Page 52 of All Dressed Up

She spun around. “Tell you what. Pick a bride and have her come down this afternoon. If there’s nothing in there when she lifts it up, we’ll go to Plan B.” She motioned to his computer bag. “You can order a new dress.”

“Okay, then.” It was clear she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Maybe she and Mary had some special pact. “I guess it’s time to select a bride.” He went over to the portable desk Rachel had set up for him, pulled out the metal chair, and took a seat.

Not very comfy, but he appreciated the maroon chair pillow she’d tied around it.

He powered up his laptop and scrolled through his client list. Whom should he call? Not anyone too emotional who might burst into tears or flip out if he couldn’t supply a dress.

He also wanted someone a little laid-back who could go with the flow.

His cursor landed on the name of the perfect bride to test out the trunk.Bingo!“I know who we should get first to come down,” he said out loud. A few seconds later, he clicked open her cell phone number.

Rachel came up behind him. “Who?”

He glanced up over his shoulder. “Pauline Maycock. She’ll be perfect.”

Rachel stifled a laugh.

“You know it’s true.”

“Well, she’s familiar with the dead, that’s for sure.”

He chuckled and reached for his phone, tapping Pauline’s seven digits. The town’s mortician was recently engaged to Evan, a brainy guy that no one really understood what he did. Botanist or something. Pauline would be a safe choice since—given her line of work—she probably wasn’t easily creeped out. He gave her a call, and a couple of minutes later, they planned on meeting in an hour when she went on her lunch break. “Done.”

“Great.” Rachel seemed pleased. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

He smiled, watching her exit. He needed her. He always needed her. He wanted her, too. He shook off that urge, moving his gaze back to his laptop.

His fingers flew into action, responding to all of his messages. The hour flew by. He answered e-mails while Rachel’s voice floated up the stairs. She must have left her back door open. He could get used to having her mere steps away, listening to her merrily chat with her customers. This new arrangement had its perks.

He chuckled, straightening his back. First order of business was to purchase a more comfortable leather chair. Actually, he could see if the one in the Belle Bridal Boutique had any smoke damage. It’d be easy to carry over this afternoon.

He opened up his last unanswered e-mail, his mind far from the response he was typing. This first day was going pretty well, and it felt good to be back in business. Maybe Rachel would join him for a drink tonight to celebrate their first day occupying space. Friends did that. If it was too weird, he’d suggest they invite Donovan and Zoe to join in the celebration.

In no time, Rachel reappeared, this time with Pauline.

“Hey, Will.” Pauline walked in and greeted him with a nod. She was known around town for her rather goth looks, and today’s ensemble of a black skirt and black tank top with corresponding black lipstick was no exception.

“Hey, Pauline.” He and the mortician weren’t close or anything growing up, but they’d been friendly ever since he’d come to her rescue with his truck five miles out of town one rainy night. He’d towed her broken-down car to the auto shop.

That was a couple of years ago, and since, he always made it a point to ask about her car. Sometimes he’d see her alone at the Buttermilk Tavern before she’d gotten together with Evan, and he’d invite her to join him for a drink.

It wasn’t that he was interested. He didn’t like to see women in bars alone. She was cool to talk to and had a wicked sense of humor, which was probably important in her line of work.

“I hear you have my new dress,” she said, cutting to the chase.

No need for small talk. Pauline was a woman who liked to get down to business. He appreciated that about her.

“He does,” Rachel quipped from behind them.

“Right this way.” He escorted Pauline into the second room until they were all in front of the trunk. “It’s inside.” He pointed to the chest, feeling a little stupid.

“Why’s it in there?” Pauline asked.

“Um... because...” He glanced at Rachel, unsure what to say. They hadn’t talked about any sort of spiel. Admitting that a dead woman put it in there probably wasn’t the thing to say. Not even to a mortician.

“That’s a good luck hope chest.” Rachel jumped in. “Surely, you’ve heard of the old Buttermilk Falls legend?”

Pauline pulled a face and shook her head. “Don’t think I have.”

---