Pearls for Better or for Worse Read online

  Pearls…for Better or for Worse

  A Sierra Scott Mystery

  Sylissa Franklin

  © 2019 by Sylissa Franklin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  PEARLS…FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE

  is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-09-118770-2

  First Edition

  Printed in the United States of America

  Crown Forest Publishing

  Contact Sylissa Franklin at her web page, www.sylissa.com

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to my Beta readers, Adara, Jona, and Fran.

  The Great Dickens Christmas Fair

  (and Victorian Holiday Party) is a very real event held at the Cow Palace every weekend from Thanksgiving until Christmas.

  It’s a wonderful, delightful way to celebrate the holidays and learn a little history at the same time. If you want to follow along in the second part of the novel, I suggest you download the map at dickensfair.com.

  For my Mom, who always knew I could do it…I just needed to sit down - and get it done.

  About the Author

  Sylissa Franklin has been a fan of mystery, suspense and romance since she first started to read. A romantic at heart and someone who champions the underdog, she places her ordinary characters into extraordinary situations. She loves to travel as much as write, and likes to make the destination of the story as important as the characters.

  Other books by the author

  A Mermaid’s Tears

  Sierra Scott mystery series

  Emerald Wiles

  B.C. Blues

  Pearls…for Better or for Worse

  Turquoise Tantrums (coming in 2020)

  “Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.”

  Oscar Wilde

  Prologue

  Saturday, December 8th …the day before the wedding

  Tears and laughter – the perfect mix for their wedding weekend. Joan Bishop smiled as she laced her fingers with her fiancé, Max Whittaker. The shared a knowing look. The ‘anything but formal’ wedding rehearsal lunch was a success. The lunch had been declared: bawdy, raucous, grand, quaint, delicious, and, a blast from the past. So said, by each bridesmaid and groomsman of the wedding party, as they shared their thoughts about being at the Great Dickens Christmas Fair.

  Joan turned around to see Sierra, her matron of honor, stepping away from the table and heading into Ale House Alley. Sierra had volunteered to be Joan’s wedding coordinator, so no doubt she was off checking on details for the actual rehearsal. Lunch was coming to an end and loud clapping caught Joan’s attention, she shifted back to watch what was happening next.

  The luncheon had started early, before noon. Logistics mandated the early lunchtime, since one of the bridesmaids, Pam, was working at the Dickens Christmas Fair. All the actors working the fair were volunteers, and Pam, after five years had earned a coveted title of being a Mad Sal gal, a serving wench at Mad Sal’s Dockside Ale House. All the wenches wore the same outfit, black-and-white striped skirt with a frothy white petticoat underneath. A white off-the-shoulder blouse held in place with a tightly cinched black vest.

  Pam had told Joan she’d be wearing a blonde wig. Saucy and funny, Pam teased the groomsmen, sat on groom’s lap, planting a big wet kiss on Max’s cheek. She recited, loudly, a couple of limericks about the soon-to-be married couple, which even made Joan blush. With a flourish of her skirt, Pam then rushed to the stage and joined the Gin Alley Sallys for a loud, boisterous performance that left the crowd roaring with laughter.

  Joan lost track of Pam after that. More beer and wine, served by several Mad Sal wenches, and by 12:30 there wasn’t an empty table to be had. One wench stepped away from the bar and over to a nearby table when a chimney sweep came up from behind her and spun her around in a twirl. Laughing, he waltzed with her, planting a big kiss on her lips.

  Holding her tightly, never missing a step, he spun the serving wench around the room. She ‘swooned’ near the windowsill tableau and he laid her gently over the sill, her head back, hanging over, eyes closed, the blonde wig secured tightly on her head. He kicked his heels and left the pub as the crowd cheered. It looked like the wench had fainted from such a passionate kiss. Joan clapped hard. Amazing. How could Pam stay in character, leaning back and upside down out the windowsill, while patrons took pictures?

  Sierra could hear the crowd cheering, so she started walking faster. Suddenly, a chimney sweep bumped into her. “My dear lady,” he said, and grabbed her for a dizzying twirl. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and let her go. “It’s good luck,” he said, with a wink. It was all part of the scenario. Moments later, he was dancing with someone else.

  She grabbed at a nearby post to catch her balance while other guests laughed. A woman handed her a Kleenex, pointing to her cheek. Nodding her thanks, she stumbled off to finish her original trek to the ladies restroom. Sure enough, a quick glance in the mirror confirmed the lady’s action. A little water, a little rubbing, and Sierra’s face passed her personal inspection. The mirror reflected her brown hair extra curly, (thanks to the humidity of San Francisco) and her green eyes not quite so bloodshot, (thanks to eye drops in her purse). She gave her face one last wipe. That chimney sweep’s use of lip balm had been way too much.

  Sierra pulled out her map, her fingers traced the fastest route back to Mad Sal’s Saloon. Preferably one that didn’t involve any more dancing chimney sweeps. For Sierra, the colorful map was easy and fun to use. And why not? It was handed out to everyone at the entrance and made it easier to follow the music, the singing, and the food.

  Over 700 volunteers each year, for over 35 years, dressed in Victorian costume to host and perform at the Great Dickens Christmas Fair. It was an event to behold every weekend between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And her friend Joan, with her fiancé Max, had chosen San Francisco and this very venue for their destination wedding.

  Returning to the entrance now, Sierra spotted several delightful outfits already; amazed at how serious the volunteers were to make sure their characters were not only unique, but also historically accurate. Patrons were invited to come in costume, but it wasn’t mandatory.

  Sierra offered a quick prayer of thanks that Joan didn’t demand costumes for her bridal party. Although, as she stood back a moment to watch her friends, they probably would have had fun with it. They all appeared to be having a good time, especially Joan and Max. It was the furthest from anything formal, stuffy, and conventional as possible. It was perfect. The whole place was wild and wacky, with beer, wine, and sassy wenches – oh wait, this was Victorian England, so they were saucy wenches - to laughter and singing coming from every corner of the large room.

  Mad Sal’s Saloon wasn’t a regular restaurant, meaning it wasn’t regular brick and mortar with four full walls. Rather, it had partitions and semi walls that mapped the space of Mad Sal’s in the area. It was one of over a dozen vendors available for food and drink.

  Sierra blinked. Wait, she’d missed something. There was a Mad Sal serving wench, who appeared drunk and passed out and toppled over a dressed windowsill half-wall, propped in one corner of the room. Black fishnet hose, runs and all, were visible under her lacy bloomer
s, which also peeked out from beneath her full black-and-white-striped skirt.

  Her tightly laced black vest allowed for her bosoms to dangerously overflow from her white low-cut blouse, the standard garb for the Inn servers in the 18th century. No wardrobe malfunctions allowed here, however, this was a family-friendly venue. People were posing by the staged area, taking pictures of the maid. And if they aimed their cameras just right, at the moment they could add three dancing chimney sweeps in the background, doing a series of high kicks.

  Sierra couldn’t help but grin. This was a great day. Finally. Finally, everything flowed perfectly. The Dickens Christmas Fair was a beautiful pageant, and the perfect place for a quirky destination wedding. It certainly wasn’t the Four Seasons, like the bride’s parents were expecting, but since they weren’t here, what did it matter? Sierra needed today to be perfect for Joan and Max. After the week she’d had - putting this all together and all the drama that went with it dealing with competitive alpha bridesmaids and rude groomsmen, she had no patience left. If things didn’t go perfectly today, someone would be dead. It was bad enough that one groomsman and one bridesmaid each sported a black eye.

  Sierra realized as soon she thought that, she’d tempted fate. Things began falling apart right then and there. It all started with the brothers fighting. Andrew, Max’s older brother had returned to Mad Sal’s as the others were dropping off mugs and empty wine glasses. He stormed over to Max and grabbed him by the arm. Their heated conversation quickly turned into shouting, insults and name-calling.

  She didn’t see who threw the first punch, but moments later the two men were flailing at each other. Shoving and pushing their way past bar stools and tables, other patrons hurried to either get out of the way, or to get a better look.

  No one tried to stop the fight. Everyone in the wedding party knew that Max and Andrew had issues to resolve. Then Max shoved Andrew, hard, causing him to stumble towards the swooned maid tableau. Snarling, Andrew shoved back. Max drew back his right arm; fist raised, and slammed it into his big brother’s face.

  Caught off balance, Andrew struggled to catch something to break his fall, but instead landed on the barmaid. He quickly crawled off of her, apologizing. At first. Then he started screaming. Both men backed away from the woman, who now lay awkwardly on the floor, one arm flung above her head, the other down by her skirt. She wasn’t moving.

  Nobody sitting at the nearby tables, or up at the bar, responded at first. In fact, a few people laughed. Surely this was part of the show? EMT’s arrived minutes later to confirm, that yes, the barmaid assumed by everyone to be posing as having fainted, actually was dead.

  Joan sat down hard. Her legs had turned to jelly. Sierra sat next to her, rubbing her friend’s arm, trying to comfort her. Joan grabbed her fingers and squeezed. “What?” Sierra asked. “What did I miss?”

  Joan only pointed to the dead woman’s hand, the one above her head. Sierra frowned. “I don’t understand. What do you see?”

  “Bracelet,” Joan whispered.

  Sierra felt a sudden chill run down her arms. The pearls glowed against the carpet. Even from where they were standing they could see the flat, nickel-sized, fresh-water pearls, and the platinum disk, an etched initial, P, glinting in the light. “Do you…think?” Her thoughts stumbled along with her words. She couldn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t want to finish her sentence. It was unthinkable. Impossible.

  Pam was dead? And not one member of the wedding party had noticed.

  “You think marriage can be tough? Maybe, but first

  you have to survive the wedding.”

  Chapter One

  December 5th, Wednesday …four days before the wedding

  Sierra Scott stared intently out the small oval window to her left, wishing she were anywhere else than where she was. The airplane tilted as its angle changed – and San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge came into view. Finally.

  Sierra risked a quick side-glance over at Joan. For the moment her friend sat quietly, frowning, her tired, red eyes looking straight ahead. She’d tucked her dark hair neatly behind her ears, pulling it away from her face while still maintaining her death grip on the clear plastic cup holding the remains of several mimosas.

  Sierra blinked. She felt shell shocked, she’d just survived a verbal explosion of epic proportions. It came out of nowhere, followed by projecting shrapnel everywhere in the forms of pearl beads, torn pages from a binder, and previously wrapped rolls of silk ribbon, leaving her a stunned survivor. She honestly didn’t see it coming. Looking back earlier in that morning, arriving at the airport had been her first missed clue. Joan was livid that they weren’t sitting in first class. “I know I told Max to book us in first class.” It was her mantra of the morning.

  Sierra didn’t care, and it wasn’t a good idea to tell Joan she should have booked the tickets herself. Her friend wasn’t in the frame of mind to appreciate the comment. A quick call to Max didn’t exactly redeem him, but it helped calm Joan down to learn first class seating from Boise to San Francisco for all early morning flights for that day, and in fact, the entire week, had been booked up for several weeks.

  “Tis the season,” the airline staffer chirped. “Have a nice flight.”

  That comment pretty much fueled the whole thing. Sierra could feel Joan’s temper building in slow motion. Heaving sighs and tapping her feet while standing at the gate. The fuse was lit, gun-powder began heating up, as she followed Joan down the skywalk and into the plane.

  The eruption happened a couple of minutes after take off. Joan’s Bridezilla meltdown set loose. The collateral damage was scattered in the first few rows of coach seating. The plastic three ring wedding binder, completely wrecked, now rested in Sierra’s lap - what was left of it. The neatly organized pages with color code tabs where every detail could be easily located with a flick of a finger, no longer existed. Even the receipts, once tucked into appropriately marked protected plastic sheets didn’t survive.

  Jumbled fabric samples and color swags scraps were now scattered on the floor beneath their seats, with a few jammed into the magazine pockets facing their seats. Short strands of multi colored, fresh water pearls - what remained of them, were now clumped altogether where Sierra’s scooped them up and shoved them into her purse.

  All the planning pages featured in the wedding binder had been ripped out. Guest lists torn in half, the luncheon menu obliterated. The list of cake flavors heavily scribbled over and then ripped up. The cover of the binder ripped off, releasing plastic pearls that rolled under passenger seats and glitter scattered all over the floor beneath their feet. All the loose pearls rolled in crazy patterns along the floor. Sierra hoped no one would slip on them as they exited the plane.

  Sierra checked her seat belt again and placed her cool palms against her hot, red cheeks. This was new for her. To be both completely embarrassed, and so dog gone mad at her friend, at the same time. She bit her tongue to suppress her anger as she struggled to control her tears. She’d never been in this situation before – not even with her siblings.

  She’d been working with Joan on the upcoming wedding for the last six months. No fuss, no muss, no hint of any temper tantrums, until now… on a plane full of passengers, all of them flying to San Francisco, where Joan’s wedding was scheduled to be held in five days.

  She’d been totally blindsided by Joan’s behavior. First, the bride-to-be raged about the choice of wedding colors – peach and cream. They were old colors, for old people, she’d said. She’d ripped up the fabric samples covered with pearls. “No, it’s old, it’s too old fashioned. I hate it! I hate all of this.” Joan had grabbed the binder and ripped out all the pages and then struggled to tear the plastic cover in half. She came pretty close. It had been a horrible, terrible, and mostly, very embarrassing scene.

  All Sierra could do was sit there, and take the verbal abuse. The whole situation made her heart hurt. Joan had insisted on using pearls in honor of Willow, Charles Henry’s
bride, who had died earlier that summer, the morning before their own wedding day – she had picked cultured pearls. Joan decided on fresh water pearls, less formal she’d said, much easier to be different and unique.

  Now Sierra could feel the eyes of the other passengers watching her and Joan. She was trapped; with strangers listening to everything Joan did and said. Some were sympathetic, while others were grinning, as if pleased to see someone else having a bad day for a change.

  She knew better than to take any of this personally, including Joan’s accusations of having been led astray with the wedding color choices. Sierra felt a flicker of anger with that comment -none of that had ever been Sierra’s decisions.

  Without a doubt, Joan created a scene that passengers and flight staff would be talking about for weeks. Sierra just hoped she could survive the upcoming week and then get on with her life. She focused her unseeing eyes out the window and thought about her life getting back to normal. It was Christmas time, and she’d done nothing for her nieces and nephews. She was behind in her holiday baking too. She reached for a tissue from her purse and breathed a heavy sigh of relief, as the plane was moments from touching ground. She’d survived. The situation couldn’t get any worse.

  Until…that one moment, when she knew that no matter how horrible it had been on the flight…it just got worse.

  As soon as the plane’s wheels touched the runway, Joan’s face crinkled, and she burst into tears. If Sierra weren’t seeing this first hand, she’d never have believed it possible. This is the same woman who could make grown men cry. Never hesitated a second pronouncing her honest opinion, whether you wanted it or not. She didn’t care what anyone thought. And she had no problem telling anyone how she felt - or what she expected.