Chapter 4

Vendors and a Client

Pissy Lou was at her desk by eight the next morning. She poured her yellow-orange mug full of iced coffee and opened her notebook to a fresh page. The Larrimore file was open in front of her. She had a list of calls to make before she drove out to Devereaux Heights, where Richard and Celeste Larrimore lived. She had verified information on the people she had intended to talk to the day before.

First on her list was the caterer, a woman named Darlene Puckett who ran the Fork & Flourish out of a commercial kitchen on the east side of town. Ms. Puckett answered on the second ring.

After introductions, Pissy Lou got down to work. “What did you do when Celeste Larrimore called to change the menu for the wedding?

“I told Aurora everything,” Puckett said. She had the tone of a woman who was waiting to talk about this situation. “As soon as I realized what her mother was doing, I called Aurora directly. I did not care whose toes I stepped on. It is her wedding.” She paused. “That woman, Celeste Larrimore, called me four times in two weeks. She wanted to swap out the entire menu. Aurora and Hayes had tasted everything; they’d signed off on a menu, and we had a contract. The menu was set. Then here comes Celeste wanting another tier on the cake, to swap out the wedding topper, and then she wanted chicken marsala and salmon added to the menu. She said Aurora was ‘too informal’ in her choices, like it was a character flaw.” Another pause, a deliberate one. “I have dealt with a lot of difficult mothers of the bride. That woman is in an extra-obnoxious category by herself.”

Pissy Lou thanked her and moved on.

The printer, a slow-talking man who identified himself only as “Bill, from Printed to Perfection,” confirmed the invitation situation, Aurora and Hayes had selected a plain card with an elegant texture, letterpress printing, a classic Garamond font, and wording that named them both first and their parents second. Celeste had called and instructed him to change the wording so that it read: “Mr. and Mrs. Richard Larrimore request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter …” which was not what Aurora had ordered, and not what was on the signed proof. Celeste provided her credit card, so he did a second run with the new wording. He then emailed the new proof to Aurora. She called back and sounded angry. She told him to throw those out, and hoped he still had the original invitations. He did. She also made him promise to call her again if Celeste tried to change them again.

“This happens more often than you might think,” Bill said in his deadpan way. “Parents argue about wording. Grandparents argue about wording. I once had a bride’s aunt threaten to sue over cardstock. That is why I never throw invitations away until after the wedding. Somebody is always upset about something.”

“Was this unusual?” she asked.

“As I said, no, happens all the time. But this was a bit new, Aurora wanted me to call her personally if her mother contacted me again. I mean the woman got caught the first time. Why would she try it again?”

Pissy Lou’s call to BarbyAnne Knowles, the events coordinator at the wedding venue, was more involved. Aurora and Hayes had booked The Carrington, an estate property outside of town with a bridal ceremony and reception space, gardens, and a catering kitchen. Celeste had called The Carrington and, citing unspecified “concerns,” canceled the booking, then booked a different property, Magnolia Hall, which had a more formal aesthetic. Pissy Lou suspected this site had a greater prestige among the circles Celeste traveled in. Aurora had called The Carrington, discovered the cancellation, and re-booked it immediately.

“I was surprised at how calm Aurora was. If my mother had pulled that on me, I would have been swearing something awful,” BarbyAnne said. “Then she asked that no further changes be accepted from anyone other than herself, and that such changes had to be in writing. I could tell she had thought this out before she called. I have never had another bride who had to ask me to do th Her last vendor call was to Beaufort Bridal, the shop where Aurora’s gown had come from. The owner, Serafina Beaufort, ran the store her grandmother had opened and had been dressing Nunenberg brides for over forty years. She remembered the gown without having to look anything up.

“Aurora picked an ivory, sleeveless couture gown, clean lines, no fuss. It had a slightly uneven hem, and ended just above her ankles so she could move easily. It suited her perfectly, and she knew it the minute she had it on. You can always tell,” Serafina said. “And she had an eye, that girl. She chose all four bridesmaids’ dresses here too — peacock blue, midcalf, with three-quarter sleeves of ivory illusion lace, and little flowers embroidered into the lace in the same blue, so they seemed to bloom right on the skin. Each one was cut a little differently, but you could see at a glance they belonged together. Those women came to their fittings laughing, and every single one asked me if she could wear hers again afterward. In this business, that is the highest compliment there is.”

“And the bride’s gown?”

“Then the alterations started.” Serafina Beaufort paused before continuing. “Her mother ordered the changes directly, four separate times, and mostly between fittings, so Aurora never saw them coming. Lace sleeves. A higher neckline. Lace layered over the bodice. She addeda train and veil. Mrs. Larrimore was paying for the work, so my hands were tied, but every fitting, that poor girl came in and found less of her own dress waiting for her. At the last one she said something about us turning it into a lacy burka. One of my fitters laughed. I did not.”

“Four rounds of alterations,” Pissy Lou said. “Is that normal?”

“Honey, in forty years I have taken gowns in, let gowns out, and re-beaded an entire bodice overnight for a bride who changed her mind. I have never un-designed a dress four times for a woman who was not the one wearing it.” She paused. “I heard Aurora took the gown with her when she left. Good. She should burn it. I’ve unpicked a lot of mistakes in forty years, but that gown’s got four rounds of her mother sewn in too deep for any seam ripper. Fire’s just the last alteration, and it’s the only one her mother can’t reverse.”

“So, you think Aurora intends to burn the dress?” Pissy Lou asked.

“Honey, if that were my dress, I’d pour a can of gasoline on it and strike a match,” Serafina said without hesitation.