Murder of a Wedding Belle (31 page)

As Skye walked back through the lobby, Frannie and Justin arrived, along with Iris Yee, her husband, and the crew she’d hired from Chicago. It would take several hours to set up the flower arrangements, even with the teenagers’ help, and the floral designer waved but didn’t stop to speak.

Next to walk in was Yves Galois. After escorting the photographer to the bridesmaids’ dressing room, Skye inspected the ballroom, patio/pool area, and tent.

Finding everything in order, Skye crossed her fingers. If all the vendors showed up on time, and with the goods they had promised, Riley would have the dream wedding she wanted. That is, of course, depending on what Wally found out when he interrogated Earl Doozier.

Wally was giving the Red Ragger until noon to sober up, then would show him the pictures of Zach’s and Nick’s backs. Skye refused to think of what it would mean if Earl identified either man. Could she talk Wally into waiting until after the wedding to question whichever guy had been fighting with Belle? But if it was Nick, shouldn’t Riley know that before she married him?

Pushing that conundrum aside, Skye checked her watch. The bride should be arriving any minute. As Skye approached the lobby, she saw Riley, Anita, and Dora swarm through the entrance. A few steps later they converged on her like a cloud of killer bees, demanding to see the venue before getting their hair and makeup done.

While the three women inspected the tent, Skye thought about Belle’s killer. They’d eliminated several of their prime suspects, although Iris and the other vendors the wedding planner had been shaking down continued to be possibilities. But Skye wasn’t convinced any of them had a strong enough motive to kill Belle. Could the bride obsessed with perfection be the murderer?

What had she and Wally learned so far? One, Belle had expensive tastes and no longer had a trust fund to support them, but she was still making two-thousand-dollar weekly deposits into her bank account.

Two, Belle had given Bunny a large sum of counterfeit cash, and the money hadn’t come from the vendor kickbacks she’d demanded because she wouldn’t get her cut until they received their final payment.

Three, she’d been overheard arguing twice. Was it with the same person both times?

And four—

“Skye! Pay attention!” Riley poked her shoulder. “The material at the sweetheart table is supposed to be swagged and it’s not.”

“Since the linen consultant isn’t here today, I’ll ask Iris if she has something to fasten it with.” Skye pulled out her memo pad and made a note. “I can pin it up while you all are getting your hair done.”

Riley nodded, and they walked back to the clubhouse and into the ballroom. Skye sniffed discreetly. Yep. The Febreze she’d sprayed as soon as she’d arrived at the country club that morning had worked.

“Skye!” Riley poked her again. “Did you get rid of the stuff my relatives insisted on baking?”

“No.”
Shoot
. Skye had been hoping Riley would forget about the homemade goodies. “I told you I wasn’t going to get in the middle of that issue.”

“Honey,” Anita pleaded with her daughter, “can’t you just put it on a side table?”

“But, Mom,” Riley whined, “it’ll look tacky.”

“Sweetie pie.” Dora patted her granddaughter’s hand. “Please, for me.”

“Okay, Grandma,” Riley sighed. “But it’s not going to be served on the living buffet.” The older women nodded their agreement, and Riley turned to Skye. “Is Nick here?”

“Yes ...” Skye answered cautiously, hoping that was what her cousin wanted to hear.

“Good.” Riley turned. “I thought of something last night that needs to be done before the pictures.”

Skye shuddered but followed Riley, Anita, and Dora as they marched down the hall. What did Riley want now?

When they entered the bar, Riley strode up to Nick and said, “Hale needs to shave off his facial hair and remove all his earrings.”

“Okay.” Nick’s attention was on the TV, but he absently patted his fiancée, then said, “Take care of it, Son.”

“No way, Dad!” Hale howled.

“Just do it.”

“Why should I?” Hale griped. “She’s not the boss of me.”

“But I am.” Nick tore his gaze from the screen. “Unless you don’t need me to pay for the rest of your college education.”

“Dad ...,” Hale whined.

“The money or the beard?” Nick stared at his son. “Your choice.”

“I don’t have a razor,” Hale said, his expression smug. “Do you?”

Nick shook his head, and Skye said, “I’ve got one in my emergency kit.” She hid her grin. Hale never should have called her fat at the dance lesson.

“Thanks.” Hale shot Skye a dirty look. “For nothing.”

Skye ignored the petulant young man and added, “I also have a sewing kit, Buttoneer, stain-removal stick, and first-aid supplies, so come find me if you need anything.”

After leading Riley, Anita, and Dora to the dressing room, Skye borrowed some fasteners from Iris, then returned to the tent. As Skye gathered up the fabric, she noticed a label. It read MADE BY WILMA SNOW, CHICAGO, IL.
Hmm.
The lace was supposed to be imported from France.

She finished swagging the material on the head table, then phoned the linen consultant. Skye assured Angela that as long as her bill was corrected to reflect the lower price for the domestic lace, Skye didn’t care where the material was made, since it was gorgeous. She also reminded the woman that on the day of the wedding no planner in her right mind would be willing to upset the bride about something as petty as the source of a tablecloth.

Having been reassured, Angela admitted she had been waiting for Wilma Snow’s husband, Al, to deliver the overlays the day Skye and Wally talked to her. She was afraid Al would arrive while they were there, and Skye would find out about the lace being local versus imported. And no, Belle had not known about the substitution. With that mystery solved, Skye mentally crossed Angela off her suspect list.

Two hours later, the bridal party’s makeup was done and Vince had just finished Skye’s hair when Allison poked her head around the door and said, “Cake’s here.”

Skye excused herself and, still wearing shorts and a T-shirt, went to greet the pastry chef from Deliciously Different, the Chicago bakery Belle had hired. The shop specialized in one-of-a-kind creations, and the groom’s cake was in the shape of Nick’s yacht.

Skye escorted the talented woman and her helper to the tent and showed her the specially lit tables where the cakes were to be displayed. The five-tiered wedding cake was covered in pleated pink fondant with hand-detailed piping, and had fifty pushpins of Swarovski crystal, two hundred handmade pink icing flowers, and dozens of blown-sugar bubbles more delicate than glass.

Due to the complicated structure, and the price tag—the groom’s cake cost nine hundred dollars and the wedding cake four thousand—the pastry chef had agreed to stay with her creations until they were cut after the dinner.

Walking through the lobby, Skye glanced out the front doors and noticed a line of limo-buses disgorging the California guests who had been flown in by private jet. They all wore expensive designer formalwear and bored expressions.

As soon as Skye got back to the dressing room, she was immediately shoved into her bridesmaid’s gown, and Yves led the group outside to where the formal pictures would be shot. This was Skye’s first glimpse of Natasha, and she held her breath. Riley had been right. Nick’s stepmother had definitely chosen her dress to outshine the bride. It was nearly as outlandish as last night’s creation, and very, very purple. Thousands of tiny appliquéd violets made up the short skirt, and the bodice looked like it was constructed entirely of pavé diamonds.

Skye braced herself for Riley’s explosion, but the bride merely whispered to her, “Remember you promised to seat her in a dark corner.”

Swearing that Natasha’s table was in the back and partially obscured by a floral screen, Skye whispered a silent prayer of thanks that Riley hadn’t remembered her original plan to pour a drink on her future stepmother-in-law.

It was quarter to three when the photo session ended, time to get everyone inside and in place for the ceremony. Skye ushered the bride and her attendants back into their dressing room and herded the groom and his men toward the ballroom.

She arranged the guys along the raised platform, checked that the string ensemble was in place, and shooed guests into their chairs.

Once everyone was settled, Skye hurried to the dressing rooms. On her way, she noticed Yves huddled in an alcove, speaking on his cell.

As she passed, she heard, “No! I must have that green card right away. I’m too vulnerable without it.”

Skye slowed down and listened to the photographer.

“Word has gotten around among the wedding planners that I’m in this country illegally, and now they’re all blackmailing me into doing their events.”

Ah. So that’s how Belle had persuaded Yves to photograph Riley’s wedding, even though he hadn’t wanted to leave the city. But if all the wedding planners knew his secret, he had no reason to murder Belle. There went another suspect out of the pool.

Skye sighed, then hurried away to fetch the rest of the wedding party. After they were all assembled, she lined everyone up along the hallway, starting with Dora and Anita, then Hallie, Tabitha, herself, and Paige. Last, just before the bride—who had chosen to walk down the aisle unescorted—was the ring bearer.

Luca Jay’s blue eyes sparked with excitement, and he was loudly telling everyone what he had learned in his Bible class. “St. Paul cavorted to Christianity. He preached holy acrimony, which is another name for marriage.”

Skye laughed along with the others, then got out of line and knelt down next to him. Putting a finger to her lips, she said in a low voice, “Shh. We need to be quiet now.”

Luca Jay’s forehead wrinkled. “Why do we have to be quiet?”

“Well ...” Skye searched her mind for a reason a six-year-old would understand. “This is sort of like church.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “I remember Mommy telling me you have to be quiet in church.” Skye patted his shoulder just before he said loudly, “That’s because people are trying to sleep.”

Once everyone stopped giggling, Skye stepped up to her cousin for one last inspection. Reciting the old rhyme, she checked out the bride—something new was more than taken care of, something borrowed was Dora’s lace handkerchief, something blue was the bow on the garter. She frowned and asked Riley, “What’s your something old?”

Tabitha answered for the bride, “It’s the antique bouquet holder Paige and I found for her.”

“What bouquet holder?” Riley objected. “You guys never gave me any antique holder.”

Tabitha turned to Paige. “Where is it?”

“Oops!” Page widened her eyes. “I forgot all about it. It must still be at home.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Skye quickly interjected, not wanting a bridal meltdown. “But your grandma’s hanky is old, so you’re covered.” Before Riley could react, Skye signaled to Allison to throw open the ballroom doors. The string ensemble began playing Pachelbel’s Canon and the wedding officially began.

Icing on the Cake

A
s Skye walked down the aisle, she grinned at her beaming grandmother, but her thoughts were on what Tabitha and Paige had just said about the murder weapon. Paige claimed she’d forgotten the antique bouquet holder at home, but wouldn’t she have told Tabitha that earlier or even had someone send it by overnight mail to Scumble River? Was Paige the murderer? An antique bouquet holder
was
the weapon used to bash in Belle’s skull. How many of those things could be floating around this wedding? Still, what could the matron of honor’s motive possibly be?

Skye needed to talk to Wally ASAP, but she couldn’t exactly whip out her cell phone to make a call now. With the consoling thought that Paige wasn’t going anywhere until the ceremony was over, Skye turned her attention back to the proceedings at hand. A moment later, the music swelled and everyone stood to watch the bride’s entrance.

Catching her breath, Skye stared in awe. Riley truly was a fairy-tale princess. Her silver-blond hair, gathered in a waterfall of curls, was luminous under the gold-embroidered veil, and she appeared ethereal in her pearl silk wedding gown. Looking straight ahead, a secret smile on her shimmery pink lips, she seemed to float toward her groom.

As Skye glanced over at Nick, who was gazing at his bride with an expression of both pride and triumph, she finally understood why such a rich and powerful man put up with her demanding cousin. May had mentioned that Nick collected art; clearly Riley was his ultimate acquisition.

After the ceremony, the bridal party and the guests moved to the patio. Skye excused herself, pausing only long enough to hear the trumpeters and watch the butterflies being released; then she confirmed that the mixologist was on duty behind the monogrammed ice bar that was carved to look like Riley’s veil, and the actors dressed as fairy-tale characters were all present.

Assured that the cocktail party was all set to begin, Skye tried Wally’s cell, but the call went directly to voice mail. She left a message for him to contact her immediately, then went to check on the rest of the vendors. The caterer was busy sending trays of crab claws and beggar’s purses out to the hungry crowd, and Skye snatched one of the tiny caviar and cream dumplings as she moved to the reception tent.

The photo booth, cigar roller, candy bar, ice sculpture, and martini luge were all in place. The DJ and band were setting up, and the “living buffet” had just walked in the door. Skye greeted the woman who would be dressed in a Cinderella gown—the skirt of which would be a round table filled with desserts. The performer would move among the guests once dinner was over.

Satisfied that all was in order, Skye tried calling Wally again but still was sent to his voice mail. He hadn’t attended the ceremony, and she wondered whether he’d gotten hung up interrogating Earl Doozier. Perhaps, since neither the groom nor the best man had been taken into the police station for questioning, the Red Ragger had been unable to identify the man who’d been arguing with Belle.