But what he did know was that a sudden blooming, blossoming, billowing warmth of hope was spreading through him.
“Whose wedding did you think it was?” Iva asked, still fixing him with her steady, birdlike gaze.
“I…uh…thought it was Callie Quigley who was getting married,” he managed to say…just as he remembered—heremembered, now,after weeks of stupidity and unnecessary chivalry—how Trib had been telling him how Callie had started her own business in events planning after managing all the events at the ritzy Amway Grand Hotel in Grand Rapids…
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Ben, are you all right?” Iva’s soft wrinkled hand was pressing onto the back of his wrist.
And then he smiled. And felt suddenly quite lighter.
“Yes, I am,” he replied. “I most definitely am.”
Ten
New Year’sEve was a whirlwind for Callie.
She’d arrived in Wicks Hollow the night before and stayed at her Uncle Trib’s house so she could start the day early and give her full attention to the Bergstrom/Nath wedding.
The weather, at least, was cooperating. It was supposed to be crisp, clear, and just around thirty-five degrees into the evening. There was a fresh snowfall from the night before that blanketed everything with a virginal white. She couldn’t have planned it better if she’d been Mother Nature herself.
Callie was at Tremaine Tower by eight a.m., supervising the installation of the forest of bare white branches on the balcony. Twenty huge, gorgeous, glittery branches were placed upright in Christmas tree holders along the front of the balcony, and filling in behind in staggered rows.
Tiny lights were strung on random trees, but not all of them (Callie didn’t subscribe to what she called the “matchy-matchy” design mindset—where everything had to be identical or to match perfectly), in order to give the appearance of a fairytale forest. She hung swags made from arborvitae, spruce, and holly bush along the front of the balcony railing, then wove ecru and champagne colored ribbon among them.
Three dozen hurricane lanterns of various sizes and heights, on different stands or sitting freely on the balcony floor, were arranged among the forest of glittery white trees.
Because the weather was supposed to be absolutely perfect—the only chance of precipitation being some light flurries around midnight, which would bestunningfor the photographs if it happened—there was no need for the backup plan of a long, narrow tent-like awning that would extend from the door of the tower to the end of the balcony, where the bride and groom would stand.
Callie was ecstatic. She was about to pull off one of the most unique and beautiful winter weddings, with an attractive and very much in love septuagenarian couple, in an infamous location. If everything went well, she’d have spectacular photos for her portfolio, and press coming out the wazoo.
She was on the ground in front of the balcony, checking out the view from below of all angles with the white forest, the hurricane placement, and making certain the greenery swags weren’t sagging when she heard a sizzle and a small little explosion.
She looked up to see that the glittery New Year’s Eve ball had popped into illumination above the bell tower. Of course, no one could really see the light at ten o’clock in the morning unless they were watching for it. But tonight it would shine and glitter on the twelfth stroke of midnight, and when the ball came on at that time, a small explosion of biodegradable confetti would also rain down on the partygoers.
“Test run looks good!” she called up to Gertie Bachu, the tower’s caretaker whom she’d met just this morning.
“All right, thanks,” Gertie called down. “Anything else you need checked out?”
“I just want to make sure all the outlets are working on the balcony for the lights on the trees,” Callie replied as she turned to go back inside the tower. “I’ll check that now.”
She’d climbed the fifty stairs to the clock tower room a half dozen times already this morning, so on this—her seventh trip—she decided she could definitely have two pieces of the stunning wedding cake Trib had baked for the happy couple.Anda champagne cocktail or two—but only after everything went off. Definitely not before.
The room was ready for the caterers, who would set up at eleven fifteen and unveil the food just after the wedding finished—about an hour later. There were standing cocktail tables and a few settees—all in rich velvet upholstery—for the more elderly guests. A freestanding coat rack sat prudently in a corner.
White and cream flowers with green and blue spruce greenery created showy centerpieces on the cocktail tables and the bar. There was a champagne fountain—Iva had insisted, and Hollis had happily paid the price for that extra and for a very fine bubbly—as well as a top-shelf bar.
Callie looked at the wall where Brenda Tremaine’s red-painted words had appeared. The message still niggled at her—as any message left by a spiritual hand would no doubt do to most anyone. She and Fiona had washed it off the night of the séance because Iva insisted she didn’t want anyone worrying about the curse during her wedding. And Callie and Fiona agreed it would be best if no one knew about the actual séance either.
Farewell, Brenda.
Now, Callie walked back out onto the balcony to check the lighting on the white trees, and to adjust a few of the hurricanes and trees based on what she’d seen from the ground. She was moving one of the trees that was at the front of the balcony when she noticed a black mark on it.
It looked like a scrape, and it hadn’t been there—she didn’t think—when she put the tree in place. Maybe it had rubbed against the wrought iron railing when she was positioning it.
“No one will see it,” she told herself, and left things as they were. When she noticed the same black mark on a couple of the other trees next to the railing, she figured she’d been correct—fresh oil on the railing must have rubbed onto the white paint.
“If that’s the least of my worries tonight, it’ll be smooth sailing,” Callie told herself.
