by Linda Grimes
“Could this mean the Conrads are involved in their daughter’s murder?” I said. Horrible as that sounded, it would at least clear my client. And my conscience.
Billy, quick to guess my underlying reason for the question, gave me a reassuring look. “Wouldn’t surprise me in the least. They do strike me as the sort to eat their young.”
Happy as I was that Jackson might not be culpable, it made me more concerned about Lily-Ann. Was an innocent woman in jail? Maybe she wasn’t trying to frame Jackson—maybe she thought it must be him because she couldn’t imagine her parents doing such a thing.
I chewed my lip, but only because I didn’t want to bite a fingernail in front of the guys. “I suppose I ought to talk to Thomas about it. He’s consulting with Nigel Overholt on Lily-Ann’s case. I hate to think of her sitting in jail if she didn’t do it.”
“You really want to drag Thomas into this a week before his wedding? Even if he could help—which is doubtful—can you imagine what your mother would do if he’s distracted?” Mark said.
“But,” I started, and then stopped, because he was right. Mom would freak if anything threatened The Event. And it wouldn’t be fair to Thomas, who was having a tough enough time coping with the wedding as it was, or to Laura either. She deserved her big day to be as free of outside problems as possible.
“Okay, I won’t drag Thomas into this”—yet—“but I have to do something.”
“Look, Ciel, I’m on a tight schedule this week, a job that can’t wait.” So, what else is new? I thought, but resisted rolling my eyes. “After the wedding—which I’m hoping like hell I can make, because disappointing your brother is not high on my list of favorite things to do—I’ll look into the Conrads.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you disappoint Tom,” Billy said.
Uh-huh. I knew it. But that wasn’t my concern now.
“Look, I talked to Nigel yesterday—he thinks Lily-Ann is innocent, and Thomas trusts his opinion. I can’t just let her rot in a jail cell all week.”
Mark’s eyes bored into me. “What did you tell Overholt?”
I huffed an exasperated sigh. “Relax. Nothing about adaptors. Thomas told him I was counseling Jackson through his snake phobia, and Nigel wanted to pump me for any info I might have learned about him and the Conrads. Oh, yeah, and he told me Lily-Ann and Jackson were having an affair.”
“Well, there you are,” Billy said. “The other woman. Maybe the police have the right person after all.”
I shook my head. “Before this thing with the Conrads, I was leaning”—hoping—“that way, too. But now … listen, maybe I should run this by Thomas.”
Mark shrugged, looking deceptively sanguine about the whole thing. “Go ahead. I’m sure Ro will understand if he gets distracted by the case. Which, being Thomas, he would.”
I gave him a dirty look. “I can’t just do nothing.”
“For now, what if we post Lily-Ann’s bond?” Billy suggested. “Then at least she won’t be sitting in a cell until her trial.”
“The judge set an enormous bail,” I said. “Way too much for me, and probably too much even for you. But thanks for the offer.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Mark said. “If you’ll promise to stay out of it and focus solely on your brother’s wedding for the next week. Laura could use your help. All the special-ops training in the world couldn’t prepare her for Ro and Mo in a frenzy.”
“Really? You can afford it?” I said.
“Let’s just say I have access to special funds to use as I see fit,” he said.
I jumped into his arms on a springboard of relief, hugging him tightly, without a second thought.
Until I heard Billy’s voice behind me: “Gesundheit.”
Chapter 12
It had to be the longest week of my life.
Sure, I wasn’t—for the time being—worried about Lily-Ann. Mark had been as good as his word, and she’d been released the morning after the shower. She had to wear a tracking anklet—he’d made sure of that—and her passport had been confiscated, but it was way better than sitting in a cell. Especially since Nigel was letting her stay at his place in the Hollywood Hills, which from all accounts (i.e., star tours of celebrity homes) was one damn fine place. That made me think more than ever that Nigel truly thought she was innocent. Surely he wouldn’t let her stay with him if he was at all doubtful.
Then again, this was the guy who’d tried to hang glide off the Hollywood sign. He obviously wasn’t risk-averse. Also, I suspected he hated to lose as much as Thomas did. If he thought letting her stay with him showed his confidence in her innocence, and would help her case, he might do it for that reason alone.
And then there was Jackson Gunn. What had he wanted me to find out about the Conrads? Was it really if they were going to post bail for Lily-Ann, or had it been something more, something to do with those stock certificates, perhaps? What would he do if he found out the Conrads had them? If he had murdered his wife, no telling what he might be capable of where his in-laws were concerned.
Ultimately, I’d decided not to tell him about the stock. I’d assured him Lily-Ann’s bail would be posted, implying that I’d heard the Conrads talking about it. So, yeah, I’d officially lied to my client, breaching our trust. But I’d been crossing my fingers at the time, so maybe God would understand.
The whole situation was twisting in my brain like a nest of adders. (And thank you for inspiring that lovely analogy, Mr. Jackson “Quakes-at-Snakes” Gunn.) But I couldn’t do anything about it now, so I pushed it to the back of my mind and let my subconscious chew on it, because I was sick of it.
Mark had been gone the whole week on some pressing assignment involving matters of national security (really, did he have any other kind?), and Billy was with him, subbing for Laura. Which was nice of him, and I understood completely, but I did miss him. Some parts of him even more than others.
The real problem was that Mom had put her own work on hold until after the wedding. She and Auntie Mo had a boutique modeling agency that specialized in models who looked almost exactly like the industry giants from bygone eras. More accurately, they were the agency—they adapted their auras to be whomever the client wanted. I sometimes helped them out in an emergency, either theirs or mine—they paid well, and when you’re perpetually low on cash, every little bit helps.
So, not only was Billy not around to distract me from the horror that was wedding prep, but Mom was in the perfect position to run my ass raggedy doing this, that, and the other thing “for Laura.” She knew I couldn’t, in my time-honored MOH position, refuse to do anything she asked as long as she tacked that onto the end of the request. I did get a little suspicious when she told me to give my own condo a good cleaning “for Laura,” but at least it kept me busy. By the end of the week, I was kicking myself for not having the foresight to schedule another job for myself. Too bad I hadn’t known the Hollywood job would be cut short.
Thank God Laura had insisted she didn’t want a big bachelorette party—she’d said the wedding following the shower so closely was more than enough excitement for her. But since Brian and James were taking Thomas out after the rehearsal dinner for one last evening as a single guy (with the understanding that Mom would kill them all if Thomas was hungover at the wedding), I felt like I should do something with Laura. We’d finally decided to just hang out together, nothing fancy. Laura had been planning to stay overnight at a hotel, so Thomas wouldn’t see her on the big day before she walked down the aisle. I suggested she might as well stay at my place instead. Since it was clean and all.
Sinead and Siobhan had moved their things over to the hotel where all our parents were staying, so Laura and I had the place to ourselves. The rehearsal had been chaotic, but it was a happy chaos, full of joking and laughter, and followed by good Italian food, which Laura only nibbled, saying to Thomas, “Hey, I can’t adapt away a belly pooch tomorrow.”
Billy and Mark had missed it, not being able to take t
hat much time away from the assignment, but no one doubted their skill at improvising. They could be told what to do and where to stand the next day, right before the ceremony.
Back at my place, Laura and I changed into pajamas, made mimosas, and settled in front of The Princess Bride (hey, I can get with a theme if I have to), reciting the lines along with the characters as we giggled our way through a bottle of Moët drowned in orange juice.
After the first glass, we’d decided the vitamin C in the OJ should counteract any possible negative effects from overindulgence in champagne.
“And if it doesn’t, then fuck it,” Laura said, her Southern accent somehow making it sound genteel.
I clinked my glass with hers. “And the horse it rode in on! Hey, did Thomas ever tell you I have a pony? Eeyore. He’s the best pony ever.”
Laura scrunched up her eyebrows (they were dark auburn, like her hair, and beautifully shaped). “He mentioned something about an Eeyore, but I was under the impression it was a donkey.”
I sighed, and sucked down more vitamin C. “He probably told you Eeyore was an ‘ass.’ He happens to be the world’s cutest Shetland pony. Also kind of an ass … hole”—she almost spewed her mimosa at that—“but he’s still the love of my life.”
“I thought Billy held that position. Unless you’ve decided … never mind. Here’s to Eeyore!”
“No, wait—what were you going to say?”
“I shouldn’t … look, you and Billy are great together.”
“But?” I said. Because there was no denying the invisible “but” at the end of her statement.
“But nothing, sugar. If Mark’s nose is a little bent out of shape by your relationship with Billy, well, it’s his own fault, isn’t it?”
“Mark is bent out of shape?” Damn. I did not like the way that made my chest clutch.
“Never mind. I’m sure it’s only a little macho pique.” She stopped for a second and studied me. “Oh, hell, Ciel. I probably shouldn’t say this, but we are going to be sisters. Sisters have to look out for each other, right?”
“Yes. We do. Say it, Laura.”
Still she hesitated.
“Lau-ra…”
“All right. Sugar, are you sure Billy is the one? That you’re not … well, settling for him because you think Mark might never come around?”
“Of course not! I love Billy. I think. No, I mean, I know I love him—I always have. He’s my honorary cousin, for God’s sake. But…”
She looked at me intently, the “But what?” there in her eyes.
“But … this romance part is new. Could I just be infatuated? Is it possible to love someone platonically and be infatuated with them at the same time?”
“Isn’t that what romantic love is? Loving someone like a best friend and wanting to jump their bones every time you see them?”
“Is that how you love my brother?” I asked. Ew. My brother.
“Sure it is. Only the friendship part came after the initial burst of lust.”
“Crap. I got the order wrong!” I stood up. Not because I had anyplace to go, but because I couldn’t sit.
How did I feel about Billy? We’d only been together romantically for a short time. It sure felt real, but would it last? Or would the fire fade, leaving me—and maybe him, too—stuck, pretending to feel something that wasn’t there because we couldn’t bear to hurt each other’s feelings?
I wandered to the kitchen on autopilot, and found myself in front of the freezer.
Laura came up behind me. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything—it was stupid of me to bring it up.”
“No, it’s okay. Really. But … out of curiosity … why did you ask that?”
Uncertainty clouded her face. “Mark’s become a good friend of mine. We talk sometimes. There are these long, boring stretches on assignments, and … well, I’m not so sure Mark wouldn’t come around. Eventually. Because he does love you.”
My heart clutched again. I couldn’t tell if it was because what I heard made me happy, or supremely uncomfortable. Kind of made me long for the days in the not so distant past when my love life was purely imaginary.
Laura reached around me into the freezer for a pint of ice cream. I automatically got two spoons from the drawer and followed her to the table. The Princess Bride droned in the background.
After we each had a couple of fortifying bites of B & J’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie, Laura continued.
“The thing is, sugar, I don’t think Mark’s exactly come to terms with his feelings yet. And who knows if he ever will? It’s hard for him to let go of this image of himself as some sort of … not superhero, exactly, but close. He has a stupidly strong sense of duty. The job is so important to him, and the idiot seems to think it’s not compatible with a personal life.”
I smiled ruefully. I could hardly complain about the hero complex—it was one of the things that had always attracted me to him. “Maybe he’s right,” I said. “Maybe it doesn’t pay to get close to a guy like him.”
She shook her head lightly, agreeing, if reluctantly. “Can’t deny that. Hell, maybe I’m being too romantic, here on the eve of my wedding. I want everyone I care about to have the same kind of love I do. And I can’t help feeling it would be a shame if you and Mark were meant for each other, and then it was too late because…” She shrugged.
“Because I was with Billy,” I said. “But aren’t you the one who told me what I had going with Billy was special and that I shouldn’t—and I’m quoting you here—‘fuck it up’?”
“I did. God, I feel like such a rat. I adore Billy. He’s a fantastic guy, and it’s obvious he’s crazy about you. If that’s mutual, then I’m thrilled for you both. But if you … well, I think every man deserves a woman who feels about him the way I feel about Tom.”
I couldn’t think of a good response, so I dug into the ice cream. From across the room, the vocally challenged clergyman from the movie proclaimed, “And wuv, twue wuv, will fowwow you fowevah…”
I had never been able to watch that scene without cracking up. Until now.
* * *
Mom’s hired decorators, under her and Auntie Mo’s madly annoying supervision, had turned The Barns from a rustically warm and inviting theater into a rustically warm and inviting wedding chapel, festooned with sheaves of wheat and yards of colorful grosgrain ribbon. They’d lined both sides of the aisle with tall, thin terracotta pots of fall flowers—chrysanthemums, pansies, and asters being the only ones I could put names to, if pressed. It was simple. It was colorful. It was gorgeous.
As I walked down the aisle I tried to focus on my handsome brother and how happy he looked, instead of staring at Mark in a tuxedo, but it wasn’t easy. What was it about a spy in a tux?
Molly, in a wispy tea-length dress the exact blue of the asters, had led the way down the aisle, rocking her debut wedding with the classic Doyle swagger. She’d given me a thumbs-up and a broad smile right before she took off (she obviously liked weddings more than I did). Sinead (same style dress, only matching the bronze mums) and Siobhan (the red mums) had followed her, one at a time. Beautiful, the both of them. I brought up the rear, unfortunately having been chosen to coordinate with the bright yellow pansies. I felt like a walking banana as I made my way down the aisle.
To the right of the temporary altar were Thomas, Mark, Brian, James … and still no Billy, not even sliding in at the last possible second, like I’d halfway expected.
Damn. Where the hell was he? He’d finally been roped in by Mom to balance out the wedding party, so he was supposed to be there. There’d been a minor kerfuffle downstairs in the dressing room when Mom and Auntie Mo couldn’t track him down, but everyone was so used to Billy breezing in at the last minute that no one had gotten too upset about it.
But if Billy wasn’t here, then …
I looked sharply at Mark. If it was, in fact, Mark.
Passing the front row, where my parents sat with Auntie Mo and Uncle Liam, I shot Mom
a panicked look. She shrugged and shook her head, looking exasperated but not surprised. As long as Thomas was married by the end of the ceremony, she’d be fine.
Auntie Mo flashed me a peek at her smart phone, where I could see a picture of Billy’s smiling face. He must have contacted them with an excuse.
I couldn’t say I wasn’t halfway expecting this. The question was, if the job Mark and Billy had been working were at a critical point, would Mark have left it to be in a wedding?
Or would he be more inclined to have another good friend fill in for him as best man? Someone (Billy) who wouldn’t himself be missed, because he was known for being less than reliably present at family functions? Someone (Billy) who, while he would catch some shit from the parental units for missing the wedding, was more than used to letting parental shit roll off, and quite frankly, due to his well-known charm, wouldn’t be in the doghouse for very long anyway?
Or would Mark instead trust Billy to handle the critical job so he could be there for arguably the most important day in his best friend’s life? Would Mark ever put anything over his job? Laura was right—he did have a stupidly strong sense of duty.
The answer probably depended entirely on how critical the job was.
I found my spot without tripping, and turned around in time to see everyone in attendance stand to watch the bride. When Laura stepped into view, all thoughts of Mark and Billy (and who was who) fled. Her utter and absolute radiance as she caught sight of Thomas didn’t leave room for any other thought. She made the vintage gown she was wearing even more beautiful.
I’d helped Laura change into her wedding finery—another of my MOH duties—so the dress itself wasn’t a big surprise to me. It had lacy cap sleeves and a V-neck, and was belted at the waist by braided satin ribbons the same colors as the flowers in the simple bound bouquet she was carrying. Layer upon layer of gossamer silk swayed close to her curves as she walked.
A circlet made of the same type of flowers as her bouquet sat atop a cap of soft, auburn curls. The elegant simplicity of the whole ensemble was perfect for both her and the setting. In the soft lighting, she looked as if she could have walked out of a tinted daguerreotype.