by Leslie Leigh
I was more than ready when Gary announced our first break. The Hartford House had posted portable toilets on the grounds, and had attempted to give them an elegant veneer by housing them in tented facades, but they couldn’t change the fact that they were portable toilets. I spied Fiona rushing by and caught her arm.
“Fiona, is there any way I could use one of the bathrooms in the main house?” I asked. Her face was flushed and perspiring. A strand of hair dangled across her brow. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, it’s a madhouse right now. Sure, go ahead. You’ll see the public rest room right inside the main entrance. Gotta go!”
I could appreciate that sentiment, but I felt obliged to point out to her a missing button on her blouse.
“Great,” she frowned, looking down. “I knew it felt loose. I wish I’d looked after it then.” She pulled and smoothed at the front of her blouse till the gap was barely noticeable. “Thanks, Melody.”
I walked quickly toward the entrance, trying not to draw any attention. Who knows how many other rest room elitists might be lurking about? I pushed on one of the front doors and was greeted by a scream.
The bell over the door rang when I entered. There was no one in the lobby or behind the office counter. Movement at the top of the staircase diverted my attention. It was Mrs. Hartford, and she looked as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Call 9-1-1,” she gulped. “There’s been an accident!”
I’d left my cell phone in my car. I started toward the office door when I realized the dispatcher might have a question or two about the circumstances of the accident. I ran up the stairs.
“Where?” I asked.
She pointed toward an open door down the hall.
“I don’t have my phone,” I explained, walking toward the door. “You call 9-1-1. I’ll be right with you.” I stepped into the guest room, but nothing seemed to be amiss. I walked to an open bathroom door and stopped. There, lying in the bathtub, fully clothed, was the groom, Charlie Hayes. His eyes stared up lifelessly at me.
Instinctively, I stepped toward him, but almost slipped on a puddle of water below the sink. I managed to regain my balance without touching anything. Did that pool of water explain why Charlie was lying dead in the bathtub? Had he slipped and fallen into the tub? I took one long step toward the back of the tub. He must have bumped his head on the tile when he fell, but there was no blood. I reached out and felt his wrist. There was no pulse.
I knew that I should minimize my presence in the bathroom, but I allowed myself the opportunity to look Charlie over very carefully, and then I retreated.
Mrs. Hartford was wringing her hands. “The police will be here any moment. What should I do?”
“Well, if any of your guests want to return to their rooms, you might want to tell them they can’t until the police arrive. At least, any guests on the second floor.”
“No, I meant about the wedding,” she cried. “Oh, this is just horrible! Who will tell the bride…the guests?”
That was a moment-of-truth kind of question. I’m not sure that such things are addressed in most wedding etiquette guides. Do we wait around for the authorities to handle it, or are the ones who make the grisly discovery obliged to fetch the bride and escort her to the site? And if the latter, how would that impact the authorities’ investigation? I pictured a wailing, grief-stricken bride throwing herself across the supine form in the bathtub.
Then I remembered that the bride was Tiffany, and the melodramatic scene I’d pictured evaporated. Sure, Tiffany would likely have some kind of emotional reaction at the sight of Charlie lying there – even I was shocked and I didn’t even know him. And there seemed something cruel and inhumane to be aware of Charlie’s condition – or lack thereof – and to keep it from his new wife. She might already be concerned about his absence, however long it had already been, and to prolong it and then have the sirens and flashing lights descend on the proceedings…that would be traumatic.
I looked at Mrs. Hartford and she looked at me. Who should go fetch the bride? My vote would’ve been for Mrs. Hartford to assume that responsibility; after all, she was overseeing the reception, and the tragic event had occurred on her premises. I was only the accordion player.
Fortunately, before I could suggest flipping a coin, the sirens and flashing lights descended upon us.
“Mrs. Hartford, it’s your establishment and you found the body. The police will want to speak with you. I’ll go fetch Tiffany.” Mrs. Hartford nodded. I wasn’t sure if she understood, but I opened the door for the EMTs. Once they entered, I exited and nearly bumped into Deputy Jimmy.
“Melody!” he exclaimed, startled. “What’s going on here?”
I hooked my arm in his and started walking in the direction of the head table. The band was playing a waltz. They sounded pretty good without me, I thought.
“Jimmy, Tiffany Ashcroft…I mean, Tiffany Hayes’ husband has had an accident, and it’s not looking good for him. I think it would be a good idea if you quietly and discreetly asked Tiffany to accompany you to the Hartford House office. Her mother is with her and it would probably be helpful if she came along.”
Jimmy barely had time to nod before we spotted Tiffany dancing with Raymond Heller. They both seemed to be enjoying each other’s company, as if taking advantage of Charlie’s absence. I stopped and Jimmy looked at me, possibly wondering if he should wait till the dance was over. I cocked my head in their direction to prompt him and he walked over to the couple, tapping Raymond on the shoulder. Raymond smiled and disengaged from Tiffany, apparently thinking that Jimmy wanted to cut in. Well, that would be a novel way to break the news.
Jimmy whispered in her ear and the smile left Tiffany’s face. I walked behind the guests at Tiffany’s table until I reached her mother. “There’s been an accident, Mrs. Ashcroft. Would you mind joining Tiffany and Deputy Lee?” Along with the rest of the crowd, I watched as the three of them walked toward the Hartford House.
The music stopped and I approached the bandstand. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t speaking into a live mike, so I waved at Gary to join me a few feet from the gazebo.
“Melody, what’s up?” Gary asked.
“Sorry about that, but I think this might be a short set.” I explained what I’d seen.
Gary nodded, contemplating what to do. “What do you think? Is it inappropriate to continue, or do you think it would be helpful?”
“Based on what I know right now, which isn’t much, I’d say keep playing, but keep it low-key. With both the bride and groom gone, plus the emergency vehicles, some music might keep things together. I’m going to see if I can find out anything.”
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Is that the question?”
“I was wondering why you didn’t bring your new accordion,” Gary said. “I thought you’d be anxious to road-test it.”
I almost asked him ‘what accordion?’ My mind was very far away from music at the moment.
“Still trying to master the button positions. Not quite there yet, but I’m getting there.”
“Oh, okay,” Gary nodded, looked reassured. “I just thought…maybe you didn’t care for it.”
“Gary, don’t be a boob! Look, A…I love the sound of the chromatic, and B, it being a gift from you and your dad means just about more than anything to me. It’s second only to my Grandmother’s accordion, and that’s only because it’s all I have of her. So just bear with me; I’m a slow learner.”
Gary chuckled, and then seemed to realize that a sonic vacuum hung in the air which required him to fill it. “Okay. We’ll try to work around you. Do we sound crappy?”
“No, you sound good. You brought your bass, right? I’d just get the trio thing going and keep it mellow. Tommy can handle the melodies, I’m sure.”
“Good idea,” he said, and then returned to the stage. I walked back to the Hartford House. I hesitated before entering, not sure what I’d walk into, but forged ahead. The EMTs were tal
king on the office phone, updating their counterparts, while Tiffany and her mom were having a discussion with Mrs. Hartford, no doubt strategizing over the future of the reception. Tiffany glanced my way, and I saw that her eyes were free of tears.
Upstairs, Jimmy was leaning against the doorway of Charlie’s room. He allowed me to step in. I saw Bergman was taking photos from the bathroom entrance while his videographer fixed her camera on him.
“Bergman’s the wedding photographer and the crime scene photographer?” I asked.
The videographer tuned my way and smiled, cracking her gum. “Yeah, he’s double-dipping!”
“Well, it’s not really a crime scene, Melody,” Jimmy said, and motioned me over to the bathroom door. Bergman backed out so we could edge inside. Jimmy knelt beside the sink. “See here? Mr. Hayes must have splashed some water around in the sink, slipped on it, and fell back into the tub. If you look closely,” he said, hunching down further, “you can see where the water is streaked across the floor from the puddle. So it appears to be an accident.”
I looked up at the videographer, who was recording Jimmy’s hypothesis, and then looked back at Jimmy.
“I did that,” I said.
“Did what?”
“Slipped in the water. I made that streak.”
Jimmy’s eyes darted back and forth between the camera and me. “You did that?”
“I did that,” I nodded.
“Well, there may have been another little streak that dried up,” he said, smiling nervously at the camera.
I pointed at the dead man’s feet. “Check out his shoes, Jimmy. They’re bone dry. And they were dry when I first saw him; right after Mrs. Hartford found him.” Jimmy shook his head. “Look, I don’t know anything about forensics,” I continued, “but maybe you should remove his shoes and place them in evidence bags. Maybe there’s a way for the experts to tell if patterns in grass or carpet residue indicate he slipped. Just an idea.”
Jimmy was sweating. Maybe it was the close quarters or maybe it was the bright light from the video camera. “Can you please turn that off?” Jimmy snapped. Collecting himself, he rose and said, “I’ll go get my crime scene kit.” He turned to Bergman. “Make sure no one enters the bathroom, okay?”
The videographer snapped her gum and flashed a smile. “Major burn, dude.”
“He’s new,” I explained.
“Me, too! I’m Margo.” We shook hands as I introduced myself.
“That was pretty cool. I’m glad we caught that. Wow, we might have recorded a crime scene, Bergman! I can’t wait to look at what we’ve shot!”
“And you won’t be the only ones. If there are any signs of foul play, the images both of you shot will be helpful to the authorities. I wouldn’t be surprised if Deputy Jimmy impounds your equipment.”
Margo looked shocked. “Do you think he’ll really do that?”
“I know he will,” I replied, “because I’m going to strongly suggest that he do so. No offense.” I wanted to leave, but had second thoughts about leaving an eager, enterprising, young videographer on-site unaccompanied by the authorities. Not that she would think to take any creative license with the surroundings, but still….
You know, Margo,” I said, “I have a hunch that the family is going to have to make an announcement to the guests soon. Something like, ‘The party’s over,’ you know what I mean? It just might be a good idea to capture it on video.”
“Oh, yeah,” she concurred. “The emotion. All that stuff.”
“Exactly.” Together, we walked across the grass just as the band stopped in mid-song. The woman I’d seen earlier, shouting ‘Here they come!’ as the wedding party approached, turned out to be Melissa Mudd, Tiffany’s wedding planner. She now stepped to the microphone, seeing her professional duties to the bitter end.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve all gathered here today to celebrate a joyous occasion, but I’m just heartbroken to have to inform you that there has been a tragic accident tonight that necessitates ending the reception earlier than we’d planned. I know some of you have traveled far for this event, and we hope you can take comfort in having your loved ones near you as you prepare to depart and say goodbye.”
Tiffany and her mother stood hugging near the head table. Tiffany’s tears were flowing freely now.
“Wow,” Margo whispered, squinting through her viewfinder. “You were right! This is some emotional…stuff! I thought this would just be some boring wedding, but we’ve got it all, the entire marriage, right here. Who’d have thought?”
Indeed. Who’d have thought that the lucky bride would become a wife and widow within the course of mere hours? I patted Margo on the shoulder and said goodbye, moving toward the bandstand so we could pack up our equipment. I stood next to Gary, watching the crowd slowly disperse, giving hugs, shaking hands and offering vague encouragement while not quite understanding what had happened.
I was surprised to feel Gary’s fingers thread through mine as we stood there, silent witnesses to the unstoppable darkness overtaking the apple orchards of Hartford House.
Chapter 11
On Sunday afternoon, my brother Michael showed up at the house. I’d expected that he might call, but this was even better. For Mom’s sake, we maintained a façade that his visit was social, but as Mom prepared some sustenance, the two scheming siblings talked turkey at the patio table.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Michael smirked. “Can’t you go anywhere without bumping into dead bodies?”
“I assume you’re speaking of yesterday’s wedding?” I asked nonchalantly.
“I was directed to give your Deputy Lee an assist to make sure every T is dotted and each I is crossed. I’ve chatted with the deputy, read his incident report and made a pilgrimage to Hartford House. All the guests had already gotten out of Dodge, but I was provided a list of names and contact numbers for everyone at the reception. And I surveyed Mr. Hayes’ room.”
“Anything interesting?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager for details. I hoped that Michael wouldn’t have any reason to contact Gavin. No, he wouldn’t unless it was necessary for thoroughness’ sake to contact each guest, but I thought that unlikely. Still, I could imagine Gavin saying, ‘Oh, Michael, I’ve heard so much about you…back when your sister and I were married!’
“Well, we’ve sealed off the room, in case a more thorough once-over is called for after we get the autopsy results. Mrs. Hartford wasn’t too happy about that, but that’s the way the boarder bounces. I have to say that Mr. Hayes was the best-dressed stiff I’ve yet to encounter.”
“So you’re pretty sure it was an accident, then?”
“I won’t be sure of anything until I see the coroner’s report,” Michael said. “Why? Did you have reason to believe it was anything other than an accident?”
“No, not really. It’s just that you could easily make a case for it being either an accident or foul play, based on all the peripheral activities.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear any of this,” Michael sneered.
“Oh, I do!” Mom cooed, setting out a platter of summer sausage, cheeses and crackers. “You’re talking about the man who died at the wedding? How tragic! That poor, young bride will be scarred for life!”
I gave Mom’s arm a reassuring pat. “Not to worry, Mom. Tiffany strikes me as being fairly thick-skinned.”
“Would she be one of the ‘peripherals’ you mentioned?” Michael said, as he constructed a mini-Dagwood epicurean edifice.
“Tiffany made no secret of the fact that she was marrying Charlie Hayes for his money. She told me that they had a prenup in place, but maybe Tiffany wanted more than the contract allowed. In the event of Charlie’s death, she wouldn’t be limited by the prenup’s terms.”
“Good point,” Mom said, nodding her head, the ‘tragic’ aspects of events having now been superseded by speculation and intrigue.
“And,” I continued, “it appeared that Tiffany pretty much had a back-up plan
should she, as a widow, find herself in need of…male companionship.”
Michael played along. “And this Plan B’s name is…?”
“Raymond Heller. He had some association with Charlie Hayes, but I’m not sure what. An…acquaintance told me Raymond had facilitated an opportunity between he and Charlie. Raymond definitely has a close association with Tiffany.”
“Interesting,” Mom remarked.
“Gossip,” Michael scoffed.
“Then there was Charlie’s business partner and best man, who offered a toast to the couple that was so offensive that homicide would definitely be a justifiable response. Not to mention the fight they had on the dance floor when the best man busted some dirty dancing moves with the bride.”
“Really?” Mom said, pulling her chair up closer.
“And that was only what I was able to observe from the bandstand. Oh, and let’s not forget the bitter caretaker who nurses a strong grudge against the wealthy guests. And who knows what else was going on out there?”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Mom nodded, licking at her fingertips.
“On the other side of the coin,” I continued, “Charlie had been drinking quite a bit. And you know those old B&Bs are barely up to code, let alone being models of modern safety amenities.”
“Deputy Lee told me you had him bag the dead man’s shoes,” Michael chuckled. “Not that it was a bad idea, seriously. I’m always amazed by what the forensics folks can find. And he turned over the wedding photographer’s materials. That was a good idea, too; however, I’m not going to spend my time reviewing all that unedited footage unless there’s a good reason to do so.”
“I’ll volunteer!” I chirped. “I mean…I wouldn’t mind looking at the footage, you know, to see what I missed. Mom, you’d probably like to see the wedding pictures, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, I would!” she replied. “I’d love to see what everyone was wearing!”
Michael frowned. “Was this your intention when you had Jimmy confiscate the equipment, to amuse yourself with your amateur detective fantasies?”