Dying To Marry (8 page)

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Authors: Janelle Taylor

BOOK: Dying To Marry
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“Because you're involved with her?” Holly asked.
Jake almost spit out his mouthful of coffee. “So now
you're
listening to gossip?”
“I saw the two of you in a heated embrace with my own eyes this morning at the train station,” Holly explained flatly.
“Well, you're wrong,” Jake said. “On both counts. We're neither involved nor was I in a heated embrace, as you put it.”
“Then why isn't she number one on your list?” she asked.
“Because someone else is,” he said.
“Who?”
“I repeat: you're not my client. I initiated this case. I don't share information on an ongoing case.”
“We're talking about my cousin!” Holly snapped.
“Well, rest assured that I'm on it,” he responded calmly.
“Fine. I assume the other Dunhills are on your list. Dylan's mother and father?”
“You're assuming that they're unhappy about the wedding?”
“Aren't they?” Holly asked.
“That, you can discuss with your cousin,” Jake said. “But I'm sure Lizzie or Dylan won't mind my alerting you that Dylan's father passed away several years ago.” Memories of that strange night passed through his mind. It was a night that had set off a chain of events that had changed his perceptions, perhaps even his life.
“Oh,” she said. “I didn't know.”
“There's a lot you don't know, Holly. Like I said, you've been away from Troutville for a long time.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And like
I
said, I was in Troutville for one minute when I witnessed firsthand how
little
has changed. My friends and I were subjected to the same treatment as always. Comments about the way we look, about Dylan and Lizzie—” She stopped and bit her lip.
“What is it?” Jake asked.
“When I stepped off the train this morning,” she said, “two women in front of me were gossiping about how Lizzie must have blackmailed Dylan into marriage. I was just realizing that the list of suspects is going to be
very
long. I didn't even recognize those two women. And with a town full of people in for homecoming and the reunion”—she leaned back in her chair—“It could be anyone.”
“Yes, but the incidents started before this weekend,” Jake pointed out. “So it's most likely not an out-of-towner.”
Holly shot up. “I can think of another person who'd like to see Lizzie out of the picture. Arianna Miller. Lizzie says she's still in love with Dylan and has been since they were the king and queen of the Troutville High prom.”
Jake's mind went back ten years to senior prom night, to when Dylan Dunhill and Arianna Miller, who'd long been a couple and king and queen of the school, were officially crowned at the prom. Jake's own date had been Holly. They'd gone as friends, and Jake had been about to declare his love for her when he overheard her telling Felicia how she really felt about him.
Nothing Jake had ever been through had cut him the way that what Holly had said that night had done. Nothing had ever hurt that bad, and nothing had since.
Jake had loved Holly his entire life, since first grade, when the Boones had moved into the house next to the Morrows, but childhood sweethearts and soul mates had given way to super-sensitive puberty: Holly had realized how the Down Hillers, including herself, were perceived, and she'd taken it very hard. Perhaps harder than anyone.
What makes us so different?
she'd asked over and over. Just because they have money and we don't? Nice clothes and big houses and we don't?
It wasn't that she wanted to be an Up Hiller, he knew; she was proud of who she was, even if she didn't always know it. She was proud of her family and her friends. But Jake always knew that he was out of the running because she dreamed of something else, something Up Hill-esque for herself. He'd understood her so well, then.
Just once, after their terrible argument, he'd wondered if her bad reputation had been deserved. If perhaps she had given herself to the Up Hill boys, trying to make them like her, hoping one would fall for her and take her away into their world. He'd immediately cursed himself for going there. He'd been hurt was all, terribly hurt, and he'd wanted to hurt her back by thinking something awful about her.
Only once, when they were fifteen, Holly had told him that none of it was true, that she'd never slept with any of those boys, that her reputation was completely undeserved, and he believed her. She'd never had to tell him again. He knew the stories and lies floating around school and in the boys' bathrooms were all lies. About Holly, Gayle, Lizzie, and Felicia. And a few other Down Hill girls. When he was sixteen and seventeen, and desperately in love with Holly, he'd wanted to tell her how he felt about her, but he'd been afraid. He'd known she wanted more for herself than just a Down Hill boy, even though she'd never said such a thing, and he hadn't wanted to take her dreams away from her. She deserved more than him. And so he'd loved her silently. But on prom night, when she was leaving the day after next—after graduation—when he couldn't keep it inside any longer, when he planned to ask if he could come with her, he overheard her telling Felicia at the senior prom that he wasn't good enough.
It had been one thing for him to think himself not good enough for her. It was another to hear Holly say aloud that she thought so, too.
“Marry Jake Boone?” Holly had said as she'd leaned against the low stone wall in the gym's courtyard. “Don't be stupid Flea. He represents everything I'm leaving. He's the last man on earth I'd ever marry!”
“Well I'll be sure to never propose to you, Holly,” he'd said flatly.
Holly and Felicia had whirled around, shock on their faces. Holly's mouth opened to speak, but he put the punch cups down and then walked away into the night.
“Jake, wait!” Holly had screamed. “Stop, please!”
But he hadn't stopped. And he'd never seen Holly again.
He represents everything I'm leaving ... the last man on earth I'd ever marry.
“Jake?” Holly said, jolting him out of his memories. “Did you hear me? You look like you're a million miles away.”
“Not a million. Not even a mile,” he said with a wistful grin.
She stared at him, and he wondered if she thought he was referring to prom night.
“Arianna Miller is a lot of things,” Jake began, getting back to their conversation, “but underhanded has never been one of them. She's made it very clear that she wants Dylan for herself. I think she'd go after him straight up—not try to hurt Lizzie or break up the engagement. Pru is similar.”
She regarded him for a moment, then slung her purse over her shoulder. “Look, Jake, I don't know what your relationship is to Pru Dunhill—or the Dunhills, for that matter. Lizzie did tell me that you've become very close to the entire family. So perhaps I should work with someone more
impartial
.”
“I didn't realize we
were
working together, Holly,” he said without expression.
“Jake, I'm really worried. I don't know what to do. Maybe I should just go to the police.”
“You'd be wasting your time,” he told her. “I've already discussed the case with the police. They're only too happy to have me working on it so they don't have to.”
“Fine,” she said. “Then I'll investigate on my own.”
He sat straight up in his chair and looked her in the eye. “Holly, I have a bad feeling about these incidents and notes. Someone's seriously bent out of shape about this wedding, and I don't want you investigating on your own.”
“You just said you wouldn't work with me. I don't think we'd make a very good team, anyway,” Holly said.
“I agree with you there. So why don't you just leave it to me.”
She looked as though she wanted to argue, but decided against it. “Thank you for your time.”
And with that, she stood and left, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and too many memories.
 
“Holly Morrow, stop thinking about the dirt this minute,” Lizzie gently scolded as she led the way into Morrow's Pub. “It happened three hours ago and I forgot about it two hours ago.”
“But—” Holly began. She couldn't get the dirt mound or the note or anything Lizzie had told her out of her mind. Nor could she get Jake Boone out of her mind. For the past hour, she'd tried to concentrate on Lizzie's well-being, but Jake's face kept intruding.
“But nothing, Hol,” Lizzie said, taking Holly's chin in her hand. “It won't do me any good to dwell on it or try to figure out who did it. So why should I let the person victimize me twice by making me all upset when I'm happier than I've ever been?”
Holly squeezed Lizzie's hand. Her cousin never ceased to amaze Holly with her positive outlook.
I could learn a lot from Lizzie
, she thought.
“Now, you just forget all about it, which you will anyway because once you taste Mama's famous macaroni and cheese, you'll forget everything but your taste buds.”
“She's not kidding,” said a familiar female voice.
Holly turned to find her beloved Aunt Louise smiling at her, a tray laden with two heaping, hot plates of macaroni and cheese, and two tall lemonades.
“Lizzie, baby, come take this so I can hug the dickens out of my favorite niece!”
Lizzie took the tray and set it down at a table near the picture window, and Holly flew into her aunt's arms. Louise Morrow smelled heavenly, of comfort food and her trademark White Shoulders perfume. Fifty-five with short, graying blond hair and a voice husky from cigarette smoking—both hers and her customers'—Louise squeezed Holly close.
“You look absolutely beautiful, Holly,” Aunt Louise said, tucking a strand of Holly's brown hair behind her ear. “Like the city gal you always wanted to be.”
“Thanks, Aunt Louise,” Holly said. “You look wonderful, too. It's so good to see you!”
“Okay, you two,” Louise said. “Sit down and enjoy. Holler if you need anything.”
Lizzie and Holly sat and dug into their feast. It was Morrow family tradition to have Louise's famous macaroni and cheese at homecomings, and Louise made the best mac and cheese—Holly's favorite—in the world.
“Oh, Holly, wait until you see the wedding gown I have in mind,” Lizzie said around a mouthful. “I saw it in the window of Bettina's Bridal a few months ago and fell madly in love. I still can't believe it—me, Lizzie Morrow, shopping in Bettina's for my wedding gown, marrying the most gorgeous, most sweetest man there ever was. It's like a dream—well, except for the few stupid incidents lately.” She took a long sip of her lemonade. “I'm not going to let it get to me, Holly. You were absolutely right earlier—no one is going to stop me from marrying the man I love.”
Holly smiled. Lizzie had her there. She had said those words to Lizzie. She might not like what was going on in Troutville, but Lizzie had the right to love the man of her choice, no matter who didn't like it. “That's the spirit, Liz. You're absolutely right. All right—I'm dying to hear about the gown.”
Lizzie grinned. “It's totally different than the one I always thought I'd want. Remember how we'd spend hours talking about the wedding gowns of our dreams, and Flea would sketch them?”
Holly smiled at the memory. The four friends had whiled away many afternoons discussing in detail the style, shape, length and material of their dream gowns. Lizzie had always described a low-cut, sparkly number that an A-list actress might wear to the Academy Awards. Holly had envisioned lace, lots of lace, and a long train.
“Bettina described it as a Victorian style,” Lizzie continued. “It's very high-necked, with long sleeves with little puffs at the shoulders. Very simple. It's really lovely.”
Holly glanced at Lizzie.
Victorian? High-necked? Puffs?
Simple?
And nothing Lizzie loved could usually be called
lovely
. Elaborate, yes. Fun. High-style. Fabulous.
Lovely
wasn't even a word Holly had ever heard come out of her cousin's mouth.
“The moment I saw it in the window,” Lizzie said, “I knew it was the dress I would marry Dylan in. I walked right into Bettina's and asked to try it on—two months before we even got engaged. But I knew I'd marry him, Holly. I knew it the way they say you'll know.”
Holly smiled. “I'm so happy for you, Liz. You're so in love. I can just imagine Bettina Tutweller demanding to see an engagement ring before she'd allow you to try on one of her gowns.”
“Oh, she was much worse than that,” Lizzie said.
“
‘
I'm sure you'd prefer the selections at Mary Lou's Down Hill,'
Bettina said to me in that snooty tone of hers.
‘They have a couple of wedding gowns there—more in your price range, too, I'm sure
.'”

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