What the Hatmaker Heard. Sandra Bretting
new entered the hall with her own armload of packages, so I cleared the way for my hostess to greet her next guest.
Once I said goodbye, I made my way down the hall, which featured oversized lanterns overhead, a white wainscoting that reached my waist on the walls, and honey-colored hardwoods underfoot. I followed the hardwoods into another room, this one built with floor-to-ceiling windows, used-brick floors, and enough greenery to fill an arboretum. I’d apparently reached the sunroom.
A half-dozen tables decorated the space, each topped with a linen cloth and magnolia centerpiece. One of the largest tables groaned under the weight of fruits, pastries, and enough orange juice to satisfy even a daycare center. I moved closer to the table, marveling at the size of the fruit, given that it was July and way past the end of the growing season.
Conversation buzzed around me. Most of the tables were full, and ones that weren’t had purses or cell phones strewn across them as placeholders. I picked my way to a table on the right, where I recognized several of the bridesmaids and a groomsman or two.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” I addressed the nearest bridesmaid, who looked to be about Lorelei’s age.
“Of course not.” She edged her plate closer to her elbow. “You’re the milliner, right? We were just talking about Lorelei’s veil. It’s gorgeous!”
“Thank you.” I placed my lime-green clutch on the table and nodded at the buffet. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to grab one of those delicious-looking pastries. Would you like one, too?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ve been here for a while. I thought I’d see how Wesley’s doing, but he hasn’t come down yet. No one’s seen him.”
Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. From what I heard yesterday, his voice sounded like he’d been gargling with pea gravel, and the nasally tone signaled a head cold. He also mentioned a high fever to Lorelei.
“Oh, dear. I hope he’s feeling better tonight.”
The girl nodded noncommittally and returned to her breakfast, so I felt free to take my leave. I headed for the buffet table, where a stack of warmed plates anchored one end. Just as I was about to pull a plate off the top of the stack, I heard a loud clacking noise behind me. It sounded like a Clydesdale had entered the sunroom and clomped its way to the tables.
Sweet mother of pearl! The moment I turned, I thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t wearing stilettos, because I would’ve toppled onto the buffet table. As it was, my mouth fell open and cool air rushed to the back of my throat.
There, next to a chocolate fountain surrounded by plump strawberries, stood Stormie Lanai, a local newscaster. She wore a pure-white pantsuit and leopard Manolo Blahniks that, no doubt, created the sound of horses’ hooves.
Unfortunately, Stormie and I shared a long and complicated history, and I couldn’t believe we both occupied the same space now.
It all began last fall. Stormie, a reporter for KATC in Baton Rouge, decided to return a veil I’d created for her wedding, exactly one week before her big day. She somehow landed a rich Texas oilman, and she planned to marry him at a renovated plantation as soon as possible. Those plans changed, however, when someone went missing there and police cordoned off the property. The resulting investigation forced her to come up with Plan B, which meant a Las Vegas wedding and a tiny fascinator instead of a floor-length veil. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t gladly refund her money, even though I’d spent months creating a beautiful cathedral-length train with carrickmacross lace and hundreds of tiny seed pearls.
We finally resolved the matter with me taking apart the intricate veil and using the pieces to create a one-of-a-kind fascinator.
Stormie stood with her back to me now, as she picked among the strawberries by the fountain. I marshalled my courage, since there was no way we could avoid each other in a room this size, and I tapped her on the shoulder.
She instantly whirled around. “Why, Missy DuBois. Whatever are you doing here?”
Like always, Stormie wore so much foundation, her face resembled a Kabuki mask. As a newscaster, she was conditioned to wear heavy makeup for the cameras, but she’d never mastered the art of applying it in real life. Case in point, she wore false eyelashes so thick they resembled two butterflies about to take flight whenever she blinked, which was often.
“The bride hired me to make a wedding veil. What about you?”
“Why, I’m covering the wedding for Channel Eleven, of course. This shindig will be the biggest show our little state has ever seen!”
Leave it to Stormie to sound like a carnival barker as she described the Honeycutt wedding. No wonder she garnered such high ratings for KATC, since she tended to sensationalize everything she came across.
“Well, it was nice to see you again.” I turned to leave, since even one minute with Stormie felt like ten times that amount.
“Just a second.” She grabbed my arm before I could escape. “Have you heard my big news? I’m going to have a baby!”
“A baby?” I quickly glanced at her waist. Her flat-panel pants hugged her hips tightly and showed only a bit of a telltale bump. “That’s wonderful! How far along are you?”
“Just a few weeks. But I couldn’t wait to share my big news. And it’s going to be a Christmas baby. We’re thinking of naming her Holly, if it’s a girl, or Nicholas, if it’s a boy.”
“Those are great names.” Whether or not Stormie and I saw eye to eye on most things, my heart always melted whenever the conversation turned to babies. “I’m sure y’all will find just the right name. I’m very happy for you and your husband. Now, if you don’t mind, I really should be going.” With that, I delicately extricated my arm and made my way back to the right side of the room. By now, several of the bridesmaids had left my table, with only a few leftover crumbs to testify to their presence.
Speaking of which, I had completely forgotten to grab a pastry! Seeing Stormie again had rattled me so, I could barely remember my own name, let alone to grab a beignet or two.
With a sigh, I turned again. Luckily, Stormie had disappeared, and someone new stood in her stead. It was Mrs. Honeycutt, only now she looked terribly upset.
I gingerly approached her. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t imagine things could have changed that much since we met in the hall.
“No. No, I’m not.” She looked at me with drowning eyes. “Something’s terribly wrong.”
“Wrong?” Earlier, she seemed so calm and collected, as if she hosted fancy get-togethers every day. But now, she seemed frazzled, as if she didn’t know what to do first. “What’s happened?”
“No one can find Wesley. He isn’t in his room, and no one’s seen him this morning. I sent our houseman to go look for him, but he hasn’t found him yet.”
Something about the mother’s distress pulled at my heartstrings. Of all the things for the mother-of-the-bride to face on the day of her daughter’s wedding, a missing fiancé should not be one of them.
“Please let me help you. I’m not busy right now, and you must have a million other things to worry about.”
“Oh, dear. That would be wonderful.” Her relief quickly gave way to doubt, though. “But I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that. You should be our guest today.”
“Nonsense. I’m happy to help you. Where did you say the houseman went?”
“I didn’t, but he’s over there.” She quickly pointed to the nearest window.
An elderly man stood on the other side of it, wearing navy coveralls and a tool belt slung low on his waist. Something about the getup sparked a hazy memory, but it refused to crystallize.
“Great. I’ll go talk to him.” I hurried away from the sunroom and followed the hall to the front door. Once I moved outside and