Murder on the Bride's Side (19 page)

Blythe stepped forward. “Julia, Avery is fine. But I’m afraid there’s been a . . . well, Roni’s dead. She was killed last night.”

Although a soft cry escaped from Julia’s throat and her slender hands fluttered in front of her ashen face, I noticed that her eyes did not seem surprised. Instead, they sought out Megan’s before quickly focusing again on Blythe. “Do . . . do the police know who did it?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Blythe shook her head. “Not yet. They’re going over the guest list from last night.”

Harry returned to the room. “Dad’s all right now. Millie gave him something and is going to stay with him for a while.” He pulled up short upon seeing Julia. “What are you doing . . . I mean . . . Why are you . . . ?” He stopped, gave himself a shake, and pulled Julia into a hug. “Sorry. Hi, Julia.”

Julia gripped Harry’s arm tightly. “How’s your dad?”

Harry’s brow creased and his eyes shifted questioningly to Blythe, seeming to ask if Julia had been told about Roni. Blythe nodded. “He’s pretty upset,” said Harry. “But Millie is taking care of him. I think he’ll be okay.”

Julia’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Do you think I can see him?” she asked, her voice small.

Harry paused, running his hand through his tousled hair. “I’m sure he’d like that, Julia, but I don’t think it’s such a good idea right now. He’s resting.”

Julia swallowed hard and looked up at Harry. After a moment she said, “Will you please tell him that I came by?”

Harry’s eyebrows pulled in concern. “Sure I will,” he said. “Julia? Are you feeling all right? Is there something I can do?”

Julia looked around uncertainly. “I . . .” she started, but her words died upon Elsie’s entrance.

“Well, I was able to get ahold of Joan Cumberland,” said Elsie. “Between her and Chloe, they should be able to get hold of everyone in time.” Seeing Julia, Elsie stopped. “Hello, Julia. I gather you’ve heard our terrible news.”

Julia nodded. “Yes, Blythe’s just told me. I’m simply . . . stunned. Do the police have any ideas who did it?”

“Oh, they have ideas,” said Elsie. “I’m just not sure if they’re the right ideas. Apparently, Roni was wearing an expensive necklace that has gone missing, and among other things, the detective in charge wants to interview the guests from last night. And, of course, he”—she nodded toward the study—“wants to interview us. So, Julia, what can we do for you?”

Taking a deep breath, Julia said, “I . . . I wanted to see Avery. I needed to talk to him about . . . I didn’t realize . . .”

Elsie’s eyes flickered toward Blythe. Blythe caught the glance and shrugged slightly in response.

“I’m so sorry,” Julia continued. “If there’s anything I can do . . .” Her eyes slid to Megan, slumped zombielike in her chair.

Elsie followed Julia’s gaze. Glancing back at her, she asked, “Julia, have you met Megan?” Julia shook her head.

At the sound of her name, Megan raised dull eyes.

“Megan?” said Elsie in a soft voice, “I’d like you to meet an old friend of our family. Julia, this is Megan, Avery’s stepdaughter. Megan, this is Julia Fitzpatrick.”

Megan rose from her chair and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said mechanically.

Julia took Megan’s hand, holding it tightly in her own. “Hello, Megan. Harry’s told me a lot about you. You sound like a very special young lady.” Shifting her shoulders slightly, Julia fell into her professional mode of counselor. “This must be a very difficult time,” she added, “but I hope you know that you are surrounded by people who love you.”

I noticed that Julia hadn’t gone with any of the standard proclamations of sympathy. No “I’m sorry for your loss” or “This is such a tragedy.” Julia either knew or sensed that such expressions would be wasted on Megan.

At Julia’s words, Megan ducked her head, but not before I saw that her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Without a word, Julia pulled Megan into a maternal hug. “It’ll be okay, trust me. Everything will be all right,” she whispered. Megan rested her
head on Julia’s shoulder. I had a feeling that it had been a long time since anyone had hugged Megan like that. I certainly doubted that Roni ever had. Watching them, I had a peculiar sensation of discord. Something was missing or not right, but before I could put my finger on it, the feeling slipped from my grasp.

“Harry,” said Elsie with brisk authority, “why don’t you take Julia and Megan into the kitchen and make them some tea?”

“Of course,” said Harry. “Follow me, ladies.” Julia released Megan from the hug but still held her hand. The two of them followed Harry to the kitchen.

After their departure, Colin sighed and turned to Bridget. “Guess I’d better call the airlines and see what I can do about our tickets. I should probably call my parents, too.” He glanced at his watch. “I think they’ve already left for home, though.”

Bridget made no response. She stared at the carpet, her face scrunched in confusion.

“Bridget?” he repeated. “I’m going to see about our tickets and call my parents.”

With a small start, Bridget’s focused her eyes on Colin. “I’m sorry, Colin. Did you say something?”

“I said that I was going to call my parents and the airline and see what our options are.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay.”

Stooping his tall frame down to Bridget’s eye level, Colin peered at her in concern. “Bridge?”

Bridget waved away his unasked question. “I’m fine. I’m just thinking.”

Colin kissed her lightly on her head before moving to leave the room.

I turned to Peter. “We should call Aunt Winnie and tell her that we’ll be a bit delayed.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll do it. You stay with Bridget. Wait up, Colin,” said Peter. “I’ll walk out with you.”

Graham left with them, saying that he needed to call his office.

Beside me, Bridget continued to stare at the floor. “Hey,” I said softly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “Are you okay?”

Bridget turned her eyes to me. Before she spoke, something over my shoulder caught her attention. Turning, I saw that Claire was still in the room. Sitting perfectly still on the couch, Claire stared anxiously at the study door while systematically gnawing what was left of her fingernails. I doubted if she was even aware of our presence.

Bridget pulled on my sleeve and jerked her head in the direction of the foyer. I followed her. “What’s going on?” I said.

“Keep your voice down. Let’s go to your room.”

I followed her in silence until we got to my room. Inside, she shut the door.

“What?” I asked.

“
What?
Are you serious? Roni was murdered! That’s what! And at my
wedding
, no less! That’s what going on! I feel like I’ve missed the first act of the play. I can tell by your face that you know more than you’re telling me. So give. Just what the hell has been going on here? And just what the hell has gotten into David?”

I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but there was no way I could avoid it. Knowing Bridget’s volatile temper and vivid imagination, she could take the news of what I had seen
and heard over the last twenty-four hours in any number of ways, very few of them productive.

Taking a deep breath, I quickly and without elaboration brought her up to date on Harry’s fight with Roni, Megan’s outing with the kid from the band, and my gruesome discovery of the body.

“Holy shit!” she cried. “What a mess.”

“Keep your voice down. You’re right. It is a mess. But, unfortunately, there’s more,” I said. “Yesterday, I overheard Roni on her cell phone. From the sound of it, she was having an affair with someone, someone who was also hoping that Avery would sell the Garden.”

Bridget’s eyes narrowed to malachite slits. “That bitch,” she muttered, slapping her hand against her thigh. I agreed, although I was glad Detective Grant wasn’t nearby to hear the venom in her voice. There were enough suspects in the Matthews family already, I thought, remembering the rest of what I’d seen and heard. Bridget glanced at my face. I quickly tried to think of something neutral, but having never actually been to Switzerland, I failed.

“Okay, but what about David? I can tell by your face, there’s more. Out with it.”

I sighed. “Not really. I mean, I don’t know what it means—”

Bridget reached out and gripped my arm. “Spill.”

“Okay, okay. I saw David storm out of Roni’s bedroom yesterday morning. Megan must have seen it, too. David was furious. He was asking her for money she’d apparently promised him, but she told him to get lost. Also, she was laughing at him. I don’t know, but the whole thing seemed weird. And then last
night during the reception, I saw Claire confront Roni. I was too far away to hear what she was saying, but Claire was livid.”

Bridget rubbed her eyes in concentration. “Roni seemed to have that effect on a lot of people.” Bridget looked at me with something like astonishment. “And you didn’t tell me any of this! I can’t believe you!”

“It was your wedding day.”

“But—”

“No buts. It was your wedding day,” I repeated firmly.

“Okay.” She paused. “But the key and that note—they seem to point to someone outside the family as having killed Roni, right? Such as one of the guests?” I decided not to point out that this was the very scenario that she had just hotly denied to Detective Grant.

“It would
seem
so.”

She heard the hesitation in my voice. “But that detective doesn’t believe that, does he? He thinks one of us did it.”

“I honestly don’t know, Bridge. But I think it’s a possibility.”

“This is insane. I’m supposed to be on my way to Bermuda now! I should be sitting on a plane drinking from tiny little bottles, not in the middle of a murder investigation!” She paused in front of the dresser and stared at her reflection in the heavy wood-framed mirror. Twisting her shoulders, she leaned closer and carefully inspected her image. “Does this really look like a frog?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. I sat down on my bed. Reaching over to the nightstand, I idly picked up Megan’s pile of books and spread them out on my lap. My stomach jerked and tightened. Every one was a pulp fiction novel set in the 1940s. Each seemed to
follow a rough, foul-mouthed detective who solved violent crimes involving beautiful, voluptuous women. On one cover, a man’s dark shadow lurked ominously in an empty alleyway. On another, a man’s dead body lay sprawled at the feet of a hard-looking blonde in a tight red gown. But it was the cover of the third book, the one that was worn from obvious frequent readings, that made my insides curl. A woman lay dead, her black hair spilling out in an inky puddle underneath her. Her blue eyes stared blankly at the knife protruding from her generous chest. I closed my eyes and saw Roni’s dead face all over again. Bile rose in my throat. The book slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor. From inside the book, something fell out. I picked it up. It was a packet of rolling papers. Crap. No one but hippies rolled their own cigarettes if they were just smoking tobacco. I wondered if Megan was doing anything else besides pot.

Holding the book and the rolling papers, I stood up. “Bridget!” I whispered.

“Elizabeth!” she said simultaneously.

She turned to face me and I held up the book, showing her the cover and the packet of rolling papers. Her eyes grew wide.

So did mine. In her outstretched hand she held Roni’s necklace.

Our eyes locked.

“Where did you find that?” I asked. “In Megan’s bureau?”

Bridget swallowed before answering. “No. In yours.”

One of us said, “Holy shit!”

I think it was me.

It is always the best policy to tell the truth, unless, of course, you are an exceptionally good liar.

—
JEROME K. JEROME

“What do you mean, you found it in my bureau?” I sputtered. “That’s impossible!”

“I know,” Bridget replied, shaking her head in disbelief, “but I did. I noticed one of the drawers was open a little. When I went to shut it, I saw something glittery inside.”

I stared horrified at the shimmering necklace dangling from her hand. “But how did it get there? I certainly didn’t put it there!”

“Well, I know
that
. The question is, who did?”

I gaped at the coil of diamonds, my mind decidedly blank. I looked to Bridget for an explanation, but the puzzled expression on her face told me that she was equally dumbfounded.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

Before I could answer, Colin hurried into the room. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Mom and Dad said to tell you . . .” He pulled up short when he saw the necklace. “Is that . . . ?”

“Yes,” said Bridget.

“. . . Roni’s necklace?” he finished unnecessarily. “Where did you find it?”

Bridget jerked her head in my direction. “Someone put it in Elizabeth’s bureau.”

My stomach lurched and my legs morphed into jelly. I sank heavily onto the bed and stared at the floor. My headache returned in spectacular fashion. First I had found the key. Then I stumbled upon Roni’s body. Now her necklace had been tucked in among my possessions. It was nothing more than a sick coincidence. Unfortunately, Detective Grant didn’t strike me as a man who believed in coincidences—sick or healthy.