“I do too,” Callie said. And blushed.
Dammit.
Four
December was the busiest time of the year for most people, but when you were an event planner—especially one who specialized in weddings—the craziness was off the charts. Thus Callie had Christmas-themed weddings, Nutcracker premieres, and holiday parties up the wazoo.
That was why it was a whole week later before Callie had time to make the ninety-minute drive to Wicks Hollow from her home base in Grand Rapids.
T-minus fourteen days till the Crazy Cursed Tremaine Tower Wedding.
Why am I doing this to myself?
The problem was, it was too late to change things now. Not only had she promised a gorgeous wedding event for Iva Bergstrom and Hollis Nath, but she’d booked (and paid for, nonrefundably) the photographer, musicians, invitations, flowers, and food…and aside from that, she’d had five “teaser” pieces in various midwest publications about the Breaking of the Tremaine Clock Tower Curse wedding.
She’d been on the local television morning show in Grand Rapids, and had been interviewed on two different radio stations. Numerous blogs—both wedding planner-type blogs and ghost-hunter blogs—had picked up the story and reposted it.
Even Baxter James, the cute and shy brewmaster who did freelance writing for some of the local papers, had done a big spread for the Grand Rapids Press—complete with photos of not only Callie and her office, but also Hollis Nath (who was a bigwig lawyer in the city and seemed to know everyone) and his bride…along with photos from the fateful night Brenda and Barclay had tried to get married.
In short, she’d trumpeted her intentions far and wide via as many avenues as possible, so now everyone (or at least it felt like everyone) knew about the wedding that was meant to break a deadly curse.
What was I thinking?
But pulling out now or changing venues would leave an ugly stain on her business and leave Callie looking like an irresponsible and unreliable wedding planner.
She sighed and tuned in the radio to a satellite All Christmas All The Time station as she sped along the highway. Thank goodness the snow that had been promised wasn’t supposed to hit for at least another three hours. She might not get to Wicks Hollow and the Tremaine Tower until the sun was just setting, but at least she wouldn’t be driving in a lake effect snowstorm.
It was Tuesday—the only night she really had free between now and December 27th—and it was the last chance she’d have to look at the Bergstrom/Nath venue before it was crunch time. Every other evening between now and then was busy with holiday parties and weddings—not to mention Christmas itself—and the days were filled with last-minute meetings, decoration finalizations, and food tastings.
Fortunately, most of the parties she had going on were with regular vendors and venues, so even though CQEvents never took any party for granted, at least she knew the gigs and their settings very well and was comfortable with each of them.
Except for the Bergstrom/Nath wedding. That was definitely a growing concern, potential curse notwithstanding.
Callie had sent a list of requests to the caretaker related to getting lights fixed and checking on the stability of the stairs and balcony. The Tremaines had agreed she could replace the curtains in the anteroom, so Callie had put a rush on those. She’d also hired a cleaning crew to go in and clean out the antechamber and sweep up the spiral stairs, so at least that should be in better shape than last time.
The mistletoe would surely be gone.
But so would all the critters, she hoped.
Callie still had the building key from before, so she didn’t expect to run into anyone, like the caretaker—even though she’d sent a last-minute email that she would be checking the venue tonight. There was no chance she’d run into Ben Tremaine.
Which was good, because when she left to go home last week, she’d walked by the Roost on the way to her car. And she was pretty sure she’d seen him in there, sitting with a bunch of guys. They looked like they were playing Trivia, and whoever they were, they’d be lucky to have him on their team. The guy knew everything.
But apparently he hadn’t been that busy after all.
Callie had too much to do to spend any time feeling awkward or shy around him anyway. He’d be far too busy doing end of year numbers for—it seemed—half of the businesses in Wicks Hollow, to be checking up on her anyway.
Callie parked on the street not far from Trib’s, which was packed to the gills even though it was a Tuesday night in the off-season. It looked like standing room only from her viewpoint as she climbed out of her car. No surprise. Her uncle’s restaurant was known throughout the county as the trendiest, most fabulous eatery, and it was booked for business dinners, client thank you dinners, and family dinners from the day after Thanksgiving through New Year’s Day. Despite being his niece—and Iva Bergstrom being his good friend—Callie considered herself lucky that Trib’s had actually agreed to cater the New Year’s Eve wedding.
As she walked down the street toward the tower, whose illuminated clock face indicated it was after four-thirty, she passed a street-level door squashed between Gilda’s Goodies and Dek Home Designs. The sign on the door leaped out at her: Tremaine & Associates. Benjamin D. Tremaine, CPA.
She glanced through the door’s window as she walked past and saw the flight of stairs that led to what must be his second-floor office space. And then she looked up to see that the lights were on. Being on the sidewalk below, she was too close to the side of the building to see much more than that, but for some reason, it made her smile knowing that Ben had done so well for himself.
The air was crisp and cold, and she could smell the snow that was coming. She might have to crash at Uncle Trib’s instead of driving all the way back to Grand Rapids tonight, if the storm was as bad as the reports suggested. Even as she crossed the small square and strode past the towering pine decorated in silver and gold, large, puffy flakes began to drift down from an iron gray sky.
The tower looked like a lonely gray stub beneath its glowing face, but as Callie drew near, she saw signs that progress had been made. The walkway was shoveled and a wreath had been hung on the door. And when she unlocked the exterior door and stepped inside, she immediately noticed the difference.
The place smelled fresh, and the debris that had been there last week had been swept away.
Progress.
Callie climbed up the steps, feeling better about things already. Maybe whatever weirdness she’d experienced the other day had been swept away, cleaned out, or otherwise banished as well.
The key worked more easily in the lock this time—it had probably been oiled.
When she stepped inside the room, the first thing she noticed was that it was completely empty. The old chairs, table, dusty and broken bottles—and, yes, the mistletoe—were all gone. The floor was clean and she could smell the faint hint of whatever wood polish had been used there and on the mahogany wainscoting around the room.
The portrait of Brenda Tremaine had been replaced on the wall. Callie eyed it a little nervously as she felt around for the light switch that, at her request, had been fixed and should now be working.
She pushed the old-fashioned light switch button and soft yellow light from six century-old sconces filled the room. The floor had the dull sheen of having recently been cleaned, and even the windows sparkled.