Hearts & Haunts, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 3 Page 8

  I decide to look at the registries again, just to see if I can find his name. My sixth sense is tingling, and Persephone is still giving me the eye, as though there’s something important here. This must tie in with Tallulah. “But he did come here when he returned to the States, right?”

  She tilts her head, curious at the question. “Yes, he was too mentally off to continue as a spy. Mother mentioned once it was good he had carpentry skills. He could build anything with his hands. Such craftsmanship. He never had a steady job, though, always moving from one project to another.”

  “Is that why you like to work with your hands?” Jenn asks.

  Gloria smiles. “Probably. My father passed his talents on to me.”

  I smooth the tablecloth. “What was your dad’s name?”

  Curiosity dances in her eyes. “Abe.”

  “And the last ?”

  She gives me a confused smile. “Romone, why?”

  A part of me wonders if that was his real name. Being a spy couldn’t have been easy. Deflated, I show her the photo on my phone of Tallulah's mystery fellow. “Have you ever seen this man?”

  Gloria peers at the screen, scrutinizing it. “Oh my.”

  At that moment, Victoria enters the booth. “Ava, it’s time.”

  “For what?”

  She taps her pen against her clipboard. “Tell me you didn’t forget.”

  I’m lost. “Forget what?”

  She grabs my arm and hauls me out of the chair. “You’re giving a speech!”

  15

  I try to get out of it, I do

  Victoria won’t let me. “There are at least a hundred brides in there,” she says, brushing non-existent dust from my sleeve. “It’s standing room only, and you’re already late.”

  Rosie and the sisters smile at each other. Gloria continues to study the picture. “But I…”

  “Did you get any sleep last night? You look like death warmed over.”

  “Thanks, Mama,” I grouse.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. Look, I’m not prepared.” I point to our dwindling stack of flyers listing our services. “I can hand out business cards and service info.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. They didn’t buy tickets and pack the conference room for that. They want to learn something, feel inspired.”

  Before I can argue, she grabs my wrist and tugs me forward. Over my shoulder, I look at Rosie. “Help?”

  “You’ve got this.” She gives me a thumbs-up.

  Fine manager she is.

  I call to Gloria, “We’ll continue this when I get back.”

  She continues to stare at the screen. Rosie waves me off. Penn and Jenn rise and go running past us. “We want to hear your speech,” Penn calls, both of them giggling as they bump into folks and hustle out.

  I plant my feet and nearly jerk Victoria to a stop. “Can’t someone else do it?” I point at the Southern Bride tent. “I bet Darinda would love to, and you said you could find one of the big city vendors to replace that other gal.”

  “You didn’t want them to do it previously.”

  “A lot has happened since then.” And I’m totally unprepared. “Darinda’s great at this stuff.”

  Victoria keeps her grip on me, her fingers biting into my skin. “She’s already scheduled for three. It’s you, then Just Say Yes Jewelry, then Southern Bride. Now come on.”

  She pulls, I resist. “I don’t want to.”

  “You have to.”

  A tug-of-war ensues.

  Brides and their party members begin to gather. “You’re making a scene,” she hisses.

  “Me? You’re attempting to bully me into doing something I don’t want to do.”

  A woman holds a booklet from a vendor to her lips and says something behind it to her friend. Another holds up her phone to film us.

  Mama will kill me if this ends up on YouTube.

  I stop fighting her and we nearly topple over. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll do it.”

  Victoria releases me and straightens her black blazer. “Good.” She raises her chin and tucks her clipboard under her arm. “Let’s go.”

  Outside the ballroom, I take a deep breath, my mind scrambling for something to talk about in front of a hundred brides.

  Down the hall, past the bar, we come to a halt outside the door to the conference room. My nerves are buzzing. “What is it I’m supposed to discuss again?”

  She looks like she’s going to skin me alive. “Your theme is Finding Your Fantasy Gown, remember?”

  “Right, okay.” That shouldn’t be hard. I can come up with a few pointers, and maybe land a few orders in the process. “Um, how long should I speak?”

  I swear steam comes out her ears. “Sixty. Minutes.”

  My stomach flips over. “You’re saying I need to talk for a full hour?”

  “This could be a boon for you and your new line.”

  “I’m sorry, but you need to find someone else. This just… I’m not…”

  She takes my arm and squeezes as if she’s going to force me inside. With her determination, I’m not sure I can hold her off. “You spoke quite eloquently the other night on stage in front of all of these people plus more. Do it again.”

  “Yeah, but that was spontaneous, and I was talking about my gowns and my personal philosophy on weddings. Plus, it was all of, like, ten minutes.”

  Her eyes go squinty. “Do you want me to inform all the women in that room you’re under suspicion for murder?”

  I gasp in a breath. Blackmail? Okay then, I see how it is. “Well, bless your heart. Aren’t you manipulative? You know I’m innocent.”

  “Actually,” she says with an evil smile, “I don’t know any such thing.”

  Hardball. Fine. “I’ll give the speech, but I want top billing at next year’s event.”

  I see the wheels spin in her head. “If you’re not in prison, I’ll see what I can do.”

  Derision to boot. “Would you like some pepper with that salt?”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” I extend my hand.

  We shake on it, and she pushes the French doors open. I follow her in and smile as she introduces me.

  The clapping is loud enough to make me reassess my fear of public speaking. Some of them attended the runway show and heard my approach to making your day special. Most look captivated by what I’m about to say.

  My mind drifts to my fantasy gown. How it will feel to wear it at my wedding to Logan.

  If I get married.

  Someday, I bolster myself, finding Penn and Jenn toward the back and seeing their smiles.

  The gown of your dreams is an integral part of most weddings. Some spend years in search of the Holy Grail. A few never find theirs, but most do, and it’s pretty cool to see a bride-to-be’s face light up when she finds “the one.”

  “Finding your fantasy gown,” I say, taking over. The applause dies down and I have a rapt audience. “The most fun and important part of your whole wedding experience.”

  Persephone appears near the rear exit and gives me a wink.

  At the same moment, I notice Victoria slipping out.

  Well, here goes nothing.

  16

  “Where did you find that old photo?”

  It’s the first thing Gloria asks when I locate her in the atrium later. She’s staring at a beautiful hibiscus, but her expression is far away, as if she’s remembering her dad.

  “You recognize him, don’t you?”

  A slight mist clouds her eyes. She hands me the phone and nods. “I swear that’s him, but…”

  A few ladies from the conference room filter by. One tells me how much she enjoyed my talk. It seemed to go over well, many of the crowd stopping me before I could leave to ask me about consultations. I spent a good twenty minutes chatting with various brides, leading them to the booth so Rosie could take over to sign them up.

  Now it’s time for me to get back to business. The ghost business. “He sure was a
handsome guy.” I suspect the man wasn’t a guest at the hotel, but I don’t want to tell Gloria that he and Tallulah’s lover are one and the same until I have proof. “I was doing research and came across it. Something in his features reminded me of you.”

  An exaggeration but it sounds plausible.

  We’re interrupted by a bride-to-be wanting to know about the Bellamy. I excuse myself from Gloria, and I chat about it as I walk her to the Enchanted Events booth. Gloria follows.

  Rosie is finishing with the last client in line. It only takes a minute for the bride with me to declare she wants to order. Rosie takes her information and Gloria begins to measure her for it.

  I sneak away and find Kalina at the front desk. “Do you have any old employee records?”

  She barely glances up, typing away on the computer. “What do you want with those?”

  “I’m still tracking down the man in the photo.”

  She sighs as if reaching for patience. “If there are, they must be in the study with the others. We only have the ones for the last couple of years here in the office.”

  “Thanks.”

  In the third floor study, I think about the shoe under the table while searching. Once again, dust flies as I dig through shelf after shelf, but come up empty-handed. Tabby makes an appearance, jumping on a velvet-covered reading chair near the fireplace and curling into a ball.

  Sherlock materializes in the other, pipe in hand. “I hear you’re having great success.”

  “Selling gowns, yes. Solving mysteries, not so much.”

  “You must consider every plausible possibility, and those that seem implausible as well.”

  Frustrated, I lean against a bookshelf. I need a shower and twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. As Tabby snoozes, I’m actually jealous of her.

  I stare at the table piled high with newspapers and magazines.

  “Suppose she was wearing the shoes when she killed Sal.” I pace the floor. “There would’ve been blood splatter on them and the clothes she wore that night.”

  “Assuming it’s a female.”

  “Sal was the only man backstage, Baldwin was announcing the models. Do you know differently?”

  “No, but it’s possible a male entered the rear stage area while you were chasing your cat.”

  He smiles benignly over the lie.

  “True. I can’t rule it out a hundred percent, but my gut says it’s a woman.”

  He simply nods and puffs on his pipe.

  I continue to think out loud. “Was the killer a model? Could her gown still be here on a mannequin or possibly hidden in a vendor’s booth?”

  Sherlock stares at the fireplace as if there’s a fire there. “Possibly. What else?”

  “I still like Christine for it.” I explain why and he makes noncommittal noises. “It might be prudent to check the Southern Bride space after everyone leaves tonight.”

  “Good idea.”

  I get down on hands and knees to check if the shoe is still there. It is. “Why hide the match to the murder weapon under here?”

  “Plausible reason? Because it somehow implicates the killer.”

  “Right. And the implausible?”

  He looks at me. “Because it implicates a killer.”

  “Not sure I understand.”

  He pockets his pipe and rises, giving Tabby a pat on her head. She yawns but doesn’t open her eyes. “Perhaps our murderer wants to point the finger—or shoe, in this case—at someone else.”

  Who would they frame for it? He vanishes and I decide to not only check Southern Bride’s booth, but to look at all the displayed dresses downstairs.

  After washing my face in my suite’s bathroom and putting on a touch of lip gloss, I take the elevator down and find that evening has arrived.

  Rosie is packing to leave. “Matt is picking me up for a Valentine’s dinner. We’re dropping Gloria at her house on the way.”

  I can see in Gloria’s eyes that she has more questions, but before she can ask, I put my arm through Rosie’s and pull her out of earshot. “We need to talk about your grandmother,” I tell her.

  “Abuela?”

  I nod. “She wants you to name the baby after her.”

  “She’s here?” Exasperation mixes with surprise. “Can she hear me right now?”

  “She’s not in the vicinity.” I glance around and hope that’s true. “But she seems quite fixated on you naming the child Ysela.”

  “Ha!” Rosie’s raised voice draws more than a few people’s attention. “First of all, we don’t know if it’s a girl or boy.”

  Persephone floats by like a balloon and says, “It’s a girl.”

  I press my lips together, refusing to blow the surprise. Rosie knows me well, however.

  “It’s a girl? You’re sure?”

  I adamantly shake my head. “I have no insight into the sex of the baby. All I’m doing is passing on a message. You have free will and can name the child whatever you choose.”

  Please make it something abuela can live with—no pun intended—because otherwise she will haunt me for the rest of my days.

  Rosie puts her arms around me and hugs me. “I’m sorry she’s bugging you. It’s not that I hate the name, but, well, it’s so old-fashioned, you know?”

  I’m prepared for this. Pulling out a napkin I scribbled down nicknames on, I hand it to her. “So modernize it. Change the Y to an I and call her Isi, or Lissi. Or choose a variant, like Iselina. That’s my favorite.”

  “Iselina.” She tries it out, accepting the list. “I like that. Wonder what abuela thinks?”

  She looks at me expectantly. “Sorry, she’s still not here at the moment.”

  “That’s okay. It’s our decision anyway. I’ll speak to Matt.”

  “I figured you might. Enjoy your night.”

  Gloria tells me we’ll talk tomorrow before she walks off with Rosie, arm in arm.

  Logan arrives with a picnic basket. He greets me with a kiss. “Ready?”

  I eye the basket. “I take it we’re not going out?”

  He slides his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together, and leads me from the ballroom. “I thought we’d eat in the atrium.”

  Most of the brides are off to enjoy the Saturday night dinner specials or to leave and go home. The vendors are packing up and heading for the dining room, too.

  Not exactly what I’d expected, and I’m a little disappointed. I could use a break from the hotel, but I can hardly say no after he’s gone to all this trouble.

  Logan has planned well. He leads me to a small café table and two chairs with a flickering candle and flowers set up for us near the large glass display windows in the west.

  The last of the sun sinks beneath the horizon, sending rays of peach and purple across the rolling lawn and down to the lake in the distance.

  I slide into the chair, dropping my head into my hands. The past couple days are catching up on me. My lack of sleep is as well. I’d give anything to go home and spend the night in my bed, but I have no choice but to stay and figure out how to help Tallulah. I tell myself I’ll rest up next week after the fair is over.

  When I look up, Logan is frowning with concern. “This was a bad idea, wasn’t it?”

  I feel like the pin that has burst his balloon. I try to cover, smiling brightly. “Are you kidding? It’s perfect. A beautiful location for our Valentine’s Day dinner.” I motion out the window at the setting sun.

  He withdraws a bottle of champagne. Dom Perignon. “Brut Rose. Vintage 2006,” he says with a grin.

  That probably costs more than the rent on my old apartment. Two glasses come next, then he pops the cork.

  A man and a woman—no doubt bride and groom—two rows over talk softly amongst the blooming plants, the bride catching my eye and smiling. Another couple chuckle and clap before they exit, the lady giving me a wink.

  “How was today?” he asks as he pours.

  I settle back into the chair and accept the glass he hands me, enjo
ying the way the fizzy bubbles tickle my nose. Champagne is definitely better than dust. “I think one of the original owners of this place had an affair with a man who used to work here.”

  Logan hesitates a brief moment before finishing pouring his own drink. He offers a toast. “To us.”

  I clink my pretty flute against his and sip. “To us.”

  He continues to unpack, hauling out an impressive array of food. “Queenie made your favorites.”

  My stomach rumbles, but my mind is elsewhere. I barely register the appetizers he sets on my plate. “I think that man is Gloria’s father.”

  “Wow, that would be weird.” He hands me a napkin. “I propose a toast.”

  “I thought you already did.”

  He grins and raises his glass, and it takes me a couple of seconds to realize that I need to shift gears and focus on him. I lift mine as well.

  “To our future. I love you, Ava. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  “I love you too.” A clink of our glasses. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  Logan digs into his food. The champagne hits my system, and I know I need to eat, so I take a bite of an appetizer. It’s delicious, but I still can’t get my mind off how to break the news to Gloria about her dad and Tallulah. I have no proof, but I’m assuming—perhaps irrationally—that Tallulah's child may also be his.

  “So, the fair is going well?” Logan finishes chewing and smiles.

  “Yes, so far.” Except for the fact that Sal was murdered and the killer hasn’t been caught.

  “I heard your speech today was a smash.”

  I shrug. “I wasn’t prepared, so I had to wing it.”

  “These are kind of a big deal, aren’t they?”

  “For sure. The group that runs them, Top Event Management, has been doing them for years all over the country. It’s a lot of business for them, as well as the vendors who attend.”

  “Between this and your wedding gown line, I suspect you’ll need to expand next year. Hire another employee or two. Buy or lease a larger building. I’ve been looking at some that are on the market. After this is done, maybe we can go see them.”