“Cheers, to that!” Liz said, raising her teacup in the air.
Dorian, Aunt Amelia, and Liz clinked their teacups together. Again, Liz thought how similar the two women were. Dorian with her glitter hair and Aunt Amelia with her trademarked baby-blue sparkly eyeshadow and thick black liner that extended two inches from the corner of her eyes, not to mention her auburn stenciled eyebrows. This afternoon, her great-aunt’s long, bright red hair was coiled into soup-can-sized curls on top of her head.
“I know Julian’s right,” Dorian said, swiping a lemon-lime iced petit four from the platter in the center of the table. “As long as our stars are aligned, and I’m surrounded by loved ones, that’s all that’s required for a perfect karmic future.”
Farrah woke up, made a little squealing noise, glanced at Barnacle Bob, then slithered into the tapestry carpetbag at Dorian’s feet. The needlepointed design on the bag was of a white-bearded wizard holding up a wand, standing in front of a forest straight out of a King Arthur tale.
“Because I had a fitful night of sleep,” Dorian said, “I’m afraid, so did my precious Farrah.”
As if purposely trying to keep the ferret from napping, Barnacle Bob started ringing the bell on his cage and squawking in macaw.
“Behave yourself BB,” Aunt Amelia admonished. Justly chastened, he sheepishly bent his head and tucked in his tail feathers. At least that’s how it appeared to Aunt Amelia. As soon as she looked away, Liz saw BB turn around and shake those same feathers in Dorian’s pet’s direction, then began whistling the tune to “Pop Goes the Weasel.”
Dorian said, “I am so sorry the two of you aren’t invited on board for the rehearsal dinner. It was the only way I could get Julian to agree for us to leave the grounds before the wedding. It seems he thinks something might happen…”
“Tsk, tsk, not important,” Aunt Amelia said. “Plus, you know I will be involved in the Mystical Merfest Regatta. But if you or your intended change your mind, I’ll be there with bells on. Now on to the menu for the wedding brunch.”
Dorian was glancing up at the bell tower, frown lines wrinkling her already wrinkled forehead. A cloud covered the sun and she shuddered.
Aunt Amelia clicked her fingers. “Dorian? What do you think? Are you happy with the menu?”
No response.
“We plan on serving sea slugs in aspic. What do you think Dorian?”
Dorian closed her eyes. With her head still looking upward she began to chant something under her breath. Then started rocking back and forth in her chair.
“Dorian!” Aunt Amelia shouted. “What do you think? Sea slugs? Yes or no?”
She opened her eyes, looked down, and murmured, “Sea slugs…fine. Do you think it will storm tomorrow?”
“No, the weather will be beautiful the entire weekend. Not to worry.”
“I’m sorry, Amelia. I can’t concentrate. I’ll take the menus with me. I think I need a few moments alone in the enlightenment parlor. I feel a headache coming and I want to clear the cobwebs before Julian arrives. I keep trying to see a vision of our honeymoon in Bali but can’t. Everything’s so hazy.” She got up, grabbed her bag with Farrah inside, and headed toward the open doorway leading to the interior of the hotel.
Susannah, the hotel’s assistant manager came barreling through the doorway and into the courtyard. “Oh, Ms. Starwood. I’m so glad I caught you. I’ve brought my cousin Amy’s book, and marked all the passages for the proper etiquette for small weddings. I think you’ll find the passage on page fifty might help on what to do when you don’t have a best man in the picture.”
Dorian grabbed Susannah’s arm. She closed her eyes and swayed from left to right. Susannah went to pull away, but the psychic held tight. “I see light, love, and peace in your future as soon as you vanish past hurts. Until then, you cannot find the happiness you deserve. You need to free your spirit, loosen your hold on preconceived conventions. Your cousin Amy wants you to know there is no reason to be so rigid in the twenty-first century. She regrets that because of her words you’ve lived a life full of convention and meaningless rules, instead of freedom and spontaneity.” Dorian took the Complete Book of Etiquette—a Guide to Gracious Living from Susannah’s other hand and held it to her chest. “I will keep this safe. Let us try, for the next couple days while I am here, to let go of the past and really live in the present. Namaste.”
Susannah’s mouth dropped as Dorian swished past her in her long cotton tie-dye dress, leaving behind the scent of patchouli as she went through the doorway leading to the hotel’s lobby. Susannah glanced at Liz and Aunt Amelia, shrugged her shoulders, and turned, following behind Dorian. “Wait, Ms. Starwood…what does Namaste mean?”
After they left, Liz said, “Wow, could it be possible that Dorian will break Susannah’s attachment to her distant cousin Amy Vanderbilt’s rules for living?” Susannah claimed to be a distant relative to the first authority on etiquette, Amy Vanderbilt, who’d been a descendent of robber baron “Commodore” Cornelius Vanderbilt. It seemed Amy and Susannah shared a very diluted gene pool with American royalty, and she let everyone know it. Liz would bet that Susannah had memorized every word from her cousin’s etiquette bible. The only problem with that was, the autographed, seven hundred page copy Susannah owned was from 1958. Susannah was in her late seventies. Liz knew the rules for etiquette would be completely different in a modern-day version of the tome. Between Aunt Amelia and her mid-century television shows, and Susannah with her mid-century etiquette book, Liz felt like she lived in a time warp.
Aunt Amelia shook her head. “Let’s hope Dorian can get Susannah to leave all her rules behind. Maybe a good reading about a rosy future for Susannah might be the ticket. Although, I’ve seen such a change in her since your near-death experience last January. She dotes on you.”
A little too much, Liz thought, especially now that Susannah’s boyfriend was out of town. “I’m curious about the fact that Dorian’s fiancé hasn’t chosen a best man. Don’t you think that’s a little strange? And what did she mean when she said, ‘after what happened’?”
“I’ll have a chat with her. It’s too bad I can’t read her mind like she reads mine. I suppose Captain Netherton could fill in as best man?”
“Thought he got ordained online so he could perform the ceremony?”
“I forgot about that. Then your father would be perfect.”
“How about Dorian’s son? Branson? Wouldn’t he be the logical choice? Dorian just said he introduced Julian to her. I think this whole wedding weekend might turn into one big fiasco.”
“Reminds me of when I played a typist in Darren’s advertising office for the pilot of Bewitched,” Aunt Amelia glanced up at the sky, like she was looking into the past. “The episode where Samantha tells Darren she’s a witch. Dick York and Elizabeth Montgomery were such consummate, giving actors. Agnes Moorehead was also charming, but I thought her look was a little over the top, even for the 1960s.”
Liz nearly choked on her petit fours. In recent years, her great-aunt and the character Moorehead played, called Esmerelda, could have been twins; right down to their diaphanous jewel-toned caftans, beads, and bangles and hair color. She mused that Dorian’s fiancé must have been bewitched into marrying a woman twenty five years his senior. Or vice versa. Dorian was a very wealthy woman. She’d started out in the ’80s with a psychic talk line—a dollar a minute. Then when that went out of vogue, wrote bestselling books that sold in the millions. It was catty of Liz to question the white warlock’s motives, but after what had been happening at the Indialantic in the past year, as in a few murders, okay four, her family didn’t need any more bad press for the hotel and emporium.
Aunt Amelia was silent, staring at the bell tower like Dorian had done. It was rare that her great-aunt looked worried.