“I know,” Alfie said, “but the wedding is happening. Don’t you need my help? You have the rehearsal dinner to plan.”
Shit.I did have the rehearsal dinner.
Originally, I was going to pay Weddings in the City to plan and cater it. Now what was I going to do?
I told the car’s assistant to call Girl Meets Fig. I would have Zoe cater. Everyone liked her cooking.
But she didn’t answer, even though it was Wednesday and still a bit early. Maybe I would need Alfie’s help.
“Wasn’t Amy going to do it for you?” he asked.
“Meg fired Amy because of what she did.”
“But I’m here now!”
“Unfortunately, she was never unfired.”
“I bet she would come help you.”
I tried calling her again. No response.
“I think we’re on our own.”
As we approached town, there was a traffic jam, and things slowed to a crawl. After creeping along at five miles an hour, we finally made it to Main Street.
“Wow!” Alfie exclaimed.
“Oh my god.”
Two huge wooden floats in the middle of the street were what had blocked up traffic. One was a bride. One was a groom. I winced as one of the effigies almost took out a lamppost.
Meg stood on the side of the road, arguing with Ida. I pulled over, parked the car, and jumped out with Alfie close behind me.
“Hi, Alfie. You’re back! Just in time,” Meg said.
“In time for what?” I asked. “I thought we were having a wedding. This looks like some sort of tribal ritual.”
“See, Ida?” Meg said. “This is crazy.”
“You fired the wedding planner,” Ida countered. “I’ve stepped in to offer my services, as is right and proper in a small town. We at the festival committee are committed to giving you the best, most memorable wedding ever.”
“By burning down half the town?” Meg shrieked.
“It’s going to be like Burning Man,” Ida insisted. “At the end of the festival, we light the statue on fire.”
“Ida,” I said, frowning as I inspected the closest float. “This sculpture was built out of scrap wood from one of the old factories. It’s basically soaked in gasoline.”
“It’s going to put Harrogate on the map!” she declared.
“Or wipe it off,” Meg countered.
“Meg, let me handle this,” I begged. “It’s your wedding week.”
“I’d rather deal with this than the people selling camping spots in their front yards and the inevitable complaints.”
A man jogged up. “Ida, where should we direct the hot-air balloons?”
“Tell everyone to park in the town square.”
