Till Death Do Us Purl (7 page)

“Would you? That would be a lifesaver. We still have so much to do before Saturday.” Nora looked anxious again, though the sight of Rebecca in her gown had chased away her worries for a few minutes.

Jeremy helped Rebecca down from the stool, his arm around her waist. He seemed reluctant to let her go once her feet hit the ground. Her hand rested on his shoulder, displaying her large round diamond.

“Is that it?” he asked quietly.

“For now. I’ll change and we can
leave,” she answered.

He nodded and she slipped away, heading for the storeroom. His gaze followed her, like a loyal pet, Lucy thought. Does Matt look at me that way? Boy, she hoped so.

Nora and Maggie talked about how the gown would be blocked and when it would be ready. Dana, Suzanne, and Phoebe had already begun blocking their shrugs and Lucy looked for a space to work on hers.

A few moments later, the happy couple said good night, Rebecca thanking everyone again for their help. With Jeremy’s arm around her shoulder, she just about glowed.

“See you on Saturday,” she said, finally sounding a tiny bit nervous.

“I can’t wait!” Suzanne shouted, answering for all them.

Lucy could hardly wait, either. She’d forgotten how much fun preparing for a wedding could be. She really was looking forward to watching Rebecca walk down the aisle.

T
he Black Sheep Knitters decided
to skip their usual Thursday night meeting since they had already gathered on Tuesday night to block the bridesmaids’ shrugs and watch Rebecca model her gown. They did confer on driving arrangements for the wedding, deciding that they’d go together. Maggie was going to pick up everyone but Suzanne, who was coming straight from work.

Lucy was surprised that there were no e-mails flying around about who was wearing what. But when she went out to the driveway on Saturday afternoon and peered into Maggie’s car, it seemed that they’d all consulted by telepathy, deciding on matching outfits of basic black and pearl accessories.

“We’re all dressed the same, do you realize that?” she asked as she pulled out her seat belt.

Dana smiled and smoothed down the neckline of her finely knit wrap dress, which she’d made for herself last fall, Lucy recalled.

“You’ll never go wrong in a black dress
and pearls when people like the Lassiters are throwing a party.”

“Very true. Phoebe always wears black.” Maggie glanced at her assistant, who sat in the passenger seat up front. “She must have the best taste of all of us.”

Phoebe looked pleased with the compliment. “I did a pearl stud tonight. Did you guys notice? My mom gave it to me. I think she must have lost the other one and gave me the leftover.”

She gently touched the edge of her left ear, which held a row of gothic-looking piercings and one lovely pink-hued pearl.

“We smell pretty good, too,” Phoebe added.

“We clean up well, ladies. No question,” Maggie said.

The Lassiter estate was located in the Landing, some distance from the village. There wasn’t much to see en route, except for tall trees, privacy hedges, and high stone walls. Occasionally, a bit of palatial mansion or harbor became visible briefly, hinting at the hidden opulence.

The estate was not far from the Harbor Club, which they passed on the way. Dana and Jack were members at the country club, mainly for Jack’s law practice and because he was such an intense golfer. Dana was not at all the clubby type but she enjoyed playing tennis and acting out in subtly irreverent ways there.

Lucy wondered how long the ride would take, when Maggie suddenly slowed down for a traffic jam. Cars—most of them luxury models—sat bumper to bumper on the otherwise deserted road.

“The entrance to the estate must be up ahead. I guess we can just follow this line of cars inside,” Maggie said.

Maggie merged her car with the line
of Mercedes, Jaguars, and BMWs. Then turned through high, wrought-iron gates. Two bulky men, who must have been security guards, Lucy realized, peered into each vehicle. They wore orange traffic vests over tuxedos and waved large yellow flashlights.

Maggie’s little green Subaru was waved right through and followed the procession down a woodsy road that twisted and turned and seemed to go on forever.

“My word . . .” Maggie said quietly. “Does anyone remember the opening scene to
Rebecca
?”

Lucy did remember it, but Phoebe spoke up first. “‘Last night, I dreamt I was at Manderley,’” she offered in an eerie, uncanny Joan Fontaine voice.

“Bravo, Phoebe,” Lucy leaned over and patted Phoebe’s bony shoulder. “I was thinking the very same thing. I just didn’t want to say it,” Lucy admitted. “Didn’t Laurence Olivier have a crazy wife locked up in the attic? And she sets the place on fire?”

“You’re thinking of
Jane Eyre,
” Dana recalled. “In
Rebecca,
the second wife thinks he’s obsessed with the first wife’s memory and still in love with her. But he actually murdered her . . . right?”

Before anyone could confirm that version, Maggie sighed out loud.

“Oh, dear . . . can we talk about something more cheerful? It is Rebecca’s wedding day. I didn’t mean to get you all started down that dark Gothic road . . .”

“There’s something more cheerful. Look, it’s Suzanne . . .” Dana turned and pointed out her window. “And she’s not wearing black.”

Suzanne was not wearing
black—or anything close to it. Dressed to impress in a fuchsia silk suit and spiky, patent leather heels, she wiggled down from the driver’s seat of her huge SUV and dropped to the ground like a Navy SEAL on cocktail party patrol.

“Wow, she looks hot . . . for a mother of three.” Phoebe’s mouth hung open.

“Phoebe . . . please.” Maggie rolled her eyes.

“Well, she does,” Phoebe said innocently.

She did indeed. And seemed to be enjoying every minute of it. The four women piled out of Maggie’s car and joined her in the middle of the stone courtyard, beside a large fountain.

“Guess I didn’t get the memo.” Suzanne laughed, looking them over. “My little black dress is at the cleaner’s anyway.”

“You look like the lead singer of a girl group. And we look like the backup,” Phoebe observed.

“Ladies, please . . . Let’s go in and find a seat, shall we?” Maggie moved them along, like a border collie, nipping at their high heels.

They had driven into a large courtyard where valets collected cars and whisked them away . . . to who knew where, Lucy wondered. Water splashed down from a large round fountain and low lights in glass lanterns were just starting to glow.

The vast brick colonial manor house was built in the English style, complete with glossy black shutters, a slate roof, several chimneys, and long white columns. Thick ivy vines crept up the sun-faded brick facade.

At the stone entryway, two large black marble statues of mastiffs flanked the arching doorway. Phoebe reached out and patted one on the head. She was
wearing a pair of black fingerless gloves she’d knit for herself.

“Nice doggie. Stay . . .”

Dana gently pulled her hand away. “Look but don’t touch, remember?”

Another bulky, tuxedoed man who stood at the threshold cast a stern expression their way. Luckily the crowd pushed them along into a large foyer before he could remark.

Lucy quickly took in the black-and-white marble tile floor below and sparkling crystal chandelier above. Attendants took the guests’ coats and directed them to the gallery where the ceremony would take place.

The gallery, just to the right of the foyer, was a vast room with long windows on one side, covered by swooping brocade drapes. A large fireplace and carved marble mantel was the focal point opposite. The walls were covered with oil paintings in heavy gilt frames and pedestals displayed sculptures in various styles.

“Look at all this art. I feel like one of the kids talked me into volunteering for a field trip,” Suzanne whispered.

“Jeremy’s mother, Patricia Moore, is a well-known collector and philanthropist,” Maggie whispered back. “I guess when his parents divorced, they had to share custody of the masterpieces.”

Lucy imagined that the room was normally filled with couches and armchairs and horrendously expensive little antique tables. But all the furniture had been cleared for rows and rows of white cushioned folding chairs that faced the far side of the room. An arch of beautiful tropical flowers and a speaker’s podium had
been set up on that end for the ceremony.

Suzanne squeezed Lucy’s arm in excitement. “It’s so beautiful. I’m going to cry.”

“Suzanne . . . give me a break. We haven’t even sat down,” Phoebe said. Lucy smiled in disbelief.

“I know. I can’t help it.” She sniffed and shrugged.

They were lucky to find five seats together, in one of the rear rows. Suzanne angled for the aisle, pulling a camera out of her black satin clutch. “We need some photos, for Maggie’s bulletin board.”

It clearly meant so much to her to be closest to the bride when she walked by. No one dared deny her the pleasure. A trio of musicians—a violinist, cellist, and flutist—stood to one side of the flower arch and played a familiar classical piece.

Lucy sat back and glanced at the program she’d been handed as they walked in. The ceremony looked brief and to the point. Not much music, or miscellaneous readings by relatives on the schedule. Lucy was relieved. She did find it annoying when it seemed everyone in the family had to get up and say a few words.

The musicians paused, then suddenly they began a baroque piece that signaled the procession was about to begin. All the guests stood as Nora came down the aisle on the arm of one of the ushers. “Nora looks beautiful,” Dana said quietly. They all nodded in agreement. With her hair and makeup professionally done, Nora looked surprisingly glamorous. Her long, flowing chiffon dress, in a dark plum hue, complemented the bridal party.

“Look, there’s Jeremy’s mother,” Maggie whispered. A tall,
elegant woman appeared next, escorted by the groom. Their resemblance was striking. She wore a dark blue satin gown that emphasized her blue eyes. Her thick glossy hair was worn in a smooth, upswept style, a lock of white in stark contrast to the dark brown shade she and her son shared.

After Patricia was seated, Jeremy took his place at the flower arch, tugging on his shirt cuffs. He looked quite nervous. Understandably, Lucy thought. Two groomsmen stood by, but Lucy couldn’t tell which was the best man. The program did not indicate it, either.

Her friends suddenly turned to watch the next couple walking down the aisle. Lucy did, too.

“This has to be his father . . . and the trophy wife,” Dana murmured.

“The second trophy wife, I understand,” Maggie whispered back.

“It’s hard to know the players without a scorecard. At least Nora gave you a briefing,” Lucy whispered back.

“A few remarks here and there,” Maggie conceded.

Philip Lassiter was a tall man, broad shouldered with a full head of unnaturally dark hair and artfully silver sideburns. He had thick eyebrows and a closely trimmed beard. He looked as if he was once very fit, but his tuxedo jacket tugged a bit against a round stomach, and his long arms and legs were rather thin.

He turned from side to side as he came down the aisle, acknowledging guests with a look or a smile like a politician strolling through a fund-raiser. The woman at his side, a shapely blonde in her midthirties, did the same. She wore a
silvery, off-the-shoulder gown, a matching gauzy wrap, and large pieces of jewelry.

“Some dress,” Dana whispered.

“Looks like she walked into a curtain,” Suzanne whispered back. Lucy had to hold back a laugh. She did agree, now that Suzanne had mentioned it.

Poor taste or not, Philip Lassiter and his wife were clearly the celebrity couple, nearly upstaging the main act.

Once Jeremy’s father and stepmother were seated, the music continued, but the aisle was clear. Suzanne checked her camera and peered down to the doorway. “Nothing yet. I think I see the flower girl. She looks sort of fidgety. She might be getting stage fright.”

“Wait . . . who’s that? Next to Jeremy?” Lucy squinted, wondering if she was seeing things. Another groomsman had taken a place at the flower arch. He must have snuck up a side aisle while all eyes were on the Lassiters, Lucy realized.

Jeremy was grinning and shaking hands wildly, then he hugged the other man to his chest.

When they finally parted Lucy realized she hadn’t imagined it. The two men were identical in every way. Mirror images of each other. Even more uncanny since they wore matching black tuxedos. Except for Jeremy’s glasses, she was unable to tell them apart. Not at this distance, anyway.

“Jeremy has a twin? Why didn’t anyone mention that?” Suzanne asked.

“Nora told me that Jeremy has a brother,” Maggie replied. “I think his name is Alec. But there was a terrible falling-out with their father and he
wasn’t invited to the wedding. I guess he made it after all.”

She’d barely finished the explanation when they heard a shout and Jeremy’s father came to his feet. His regal manner and benevolent smile had melted, replaced by bulging eyes and an explosive expression.