A Wedding to Die For

by Adrianne Lee

  Peter had only agreed to have the ceremony in Weddingville. And then, only the closest of friends and family had been invited to the very private nuptials. None of Peter’s family were coming. His agent was doing double-duty as his best man and groomsman. As soon as the “I do’s” were said, Peter and Meg were jetting off for their honeymoon in an undisclosed location in Europe. Even Meg didn’t know where. Their reception was scheduled for three months from now in the Beverly Hills mansion of a world-famous actress—his mother’s best friend.

  I guessed that Meg was swept up in the glamour of it all, but I wondered how much she’d regret not having the reception in her hometown, once the glitter stopped blinding her.

  The guard at the gate asked me for ID. I rolled my eyes and reminded him that he’d known me since I was in diapers, and he waved me through. The road to the parking area was tree-lined and elegant. Tents were being set up near the water’s edge. I could see Zelda’s crayon-yellow hair bobbing here and there among the workers as she orchestrated the tasks. The ceremony would take place tomorrow afternoon in the tent, but because the preparations were still underway, the pastor had suggested the rehearsal be held in the little chapel that overlooked the garden.

  An air of serenity, beauty, and peace surrounded me as I stepped from my car. I had to admit there was something romantic and magical about this setting. I followed the path from the parking lot up the rise to the building that had stood on this spot for a hundred years, enduring wind and sun and storm, welcoming the faithful and the faithless, offering shelter and comfort, and a sense of being in a place where God would listen to your prayers and regrets without judgment.

  The simple steeple seemed like a pale hand offering a cross to the heavens. I pushed inside. The outer room was little more than a foyer. A table displaying brochures with the chapel’s history sat beneath a stained-glass window. Double doors opened into the nave, an area about the size of a small barn, with open-beamed rafters and a row of pews on either side of the aisle that lead to the altar. The original hardwood floors were refurbished, stained to a dark, gleaming polish, and the walls wore a fresh coat of white for the coming bridal season.

  I spied Big Finn in the front row, fidgeting like a child with ADD. Peter was near the altar talking quietly with the pastor, Reverend Bell, and his agent, Walter Fields. With stylishly cut dark hair, shrewd blue eyes, and a confident swagger, Walter had ten years on Peter and twenty pounds of muscle, defined by the cut of his suit. I pegged it as Italian, handmade, costing in the mid-three-thousand range. He wore a ring the size of those given to the NFL winners of the Super Bowl. His style reminded me of cheap gangster chic, but since he’d married the daughter of one of the most prestigious talent agents in the country, his attire was anything but bargain basement.

  I noticed Ash hovering near the men. I wasn’t sure why Ash was here since she wasn’t part of the wedding party. But since she’d learned about someone sending those photos to Peter, she seemed to have appointed herself the wedding police. I slipped in next to Meg’s dad. “Where’s your daughter?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. She said one of her friends was bringing her. I thought that was you.”

  “Nope. Probably one of the bridesmaids,” I said, but I feared “the friend” was more likely to be Tanya, and I suspected Big Finn shared that suspicion. God, I hoped we were wrong. This chapel was too small for the soundstage-size tension that adding Tanya to the wedding party would cause. “What if I slip outside and give Meg a call?”

  “Would you?” He pleaded, eyeing my cell phone like it was an alien ray gun.

  “Sure. Be right back.”

  I hurried up the aisle. The bridesmaids came in as I went out. No Meg. I started toward the parking lot, but voices—whispering loudly near the edge of the big chapel caught my attention. It sounded like a heated argument. I veered toward the sound and caught a glimpse of bright red hair disappearing inside. I picked up my step. A second later, I stole into a large foyer where filtered light issued through elaborate etched-glass windows.

  I waited a couple of heartbeats for my eyes to adjust. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard them just beyond where I stood, on the other side of the wall. “Don’t go through with this, Meg. Look at these photos.”

  “Oh, my God, Troy. It was you?” Meg cried. “You sent those photos to Peter.”

  “What? No. No, I didn’t. You sent them to me to show me that you still love me.”

  I heard a shocked gasp from Meg. “I didn’t send them to you. Or to Peter. Someone is trying to ruin my wedding.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because these pictures prove we belong together.”

  “No, they don’t. Last night was nice, but it was a mistake. Nothing more than nostalgia. Closure. The good-bye we never said.”

  Despite Meg’s denial to me, this sounded as if they had slept together last night. Had they? And if they had, what business was it of mine?

  “That’s bullshit,” Troy said, his voice surprisingly tender. “You and I are fire and lightning. You know it’s true, babe.”

  I heard a moan, followed by a sigh, then pure silence. My pulse skipped. If I peeked around the corner, would I find them kissing? Oh, God. I should leave before things got more intense. I backed toward the exit as a breathless moan escaped from Meg, confirming my worst fear. Guilt raced through me. I didn’t mean to be eavesdropping like some voyeur. Shouldn’t I make some noise? Announce my presence? Tell Meg to reconsider marrying one man when she had unresolved feelings for another?

  I was pretty sure the maid of honor handbook didn’t cover this situation.

  I spun around and bumped into a small table, knocking it over with a clatter. Meg came rushing into the foyer, Troy right behind her. He growled, “Daryl Anne, what the hell?”

  “Yeah,” I said, righting the table, scowling at him. “That’s what I’m wondering. What is going on with you two?”

  Meg shook her head. “Nothing. I’m marrying Peter.”

  She stormed out.

  “Not if I can help it,” Troy called after her.

  I stepped between Troy and the door, blocking his attempt to follow Meg. Hands on hips, I used my sternest voice, the one I reserved for egotistical actors. “Don’t you dare do anything more to upset her, Troy.”

  If I expected him to go all badass macho on me, I was disappointed. He wasn’t angry; he was heartbroken. I could see it in his eyes. “I love her, Daryl Anne. I never stopped. I wasn’t going to do anything about it. Or even tell her.” He waved his cell phone through the air. “But after last night, after these pictures, I can’t let her walk out of my life now that she’s back in it.”

  As sorry as I felt for him, my loyalties were with my BFF, and she’d moved on. Troy needed a reality check. “She’s not back in your life. You’re back in hers, and the only reason is that you both happen to be home for her wedding to someone else.”

  “It’s fate,” he insisted. “Her mother said that Meg and I should—” He stopped, something dawning on him. “Tanya lied?”

  “Duh?” But as images of Troy and Meg dancing flashed to mind, I understood his confusion, his frustration.

  Troy groaned. “I should have known better than to believe that bitch.”

  I couldn’t agree more, but rubbing salt into his wound didn’t seem wise or kind. “What I don’t understand, Troy, is why you gave Meg’s mom the time of day considering how you’ve always felt about her. Or for that matter, what possessed you to hook up with her and go to the casino.”

  “Because, because…” He glanced away, unwilling to say anything that made him seem more foolish, but I knew the reason without him admitting it. Tanya had told him what he wanted to hear about Meg. And Meg’s reaction to him last night had obviously confirmed that for him. My pity for the guy grew tenfold.

  Troy groaned. “I swear that bitch is going to pay for everything she’s done to Meg. And to me.” The venom in his voice had me shrinking from him. Ice layered my veins.
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br />   Troy left me standing there, awful scenarios of what he meant to do to Tanya running through my imagination. I reminded myself that he was a police officer, sworn to uphold the law, and that he had always been the guy to follow the rules. He wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that. Nothing that I should worry about, right?

  And yet, I did worry every step of the path back to the small chapel. A murmur of voices inside the nave stopped when I entered. “Ah, there you are, Daryl Anne,” Reverend Bell said. “Now we can begin.”

  I didn’t want to begin. I wanted a few minutes alone with Meg. She needed to be honest about her feelings for Troy. To me. To herself. If there was even the slightest possibility that Troy was right about how she felt about him, then it had to be addressed, before she married Peter.

  Frankly, I didn’t see what Meg saw in Peter. Yes, he was handsome, and rich, and famous, and dressed well, and… and… Nope, that was all I had. If you can’t say something nice about someone and all that. To me, his bad attributes outweighed his good ones, but maybe I wasn’t being fair to Peter. Maybe he just wasn’t my type.

  Reverend Bell made us take our respective places. That meant Big Finn and Meg were right behind me. No way to talk to her now. But the moment Meg reached the altar, Peter laid claim to her. I couldn’t even catch her eye. He hugged her to his side as if she might disappear if he weren’t touching her. Would she? Was the thought of running off with Troy circulating through her chaotic brain? The crease between her eyebrows indicated an inner turmoil of some sort, but it might be as simple as fretting that Troy would do something rash, like speaking up instead of forever holding his peace.

  I had a vision of that scene in The Graduate when Dustin Hoffman interrupts the wedding and runs off with the bride, played by Katharine Ross. My last nerve frayed, and I felt a laugh burbling to the surface. I swallowed hard, fearing one laugh would lead to another and another until someone had to slap me. Calm down, Daryl Anne. Stop letting your imagination rule your good sense. Think this through.

  I took a couple of deep breaths. It seemed to clear the fuzz from my brain. Troy wasn’t behind the Instagrammed photos; he hadn’t been trying to stop the wedding. Whoever was, however, had manipulated the situation between Troy and Meg, likely counting on it to light the fuse that would dynamite the wedding. Tanya? Or someone in the chapel right now? Gooseflesh crawled over me, my gaze flicking from one person to the next.

  When I’d agreed to be the maid of honor, I hadn’t known all that position required. So I’d done my homework, read books and researched online sites. Not one of those sources mentioned anything about the maid of honor also needing to be a private investigator. But if this wedding was to come off without another hitch, I needed to find the evildoer and stop him, or her, in their devious tracks. Before tomorrow. How was I supposed to do that?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The rehearsal dinner was being held at Celebration, a five-star restaurant that sat on the water’s edge. The current owners, Mick and Vick Martino had renovated it from top to bottom, turning this once fish processing plant into a gourmand’s delight that dished up some of the best seafood in the Pacific Northwest. Walking in, I was assailed by the aromas. Vick directed me to the elegant private dining room with its sweeping views of Puget Sound and Mount Rainier in the distance.

  I arrived to find Zelda fussing over the place settings, and the flowers, and orchestrating the setup of the hors d’oeuvre table as if this was the restaurant’s first event dinner. As usual, she was a rainbow of colors, topped by her crayon-yellow bob. She spied me and waved me over. “Whaddya think?”

  I feasted my eyes on the Russian caviar, giant prawns, and smoked salmon nestled in a bed of chipped ice. Cheese slices, delicate crackers, and some kind of creamy dip accompanied the offerings. “Nice.”

  “Peter Wolfe had the caviar flown in from Russia. Flown. In.” Despite her years of experience as a wedding planner, Zelda seemed unable to imagine actually knowing someone who was this extravagant. Her eyes took on a dreamy look. “Meg’s life is going to be a lot different after tomorrow.”

  “It is,” I said, uncertain if the wedding was actually going to take place given all the undercurrents rocking the boat. But I had no idea, then, just how hard those undercurrents were or how different Meg’s life was about to become.

  My mother’s advice sounded in my head. This is supposed to be fun. Although I found a smile, my rattled nerves refused to join in my attempt at revelry. Thinking some liquid encouragement might help, I glanced longingly toward the complimentary bar being stocked with ice, liquor, and glasses on the end wall.

  “I’m so sorry for being late,” a woman called to Zelda as she hurried into the room. She was willowy in a long, flowery dress, her chestnut hair wound into a braid atop her head. “I had car trouble.”

  “You’re not late,” Zelda assured her. “Just on time. We have you set up over here.”

  The harpist Peter had hired to play background music throughout the dinner, I realized. Zelda directed her to the chair and harp sitting directly opposite the bar. I turned my gaze to the rest of the room, noting the gold and silver party decorations. One long table had been set in the center of the room, draped with a white cloth and a silver overlay; the floral arrangements were white roses, baby’s breath, and gold ribbons. The silverware was gold, the dishes white with gold trim, the napkins silver. I recognized Peter’s touch without anything of Meg’s. It was more Hollywood than Weddingville, more formal than festive. Was this what her life with Peter would be? All about him?

  “A penny for your thoughts,” someone said near my ear, causing me to flinch. But I recognized that sexy alto and exhaled. Seth Quinlan. And now a genuine smile filled me, spreading through me.

  “If that’s the only pickup line you’ve got, Quinlan, I don’t expect you’re doing all that well with the ladies,” I teased, turning toward him, my breath catching at how handsome he was in a white dress shirt and trousers, his tawny hair slightly mussed, his warm brown eyes smiling.

  He grinned, and my toes curled. “You seem pretty preoccupied with my love life, Blessing.”

  I blushed. “No, I…” A clever comeback failed me. I cleared my throat, my gaze locked on his sexy mouth, my thoughts going places that were clearly inappropriate given where we were, why we were here, and his disinterest in me. I gave myself a mental shake, switching the conversation to safer territory. “Thank you for last night, for rescuing me.”

  “Yep, I’m a regular knight in shining armor.” He glanced around, then settled that compelling gaze on me, studying me as he might a subject he wanted to photograph. “I’m guessing you and Meg worked things out?”

  “We did.” He’d been so easy to talk with last night, to confide in. Could I tell him what I’d discovered—that someone was trying to derail the wedding? Maybe he could help figure out who. The obvious suspect was Tanya, and yet that seemed too obvious. And biased. My dislike of her didn’t make her guilty. Besides, I just couldn’t fathom why she’d come back into Meg’s life after all these years, claiming to want to make up for the past, while actually intending to hurt Meg again.

  “I’m glad you and Meg made up, but you don’t seem exactly happy. Troubled, yes, gleeful, no.”

  “So you do read minds for loose change.”

  “I read faces, for free,” he said, raising his camera and snapping my photo before I could protest. He kept the camera to his eye, studying me through the lens. “Yep. There is definitely something worrying you. If you want to share, I’m a good listener.”

  I considered, then decided this wasn’t the time or the place. “As much as I’d like to take your penny, my thoughts are best left unshared. For now.”

  “Later then, but if you change your mind…” His warm gaze stroked my face. “You know where to find me.”

  I grinned as something sweet cut into my sour mood. This was feeling too cozy and comfy. Too dangerous. Seth didn’t seem to notice. He was checking out the decorati
ons, the lighting, lifting his camera, adjusting the lens. A thought popped into my mind. “You were told that Peter and Meg want the rehearsal dinner photos to seem as if they were taken by friends and family, right?

  “Yep. Nothing as formal as the wedding shots they want taken tomorrow.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Might as well give out those little throwaway cameras.”

  “Oh, no. Peter’s not letting anyone take unauthorized photos. In fact, he wants all cell phones checked at the door.” I held out my hand. “I’ll need yours now, please.”

  Seth lowered his camera. “It’s in my car.”

  “Really?”

  “You can search me, if you don’t believe me, Blessing.” To my surprise, he held his arms out, looking like he’d enjoy being frisked by me. He had no idea how much I would enjoy it. When I stepped back, he chuckled. “Chicken.”

  “Be careful what you dare me to do, Quinlan. You might recall the time you dared me to push you off the big dock.”

  “Always more devil than angel.” He chuckled a little deeper. “But I shouldn’t have to remind you that this isn’t the first celebrity wedding I’ve photographed.”

  “Sorry. For a moment there, I forgot to whom I was speaking.” Neither Seth nor I had gone to college to earn degrees for our current professions. We’d learned and honed our crafts the old-fashioned way, apprenticing at our parents’ and grandparents’ knees. He’d had a camera in his hand by the time he was four. His grandfather had photographed mayors and governors, his father Kurt Cobain and Bill Gates.

  “Things weren’t so bad in my dad’s day.” Seth’s teasing smile had gone into hiding. “Can’t blame a celebrity these days for being paranoid about unwanted photos that are open to misinterpretation getting into the press. It’s rampant. I always leave my phone locked in my car when I’m on a job. I never want to be accused of offering pictures to the media. My business would tank if my professionalism were compromised like that.”