Murder on the Bride's Side (32 page)

“Claire—” I began, but she interrupted me.

“No, Elizabeth,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “David killed Roni. He tried to kill Megan, too. We all saw that. He’s a killer!”

Detective Grant’s cell phone rang and we all fell silent. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Well, sir, we may have made some progress, actually.” He glanced at Claire and she nodded. “I think we have our murderer,” he said.

Claire looked at me, her red-rimmed eyes pleading. “Please,” she said in a low whisper. “It’s all over now.”

I’m not sure how long after that Detective Grant left. Time seemed to take on a different quality for me. At times, it flew by in lighting-fast spurts; at others it dragged with maddening slowness. Like now.

It was well past midnight. Peter sat next to me on the terrace—the back, not the side. Idly, I wondered if I’d ever be able to sit in that area of the terrace again. Neither of us had spoken for what seemed a long while, but maybe that’s just because my perspective was so screwed up.

“So,” Peter finally said.

“So,” I agreed.

After a beat, I asked, “How did you happen to be here, anyway?”

“Colin and Bridget called and invited me over for a drink.”
Suddenly, I understood their interest in getting me to join them as well.

“What are you going to do now?” Peter asked.

“I’ll stay for the funerals, and then I’m going to the Cape. I’ve got some vacation time I can use. This whole weekend has thrown me, I guess. A lot of things that I thought were solid, were unalterable facts, just got thrown out the window. I think I need some time to sort through everything.”

After a long silence, Peter said, “Well, I’m leaving next week for London. I’ll be gone for at least three months. When I come back, maybe we can get together or something . . .” He trailed off.

Just don’t be engaged
, I prayed. I wanted to tell him that I still wanted him to come to the Cape with me, but somehow the words wouldn’t come out. The fact of Chloe—the fact that he hadn’t told me about her—raised every red flag in my head. The awkward, fat girl inside me still had too strong a pull. I heard her familiar taunt of “Yeah, right, like he’s going to stick with
you
when he could have Chloe,” and stayed silent.

After another minute, Peter stood up to go.

Later in the day, Megan came home from the hospital. She’d suffered a slight concussion and needed a tremendous amount of stitches, but she was going to be all right. Julia and Avery sat with her; every once in a while one or the other would reach over to touch her as if to reassure themselves that she was really there. Harry stayed near them, an expression of calm on his drawn face as he watched Avery and Julia together. He’d had a
rough couple of days, I thought. I hoped now that he would be able to find some peace.

Bridget and Colin had booked another flight to Bermuda. They were scheduled to leave immediately after the funerals and were obviously excited to finally start their honeymoon. Blythe and Graham both offered them last-minute advice, advice I could tell Bridget had every intention of ignoring.

Claire and Elsie sat in the two hearthside chairs. Between them a fire danced happily inside the grate. I noticed that while they spoke very little, there seemed to be a quiet understanding between them that I couldn’t ever remember having seen before.

I leaned back in my chair. So was this it, then? Roni is killed and David is posthumously judged to be the murderer and the Matthewses experience some peace. I looked around wondering how long it would be before Elsie returned to dictating everyone’s lives and they were all grumbling in frustrated protest. For now, though, they were a family unit once again—and for me, that would have to be enough.

Roni’s funeral was held the next day. It was a subdued affair, just as Avery wanted. David was buried the day after. By Claire’s request, it was also a quiet remembrance. Detective Grant attended both funerals. At each, he nodded gravely at me but said nothing.

The next day, I packed to leave for the Cape. Bridget and Colin had left early that morning. All that was left was for me to say good-bye to the rest of the family. Standing in the driveway, Blythe and Graham said good-bye, making me promise to
come and visit them again very soon. Elsie’s good-bye was more meaningful. Giving me a long hug, she said, “Thanks again for everything, kiddo. You were amazing.” After searching my face carefully, she said, “You gave us back our family. And for that I can never thank you enough.”

I nodded, unsure what to say. Claire stepped forward next. She wasn’t wearing a headband and her bangs were pushed over to one side. It was a tiny change, but I hoped it was the first of many. Pulling me into a tight embrace, she said, “Thanks, Elizabeth. Thanks for everything. We’ll be fine now.”

Megan, Julia, and Avery were next. I was relieved to see that Megan seemed to be handling the traumatic events of the last few days quite well. I suspected that Julia’s calming influence and professional expertise had much to do with that.

Harry was last to say good-bye. Grabbing my hand with a flourish, he said, “Ah, Elizabeth, parting is such sweet sorrow.”

Giving him a level look, I said, “And a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.”

Confusion crossed his face. “Don’t you mean, ‘A rose by any other
name
’?”

“No.”

Something in his expression changed. “You always were smarter than me.”

Before I could answer, he pulled me close. Wrapping his arms around me, he whispered into my ear, “Thank you, Elizabeth. Thank you . . . well, for everything. I’ve always known you were special, but I don’t think I knew exactly how special until this weekend. I missed my chance with you. Don’t make the same mistake and miss your chance with Peter.”

“Good-bye, Harry,” I said, turning away before I started to cry.

He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on my forehead. There was nothing else to be said. I got into my car and headed for the Cape.

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.

—
OSCAR WILDE

Three months later

I sat in Aunt Winnie’s reading room at her Cape Cod B and B, the Inn at Longbourn. As I had last year, I was spending New Year’s Eve with her. Unlike last year, there would be no murder dinner theater—no point in tempting fate again. A large fire danced and crackled in the hearth, helping to ward off winter’s chill. Lady Catherine, Aunt Winnie’s large white Persian cat, lay curled up in her basket on the hearth. If this suggests a cozy arrangement, it was anything but. Lady Catherine has no manners to speak of and dislikes me almost as much as I dislike her.

In my hand was a letter I’d just received. I think I always knew it was coming, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be to read it. I saw with some sadness that the handwriting was faint and weak.

Dear Elizabeth
,

By the time you read this, I will, as they say, have moved on. I’m not sure how I feel about that, to tell you the truth, but it will be a
relief to not have to fight this illness anymore. The leukemia was just too strong for me this time.

Unlike others who don’t know when their death is coming, I’m trying to stay positive and look at this as an opportunity to reflect on my life. I think you should know that I’ve decided to categorize you as my Greatest Regret. Leave it to me to have the perfect girl right under my nose and not realize it until it’s too late. Don’t make the same mistake I made, Elizabeth. I know you love Peter. Don’t be an ass and ruin it just because you’re afraid of getting hurt. If you don’t fight for what you want, you run the risk of missing too much.

I shifted uncomfortably. I hadn’t talked to Peter since he’d left for London. I’d hoped he would call me, but he hadn’t. I had begun to resign myself to the fact that he never would. I focused on the letter again rather than deal with my own emotions.

I also want you to know how much it meant to me to have this short time with my family. You have no idea how much peace I feel seeing my dad happy again and knowing that Megan is going to be okay. When Dad told me that he was going to marry Julia, I knew they’d be all right. And really, what more can I ask for?

And now for the real reason for this letter: I know that you deciphered the truth about that terrible night—nice with the “rose by any other word” bit, by the way. Roni was truly evil, Elizabeth. She was using my dad for his money and she was destroying him. Megan was well on her way to becoming a wreck because of Roni. I caught Megan smoking pot a couple of times—it was like watching Becky self-destruct all over again. When I found out that my leukemia had returned, I had a feeling that this time it would win. Like Elsie, I’m a firm believer in premonitions.
Laugh all you want, but I do believe that certain members of our family have a kind of “second sight” (except for Bridget, of course, so don’t ever listen to her predictions). Anyway, knowing that my time was limited was torture because I knew I wouldn’t be around to help anyone. I had to stop her. It was my last chance.

I tried to set it up so that the police would think someone outside the family killed Roni. I swiped one of those electronic keys from the Jefferson Hotel and wrote her a blackmail letter on their stationery. Then I called her cell phone a few times from their lobby. I figured the trail would eventually grow cold and her case would never be solved. I stumbled in that night pretending to be drunk and intentionally picked a fight with her, knowing that afterward she’d go outside for a cigarette. She always ran outside for a cigarette when she got upset.

I suspect you know the rest. We scrambled around that roof too many times as kids for you not to guess what happened. I turned the shower on and crawled out the window and onto the roof, climbing down the trellis to where Roni was. I had hidden the knife in one of the cushions earlier. It took only a second. I stuffed the blackmail note in her purse, covered her with the blanket on the chaise, dropped the key on the terrace, and then I was back on the roof and in the bathroom. This time I took a real shower. The whole thing lasted less than ten minutes.

I stared at the fire, remembering the trellis. On the day of Bridget’s wedding, the roses were healthy and vibrant, yet the next morning, after I’d discovered Roni’s body, some were already dead and dying. I didn’t register that fact until later. When I’d run into Harry on the terrace, he told me he was getting some roses for Megan, but in reality, he was clipping off the damaged ones, the ones he’d crushed while climbing the trellis.
It wasn’t until I saw the roses on Megan’s nightstand, wilted and limp, that I realized the truth. I concentrated on the letter again.

I had hoped that the police would think it was an outsider who committed the crime, but David ruined that by stealing Roni’s necklace. For a while, it looked like I was going to end up in jail anyway, but then you stepped in. I guess you know now that I arranged that, too. I slipped a few No-Doz into Peter’s drink so he could vouch for my being in the room. While I never would have let someone else take the blame and was quite prepared to step up and go to jail should the need arise, I also wanted to take every precaution that the need wouldn’t arise. I wasn’t kidding when I said that jail didn’t agree with me. After they let me go, I really thought that Roni’s murder would get tossed into the unsolved file and that would be that. But then David attacked Megan. After he died, the police decided they had their man. Everyone seemed to accept it, even Claire. Everyone seemed to find a kind of peace in that solution. At least that’s what I convinced myself of, anyway.

That’s my little story. Now that I’m gone, I’m giving it to you. You can decide what you want to do with it. I am literally leaving it in your hands. Take care of yourself, Elizabeth, and keep an eye on the family.

Love, Harry

I dropped the note onto my lap as tears streamed down my face. Soon after the wedding, Harry had started radiation, but this time it didn’t work. His funeral had been both beautiful and heartbreaking. I clutched the letter a little harder; it was my last contact with Harry.

My mind reviewed the horrible events of that weekend. I don’t know when I first suspected Harry; it was nothing concrete, just a lot of little things that didn’t add up. The thump
from upstairs (which was the sound of Harry on the roof), the No-Doz in Harry’s dopp kit along with all his vitamins, and Megan’s reluctance to tell who she saw that night on the terrace. It was Harry she had seen, of course. She hadn’t ever seen David. Once she realized what had happened and what it meant, she had lied about not being able to see the figure. Harry was the only person Megan would lie for, but I didn’t register that fact right away. David certainly didn’t; he thought she had seen him and was lying about it so she could get the necklace from him.

All his short life, Harry had tried and failed to save the people he loved. First his mother, who died despite his fervent prayers, and then Julia’s daughter, Becky, died because Harry hadn’t known to get her to a hospital. I think that’s when I knew for sure my suspicions were right—when I saw Julia with Megan after David had attacked her. Julia worried over Megan like a mother. Julia also saw that Megan was on the same path of self-destruction that Becky had taken. Harry obviously realized this, too, and looked upon Megan as his last chance to “get it right.” In his mind, Harry began to believe that for Megan to live, Roni had to die. The only thing I didn’t pick up on that weekend was that Harry was sick again. I should have. We all commented on how tired he looked and both Julia and Bridget noticed that he’d lost weight. I’d even found all those vitamins in his dopp kit. I guess none of us ever wanted to think he’d get sick again, so we attributed it to the strain of dealing with Roni.