Eclipse Bay

by a computer.”
    Mrs. Blankenship pursed her lips. “I don’t think that’s an appropriate image, dear. The thought of a computer-generated wedding is really quite dreadful. It sounds so cold. Weddings are supposed to evoke all sorts of wonderful emotions, after all.”
    “Trust me, Mrs. Blankenship, behind the scenes, a well-managed wedding has a lot in common with a launch of the space shuttle.”
    “You know, dear, I hate to mention this, but you’ve become increasingly cynical ever since you ended your engagement last year. It’s so sad to see a young, healthy, vibrant woman like you turn jaded. Maybe you took on too much when you signed up for all those evening classes at the college.”
    “Mrs. Blankenship—”
    “You’ve been working much too hard for the past year. Perhaps you need a vacation. Go someplace where you can relax and regain your interest in your business and your social life.”
    “I have no social life to revive, Mrs. Blankenship. And as for my career, nothing will ever make me starry-eyed about my business. The only weddings that I actually enjoy doing are those in which I know for a fact that the couple met through my sister’s agency. At least I can feel reasonably confident that those marriages have a good chance of lasting.”
    “Yes, your sister does have a knack for matchmaking, doesn’t she?” Mrs. Blankenship got a dreamy expression in her eyes. “She obviously has a wonderful sense of intuition when it comes to that sort of thing.”
    “I hate to disillusion you, Mrs. Blankenship, but Lillian uses a computer, not her intuition.” Hannah dug her keys out of her massive shoulder bag. “Does Winston need a walk right away?”
    “No, dear, we just got back from our walkies,” Mrs. Blankenship said.
    “Great.” Hannah went to her own door and unlocked it, Winston trotting eagerly at her heels. “Thanks again, Mrs. Blankenship.”
    “Anytime, dear.” Mrs. Blankenship paused. “You know, you really should consider taking some time off. Your busy season is finished. You could slip away for a while.”
    “Funny you should mention that, Mrs. Blankenship. I was just thinking the same thing.”
    Mrs. Blankenship beamed. “I’m so glad to hear that. You really haven’t been quite the same since your engagement ended.”
    “Several people have mentioned that.” Hannah opened her door. “One theory is that I have been possessed by an alien entity.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Never mind. Good night, Mrs. Blankenship.”
    “Good night, dear.”
    Hannah stepped into the small hallway, waited until Winston came inside, and then swiftly shut the door. She flipped on the lights.
    “Give me a minute to change, Winston. Then I’ll find us both something to eat.”
    In the bedroom she stripped off the jacket and skirt of her blue business suit, then pulled on a pair of black leggings and a cozy cowl-necked tunic and slipped into a pair of ballet-style flats. Pausing for a moment in front of the mirror, she brushed her hair behind her ears and anchored it with a narrow band.
    When she was ready, she padded back down the hall into the kitchen and dug one of the expensive, specially formulated dog bones out of a box for Winston. The Schnauzer took it very politely from her fingers.
    “Enjoy.”
    Winston needed no further urging. He set to work on the bone vigorously.
    Hannah opened the refrigerator and meditated on the sparse contents for a moment. After a while she removed a hunk of sheep’s-milk feta cheese and a nearly empty bottle of Chardonnay.
    She arranged her small haul on a tray and carried it into the second bedroom, where she maintained a home office. Winston followed, the remains of his bone wedged firmly between his jaws. Sinking down onto the high-backed chair, Hannah propped her feet on the corner of the desk and munched a cracker with some of the cheese on it.
    Winston took up his customary position on the floor beside the desk chair. Muted crunching sounds ensued.
    “Brace yourself, Winston.” Hannah reached for the phone. “I’m going to check my messages. Who knows what excitement awaits us?”
    The automated answering service surrendered three offerings. The first was from a florist, reporting that the orchids Hannah had ordered for the Cooke-Anderson wedding were going to cost more than expected.
    “I told the client that they would be expensive.”
    The second message was from her brother, Nick, letting her know that he had just mailed the