Marriage, Monsters-in-Law, and Murder

by Sara Rosett

  “That contemplative, slightly worried look. He said something that’s bothered you.”

  “Yes,” I admitted slowly. “It was that bit about the woman who liked Ned’s work. Ned must have been talking about Patricia. She and Gus are loaded, and she sponsored the show at King Gallery.”

  “Yes, I think that’s right—it was probably Patricia.”

  “Okay, but if she wanted to support Ned’s artistic work, why would she pull her sponsorship of the show only literally the day after he died? I don’t think Gus and Patricia are having financial difficulties. If they were, they’d be trying to cut corners with the wedding, and I haven’t seen any evidence of that. In fact, Patricia keeps expanding the guest list. No, I’m beginning to wonder if Patricia didn’t want to sponsor the show for Ned from the very beginning.”

  We had left the resort and were walking across the lawn to the tennis court. I glanced up, automatically checking the weather. A thin layer of clouds lay on the horizon to the west.

  “So you’re saying that Ned convinced her to help him somehow, and now that he’s dead, she’s not afraid to drop her support from the show?”

  “I think that’s exactly it. She’s not afraid anymore. Remember that argument I overheard between Patricia and Ned in the kitchen? I can’t remember their exact words, but I know Patricia said she’d done something once that she wouldn’t do again. She could have been referring to the art show. And then Ned said she wouldn’t want someone ‘to find out.’ I do remember that. Those were his exact words. I don’t know who he mentioned—I didn’t hear a name—but he had something, some kind of hold over her.”

  “You think Ned was blackmailing her,” Mitch said, his face troubled.

  “Well, it fits. And it would explain the look on her face after we realized he was dead, too.”

  “What look?”

  I slowed my steps as we neared the tennis courts. I could hear the ping of tennis balls hitting rackets and the shuffle of feet skidding on the rough courts. “It was right after the wreck. I was down on the level of the path with you. I looked up. Almost everyone was lined up on the retaining wall above me. Everyone looked horrified, except Patricia. I think it was because her face looked so different from everyone else’s—that’s the only reason I noticed. She looked . . . well, the only word I could think of to describe it would be relieved.”

  “Ellie,” Mitch said in a warning tone.

  “I know,” I said quickly. “I know it was just a look, and I could have interpreted it wrong. That’s why I didn’t mention it to the detective.” I blew out a sigh. “I’ll have to tell him now.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Mitch said reluctantly.

  “I’m not looking forward to that conversation.” I slowed my steps. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything at all. I mean, you’re right. It’s all speculation based on a few words I happened to hear. I could be totally wrong. And Redding will find out about Ned’s cancelled show and how Patricia was sponsoring it.”

  “You have to tell Redding,” Mitch said suddenly, and I turned toward him. He’d stopped walking completely.

  “I don’t know—”

  “Ellie, you’ve got to,” Mitch said. A group of people moved by us, and Mitch waited until they were out of earshot before he continued. “Do you remember who Ned spoke to right before he left the picnic?” His voice was so intense that I stared at him.

  “Yes, he was with Yvonne on the edge of the terrace and then he spoke to Patricia right before he left. I don’t get it. What are you thinking?”

  “What if Patricia told him to take Summer and Brian’s cart? What if she knew the cart would overturn before he got down that hill?”

  I stared at him a moment, then closed my eyes briefly as I put the pieces together the way Mitch had. “I don’t know,” I said, forcing myself to rearrange my thoughts. “Then that would mean we’ve been looking at this the wrong way the whole time—that Summer wasn’t the intended victim. But what about the paintball and the poison ivy?”

  “We assumed the three things were related,” Mitch said. “But you said yourself that the golf cart accident is in a completely different league than the pranks. Maybe two different people planned the events—one person planned the pranks and another person planned the golf cart accident.”

  I rubbed my head and turned to walk a few paces away into the shade of one of the live oaks. The rhythmic thunk of tennis balls connecting with rackets filled the air. “I suppose that there could be two people instead of one, but then that would mean that Patricia loosened the lug nuts on the golf cart. I can’t quite picture that. Do you think she knows what size socket she’d need? Do you think she even knows what a socket wrench is?”

  Mitch leaned one hand against the tree as he answered. “You can find out almost anything on the Internet. Besides, it’s not like removing lug nuts requires advanced technical knowledge. It’s basically turning a wrench. Anyone who had enough strength could do that. And Patricia isn’t exactly frail.”

  “No. She’s quite tough. No, it’s not that part that tripped me up. It’s the thought of her getting her hands dirty—that seems totally out of character.”

  “When people are pushed, they do unusual things,” Mitch said.

  “But then there’s also the element of the golf cart with the bride and groom sign,” I said. “Why would she loosen the lug nuts on that cart instead of the one Ned was riding in?”

  “Because all the other carts were identical,” Mitch said. “She wouldn’t be able to guarantee that Ned would leave the ruin in the same cart he arrived in. None of the rest of us had a specific cart we used. Remember when we stopped at the other side of the island and looked around before we reached the ruin?”

  “You’re right,” I said with a small nod. “We all got out and looked around, then piled back into the carts, but I don’t think anyone paid any attention to which cart they were in before. In fact, I bet you and I were in a different one than we started in because we parked at the back of the group, but we were one of the first to start off again so we took a cart near the front when we left to drive to the ruin.”

  “Exactly,” Mitch said. “So by sending him to the golf cart reserved for the bride and groom, she would know exactly which one he’d take.”

  “And it was the closest one to the ruin. It would be plausible that she’d suggest he take it,” I added.

  “But how could she know that he’d need to go back to the resort early? How could she know his camera battery would die?” I asked.

  “Well, if she figured out a way to sneak off and remove the lug nuts, I’m sure she could replace his camera batteries with ones that were almost out,” Mitch said.

  I rubbed my fingers over my forehead. I didn’t want to agree with him. It was a tenuous theory, but it was possible, I supposed. “That’s a lot of ifs. I’m really not looking forward to talking to Redding now,” I said. “Oh, Mitch, if we’re right, this will ruin the wedding. Summer will be so upset.”

  Mitch ran his hand along his jaw. “This box is open. Once it’s open, you can’t put anything back. Don’t worry about Summer. She’s pretty good at rolling with the punches.”

  “Mitch, we’re talking about a woman’s wedding day. You don’t mess with a woman on that day. Revealing her stepmother-in-law is a murderer is about the worst thing that could happen.”

  “No, the worst thing that could happen would be revealing that her new husband is a murderer, and I don’t think there’s any danger of that. Summer’s devoted to Brian, and he feels the same way about her. Once all the dust settles, that’s the most important thing.”

  I shook my head at him. “Mitch, we’ve been married fifteen years, and you still don’t understand women at all.”

  He grinned back at me. “Nope, not women in general. You, I’ve got a pretty good bead on you . . . at least most of the time. For instance, I know you won’t be able to think about anything else until this mess with Ned is sorted out. You go find out if Redding is b
ack yet, and I’ll get the kids.”

  “Okay, so you’re not totally clueless when it comes to women.”

  * * *

  I headed back toward the elegant and imposing facade of the resort, dreading the conversation with Redding, but I also felt a bit relieved. If Ned really had been the intended victim, then that meant Summer only had to worry about pranks, not threats on her life. Of course that left out the possible family complications, if Patricia really had messed with the lug nuts, but I couldn’t focus on that right now. And, having seen Julia and Graham leaving breakfast with their arms wrapped around each other’s waists today, it seemed that Julia had turned her attention away from Summer. We had gone a whole day without another prank.

  I trotted up the shallow steps to the resort and asked at the front desk if Detective Redding had returned. The clerk told me he had arrived back a few minutes ago. “I believe he is on his way to the upstairs conference room. If you’d like to contact him, you may use one of the house phones,” he said, pointing to a phone on an end table near a rattan chair. “The conference room is extension twenty-two.”

  “Thank you.” I sank into the chair and dialed. The phone rang, but no one answered. He must not be in the conference room yet. I decided I’d walk up and try to catch him there, but the wide grand staircase that doubled back on itself was roped off. A man in white coveralls was balanced on a ladder, which was set up on the landing. He moved his paintbrush over the trim, touching it up. A sign in front of the rope at the bottom of the stairs pointed me around the corner to the elevator.

  Because our room was on the second floor and the kids had boundless energy, we always herded them up the stairs, so I’d never ridden in the elevator. I turned the corner to enter the elevator alcove and found a logjam of people and suitcases. It was after two in the afternoon on Friday, check-in time for the resort. There was one elevator, the kind with an old-fashioned arrow above the doors pointing to which floor the elevator was on. The arrow was pegged out at the right and moving in very slow increments as the elevator descended.

  I joined the long line to wait my turn, but then remembered the servants’ staircase near the dining room that we had used during the behind-the-scenes tour. It wasn’t off-limits to guests; most people just didn’t take it because it was out of the way. I left the alcove and moved through the dining area toward the kitchen. The dining room wasn’t busy, and the few waiters who were moving among the tables didn’t pay any attention to me. I slipped into the little nook between the kitchen and the dining room, and moved to the door that had once separated the servants’ “below stairs” world from the “upstairs” world of the wealthy owners. I pushed the heavy wooden door, but it only opened a few inches. I pushed harder, thinking that it must be the age of the door causing it to stick, but it only gave another inch or so. I looked down and realized something was lying on the floor, blocking its path. It was dim in the little alcove and it took me a minute to distinguish that it was an arm. It was a person.

  I edged the door back a little bit more, wide enough that I could get my head and shoulders through the opening. “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t move or respond. All that I was able to take in was that it was a woman before the rapid thud of feet sounded above me, and Graham pounded down the bare wooden stairs.

  I was already halfway in the door, so I slipped through the opening, carefully stepping over the woman. She had been on her side, her face turned away from me toward the floor. The door swung closed behind me as I scanned the motionless figure.

  “Is she—” Graham hunched over the figure and gently pushed her shoulder, causing her to roll onto her back. It was Julia.

  Some of her long, brunette hair covered her face, caught in her lipstick and in a gash on her forehead, which was bleeding at a steady rate, trickling through her hair and dropping into a growing puddle on the floor. Graham brushed the strands of hair out of her face with trembling fingers as he repeated her name.

  Julia didn’t look good. Her skin was an ashy color and she didn’t respond at all to Graham’s voice. “I’ll get help.” My voice came out high-pitched, sounding odd even to me. I stepped over Julia’s legs and edged back through the door. I flew out of the little alcove and spotted a nearby table laid with china and linen. I yanked up several of the napkins, causing silverware to fly through the air and crystal glasses to rock.

  A waiter coming from the kitchen said, “Hey, you can’t—”

  I dodged around his outstretched arm. “There’s been an accident. Call an ambulance—or no, call Rebekah.”

  He looked blank, so I said, “The resort’s nurse practitioner. Get her, and then call an ambulance.”

  I opened the door slowly so I wouldn’t bump into Julia or Graham, who still hovered over her. I’d only been gone seconds, but her face looked much paler and the pool of blood was larger. Her eyes were closed, and if it hadn’t been for the blood and her grayish complexion, she would have looked like something out of a fairy tale, the princess put into a deep sleep.

  “Here.” I handed the napkins to Graham, and he pressed them to her forehead.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. We were talking as we came downstairs—the elevator is taking forever—and then she made a little noise and went flying. She must have tripped.”

  I looked down her long legs to her feet. She had on thick ankle-strap wedge platform sandals with at least three-inch heels. The navy and white print on the sandals went with her denim shorts and loose poet-style blouse. The strap of a camera, a large professional-looking one with a retractable lens, had been around her neck, but the fall down the stairs had tossed it around. When Graham rolled her over, the camera, with its cracked lens, caught on her shoulder.

  I leaned forward and eased it to the side so that the strap wasn’t pulling on her neck. I wasn’t sure what else to do. She was obviously breathing, I could see that, but she was unresponsive to Graham’s words and his gentle shakes of the shoulder. “They’re calling for help. Someone should be here soon.”

  “Help me move her.” He shifted around to her shoulders, still holding the napkin to her head as he moved. He motioned for me to stand at her feet. “I’ll get her shoulders. You take her legs. We can carry her to the front, so we’ll be in the lobby when the ambulance gets here.” Graham worked one hand under her shoulder.

  “I don’t think we should move her,” I said, looking at the way Julia’s head lolled to one side as Graham worked to get one hand under her shoulder. The loose, rag-doll limpness of her limbs set off warning bells. “No, we should leave her here.”

  “The ambulance will come to the front of the resort. If we’re there it will save time.” Below the bright fringe of his hair that had fallen forward as he struggled to move Julia, his expression was worried and his words ragged.

  I pointed to the napkins. “But you’ll have to let go of the napkins and that could start the bleeding again. I don’t think you’re supposed to move a person with a possible head injury.”

  “We’ll be quick,” Graham said, dropping the napkins and sliding his other hand under her shoulder.

  The door inched open, and Rebekah’s head appeared before I could reply.

  “Hold that door,” Graham said to her.

  “I’ll do no such thing.” Rebekah’s voice, crisp with authority, immobilized Graham. She stepped into the small space, and I shuffled up onto the stairs to make room for her. She picked up the bloody napkins and reapplied them to Julia’s forehead. “Now, I need you to hold these napkins here to her forehead,” she said, addressing Graham. “Yes, exactly like that. Don’t remove them. The ambulance should be here in a few minutes.” As soon as Graham started following her instructions, her tone became soothing. She continued to speak as she checked Julia’s pulse, her eyes, and then gently ran her hands along each one of her limbs. “Mr. Markham, the resort manager, has been notified, and he will see that the EMTs are brought directly here.”

 
Rebekah removed a small zippered pouch from one of her pockets, took out a pair of scissors, and snipped the strap of the camera. She gently untangled it from Julia’s hair and bunched it together with the camera, which she held out toward Graham. But when Rebekah began her examination, he’d moved around to Julia’s other side. While holding the napkins to her head with one hand, he had taken one of Julia’s hands in his other hand, and I could tell he didn’t intend to let go.

  “Here, I’ll hold it.” I reached out for the camera as the faint wail of a siren sounded. Graham asked, “She’s going to be okay, right? She will wake up in a few minutes, won’t she?”

  “You don’t have to worry. The emergency techs here on the island are excellent, and if we need to, we’ll call for an air evac to Brunswick.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that Rebekah didn’t actually answer his question.

  Tips for an Organized Wedding

  A bride needs lots of lists to keep track of everything:

  • Contact list of vendors

  • Contact list of wedding party members

  • Guest list

  • Contact list for the big day with information on other people to call (besides the bride/groom) if the unexpected happens

  • Gifts received list to write thank-you notes

  Chapter Eleven

  After the EMTs disappeared out the heavy wooden door, I stood there a moment in the sudden quiet. The EMTs had assessed Julia’s condition, carefully strapped her to a board, then moved her to a gurney. The last view I had of her, she was on the gurney, being rolled away through the doorway to the alcove, Rebekah on one side and Graham on the other.

  After the EMTs arrived, I’d stayed up on the narrow staircase, out of everyone’s way. I realized I felt a bit unsteady. I gripped the smooth wood of the banister and sat down on one of the steps, the camera still in my hands. The wooden stair treads felt hard and unforgiving, and I shivered. How badly hurt was Julia? The injury on her forehead looked bad, but did she have any internal injuries? She’d been so pale and motionless.