A Wedding to Die For- Wedding Bells and Magic Spells Read online

  A Wedding to Die For

  Wedding Bells and Magic Spells

  A.R. Winters

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  A Wedding to Die For

  Copyright 2018 by A. R. Winters

  www.arwinters.com

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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  Prologue

  I don’t normally spend my evenings trying to persuade men to give me their dead wife’s wedding dress.

  But as the saying goes, rules are made to be broken.

  It wasn’t as ghoulish as it sounded. Fletcher Davenport, the owner of the grandly titled Cypress Estate, was sitting across from me in an armchair that looked to be considerably older than him. And he was not a young man. The dress in question had belonged to his wife who had died many years previously, before I was even a young witchling.

  “How on Earth did you even find out about the dress?”

  With shaky hands he raised a teacup up to his lips, but his eyes were on me the entire time. Sizing me up. I was pretty sure that he was either trying to judge my character or the size of my purse, but I couldn’t quite be sure which.

  “It was in the paper—”

  “Yes, fifty years ago, and you couldn’t have been very old then,” he said, interrupting me.

  “I wasn’t born then!” I said, startled.

  There was a faint ripple in the air around me and I shook my head to clear it. I’d cast some minor spells of protection—this was a very old house after all, and I didn’t need curious or malevolent spirits interrupting what might well be a delicate negotiation—and if I got upset, I might lose control of the magic I’d woven.

  Focus, Aria. Focus.

  I knew he had a reputation as an old curmudgeon, but I didn’t realize he was going to make this quite so unpleasant.

  “Well?” he said, and placed his teacup and saucer down with a rattle on a mahogany table stained deep with decades of polish.

  “The newspaper has an ‘On this Day, x number of years ago’ column, and this week they featured your wedding. I saw a photo of your wife in her wedding dress and it was just beautiful. Really, really special.”

  “It was my wedding anniversary?” he said, tapping his chin. “I forgot my own wedding anniversary? It’s been a long time, but…” his words trailed off into a long, drawn-out sigh.

  “Oh, everyone forgets their wedding anniversary sometimes,” I said.

  It may have been bending the truth slightly, but it was a white lie. I didn’t want the sad old man to fall into a funk of depression. In fact, I’d hoped that mention of his wedding in the newspaper might have cheered him up.

  “And you want to buy the dress?”

  I placed my own teacup down as I nodded, ready to launch into a spiel about—

  “And then what? Sell it on for ten times as much as you paid while I’m left with barely enough money to keep a fire burning in winter? Not all of us old men are as foolish as we look, young lady. I know all about you vultures that hover around, looking for carrion. Well, I’m telling you, I’m not carrion yet!”

  He snatched up his teacup again with renewed vigor, his little rant seeming to act as an energizing internal pep talk.

  A cold draft brushed against my skin. This house had had more than a century to absorb the spiritual energy of its residents and rather than imbuing it with warmth, it had instead become cold. One of those buildings that was always cooler inside than out, no matter the weather or how much you stoked the fire.

  “Please, Mr. Davenport, it’s not like that. I don’t want to sell the dress. It’s magnificent—I want to put it on display so that everyone in Sequoia Bay can appreciate it.”

  “Oh, you’re from the museum? You should have said.”

  I shook my head. He raised two bushy eyebrows, peering at me like he was uncovering dark secrets. A futile goal, if that was his aim. The only secrets I have are mere personal embarrassments or those held in trust for other people.

  “No, as I said, I run Blue Moon—”

  “Good cakes!” he said, interrupting me yet again.

  “What?”

  Cakes? Where did he get cakes from? Of course I had cake contacts, but my bridal shop certainly didn’t bake its own.

  “The Blue Moon Café. You look different today, though.”

  I shook my head and gave a chuckle, careful to make sure it didn’t sound mocking.

  “That’s the Black Cat Café. I run Blue Moon Bridal—wedding dresses, party favors, that kind of thing.”

  “Ah, yes, yes. I know. Just kidding. Ha, ha,” he said, actually sounding out the ha ha.

  I didn’t think he was actually kidding. I thought he was confused. “Anyway, I thought it might be nice, in fact I thought it would be really special, if I could set it up on display, right in the center of the shop. I think people would be really interested in it.”

  “And you wouldn’t sell it?”

  I shook my head no.

  Actually, truth be told, in all my years running my bridal shop, I’d never had a customer request an antique wedding dress. Modern brides wanted their own special, unique, and never-before-worn gown. Never a second-hand one, unless it was a personal family heirloom.

  “Just for display only. Promise.”

  He grunted.

  “Well, wait here. I’ll go and get it and we can talk further. This doesn’t mean I’ve made a decision yet. I’ve not yet made up my mind about you,” he said, jabbing his finger at me as he rose to his feet, joints popping and creaking all the while.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, standing up to join him.

  “No. You sit there and don’t move. And no poking about.”

  I kept my mouth shut and nodded. I hadn’t been talked to like that since grade school. But the dress really was spectacular, or at least it had been fifty years earlier. I just hoped moths hadn’t gotten at it…

  While he was gone, I gently let the aura of the house drift around me. I had my protection spells up, but I could sense some vague rustlings and whispers beyond. Nothing dangerous, but all old houses have some kind of spiritual presence in them. People often have the strange idea that spirits only hang around places where really bad things have happened, but that’s certainly not the case. If you’re skilled enough, you can sense spirits almost anywhere. That wasn’t really my specialty though.

  In the distance, I heard thumps and stomps coming from upstairs as Fletcher worked on retrieving the dress. After one t
hump there was the distinct sound of silence. Not silence as in the literal absence of sound, but the silence of something paused, something on hold.

  He’s found the dress and all the memories are flooding back while he looks at it, I thought. I couldn’t see him or anything like that—you need tools, ability, and a spell in order to scry—but I have good intuition, quite separate from my magical abilities.

  The silence ended with the slam of a door and the shuffling of Fletcher’s footsteps across an unseen wooden-floored hallway somewhere upstairs. The teacup in my hand was cold when he eventually returned to the parlor.

  As the door began to swing open, I stood up to greet him again.

  “Oh!”

  The dress appeared to float in to the room, an ivory cloud of charmeuse, chiffon, organza and—oh!—the most delicate lace! With my protection spells blocking the free flow of energy in the room, it was hard to tell if the effect was merely psychosomatic or whether it had a spiritual component, but as the dress floated in everything seemed to become brighter, the room warmer, the atmosphere lighter.

  “Still looks all right, eh?” said Fletcher from behind the dress. He was holding it up with one hand well above his head, the other gripping the dress in the middle, so as not to let any part of it drag on the floor. The way he was carrying the gown, it floated just an inch or two above the ground, hiding the man himself.

  “It is stunning,” I said, holding my hands up against my cheeks.

  I stepped toward the dress, wanting to touch it but afraid it would be as wispy as a cloud and just float away in an ethereal haze. My hand hovered over some delicate lacework and I let just the very tips of my fingers brush against it.

  “Right, my arm’s getting tired,” said Fletcher.

  He lifted the dress from the bottom and lowered from the top, so that the dress folded over onto itself. I reached out a helping hand, not wanting to risk letting something of this magnificence even come close to touching the floor, or anything else that wasn’t as unsullied as that perfect gown.

  “Could you hold it?” he asked.

  Could I?

  “Goodness, yes!” I said, actually hopping forward in my excitement, clapping my hands together.

  Ever so gently I took the gown from him, letting some of it unfold so that I could examine parts of it in more detail.

  “It’s not actually fifty years old, you know,” said Fletcher.

  I forcefully dragged my eyes away from the dress to meet his and caught him rubbing at his right eye with the back of a knuckle. Both of his eyes were slightly bloodshot now, and his voice was softer than when I first arrived.

  “No?”

  “It wasn’t my wife’s, originally. It belonged to my grandmother. This was one of the first white gowns in Northern California. Back then, only the elite wore gowns like this, you know.”

  I nodded in understanding. “Actually, only ‘the elite’ wear gowns like this now, it really is spectacular. I’ve never touched another dress quite so magnificent.”

  He smiled at me. Happy, but with a tinge of sadness or perhaps nostalgia.

  “She looked good in it, you know. Really good. Like an angel wrapped in cotton-candy clouds.”

  “She looked incredible in the newspaper, but I’m sure that grainy photo didn’t do her, or the dress, justice.”

  He shook his head. “No, it didn’t. In fact, she was quite put out by it. She said the photographer made her look like a big white buffalo. I told her that was preposterous—and I meant it!”

  “Well, good on you,” I said. “There’s no way anyone wearing this dress could look like anything but a million dollars.”

  “And if I sold it to you, you really would put it on display?”

  “Yes. But, now that I think about it, it would be at the back of the shop, not right in the middle. I couldn’t risk it being damaged by the sunlight, or, goodness forbid, any of the customers.”

  “You would look after it. I can tell.” He let out another long sigh as his eyes wandered around the room, looking at it as if he hadn’t spent the last half century or more seeing it every day.

  “Sad, isn’t it?” he said when his eyes finished their survey of the room and returned to me. “Saying goodbye.”

  “You’ll be welcome to come and see it in my shop anytime you like.”

  “Not that. Well, not just that. This is the first time I’ve taken it out in years. I’m getting old, Aria. Things will be wrapping up for me soon, I fear.”

  I shook my head. “Nonsense. You’ve got fire left in you yet, Mr. Davenport, I’ve seen it.”

  He chuckled from deep in his chest. “Yes, some fire left, I suppose. But I expect I’ll need it all, and more. Look, it’s getting late. I’m going to let you have it.”

  I couldn’t have stopped my beaming grin if I tried. In fact, if a gang of armed robbers had burst through the room just then, they would have taken me for a maniac as I would have smiled and giggled at their guns and threats—unless they touched the dress, of course.

  “How much do you want for it?” I asked nervously. While my bridal shop did okay, my resources still had a definite limit, and it was a limit that I feared was significantly less than what the dress was worth.

  “Oh, no, dear. If you’re really going to put it on display, and promise not to sell it you can take it. Free of charge. Call it a permanent loan, if you like. But could you do me one little favor?”

  “Of course! Anything you like.” I was giddy and would have agreed to just about anything.

  “Would you let me just keep it one more night? It probably sounds silly to you, but... she’s long gone, my wife, but sometimes, when I touch a hairbrush or a piece of jewelry, or something else dear of hers it’s almost like she’s there with me again.” Fletcher stared down at the dress. “Oh, you must think me a foolish old man. Go on, take it now.” He waved his hands in a shooing motion.

  I did exactly what I didn’t want to do: I shook my head and told him no.

  “Please. You keep it here, with you, tonight. I’ll come and collect it tomorrow after I close the shop. Anyway, now I’ve seen how magnificent it is, I really need to get a place worthy of it ready. You’ll be doing me a favor if you keep it tonight.”

  The last part was another white lie, but one with the very best of intentions. Who was I to deprive the old man of one last night with his wife’s wedding dress?

  The smile he gave me was grateful, as if it was me giving him permission to keep the dress, when in reality he could kick me out right then and there and never let me near the dress again if he were so inclined.

  “Thank you, Aria,” he said, still smiling. “I appreciate it. I’ll get the housekeeper to wrap it properly for you when she comes in tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, Fletcher. From me, and from all the customers in my shop who are going to get to appreciate your beautiful dress. It’s going to touch a lot of people, Mr. Davenport. Thank you.”

  Wistfully I placed the dress back into his arms, my movements slow, careful and methodical to make sure there was no risk of harm or damage to the piece.

  “I’ll see myself out. Have a good night, Mr. Davenport. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Aria. Take care,” he said, and then a look crossed his face and he made a sudden move toward his jacket, patting the breast of it. “Oh! One more thing.”

  “Yes?” I asked

  He pulled open his sports jacket and removed a rather large padded envelope that had been stuffed inside. “Here, take this. It’s a couple of other bits and bobs that went with the dress. The white gloves she wore and an old garter. Perhaps you can put them on display with the dress.”

  I beamed at him. “Thank you so much,” I said, taking the envelope from his shaky outstretched arm.

  As I left the property I was smiling, the coolness of the house and its sorrowful aura not chinking my cheerful demeanor in the slightest. I was already imagining how I was going to display the dress, on a small pod
ium I would have made, and the velvet ropes I would put around it to protect it from curious fingers. Perhaps even a glass cabinet, in time.

  I would have been much less chipper if I’d known that I wasn’t going to see Fletcher Davenport or his wife’s dress the following day.

  In fact, I wasn’t going to see him ever again.

  Chapter 1

  When you own a bridal shop, there are things you have to do, things you should do, and things you can do.

  Vacuuming the shop on a regular basis definitely falls into the column of things you have to do. No potential bride is going to want to fend off dust bunnies in her quest for the perfect dress or ideal party favors for her guests.

  I started right in the center of the room, and then worked my way outwards in a counterclockwise motion, round and round, until I reached the edges.

  But all that vacuuming didn’t seem to be enough: the shop looked good, but it still needed something. I had an important new client visiting soon, and I wanted the shop to have just the right atmosphere.

  I tapped my chin for a moment.

  Aha.

  That's it.

  From the drawer behind the shop counter, I removed a small bundle of mixed incense sticks. Picking out my favorite jasmine sticks, I placed them in a small bowl of white rocks, lit them, and waited ‘til they infused the air with their calming aroma.

  I gave the shop a final inspection. There. It now felt right. The energy was balanced, the floor was clean, the displays were neatly arranged, and I was ready to—

  “GOOD morning!” came a loud voice as the door swung open rapidly, sending the bell hung above it into an urgent DING A LING A LING.