Yellow Rose Mysteries 02 - A Wedding to Die For by Leann Sweeney Page A
Authors: Leann Sweeney
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know something I don’t? Has that policewoman been discussing my husband’s death with—” She stopped, closed her eyes, and pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. “I am so sorry, Abby. I’ve been snapping at everyone today. First Megan and Roxanne this morning at breakfast and now you. There’s just so much to deal with and . . .” Tears filled her eyes.
I put an arm around her shoulders. “No need to apologize, Mrs. Beadford. I understand. By the way, is that coffee I smell?”
She nodded.
“Could I bother you for a cup?”
“Certainly. Yes. Coffee would be good.”
We went to the kitchen together with her tottering on yet another pair of ridiculous shoes similar to the ones she’d chosen for the wedding—pointy with one-inch narrow heels—throwbacks to foot binding, in my opinion.
The kitchen had far more to offer than coffee. A silver tray filled with breakfast pastries sat on the counter beside platters of cookies, covered sheet cakes, and a huge fruit basket.
“The neighbors have been so supportive,” Sylvia said, gesturing at the food. “Help yourself while I get your coffee.”
I chose a raspberry kolache and sat at the kitchen table. Sylvia placed a white mug of steaming brew in front of me and sat down with her own cup.
After my daddy died, I’d wanted to talk about him in the worst way, but had little opportunity. People seemed almost afraid to say his name in front of me. So maybe Sylvia needed time to talk about her husband. “Tell me about Mr. Beadford. I met him only once, at the rehearsal dinner, but he seemed to command the room.”
She smiled and her whole body seemed to relax. “He could grab your attention, couldn’t he?”
“And he owned his own business, right?” I bit into the kolache, the pastry so rich I figured I was about to consume enough fat calories for a week.
“Built the company from the ground up twice. There was no quit in that man.”
“Twice?” I said around a mouthful of berry heaven.
“The first time we went bankrupt. Not through any fault of James, mind you. Running a small business is tough, and supplying equipment for the oil business is very competitive in Texas. James thought he’d do better here than in Dallas, and as it turns out, he was right.”
“So you’re not from this area originally?” She definitely seemed calmer and happy to talk about her husband’s accomplishments.
“We came south for a fresh start, a move that also allowed James to put some space between him and his brother, Graham. They’d been in business together, but it’s very difficult working day in and day out with family members.”
“I understand,” I answered, wondering if Graham had something to do with the first failure. That might explain the animosity between the brothers.
“Graham stayed in Dallas,” Sylvia went on. “His wife had a decent job and supported the family for several years, but when she passed on from breast cancer—horrible time for Courtney and Roxanne—Graham never seemed to recover. He’s lost one job after another.”
“So he and his daughters are only staying here because of the wedding?”
She nodded, her chubby right hand working the fingers on the left. “They arrived two weeks ago. Graham is at the Surfside Resort, thank goodness, but the girls wanted to be near Megan, so they’ve been with us. Having relatives underfoot day and night, well, I’m not coping very well, Abby. Not with James . . . not with the—”
“I think you’re doing fine,” I said quickly, hoping to abort a round of tears.
“Tell me more about yourself, Abby,” she said. “Megan met you at the health club, right?”
Before I could answer, someone rapped on the back door. Saved again, thank goodness.
She rose to answer, and a second later Graham entered carrying a case of beer. “Saw you were running low and—” He stopped, nodded my way. “Nice to see you again.”
“I’m not sure we need more beer.” Sylvia backed away from
I put an arm around her shoulders. “No need to apologize, Mrs. Beadford. I understand. By the way, is that coffee I smell?”
She nodded.
“Could I bother you for a cup?”
“Certainly. Yes. Coffee would be good.”
We went to the kitchen together with her tottering on yet another pair of ridiculous shoes similar to the ones she’d chosen for the wedding—pointy with one-inch narrow heels—throwbacks to foot binding, in my opinion.
The kitchen had far more to offer than coffee. A silver tray filled with breakfast pastries sat on the counter beside platters of cookies, covered sheet cakes, and a huge fruit basket.
“The neighbors have been so supportive,” Sylvia said, gesturing at the food. “Help yourself while I get your coffee.”
I chose a raspberry kolache and sat at the kitchen table. Sylvia placed a white mug of steaming brew in front of me and sat down with her own cup.
After my daddy died, I’d wanted to talk about him in the worst way, but had little opportunity. People seemed almost afraid to say his name in front of me. So maybe Sylvia needed time to talk about her husband. “Tell me about Mr. Beadford. I met him only once, at the rehearsal dinner, but he seemed to command the room.”
She smiled and her whole body seemed to relax. “He could grab your attention, couldn’t he?”
“And he owned his own business, right?” I bit into the kolache, the pastry so rich I figured I was about to consume enough fat calories for a week.
“Built the company from the ground up twice. There was no quit in that man.”
“Twice?” I said around a mouthful of berry heaven.
“The first time we went bankrupt. Not through any fault of James, mind you. Running a small business is tough, and supplying equipment for the oil business is very competitive in Texas. James thought he’d do better here than in Dallas, and as it turns out, he was right.”
“So you’re not from this area originally?” She definitely seemed calmer and happy to talk about her husband’s accomplishments.
“We came south for a fresh start, a move that also allowed James to put some space between him and his brother, Graham. They’d been in business together, but it’s very difficult working day in and day out with family members.”
“I understand,” I answered, wondering if Graham had something to do with the first failure. That might explain the animosity between the brothers.
“Graham stayed in Dallas,” Sylvia went on. “His wife had a decent job and supported the family for several years, but when she passed on from breast cancer—horrible time for Courtney and Roxanne—Graham never seemed to recover. He’s lost one job after another.”
“So he and his daughters are only staying here because of the wedding?”
She nodded, her chubby right hand working the fingers on the left. “They arrived two weeks ago. Graham is at the Surfside Resort, thank goodness, but the girls wanted to be near Megan, so they’ve been with us. Having relatives underfoot day and night, well, I’m not coping very well, Abby. Not with James . . . not with the—”
“I think you’re doing fine,” I said quickly, hoping to abort a round of tears.
“Tell me more about yourself, Abby,” she said. “Megan met you at the health club, right?”
Before I could answer, someone rapped on the back door. Saved again, thank goodness.
She rose to answer, and a second later Graham entered carrying a case of beer. “Saw you were running low and—” He stopped, nodded my way. “Nice to see you again.”
“I’m not sure we need more beer.” Sylvia backed away from
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