that they helped keep the road dry during heavy rains.
Up ahead, she saw the brick home bookended by the gardens on the east and west sides. Many of the April and May blossoms had peaked, but the sunflowers, snapdragons, hydrangeas, and zinnias remained lush, bright, and bursting with color.
She followed parking signs to the closely cut field. There were two catering trucks, Ginger’s Volvo, a blue van, and a red pickup truck. Today’s bride was dressing inside the main house. At forty-one, Ginger had opted out of having bridesmaids, so the morning shoot should be fairly uncomplicated.
Out of the car, Libby reached across the back seat for her cameras. As she closed the door, the wind picked up, sending a soft breeze through the trees. She glanced toward the river and saw the thick band of gray clouds in the distance.
“You headed up to the house?” Libby asked.
“I am. You’ll find me in the kitchen.”
Libby hoisted her bags on her shoulders and wondered if she should grab the extra umbrellas from the trunk. “See you around.”
“Did the bride and groom bury a bottle of moonshine in the garden?” Sierra slipped a white apron over her head and tied the ends around her narrow waist.
“There was some talk of that at the walk-through, but the groom forgot about it. What’s the deal with that?”
Sierra shook her head, as if concerned. “It’s the moonshine graveyard, which is a bit of a tradition in these parts. If you want good luck on your wedding day, then you bury a bottle of hooch in the garden.”
Maybe Libby and her ex-husband, Jeremy, should have buried a bottle or two on their big day. “So what happens if they don’t?”
Sierra nodded toward the clouds. “Rain. Divorce. Locusts. The whole nine yards of bad mojo.”
“Terrific.”
Sierra waved away Libby’s sour expression. “I say screw the law of attraction. And who needs a moonshine graveyard?” Sierra said, smiling. “That storm is at least two hours away, which puts us safely under cover should it hit.”
Libby opted to leave the umbrellas behind but hustled up the front steps to shoot the first-look pictures; thunder rumbled on cue in the distance.
CHAPTER THREE
LIBBY
Saturday, June 6, 2020
The Woodmont Estate
The morning pre-wedding shoot had gone longer than she had expected. Note to self—add to worst-case-scenario list: Grandmother of the groom gets drunk on mimosas. Now they were fifteen minutes from kickoff, and guests had almost filled the white wooden garden chairs facing the hill that sloped down toward the river.
When the house had been built in the eighteenth century, the main entrance had faced the river, which had been the superhighway of its day. Travelers had come and gone by the river. What was now the main road leading to the Woodmont Estate had been little more than a deer path in the days of Ezra Carter. Modern transportation had moved on, but the house remained steadfastly attached to its origins.
The DJ’s speakers emitted the music of a string quartet playing “Are You Gonna Be My Girl.” The DJ and his main soundboard were wisely set up inside the main house.
Over the last couple of years, Libby had become accustomed to the songs most couples played at their weddings, and after a while, she had recognized a sameness to the songs. Most couples aspired to be different on their special day, but nearly all fell into predictable patterns.
She looked over her shoulder at the swollen dark clouds moving toward them. At this point the quartet should have been playing the theme to Jaws. “Duunnn, duunnn.” No amount of positive thinking or mason jars of moonshine buried in the dirt was going to stop this beast from rolling over the top of the wedding.
Another clap of thunder had Libby looking toward the parking lot, where her SUV remained stocked with the umbrellas. She checked her watch. If she ran, she could make it to her car and return with the umbrellas with time to spare. She looked again at the angry sky. Decision made—as the quartet’s next song, “I Will Always Love You,” began—she turned on her heels and took off running toward her car as the thick scent of approaching rain surrounded her.
The first raindrop hit the top of her head as she opened the back of her SUV. She quickly snapped waterproof cases over her cameras and gathered up the umbrellas in her arms. As she nudged the liftgate button with her foot, a loud clap of thunder cracked across the sky.