Murder on the Bride's Side (30 page)

“Maybe he’ll marry Julia,” I suggested innocently. “After all, I believe they used to date.”

Millie’s head jerked up and her thin, red lips pulled down. “Julia?” she repeated doubtfully, her eyes inadvertently straying to the doorway to the living room. “No, I don’t think that’s likely.” She shook her head as if to confirm the absurdity of the idea. “No. If he really cared for her then he’d have never left her in the first place. Besides . . .”

Whatever Millie was going to say was lost in the arrival of Bridget. She burst into the kitchen and Millie’s professional mask slipped back into place. Placing the teapot, pitcher of cream, and
plate of cookies on the tray, Millie quickly excused herself and returned to the living room.

“Did you learn anything?” Bridget whispered.

“Well, Millie was pretty adamant that Avery can’t walk,” I admitted.

Bridget rolled her eyes. “I told you I was right about that! I don’t know how you ever came up with that idea in the first place!”

I still wasn’t convinced, but I held my tongue. “There’s something else. I think Millie might have feelings for Avery, feelings that go beyond that of professional interest.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. You should have heard the way she was talking about him just now. And when I intentionally mentioned that he and Julia might get back together, she got upset. I wonder if Avery has any idea.”

Bridget stared thoughtfully at the door through which Millie had exited. “I wonder, too” was all she said.

“I guess this means we’re back to square one,” I said, popping the last cookie into my mouth.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bridget said. Anna scurried into the kitchen, followed by Elsie. Catching the smell of the cookies, Anna immediately flung herself at me, plopping down at my feet, her furry expression hopeful. Elsie poured herself a glass of water and surveyed us with a bemused expression.

“What’s the matter with you two?” she asked.

“We’re trying to solve this whole thing with Roni,” Bridget answered.

“But Harry’s home,” Elsie replied with a grateful smile. “You’ve already done your job.”

“Not completely,” said Bridget. “We still need to find her killer so we can be done with Detective Grant and all his crazy suspicions.”

Elsie shook her head. “No. I want you to stop. I wanted Harry cleared of this crime and that’s the reason I asked you to get involved. Now I want the police to focus on someone outside this family. The idea that one of us could have committed such a heinous crime is ludicrous. But someone did, and the murderer is still out there! I don’t want you two risking your necks trying to find him or her. This person is deranged and dangerous! I will not let you expose yourselves to more danger. Harry is home. We can now leave it to the police to solve.”

“But Elsie,” Bridget argued, “you’re forgetting that someone planted Roni’s necklace in Elizabeth’s room! We still have to clear her name! And the only way we are going to do that is by finding the killer.” Bridget drummed her fingers on the granite countertop. “What we need to do is find out who wrote that note to Roni. Whoever put that note in her purse is the killer.”

My mind jumped back to the night of the wedding as I sat across from Roni and watched her pull out her pink purse. Her pink purse. What had I seen . . . ? And then the memory of Elsie covertly stuffing something into a pink purse flooded over. My eyes flew to Elsie’s. She was looking at me over the rim of her water glass, her expression bland. Beneath my feet, the floor seemed to tip and tilt. The cookies in my stomach threatened to pop back up and my lungs felt as if they’d shrunk three
sizes. Bridget chattered on with her plan to find Roni’s killer, oblivious to my churning emotions. “We need to go to the Jefferson. After all, the note was written on their stationery. Maybe the staff might be able to help us,” she said.

“Are you all right, Elizabeth?” Elsie suddenly asked, setting her glass on the counter. “You look pale.”

I forced myself to meet her eyes. Her expression was normal. I suspected mine was anything but. Taking a step toward me, she said, “Honey, what’s wrong? Do you need to sit down?”

“No!” I said, backing away. “No. I’m okay. I feel a bit queasy. I probably need some fresh air, that’s all.” Stumbling backward, I fled the kitchen. Bridget watched my retreat with a perplexed expression. Elsie’s expression, I noticed, was less mystified.

I hurried to the foyer, telling myself that lack of sleep was turning me into a melodramatic paranoid. Bridget trailed after me.

“Elizabeth? Really, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said in as normal a voice as I could muster. “I like your idea of going to the Jefferson. In fact, I think we should go now.” I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice.

Bridget misinterpreted my rush to leave. Her face brightened. “Really?” I nodded dumbly. “So do I. I have a good feeling about this,” she said. “I bet we’re going to find the killer’s identity today.”

The hairs on my neck bristled at her words and I had a sudden fervent wish that we wouldn’t.

The rest of the day was a blur. Colin, Bridget, and I arrived at the Jefferson, where we followed Bridget around as she alternately interviewed, badgered, and threatened the hotel’s bewildered
staff. They had no more information than what Detective Grant had already learned—that the electronic keys are useless after checkout. The picture of David that Bridget brought with her also failed to strike a chord of recognition with the staff. The only information we gained that was of lasting use is that desk clerks find it highly annoying when their little bell is rung incessantly.

I didn’t speak much on our outing; I was too busy trying to prevent myself from thinking. It’s hard to make conversation when you’re focusing on keeping your mind a peaceful blank. Thankfully, Bridget talked enough for three people, so my silence wasn’t noticed.

It was late by the time we returned to Barton Landing, the three of us having decided to eat dinner in the city. Bridget and Colin tried their best to convince me to join them on the patio for a drink with Blythe and Graham, but I refused. I was exhausted and I didn’t want to talk anymore about finding Roni’s killer.

I said good night to them and dragged myself upstairs, eager to crawl into bed. I pushed open the door to my room and saw that Megan was lying on her bed reading.

Seeing her, my mind finally unthawed and the thoughts and realizations I’d kept buried all day burst forth. The truth had to come out. It was time.

At my entrance, Megan smiled and put her book on the nightstand. “Hey there,” she began, then peered closely at my face. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.”

I sat down heavily on my bed. “Megan, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it.”

When I entered the room, Megan tensed and sat up straighter in her bed. “What’s going on?”

I wearily rubbed my hands across my face. “If you saw someone on the terrace that night, Megan, then you need to tell Detective Grant.”

Her face blanched and she pulled her comforter around her. “What are you talking about?” she said, her voice cracking nervously.

“Don’t play games, Megan!” I snapped, my voice raised. “This is murder we’re talking about! The murder of your mother! If you know something, then you have to tell the truth! How would you feel if the wrong person was arrested? Could you really live with that?”

She stared horrified at me a moment before bowing her head in silent acknowledgment. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll talk to Detective Grant in the morning.”

“I’m sorry, Megan, I really am,” I said softly. For a moment I debated asking her just who it was she saw, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Call me a coward, but I wanted just one more night of happy oblivion. I gathered my pajamas. On my way to the bathroom, I heard a floorboard in the hallway creak. I peeked out, but the hallway was empty.

After changing into my pajamas and brushing my teeth, I returned to the room. Megan was gone.

There are bad times just around the corner.

—
NOËL COWARD

I lay down on my bed and waited for her to return. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew there was a pair of very large brown eyes staring into mine. The eyes were Anna’s; she was sitting on my bed, her furry black face positioned not three inches away. I smiled sleepily at her and reached out to scratch her behind her ear when one of the basic facts concerning Anna penetrated my tired brain: Anna’s presence always heralded Elsie’s. My hand froze midair and I turned my head. Before me, calmly perched on Megan’s empty bed, was Elsie.

I sat up swiftly and upset Anna, who fell backward and slid off the bed. Giving me as dirty a look as a dog is capable of, she crossed to Elsie and flopped down at her feet.

Pulling the comforter tightly around me, I glanced uneasily around the room. With a sinking feeling, I saw that the door was shut. I wondered how quickly I could get across the room and out the door.

“Elizabeth, goddamn it, calm down,” Elsie said. “You’re flailing about like some poor trapped animal.”

I eyed her suspiciously and tried to regain my shattered composure. “No, I’m not. You . . . you just startled me, that’s all. What’s up?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded casual rather than terrified.

She sighed heavily. “This is ridiculous. I had a feeling earlier when we were in the kitchen, but still . . .” She broke off, shaking her head, her silver upsweep tilting precariously from side to side. In one fluid movement, she rose from Megan’s bed and crossed to mine. Sitting down on my bed, she roughly grabbed one of my hands. I winced at the sudden pressure but fought to keep my composure. Leaning in so close to my face that I could clearly make out the indigo swirls of pigment in her eyes, she said, “I understand that you are tired and under a tremendous amount of stress, but I want you to listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you.” She paused as if to make sure she had my full attention. “I did not kill Roni.”

She continued to hold my hand and stare at me. “Why would you think—” I began, but she cut me off.

“Goddamn it, Elizabeth! You still don’t believe me! I had a feeling you had jumped to some terrible conclusion when I saw you in the kitchen today. But to think that you would actually think I . . .” She turned away from me, releasing my hand with a disgusted grunt.

I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “Elsie—” I began.

She interrupted me again, which was a relief, actually, as I had no idea what I was going to say. “I overheard Roni on her cell phone talking to some man,” she said, her lips curling in revulsion at the memory. “She was obviously having an affair
with him and was planning on tricking Avery into selling the Garden.” A look of pure hatred flashed across Elsie’s face; I gave an involuntary shiver. If she was trying to convince me of her innocence, she was doing a lousy job. She continued. “I knew that Avery would never believe me unless I had proof.” Straightening her spine, she looked down at me. “I took her cell phone when she wasn’t looking. I’m not proud of myself, but I had to find out who Roni was dealing with. It was the only way that I would ever be able to convince Avery that Roni was two-timing him.” Grabbing my hands again, she said, “What you saw during the reception was me putting Roni’s cell phone back into her purse, nothing else!”

“Her cell phone?” I repeated stupidly.

“Her cell phone,” Elsie echoed with an emphatic nod.

I realized it did make sense. I had already guessed that it was Elsie’s footsteps I had heard hurrying away after listening in on Roni’s phone call. For her to take Roni’s cell phone to track the call was entirely consistent with the special brand of morality that Elsie employed when her children were concerned.

Giving my hands a shake, she peered at my face closely. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

I looked into her eyes and, with a wave of relief that made me grateful I was already sitting down, I knew that I did. Seeing my expression, she pulled me into a fierce hug. “Oh, thank God. You’ve no idea how terrible I felt thinking that you thought I . . .”

“I’m sorry, Elsie. I don’t know what got into me. It’s been such a horrible couple of days; I guess I wasn’t thinking
straight.” I gave a rueful laugh. “As you have no doubt already realized, I’m not the great detective that Bridget makes me out to be.”

Elsie placed her hands on my shoulders and eased me back. Staring into my face with a sober expression, she said, “I wouldn’t say that, my dear. You’ve learned quite a lot. And don’t forget, you saved Harry. For that, I will be forever grateful. You are a very special young lady. I knew that the very first time I met you.” She added, a glint in her eyes, “And remember, I have the ‘sight.’ I know these things.”

I scoffed. “Elsie, you told me that I was destined to marry a rocker and live a life of international travel.”

Elsie shook her head. “No, dear. I said that you were destined to marry a ‘rock,’ not a rocker.”

“I’m meant to marry a rock?”

“When you get a minute, look up the meaning of the name
Peter
,” Elsie said kindly.