Read Online For Better or Hearse by Laura Durham - Free Book Online Page B

rooms, showing possible table vignettes. One table was designed entirely in blue with a hand-beaded turquoise cloth, blue glass base plates, and pale aqua water goblets. Next to it, celadon twill covered a table and pooled to the floor, covered with a Battenberg laceoverlay and topped with white leaf plates and green and pink tulip glasses. I ran my finger over the fine gauge cotton of the Battenberg lace and sighed. I always felt decoratively challenged after visiting the rental showroom then returning to my own sparse apartment.
    â€œWell?” Richard spun around, letting the sheer cloths flutter near his legs. “If this doesn’t make a statement, I don’t know what does.”
    â€œI don’t think that’s the statement Pam is going for.” I pulled out a white chivari chair with a turquoise cushion and sat down at the blue table. The bamboo ladder-backed chivaris were my first choice for weddings for their delicate appearance, but they weren’t the world’s most comfortable chairs. But, as I told my clients, you don’t want your guests to be so comfortable that they sit all night.
    â€œIf she wants a dull garden party, then fine.” Richard rested a hand on his hip. “But at least let me give her the option of being fabulous.” Richard made it sound like being fabulous was a God-given right that should be emblazoned alongside life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
    â€œHave at it. I won’t stand in your way.” I leveled a finger at Richard. “But no camels. If you want camels, you have to clean up after them.”
    Richard’s mouth gaped open, then he glared at me. “Fine. We’ll do without the camels.” He lowered his voice. “Although they would have been perfect.”
    Kate joined me at the blue table. “Can I watch? I feel a nap coming on.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t have had lunch.” Richard wagged a finger at her. “I never eat during the day. Slows me down. A Red Bull is the perfect liquid lunch.”
    â€œWe only had salads at the Fairmont.” Kate put her head on the table. “I think it’s the wine that’s making me sleepy.”
    Richard raised an eyebrow at us. “Aren’t we fancy?”
    â€œDon’t look at me,” I said. “If I had a glass of wine with lunch, I’d be asleep under the table already.”
    â€œSpeaking of drinking during the day, how is Miss Rhodes?” Richard asked. “And Miss Connell?”
    â€œO’Connell,” I corrected him. “They’re fine.”
    â€œRight.” He smirked. “The girl with the Irish name who looks about as Irish as I do.” Richard’s dark hair and skin favored his Italian side of the family, though he preferred to claim only his French lineage.
    â€œYou know, Richard, not all Irish have red hair. Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘Black Irish’?”
    Kate looked up. “That’s what that means?”
    Before I could make an attempt at an explanation, we heard a rap on the door behind us. Pam Monroe stuck her head inside the room and waved.
    A petite girl who wore her ash blond hair swept back in a French twist, Pam taught elementary school in Georgetown and looked the part. She fell on the easygoing end of the bride spectrum, and didn’t seem to have an image of the perfect wedding seared in her mind like most girls. Her fiancé, on the other hand, had made partner at one of D.C.’s largest law firms and had a clear idea of the way he wanted things. But since he was too busy to attend most of the wedding appointments, we were left to interpret his wishes. I hoped he’d be happy with our guesswork.
    â€œSorry I’m late.” Pam came into the showroom swinging her oversized, quilted bag filled with rows of tabbed folders. I was grateful these were for her fourth grade class and not her wedding plans, although I’dhad brides with wedding