the underlying structure, thank heavens, but it’s going to take days to repair. Lindsay is in an absolute panic that it won’t be finished before the wedding.”
Paul followed closely with the cheese board and a selection of beautifully arranged sliced fruit and water crackers. “ It’s not that I don’t have perfect confidence in our girl Cici,” he confided, “but honestly—who takes on a job like that mere weeks before hosting a wedding?”
Derrick sighed. “She and Bridget wanted to make the bridegroom feel welcome.”
Paul placed the cheese board beside the sherry tray and began to arrange the Hummingbird House logo cocktail napkins in a fan shape between them. “Poor Lindsay. She’s letting this wedding turn her into a complete wreck. She’s usually so competent and composed, but I’ve seen twenty-year-olds with more sangfroid about their big day than this. When she was over here the other day to drop off the dress for alterations, she backed her car into the oak tree trying to park—no damage to either one, thank goodness, tree or car—and then tripped on the bottom step and almost dropped the gown in the mud before she even got to the front door. Then …” he looked mildly abashed. “I’m afraid I might have stabbed her with a pin a couple of times during the fitting, which was completely not my fault because you know she’s utterly incapable of standing still for more than ten seconds at a time. But the odd thing was, as soon as the dress was boxed up and ready to be shipped to the seamstress, she was perfectly fine again. We had a lovely tea, and she even helped me cut flowers for the dining table—using real gardening sheers—with absolutely no incidents whatever. I just don’t know what to make of it.”
“It’s perfectly clear to me,” announced Harmony, sailing across the patio with her empty wine glass extended. “The poor girl has an attached spirit or two. A quick exorcism and she’ll be as good as new.”
Harmony Haven was a large woman somewhere on the far side of fifty with a headful of riotous blonde curls and a bosom that had been compared once too often to the jutting prow of a ship. She had a tendency to dress in flowing colorful garments and outrageous jewelry combinations, and she promoted herself as an expert on all things spiritual, esoteric, and arcane. She had moved into the fuchsia room almost before the B&B was even open, and had shown no signs of ever leaving. Fortunately, they had managed to convince her—ever-so-diplomatically—to pay in advance.
Paul looked alarmed, although whether that was from her words or from the fact that she clearly intended to pour sherry into a glass that had only moment s ago contained red wine was not clear. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Lindsay that.” He took her glass and passed it to Derrick, who quickly filled a proper sherry glass for her. “She already has one foot on the slippery slope of no return as it is.”
“What, exactly, is an attached spirit?” Derrick inquired, passing the sherry glass to her. He had the look of one who both dreads and anticipates the answer.
Harmony waved a casual hand and cut herself a slice of cheese. “The easiest thing in the world to manage. Far easier than exorcising a whole house. I could take care of it in half an hour.”
Paul met Derrick’s eyes and then they dismissed the notion with a quick and mutual shake of their heads. Paul said, “Seriously, I read an article only the other day in O Magazine about how people define their futures and I’m starting to get a bit concerned.”
“Nonsense.” Derrick filled his own glass. “We make our own happiness and Lindsay is just being silly. The only thing we have to worry about now is an engagement party that will make her feel like the princess she is.”
He turned a meaningful look on Paul, who swallowed his pride with a visible effort. “Harmony,” he said.
Paul followed closely with the cheese board and a selection of beautifully arranged sliced fruit and water crackers. “ It’s not that I don’t have perfect confidence in our girl Cici,” he confided, “but honestly—who takes on a job like that mere weeks before hosting a wedding?”
Derrick sighed. “She and Bridget wanted to make the bridegroom feel welcome.”
Paul placed the cheese board beside the sherry tray and began to arrange the Hummingbird House logo cocktail napkins in a fan shape between them. “Poor Lindsay. She’s letting this wedding turn her into a complete wreck. She’s usually so competent and composed, but I’ve seen twenty-year-olds with more sangfroid about their big day than this. When she was over here the other day to drop off the dress for alterations, she backed her car into the oak tree trying to park—no damage to either one, thank goodness, tree or car—and then tripped on the bottom step and almost dropped the gown in the mud before she even got to the front door. Then …” he looked mildly abashed. “I’m afraid I might have stabbed her with a pin a couple of times during the fitting, which was completely not my fault because you know she’s utterly incapable of standing still for more than ten seconds at a time. But the odd thing was, as soon as the dress was boxed up and ready to be shipped to the seamstress, she was perfectly fine again. We had a lovely tea, and she even helped me cut flowers for the dining table—using real gardening sheers—with absolutely no incidents whatever. I just don’t know what to make of it.”
“It’s perfectly clear to me,” announced Harmony, sailing across the patio with her empty wine glass extended. “The poor girl has an attached spirit or two. A quick exorcism and she’ll be as good as new.”
Harmony Haven was a large woman somewhere on the far side of fifty with a headful of riotous blonde curls and a bosom that had been compared once too often to the jutting prow of a ship. She had a tendency to dress in flowing colorful garments and outrageous jewelry combinations, and she promoted herself as an expert on all things spiritual, esoteric, and arcane. She had moved into the fuchsia room almost before the B&B was even open, and had shown no signs of ever leaving. Fortunately, they had managed to convince her—ever-so-diplomatically—to pay in advance.
Paul looked alarmed, although whether that was from her words or from the fact that she clearly intended to pour sherry into a glass that had only moment s ago contained red wine was not clear. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Lindsay that.” He took her glass and passed it to Derrick, who quickly filled a proper sherry glass for her. “She already has one foot on the slippery slope of no return as it is.”
“What, exactly, is an attached spirit?” Derrick inquired, passing the sherry glass to her. He had the look of one who both dreads and anticipates the answer.
Harmony waved a casual hand and cut herself a slice of cheese. “The easiest thing in the world to manage. Far easier than exorcising a whole house. I could take care of it in half an hour.”
Paul met Derrick’s eyes and then they dismissed the notion with a quick and mutual shake of their heads. Paul said, “Seriously, I read an article only the other day in O Magazine about how people define their futures and I’m starting to get a bit concerned.”
“Nonsense.” Derrick filled his own glass. “We make our own happiness and Lindsay is just being silly. The only thing we have to worry about now is an engagement party that will make her feel like the princess she is.”
He turned a meaningful look on Paul, who swallowed his pride with a visible effort. “Harmony,” he said.
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