Marry and Bright Read online

  Marry and Bright

  Laura Durham

  Broadmoor Books

  Contents

  1. Chapter 1

  2. Chapter 2

  3. Chapter 3

  4. Chapter 4

  5. Chapter 5

  6. Chapter 6

  7. Chapter 7

  8. Chapter 8

  9. Chapter 9

  10. Chapter 10

  11. Chapter 11

  12. Chapter 12

  13. Chapter 13

  14. Chapter 14

  15. Chapter 15

  16. Chapter 16

  17. Chapter 17

  18. Chapter 18

  19. Chapter 19

  Also by Laura Durham

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  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Are you sure this isn’t too much?” I asked as I draped a string of white Christmas lights over the top of my living room window.

  Kate looked up from where she stood at my wooden dining room table unpacking a box of ivory pillar candles. “Of course it isn’t too much, Annabelle. You know what they say, nothing succeeds like excess.”

  I looked around my apartment, usually the picture of simplicity and less-is-more decor, and wondered if we hadn’t taken the concept too far. Glass cylinder vases filled with colorful glass ball ornaments sat in the middle of the coffee table, dining table, and the counter dividing my kitchen and living room. Large paper stars that resembled snowflakes hung from the ceiling at various points so that anyone over five feet tall had to duck and weave to make it across the room, and a red berry wreath hung over the flat screen TV on one wall. A candle that smelled like gingerbread cookies burned in the kitchen, reminding me that I’d only had a bottled Frappuccino and granola bar for breakfast.

  “Did Oscar Wilde say that?” I asked, stepping down from the stool.

  Kate flipped her blond bob off her face. “I always thought Richard came up with that one. It sounds like him.” She held up two pillar candles. “Speaking of too much, remind me again why you have boxes of battery-operated pillar candles.”

  “From the Hunter wedding,” I said. “Remember how they wanted to buy the candles instead of renting them from the florist, but they didn’t have anywhere to store ten boxes of candles so they asked me to hang on to them?”

  Kate’s mouth dropped open. “That wedding was three years ago.”

  “I know,” I said, joining her at the table and flicking the underneath switch on a chunky candle. “That’s why I’m conscripting them into service for the holidays. My office is reaching maximum wedding leftovers capacity.”

  As the owner of the Washington, DC wedding planning company Wedding Belles, I’d inherited everything from pillar candles to leftover cocktail napkins to extra Jordan almonds from nearly seven years’ worth of couples. My home office down the hall was filled with boxes of items waiting to be picked up by brides and grooms although most, I knew, never would be. Once the wedding was over, the desire for pastel candies and anything wrapped up in tulle seemed to be abandoned as quickly as the pre-wedding diets.

  “I think after three years, the candles are yours,” my assistant said. “What other goodies do you have tucked away in the office? I might be in need of some holiday gifts.”

  I eyed her. “Does this mean I’m getting a pillar candle from you this year?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She arranged candles between the glass cylinders of ornaments that ran down the counter dividing my living room and kitchen. “I was talking about gifts to give the men I’m dating.”

  “How many gifts are we talking?” Kate’s dating life was active, to say the least. “I doubt most men would be thrilled with the kinds of things left over from weddings, unless one of them is dying for a ‘Gillian and Ted’ wine opener.”

  “Not many. I was actually looking for something small to give as a token to the men I’m breaking up with, but I wouldn’t mind a ‘Gillian and Ted’ wine opener.”

  “You’re breaking up right before Christmas?” I asked. “And you need consolation prizes?”

  “Now you’re making me sound heartless.” She rested a hand on her hip-hugger jeans. “I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf and start the year by dating intentionally, which means I need to clear out the men who aren’t long-term prospects.”

  “Dating intentionally? I thought you made it a policy to avoid any relationship longer than the average life span of a goldfish.” I placed two candles on the bookshelf by my front door and arranged the small bowl that held my keys between them. “What does ‘dating intentionally’ even mean? It sounds a little new-agey for you.”

  “Your relationship with Reese has inspired me,” she said. “I admire how you two took it slow, and neither of you lost yourself when you moved in together. Most women vanish once they get a serious boyfriend, but you’ve still made time for me and for Richard and the rest of the friends you had before Reese came along.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but it’s not like I had a choice. You work for me, so I couldn’t exactly stop seeing you, and if I’d ghosted Richard, he would have made a voodoo doll with long auburn hair and used it as a pincushion.”

  “He wouldn’t hex you. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a voodoo doll that’s tall, dark, and hunky like your boyfriend though.” Kate smirked at me. “Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind a doll like that.”

  Even though I’d only moved in with my cop boyfriend, Mike Reese, a couple of months ago, I’d made a concerted effort to spend time with my friends so my best friend, Richard Gerard, wouldn’t have any reason to feel left out.

  “Speaking of the city’s most dramatic caterer, why isn’t Richard here helping us decorate your apartment?” Kate asked. “I would have thought he’d relish this since you’ve never really done much to your place aside from hanging up a sad fake-pine wreath.”

  “Well, part of the reason I’m going all out for the holidays is to bring us all together,” I said. “I thought we should have a party for our crew here to celebrate another successful year.”

  “And to celebrate surviving another year.”

  I knew Kate meant the run-ins we’d had with kidnappers, jewel thieves, and murderers while planning weddings for the city’s most famous and infamous. “You make it sound like we plan weddings in a war zone.”

  She shrugged. “There have been days. . .” She flopped onto my yellow twill couch. “So what does a crew party have to do with Richard not being here?”

  “If we’re having a party, we need a tree, right?” I pointed to a corner I’d cleared out next to one of the tall windows where a tree stand stood at the ready. “Richard and Reese are out getting the Christmas tree.”

  Kate nearly dropped the candle she was holding. “Are you telling me you sent your boyfriend and best friend out on a team-building exercise? I hope they don’t kill each other in the process.”

  “I made sure Reese didn’t take his gun.” I liked to think he would never shoot an unarmed man, but after a few hours of Richard nitpicking Fraser firs, I couldn’t guarantee it.

  “Assuming both Richard and Reese return from this expedition in one piece, a holiday party sounds like fun.” Kate rubbed her hands together. “We should do a secret Santa gift exchange. That way we don’t go bankrupt buying everyone presents.”

  “Or so everyone doesn’t get identical ‘Gillian and Ted’ wine openers from you.”

  “Exactly.” She winked at me. “Although you might get a wine opener and a candle.”

  I put a hand to my heart. “I’m touched.”

  “Will this shindig be before or after the Douglas wedding?”

  “Before,” I said. “We might not be
alive after another Debbie and Darla event, even if it is the son’s wedding this time.”

  Debbie and Darla were a mother-daughter duo we’d first worked with when we’d planned Darla’s very WASPy wedding to Turner Grant the Third. The women had rarely been sober for any of our meetings with them, and Darla’s wedding had been a bourbon-soaked extravaganza. Even though the son’s bride-to-be did not consider mint juleps to be the breath of life like the family she was marrying into did, any party with Debbie and Darla was bound to be eventful.

  “Coming through.” The door to my apartment flew open, and Richard strode into the room with both arms waving. “Make way, people. Make way.”

  The tip of a tree poked through the doorway, and then Reese lurched into view, covered almost entirely by the prickly green branches of the pine tree he held with both arms. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

  Richard pushed the couch over an inch. “Right through here, Detective.”

  I rushed over and grabbed the sagging trunk of the tree as Reese struggled to keep it from falling to the floor. Bits of pine needles adorned his chocolate-brown hair, and he tried to blow both an errant curl and a branch off his forehead.

  “Did you carry this up the entire staircase by yourself?” I asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Richard touched a hand to his dark hair, still perfectly spiked up. “I navigated and opened all the doors.”

  “That’s true,” Reese said. “If it hadn’t been for Richard, I never would have known which way to turn at each of the landings.”

  Richard sniffed. “Well, not all of us dress like lumberjacks. I couldn’t afford to get pine sap on my Armani pants.”

  Kate eyed Reese’s jeans, untucked blue flannel shirt, and brown lace-up boots. “Too bad. The lumberjack look is a good look.”

  Reese and I got the tree across the room and lowered it into the stand. I stood back and admired the full tree that nearly reached the ceiling. I wrapped my arms around my boyfriend as he wiped both sweat and pine needles off his face. “It’s perfect.”

  “Of course it’s perfect,” Richard said. “It’s not too skinny. It’s not too fat. It doesn’t have any gaps. It doesn’t lean to one side. Trust me, we made sure this was the best tree out there.”

  Reese let out a long breath. “He’s right about that. Richard insisted we go to seven different lots before we found this one.”

  Kate put a hand over her mouth, I presumed to stifle a laugh. “Seven? That must have taken hours.”

  “Yep.” Reese kissed my forehead. “Four to be exact.”

  “Why don’t I get you both a drink?” I suggested, giving Reese a final squeeze and heading for the kitchen.

  Richard sank down on the couch next to Kate. “That would be divine. Picking out trees is exhausting.”

  I opened my refrigerator and looked in the door for where Reese kept the microbrew beers he enjoyed. I picked out two bottles. Richard wasn’t usually a fan of beer, but I didn’t happen to have a bottle of wine. As I closed the door, I felt an arm reach around me.

  “I couldn’t wait,” Reese said, taking one of the beers from me and enveloping me in a hug. “This was the only thing that kept me from killing Richard for the past four hours.”

  “The thought of a cold beer?” I turned around and leaned into him, feeling the hard muscles of his chest.

  “No, the thought of you. And knowing how unhappy you’d be with me if I came back without your best friend.”

  I looked up at him. “I’m sorry Richard was so . . . well, so Richard, but thank you for going with him. It means a lot to me, and I think he’s really warming up to you.”

  He twisted off the cap of his beer bottle and took a swig. “Yay me.”

  “I should probably get this to Richard,” I said, holding up the other bottle. “Even if he barely broke a sweat.”

  As I took a step toward the living room, Reese pulled me back and kissed me. His lips were soft, and I could taste a hint of pale ale as he deepened the kiss. He grinned when he let go and left me blinking up at him. “That’s another thing that kept me from becoming homicidal.”

  I tried to regain my composure as I walked back into the living room and handed Richard a beer.

  He looked perplexed. “What is this?”

  “Reese’s favorite,” I said. “He thought you’d appreciate it.”

  Richard couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Did he now?” He nodded at Reese as the detective came back in and sat down on the overstuffed chair. “Well, never let it be said that Richard Gerard is not up for a little adventure.”

  “So what do you think of Annabelle’s apartment so far?” Kate asked, sweeping an arm wide. “Can you believe all of this was done with leftovers from past weddings?”

  “Yes, I can,” Richard said as he glanced around the room. “As a matter of fact, just seeing all these things is giving me wedding day flashbacks.”

  Kate gave him a dismissive wave. “No one else will know, and I think it shows just how creative and clever wedding planners can be.”

  Richard took a long draw from his beer and grimaced as he swallowed it. He set the bottle on my coffee table and stood. “It’s been delightful, but I’d better retrieve my dog from your nutty neighbor before she decides to give him a perm.”

  “Hermes would look adorable with curly hair,” Kate said.

  “He would look like a poodle.” Richard walked to the door and picked up his crossbody man bag from where he’d left it on the floor. “Yorkies do not have curly hair.”

  “If Leatrice asks, I’m not here,” I said. As fond as I was of my downstairs neighbor, I was not as fond of her habit of popping in unannounced when Reese and I were trying to have some alone time, or when Kate and I were trying to work, or when I was trying to enjoy a few moments of quiet.

  “Consider it done.” Richard opened the door and paused with his hand on the knob.

  Buster and Mack, our favorite florists and good friends, stood in the doorway. The two burly men each topped six feet and three hundred pounds and both sported goatees—one dark red and the other brown. They had bald heads and tattoos that were mostly covered by the black leather pants, vests, and jackets they wore. A “Road Riders for Jesus” patch emblazoned the front of their vests, as well as one that said “Ride Hard Die Saved.”

  My eyes dropped to the squirming bundle in Mack’s arms that wore a pink-and-blue-striped cap and was wrapped in a pink blanket.

  “Is that a . . .” Kate began.

  “Baby?” I finished for her when I finally found my voice.

  Richard turned around, his eyes wide. “Does anyone else feel like one of these things just doesn’t belong?”

  “We didn’t know where else to come,” Buster said, his deep voice cracking. “You’ve got to help us.”

  Chapter 2

  “Why do you have a baby?” I said as the two men came inside.

  “Is there something you want to tell us?” Richard asked, taking a step back from the now-whimpering infant. Richard was not a fan of anything as unpredictable and messy as a baby.

  Mack jiggled the tiny baby, and she quieted. Sleeping in the crook of his beefy arm must have been like being nestled in a warm cocoon. He looked down at her, his face pinched. “Someone left her on our doorstep.”

  Kate scooted over and patted the cushion next to her for Mack to sit. “At Lush? Why would someone leave a baby outside a floral shop?”

  “Not Lush,” Buster said. “At the Born Again Biker Church.”

  “Oh.“ Kate nodded. “That makes more sense.”

  Richard cocked an eyebrow. “Does it?”

  Buster and Mack were part of a Christian motorcycle gang, and even though I’d never been inside, I knew their church was in a nondescript building in the warehouse district of Northeast DC where there was plenty of parking for Harleys, and no one lived nearby to care about the sound of revving motors on a Sunday morning. Their gang consisted of bikers like them with piercings, tattoos, and ques
tionable pasts. Many were former members of what they called 1 percent gangs, the violent criminal organizations like the Hell’s Angels and Bandidos, who had seen the error of their ways and now tried to help other lost souls.

  Mack sat down on the sofa, and the springs groaned under his weight. “We were cleaning up after our service. Buster and I are serving as ushers this month. Nearly everyone else had cleared out, and we were locking up when we saw her.”

  “You didn’t see anyone close to the building when you found her?” Reese asked. “Sometimes people who leave babies stick around to make sure they’re found.”

  Buster shook his head. “No, but to tell you the truth, we were so startled we could have missed seeing someone.”

  “I can imagine.” I walked behind Mack and leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at the sleeping child. I wasn’t an expert on babies, but this one looked to be only a few weeks old. Her tiny face was round and plump, and she had a wisp of light-brown hair peeking out below her knit cap. One pink fist was in her mouth, and she appeared to be sucking on it.

  Buster swung a pale-green quilted diaper bag down from his shoulder and let it flop to the floor. “She came with this and a note.” He dug a piece of paper out of the side pocket of the bag and handed it to Reese.

  I joined Reese as he went to the dining room table holding the note by the top corner and two fingers. He put the crumpled sheet of lined notebook paper on the flat surface and we both leaned over it.

  “Read it out loud,” Kate said.

  “I’m sorry.” I read from the paper. “Please take care of her. I can’t. I only want what is best for Merry, and it isn’t me.”