal show for years.

  “What aren’t you telling us?” I asked

  “It’s too horrible.” Fern pressed his fingers to his mouth. “I can’t say it. You’ll have to meet him.”

  What could possibly be so terrible that Fern couldn’t even say it out loud? Before I could press him further, Kate looked over my shoulder and gasped. I spun around on the bar stool and saw what had caused her mouth to drop open. Diamonds.

  The jeweler next to us was putting the finishing touches on a glittering display of engagement rings inside a waist-high wood and glass case. The rings lay on cushioned black-velvet trays in perfect rows. A stack of cream-colored business cards sat on top of the case along with a bunch of pink roses bursting out of an opaque white vase shaped like a fish bowl. A sign that read “Goodman & Sons” in black swirling letters hung behind the display.

  The petite dark-haired woman who’d been arranging the rings slid the glass door to the back of the case closed and locked it with a small key. She glanced up and started when she saw Kate gaping at her.

  “Sorry,” I said. “My associate can’t help ogling your diamonds.”

  Fern whipped around in his stool, his tears seeming to dry instantly. “Diamonds?”

  “You’re welcome to look,” the woman said.

  She didn’t need to tell Kate or Fern twice. In mere seconds, they both were leaning the case. I slid down from my stool and joined them.

  “I’m Annabelle. I own Wedding Belles.”

  “I know.” The woman took the hand I held out. “I’m Lorinda Goodman. We met at the Hay-Adams Hotel’s Love Brunch.”

  As soon as she said her name I remembered sitting next to her at the annual wedding planner’s party. She’d told me about the jewelry shop she’d taken over from her father because, despite the company name, he’d never had any sons. At the brunch her long dark hair had been down, but now she wore it pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck.

  “Of course,” I said. “I thought you looked familiar. How funny that we ended up next to each other today.”

  Lorinda smiled as she walked out from behind the display case. “I have to thank you, actually. You’re the reason I’m doing the show. You said such great things about it that I signed up.”

  “Well, I hope it goes well for you. The brides who come here are usually well-qualified.” That was wedding lingo that meant they could afford luxury items like big diamonds and pricey wedding planners.

  “Excuse me, sweetie.” Fern took Lorinda’s hand and led her back to the glass case. “How many carats is that one?”

  Fern’s love of big gemstones was almost as legendary as his reputation. He owned several rings with stones large enough to make waving an ordeal. Even now he wore a blue topaz ring larger than some robin’s eggs.

  Lorinda peered into the case. “The one in the middle? That’s a three-carat cushion cut.”

  Kate and Fern both sighed and leaned in closer to the case.

  “That would look gorgeous on me,” Fern whispered to Kate, and she nodded.

  “Do you want to try it on?” Lorinda asked.

  Fern swooned against Kate and squeaked out a yes.

  Lorinda unlocked the case and gently pulled out the sparkling ring. Fern slid it onto his right ring finger.

  “It’s perfection,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Shouldn’t we be setting up, Kate, and shouldn’t Fern be doing hair?”