Killer Honeymoon

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“You had better not be pregnant.” Marjory
Crawford’s sour words matched her pinched expression. Jake’s aunt had been
hovering on the outside of the action for a while now, waiting for a lull in
the chatter to sling her rock.

Jane sputtered on her coffee. “What?”

“A wedding in a month? After you’ve practically
been living with my nephew?”

Phoebe yanked on Jane’s corset strings like she
was trying to choke her aunt.

“Hey!” Jane waved her arms behind her in an
attempt to get her almost-sister-in-law to lay off. What she didn’t need in
this exact moment was to lose her ability to breathe.

“If you only knew how many times Jane has been
in danger of her life but refused to take Jake’s protection, you wouldn’t be so
rude.” Phoebe tied the satin corset ribbons in a tight bow.

“Not using protection is exactly what I’m
worried about.” Marjory adjusted the corsage on her lapel.

Nancy Adler pushed open the door to the nursing
room at The Old Church in Southeast Portland. The Adlers had thought they were
booking the more popular Old Church in downtown Portland but had made a
mistake. It was just as well, in Jane’s opinion, as this one had better parking
and she had gotten a deal on a wedding-night package at a local inn—The
Miramontes—just down the block.

Jane closed her eyes and counted to five. The
horse and pony show would be over before she knew it, and she and Jake would be
ensconced in their honeymoon suite. It did not matter what anybody said.

It did not matter what anybody said.

It did not matter what anybody said.

“A Tuesday night wedding. Who gets married on a
Tuesday night?” Marjory looked around the little room with its IKEA sofas and
glider-rockers and shuddered.

“Jane, please eat something. I can’t stand the
idea of you fainting up at the altar.” Nancy handed Jane a corn dog.

Jane took a long, deep breath, fearing it might
be her last with Phoebe in charge of her underpinnings. She stared at the corn
dog. Its golden crust and that sweet, fried aroma turned her stomach. She set
it on the small table nearest her. There wasn’t enough room in her new
fashionable torture device for both her guts and a greasy corn dog.

Marjory folded her arms.

“Hello, Marjory.” Nancy sighed. “Is there
something you needed?”

Marjory cleared her throat. “No. I just wanted
to give Jane a few of my thoughts before her wedding.”

“Hmm.” Nancy refrained from saying more, but the
tired look on her face indicated she had some thoughts she would have liked to
share.

“Don’t believe her. She came to shame Jane. You
know, because there’s only
one
reason a couple would get married on a
Tuesday.” Phoebe picked up the corn dog and took a bite.

Nancy sighed and picked up Jane’s dress. “Put
your hands over your head, Jane. Let’s slip this on.”

“Let it go, Phoebe. We knew people would talk.”
Jane did not lift her hands over her head. She was a little afraid she
couldn’t. And according to her calculations, she had at least seven minutes
before she needed to carry around the pounds and pounds of satin her overly
sentimental self had convinced her mom to buy.

“What would people talk about?” Jake popped his
head in the door, his face lit up with a smile bigger than the whole town.

“Get out of here, Jacob. What’s wrong with you?”
Marjory pushed the door shut.

Jake popped it open again. “Does anyone need
anything? My men are all dressed and we’re bored. A back rub? A game of
canasta? A pizza? Nothing?”

Jane felt like she was in an oven with the
people pressing around her, watching her cook, and Jake staring at her, his
eyes hungrier than a Christian boy’s ought to be.

“Don’t look at the bride before the ceremony,”
Nancy’s motherly tone ordered. She held the heavy ivory gown backwards in front
of her half-dressed daughter.

“Will she evaporate into a cloud of dust if I
look at her?” Jake asked. “Because that would be a bummer but also kind of
cool.”

“Jacob Terwilliger Crawford, get out of here,”
Marjory said.

Nancy drew her brows together. She shifted the
heavy dress in her hands. “Jake, can you go get a flat of water bottles for the
bridal party? Just set it outside of the door and try hard not to peek again.”
She offered him a sympathetic smile, then turned to Marjory. “And maybe you can
go find Stan. We’re going to need him here any minute.”

Marjory pursed her lips. “Well.”

“Thank you!” Jane piped up. She gave a bright
smile to Marjory. It pained her, but it was worth it to get at least one more
person out of her hair.

Marjory flipped her dove gray pashmina over her
shoulder and left. She was going to represent the Crawford family in the
wedding processional, but she didn’t seem to be happy about it.

Seven minutes of adjusting the perfect wedding
dress and fixing the hair that had gotten messed up while adjusting the dress
blew by, and Jane found herself in the foyer of the little church, with her arm
tucked carefully into her father’s, before she was mentally ready. She had too
much to say, too much to do. She couldn’t catch her breath.

What business did they have getting married like
this?

On a Tuesday?

In the wrong church?

Before she had ever even left the country?

Before she had…she couldn’t think of anything
else to freak out about, but the anxiety pressed against her rib cage anyway.

She looked around for a place to sit down.

“Take a deep breath, then count to ten and
exhale.” Her father led her to a pew against the wall. “Sit down. Nobody gets
married without a little panic.”

Strains of “Ode to Joy” played on a pipe organ
could be heard faintly from the sanctuary.

That wasn’t the music they had planned.

“What’s going on, Dad?” Jane asked after she
exhaled. “Why am I freaking out?”

“Why did you insist on going to that little
Bible school? Why wouldn’t you even try to go to university?” He smiled, the
sting of that old fight long gone.

“Because I knew what I wanted. I had a plan.”
Jane took another one of those deep breaths and tried to hold it.

“Is this wedding your plan?”

“Kind of.” Jane let the breath out, but it
didn’t help.

“And kind of Jake’s too, right?”

“And kind of Mom’s.”

Stan laughed. “So it was a team decision. You
weren’t in charge.”

She tugged her dad’s arm. “Hey.”

“Are you in love with Jake?”

“Yes.” She agreed without thinking, the answer a
reflex like breathing. She loved Jake like she loved life itself.

“But?”

“If I marry him, he will be the boss of me.”
This answer also came out fast, without thought, and sounded like a three-year-old.

Her dad laughed softly. “I pity the man who
tries to be the boss of you. That’s all I am saying.”

“You don’t think this will ruin everything?”

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
“No.” He looked down at her with tears in his eyes. “But if you don’t want to
do it, you and I can get out of here, right now.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I do want
to, but maybe in three more minutes.”

“You’ve got all the time in the world.” Stan
squeezed his daughter’s arm.

The organ music changed. “A Kiss from a Rose”
this time. Jane leaned forward so she could hear better. “Why is she playing
that?”

“Hmmm?” Stan had a dreamy look on his face and a
tight grip on Jane’s arm like he was still hoping she might change her mind and
go back to being his kid again.

“That song. That’s not on the list. And it’s
kind of sloppy.” Jane got up and led her father to the sanctuary doors.

The organist slouched, and her song was off
beat.

Phoebe and Gemma, who had been hanging back in
their matching navy blue dresses, joined Jane and Stan at the door.

“Look at Franny at the organ,” Jane said.

“She doesn’t look well,” Gemma murmured.

“What on earth is she playing?” Phoebe tapped
the wall with her small bouquet of red roses. “That’s not ‘Be Thou My Vision.’”

“No, it’s not.” Jane scanned the audience to see
if anything else seemed amiss, but other than some shifting in seats and the
low murmur of small talk, all seemed normal.

Franny, the fifty-year-old organist who came
with the church, slumped forward, hitting a sour note.

“Franny!” Jane pulled open the sanctuary door
and dragged her dad down the aisle. “Franny! Are you okay?” She got to the
organ, just to the left of the altar, in less than five seconds. She went
straight for Franny’s neck to check her pulse—faint, but at least it was there.
“Someone call 911!”

Several hands rose with phones—guests indicating
they had already called. Jane took a deep breath and gave Franny a longer look
over.

Franny’s red face rested on the lower keyboard
of the organ, eyes closed. Her white fingers had slipped from the keys—her arms
dangling at her sides. She was fit. Surely she hadn’t had a heart attack, but
Jane couldn’t be sure. She had only met the lady once before.

Could she have been poisoned?

Before she could check for any signs of poison,
like a weird smell in the water glass on the organ, the paramedics were on hand
and moving Jane out of the way.

The wedding guests had stood up and moved to the
sides, almost as they would have done if the ambulance had driven down the
aisle. The low murmur of conversation had risen to a steady thrum of
excitement, especially as they rolled the organist back out of the church on a
gurney.

Grant Bryce, Jane’s policeman friend, walked
with the paramedics, managing to talk without slowing them down.

The back rows of wedding guests followed him out
and watched Franny as they loaded her into the ambulance. The middle rows of
guests followed them, some taking pictures as they went.

Jane had a feeling pictures from her wedding
were already on Facebook and Instagram. She slid down the side aisle, hoping to
connect with the paramedics before they left, to find out what was going on, to
ask questions. To find out what had happened to Franny. Maybe Grant would hook
her up with the info she needed.

A gentle arm stopped her. “Don’t you belong up
there, kiddo?” The gravelly voice belonged to her new boss, Rocky Wilson. He
gave her a nudge back toward the altar.

Up front, Phoebe was far to the side, by a
window, watching the ambulance drive away. Gemma, Jane’s maid of honor, was
taking pictures of the muddled crowd with her phone. Jake and his cousin Jeff
were speaking to the pastor.

Jane turned again, to look behind her.

Her dad stood there, right behind her, patient.
Smiling. He offered his arm again, and they walked back up to the altar.

Stan cleared his throat.

Jake offered his hand to Jane.

The pastor moved to the mic, but Jake shook his
head. “Let’s do this quick and quiet while the crowd is distracted.”

Jane’s heart fluttered. She liked the idea.
Sneaky. Get it done before anyone noticed.

“Why not?” The pastor smiled conspiratorially.

The two rows at the front—Jane’s mom and aunt
and uncle, and Jake’s cousins and aunt—were seated again and close enough to
hear without the use of microphones, so they were the only ones who got to hear
the exchange of vows, though the guests had eventually returned to their seats.

After they were pronounced man and wife, and
Jake kissed Jane, his best man hit a button on a tape deck. “The Wedding Song”
by Peter Paul and Mary blared out, but Gemma’s phone rang, interrupting the
tune with “Bad Boys.”

“It’s Grant!” Gemma called out. “He says Franny
is going to be okay. It was a small heart attack, but her vitals are fine.
Nothing to worry about!”

The crowd cheered, and Jake lifted Jane into his
arms and toted her out of the church entirely, skipping the dinner and cake and
toasts.

She loved the feeling of being carried away in
his arms. As he ran out the door, she whispered in his ear, “Is it wrong that I
wanted to be detective girl in the middle of the wedding?”

He stopped, set her on the ground and looked her
in the eye. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

They ran across the street hand in hand, to
their honeymoon suite at the pretty little inn.

Jake didn’t let her out of his sight again until
the next morning.

He wasn’t even a little bossy about it, so Jane found
that she didn’t mind being married to him one bit.