The Bride's Curse (11 page)

“That dress has been purchased by three couples. Each couple has fallen out and cancelled their wedding plans. It’s an awful coincidence and I don’t believe in coincidences. It seems everyone in town here believes there’s a curse on the gown, and I’m coming to think that’s the only possibility. You know what Sherlock Holmes said about discounting all other possibilities?”

This time the silence stretched out even longer. Finally, when he spoke his voice was a mixture of hard and sad. “Kelly, I’ve grown to really like you even though we’ve just met. I’d never have put you down as a scam artist … but when I hear this stuff I’m wondering, what’s your angle?”

This time, it was Kelly who was silent.
How could he suggest that she was trying to trick him out of money she hadn’t earned?
Finally, she cut the connection without answering him.

Her heart ached even though common sense said it was better to find out the guy was a jerk who couldn’t have any faith in her now, rather than later when she might have given him a piece of her heart.

As if that hadn’t already happened.

• • •

She sat with her feet up on the back verandah rail of her home, sipping a cold beer and wishing she had nothing to think about but the beauty of the gathering twilight throwing purple and deep blue shadows over the ocean. The book on local witches and their descendants sat on her lap, but she had a curious reluctance to open it. It was bad enough to have the Old Man on the Bench hovering in the back of her mind; she wasn’t keen on cluttering her thoughts with a lot of nonsense about witches as well. And it was nonsense. Wasn’t it? Certainly Brett Atwell had made it clear that he thought so.

Occasionally a pleasure craft or a fishing boat passed by in the distance, hurrying to return to port before dark. Kelly watched it and memories of the few hours she’d spent with Brett on the cabin cruiser flooded back into her mind. Her pulse raced and her skin felt hot, as if she was sitting in heat of the sun. Tears pricked at her eyes. Was Brett really a jerk, as she’d told herself after the fiasco of a telephone conversation? How would that meld with the thoughtful, sweet gesture of their picnic on board the boat? Would a true-life jerk remember a dream mentioned in passing and make it come true? She shook her head, watching Sullivan sprawled out in one of the last sunbeams of the day.

Maybe she was being too hasty in judgment. After all, it must have been quite a shock for him to be told that his favorite—his only—aunt was maybe crazy as an outhouse rat and setting curses on inanimate objects.

Except that Mary Atwell couldn’t be crazy if the curse was real.

The argument went round and round in her head until a dull headache settled on her temples.

If Brett reacted this badly to the suggestion of a cursed bridal gown, just how would he react if she told him that her so-called “hallucinations” were actually real dead people talking to her?

Feeling truly depressed now, Kelly swigged the last of her beer and rose to go inside. She carefully placed the book in a closet and shut the door, as if she didn’t like having it out in the open. Sullivan curled around her legs, giving the plaintive “I’m starving” meow. She put a little kibble in his dish and then got out her list of things she wanted to do the next day, to look over before going to bed.

The top of the list was something she should probably talk to Brett about. She was pretty sure that he would hit the roof if he knew she planned to visit his aunt and ask her directly about the curse. If she asked his permission, he’d certainly tell her not to go.

Which really left only one choice.

She’d go and find Mary Atwell and hope that Brett didn’t find out.

The idea of this petty defiance made her smile and she was humming as she climbed the stairs to her cottage bedroom. Even the hard rain blown against her window by a strong wind off the ocean did nothing to disturb her sleep that night. No restless spirits visited her dreams.

The night’s storm had dissipated and the autumn sun was peeking through clouds to illuminate a newly washed world when Kelly set off the next morning for the long drive to Derry. She hummed and sang along with the tunes on a soft rock station as she navigated the coast road, and her lip-syncing performance behind the wheel had a couple of other drivers waving to her as they passed.

Once she arrived, it didn’t take her long to make her way to the auction house where she’d bought the Cursed Bridal Gown, and her good mood held despite the busy late morning traffic. It began to fray when Ron Drury, the auction house manager, proved reluctant to help her, citing client confidentiality. Brett had told her his sister Sasha had put the gown up for auction. She didn’t know the woman’s last name and had to launch a campaign of charm, along with a considerable amount of pleading and the unspoken threat of an incipient tearful session, to get Mr. Drury to give her the address of the party who had provided the auction item #43 (Vintage Wedding Gown).

That earlier sunny good mood was pretty much gone as she stood under the covered portico of a stately mansion on Derry’s outskirts, tired, hungry, and increasingly stressed. The mansion overlooked the ocean and she took deep, calming breaths while she admired the breathtaking view. One side of the Colonial blue painted double front door opened abruptly, and a middle-aged woman in an apron covering a staid black dress stood looking out. She treated Kelly and her elderly car with the same haughty expression.

Her look said the ten-year-old Dodge Grand Caravan just wasn’t the usual class of vehicle to stand in the curved driveway. The same assessment seemed to extend itself to Kelly, for she said, “We don’t buy from door-to-door sellers” and began to close the door.

Desperation made Kelly stick her foot in the door, wincing as the heavy oak slammed into her big toe. “I’m not selling anything. In fact, I bought something and I need to meet with Ms. Sasha Atwell-Montgomery.”

“She’s out.”

“Well, it was really Ms. Mary Atwell I was looking for.” Kelly was sometimes disturbed at how easily lies seemed to spring to her lips.

“She’s out, too.” The pressure of the door on her foot was gradually increasing. If she didn’t get this settled in the next couple of minutes she’d likely walk with a limp for the rest of her life.

“Look, I came a distance to see Ms. Atwell or Ms. Montgomery. Maybe I could just come in and wait.”

The woman issued a long-suffering sigh. “I’m sorry, that will not be possible.” She didn’t sound at all sorry to Kelly’s ears.

At that moment, a flirty red sports convertible breezed up the driveway and came to rest teasingly alongside Kelly’s Caravan. The Caravan looked even more discouraged beside the other perky vehicle. Which was the same reaction Kelly had as the car’s slender, blonde driver hopped out. She was as flirty and perky as her car, and Kelly suddenly felt too tall, too chunky, too old, and just, well, just too everything.

“Hello—are you from the cleaning service?” Little Miss Perky chirruped as she climbed the steps armed with a couple of shopping bags with elegant store logos on them. They were from stores whose windows Kelly couldn’t even afford to stand in front of let alone shop inside. That made the reference to the cleaning company even more offensive, and she drew herself up to her full height, which was a good two inches over the blonde.

Not that the other woman was intimidated. The entire Russian army probably couldn’t stop this one in her tracks for long. “No, I’m from a store called Wedding Bliss in Marina Cove. The proprietor, actually, and … ”

Sasha gave a little gasp. “You’re the one who paid that outrageous price for Aunt Mary’s old wedding gown? I hope my brother hasn’t been hassling you too much about that silly thing! Mrs. Patrowski, I’ll have my tea in the parlor.”

Dismissed in a couple of sentences. Kelly frowned. The housekeeper frowned, too. At least they had something in common besides being ignored by Sasha, who sashayed into the house as if they weren’t there. They both traipsed through the foyer after her.

“Brett’s your brother? Yes, it would be fair to say he’s been bothering me.” It was true. Thoughts of Brett had actually woven through Kelly’s dreams, although she wasn’t going to tell Sasha that.

Brett’s sister gave a genteel snort, reminding Kelly of a purebred racehorse she’d once seen. “He’s such a stick-in-the-mud! Making such a fuss about that old dress. Honestly, as if Auntie Mary is ever going to want to wear it again!”

The housekeeper gave a disgusted sniff and walked away.

Kelly looked around the beautiful old house, with its richly appointed furnishings sparkling in the multi-colored rainbows cast by the sun through art nouveau stained glass. The place screamed old money. What would it be like to live in such a place? To grow up rich and secure? To take for granted all this comfort and beauty and the assurance of ancestors going back generations?

Sasha’s next question interrupted her musings. “I hope you’re not thinking to ask for your money back because it’s not going to happen.” She cast a narrow-eyed glance at her visitor. Kelly cast a narrow-eyed glance at the expensive shopping bags the other woman clutched. It was obvious that much of the money from the auction had already been spent. Anger rippled up and down her spine, but she swallowed it, remembering Noelia’s “catch more flies with honey than vinegar” mantra.

“I’m doing some research and I wanted to talk to your aunt about her dress. Lots of people have admired it, by the way.”

“Oh, Auntie Mary’s recovering from pneumonia; she’s in the Holywell Home—it is a nursing and retirement residence. Very upscale.” Sasha’s cheeks took on a guilty flush and Kelly remembered that Brett had had some harsh words for his sister over abandoning their aunt to the care of strangers.

Kelly had to fight the big smile that wanted to crawl over her lips. She hadn’t even had to ask for Mary Atwell’s location. She put on a suitably serious expression and said, “I’m sorry to hear that. She’s feeling better, I hope?”

Sasha didn’t bother to hide her look of disappointment. “Yes, she is, and Brett’s making this big fuss about her coming home tomorrow. It was supposed to be today but the doctor who must sign her out was away until tomorrow.”

“Well, that will be nice for you to have her back, won’t it?” It was mean of her to tease the other woman, but as far as Kelly was concerned there probably wasn’t enough mean in Sasha’s life. She headed toward the front door.

“Hey,” Sasha called after her. “You’re not the one everyone’s talking about? The one with the Cursed Bridal Gown? Myself, I know a sales gimmick when I hear one—you’d better not be spreading that around about Auntie Mary’s dress!”

Kelly turned and, with the sweetest smile she could muster, said, “Of course not, Sasha—a person would have to be really dumb to believe in that stuff, wouldn’t they?” And then she made her escape.

• • •

Kelly congratulated herself on obtaining information that wasn’t easily come by, and decided she deserved a quiet lunch. Her growling stomach agreed. She was starving and figured she could take a half hour or so to eat and get her strength up. If Mary Atwell was in a nursing home she wasn’t likely to be taking off on a hot date so there was no real urgency to get to the Holywell Home and interview her.

She needed to watch her cash flow so it looked like lunch under the Golden Arches. She stopped at one that had one of those children’s play areas and the place was swarming with little rug rats of all varieties. Still, the food was predictable, cheap, and quick, so she grabbed a newspaper off the rack and settled down with her tray at a table for two.

She couldn’t help but notice the young mother at the next table who was discreetly breast-feeding a tiny baby. Kelly was an only child of parents who themselves were only children, so she hadn’t had a lot of contact with babies and found herself unable to take her eyes from this tiny being. Who would have thought they came in such diminutive sizes?

She must have been staring because the young woman said, “Is this bothering you? I mean, this is the only chance I have for a few quiet minutes to feed Davey while Dixie is busy in the play area.”

Embarrassed, Kelly apologized. “I’m sorry for staring—and no, it doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I think it’s quite beautiful.”

The other woman smiled. “Thank you. My name’s Merry, by the way. And you probably wouldn’t think it was so beautiful if you had to do it regularly at 2 a.m.”

“Probably not, but you look happy enough.”

“Oh, good heavens! Dixie!” Merry jumped to her feet, a look of panic on her face as she stared through the Plexiglas that separated the play area from the restaurant. Her tiny bundle of joy gave an outraged wail at being separated from his lunch.

Kelly followed her glance and saw a tiny girl, a miniature of her mom, tottering on the top of the monkey bars. As they watched in horror, the little girl lost her grip and fell to land on the cushioned floor. The specially designed flooring saved the tot from injury, but obviously her pride was hurt because moments later an ear-shattering howl filled the play area. Kelly’s new friend struggled to straighten her clothes and grab her purse while holding the infant.

“You need to go to her,” Kelly said. “Shall I hold the baby for a moment and watch your things?”

Undecided, the woman looked her over. The wailing grew in volume, people were starting to stare, and she made an executive mom decision. “Just for a moment—I’ll be right back. Just promise me you’re not a kidnapper!”

“No, not on Tuesdays, anyway.” Kelly reached out to receive the baby, who was bundled up in a soft blanket. The child rested in her arms, looking up at her with such a serious expression she found herself smiling broadly. And out of the blue a longing filled her, a deep longing she’d never experienced before. At that moment the idea of having a baby of her own seemed like the most important life goal she could have.

“How could I do it, though, sweetie? It takes two to tango, after all,” she told those wide blue eyes. The tot, who couldn’t have been more than ten weeks old, smiled and gurgled as if he hadn’t a care in the world and thought that Kelly should feel the same way.