“Tell them,” he said.
I squinted at the police cars and the ambulance that were drawn up on the other side of the picket fence. There was no storm after all, just the wind rushing and roaring out of a sky that was blue right down to the horizon.
Once my eyes adjusted I could see the dark barrels of weapons bristling over the roofs and hoods of the cars, and here and there the top of a helmet or the edge of a bulky riot vest. But I couldn’t see faces.
“Is Mike Graham with you?” I shouted.
The rear door of the ambulance swung open, and a voice came from behind it.
“I’m here. Carnegie, are you hurt?”
“No, I’m all right. But Donald wants to talk to you. Only you, face to face. He . . . he’s going to keep me right here.”
No answer for a moment, just the slamming of the ambulance door and a sense of movement among the cars that I thought must be Mike conferring with Orozco. The flag was making a commotion in the wind, but still I could hear the labored breathing at my back. Then Mike came out from behind the cars, and I heard a deep sigh.
“Come up close,” Donald called, “and keep your hands out so’s I can see ’em.”
Mike hadn’t changed for the wedding yet. He was still in his dorky tourist clothes, looking strangely vulnerable and out of place against the assembled might of the police. But his face was utterly calm, and his eyes were still. He walked deliberately toward us, empty hands at waist level, palms lifted. The picture of reason.
“What do you want, Donald?” he asked, the way you’d ask a neighbor who came to your door. “Let’s talk about this.”
“I gave you back your girlfriend,” said Donald. “I didn’t hurt her. Did she tell you that?”
“Yes, she did. And I can see that you haven’t hurt Carnegie either, so that’s all in your favor. Now take the next step and let her go too. Just put the gun down and let her go. Nobody’s going to shoot.”
“You think I believe that?” Donald’s voice was wobbly with strain. “You think I’m stupid? You think because you’re a cop I’m just going to believe you?”
“Of course not. But tell you what.” Mike’s hands drifted downward, but he kept his open palms showing. “You let Carnegie go and take me instead. I can get you anywhere you want to go with no trouble. Do you want to see Pamela?”
That was a mistake. At the sound of his wife’s name Donald cried out and his whole body jerked. His grip on my elbows loosened, but the muzzle of the gun was still jittering at the back of my neck.
I sobbed aloud. The strain was telling on me too. It was one thing to coldly choose to sacrifice myself for Lily’s sake. It was quite another to stand here with my elbows pinned while this head case worked himself into hysteria.
“I don’t want to see that lying bitch!” Donald was hyperventilating now, and the muzzle bumped down between my shoulder blades. “I didn’t mean to shoot her, but I don’t . . . I don’t . . . No!”
A dark streak of speed had blurred through the air somewhere off to our right, and a high-pitched screeching cut through Donald’s shout as he waved his gun toward it. His motion swung me slightly to the left and I added all my weight to the swing, throwing myself to the ground.
I hit hard, all the breath driven out of me. But even as my ears were ringing with the lack of air, my eyes stayed open and I saw exactly what happened next. Everything seemed to unfold in slow motion, and with a bizarre clarity.
Ever so clearly, I saw the hawk grapple with the rabbit it had pounced upon and then release it to go flapping away. At the same instant, I saw Mike’s left hand yank open the fanny pack at his belt and his right hand pull a pistol from it.
“No!”
Donald screamed and flailed his gun hand at Mike, a shot boomed out like an explosion, and a scorching agony seared itself into my breastbone.
I lifted my arm, trying to clutch at the pain, but I was already blacking out.
Chapter Thirty-Six
A whirling darkness, and the sound of a siren fading into the distance. This was followed by sunlight filtering red through my eyelids and someone’s hands on me. Then they were pushed away by hands that belonged to someone else. To Aaron.
“Is she dead? Oh, God, she can’t be dead!”
His arm slid beneath my shoulders, his face came close to mine. I couldn’t see him, but his body blotted out the sunlight and I could feel his warm breath on my cheek.
“Carnegie, darling, no. Please, I love you! Don’t die. I love you.”
“I . . . I love you too.” I tried to raise my head and winced. “But—ow! You’re kneeling on my hair. Could you move just a . . . There, that’s better.” He drew back a little and I sat up, blinking in bewilderment at the ring of people crouched around me on the grass. “What happened?”
“Looks like you fainted,” said Lieutenant Orozco. “It’s understandable. No, don’t try to get up yet. The ambulance had to take Coe, but we called in a doctor. He’s over with your friend now.”
“But Donald shot me!” I stroked the front of my gown and then examined my fingertips in disbelief. There was still a stinging pain between my breasts, but no blood anywhere. “Didn’t he?”
Orozco’s smile was white against his olive skin. “That was an ejected cartridge from Graham’s pistol. He said to tell you he’s sorry.”
“Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?” This was my friend Officer Henniman, patting my shoulder. “You never know how far they’re going to fly. I got one stuck in my bra once, and it was so hot it left a scar. Yours rolled out pretty quick, though, so your dress wasn’t messed up. That’s a beautiful dress.”
“Thanks,” I said weakly, brushing at my skirt. “I just hope it isn’t soiled.”
“Would you quit about the dress?” Aaron rubbed a hand over his eyes and up through his hair, leaving cowlicks every which way. “You sure you’re OK? You’re not—”
“No, I’m not. Thanks for asking, though.” I shouldn’t have teased him, because I’d seen the tears before he rubbed them away. I also saw a raw scrape on his cheek. “What happened to your face?”
Aaron flushed and muttered something I didn’t catch, then he got up and moved a few feet away, rolling his shoulders and sticking his hands in his back pockets.
“The gentleman followed us out here,” said Orozco sternly, but with a glint in his eye, “and had to be physically restrained from entering the siege area.”
“Oh.” I blushed myself. Then a thought struck me. “How did you even know where to find us?”
“We put a bird dog on your vehicle,” said a voice from behind me, and I craned around and looked upward. Even kneeling down, Jeff Austin was tall. “A tracking device, to keep tabs on you when you were a suspect. Good thing too.”
“A damn good thing.” I shuddered. “Is Donald . . . ?”
“He’ll live,” said Orozco, and that was the last we spoke of Donald Coe that day. “Ah, Dr. Morland. How is Ms. James?”
“Quite satisfactory,” said a gray-haired fellow in golf clothes, kneeling down and peering into my face. “Once I disentangled her from her fiancé. Now you, young lady, are you feeling any nausea? Double vision? Good. Follow my finger with your eyes. . . .”
Once Dr. Morland pronounced me unconcussed, Lieutenant Orozco directed me up the road to Mike’s rental car. Lily broke away from him—the doc was right, they were tangled tight—and then she and I spent some time embracing each other and messing up our makeup while Mike and Aaron looked on.
I wanted some time alone with Aaron, but first I wanted to listen as Mike explained how our rescue came about. Darwin had indeed called the police, after seeing Pamela’s fallen body through the office window at the Owl’s Roost.
“He broke the door down,” said Mike, and traced his fingertips along Lily’s arm. “I’m marrying into a strong family.”
“You bet you are,” she retorted. “I just don’t want to have to be this strong ever again.”
“Did you know about his f
anny pack?” I asked her.
“Of course I did.”
“I usually use an ankle holster,” said Mike. “But it’s nice to wear shorts sometimes.”
I shook my head in wonder. “Nice is right.”
Darwin himself drove up at this point, wearing his suit for the wedding and a mile-wide smile for his sister.
“What about the boys?” Lily asked him, once we’d finished the next round of hugs. “I have to call them, they must be frantic. Where are they, what did you tell them?”
“They’re fine,” said Darwin. “They’re at the lavender farm. I didn’t want to get people upset, so I asked Mr. Nyquist to announce that the bride was still getting ready. He may have told a couple of people, but not the boys. So everyone’s still there waiting for you.”
Lily laughed, a little wildly. “Waiting for us?”
“Well, bride,” said Mike, taking both her hands in his, “what shall we do now?”
“Well, groom,” she answered, drawing herself up in her gorgeous purple gown, “I think we should go get married.”
So they did.
I must say, the union of Lily Jolene James and Michael Richard Graham was far and away the finest wedding of my entire career. And the guests seemed to agree. True, they had to wait nearly an hour for the bride’s arrival, but it was a golden September afternoon and there were pleasant ways to fill the time.
Erik Nyquist, for example, conducted personal tours of the lavender fields, and Sigrid gave an impromptu talk about Norwegian lace-making. What really saved the day, though, was quick-thinking ZZ Nickles. He had his waitresses—including the utterly innocent Peggy—pop the corks ahead of schedule and commence pouring with a generous hand.
So by the time the bride did arrive, to slip through the back door of the shop and prepare for her processional, everyone was feeling just as bubbly as the champagne. And no one noticed that the wedding planner had shown up late as well and was dashing back and forth through the wandering guests to check on the corsages and the rings and the napkin supply and the license. . . .
Almost no one, anyway. I was concluding my hasty conference with the soloist about her cue to begin when Adrienne Winter strolled by. She wore a navy blue suit today, very smart, with spectator pumps and a white straw boater with a red band that matched her glasses.
“Is this how you usually run your business?” she inquired sardonically. “It doesn’t seem very efficient.”
“Special circumstances,” I said with a smile. “We’ll be starting in just a minute.”
Believe it or not, it was a genuine smile. I was in love with the whole world today, even Dree. Even Kimmie, my other stepsister-to-be, who came hip-swiveling over in a hot pink dress. It was short to the point of scandal, with a heart-shaped cutout over the cleavage. Matching pink stilettos completed the traditional garb of the simple island lass.
“I just thought I should tell you, Carrie,” she purred, “that you have grass stains on your butt.”
I wasn’t feeling that friendly. But my unsisterly reply was interrupted by Aaron, who caught Kimmie’s remark as he approached bearing a champagne flute in each hand.
“I’ll let you in on a secret about that,” he stage-whispered, and both women leaned close to listen. “Carnegie and I find weddings such a turn-on that . . . well, you know how it goes. . . .”
The Bitch Sisters beat a red-faced retreat after that, and Aaron chortled as he handed me my champagne.
“You bum!” I said. “They believed you, you know.”
“Relax, Stretch. The whole island’s going to be talking about Donald Coe by dinnertime. They’ll find out what really happened to your dress at American Camp.”
“I suppose so.”
Never mind the dress, I wanted to say, what really happened between you and me at American Camp? But I couldn’t quite think how to raise the issue, and anyway my mother and Owen joined us just then. They were holding hands, and I could picture them at their own wedding sometime in the future. It was a nice picture.
“Should we take our seats, dear?” said Mom.
“Yes, I guess it’s time. Aaron, could you help Darwin herd people toward the pond? They’re scattered all over.”
“Sure, in a minute.” He was looking oddly preoccupied. “I have to take care of something first. Where’s Lily?”
“In the shop with Darwin and the boys. Wait, you can’t go in there—”
But Aaron was already striding up the porch steps and knocking on the shop door. I took a step after him, but was stopped by a tap on the shoulder from Peggy Nickles. She’d been grinning like a little girl over all the compliments about her cake, and I blushed to think that I’d ever suspected her of murder.
“Would you like me to take the top layer back to ZZ’s afterward?” she asked me, gesturing at her lacy confection on its table in the display garden. “In case Lily and Mike want it for their anniversary, I mean. They won’t have a freezer at the bed-and-breakfast.”
The question brought me up short. The bed-and-breakfast?
“Um, yes, freeze the top for them. Thanks, Peggy.”
I was thinking hard as I headed for the shop. It hadn’t even occurred to me, but Mike could hardly take Lily to the Owl’s Roost for their wedding night. Where were they going to honeymoon?
Inside the shop, where Aaron had left but Sigrid was still hovering helpfully, more immediate questions took precedence over the honeymoon site. Questions like, was Lily’s eyeliner on straight, and could I retie Darwin’s tie, and did Ethan really call Marcus a poopy-head and should he therefore be banished from the proceedings. This last point raised by Marcus, of course.
“You’re both going,” I told them firmly. “Side by side, just like we practiced. When the lady starts singing, you walk down the path to the pond where Mike is. And not one toe near that water, OK?”
They nodded, excited and solemn, and I turned my attention back to Lily. She was excited too, clutching her bouquet of roses and lavender, and there were goose bumps on her bare arms.
“You don’t have your shawl, Lily! I forgot all about it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m fine without.”
“But you need something. It’s nice out, but it’s not really—”
“Will this do?” Sigrid had raised the carved wooden lid of a chest in the corner and now lifted out a stole of delicate ivory-colored lace, exquisitely patterned and cobweb-fine. “It was my great-grandmother’s. I would like it to be yours, as Michael’s bride.”
“Oh, Sigrid,” breathed Lily. “Carnegie, it matches the wedding cake!”
“So it does. Don’t cry, girl, you’ll mess your mascara.” I handed her a hankie and helped Sigrid arrange the shawl around her shoulders. “There, it’s perfect. Are we ready, Dar?”
Darwin looked over from his station at the door. “Ready.”
The haunting strains of “Ave Maria” rose into the air. I sent the boys down the porch steps and along the path with their matching ring pillows, and they marched in perfect tandem to the amused delight of the assembled guests. Then I set off myself, holding my own peach-colored roses and sprays of lavender, and smiled into the beaming faces that greeted me along the way.
My mother, holding Owen’s hand. Mike’s father Richard, proud and happy. And Aaron, dropping me a broad wink as I went by. In the gold- and green-dappled sunlight under the willow tree, Mike himself was almost trembling with happiness, and I blew him a kiss as I took my place opposite the best man.
Then, my own journey completed, I watched Lily coming toward us on Darwin’s arm in her purple satin and her ivory lace. And the relief and gratitude and love that I felt made me watch her say “I do” through a blur of tears.
But then the ceremony was over, Mike took Lily in his arms, and I laughed along with everyone else when “You may now kiss the bride” became a clinch that went on outrageously long. Ethan broke it up at last by shrilling “Mommy, kiss me too!” and the gathering blossomed into laughter
and applause and slices of lavender-scented cake.
The reception was brief, since the guests had been there so long already, and since I was in a pleasant daze anyway it seemed only moments before it was time for the bridegroom to escort his bride away.
“Mike,” I said quietly, drawing him aside, “what about the honeymoon? Where are you planning to—”
“Rosario,” he said, looking a bit stunned. “Your mother’s friend Owen rented us a bridal suite for a week, all meals, everything. Tony Orozco picked up our luggage from the Owl’s Roost, and now Owen’s got a seaplane waiting for us.”
Rosario is a fabulous, deluxe resort across the San Juan Channel on Orcas Island, and a honeymooners’ dream. I was a little stunned myself.
“Mike, that’s wonderful! And that’s so generous of him.”
“He said it was the least he could do, to thank me for helping you.” Mike bent to kiss me on the cheek. “Thank you for helping Lily, Carnegie. I can never—”
“Never mind,” I said, giving him a little push. “Go fetch your wife.”
But Lily, in the midst of the lavender garden with her guests all around her, wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.
“Gather round, I’m going to throw my bouquet!” she declared, and everyone hushed.
A bouquet toss wasn’t in our plans. But then, neither was the way she tossed it. Without even letting the women guests assemble, Lily gave a throaty laugh and a very deliberate fling of her hand. The cluster of lavender and roses trailed its long streamers against the blue sky and then came tumbling downward—directly into the upraised and waiting hands of Aaron Gold.
There must have been some reaction from the other guests, laughter or puzzled questions or comments called out from the crowd. But I didn’t hear them, because Aaron bore the bouquet straight to me and I could only hear my heart.
“I think this means you’re next,” he said, handing me the flowers with laughter in his eyes. “Marry me, Stretch?”
“Yes,” I said. I looked into Aaron’s eyes and I said, “Yes.”
You May Now Kill the Bride Page 23