Diamond Rings are Deadly Things

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

COFFEE FILTER ROSES

For each rose, gather three four-cup and three eight- to twelve- cup unused basket-style coffee filters. Dye them using watercolors or watered-down acrylic paint. Dip and then dry.

Stack the three large filters together. Flatten them out, then fold in half and in half again to form a triangular wedge. Using scissors, cut along the open end of the triangle to create a scalloped line. Do the same with the three small filters.

Open the cut filters and place the small stack on top of the large stack. With your fingers, pinch the underside of the stack in the center, where the folds meet, which will cause the filters to crinkle together. Using a stapler, staple just above where your fingers have pulled the filters together.

Turn the flower over and open up the filters. Beginning with the outermost filter, gather the filter at the base and pinch around the base to pull the circle tighter, forming ruffles and petal-like fullness. Repeat with each of the six filters, gathering them at the base and pinching along the bottom to create a stem-like bump on the bottom.

Wind masking tape around the base to hold the shape. Fluff out the flower.

Use coffee filter roses as table décor, hang from the backdrops or ceiling, or use them to create floral wreaths.

Courtesy of www.mashedpotatoesandcrafts.com.

Chatting with Dallas had put me a little behind, and the line at the post office was longer than I’d hoped. When I stopped by Walter’s store to tell him about the shipment, I found the store closed. A hand-written sign taped to the front door stated he was sick. It seemed strange that he didn’t have someone covering for him. I couldn’t recall a time when Mayfield Jewelers had ever been closed during regular business hours. Walter was looking forward to seeing the gowns, and Lorea and I were just as excited to show him, but it would have to wait.

The sun burned off the cool mountain morning as I walked down the block to my building. Summer was fast approaching, but the temperatures were still sluggish, even this late in May. I unlocked the back door of my shop and stepped inside. Before I could greet Lorea, the wedding bells above the front door rang, and I recognized the click-click of stilettos.

“Hello, darlings,” a familiar voice called out.

Glancing at Lorea, I suppressed an eye-roll and went to greet our client.

“Sylvia, how are you?”

“I’m feeling radiant. Isn’t that how people describe a lovely bride?” Her hand fluttered, and the flash from a gargantuan diamond crossed my showroom as Sylvia Rockfort approached.

As usual, I struggled to come up with an appropriate response to her self-aggrandizing behavior. So I settled for a nod and a smile.

Sylvia looked as if she’d just stepped off a movie set. Her auburn hair was straight with just the right amount of shine, and the jeweled belt she wore with a light blue sundress accentuated her tiny waist. She directed one of her glamour-girl smiles my way. “I can’t wait to see my dress, although it probably will need to be taken in around the waist.”

I thought I heard Lorea groan from the back room.

“Lorea will be happy to help make it a perfect fit,” I answered Sylvia with a plastic smile. Depending on who you asked, I had either done something very good or very bad to deserve a bride like Sylvia. Her Hollywood-style wedding at the end of June would bring in a fat paycheck, but would I be sane enough when it was over to cash it? I fidgeted, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on my lime-green blouse.

“Adrielle, I really wish you’d consider trying out my hair stylist.” Sylvia leaned toward me and lifted one of my blonde strands, letting the length of it slip through her fingers. “Not quite curly, not quite straight.”

“It’s called relaxed, Sylvia,” Lorea said as she came to the front of the shop. “You should try it. Adri’s hair is beautiful.”

Sylvia’s blue eyes narrowed. They were set too close together, and the plastic surgeon’s symmetry must have been off when he fixed her nose because one of the nostrils flared in a crooked slant when she was annoyed or angry. I cleared my throat and accidentally elbowed Lorea. “What she means is, my hair stylist thinks it’s beautiful, and I’m not due for another trim yet.”

“Follow me,” Lorea said. “I have everything ready for your first fitting.”

I hung back and listened to Sylvia’s exclamations of delight as she examined the gown, and Lorea helped her try it on. We didn’t have a private fitting room in the bungalow-turned-wedding headquarters, but I had set up a partition which offered the look and feel we were after.

“We’re ready,” Lorea called.

I thought I heard a note of satisfaction in her voice, and when I entered the room I could see why. Lorea held a measuring tape and slowly twirled the bride-to-be in front of our full-length mirror. The satin bodice was tight-fitting against Sylvia’s small waist, and the dress flared at the hip line, flattering her tall physique. Lorea put on a tiny pair of reading glasses she kept on a beaded chain around her neck to magnify her work. She examined the hem carefully.

Sylvia leaned over and looked at the hem as well. “I love the design, don’t you?”

Lorea nodded, and I could see her shoulders relax. “It’s lovely.” “We need to get a couple more mirrors to do that gown justice,” I said. “You look beautiful.”

“Isn’t it divine?” Sylvia fingered the delicate beadwork on the bodice. “I love how it sparkles. Lorea said it would be bad luck to try on the other gown when this one is so obviously me, but I just have to make sure.”

“I think I agree with Lorea.” I inclined my head slightly and lifted a brow. Lorea shrugged and held up her crossed fingers.

The creamy strapless gown showed off Sylvia’s tanned skin. She had pulled her auburn locks into a chignon for the fitting. Sylvia did look beautiful. Even though she hadn’t been lovely to deal with, it was a nice change to see a smile and relaxed brows instead of the spoiled slant I had come to expect.

“I feel like everything is going to be perfect now,” Sylvia said. “Oh, Adri, I know I’ve been difficult. Things have just been so stressful with Natalie planning her wedding the same time as mine.” Sylvia stepped forward and grasped my hands. “But now it just feels like everything is coming together like I dreamed it would.”

My nerves tingled at the mention of the person Sylvia considered her rival and worst enemy, Natalie Berlin. I hurried to change the subject. “Everything is on schedule, and I’m meeting with a couple new caterers for your bridal shower. I think one of them might be perfect for the theme you’ve selected.”

“What about the country club?” The familiar slant returned. “Will they budge on the time at all?” She straightened, trying to appear taller, but my five-foot-ten inch height couldn’t be matched by her high heels.

My head began to throb. “They were firm about their time frame, but I was able to reserve the club starting at two o’clock as a special circumstance.”

“Wonderful!” Sylvia clapped her hands, and I noticed Lorea’s attempt at a fake smile.

“I’m almost finished, Sylvia,” Lorea said. “The dress seems to have been made for you. Only a few minor alterations will be needed.”

I looked at the gown again. It was beautiful.

“Adri, can you pull out the other gown while Lorea finishes up? My friend Lisa says that she could be getting a ring any day. I thought she might like the other dress.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Lorea interrupted. “It’s the third dress hanging over there.” She pointed, and her eyes seemed to scream at me, Just play along!

My steps were hesitant as I approached the line of garment bags. Each wedding gown was a possibility and a risk at the same time. Did Lorea think that one of the gowns was close enough to Sylvia’s alternate? If so, I hoped she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. For half a second, a part of me thought about coming clean, but I swallowed hard and choked on the painful truth. Lorea knew what she was doing: avoid making Sylvia angry, at any cost.

I would have to play along. The click of the zipper was akin to a timer counting down to an explosion. The dress was eager to escape the confines of plastic and spill its tulle and satin onto the floor. I noted the train on the back and hefted the fifteen pounds of fabric, moving slowly toward Sylvia.

She narrowed her eyes. “That isn’t my backup dress. Lorea, don’t you remember, it had a bell skirt.”

“That’s right.” Lorea nodded. “Hmm, now I remember the problem. That particular dress was discontinued, and there was a mix-up with the order.”

“What?” Sylvia’s eyes flashed with anger. “But we ordered it. How could they discontinue it? And why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

I felt my heart rate increase, but Lorea held up her hand to stop Sylvia’s protest and spoke rapidly. “Tell you what. Let’s get you out of this dress, and you can take a look at the other gowns. I know for a fact that none of them comes close to how extraordinary this gown is, but that way you will know for sure.”

Sylvia’s gaze flicked to the gowns hanging innocently in their dress bags, and then she turned her head and looked in the mirror again. The sneer was replaced with a demure smile. “I think you’re right, Lorea.”

She had echoed my words of earlier, but I knew we had barely missed a diva-sized tantrum. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me.” I wanted to breathe in my own level-headed space for a while.

“Thanks, Adri,” Lorea called. I heard the relief in her voice.

I sat in my office chair and retrieved one of the cream binders with turquoise accents and silver embossed words on the front: Adrielle Pyper’s Dream Weddings, Where happily ever after is your destination. I ran my fingers over the words and smiled. When I designed my shop, I had selected some of Briette’s and my favorite colors to decorate with—turquoise and purple. The signature mix made it easy to recognize my mark on the otherwise boring pages I filled out for my clients.

Each of my clients was assigned a binder when we began preparations for her wedding. I looked at the other three binders stacked neatly on the bookshelf beside the desk and thought about the fifth one tucked away in the office safe. Two weddings during the month of June and three more in July. It didn’t sound like much, but I handled everything from the typeface on the invitations to the musicians playing the couple’s first dance.

A twelve percent commission might not sound like much, either, but with clients like Sylvia Rockfort, a wedding costing 100,000 dollars was well below what her incredibly rich parents thought their daughter deserved. So I put up with Miss Nostril because twelve percent of her projected 175,000-dollar expense sheet would go a long way in my business.

I flipped through a few pages of Sylvia’s wedding binder and glanced back at the safe. The Rockfort-Porter wedding had come to me with only a two-month lead time. Because of the time crunch, I added a rush fee of five thousand dollars. The Rockforts had expected as much and signed the contract happily, which left me wishing I’d charged ten thousand extra.

Several indicators led me to assume I wasn’t selected merely for my skill or charm. Word leaked out that I was planning the prestigious nuptials of movie star Brock Grafton and homegrown Natalie Berlin, which generated some interest in future wedding dates and new clientele. For the Rockforts, it generated a definite need to hire me as their wedding coordinator. Brock Grafton was Sylvia’s ex-boyfriend, and rumor had it that at one time they had been close to tying the knot. Maybe he hadn’t been able to get over that crooked nostril.