Slaughter of the Wedding Cake (Sandy Bay Cozy Mystery Book 19)
Page 2
The flight attendant shook his head. “I am so sorry,” he apologized again. “There is nothing I can do. The only other option is to rebook you on a flight tomorrow evening.”
Meghan shook her head. “I can’t do that,” she muttered. “My parents have dinner planned for tonight. They are all expecting me at home.”
“We will be issuing a credit,” the flight attendant explained. “You will have this trip refunded, and you will also receive a credit. I will even add money to that credit that you and your husband-to-be can use on your honeymoon. What do you think?”
Meghan shrugged. “I guess that’s fine,” she told him. “I can be flexible, and it will be great to have some flight credits.”
The attendant looked relieved. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
Meghan frowned as she was led to the back of the plane, but she kept trying to remind herself that it wasn’t her wedding day, and while it would have been nice to enjoy the perks of first-class, she liked keeping things simple.
She was placed in a middle seat between two women, one older and one younger. They were clearly not traveling together; the older woman was dressed modestly, with a pale green sweater and thick glasses. The younger woman looked to be Meghan’s age, and she was dressed to impress, with designer boots, diamond bangles, and a fur handbag.
“Did you get bumped too?” she asked as Meghan sat down. “They told me there was a problem with my reservation, and I got stuck sitting back here. It’s ridiculous; I am going to have my husband call the airline the second this plane lands! It’s ridiculous.”
Meghan smiled softly. “That’s nice that you can count on your husband. How long have you been married?”
“Two years next month,” she told Meghan. “We’re heading to Cannes to celebrate.”
“In France?” Meghan asked. “I love France.”
“Have you been?”
“To Paris,” Meghan told her.
“J’adore Paris,” the woman cooed. “My husband’s parents are French, and we were married at a darling little church a few blocks from the Louvre.”
“You had your wedding in Paris?” Meghan asked in amazement. “That is so cool.”
The woman glanced down at Meghan’s left hand. “I see you are married? Engaged?”
“Engaged,” Meghan confirmed. “I’m actually heading down to Texas to get married at my parents’.”
“How cute,” the woman commented. “Where is your fiance? Why aren’t you sitting with him?”
Meghan’s smile faded. “He had to stay behind,” she confessed. “He had a project at work.”
“That doesn’t sound promising,” the woman remarked. “You aren’t even married yet, and he is already putting work before you? Be careful, dear. That sounds like a red flag.”
Meghan’s dark eyes grew large with worry. “Do you think so?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know him. Maybe he’s different from ninety-nine percent of men out there…”
Meghan bit her lip. “Just ignore me,” the woman laughed. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Tell me more about your wedding day. What kind of food are you having?”
“We are doing a Texas barbeque buffet,” Meghan told her. “My mother wanted something fancier, but we thought the buffet would be more authentic.”
“How... nice…” she said. “What about a band?”
“We are just having one of my cousins DJ,” Meghan explained. “It seemed easier, and we didn’t feel like hiring a band. A DJ will do.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You only get married once. Why not make it the best, most glamorous day of your life?”
Meghan laughed. “You sound like some of my sisters. My fiance and I are simple people; I own and operate a bakery, and he is a small-town detective. We just wanted something quiet and cozy.”
The older woman sitting next to Meghan reached over and patted her on the hand. “That’s a nice idea, honey,” she commended Meghan. “Simple is best; a wedding is only a day, but a marriage is forever. I think it is nice that you are focusing on each other and not doing a big affair. That’s what my husband and I did, and we’ve been married for over thirty years.”
Meghan smiled. “That is nice to hear,” she told her quietly as the younger woman turned to scroll through her phone. “We were worried about making our wedding smaller, but now, after hearing your advice, I am so happy we chose to keep things low-key.”
The rest of the flight was uneventful, and Meghan texted Jack when she deplaned. “I’m in Texas. Missing you.”
He did not text back, and she felt disappointed as she trudged through the airport and over to the rental car stall. She selected an olive sedan and opened the trunk, wishing Jack were there to help her lift the heavy bags into the back. Jack was old-fashioned and very chivalrous, and he always helped with bags and opened car doors for her.
She left the airport parking lot and set off toward her parents’ home. A little over an hour later, she arrived. “I’m here,” she said to herself as she rolled into the long driveway. “Back home again in the Lone Star State.”
She thought of the ill-fated Christmas visit; her father had been arrested for a white-collar crime and accused of murder. Henry Truman had been involved with two business associates who had swindled innocent investors of millions of dollars. He had been naïve in blindly trusting and signing off on the proposals that were laid before him by these men. Both associates had been murdered and the mastermind of the scheme had tried to blackmail him into divulging details of his clientele. This mastermind had been caught and sentenced to a long prison sentence for the murder of Henry’s associates and their nefarious activities. While he had been released early for good behavior, it was a terrible time for the Truman family, and Meghan wanted to forget any of it had ever happened.
“Why are all of these trucks here?” she wondered as she spotted three semi-trucks parked outside of the house. “Is the circus in town?”
Meghan parked the car and scurried to the front door. Before she could knock, the door swung open.
The door opened, and Meghan gasped. “What is going on here?” she cried as she peered into her childhood home.
3
T he Truman house was a flurry of activity; Meghan stared as she saw a crew of workers decorating the living room with ornate arrangements of white and pink roses, a man in a cowboy hat and brown leather boots was leading a cream-colored horse across the foyer, and Rebecca, her mother, was observing it all as she stood on a stool with a clipboard in hand.
“The horse isn’t supposed to be inside,” Rebecca shrieked as the man in the cowboy hat frowned. “We need it in the back! That’s where she will ride into the ceremony.”
“What is going on here?” Meghan cried as Rebecca noticed her. She had to remind herself that the wedding was two weeks away but with all the activity unfolding before her eyes, a passerby would assume the wedding was the next day.
Rebecca spotted her daughter standing in the doorway. “Everyone! Stop!” she commanded. “There she is. The guest of honor is here!”
Meghan’s face turned red as everyone stared at her. “Hi, Mama,” she said softly as she gave a little wave to her mother.
“Meghan!” Rebecca cried, throwing the clipboard aside as she gracefully stepped down from the stool. “My darling. My princess bride to be!”
She ran across the room and embraced her daughter, giving her a kiss on each cheek. “You look tired,” she commented. “Did you not get enough sleep last night? There are bags beneath your eyes, Meghan. A bride doesn’t want bags beneath her eyes.”
Meghan resisted the urge to groan. She had not been in the house for five minutes, and her mother was already criticizing her. “I’m fine, Mama,” she assured her mother.
Rebecca looked around. “Where is my future son-in-law,” she asked. “Where is Jack? Is he unpacking your things from the car?”
Meghan shook her head. “Jack couldn’t make it.”
Meghan held up a hand to stop her mother. “He couldn’t make it this week,” she corrected. “He’s tied up at work. But thanks for telling me how you really feel about my husband-to-be…”
Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she said. “Meghan, my Mama Bear instincts kicked in when I thought that boy had left my daughter. I didn’t mean any of that. Thank goodness he is still coming to the wedding. What would I tell all six hundred of your guests if they showed up to a wedding without a groom?”
“Six hundred guests? Mama, our list had sixty people on it. Sixty. What is going on?”
Rebecca beamed. “We wanted it to be a surprise,” she began. “But with the rain yesterday, the workers were delayed, so they had to finish up the preparations today.”
“Preparations?”
Rebecca nodded. “For the wedding!”
Meghan’s jaw dropped. “The wedding is two weeks away,” she reminded her mother. “Why are they doing all of this now?”
Rebecca shook her head. “We can’t put it off until the last minute,” she scolded her daughter. “And besides, with six hundred people coming in…”
“SIX HUNDRED PEOPLE?” Meghan gasped. “Mama, we agreed that this wedding would be simple. We wanted sixty of our closest friends and relatives. How did this turn into a six-hundred-person wedding?”
Rebecca scowled. “When did we agree to a small wedding? I don’t recall that.”
“On the phone,” Meghan insisted as she watched a caterer walk by with a swan-shaped ice sculpture. “You, Daddy, Jack and I talked about it. We agreed that simple is more our style, and you and Daddy said it would be fine.”
Rebecca leaned back her head and cackled. “Darling, you thought Daddy and I were serious?”
“Ummm... yes?”
Her mother closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s called sarcasm, sweetheart,” she told her daughter. “Daddy and I would never let you and Jack have a tacky wedding.”
“Simple, not tacky,” Meghan interjected. “I don’t understand, Mama. You knew what we wanted.”
Rebecca placed her hands on her hips. “You sound ungrateful, Meghan. Don’t tell me this wedding is turning you into a Bridezilla.”
Meghan’s face grew hot; she was the antithesis of a Bridezilla, and she was furious with her parents for going against her wishes of having a small wedding. “I’m not,” she muttered.
“Good,” her mother said. “Now, let’s get you inside; we can’t have you standing here in the foyer. You’re blocking the workers from doing their jobs.”
Rebecca led her inside, and she gestured at the housekeeper to take her bags. “Meghan can sleep on the trundle bed in Myrtle’s room.”
Meghan brightened at the sound of her favorite sister’s name. Myrtle was several years younger than Meghan, but they could pass for twins; they both had long, dark wavy hair, dark eyes, olive complexions, and enviable curves. Meghan adored her sister, and she hadn’t seen her since her bachelorette parties a few months ago.
“When is Myrtle arriving?”
“She’ll be here the day before the wedding,” Rebecca informed her. “She is doing that internship this summer, and her schedule is very busy. Your other sisters are looking forward to spending time with you, though.”
Just then, Mellie, Meghan’s sister, appeared atop the grand staircase. Mellie was technically her half-sister; her mother had been Henry’s first wife, but she died when Mellie was just a baby. Rebecca had raised Mellie for most of her life, and Meghan often forgot that she and Mellie were not fully related. They shared many of the same mannerisms, and their perfectly straight noses were nearly identical. “Meghan, you’re here!”
Mellie daintily floated down the stairs and embraced Meghan in the same way their mother had. Meghan could smell her sister’s expensive perfume as she kissed her cheeks. “You look great, Mellie,” Meghan complimented her older sister.
“So, do you, Bride-to-Be,” Mellie cooed. She pulled back and flashed a smile at her. “How are you? How nice that you could take time off work for this. I’m sure the bakery is miserable without you.”
“I’m sure they are managing,” Meghan shrugged.
“And Jack? I’m sure he’s looking forward to his time off. It must be so taxing to work as a security guard, so I am sure he’s happy to have a break.”
Meghan’s stomach churned. “He’s a detective, Mellie,” she corrected her sister, knowing her sister knew that fact. “And sadly, Jack isn’t coming.”
“That scoundrel left you?” Mellie cried. “Mama, did you hear that? We knew he wasn’t meant for our Meghan.”
Rebecca pursed her lips. “He isn’t coming down this week, Mellie,” she informed her. “He’s still coming to their wedding.”
“Oh,” Mellie chuckled. “Forgive me, Meghan. My older sister instinct kicked in when I thought he had slighted my dear sister. You know I adore him.”
Rebecca looked down at her watch and shrieked. “My goodness! We’ve been chit-chatting too long. We need to get a move on.”
“Get a move on?” Meghan asked, already exhausted though she had only been home for a few moments. “What do you mean?”
“The vendor visits,” Mellie told her. “Mama arranged for us to do some last-minute vendor visits. The three of us are going to town to check on the flowers, the cutlery, and the programs.”
“There’s my baby girl!”
They all looked up to see Henry Truman, Meghan’s father, standing at the top of the staircase.
“Daddy,” Meghan cried as her father bounded down the stairs. She rushed into his arms.
“How is my little bride-to-be?” her father asked as she hugged him. “Are you excited about your party, princess?”
Meghan’s smile faded. “Mama has been telling me about it…” she began.
“And she is thrilled!” Rebecca finished. “Mellie, Meghan and I are going to town to visit with the vendors.”
Meghan sighed. “I was looking forward to hanging out at home,” she told her parents. “Can we visit the vendors tomorrow? Or next week?”
Mellie wrinkled her nose. “We don’t want to leave them hanging, Meghan. That would be very rude.”
Meghan crossed her arms over her chest. “I had no idea about it, Mellie,” she told her sister. “I had no idea about any of this. I think it’s fair if I want to take a day to relax at home.”
Henry shook his head. “Go with your sister and Mama,” he urged Meghan. “You girls will have fun. Make sure you bring us home some cake, though. I can’t wait to see what Thelma Barrington is baking for you.”
“Cake? Thelma Barrington? I was planning on baking my wedding cake, Daddy. I was going to bake a violet lemon drizzle cake. It’s Jack’s favorite.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Well, Jack isn't here, is he? I don’t think his opinion matters if he didn’t bother to come down here, honey.”
“He had to work, Mama,” Meghan insisted. “It wasn’t his choice.”
Rebecca continued. “And you wanted to bake your own wedding cake? Don’t be ridiculous, Meghan. It’s your wedding! Your Daddy and I are ready to spoil you. You aren’t going to lift a finger for your own wedding.”
“That’s how it should be,” Mellie agreed. “That’s what we did for my wedding, and that’s how a proper wedding should be.”
Meghan bit her lip. Mellie’s wedding to a wealthy Dallas stock-broker had been expensive, luxurious, and truly fun; the Trumans had hired a popular band, served a five-course meal, and rented out the entire Dallas Museum of Art for the night. Mellie had looked like a model in her couture dress that had been designed and fitted in Paris, and Meghan had never seen her sister look happier.
Mellie’s marriage, however, w
as miserable; her husband was hardly ever around, and when he was present, he irritated her. Meghan hardly wanted to take her older sister’s advice about her wedding; she would much rather have a simple wedding and a happy marriage than a grand wedding and a terrible marriage.
Mandy, one of Meghan’s younger sisters, ran into the room. “Mama, there’s someone at the door.”
Meghan smiled. “Hi, Mandy!”
“Meghan,” her sister cried as she ran over to hug her. “You’re here.”
“Good to see you,” Meghan said as she kissed her sister on top of the head.