A Wedding To Die For

7

When the alarm went off the next morning I resisted the urge to hit the sleep button. I had to get an early start to be in Seacliff by nine A.M. After I showered, dressed, and fed Diva, I rummaged through boxes until I found my digital camera. I took several shots of the composite, downloaded them to my computer, printed 8x10 and 4x6 copies and added them to Megan’s file. The more I stared at the drawing, the more of Megan I saw in the woman’s features.

Kate and I might be putting too much stock in the likeness, but what if Megan’s mother had secretly kept track of her daughter? And what if the wedding drew her out of the shadows for an event no mother would want to miss? But this was still speculation, and I wasn’t about to present this theory to Megan. Not yet, anyway.

I arrived at the Beadfords by eight forty-five, and this time Roxanne admitted me to the foyer. She wore oatmeal-colored sweats, no makeup, and a thick red fabric headband that revealed a patch of blemishes on her forehead. In my khakis and off-the-shoulder blue sweater I looked like a supermodel compared to her.

“You didn’t have to make the trip here, though I do appreciate it,” Roxanne said. I must have looked confused because she added, “She came home.”

“Who came home?” I said.

“Courtney.”

How could I have forgotten our strange conversation yesterday? “I’m glad she returned safely,” I said with a smile.

“Perhaps I fret too much,” she said. “But with Uncle James quitting the earth in such a horrible turn of events, I suppose I overreacted.”

Quitting the earth? Turn of events? I decided Roxanne had been spending way too much time reading gothic novels. I was saved from further pained conversation by someone ringing the bell. I turned and opened the door to find that Chief Fielder had come to my rescue. Now there was some black irony.

“Good morning, Ms. Rose... Miss Beadford.” Her gaze rested on the large envelope in my hand.

“Good morning.” I handed her the drawing once she crossed the threshold, wondering if she would pick up on the resemblance to Megan.

“Are you satisfied with the composite?” Fielder asked.

“Very,” I answered.

“Composite of what?” Roxanne asked.

“I’ll fill you in later, Miss Beadford,” Fielder said. “But for now, I’d like some time with your aunt. Can you tell her I’m here?” Fielder sounded about as pleasant as I’d ever heard her. Guess she saved up her best stuff for the victim’s family—and I couldn’t argue with that approach.

“Certainly,” Roxanne said. Then she lowered her voice. “Aunt Sylvia’s upstairs preparing for her trip to Galveston. The medical examiner will be performing a postmortem examination on Uncle James’s remains, and she must complete the paperwork for the eventual release of his body.”

I swear she almost smiled before she walked through the foyer and made a slow ascent up the right staircase. Hmmm. Maybe someone forgot her medication today.

I caught Fielder rolling her eyes. Then she said, “I appreciate you coming down here, Ms. Rose.” She wore black trousers and a herringbone blazer, but even her expertly applied makeup couldn’t hide her fatigue. Definitely puffy around the eyes.

“I’m much more comfortable with Abby,” I said.

“Certainly.” She forced a smile.

The awkward silence that followed was broken by Sylvia and Megan’s appearance. Megan had on the same clothes she’d worn yesterday, but Sylvia was dressed in a throat-high black knit dress that made her look like she was already headed for the funeral.

We exchanged greetings, and before Fielder escorted Sylvia into the formal living room off the foyer, she told Megan to wait, that they’d only be a minute or two.

Keeping her voice low, Megan said, “Sorry I had to hang up on you last night. Why do we need to go to the Bureau of Vital Statistics? I thought the Adoption Registry was a dead end.”

“I’ve been digging deeper, and you may not have been born at St. Mary’s,” I whispered. “Maybe a new copy of your birth certificate will confirm this.”

“Not born at St. Mary’s? But—”

“I don’t think this is the best place to talk,” I said.

“You have a real lead?” she asked, eyes bright.

“Could be the break we’re looking for,” I replied.

“Okay. We go today.”

“But Fielder wants to show you the composite. And you said you had to take Sylvia to Galveston.”

“Travis will fill in for me with Mother.”

“She won’t mind if you bail?”

“Oh, she’ll mind,” Megan said. “But Travis is good with her. He’ll think up a decent excuse—like I need some time away from everything, which happens to be true.”

“Okay, we’re on,” I said.

The living room door opened and Sylvia came out. “Chief Fielder would like to see you now, sweetheart.”

Megan brushed past her mother, and Sylvia’s sad gaze followed her daughter as she entered the room and pulled the door shut after her. The weekend events seemed to be taking their toll on everyone.

“How are you, Mrs. Beadford?” I asked.

She glanced at the closed door. “I’m upset.”

“I think Megan’s handling this situation as well as anyone could under the circumstances.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Is it something the chief said?” I asked, curious now.

“The chief’s doing a fine job. Seems to be working hard on this horrible murder. But she showed me that drawing, and I never saw that woman before. Why would a stranger invade our home, destroy our beautiful wedding, and kill my husband?”

“Did the chief tell you that the woman in the composite is the killer?” I asked.

“She wouldn’t say. But it seems the only logical explanation.”

Not the only explanation if that stranger came here to see her child get married. But I certainly couldn’t offer this insight. “Maybe there are other possibilities,” I said. “The chief may find some other clue to Mr. Beadford’s death once she’s sorted through all the evidence—and there seems to be plenty of that to go around.”

Sylvia’s eyes flashed. “Do you know something I don’t? Has that policewoman been discussing my husband’s death with—” She stopped, closed her eyes, and pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. “I am so sorry, Abby. I’ve been snapping at everyone today. First Megan and Roxanne this morning at breakfast and now you. There’s just so much to deal with and...” Tears filled her eyes.

I put an arm around her shoulders. “No need to apologize, Mrs. Beadford. I understand. By the way, is that coffee I smell?”

She nodded.

“Could I bother you for a cup?”

“Certainly. Yes. Coffee would be good.”

We went to the kitchen together with her tottering on yet another pair of ridiculous shoes similar to the ones she’d chosen for the wedding—pointy with one-inch narrow heels—throwbacks to foot binding, in my opinion.

The kitchen had far more to offer than coffee. A silver tray filled with breakfast pastries sat on the counter beside platters of cookies, covered sheet cakes, and a huge fruit basket.

“The neighbors have been so supportive,” Sylvia said, gesturing at the food. “Help yourself while I get your coffee.”

I chose a raspberry kolache and sat at the kitchen table. Sylvia placed a white mug of steaming brew in front of me and sat down with her own cup.

After my daddy died, I’d wanted to talk about him in the worst way, but had little opportunity. People seemed almost afraid to say his name in front of me. So maybe Sylvia needed time to talk about her husband. “Tell me about Mr. Beadford. I met him only once, at the rehearsal dinner, but he seemed to command the room.”

She smiled and her whole body seemed to relax. “He could grab your attention, couldn’t he?”

“And he owned his own business, right?” I bit into the kolache, the pastry so rich I figured I was about to consume enough fat calories for a week.

“Built the company from the ground up twice. There was no quit in that man.”

“Twice?” I said around a mouthful of berry heaven.

“The first time we went bankrupt. Not through any fault of James, mind you. Running a small business is tough, and supplying equipment for the oil business is very competitive in Texas. James thought he’d do better here than in Dallas, and as it turns out, he was right.”

“So you’re not from this area originally?” She definitely seemed calmer and happy to talk about her husband’s accomplishments.

“We came south for a fresh start, a move that also allowed James to put some space between him and his brother, Graham. They’d been in business together, but it’s very difficult working day in and day out with family members.”

“I understand,” I answered, wondering if Graham had something to do with the first failure. That might explain the animosity between the brothers.

“Graham stayed in Dallas,” Sylvia went on. “His wife had a decent job and supported the family for several years, but when she passed on from breast cancer—horrible time for Courtney and Roxanne—Graham never seemed to recover. He’s lost one job after another.”

“So he and his daughters are only staying here because of the wedding?”

She nodded, her chubby right hand working the fingers on the left. “They arrived two weeks ago. Graham is at the Surfside Resort, thank goodness, but the girls wanted to be near Megan, so they’ve been with us. Having relatives underfoot day and night, well, I’m not coping very well, Abby. Not with James... not with the—”

“I think you’re doing fine,” I said quickly, hoping to abort a round of tears.

“Tell me more about yourself, Abby,” she said. “Megan met you at the health club, right?”

Before I could answer, someone rapped on the back door. Saved again, thank goodness.

She rose to answer, and a second later Graham entered carrying a case of beer. “Saw you were running low and—” He stopped, nodded my way. “Nice to see you again.”

“I’m not sure we need more beer.” Sylvia backed away from Graham like he’d brought in a keg of dynamite.

“We may not, but I do,” he answered. “They charge five dollars for one beer at the damn hotel, and I bought this whole case for ten bucks.”

He carried his treasure chest over to the refrigerator.

“Will you excuse me, Abby?” Sylvia said. “I have to see if Megan is ready to head for Galveston.”

She hurried out of the kitchen and down the hall, leaving me to deal with her brother-in-law.

After Graham stacked as many beers as he could in the already overloaded refrigerator, he grabbed two sausage kolaches and joined me at the table. Somewhere upstairs, a radio or stereo blared, heavy metal music now our muted background noise.

Graham looked up at the ceiling. “Christ, I’m glad Courtney’s staying here and not with me.” The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and his breath smelled like the beer he’d probably had on his way here.

“Um, Sylvia tells me you’re from Dallas. Very different than Houston, huh?” I was hoping to move on to a safe, nonfamily related topic. Where the heck was Megan when I needed her?

“Both places are damn hot in the summer and damn ugly in the winter. But with your money, you probably take plenty of vacations when the weather turns nasty.” He chomped into a kolache.

I had no intention of talking to him about my private life, so I changed the subject. “You sure did come to the rescue the other day after your brother died,” I said. “I know Megan and Sylvia are grateful for your help.”

He cocked his head, squinted as if considering this. “My brother. Funny to hear you refer to him as my brother. He would have liked to forget, that’s for sure.” The little hitch in his voice added enough sadness to cancel out his attempt at sounding smug. He stood abruptly and walked over to the refrigerator, but rather than choose a beer as I would have expected, he started rummaging around for something else.

Thanks to our conversation at the reception, I’d already assumed Graham and his brother weren’t best buddies. If the bankruptcy had created bitterness between them, if they’d hardly spoken over the years, I could understand why Graham was staying in a hotel rather than here, even though this house could have handled plenty of guests. Chief Fielder would be wise to take a good long look at brother Graham.

I heard a small rustling sound and turned in the direction of the family room, where the string quartet had played during the reception. Megan held up a sheet of paper with the words Meet me at the Kroger parking lot in fifteen minutes printed in black marker. She disappeared an instant before her uncle turned around holding a carton of orange juice.

I stood. “Good talking to you, Mr. Beadford, but I need to be going.”

“It’s Graham. James was the only Mr. Beadford in this family.”

“Okay, Graham it is,” I said. “I’ll probably see you at the funeral.”

“Right,” he said distractedly, opening one cupboard after another, now apparently looking for a glass.

I slipped out the back door and felt my tight neck muscles ease the minute I started down the wooden deck stairs. Even today’s dreary weather seemed brighter than that house of gloom.

From where I’d parked at the Kroger lot on the main highway, I’d watched Travis barrel by with Sylvia in the passenger seat of his Ford Explorer ten minutes after I’d arrived. Megan pulled up alongside me shortly after. I quickly explained about my visit with Sister Nell and what a new copy of her birth certificate might tell us.

We then made the trip to downtown Houston in separate cars and after we arrived at the Bureau of Vital Statistics near Reliant Stadium, we received visitor badges from security. Megan and I waited in line to make her application, and once she’d turned in her paperwork, we sat on one of the long wooden benches in the center of the waiting area. Nothing happened in a hurry in places like this. We’d be here awhile—Megan, me, and the cultural rainbow that is Houston. Browns, blacks, white and yellows, old and young, they were all here en masse, a steady flow coming and going, coming and going.

Megan sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “This may sound uncaring, but I feel relieved to be out of the house and away from my family.”

“You don’t sound uncaring to me. Right after Daddy’s funeral, my sister and I took a long weekend in California. Helped a lot. I suggest you reschedule your honeymoon as soon as you can. Where were you going, by the way?”

“Travis and I wanted to go to the Caribbean, but Dad handed us two first-class tickets to Hawaii before we could even make plans.”

“And how did Travis feel about your father making the decision for you?” I was remembering the argument I witnessed between father and son-in-law at the reception and wondered if that had been the source of their disagreement.

Megan said, “Travis is so easygoing, he had no problem with Dad stepping in. I had my heart set on snorkeling in Grand Cayman, but Travis said a sunny day was the same anywhere as long as we were together.” She smiled, then dropped her gaze to her lap and twisted her shiny gold wedding band. “I can’t imagine celebrating our first anniversary. It will seem like I’m betraying Dad if we enjoy ourselves.”

“Time will help.” I fell into silence, troubled by her describing Travis as “easygoing.” I hoped Megan wasn’t in for the kind of surprises my former husband had served up not long after we were married. The ex had added new meaning to the phrase love is blind. I think blind, deaf, and plain stupid more aptly described me.

“You and Travis seem very much in love,” I finally said.

“He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“How did you meet?”

She smiled. “On a blind date I set up for Margie—you remember Margie?”

“Maid of honor?” I said.

“Right. Anyway, Holt McNabb works for my dad, and one day when I visited the office, Holt asked me out. I’d never been attracted to him, but Dad thought I should give him a chance since Holt had expressed interest in dating me. I suggested Holt set up Margie with one of his friends and we could all do a movie or something. Margie’s blind date turned out to be Travis, and the rest is history.”

“So Travis scored points with you when Holt couldn’t?”

“Yup. Travis and I couldn’t take our eyes off each other the whole night.”

“Bet that bruised Holt’s over-the-top ego.”

“He did pout some, but he and Travis go back a long way and apparently Holt was usually the one stealing girlfriends. Travis figures they’re even now.”

“Ask me, you made the right choice.”

“You don’t like Holt?” she asked.

“Don’t know him all that well,” I said.

“He can come across as self-centered, but he’s been great for the business. Dad said Holt’s a born salesman.”

“Really? From the way he tried to sell himself to my sister you’d have thought he couldn’t sell Pepcid to a commodities trader.”

She laughed. “You always cheer me up, Abby. I’m so glad Travis convinced me to get help to search for my birth mother, because otherwise I never would have met you.”

This piece of news sure grabbed my attention. “So Travis convinced you to look for your mother?” I felt a small tightness in my stomach. Travis clearly told me the other night he found out who I really was only after the rehearsal dinner.

“When we first fell in love, I spilled out all my secrets,” she said. “I told Travis I’d been dreaming about meeting my birth mother ever since I’d learned I was adopted.”

“So he knew I was working for you when I showed up for the rehearsal?”

“Sure. Why?”

“No reason.” I decided it was time for a quick change of subject. I might have to discuss this little inconsistency with Travis later. “So when you met with Chief Fielder, did you recognize the woman in the drawing?” I wanted to add, “And do you think she looks like you?”

“No, and I never caught so much as a glimpse of that woman at the reception,” Megan said. “I’ve never seen her before in my life. Who could have invited her?”

So she didn’t notice the resemblance. No surprise. I once stared at a photo of my own birth mother unaware of who she was. I never picked up on our similar features even though they were literally as plain as the nose on my face.

Megan went on, saying, “Or was she even invited? The engagement picture in the newspaper appeared right before Christmas and had all the ceremony details, so I guess she could have crashed the wedding and followed people to our house afterward.”

“That seems an odd thing to do,” I said. “But maybe people crash weddings all the time and I’ve just never heard about it.”

Megan sat up straighter. “Abby, could she have possibly come to the wedding to kill my dad? Could they have known each other?”

“Maybe, but why pick a day with a house full of witnesses to kill him?” I replied.

“Doesn’t seem logical, does it?”

“And I would think that if you were planning to kill someone, you’d bring a weapon, not count on there being a room full of leaded crystal. I’m thinking your dad’s death resulted from an argument.”

“Yeah. Guess you’re right,” she said.

“When you talked to the chief this morning, did she mention whether she’d found anyone else who had seen this woman inside the house?”

“No, but she showed me a picture taken from the balcony and the woman was clearly visible, so today I gave her the names of the two people I recognized in that same photo. The chief said she’d schedule interviews with them this afternoon to see if they have any idea who the woman is.”

“Maybe Fielder will get lucky, but I saw a whole lot of photographs in her office. Hundreds of them. It’s almost like she has too much to sift through. Plus she’s investigating possible motives. That’s a lot on one cop’s plate.” Fielder was probably delving into Sylvia and James’s relationship, too. And though Megan seemed to think Holt was a favorite of James, those two sure weren’t happy with each other at the rehearsal dinner.

“The chief certainly acts like she knows what she’s doing,” Megan said. “She assured me she’d find the killer.”

“And she will,” I answered, sounding more confident than I felt.

“You want a Coke or something?” Megan asked.

“Sounds good.”

We went in search of a machine, and when we returned and sat down with our drinks, every preschooler in the waiting area decided we were worth staring at or clinging to—probably hoping we’d share our sodas.

Two very long hours later, after we’d been drooled on, kicked, and witnessed a few temper tantrums, Megan’s number flashed above window nine and an electronically generated voice called out the same number over the PA system. We walked up to the clerk together.

“So sorry to keep you waiting, but I never did an adoption certificate before,” the young woman said. She was Hispanic, with flyaway dark hair and giant half-moons of sweat spoiling her burgundy shirt. Definitely frazzled. But she had apologized, and apologies in places like this, where tempers grew short after thirty minutes of waiting and reached the boiling point after two hours, did not come often. We weren’t about to complain.

“You’re very busy. I understand,” Megan replied.

“We will have to assess a search fee,” the clerk said, cringing like she expected one of us to smack her. “It’s because you gave us inaccurate information and—”

“Inaccurate?” I said.

The woman addressed Megan when she answered. “Since you were born in Jamaica, you—”

“Jamaica?” Megan sounded stunned, and I was damn surprised myself.

“Yes. Kingston, Jamaica. Is there a problem?” the clerk asked.

“No,” I cut in, clutching Megan’s arm and squeezing hard. I hoped to convey the message that I would handle this. “She just lost her father a few days ago. That’s probably why she got confused and wrote Kingston Bay rather than Kingston, Jamaica.”

“I am so sorry for your loss, ma’am. Anyway, you must request a certified copy in person in Austin because you were adopted from a foreign country. We can only process certificates for Houston, Kingston Bay, and Brewster at this location.”

“Is there any other information that would speed up the process when we get to Austin?” I asked.

“Well, I’m pretty new here, and I’ve never worked in Austin, so—”

“Maybe the hospital name?” I turned to Megan, who had gone pale as bleached bones. “Do you remember the name of the hospital, Megan?”

She shook her head no, thank goodness.

The woman turned back to the computer. “This may not help, but it’s Duchess of Kent Hospital.”

I stood on tiptoe—the counter separating us was high—and looked at her computer monitor. “You have everything right there, huh?”

“Yes, but we cannot generate—”

“Oh, we understand. You’ve been wonderful,” I said.

The woman smiled with genuine relief. “Thanks. Thanks so much.”

After I paid the search fee at the cashier’s desk, I guided a shocked Megan out of the building and into the adjacent parking garage. When we entered the empty elevator, she finally spoke.

“What the hell does this mean, Abby?”

“It means we might finally get some answers.”