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around the paired-up bridesmaids and groomsmen. Aaron and Corinne would be walking arm in arm, dressed to kill, up the aisle through the beaming crowd. I wasn’t crazy about it.
“Great,” he said. “And who’s the lucky girl who gets young Zack?”
“Angela Sims,” I told him. “She was Elizabeth’s assistant at Microsoft. Angela’s the pregnant nun tonight, you can’t miss her. She looks like Princess Di and talks like a trucker. She was the life of the bridesmaids’ luncheon.”
There was still no sign of Corinne, so we drifted back to the champagne bar. I figured I could take my break there and check the Dome room later. The harried barman set a bottle in front of us and returned to his customers. It’s nice sometimes, being the boss at a party. Aaron poured for us both, touched his glass to mine, and took a sip, gazing at me over the rim of the glass. He really could be charming, when he tried. And he could look sexy without even trying. So why did I get cold feet every time he got hot hands?
“You were at the bridesmaids’ luncheon?” he prompted.
“Oh, I was there all right. It was supposed to be a working lunch, to talk about dresses and hairstyles and manicures. But instead, we ate fajitas and drank tequila shooters for about three hours. Even Patty got happy.” Patty Lamott, Elizabeth’s older sister and maid of honor, had missed tonight’s party, claiming a schedule conflict, and Elizabeth had shrugged off her absence. No love lost on either side, apparently.
“Wait, wait, I heard about this,” Aaron was saying. “The famous purse-snatching incident at La Corona? The newsroom was still talking about it when I got back from my last trip to Boston.”
“That was it.” I shivered a little and sipped some bubbly. “This creepy-looking guy grabbed Elizabeth’s bag. It had the wedding rings in it, she’d just picked them up at the jewelers. We all froze except Angela, who went sprinting after him like a racehorse. He sprained his ankle tripping over a trash can, and we all stood around guarding him and talking hemlines till the police came.”
Aaron laughed. “What a story!”
“Well, it seemed funny at the time, after all that tequila, but really, what if he’d pulled a knife or a gun or something? You should have heard the disgusting things he said, sitting there on the curb. And now we’ll have to testify at his trial. He had tattoos on his skull, for God’s sake.”
“Take it easy, Slim. Lots of people have tattoos. I’ve got a tattoo.”
“You? Where?”
“If you were more cooperative, you’d know that by now.” He grinned wickedly and reached out to take my hand. “I could arrange a viewing tonight….”
“Gosh, look at the time,” I retorted, but I didn’t take my hand away. “I’ve got to go supervise. If I see Corinne I’ll tell her you’re waiting for her.”
“Thanks, Wedding Lady,” said Aaron. He ran his fingers in little circles across the inside of my wrist. I could feel my blood shifting. “Save a dance for me, OK?”
“I’ll save two.”
What’s wrong with this picture? I asked myself as I pushed open the ladies’ room door a short while later. I’m at a party, Aaron’s at the same party, and what am I doing? I’m keeping an eye out for his date. What a world. Still, I felt for Corinne. Weddings are hard when you’re brokenhearted, and I’m a sucker for broken hearts. That’s why I started Made in Heaven, I suppose. What better business for a hopeless romantic who likes to throw parties?
Inside the rest room, preening in solitary glory, was Mercedes Montoya. I wondered if Syd Soper was outside somewhere, resting his scythe and hoping for another dance. If so, he was a patient man; a fortune in designer cosmetics lay spilled across the counter, and Mercedes was employing all of it. No wonder the camera loved her. She obviously loved herself.
“The wedding planner!” she announced gaily, shaking back her midnight hair. Her eyes, meeting mine in the mirror, were suspiciously shiny and hugely dilated. Was it only alcohol flying her kite, or a little something extra? I really didn’t want to know. “I was just thinking about you! About hiring you.”
“Really? I didn’t know you were getting married. Who’s the lucky man?”
Mercedes clapped a hand to her lips. With the other hand she clutched my arm, tight enough to hurt. “No! It’s a secret! You can’t tell a soul. Not a single Sentinel soul!”
She