by Sara Rosett
I glanced beyond a cracked circular fountain to check on Patricia as I spoke. She and her husband, Gus, were seated at another table but the sun had shifted since we began eating and now they were partially in the direct sunlight. Gus worked his hand along the collar of his button-down oxford shirt. His loud voice carried over the low murmur of the conversations going on at the other tables. “I want a beer.”
Patricia caught his arm as he began to stand, extending her other hand with the crystal goblet of champagne away from her body so that none of it sloshed out when she halted his progress and yanked him back toward his seat. “They don’t have beer,” she said in her nasal tones.
“Of course they have beer. Place like this has to have beer.”
“I assure you they don’t. I approved the menu myself.”
“You mean to tell me that I’m paying through the nose for this weekend, and there’s no beer?”
Patricia sighed. “There will be beer at the bonfire on the beach tonight and at the reception, but not here. This is a classic garden party.”
“What?” Gus asked. “It’s a party. You have beer at parties.”
“It is a themed party, and the theme is classic garden party, so no beer,” Patricia said.
I looked over at Mitch. “Let’s not ever let our marriage get to that point,” I said in a low voice.
Mitch raised his glass. “Agreed.”
Our glasses clinked together as Gus stood, deftly avoiding his wife’s hand. “I’m going to ask about that beer,” he announced. Patricia rolled her eyes.
Ned left Yvonne and worked his way across the lawn, snapping a few photos as he moved through the group until he was near Patricia, then he slipped into Gus’s empty seat and leaned close to Patricia.
“That’s an odd pairing,” Mitch said, watching Ned and Patricia.
Patricia kept her voice low, but it was clear from her expression that she wasn’t happy. And they’d argued after the bachelorette party, too, I remembered. “You’d think he’d stick with Yvonne. She seems more his type,” I said, and looked over at Yvonne. It appeared she agreed with me. Yvonne watched Ned, a pout on her face. Her glance cut away from Ned. She fixed her attention on Summer and Brian’s group for a moment, then lifted her arm and called, “Brian, darling, come here a moment.”
There was something about the preemptory way she called for Brian and the way he hopped up immediately that made me feel a little worried for Summer. Summer had been in the middle of a sentence, and whatever she’d been saying, she had the rapt attention of everyone at her table until Yvonne called out. Summer’s eyes flashed as Brian stood. He shrugged and moved away.
“Looks like the fireworks may not be between the monsters-in-law,” Mitch said.
“Shh. Don’t say that, but yeah, there could be trouble in paradise,” I said, a low-level worry growing. Ned stood and walked away from Patricia. She didn’t look happy, but come to think of it, unhappy seemed to be her default expression.
Gus returned from the food tables holding a beer dripping with condensation. “Told you they’d have beer.” Patricia’s face shifted into a deeper frown of disapproval.
Gus’s path crossed with Ned’s as Ned moved toward the golf carts, which were lined up along the narrow asphalt path that curved steeply up to the house, which had been built on a rise of ground. Ned waved to get Summer’s attention and pointed to his camera. “I have to get a new battery from the resort,” he called. “It won’t take long.”
I felt a wave of drowsiness come over me and fought off a yawn. “Come on.” I uncrossed my legs and struggled to my feet. “Let’s explore this ruin before I fall asleep.”
Mitch, settled deep into the wicker chair, his back against several cushions, squinted at me. “You sure about that? A walk?”
“Yes. Look, everyone’s going.”
Mitch struggled upright. “Just because everyone’s doing it doesn’t mean you have to,” he said with a grin as he echoed some of my many conversations I’d had with Livvy and Nathan.
“Yes, but we’re being sociable, so we’re doing it.”
Mitch groaned. “There’s a reason guys hate weddings.”
I grabbed his hand and towed him up two sets of shallow stone stairs to a terrace sprouting grass and vines between the flagstones. “And we just promised not to end up like the Bickersons down there,” I said quietly, glancing at Patricia and Gus as they made their way to the stairs, Patricia steaming along with Gus trailing behind her, still sipping from his beer. “I won’t drag you all over the whole ruin,” I said. “I promise.”
I turned to the view and spread out my hands. “You have to admit it’s a wonderful view. I bet they were able to get a glimpse of the sea from the upper stories. Look, you can just see a golf cart moving through the forest there.” The raised elevation of the house let us look out over the terraces across the lawn to the thick mass of green forest that enclosed the grounds. The bit of white, the golf cart, disappeared into the deep shadow of the forest.
“How did the photographer get that far away so quickly?” Patricia asked as she arrived beside me.
“That’s someone else,” I said. “He hasn’t left yet. He’s just now getting into one of the carts.” I gestured toward the side of the grounds where the golf carts were parked in a line along the single path.
Gus used his beer bottle as a pointer and motioned to the speck of white disappearing through the trees. “Probably someone from the golf course, hunting for one of their golf balls. The ninth fairway runs along there, beyond the belt of forest.”
“It’s hard to believe there’s a golf course not far away. It feels so isolated here,” I said, looking at the thick forest that enclosed the grounds of the ruin. “It’s like someone scooped out a bit of the wilderness and replaced it with civilization. Well,” I amended, “it was civilized at one point, but the wilderness is reclaiming it.”
Yvonne came to stand beside us, her arm firmly hooked through Brian’s. “ ‘Where every something, being blent together, turns to a wild of nothing.’”
Summer trailed along behind them, her hands shoved firmly in the pockets of her shorts. I sent her a sympathetic look.
Yvonne bounced up on her toes and pointed. “Look, there goes Ned.” The golf cart, which looked like one of Nathan’s toys, bumped over the grass to get around the other carts, then rejoined the asphalt road that dipped and curved sharply down the hill. I squinted. Something fluttery was caught on the front edge of the cart’s roof.
The movement of the square golf cart roof, white against the surrounding green, drew everyone’s attention, and we all let out a collective gasp when it rounded a tight left-hand turn in the road and flipped onto its side.
Chapter Six
We all stood motionless for a second, waiting for Ned to climb out of the cart, but there was no movement.
Mitch was the first to react.
He jumped down from the terrace where we stood and sprinted across the lawn toward the cart. Brian was right behind him. The rest of us ran across the sloping descent of the lawn behind them. At the point where the lawn ended, I scrambled down the edge of a little embankment that separated the lawn from the path where the accident had occurred.
Ned lay on his side, his legs tangled in the wreck of the cart. A smear of blood on the asphalt near his head made my stomach plunge. Mitch was on the far side of the cart, kneeling beside Ned.
Brian gripped the crumbled roof of the golf cart. “We can lift it off him,” Brian said. “I’ve got this side.”
Gus, who must have ditched the beer bottle during the sprint to the golf cart, moved into place on the other side. “We’ll move on your call, Mitch.”
Mitch shook his head and pressed his hands to his knees as he stood slowly. “Better leave it. He’s dead.”
We were all stunned into silence for a few seconds, then there was a confused burst of words as someone said he was probably just unconscious and another person asked if anyone had a signal on the
ir phone.
Summer leapt down from the embankment. “But surely we can do something.”
The resort waitstaff had followed us across the lawn. One man clad in navy and khaki was speaking into a walkie-talkie, giving our location.
“Can’t we do CPR or something until help gets here? Oh—” Summer broke off, clapped her hand over her mouth as she saw the full extent of Ned’s injuries, and turned away. Brian left the cart and wrapped his arm around her.
I went to stand with Mitch. He’d moved a few feet back from the cart. “We can’t do anything for him,” Mitch said.
I nodded and laced my fingers through Mitch’s. I shifted so that I wasn’t looking at the sprawled body inside the golf cart. I concentrated on breathing steadily, focusing on the group hovering at the edge of the embankment—anything so that I wouldn’t look at the golf cart again.
I don’t know what drew my attention to Patricia. I had been looking at the group as a whole, a crowd of people perched on the embankment like birds on a wire, but there was something about Patricia that was different.
It was the contrast, I realized. Everyone else had a shell-shocked expression, as if they couldn’t believe what had happened. Patricia looked relieved.
* * *
We were a somber group as we waited on the lawn in front of the plantation ruin. The wicker furniture still sat in the lengthening shade of the trees and the food was still spread out in a buffet, but the garden party atmosphere was gone. After a short conversation over the walkie-talkie, the resort staff had herded us away from the golf cart, told us not to speak to one another or use our cell phones, and to await instructions at the picnic area.
“I don’t know why we’re still here,” Yvonne huffed as she stalked around the tables in a tight circle, her bright skirt fluttering with each step. “We’ve been waiting for hours.” She glowered across the slope of the lawn to the crowd around the golf cart.
Patricia slapped her hand down on the table and turned toward Yvonne. “For God’s sake, a man has died. Show a little respect. You’d think the way you were carrying on with him earlier, you of all people wouldn’t be so coldhearted.”
Yvonne’s eyes narrowed into slits, reminding me of a cat about to attack a mouse. I quickly stood and said, “I think we’re about to be released.”
A broad-shouldered man in a dark suit moved quickly across the grass, his long strides covering the distance quickly. His bright yellow tie matched his thin, gold hair. Yvonne marched toward him. “Are you in charge? I’d like to know why we’re being held here like prisoners.”
He held up a hand and shook his head. “A moment, please. I need to speak to the entire group before I talk to you individually.”
He gestured to a chair, pulled it out, and Yvonne reluctantly plopped into it. He addressed the group. “Thank you for waiting so patiently. I apologize for leaving you long in the sun, but in an isolated area like this, we had no other choice. I’m Detective Redding. I’ll be working with state authorities and resort officials in an investigation of Mr. Blackson’s death. We’ll work to resolve this matter as quickly as possible.” Behind him, I could see several uniformed officers moving toward the area where the golf cart overturned.
“A detective?” Summer said faintly as she rubbed her hand across her forehead. I exchanged a look with Mitch. Poor Summer—not that I didn’t feel bad for Ned Blackson—but to have all these things go wrong at your wedding. . . it was about as far from a fairly-tale wedding as you could get.
“Yes. There are some irregularities with the situation, and we were called in immediately. Now, I’d like to talk to each of you separately.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at a noise. Several golf carts motored out of the forest foliage and into view, but instead of coming up the path we’d taken, they stopped at the retaining wall.
“As you can see,” Redding said, “we now have transportation back to the resort. Who was first on the scene after the crash occurred?”
Mitch raised a hand. “That would be me. Brian was right behind me.”
Redding asked for their full names, jotting them down in a small notebook. “I’d like to talk with you two first. If you’ll both go directly across the lawn, avoiding the area where the crash took place, and wait for me at one of the golf carts, I’ll meet you there shortly.”
Mitch squeezed my hand and whispered, “I’ll round up the kids when I’m done and meet you at the resort.”
I nodded. “See you there.”
“And who spoke to Mr. Blackson today?” Redding asked the group.
Several hands went up. “Names?”
People called out their names, and he wrote them down. Yvonne had been the first one to speak. Redding drew a breath to continue, but Yvonne said quickly, “Patricia, I didn’t see your hand go up, and I know I saw Ned chatting with you. It was right before he left in the golf cart, actually.”
Patricia’s face hardened. “It was only wedding business. It wasn’t important.”
Redding said, “Nevertheless, I’ll need to know what you discussed. Mrs. . . . ?”
“Abernathy,” Patricia said tightly.
“Thank you.” Redding turned to a uniformed man, a deputy from the sheriff’s department, I realized now that he was close enough to see his uniform. Redding tore a piece of paper out of his small notebook. “Send these five people on in the next golf carts, then send the rest of them table by table. Make sure everyone stays away from the scene until forensics is finished. I’ll return after speaking to everyone.”
Redding turned to leave, but Patricia’s peremptory nasal tone rang out. “Detective, are you aware this is a wedding party? We have another event, a beach bonfire in”—she paused to look at her watch—“two hours.”
Redding turned back. “Mrs. Abernathy, I understand this is inconvenient for you, but a man is dead. The investigation into his death takes priority—over everything. The bonfire is on hold.”
Patricia stood up. “Well, I never—do you know who is coming to this wedding? Very powerful people, that’s who. Including several judges and congressmen. They will be very interested to hear how unhelpful you are being, I’m sure.”
I swear, it looked as if Redding wanted to roll his eyes, but was able to stop himself. “I assure you, we are doing everything as quickly as possible. I apologize for any difficulty our investigation causes, but the fact remains that a man has died. I’m sorry if the timing is irksome for you, but the investigation will go on.”
Redding strode across the grass toward the first golf cart where Mitch and Brian were waiting. Patricia shot a furious look at Gus, but he shrugged. “What the man says is true. They’ve got to investigate.”
The deputy called out several names, including Patricia’s, and motioned the group toward the newly arrived golf carts.
Patricia had a set look on her face, a mulish look I’d seen many times on my kids’ faces.
I was searching for a way to convince Patricia to go with the officers, when Gus said in a low voice to her, “Better get those interviews rolling. That’s the best way to get the festivities back on track.”
Patricia blew a long breath out of her nose. “Fine, but I will tell Judge Ratliff about this,” she announced before she stalked across the grass to the second waiting golf cart. Somehow I didn’t think that news would rattle Detective Redding, even if he had been around to hear it.
Yvonne followed Patricia, but climbed into a different golf cart. I leaned back in my chair, glad that the two mothers-in-law were under police supervision for a little while. Surely, they wouldn’t misbehave in front of law enforcement.
I settled in for a long wait. Mitch and I had sat down at the back of the lawn near the live oaks of the forest, and I could tell I would be one of the last people called for a ride back to the resort.
Summer went in one of the next groups, giving me a little wave, her expression grave, before she headed across the grass. I watched the figures of the forensics team move around the golf
cart as the caravan of new golf carts came and went, ferrying the wedding party, a few at a time, away from the ruin.
The sun inched lower in the sky, and the shadows of the ruin stretched across the grass until they encompassed the whole picnic seating area. My phone sat on the table in front of me, lighting up every few minutes with texts and missed calls, but the cell phone ban was still in effect, at least for those of us waiting at the ruin, so I left it where it was. The opening lines of the texts popped up on my screen as they came in and showed that the resort manager was working with Summer to reschedule the bonfire to a later time this evening. I could imagine the fit that Patricia had thrown when everything had to be shifted. I was actually glad I wasn’t in the vicinity.
I shifted in my wicker chair, trying to see what was going on around the golf cart. I couldn’t see much because the golf cart was on the path below the retaining wall, so mostly I saw the tops of people’s heads as they walked back and forth. Eventually, a group of people moved several yards away, formed a line, and then moved slowly across the grass.
“Mrs. Avery?”
I looked up to find one of the deputies standing beside me.
“You’re the last one. You’re in the next cart along with the two resort employees.” He pointed to two men in the resort’s navy polo shirt and khaki shorts already moving across the lawn.
I picked up my phone and hurried across the grass, catching up with the two men as they climbed in the golf cart. One of them, a sinewy man with a gray mustache, hopped up from his seat on the bench behind the driver of the golf cart and offered it to me, then moved to the seat on the back that faced away from the driver.
“Thank you.” I sat down next to the other employee, a plump guy in his twenties. While the deputy who would drive us was conferring with one of the men near the smashed golf cart, the younger man twisted around and spoke to the mustached guy behind him. “They’re searching for a lug nut. I heard ’em talking about it. It’s missing.”
My knowledge of mechanical things is sketchy at best, but even I know that lug nuts are what keep the tires secured.