Veiled in Death Read online

  My sister set down her second goblet of lemonade a bit too hard on the counter, sloshing the pale yellow nectar over the edge. Whiskey the calico rushed over to sniff the dripping puddle forming on the floor. The cat turned her nose up at the acidic drink and instead sauntered over to her water dish.

  “You what? Without consulting me? No way. Cancel the interview.” Rachel’s pretty green eyes flashed with anger.

  I sighed and placed a hand on my hip. Rachel wanted to be an equal partner in the business, but had increasingly been pulled in the direction of her baking side business and her relationship with Miles. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t mind one more addition. She’s slated to interview right after our first three candidates. I think you’ll agree she’s so promising that we couldn’t let this opportunity pass.”

  But my ringing endorsement of Pia only riled Rachel further. “It sounds like this person is basically hired, Mallory. Mom is right. I need more of a say here.”

  I opened and closed my mouth like a beached fish while I gathered my thoughts and tempered my own annoyance. “I don’t think that’s exactly what Mom said. And since when are you taking advice from Mom?”

  Rachel bristled. “So just who is this person?”

  I sighed. “Pia Battles. There.” I touched my cell phone’s screen. “I just forwarded you her CV and a link to her web portfolio. She has ample event-planning experience, and she just moved back to Port Quincy for the foreseeable future.”

  But Rachel didn’t appear to have heard anything beyond the surname Battles.

  “Is she related to Tabitha?” Rachel spoke the name with icy disdain.

  “Yes, she’s Tabitha’s little sister, just graduated from college in D.C.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  I shook my head at my sister’s decree. A few summers ago, she’d dated Tabitha’s ex, to disastrous results. Tabitha had tried to warn Rachel, and received an earful. The women were civil, but would never be friends.

  I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  Rachel had learned her epic grudge-holding skills from our mom and was destined to detest Tabitha forever. Just as my mom would never be friends with Bev.

  I sighed and turned from my sister to put the pitcher of lemonade into the refrigerator. “I’m sorry, Rach. I should have run this by you. But the interviews are tomorrow, and I just added Pia on. We don’t have to hire her. But I want to do her the courtesy of keeping the interview. And I hope you will give her a chance. Whatever happened between you and Tabitha shouldn’t poison your opinion of her little sister. They’re different people, after all.”

  My sister placed a fist under her chin and sighed. The chandelier reflected off of her sparkly bronze acrylics. She shrugged. “I’m a professional. I’ll give her a shot.”

  Later that evening my mom, sister, stepdad, and I gathered around the table for an evening of chitchat and familial fun. While my parents had their own abode, it was always fun to host them for dinner. We had a good time, no doubt because we all carefully chose to avoid the landmine topics of earlier in the day. I regaled everyone with a more detailed version of my impromptu showdown with Helene. All seemed well. The pretty but ripped veil was tucked away in the safe in my office. I fell into bed that night with a full heart. My family was a bit crazy, but they loved me fiercely. Whatever happened with my wedding, and with the heart-pounding conversation I’d soon have with Garrett about having kids someday, everything would be fine.

  At least that’s what I told myself.

  * * *

  “Two down and one to go.” My sister seemed to melt into the loveseat we were sharing as we interviewed candidates for the assistant wedding-planner position. I’d been impressed with my sister’s professionalism this morning after her reaction yesterday to granting Pia an interview.

  “Macy and Simon were incredible. It’ll be hard to choose between them.” My sister closed her eyes and seemed to shut down any discussion, too.

  “Not so fast, sis.” I realized Rachel’s apparent acceptance of Pia’s interview was anything but. She was just banking on our other candidates being so good we could bypass Tabitha’s little sister altogether. Fine. I’d play my sister’s game. For now. But she couldn’t stop Pia walking in the door in T-minus-ten-minutes.

  “Macy and Simon would both do a wonderful job.” I acquiesced and played along. “I think we’ll finally have a permanent assistant.”

  But Rachel seemed to catch on to my performance. “I’m still mad at you, Mallory. You’re not off the hook just yet.” Rachel’s voice dropped to a low grumble. “I was in on selecting the other three candidates. I still can’t believe you added a fourth based on an impromptu interview in the Antique Emporium! When you’re out on maternity leave, this won’t happen.” She smirked after delivering her final barb.

  “Whatever, Rach.” I retaliated by lobbing a small decorative pillow, which I purposely sent wide. I wouldn’t want to mess up my sister’s interview look. Rachel giggled and expertly batted it away like the volleyball player she’d been back in high school. But I could tell that even though we had just made light of it, Rachel was ticked to her core that I’d unilaterally invited Pia to an in-person interview. Ticked enough to make a running and annoying joke about the parent-in-waiting gauntlet our mother had thrown down yesterday. I could remain amused as long as this all remained in the realm of jokes and giggles.

  Rachel was usually the more easygoing person in our business, but she had vetted our other three candidates with ruthless efficiency and an eagle eye. I could set aside my annoyance and understand why she wasn’t too thrilled to have Pia sweep in during the eleventh hour. But fate had been kind to me. Our most promising candidate had canceled this morning. She’d been gracious and had not wanted to waste our time as she’d just accepted a job in Pittsburgh. Which left Macy and Simon, who had both aced their interviews. But Rachel couldn’t be mad about Pia, who brought this round of interviews back to the three-candidate number we’d decided upon. I wasn’t going to apologize any longer.

  “Honestly, Rach, I hope Pia works out. Macy told us she plans to commute from Pittsburgh, and Simon seems bitten by the big city bug, too. They’d both do well here, but Pia has no illusions about sleepy small-town life since she grew up in Port Quincy.”

  Rachel batted away my list of reasons with a flick of her acrylics. “I can’t believe you made me call Pia’s references already. That’s a bit premature, Mallory. Just promise, no more big decisions without consulting me.” Rachel was as annoyed as I’d seen her in a long time. It was true we were formal business partners now. But her maudlin pout catapulted me back to when we were decades younger, arguing childishly about the fairness of this or that.

  I rejoindered with an exasperated sigh. “But we called everyone else’s references last week, Rachel. We’re just giving Pia an equal chance. The same as we granted the other candidates.”

  Rachel remained defiantly skeptical. “I’ll withhold judgment until I meet this supposed event-planning Svengali. This job requires finesse and sophistication and excellent communication skills. The young man and the woman we just interviewed were both fantastic and would be immediately helpful to our business.” She flounced back into the loveseat with an unprofessional harrumph and crossed her arms against any apparent rejoinder I’d have. Her sweeping tassel-chandelier earrings swished against her shoulders in silent censure as she shook her head once in my direction. Rachel had partially covered her curve-hugging black catsuit with a pretty khaki jacket and red sky-high heels. Her beachy, caramel waves piled high on top of her head were held in place with rose-gold chopsticks. She’d topped off her look with faux, round red reading glasses with powerless glass lenses. She looked amazing, true to her daring style, yet still professional.

  It wasn’t anything I could pull off, though. I was the more subdued version, my hair less golden, curlier and more unruly, too. I was still pleased with my interview outfit of a peach sundress with a smattering of green lea
ves, flat espadrilles, and a white linen jacket. Rachel and I were so different, but we complimented each other in every way. I didn’t want to preface Pia’s interview with a sisterly fight.

  It was time to stop convincing Rachel. I was sure Pia was our next assistant. I just hoped Pia could persuade my sister as well. I tried to suppress the smirk I felt forming at the corners of my mouth. “You’ll see, Rach.” I took a delicate swig of my tea.

  The sonorous clang of the bell announced our final interview candidate. Rachel and I both jumped and laughed. It was a more fortunate sign, and I’d gladly take it. I hustled into the cavernous front hall of our mansion-turned-B-and-B and made my way to the heavy double front doors. Rachel lagged behind in silent protest. When she reached the doors, we smoothed our outfits and put on our interview game faces. I gestured toward the door, but Rachel shuffled me forward with a frown. “Let Ms. Battles in.” She sounded pained.

  Behave, Rach.

  I ushered Pia into Thistle Park. Rachel coolly deigned to shake Pia’s hand but refused to join in the banal chitchat I engaged in as I seated our interviewee.

  I took in Pia’s nervous gulp of the water we offered her. She was truly the youngest candidate. But so far, she was holding her own, her expression poised and calm. She’d dressed in a navy pantsuit with a lovely watercolor red and yellow scarf tied at her neck. On her petite feet were a pair of bright yellow flats bejeweled with red gems. I caught Rachel giving Pia’s look a grudgingly approving appraisal. I in turn appreciated Pia’s apparent seriousness in choosing to don professional attire but also admired her personalized touches showing some serious style.

  As we made our way to our office and offered Pia a seat, Rachel slipped the prescription-less hipster reading glasses down her nose and it was all I could do to stifle a giggle. She next pulled a pencil officiously from behind her ear, but the writing utensil got caught in her huge tassel earrings. My sister was playing hardball with Pia, much more so than with our other two candidates.

  “Shall we begin?” I shot Rachel a warning glance and we formally began the question portion of the interview. We pelted Pia with questions focused on eliciting experiential answers. Pia answered with aplomb. With each skilled answer anchored in her past event- and wedding-planning tasks, I could see my sister’s attitude change right before my eyes.

  Pia is nailing this.

  She was magnificent. It was true she had less experience than the other candidates, but what she had done as a part-time assistant in D.C. sounded thorough and innovative. She was customer oriented but not afraid to take risks. I tried to suppress a grin for the sake of professionalism, but found myself failing.

  And my formerly irritated sister was trying doubly hard to tamp down her enthusiasm. As we asked question after question and heard Pia’s excellent answers and subtle promotion of her skills, I witnessed my sister smiling, nodding, and relaxing. I knew I was doing the same.

  After an hour of interviewing, Rachel was positively dazzled. She squeezed my hand under cover of a decorative velvet pillow. I sent my sister a look that telegraphed, “I know! She’s awesome.”

  “Ahem. Do you have any more questions for me?” Pia offered us a tentative smile, her mouth quivering a bit after having to be on for an hour of intense questions. Rachel and I answered Pia’s questions about her role and our business and finally the formal interview portion came to a close.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to use your restroom.” Pia’s pretty green gimlet eyes darted to the door and into the hallway.

  “Of course.” This time my sister jumped up to personally escort Pia. She came back to our shared office with a giant grin.

  “She’s amazing!” Rachel pulled me to my feet and danced a little jig.

  “I know!” I refrained from tacking on a smug I told you so. I was happy enough that Rachel also recognized Pia’s amazing skills. “I really think she’ll fit in well with the dynamic we have here.”

  Rachel nodded, her tassel earrings swishing and punctuating her enthusiasm. “She’s just what we needed. She’s a natural! I hope she accepts our offer!” My sister giggled as a slow blush climbed her face. “I guess you were right. I’m glad fate sent Pia our way yesterday.”

  I grinned at my sister. “She’s perfect!” My sister and I uttered the words in unison and erupted in laughter. “Jinx.” We crooked our pinkies together and turned toward the door.

  Oops.

  Pia was standing in the doorway with a goofy grin on her face. I wondered how long she’d been standing there unnoticed. It was her turn to blush. She took a deep breath and began in a timid tone, “I guess I got the job?”

  Her question wasn’t at all untoward after what she’d probably just overheard.

  “Yes!” It was Rachel who affirmed the answer with unbridled glee. The three of us abandoned professionalism and gave high fives.

  “Welcome aboard, Pia.”

  Rachel chatted animatedly with our new hire as I gathered a thick stack of paperwork for Pia to fill out. A half hour later we lingered over the treats I’d hidden behind a large stack of files on my desk. Another plate of goodies resided on my desk chair, obviously not appropriate for the interview. But Rachel and I had taken restorative breaks in between each candidate, since interviewing was draining for all parties involved.

  Pia finished her snack and sank into a chintz chair with relief. She then seemed to remember herself and sat up straighter. She delicately dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her cloth napkin. Then she abandoned her daintiness and bit into a slice of cranberry banana bread with gusto, now that she’d been officially hired. I thought of how she somewhat resembled her sister and my friend, Tabitha, but not completely. Their resemblance was much like my own with Rachel.

  Pia let out a contented giggle. “I was so nervous this morning that I didn’t eat. My blood sugar was in the basement.” She laughed as Rachel cut her another slice of fragrant bread. “And I’m sorry about the incident with the veil.” She blushed prettily again. “Grandma Claudia usually puts on a tough front. She’s one of the few women taking part in the reenactment this week.” Pia’s mirth dimmed a bit, and she turned pensive and solemn.

  “It’s not her fault.” I jumped in. “We’re dealing with Helene. She was just extra ornery because she didn’t get her way.”

  Pia nodded. “Thank goodness Grandma Claudia isn’t shaken up by Helene. She loves history and couldn’t wait to take part in this inaugural reenactment. Who cares if our family is not descended from Revolutionary War participants?” Pia shook her head. “Did you know Helene wanted it initially limited to participants based on that silly distinction?”

  I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “That’s appalling. Each person, no matter how they got here, is part of our country. Immigrants have always made this country great, and we still celebrate that history. Helene is insane. Thank goodness the voting council doesn’t share her reactionary views.”

  “And speaking of history.” Rachel let out a pretty peal of laughter as our stepfather, Doug, walked into our office. He was dressed in full Revolutionary War regalia, his homespun outfit echoing Claudia’s from yesterday.

  Doug was a history buff and adjunct professor at Quincy College. We’d sought out his expertise to help organize Cordials and Cannonballs.

  “Hello, Pia.” Doug tipped his tricorn hat toward our guest and sent us into a fit of giggles. He spun around in a circle and showed off his patriot costume.

  “I’m proud to wear this silly thing,” he said with a laugh. “It was hard to get people to play British soldiers, but we have enough. Can you believe there’ll be fifty people on that field tomorrow?” Doug shook his head in amazement and caught his hat from teetering off at the last second.

  “It’s a crazy good turnout,” Rachel gushed. It certainly helped that the reenactment would be paired with one of the biggest bashes of the year, hosted by Rachel and yours truly. The town of Port Quincy had enjoyed great success in revenue and revelry with the yea
rly Founder’s Day celebration. This year the council voted to expand the festivities to a full Founder’s Week, kicked off with the inaugural Cordials and Cannonballs and ending with the traditional Founder’s Day festivities and dance.

  “Excuse my sorry state.” Doug procured an incongruous bottle of neon-green Gatorade from his homespun fabric satchel, finally and truly breaking the spell of his Revolutionary War affect. “We’ve been practicing in the midday heat to replicate the actual skirmish that took place in Port Quincy. And also, because that’s when the reenactment takes place, in a few days.” Doug seemed positively tickled to align the reenactment time with the rumored actual time of the small Battle of Port Quincy.

  “It’s like being in a sauna outside,” Pia added. “I was second-guessing my choice to wear a suit to this interview, but your air-conditioning cuts the humidity.”

  “I just hope the weather cooperates.” Doug cast a worried gaze out the window at the cloudy but hot day. “I’d hate for the very first reenactment, and Cordials and Cannonballs, to be canceled.” Doug finally unslung the long weapon he’d been carrying behind his back.

  “Your costume gun looks a bit different from Claudia’s weapon.” I could get a closer look at the impossibly long gun leaned up against a striped mint ottoman. It was more out of place than the colonial-era militiaman before us with his fluorescent-green sports drink in hand.

  Doug nodded. “Her weapon is a rifle. Back in the day, Claudia’s weapon would have been more precise than this gun, which is technically a musket.” Doug eyed the replica. “Plus, this uses a leaded shot.”

  I must have looked confused. Doug further explained. “A musket ball. Ah, muskets use rudimentary balls instead of bullets. I think you girls saw some when we took a trip to Williamsburg one summer. It was hard to get any accuracy when most of the men fighting for independence were using muskets. It was a sad war. The soldiers just lined up in a wall of men.” He shook his head. “They shot their muskets, hoping to hit someone on the other side, with no precision.” The musket loosened from its perch against the ottoman and slid to the ground. We all winced. “Don’t worry, ladies, this replica is not loaded.”