Yellow Rose Mysteries 02 - A Wedding to Die For Read Free

that.” She took the book, saying, “Meanwhile, I could use your help.”
    “Sure—and by the way, this is my sister, Kate.”
    “She can help, too.” Sylvia grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside; then despite her dyed-to-match spike heels, she bulldozed through the guests lingering in the foyer.
    I caught a glimpse of twin staircases with white wrought-iron banisters flanking the foyer on both sides. Beyond was a great room filled with guests. A balcony above that huge center room was also packed with people holding wineglasses and plates of food.
    Megan’s mother led us down a hallway, past a spacious dining room. We ended up in a kitchen worthy of a television chef and found ourselves surrounded by caterers in black and white uniforms. Seems the lady who delivered the baby too early had only half-finished one of her jobs. Kate and I set to work putting handfuls of birdseed in small squares of netting and tying each packet up with ivory ribbon.
    “Birdseed is a good choice,” Kate said, already getting busy. “More environmentally friendly than rice.”
    “That’s what Megan said,” Sylvia agreed, before hurrying off. But two glasses of champagne arrived beside us a minute later. Tying ribbons and drinking champagne? I could handle that.
    The breakfast area where we sat and worked on our task overlooked a screened porch complete with umbrella table and chairs for balmier days. A family room could be seen through the double doors straight ahead and huge picture windows dominated the far wall. The Gulf of Mexico was an angry green, the sky a grouchy gray, while the strings played on, their music calming and gentle above the din of crowd noise.
    Silver trays of canapes kept leaving the room on the raised arms of the waitstaff. I managed to snatch some finger sandwiches and a few pastry puffs stuffed with shrimp salad. Kate munched on two of her favorites, broccoli and carrots, sniffing them first as if her practiced nose could actually discern whether they were organic.
    We were nearly done with our job when the best man, Holt McNabb, came into the room gripping a longneck beer, his other arm around bridesmaid Courtney’s waist. The tattoo on her back right shoulder, a cobra ready to strike, clashed with the strapless taffeta gown. Before Holt spotted us in the breakfast alcove, he planted one on Courtney, a kiss that left no doubt saliva was being exchanged. She in turn grabbed his well-toned butt during this semipornographic moment. It ended when he opened his eyes and spotted me.
    He lifted her chin and smiled at her. “Hey, Courtney—could you get me a plate of those baby-back ribs? Meanwhile, I’ll give these ladies a proper thank-you for all their help.”
    Courtney hesitated. “You’ll be waiting here, then?”
    He smiled. “Maybe. And that’s final.”
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    He gripped her shoulders and turned her in the direction of the dining room. “Yes, I’m kidding. Now, get going.”
    She left.
    Kate hadn’t had the honor of meeting the rest of the rehearsal dinner crew, if you want to call it an honor. I’d met Daddy James, Momma Sylvia, the gruesome twosome cousins/bridesmaids, best man Holt, and Uncle Graham—the one who had tried all last evening to outdrink his daughter Courtney. I think Graham won.
    “Good to see you again, Abby.” Holt set his beer bottle down on the table. But though he was addressing me, he focused on Kate. His pale blue eyes seemed to like what they saw, but then who wouldn’t be mesmerized by Kate’s classic Audrey Hepburn look?
    “Hello, Holt,” I said. “Nice wedding.”
    “Care to introduce me to your friend?” he asked.
    “My sister, Kate Rose,” I said.
    He placed both hands on the table and leaned toward her. “Thank the lord the stepsister brought Cinderella to the ball. Where did I put that glass slipper?”
    “Make that twins, not stepsisters,” I said.
    “Twins? Are you kidding? She’s got three inches on you and the nicest