Free Engaged in Death (A Wedding Planner Mystery) by Stephanie Blackmoore Page B

Bev’s impromptu hug made me long for my mom far away in Florida. Had I made a mistake deciding to move into Thistle Park? Bev and Yvette began their descent down the bowed porch stairs.
    “I hope I’m not being rude.” Yvette looked back. “But I heard about you calling off your wedding. Breaking things off with Keith Pierce and his mother. That was the right thing to do. You dodged a real bullet there.”
    I shivered as Yvette followed Bev back to her gray Toyota. I agreed with her but didn’t appreciate her metaphor. I’d come too close to murder weapons lately to feel comfortable even hearing them mentioned, thank you very much.
    * * *
    “I’m not sure Febreze is meant for hundred-year-old rugs.”
    Rachel doused another fragile rug with lavender-scented odor remover.
    “Maybe we should use vinegar or baking soda.”
    I sat on an uncomfortable, fraying horsehair couch, staring at my cell phone, willing it to self-destruct. When Rachel and I had entered the kitchen to put away Bev’s casserole and Yvette’s muffins, the device had been buzzing like an irritated mosquito. Apparently finding a dead body in front of one’s newly inherited mansion wasn’t a good enough excuse to call off work at my law firm.
    Especially since I’d taken the previous two days off to go to a funeral, lick my wounds, and avoid Keith downtown. I’d slipped off to go to the bathroom this morning while Chief Truman and Officer Hendricks were grilling Rachel and e-mailed my best friend, Olivia, at the firm. I tried to describe the discovery of the dead body in the least alarming way possible as I tapped away on the miniature keys and explained why I wouldn’t be coming in to work again. All in the time it took to pee.
    My e-mail to Olivia only made my phone hum more fervently. I finally called back Alan Brinkman, the partner who gave me most of my work, and instead of hello was greeted with, “Will you be taking tomorrow off for some other person’s convenient death, Mallory?”
    “I think I can manage to come in.” I tried to laugh off his officious tone. “Although, these things do tend to happen in threes.” I promised Alan I’d be in tomorrow. I’d have to face the partners’ ire and the associates’ whispers and avoid Keith, who worked in the building next door.
    “What do they want from me?” I grumbled to Rachel. “I can’t possibly concentrate and bill clients if I’m wondering why and how Shane Hartley ended up dead right under my nose.” Before this week, I’d spent more time at the office than usual, banking hours to make up for the time I’d take off for my honeymoon. That would no longer be a problem.
    “You need a new job.” Rachel moved into the adjoining library to spray another rug. “You can’t work next door to Keith’s office building and avoid him every day. Or that Becca Cunningham.”
    “But why do I need to find a new job? Keith and his tartlet should leave town.”
    Rachel stopped spraying and gave me a look. “Because you’re overworked. You’re burned out. Even before this happened.”
    “I’m one year away from making partner. I can’t quit now.” It was true. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do after I made partner, but the goal was within my sights, and I’d put in too much work to abandon it now. And work was the only thing going well right now. I needed to hold on to it like a life preserver.
    My sister snorted. “You’ve been drinking the Russell Carey Kool-Aid a little too long.”
    Stung by her assessment, I turned around and closed my eyes, wishing away my new reality, but when I opened them, I was still in Sylvia’s dilapidated house. A house I would need to sell, fast, before its upkeep drained what little savings I had. I pictured restoring the house to its original glory and felt a pang. Would I really want to sell it then? A crazy thought percolated up from the recesses of my brain. What if I keep the house? What if I turn it into a B and B and hold