Marriage, Monsters-in-Law, and Murder

by Sara Rosett

  “But how could you expect to keep Gus’s politics a secret?” Surely, if Gus was attending rallies or meetings, his participation was public knowledge. How could you blackmail someone whose secret was already out?

  “Oh, didn’t I explain that? These meetings were to set up a group. Planning meetings. Gus is a founding member.” She shook her head and sipped her drink.

  “Once I realized how deep Gus was into it, I convinced him that they should wait until the summer to go public. You know, concentrate on the fall campaign season. I figured that after a few months had gone by he’d take up some new interest, and his political dabbling would melt away. I was wrong, though. He’s still interested in it. I’ve tried bridge, fishing, and that fantasy football thing, but nothing has grabbed his attention.” She rubbed her temple again. “I wasn’t sure where it would end. I could tell Ned was very pleased with the situation and wasn’t going to leave me alone.”

  “So Ned wasn’t satisfied with the job of photographing Summer’s wedding and an art show?”

  “It was foolish of me to assume that he’d be happy and go away. No, he wanted more.”

  “That’s why you looked relieved when he died.”

  “You noticed that?” She shifted her gaze away across the bar and looked truly embarrassed for the first time. “It’s true. I’ll admit it. His death made my life a lot easier, but now . . . with all the other things that have happened this weekend, no one is going to want to link themselves with Brian. It’s such a shame. Such a waste. Like I told that detective, I didn’t kill Ned or try to hurt Summer.”

  “But you were still worried after he died, too. That’s why you went to his room, to look through his things.”

  “How did you know about that?” she asked.

  “My room is a few doors down from Ned’s. After the accident, I saw you slip out of his room and sneak off down the stairs. Why else would you be in his room?”

  She didn’t reply, just looked into her glass.

  “How did you get in there?”

  She swished the scotch around and gave a tiny shake of her head. “I told a maid I’d forgotten my key card. Of course she let me in.”

  Of course she would, I thought. Patricia could be very intimidating.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “No. It was a long shot. I realized that the police probably had already been there to search and had probably taken his camera. But I had to check . . . on the off chance that he had brought photos. The guest list contains quite a few powerful people. . . .”

  She didn’t need to finish. With her handpicked selection of guests, Ned would have had a great opportunity to show the photos to any number of people who Patricia wouldn’t want to see them.

  “But as I said before,” Patricia went on, “Ned’s death might have made it easier to make sure Gus’s political dabblings didn’t get out, but overall his death cast a pall over the weekend and left a bad taste in the mouth of a lot of important people. Too many things have gone wrong. No one will want to link themselves with Brian after this.”

  “Something that Brian is completely unconcerned with.” The voice came from the other side of a decorative half wall that divided the bar. The booth on the opposite side of ours creaked and Gus’s head appeared as he stood.

  Patricia paled and reached for her glass, but it was empty again. “Darling, I had no idea you were here.”

  “Obviously.” Gus walked around the dividing wall and sat down in the booth next to Patricia.

  She fingered her glass nervously and raised her hand to signal the waiter, but Gus stopped her before she could get her hand more than a few inches in the air. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough? Wedding tomorrow morning, and all.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

  I watched their interaction, fascinated. I hadn’t seen them together very often and my impressions of the time I had watched them had been that Gus was definitely in the henpecked husband category, but Patricia, despite her tough words earlier about nipping his political aspirations in the bud, seemed downright conciliatory at the moment.

  Gus took a last sip of his drink that he’d carried with him and set it down. “I don’t make any apology for my political opinions.” He shifted, turning his shoulders sideways so that he was looking directly at Patricia. “Everyone has a right to express their opinion—that’s what I’m interested in preserving, by the way. Your advice on waiting until the summer to kick off the group was sound. Volunteers burn out if you work them constantly, and we do need to focus our energy on our main priorities. I decided to follow your suggestion because it was good advice, not because I was bored with the group. So you’re going to have to give up on the idea of me dropping it. It’s too important. Just like you’re going to have to butt out of Brian’s career.”

  “But I’m helping him.”

  “He doesn’t want your help.”

  “But he’s young. In time—”

  “Patricia, you need to let it go. Brian will make his own way,” he said in a tone that indicated the subject was closed.

  Patricia got a mulish look on her face, and I expected her to protest, but Gus pulled several pages of lined paper from his pocket and put them on the table. They had been torn from a spiral notebook and little bits of paper from the ragged edge dappled the table. “Now, I think we need to agree to disagree on political things. I’m not changing my mind any more than you’re willing to change yours, so we should just leave it. I think we need to find something we can agree on, something we can work together on.” He tapped the papers. “I think we need to start our own foundation.”

  Patricia had been on the verge of protesting, but she paused, clearly surprised. “A foundation?” she asked, and I could see she was turning the idea over in her mind.

  Gus pushed the papers so they were in front of Patricia. “All my thoughts are right there. You put so much time and energy into all these causes of yours. Let’s concentrate on something we can both agree on. Focus all that drive and energy into something we both care about.”

  Patricia reached for the papers and unfolded them as Gus continued. “There are lots of people out of work now and lots of people have lost their houses. I know those are two of your pet charity concentrations.”

  Patricia’s gaze had been skimming over the paper, but she looked up. “I didn’t think you cared about any of my charity things.”

  “Oh, I always pay attention to what you’re doing.” He smiled at her, and she grinned back. I’d been feeling like a third wheel for several minutes, so I reached for Livvy’s book. As I scooted to the end of the booth, Gus continued, “I think we could do something like Habitat for Humanity—they do a lot of good work—but add in a training element. Instead of using volunteers to do the work, we could use the construction itself as an on-the-job training program. Plumbing and electricity, building trades, those aren’t glamorous, but if someone has those skills it could put food on the table.”

  “I think I’ll leave you two alone to discuss this. . . .” I murmured.

  “Oh, Gus, this is an interesting proposal.” Patricia flipped to another page. “This really could work.” She had a look of happy fascination on her face that I’d frequently seen on both of the kids’ faces—Livvy when she first held a new release from a favorite author and Nathan when he got a new set of Legos.

  “With you in charge, I think it could,” Gus said.

  I slipped out of the booth and said good-bye to them. They murmured replies, but Patricia was already flipping back and forth through the pages. As I left, Gus stretched his arm along the back of the booth and pointed to something on the paper. “Let me explain this part . . .”

  I signed the slip at the bar to bill my drink to our room and slowly headed back to the pool, thinking that as crazy as Patricia’s story was, I believed her. I also had a hard time picturing Yvonne swinging so far from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other—hating Summer enough to actually harm her then shi
fting to repentance and becoming the welcoming mother-in-law? No, I just didn’t think she could make that big of a change. I thought her remorse was genuine, but I didn’t really think that she’d intended to physically harm either Ned or Summer. Sure, she wanted to break up the wedding, but I didn’t think she’d resort to murder to do it.

  And that left exactly zero suspects.

  * * *

  I opened the door to our room, and Mitch put a finger to his lips. “Kids are in bed.”

  “Already?” I’d returned to the pool and found the chaise longue chairs we had been using were empty. I had checked the time and realized how late it was. I had spent quite a while talking with Patricia. I’d headed to our room, figuring I’d find Mitch in the middle of getting the kids ready for their bedtime routine.

  “Yep,” Mitch said. “We did the whole bit—bath, pajamas, teeth, bedtime story, prayers. The whole checklist.”

  “Wow. You are awesome. Remind me to do something nice for you later.”

  Mitch waggled his eyebrows and moved toward me.

  “Not that nice. They’re your kids, too.”

  Mitch laughed and pulled me into his arms. “Where were you?” he asked between kisses.

  “Patricia waylaid me as I left the dining room. Accused me of siccing Redding on her about Summer and Ned.”

  “Well, you did,” Mitch said.

  “I know. And I pointed out that Ned was blackmailing her.”

  Mitch lifted his head from my neck.

  “Yes. It was rather juvenile and impulsive, but I did get the whole story on Ned. He was blackmailing her—”

  “Mooommm, are you coming to tuck me in?” Livvy called from the adjoining room.

  “So big she needs a cell phone, but still wants to be tucked in,” I said to Mitch, then called out that yes, I’d come tuck her in.

  “We better enjoy it while we can,” Mitch said. “It won’t be long before she’ll be putting up Do Not Enter signs on her door. You can fill me in on all the details about Ned in a little while.”

  Swimming had done in Nathan. He was already sleeping hard. He sprawled across the bed, his limbs limp, breathing heavily. I kissed his forehead, then moved to Livvy’s bed.

  She was propped up on the pillows, the light of my phone glowing on her face.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “The pictures I took at the rehearsal dinner.”

  “Ah,” I said as I snuggled in next to her and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “That’s a good one,” I said. “You got everyone.” She’d zoomed out and had Brian and Summer at the center of the table with Meg beside Summer and Graham beside Brian. The rest of the bridesmaids and groomsmen filled out the table. Everyone was smiling and happy. “It’s a video.” Livvy touched the screen and the scene jumped to life as a jumble of conversation and laughter came out of the speakers. One of the waiters moved through, topping off the champagne glasses, and then Gus stood to make his toast. The video ended and Livvy switched to another picture.

  “I like this one better.”

  The photo was a close-up of Summer and Brian as they clinked their glasses together. Their gazes were locked on each other, and they were both smiling widely. It was hard to believe that only a short time later Summer would be at the hospital.

  “Is Aunt Summer going to be okay?” Livvy asked in a small voice.

  “Yes. Didn’t you hear us talking about it in the library tonight? She’s doing much better and will be back tomorrow morning.”

  “Yeah. I heard.” Livvy snuggled deeper into the curve of my arm. “But sometimes grown-ups are wrong. They think one thing, but then something else happens.”

  “Well, that is true. We’re certainly not always right.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I had to bite back a smile at her confident tone. Oh, boy. The teenage years weren’t far off. I could feel them getting closer by the minute. “But, Aunt Summer is much better. Her doctor told her she could leave in the morning if she was feeling good. And she is determined to get married tomorrow, so I’m pretty sure she’ll be here tomorrow. There’s not much that can stop Aunt Summer when she sets her mind to something.” I squeezed her close in a hug. “Now, let me say a good-night prayer for you, and you can get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

  “Okay.” Livvy’s skinny arms went around my neck, and I inhaled the scent of soap and shampoo, then she handed me my phone and slid lower in the bed. Her eyelids were droopy, and I could tell that the time in the pool had worn her out, too. I said a quick prayer for her and for Summer, then kissed Livvy’s forehead and tiptoed from the room.

  * * *

  At breakfast the next morning, I checked my phone. No messages or missed calls. I sighed, then switched to look through my photos.

  I hadn’t slept well. My thoughts were on an endless confusing loop, alternating between trying to figure out who would want to hurt Summer and thinking about details related to the wedding ceremony. I still didn’t know what Summer had coordinated with Mr. Markham for the ceremony. I’d stopped by the front desk to ask him this morning, but was told he was in a meeting and that he’d call me. I’d also called Summer twice this morning. It was early, but from what I remembered of my time in the hospital after the births of Livvy and Nathan, the nurses would have already been in and out of her room several times by now. But she hadn’t answered or texted back, which wasn’t like her.

  I swished my finger across the screen, dragging each picture into view, then sending them off again. Someone had poisoned Summer at that dinner. If only I could find something in the photos . . . but there was no one caught suspiciously reaching toward Summer’s plate or lingering in the background behind her chair.

  “Ellie. Your food,” Mitch said.

  I looked up to find the waitress hovering behind my shoulder with my omelet. I pulled away my arms, which had been propped on the edge of the table, and slipped my phone into my tote bag beside the wedding binder. A huge stack of pancakes was deposited in front of Mitch and smaller versions went to the kids.

  “Nathan, your food is here, too. Put that away—” I said as he sent one of the paper airplanes he’d made yesterday zooming through the air. He was aiming for his cousin’s table next to us, but the plane went farther, sailing over the table and bouncing off Graham’s shoulder blade. He turned around to see what had tapped him on the shoulder and spotted the plane on the floor behind his chair.

  “Nathan, go get your plane and apologize to Mr. Murphy,” I said.

  Nathan prepared to slide off his chair, but Graham had already swiped up the plane from the carpet and was at our table. He smoothed out the tip of the plane, which was a little bent, as he handed it back. “No need to apologize. Here you go, buddy. That’s quite an impressive plane.”

  “Thanks, my uncle made it for me. He says it’s an F-15.”

  “Nice,” Graham said before he returned to his table.

  I heard my phone ringing in the depths of my tote bag. As soon as I pulled it free, I recognized the number. It was Redding.

  “Mrs. Avery. I have an update for you. You are the point of contact for the Avery family?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Good. I tried to contact your sister-in-law but got her voice mail. I understand she’s leaving the hospital today?” he asked.

  “Yes, that is the plan.”

  “Glad to hear she’s better.” His voice became more serious. “I have results from the tests on the food from the rehearsal dinner.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Well, apparently the police commissioner got some feedback from someone involved in the case, and he was able to expedite things.”

  I sensed Patricia’s hand at work. I bet she called . . . someone, someone with influence, who could make things move faster.

  Redding let out a frustrated sigh. “There were no traces of any poison.”

  “No trace?” I asked. “Nothing at all?”

  Mitch
looked toward me. I tilted the phone away and said in a low voice, “It’s Redding. He says there was no poison in the food from the dinner.”

  Mitch’s eyebrows drew together. I’m sure my expression mirrored his.

  “None,” Redding confirmed. “All the tests for the food and the drink came back negative.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Could she have been poisoned some other way? Through touching something? Or breathing . . . I don’t know, fumes or vapor?”

  “I’ve got a call in to our consultant, asking those very questions. Make sure your family keeps a close eye on her today.”

  A commotion at the entrance to the restaurant drew my attention. I turned and saw Summer and Brian enter the room, holding hands and smiling. “We will. Thanks for the update,” I said to Redding.

  Summer and Brian paused at a table where Summer exchanged hugs and exclamations with her bridesmaids, then they came over to our table. Summer moved around the circular table, depositing hugs all around, but giving Livvy and Nathan an especially tight squeeze. Brian went to Graham and they shook hands. “Good to see you, man,” Graham said.

  “We’re glad to be back.”

  Summer embraced Mitch then turned to me, a huge grin on her face. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be here. Nothing gives you an appreciation for good health like being in the hospital.”

  “I thought we might not see you until later,” I said.

  “Are you kidding? Those people were in and out of my room at five a.m. If they could take my blood that early, they could certainly start the paperwork to get me out of there.”

  Brian said, “Yes, she was quite unstoppable. And once the nurses heard it was our wedding day, they moved even faster.”

  “So the wedding is really going to be today?” Livvy asked.