Engaged in Death (A Wedding Planner Mystery) Read Free

table and put my head in my hands, rubbing my temples to ease out the headache that had been building since we left Windsor Meadows. Keith rubbed my shoulders and, after initially tensing up, I felt the stress and misgivings begin to melt away.
    “I love you. I want nothing more than for you to be my wife. We’ll figure out where to live together. Everything will fall into place.” He nuzzled my neck, making me laugh.
    “It was a big shock. I thought it was a practical joke.”
    “Let me make you some tea.” He looked at me with tenderness and concern as he padded into the kitchen.
    While he fixed up the kettle, I turned my attention to the map spread out before me: a miniature model of the Port Quincy Country Club ballroom. I’d toiled over the seating chart as the last few RSVPs trickled in, trying to get it just right, with a focus bordering on obsessive-compulsive. I usually enjoyed this kind of puzzle, but it was an especially complicated task, not helped by the fact I didn’t know many of the guests and their relationships to each other.
    We had originally planned on thirty guests, just close friends and immediate family, but, thanks to Helene’s decree, we’d be entertaining three hundred people, most of whom I’d be meeting for the first time. Things had long ago spiraled out of control and crossed the line into spectacle. There wasn’t much of Keith’s immediate family left, just Helene, Sylvia, and a few cousins from out of town. The guests were Helene’s acquaintances from the upper echelon of Port Quincy society and distant relatives.
    “Do you think Sylvia will make it to the wedding?” In addition to his father, Keith’s other three grandparents were deceased, but Sylvia was still going strong. She was determined to attend the wedding, oxygen tank and all.
    Keith chuckled and set down a mug of ginger tea. “If Sylvia has any say in it, she’ll be there. She adores you.” He leaned over for a kiss. “Besides, you can ask her yourself tomorrow.” He returned to the galley kitchen.
    I’d called Sylvia as soon as we were on the road and arranged to stop by to see her tomorrow to make up for missing our Sunday tea date. She’d been delighted and said she couldn’t wait to discuss what had happened at the wedding tasting.
    Everything will be okay . I examined the brown envelope. There was no return address, but the postmark was Port Quincy. Maybe it was an oversized wedding card. Gifts had already started to arrive, and a little village of boxes had colonized one corner of the apartment.
    Keith’s cell phone rang as I took my first sip of tea. I winced. It might be someone from work reporting on a weekend project. Maybe even the worrisome Becca Cunningham.
    Stop it, Mallory . You’re being irrational.
    “Hello, Mother.”
    I could tell the call wasn’t good.
    “Oh, my God. When? Was she in pain? We’ll be there soon. I love you too.”
    “What’s wrong?” I set the mug down too hard, sloshing pale brown liquid over the sides. Hot tea smeared the carefully written names on the seating chart as it spread out in a soppy circle.
    “Sylvia. She passed away half an hour ago. It must have been pretty soon after you talked to her. A nurse found her”—his voice broke—“in her bed. She was gone.”
    “Oh, Keith.” I jumped up and hugged him, hard.
    “I knew this day was coming, but I was sure she’d be here to see us get married.” He crumpled into a chair, hunched over and deflated. Tears beaded in the corners of his dark blue eyes. “I should have listened to you and visited her today. Maybe we could have helped her.”
    I leaned down and embraced him. “There might not have been anything we could have done.” I began to cry too, fat drops staining the brown envelope. “She said she had to get off the phone when I called because she had company. I’m sure they would have done something if they could have.”
    “Here.” Keith handed me a box of tissues, knocking the big brown