Just Murdered

Chapter 4

It was bad luck. It was also unnatural.

There were no mistakes during the rehearsal. Not one.

In Helen’s experience, if the wedding party stumbled around during a rehearsal, missed their cues, and laughed a lot, then the ceremony would be perfect. But everything went right at Luke and Desiree’s rehearsal. Something bad was going to happen tomorrow at the wedding. Helen knew it. She also knew that was superstitious nonsense.

Kiki had chosen Coco Isle Cathedral, the most fashionable church in South Florida, for the wedding. She did not belong to the congregation, but a big donation made her devoutly welcome.

Jeff, the wedding planner for Your Precious Day, was directing the extravaganza. Jeff was high-camp wholesome. He looked like a cute kid brother, right down to his freckled nose, but he fluttered, fussed, and talked in italics.

“Kiki, this cathedral is just divine,” he said.

Helen stifled a laugh. Jeff didn’t realize he’d been punning. The cathedral wasn’t a sacred place for him. It was a theater. The altar was a stage.

“Wait till you see how those stained-glass windows look in the photos,” Jeff said. “The altar is up four steps. That’s so important.”

“Why?” Helen said.

“So the bride is displayed properly. The way that cathedral train drapes on those marble steps. Oh!”

Jeff was practically palpitating. Helen wondered if she should get the smelling salts from her emergency kit. Millicent had packed her a suitcase with everything from sewing materials to spot cleaner.

Jeff had recovered from his surge of ecstasy and was now only wildly enthused. “Wait till you see the orchids. Absolutely faboo.”

Helen felt sad that no one in the wedding was as excited as Jeff. Some wedding party. Helen had never seen a grimmer gathering.

The blond bridesmaids had the bland young features that passed for beauty and the slightly superior expressions of private-school graduates. Their skin seemed steam cleaned. They stood a little apart from the others. Helen knew their names were Lisa, Allison, Amy, Jessica, Jocelyn, Julia, Meredith, and Beth, but she couldn’t have said which was which if you put a gun to her head.

The groomsmen looked like actors hired for the occasion. Most were. Kiki had chosen the best-looking men from the Shakespeare company. Jason was the studliest, but Helen thought his arrogance spoiled his good looks. Jason had the overconfident manner of someone who’d always been handsome—and knew it.

Still, his blond hair, bold green eyes, and beefcake body were eye-catching. Jason had leading-man looks, until he stood next to the groom. Luke glowed with energy. People turned toward Luke like flowers toward the sun.

Next to Luke’s star power, Jason wilted. He moved to the far side of the church. Helen wondered if Jason was jealous. He outshone Luke only one way: Jason was the best-dressed man at the rehearsal. His Hugo Boss outfit could have paid Helen’s rent.

Jason was paired with the blond Lisa. They exchanged smoldering looks and hot smiles for almost an hour at the rehearsal. Then Kiki homed in on Jason. She’d flirted with all the groomsmen, but her behavior with Jason was outrageous. She enjoyed taking the young man from Lisa, who turned sulky and snippy.

Kiki practically propositioned Jason in front of Lisa. She looked like a has-been movie queen in her gold gown.

The creamy blond Lisa sniped back with carefully disguised insults. In between bouts of marching down the aisle, one bridesmaid said, “Have you seen Pamela? She’s so skinny. How did she lose that weight?”

“It’s the South Beach Diet—Ecstasy and Corona,” Lisa said. “Right, Jason?”

Jason shot her a murderous look. The others giggled.

Helen was relieved when Kiki and Jason disappeared, until Jeff sent out a search party for them so they could do another run-through. This wedding had more rehearsals than a Broadway musical.

The church’s elevator was out of order. Helen had to lug the dresses up the steep back stairs. That’s where she stumbled over the missing Jason and Kiki. Kiki’s breasts were nearly popped out of her low-cut gold gown, and Jason had popped out as well. Was he auditioning for the role of chauffeur?

“God, you’re making me so hot,” Kiki said. “Let’s come back here after the rehearsal.”

“I’ve got a bed,” Jason said, grinding his pelvis into hers. “We don’t have to do it on the back steps.”

“I want to do it in the church,” Kiki said.

Oh, Lord, Helen thought. She wished she hadn’t heard that. The couple was so intensely wrapped up in—and around—each other, they didn’t notice her. Helen stepped around them and said nothing. Let someone else find them in flagrante.

Rod the chauffeur sat in the car like an abandoned pet. Helen wondered if Rod knew his days were numbered.

The only man in the wedding party who hadn’t been personally selected by Kiki was Chauncey. The groom insisted on the theater director as his best man. Helen liked Luke for that. There was a decided coolness between Chauncey and Kiki.

But it was nothing compared to the frost between Kiki and her ex-husband, Brendan. Under their ice was real fire. Helen heard them exchange hot words when no one was around.

Helen gave Jason and Kiki enough time to put their body parts back in their clothes, then hauled more dresses up the steps. Now Jason was gone. Kiki and her ex were fighting on the landing. The little lawyer looked like his daughter, except he had more vitality and more chin.

“You’re making a spectacle of yourself.” Brendan was dangerously red in the face.

“It’s none of your business. I’m not married to you.” Kiki’s face-lift was stretched at the seams. Helen could see white scars under her anger-reddened skin.

“You should think of our daughter,” Brendan shouted.

“You’re a fine one to talk, questioning every penny I spend on her wedding.”

“Penny!” Brendan sputtered like an overflowing radiator. “You’re bankrupting me with this goddamn wedding.”

Helen couldn’t stand there, listening to them fight. She shook the bagged dresses until they rustled like sacks of autumn leaves. Brendan broke off abruptly and left.

Kiki said, “Oh, girl.”

“My name is Helen.”

“Whatever your name is, I won’t have you sneaking around, listening at doors.”

“There isn’t any door,” Helen said. “This is a public stairwell.”

Kiki’s eyes narrowed. “Listen here, you little c—”

Helen put up with a lot, but there were limits. “Don’t you dare use that word.”

“Don’t you dare talk back to me,” Kiki said. “I’ll buy that store, just to have you fired.”

Helen shrugged. “If you want to spend a million bucks to get rid of a salesclerk, be my guest.”

Kiki pointed a long gold fingernail dangerously close to Helen’s eye. “And then I’ll make sure you never work in South Florida again.” She whirled off in a flurry of gauzy gold skirts, like a brilliant dragon.

“I hate rich people,” Helen muttered when Kiki was gone. “Worthless, useless bloodsuckers.”

Helen heard a soft cough and realized she wasn’t alone. Jeff the wedding planner was on the steps. Four frightened bridesmaids peered over his shoulder. Helen wondered how much they’d heard.

“Can I help you carry those dresses upstairs?” Jeff said.

“No, thanks. I’m fine,” Helen said.

“Okay, people, let’s get back to the rehearsal,” Jeff said. Everyone carefully stepped past Helen. No one said a word.

Helen delivered the dresses upstairs, then paused to watch the rehearsal. As her mother’s behavior grew more flamboyant, Desiree seemed to wall herself away in a stricken silence. Desiree sleepwalked down the aisle wearing Jeff’s “training train”—yards of white muslin tied around her waist to give her the feel of a cathedral-length train. Her movements were perfect, but lifeless.

The only person Desiree talked to was the large young woman whose yellow outfit flapped like a bedsheet on a clothesline. Helen guessed she was Emily, the bride’s only friend. The bridesmaids snickered and talked behind their French-manicured fingers whenever Emily appeared.

The handpicked blond bridesmaids and professionally handsome groomsmen moved as smoothly as if they were on rollers. Even the ring bearer and flower girls were model children. Jeff scampered about, saying, “All right, people, that was perfect. Let’s do it one more time.”

Helen went back to the van and piled the last two bridesmaid dresses on top of the Hapsburg princess gown. Halfway up the steps, she felt a seismic shift in the slippery fabric. The princess gown started sliding out of the plastic cover. She should have put it in a zippered bag.

“Shit!” Helen said as the dress skittered out of the bag. She made an awkward grab and scratched her arm on the gown’s crystal beading. Blood droplets welled up on her skin. Oh, no. She couldn’t afford to bleed on this dress.

“Are you okay?” Desiree stood in the stairwell.

“I’m trying not to bleed on your dress,” Helen said.

“I hate it. I’ll give you fifty dollars to ruin it.”

“Sorry,” Helen said, “but I’d lose my job.” Unless I’ve already lost it.

Desiree sighed.

“Why aren’t you at the rehearsal?” Helen said.

“Jeff’s working out the bridesmaids’ processional. I’m not needed. I don’t think I’m needed for this whole ceremony.”

Helen felt a stab of pity for the forlorn little woman.

“There you are. Where have you been?” It was Luke, looking fetchingly worried. Was he afraid his meal ticket was having second thoughts?

“My awful dress scratched her arm,” Desiree said. “I’m trying to get her to bleed on it. I hate that dress. It makes me look dumpy.”

“Desiree, you’re beautiful no matter what you wear. Come.” Luke was such a good actor, Helen almost believed him. He smiled and held out his hand. After a slight pause, Desiree took it.

The pair left Helen to struggle up the stairs alone with the three dresses. She was puffing by the time she made it to the top. She shoved the bridesmaid dresses into a closet, then examined the heavy Hapsburg princess gown. It was an ugly, unlucky dress, covered in crystal beads by wage slaves for the captive daughter of the rich.

Helen saw a tiny discoloration on the skirt that could have been blood. She put a little spot cleaner on a Q-tip, and dabbed at it until the mark disappeared.

Helen was not sure if this church answered the brides’ spiritual needs, but it understood their worldly ones. The bride’s room had long, lighted dressing tables, bales of Kleenex for wedding tears, comfortable couches, and acres of closets. There was enough moisturizer, nail polish, cotton balls, and Band-Aids to stock a drugstore. A cup held every kind of scissors, from nail cutters to pinking shears.

Helen hung the wedding gown next to the bridesmaid dresses. She had one more dress to carry upstairs. She wearily wrestled the rose gown up the narrow stairs, cursing the springy hoop all the way. At least she didn’t meet anyone on the steps.

The scratch on her arm had opened again, and blood dripped on the hall tile. Helen hoped she didn’t get anything on the rose dress. She searched the skirt for blood spots. She didn’t see anything, but it was hard to tell with the dark red taffeta.

To hell with it. Helen pushed the rose gown into the closet with the cobweb dress. Jeff, the wedding planner, ran into the room, looking anxious. “Helen, Kiki wants to go. She says you’re holding her up.”

“Believe me, I want out of here, too.” Helen ran down the stairs. Kiki stood at the door like a jailer, jangling the keys to the church. As soon as Helen was outside Kiki locked the huge doors.

“Uh, Kiki, I need the check for Millicent,” Helen said.

Kiki held up her tiny gold evening purse and walked over to her car. “No room for a checkbook in here.” She slid into the waiting Rolls. The door shut with an insolent clunk.

Helen didn’t look forward to calling her boss with this news. She walked slowly to a pay phone.

Millicent’s fury nearly melted the phone. “Helen, go back, get those dresses, and put them in the shop van.”

“Kiki locked up the church, Millicent. I can’t get back in.”

“Then go home, Helen. I have her cell phone number. We’re going to have a little talk. If I don’t get a satisfactory answer, I’ll go to the rehearsal dinner. She’d better pay me, or I’ll rip those dresses right off her bridesmaids’ backs. That chinless wonder of a daughter will be walking down the aisle stark naked. Kiki’s not pulling her tricks on me. I need that money.”

It was after ten when Helen parked the shop van in the Coronado lot. She would have to leave again at six a.m.—unless Kiki called Millicent and had her fired. Helen didn’t much care.

Thumbs met her at the door with his starving cat routine.

“You’re a lying feline,” Helen said, scratching his ears. “I left you plenty to eat.”

But she put out a scoop of canned food, a rich cat pâté. Thumbs ate it greedily. Helen wished she could like anything in a can that much.

There was a knock on her door. She peeked out the peephole and saw Phil with a rose in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Her heart melted.

“Presents for you and Mr. Thumbs,” he said.

“I love roses,” she said, but Kiki’s nasty remark about shopgirls stuck in her mind like a thorn. How could Desiree live with those petty insults year after year?

“The present for Thumbs is from Margery, but she didn’t want to give it to you directly because of the no-pets policy. I’m the delivery boy.”

The sedentary house cat leaped on the bag like a starving lion on an antelope.

“What’s in that?” Helen said.

“Organic catnip toys. Margery’s friend Rita Scott makes them. This is her most powerful batch yet.”

Thumbs was pushing the bag around with his nose.

“It must be,” Helen said. “He doesn’t usually behave like that.” She dumped out the bag on the kitchen counter. There were six cloth packets the size of mailing labels, stuffed with catnip.

Thumbs skidded across the counter, taking a pile of papers with him, and fell off. He stuck his head under the couch and wiggled his tail. He did backflips. He ran through the house and knocked over a footstool.

Helen and Phil watched, laughing.

“Where’d he go?” she said.

They found Thumbs lying in his pet caddy. “He hates pet caddies. They mean trips to the vet,” Helen said. “What’s he doing in there, staring at the ceiling? Look at his eyes. He’s zonked.”

“Thumbs, have you ever looked at your paw? I mean really looked at your paw?” Phil said. “He’s having fun. We should, too. Let’s go out for mojito martinis on Las Olas. You need some romance.”

“I don’t have time for romance, Phil. I’m working on a wedding.”

“Weddings are romantic.”

“Most weddings are as romantic as a root canal,” Helen said. “Especially for young brides. I feel sorry for them. They’re told, ‘This is your day.’ But the wedding isn’t about the bride. It’s the last chance for her mother to have the wedding she wanted.”

“Come to think of it, the romance went out of my marriage with the wedding,” Phil said. “My ex got caught up in making sure the bridesmaids’ ribbons matched the groomsmen’s cummerbunds. I felt like an afterthought. I never lost that feeling.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Helen said. “Let’s skip the wedding and have the honeymoon.”

“Right now?” Phil said.

“Yes.”

Phil picked her up and carried her over the threshold to the bedroom.