Murder on the Bride’s Side

Chapter 13

From the doorway, Detective Grant contemplated us, his wide face carefully devoid of emotion. That’s not to say, however, that his mood was indefinite. Far from it, in fact. He angrily drummed his gold pen against his gray pant leg in a manner that suggested that he was either highly annoyed or horribly strung out on caffeine.

Suddenly, he took a step toward us, his movement graceful, like a panther about to pounce. His expression was ominous. It took all of my self-control not to take an equally large step back. “Let me make myself clear,” he said with deliberation. “I do not like games.” He paused. “I do not like people who play games. I do not like people who withhold vital information.” He paused again. “A woman was murdered here last night. It’s my job to find out who did it. If you know something, then you will tell me. It’s as simple as that. And if you don’t... ” He shrugged expressively. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t get that far, but in the meantime, I’m going to ask that none of you leave town.”

“What?” yelped Bridget. “But what about our honeymoon? We’re scheduled to leave today! I mean, I don’t want to sound insensitive, but... ” She paused. After a moment she ducked her head and muttered, “Never mind. I already am sounding insensitive.”

Graham stepped forward. “How long are we to stay here?” he asked.

“Until I say so.”

Graham’s eyebrows bristled ominously and Blythe quickly moved in front of Graham, putting a restraining hand on his arm.

“Detective Grant,” she said smoothly, “I can assure you that we will cooperate with your investigation. All of us,” she added with a quelling glance at Graham. “Like most families, we have our fair share of infighting, although I’m sorry you had to witness it. We’re all tired and in shock and clearly not at our best. But I can assure you that despite how anyone might have felt about Roni, she was a part of our family and we will all do all we possibly can to help you.”

“Yes. I know you will,” said Detective Grant. This avowal was clearly more of a statement of fact than an acknowledgment of Blythe’s offer of assistance. “I understand that this is a terrible situation for you, but I am here to do a job, and that job is to find out who killed Mrs. Matthews. As uncomfortable as it may be for you, I have to consider all possibilities.” His eyes moved to Elsie, and his next words seemed directed especially to her. “Even those that include a family member.”

I wondered at the meaning of his words until I remembered that Elsie said she’d called in some favors from influential friends. I wondered if Detective Grant’s beeper message had something to do with that. If it had, it would certainly account for his annoyed expression as he faced Elsie.

Unaccountably, a chill that had nothing to do with the outside temperature overtook me. I considered the Matthews family to be an extension of my own. Suddenly, I knew that Roni’s death would have far-reaching consequences and the Matthewses would never be the same again.

“I have a few more phone calls to make,” continued Detective Grant. “But then I think I’ll talk with you, Mr. Cook. In private, if you don’t mind.”

David nodded, an obsequious smile pasted on his thick lips. “Of course, Detective,” he said in an oily voice. “I’d be happy to tell you everything I know.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. Meet me back here in fifteen minutes.”

David nodded again and ducked out of the room, no doubt having no desire to stay in the same room with Elsie.

Just as Detective Grant disappeared back into the study, the red-haired policeman returned. Studiously not stepping on the carpet, he politely coughed and said, “Mrs. Matthews? There’s a Mrs. Julia Fitzpatrick out front who says she’s a friend of the family—”

The officer got no farther. With a yelp, Elsie burst out, “Oh, dear God! Julia! The brunch! We forgot to cancel the brunch!” She stopped, a confused expression on her face. “Wait. Julia wasn’t invited to the brunch. Oh, never mind. I’ve got to call everyone!” Turning to Chloe, she said, “I’ll need your help, Chloe.”

“Of course, Mrs. Matthews,” she responded, her face flushed at this evidence of her imperfection, and hurried from the room. I was surprised at Chloe’s oversight—she was normally almost robotic in her catering perfection. But, I amended, most bookings probably didn’t include a murder. Elsie trailed after her, calling over her shoulder as she did, “Let Julia in, Officer. I’ll be right back.”

The officer left and moments later returned with Julia in tow. The change in her appearance was startling. Her hair, normally neat and tidy, now hung wet and limp around her pale face. Her clothes, too, were altered. Instead of one of her usual expensively tailored outfits she was wearing old paint-splattered jeans and a scruffy sweatshirt. By comparison, my ensemble looked almost couture. Seeing us, she nervously asked, “What’s going on? Why are the police here?” Her green eyes widening in fear, she said, “Oh, my God! Is Avery all right? Nothing has happened to him, has it?”

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.