Between a Rock and a Hard Place: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

And”—Jo blushed as she continued— “if you got married in Edinburgh, Alan could perform the ceremony.”
    “Alan? Your Alan?” Jo and her husband, Alan, were still married, but lived apart—she in London, he in Edinburgh. Pru knew only that much and had yet to muster the nerve to ask about the particulars.
    “He would love to do this for you.”
    “Your Alan is a minister?”
    “Yes,” Jo said, nodding and smiling and nodding some more. This was followed by a tiny shrug. “Well, he doesn’t have his own church, you know, but he is ordained—everything is in order.”
    Ordained? Pru thought. By what power…the Internet? An image of her wedding day flashed in Pru’s mind: Alan, whom she’d never met, with long, stringy hair, dressed in a tie-dyed kilt. She tried blinking away the picture. “Jo,” she said, looking down at her soup, reaching for a piece of bread, and busying herself with the butter, “If Alan doesn’t have a church, what does he do?”
    “He runs a shelter in Old Town near St. Mary’s.”
    The wedding image changed, and this time she was being walked up the aisle by men carrying large black plastic bin bags and pushing abandoned shopping trolleys. “Well,” Pru said, but couldn’t think of anything to follow.
    “It’ll be a proper ceremony, Pru—really it will—and it would be so good for him.” Jo picked up her fork and toyed with a cube of roasted beetroot at the edge of her wilted rocket salad. “It would be good for us.”
    Pru glanced up. “Are you and Alan…getting back together?”
    Jo tried brushing away the statement with a small wave of her hand, at the same time smiling. “Well, we might be a step closer.”
    And Pru and Christopher’s wedding could be the reason? Pru could see it now—Alan and Jo standing on the steps of the church, arms around each other, waving as Christopher watched Pru throw the bouquet over her shoulder…God, was she going to have to throw a bouquet?
    “Jo, that’s wonderful.”
    Jo blushed, not a common sight. “Oh,” she said, giving a small laugh, as if to cast a casual nonchalance over the topic; but then she grew still. “It’s been eleven years—almost twelve. After what happened, it’s been a long road to get to where we are now.”
    Pru still had no clue as to what caused the break, but she couldn’t help liking the idea of being part of such a reconciliation. “It sounds lovely,” she said. “I’ll talk with Christopher.” She couldn’t imagine that he would say no when Jo and Alan’s marriage could be at stake.
    “Yes, you talk with him about it, and you can meet Alan when you get to Edinburgh. There’s no need to make a decision now,” Jo said.
    Dear Jo—she would not steer Pru wrong. “I look forward to meeting him. I’m sure that we’ll work something out.”
    Jo seemed ready to leap over the table and drag the white linen cloth with her to hug Pru, but had to be satisfied with patting her hand. “You’ll love Edinburgh,” Jo said, “I know you will. And it will be so easy for me to help with planning.” Jo reached into her handbag, pulled out a business card, and handed it to her. “And now, for my other news…I’ve found someone to design your dress.”
    This was more like it. Jo’s excellent taste would shine here—not that Alan wasn’t in good taste, Pru reminded herself. But clothes, Jo understood clothes. The only dress Pru owned Jo had bought for her.
    The card had no decoration, drawing, or detailing. It read simply:
Madame Fiona
    Haute Couture
    Stockbridge Edinburgh
    An address and phone number ran along the bottom of the card.
    “A client of mine has a friend who has used her. She’s very cutting-edge—sophisticated designs, excellent fabric, exquisite fit. This is my gift to you. She’ll take you through the whole process from measurements to the last-second fitting. You’ll be a proper bride.”
    Pru’s heart warmed. “What a wonderful gift, thank you so much. I’ll ring