Newlywed Dead by Nancy J. Parra

dates they went on, how they met, et cetera. It really helps to plan a very personal event. Then I’ll also need at least a semblance of a budget. I charge a nonrefundable retainer of 50 percent of that budget the day we sign the contract.” I chewed on my bottom lip thinking that nonrefundable and 50 percent of an unlimited budget would make her stop and think about this crazy idea.
    â€œPerfect,” Sugar said, completely unfazed by my outrageous proposal. “I can meet tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
    â€œThat works,” I said, and scribbled it into my date book. “Where would you like to meet?”
    â€œOh, how about the Pavilion tearoom on Wabash. We can have tea and discuss all the details.”
    â€œOkay, great. I’ll make reservations for you and Clark.”
    â€œAdd Josie as well,” Sugar Fulcrum said. “She’ll want to be a part of the planning, and no one knows Samantha Lyn like her mother.”
    â€œGreat, I’ll get a table for four tomorrow at noon at the Pavilion on Wabash.”
    â€œPerfect,” Sugar trilled. “This is so exciting. See you then.”
    I hung up the phone and frowned. Samantha Lyn seemed like such a nice girl, but so very young. I was worried for her. It seemed as if her parents were more excited about matching her with the sullen Clark than Samantha Lyn was. I frowned. If I were a good businessperson, I’d suck it up and plan the proposal. This was clearly going to be a big-ticket event.
    I started Old Blue and drove her out of the parking structure. I frowned as I inched my way out onto the road. A fat bank account was nice, but I wanted my reputation as a proposal planner to be impeccable. Which meant that I wanted all of my proposals to generate a true yes. And for the marriage to last as long as possible . . . I suppose that was asking a lot in today’s day and age of massive weddings and quickie divorces.
    I honked at a taxi that tried to cut me off and ignored the insulting gesture that followed as I took the exit back onto the Kennedy Expressway. If money wasn’t a stumbling block to this proposal, maybe talking would be. I chewed on my bottom lip and picked up my phone. While crawling along in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I Googled the Pavilion. When the number came up I hit the link to dial it and sent the call to my earpiece.
    â€œThe Pavilion tearoom.”
    â€œYes, I’d like to make a reservation for four tomorrow at noon.”
    There was a pause. “I’m sorry but we have no openings at that time.”
    Huh. “Okay, well, I’m making the reservation for Mrs. Sugar Fulcrum and Mrs. Josie Thomson. Should I have Mrs. Fulcrum’s secretary call you?”
    â€œMrs. Sugar Fulcrum? No, no, we always have a table for Mrs. Fulcrum. You want a table for four?”
    That’s what I thought. “Yes, please,” I said. “You can put the reservation under Pepper Pomeroy for Mrs. Sugar Fulcrum.”
    â€œPerfect, we will see you then.”
    I hung up and shook my head. I wished I didn’t have to resort to name dropping, but if Sugar Fulcrum wanted to meet at the Pavilion, then I needed to use her name to make that happen.
    The traffic started to clear up the closer we got to the O’Hare Airport interchange. The sky was a brilliant blue with a weak light due to the time of year. The cold made the sky haze free and really gorgeous. But there wasn’t a lot of light in a Chicago winter. It had snowed last night and we had three inches on the ground. The plows had come through early and hit the side roads, leaving a foot of mounded snow near the sidewalk, but the rest was soft, perfect snow that frosted the neighborhood in a blanket of fresh white.
    I got off the highway and made my way home, thinking about the Pavilion tearoom. It was downtown and not one of the places I usually met people to discuss business. But then I had a feeling this