Weddings Are Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  Susan sighed. “No, I guess we can’t expect him to. Isn’t there some way to head off your mother?”

  “I’ve been trying to find her. I’ll keep trying. It’s just possible that she’s already on her way to your house for brunch. If she arrives—”

  “I’ll try to convince her that nothing can be gained by making this public too soon,” Susan said quickly. “Stephen, I think I hear someone at my door.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know if I find out anything more.” And he hung up.

  Susan hurried into her bedroom. The outfit she planned on wearing was hanging in the closet and she yanked off her clothing, pulled on the long flowered skirt, and was adjusting the fitted white linen shirt when Kathleen arrived. “Thank goodness. Can you help me tighten the ties in the back of the shirt? And I’m going to wear the gold inlaid necklace Jed gave me for our twenty-fifth anniversary and it’s almost impossible to fasten. Oh, and which shoes do you think go best? The red sandals or those light yellow strappy things? And is Stephen’s mother here and does she look like she knows David’s mother was murdered?”

  Kathleen placed the mugs of coffee on the dresser and reached out for Susan’s jewelry box. “Let me find the necklace first. And I think the shirt is tight enough—it just skims your waist and makes you look so thin. Blues isn’t here. Your mother and father are and they don’t look like they know anything. And wear the yellow shoes—they’re adorable.”

  Susan beamed. The perfect friend!

  “So what about David and his dead mother? Has something changed?” Kathleen asked, as she fastened the necklace around her friend’s neck.

  Susan explained Stephen’s phone call.

  “Why does he think his mother knows anything at all?”

  “He didn’t explain and I didn’t ask him,” Susan admitted. “I’m just not thinking.… You know, maybe Blues knows she was murdered because she murdered her herself!”

  “I suppose that’s as likely as anything else—but wouldn’t she be quiet about it if she was the one who killed her? … What was that?”

  Susan listened for a moment and then chuckled. “Sounds to me like the entrance of the bridesmaids.”

  “Do they always giggle and squeal?”

  “These young women have been friends since Chrissy was in elementary school. Whenever they get together, they sound like that,” Susan explained as the noise level rose.

  “What do they sound like separated?”

  “To be honest, I’ve always thought of them as a group.”

  “Why are they clucking like that?” Kathleen asked.

  “I have no idea. That’s a completely new sound. And I think it’s coming from outside. Can you see anything out the window?”

  “Just one of Erika’s vans in the driveway.”

  “That must be the topiaries! Trust Erika to be right on time. Do you think we have a minute to peek at them?”

  “Topiaries?”

  “They’re the decoration for the house. They’re made of peonies—and they go on either side of the front door. Erika thought they would be a nice touch, but they had to be refrigerated overnight.”

  “But Erika didn’t know you were going to be putting balloons on the mailbox down by the street.” Erika herself appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.

  “That’s just so the guests can find the house,” Susan explained, smiling. “A little tacky?”

  “No. Practical. I should have suggested it myself. We could have used balloons like the ones at the Yacht Club.” Erika stopped and ran both hands through her dark cap of hair. “I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to worry you right before the wedding, but I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  “What’s wrong?” Maybe no one had remembered to water the bouquets at the church. Susan had visions of wilted flowers. Or perhaps vandals had destroyed the wonderful arches outside the Yacht Club.

  “Erika, tell her what’s wrong before she gives herself a heart attack imagining dreadful things,” Kathleen, who knew the way Susan’s mind worked, insisted.

  “It’s probably nothing.…”

  Or maybe she had realized that all the flowers were giving Chrissy hay fever.

  “It’s about the rehearsal last night,” Erika continued, bursting that particular bubble of worry.

  “About the flowers falling down? You said that wouldn’t happen today.” Susan’s brain, ever agile when it came to panic, leapt from one possible disaster to the next. She was imagining the weight of the flowers bringing down the entire church balcony when Erika started to explain.

  “I think the flowers were tampered with.”

  “They looked beautiful.” Susan remembered that Brett had told her about this very thing yesterday evening.

  “You mean they didn’t fall accidentally?” Kathleen asked.

  “Exactly.” Erika nodded seriously.

  “What difference does it make? What could that have to do with the murder? She was already dead at that point,” Susan protested.

  “What she means is—” Kathleen started, realizing that Susan had just let the cat out of the bag—and, possibly, set it off running in the direction of Brett Fortesque and police interference.

  Erika raised her hands. “I don’t want to know what Susan means. Because if we’re talking about a real murder here and I knew about it, I would have to tell Brett, and I think I can assume that if anyone wanted the police involved in a possible murder investigation, they would call him themselves.”

  Susan and Kathleen exchanged looks. “Thank you,” Susan said.

  “Look, it wasn’t so long ago that you kept me from being arrested for murder. I owe you one,” Erika said. “But you should know about the flowers, just in case there is something more serious going on here.”

  “You really think they were meant to fall during the rehearsal?” Susan asked.

  “I’m sure of it. I invented the hanging system myself: the flowers are attached to heavy nylon cording. An even heavier cord is attached to whatever the flowers are to be hung from, in this case the railing on the balcony, and then the two are clipped together at intervals. The clips are either open or closed; there’s no halfway. And I had checked the clips myself. Someone had pried them open with a little Swiss Army knife that I found on the floor nearby.”

  “They couldn’t have become accidentally unclipped?” Kathleen asked.

  “No.”

  “If someone had just brushed them the wrong way when they were walking by? They would stay attached?” Kathleen persisted.

  “Absolutely. They’re designed that way. Those clips don’t unclip unless someone pinches them—one finger has to be on either side of the clip. And they’re tight. I’ve had workers who use pliers to do the job.”

  “That’s interesting.” Susan frowned.

  “What do you think it means?” Kathleen asked.

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” Susan admitted.

  “I just thought you might like to know. I’ll head over to the church and check out everything there before the wedding, so you won’t have to worry about it happening again,” Erika said.

  “Well …” Susan stopped herself from saying anything. She didn’t understand what this could possibly have to do with David’s mother’s death. But what other reason could there be for someone to try to disrupt the wedding?

  “You know, those flowers couldn’t possibly do much damage to anyone they fell on,” Erika said slowly, wandering over to the window and looking out.

  “That’s a good point,” Kathleen said.

  “Yeah … what’s wrong?” Susan asked, not understanding the expression on Erika’s face.

  “I was wondering why Brett is walking up your sidewalk.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Maybe he saw your van out front and is dropping in to see you,” Susan said to Erika. She sure hoped that was the truth.

  “I don’t think so. This wedding seems to be putting a strain on our relationship,” Erika answered slowly. “I think he thinks
I want to get married.”

  “Do you?” Kathleen asked.

  “No. I had one rotten marriage. And I don’t want children. Why would I want to get married?”

  “Maybe because it’s time you experienced a good marriage?” Susan suggested gently. She knew how badly Erika had been burned by her first husband. Being an optimist and a romantic, she had hoped Brett and Erika would decide to take the plunge and live happily ever after. But it sounded as though Erika had other ideas.

  “Actually, I was hoping we could just live together,” she was saying. “But every time I try to approach the topic, Brett changes the subject. I’m coming to the conclusion that we’re on the verge of breaking up.”

  “At Chrissy’s wedding?” Susan realized she sounded horrified—and that she was being more than a little self-centered.

  “I sure hope not,” Erika said, as the doorbell pealed. “That’s probably Brett now. I could go open the door for you,” she offered.

  “Great. And if you see Jed, would you tell him I’ll be right down?” Susan asked, looking in the mirror. When was she going to find the time to do something to her hair? she wondered. And what was she going to do with it anyway? But apparently she wasn’t even going to have time to think about it now.

  “Susan? Honey? Brett’s down here. He’d like to talk with you a minute.” Her husband’s voice sounded unusually sweet.

  Susan realized the house was full of relatives. “I’d better get down there.”

  “I’ll head down, too. I hardly had time to do more than say hello to your parents yesterday,” Kathleen said.

  “I may need to talk with Brett alone,” Susan suggested.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll run interference if you need it.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Susan said sincerely.

  “Just remember that if I’m not home for at least an hour before the wedding, I don’t guarantee the cleanliness of the ring bearer and flower girl—and Jerry is a disaster at styling his daughter’s hair.”

  “That’s okay. Alice and I will match,” Susan kidded, hurrying downstairs with Kathleen close behind.

  Brett was standing in the hallway, reading the tags on yet another pile of presents—delivered, apparently, by hand. The last-minute present givers seemed to have descended. Susan paused one moment to admire a package wrapped in silver metallic paper and tied with what appeared to be dozens of brightly colored ribbons. The handwriting on the card seemed familiar.

  “It’s from Erika. I recognize the writing,” Brett said.

  And now so did Susan. She had paid enormous sums for bills made out in that elegant penmanship.

  “She was just here,” Brett continued.

  “Where did she go?”

  “I’m not sure. She opened the door and said hello, and then Jed arrived—and Erika said she had to do something … somewhere. She headed off in the direction of the kitchen.”

  “I’m serving an impromptu breakfast this morning. You’re welcome to stay if you’d like,” Susan offered graciously—as though Brett were here on a social call.

  “I’m pretty busy, but thanks.”

  Susan took a deep breath. She had to ask—he’d said he was busy. “So why are you here?”

  “I got a confusing message from one of my officers. Something about you running around the Yacht Club last night, with Chrissy’s fiancé and her future in-laws. I just thought maybe there was something going on that I might be able to help you with?”

  “No, I—”

  “And then there was something about some sort of activity at the church in the middle of the night—”

  “Oh, that. Have you met the woman who calls herself the Archangel?” Susan asked, deciding to throw her out as a red herring. Let Brett spend some time trying to figure her out!

  “I don’t believe so. Does she have another name?”

  “I guess she must, but she sure doesn’t share it. All anyone ever calls her is the Archangel—I swear you can hear the uppercase letter when the old members of the commune say it.”

  “She was a member of the commune that everyone is talking about?”

  “Yes, their spiritual leader, apparently.”

  “What does she have to do with the Hancock Presbyterian Church?” Brett insisted on sticking to the point.

  “She was there in the middle of the night.”

  “She broke in?”

  That stopped her for a moment. “You know, I’m not sure how she got in. I suppose Reverend Price might have given her a key. They are performing the service together today.”

  “This woman who calls herself the Archangel is a minister and she was in the church late last night? Is there something unusual about that?”

  “Well, it was very late. And she’s a little strange.”

  “Susan, the last wedding I went to was my cousin’s. He was marrying this much younger woman.… Well, that doesn’t matter. But the minister who officiated thought the service was an appropriate time to lecture the congregation on the sin of eating meat. The sermon lasted over an hour and then we all headed off to the reception, where the main course was prime rib. Ministers aren’t necessarily the dull, tactful people of my youth anymore.”

  “I guess. But she is more than a little strange.” Susan realized she was sounding silly. Since Brett didn’t know about the murder, he couldn’t understand that she was looking at everyone as a possible suspect.

  “Are you concerned about her for any particular reason?” Brett looked at her curiously.

  Susan hesitated. “Well, I hope she doesn’t decide to bore my guests with a long sermon against seafood at the service today—we’ve invested heavily in shellfish for the reception this evening.” She hoped she sounded casual.

  Apparently not. “Susan, if there is anything going on here that I should know about—”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” she lied to him. “Believe me.” She didn’t know what she would have said next, but, fortunately, Clue appeared and threw herself at Brett, her habit in greeting the couple of dozen people whom the golden retriever currently considered the loves of her life.

  “Hey, Clue. Good to see you.” Brett bent down and rubbed the soft fur on the dog’s upturned stomach. “There was also something about a dog or dogs in the report,” he added, as though it were just coming back to him. “Did Clue take off last night?”

  “Just for a short run. The Canfields—Chrissy’s future in-laws—gave them a pair of bull mastiff puppies as a wedding present and they got out last night. Clue ran after them but Chad happened to see her, and they all came home together.”

  “So the puppies are boarding with you until the honeymoon is over?”

  Susan blinked. She had been trying not to think about that. The puppies sure couldn’t be packed up and put on the plane to Bermuda. Did kennels board puppies? “Well, I guess they’ll have to stay somewhere.” On the other hand, if Jed was right, the Henshaws were going to be in jail for obstruction of justice. She’d better get busy checking out those kennels.

  “Susan, someone seems to be calling you from upstairs,” Brett broke into her reverie.

  “Oh, it sounds like Chrissy.” Clue rolled over and, apparently deciding that there were other people in the world willing to offer attention, scrambled up the stairs. “I guess I’d better see what’s going on. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

  And she ran up the steps, hoping that the next time she saw Brett, he wasn’t leading one of the wedding party off to jail in handcuffs.

  “Oh, Mrs. Henshaw, we have such a problem. Chrissy, your mother is here.” One of the bridesmaids, hair in curlers even larger than her daughter’s, wearing holey jeans and a white T-shirt, turned and headed back to Chrissy’s bedroom at Susan’s appearance.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  “Chrissy can’t find the box Blues gave her.”

  “What? What box?”

  Chrissy stood in the middle of the room, dressed in
a skimpy white silk teddy, a worried expression on her face. “Oh, Mother, Blues gave me this very special present—she said it was something very important. And I promised I’d open it as soon as I woke up this morning.”

  Susan and Chrissy both glanced toward the alarm clock that usually sat on the nightstand by her bed. A black bra was draped across its face, keeping the time a secret, but they were both aware of the fact that Chrissy had been up for hours, showering, doing her hair. Susan suddenly realized Chrissy was no longer topped by a bevy of curlers. In fact, her hair was wet, dripping onto her bare shoulders. “What did you do to your hair?” Susan asked.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s wet. The last time I saw you it was full of curlers.”

  “I took them out and it was too fluffy. Mindy is going to do it for me.”

  “Maybe I could help, Mrs. Henshaw,” a young woman named Mindy volunteered. She was probably qualified to do the job—the shy, stringy-haired brunette Susan remembered from Chrissy’s first-grade class had been transformed into a very attractive frizzy redhead.

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate that,” Susan admitted.

  “So would Grandma. She was down in the kitchen telling Nanny that she just didn’t see how you could look so terrible on my wedding day.”

  Susan, familiar with family nomenclature, realized her own mother was trashing her to her mother-in-law, smiled weakly, and returned to the original subject. “Do you have any idea what was in the box Blues gave you?”

  Chrissy shook her hair energetically. “None. But it may have been something that Blues wanted me to wear today.”

  “Like pearls,” one bridesmaid breathed in an excited tone. “Did you know that Courtney Gottfried’s mother-in-law sent her a string of absolutely priceless pearls to wear on her wedding day—and then demanded them back immediately after the reception! Poor Courtney had already packed them up and was planning on taking them on their honeymoon!”

  “That’s better than what happened to my college roommate,” another bridesmaid said. “Her future mother-in-law absolutely insisted that she wear the family veil. It seems that every bride since the Mayflower landed had worn the damn thing and it was supposed to bring the marriage luck, so how could she refuse? Unfortunately, it was made from old, heavy lace. She had this beautiful Anna Sui gown and had to drape this hideous thing over her head and smile bravely all day long. I would have died!”