The Bride Wore Crimson

by Adrianne Lee

Yep, Meg and her senses were as far apart as ever. If anyone else said this to me, I might think they were having a nervous breakdown. But this was Meg. She wore her heart on her sleeve. Eight weeks earlier, someone had cut it off and stomped on it, but before she’d come to terms with that pain, another someone had picked her heart up and held it to his own heart, cherishing it. Naturally she wanted to grasp hold of the one professing undying love. Who wouldn’t? But was that the real thing or gratitude?

  I said, “That doesn’t sound like you’re ready for this. Is it that you aren’t sure that you can trust Troy yet?”

  Her eyes widened. I’d touched a nerve. “How did you know that?”

  “Uh, I’m your best friend. And you told me just a couple of days ago.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

  The waitress brought our food. I was surprised at how hungry I was. Meg seemed to have found her appetite, too, and I realized she probably felt less alone and lost now that she knew someone else understood the doubts plaguing her.

  “So, do you want to marry Troy?” I kept my voice down.

  Meg chewed her pancakes, her brow knit as if she were really thinking about it. “I’ve wanted to marry him for as long as I can remember, until I didn’t. Until he took off and joined the navy and told me in a text.”

  “But…” Of course there was a but.

  “I do still love him, Daryl Anne. I didn’t know how much until I saw him again. I guess I just never got over him.”

  This didn’t surprise me at all. She’d been in love with Troy since they were both five. I reached over and touched her hand. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I almost married Peter. I would’ve been his wife if we hadn’t decided to have the ceremony in this town.” She shook her head, her red curls bouncing. “I dodged a bullet, didn’t I?”

  Hoping she wouldn’t be offended, I decided to be honest. I nodded. “Definitely.”

  She ate more pancake. I finished a slice of toast, then asked, “Do you still have feelings for Peter?”

  She set down her fork and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I admit I was pretty confused for a while there. I did love him, but a couple of weeks ago, I realized that I was getting over him way too quickly if he were the love of my life. I must not have ever been in love with him. Infatuated, probably. And let’s face it, the guy I thought he was only existed in my mind. The real Peter is a self-centered egomaniac.”

  “And Ash…?”

  “Knows what she’s getting. He won’t be faithful. He’s incapable of it. But I don’t think she cares. Peter is a stepping stone. He’ll be hard pressed to get rid of her until she decides to move on. She’s ambitious. More than I realized. When she wants something, she goes after it like a rabid dog. I used to admire that trait in her, but now, well, I almost feel sorry for Peter. Almost.”

  I grinned. Karma is a bitch, and Peter Wolfe married her. “So, you and Troy… have you set a date or are you taking it slow and easy?”

  “He’s in a rush.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m not sure I can face planning another wedding this soon.” She stirred cream into her coffee. “I wish we could elope.”

  I remembered Jeanette Corn saying, “I expect to be invited to this wedding.” “Good luck with that. The whole of Weddingville has anticipated you marrying Troy since you were in your teens. There would be an uprising if you ran off and tied the knot in secret.”

  Meg groaned. “I know. Please don’t make me go through this without you. Please say you’ll be maid of honor?”

  “Always,” I answered from my heart, ignoring the little nagging voice inside that was screaming, No, never, ever, no, no, no. The truth was, if she wanted me, I would stand up for Meg if she married a dozen times. I just would. I drank the last of my coffee and tossed two fives onto the table to cover my share of the meal and tip. “I need to get to the shop.”

  “Speaking of the bridal shop, isn’t that woman at the counter the temp your mom hired?”

  I peered out from the booth. Jenny stood next to the cash register paying for something she’d purchased that fit into a pastry box. “Oh, dear. Gram must’ve sent her for some cinnamon rolls.” Big Finn’s pastries were ooey-gooey delicious and off-limits with Billie’s diabetes, but she couldn’t resist indulging every couple of weeks.

  I scooted out of the booth, gave Meg a hug, told her we’d talk more later, then hurried toward Jenny, catching her on the sidewalk. “Hey.”

  “Oh, hi, Daryl Anne. I didn’t realize you were in the café.”

  “Meg and I were in the end booth.” I nodded toward the box she carried. “Whatcha got there?”

  “Oh, your grandmother sent me for these.”

  “Coffee and food runs are usually Hannah’s concern.”

  “I guess Hannah had a personal errand. I saw her going into the jewelry shop on my way here.”

  I nodded. “I take it Billie sent you for cinnamon rolls?”

  “Uh, no. Only blueberry-banana muffins today. She said Mr. Reilly told her last night that he was trying some new pastry recipes.”

  I hadn’t heard about this, but all Billie needed was more irresistible, forbidden treats. That darned sweet tooth would be the death of her, but not if I could help it. “I’m guessing my grandmother failed to inform you that she’s supposed to limit her sweets and fats.”

  “First I’ve heard of it,” Jenny said, concern creasing her forehead.

  “Yeah, well, she’s not that great about watching her diet.”

  “Oh. I see. But don’t worry. These muffins are sugar-free.”

  Well now, Big Finn was just full of surprises. And so was Billie. I grinned to myself, realizing as we walked that activity on the street was picking up.

  The whoop-whoop of a police siren sounded behind us. I jumped, spinning around. Troy looked fierce behind the wheel of his official cruiser as he edged toward the curb, lights flashing. I grabbed Jenny and pulled her back.

  “What’s going on?” she said, eyes wide.

  “I don’t know.” The bad feeling I’d had right after the wedding proposal returned, unsettling my breakfast and flushing a chill through me. “I think the Weddingville police have had more action the past couple of days than they’ve had since… since…”

  The murder.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I’m no stranger to crazy, having lived and worked in Hollywood for over five years. I knew it would be insane. I thought I was prepared. Armed with experience. But my memories of past wedding expos failed me when it came to the flat-out madness of women shopping through racks of designer wedding gowns at slashed prices. Or to the noise level ramped to earsplitting volumes. By six p.m., the shop looked like it had been tossed by burglars.

  The personnel hadn’t fared much better. Billie’s usually neat chignon tilted to one side with bobby pins popping up like timers on a done turkey. Mom kept yawning, and Jenny’s slicked-back ponytail looked more like a pom-pom. Only Hannah seemed unaffected. Then again, she didn’t deal with the public.

  “Is it going to be like this every day?” Jenny asked as she gathered a tiara and veil from the red love seat to replace on a window mannequin.

  “I hope not,” I said, stretching my neck and shoulders. My body ached in places I didn’t know I had. And I consider myself to be in pretty good shape. “Is this really worth it?”

  Mom’s brows lifted as if she thought I’d mislaid my brain. “We sent a lot of dresses out the door today. And that is, after all, the goal.”

  Feeling the need to defend my question, I said, “I was talking about my last customer. Major bridezilla, who left without finding a dress. She promised to return.” I groaned quietly but received zero sympathy. Probably what I deserved. Bridezillas were often the norm in this business.

  “I’m anxious to get to the computer and add up the receipts,” Billie said. She pulled a tablet from the deep pocket of her slacks. “I also have a few alterations to schedule.”

>   She smiled as she said this, and I felt a bit of the weariness lift from me. As frenetic as the biannual expos could be, they accounted for the largest part of our yearly income. The more wedding gowns, accessories, and alterations we sold, the better our bottom line. If this kept up, it would be our best year ever.

  The only caveat was that Gram would no longer be doing the bulk of the alterations. Hannah and I would. Breaking the same wrist twice in a six-week time span had diminished her skill for delicate stitching, and the heart attack that incited the second break also robbed her of her patience for the handwork.

  I was so used to Billie always bouncing back quickly from illnesses that when she didn’t this time, it really brought me up short. Age was catching up to her. I had to look at how her declining health would affect the future of the bridal shop and how that would affect my mother. Sometimes it takes a crisis to clear away the clouds and fog, to reveal what our priorities are, where our hearts really long to be. I had only one choice. And I was okay with it. I gave up my dream job in Hollywood and returned home, content that the move would likely be permanent.

  It helped that Meg had also moved back. And Seth living here might’ve been a factor, too.

  “It just goes to show that crime does pay,” Gram said, catching us all by surprise.

  “What?” I figured she meant the recent robberies. Yep, I said robberies. Plural. Another one had occurred this morning as Meg and I were having breakfast. That’s where Troy was headed when Jenny and I returned to the bridal shop with the sugar-free muffins. But Gram was talking about a different crime.

  She waved her hand as if the words were written on the air. “The murder, the famous actor angle, all those reporters, they put Weddingville on the map even more than it already was.”

  She had a point.

  “What murder?” Jenny cast a questioning glance from one to the other of us, a mask of bewilderment on her pretty face.

  She has no idea what Gram is referring to, I thought, puzzling the oddity of that.

  “How could she not have heard about the murder?” Hannah whispered to me.

  “I don’t know.” I gave Hannah a don’t-follow-me glance, then left Mom and Gram to explain to Jenny. I headed to the office for some much-needed coffee. Even if Jenny had had no access to TV or radio, even if she’d been living out of the country, she’d surely have heard by now what went on in Weddingville eight weeks ago. One of the key players in the tragedy was a world-renowned movie star, which caused the sensational story to be plastered throughout the world on every known media outlet.

  The police investigation revealed a secret betrayal that Meg couldn’t forgive and that made Peter the butt of late-night jokes on every network. It even broke Twitter twice. Yet Jenny hadn’t heard about it?

  As I approached the office, I caught movement in the lunchroom area and smelled the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Seth. Bless his heart. Always there with a solution to ease whatever he could. On the other hand, his day hadn’t been much easier than mine. He probably needed a caffeine jolt as badly as I did. Why did frazzled translate to sexy on him? Why did his rumpled hair and a touch of sleepiness around his eyes send tingles of lust through me? Why did his wrinkled shirt fill me with an urge to run my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms? My mouth watered, and I forced myself to stop advancing on him, afraid I’d act on my impulses, more fearful still that someone else would decide to come seeking coffee and find us… interrupt us. But damn, even the camera attached to his belt gave me goose bumps.

  Seth didn’t look up as I approached. His head was bent over his phone.

  “Something important?” I asked.

  “Yeah, kind of.” He sighed, then glanced at me, and his lips lifted at the edges in a soft, inviting smile, but he didn’t elaborate. I didn’t push.

  He went back to staring at his phone. His photography studio was in his home, three blocks off Front Street and less accessible to foot traffic. He was renting the far end of our salon for the duration of the expo. The thought of working with him every day had seemed like a sweet fantasy, but the reality was that we hadn’t had a moment alone until now. And he wasn’t paying any attention to me. I tried another tact. “Was it as hectic for you today as it was for us?”

  “It was actually.” Keeping his phone in his palm, he filled a mug with his free hand and offered it to me, finally meeting my eyes. He seemed like he wanted to say something more but wasn’t sure how to say it.

  “A penny for your thoughts, Quinlan.” I suppressed a grin.

  He chuckled. “I guess you’re going to find out sooner or later. I know you heard it was the Ring Bearer that was robbed this morning.”

  I nodded. “I suspect every Weddingville citizen has heard about it by now. It’s making a lot of folks nervous. Edgy.”

  Seth nodded, but something in his eyes made my heart clutch. I clasped my mug as dread splashed through me. Had someone been harmed during the holdup? Shot or…? An unbidden vision of the stolen cake server set flashed into my mind. “What happened? Did the robber have a gun or knife or… something?” Could you even stab someone with the serrated edge of a cake knife?

  “No, no one was hurt,” Seth said.

  “Well, thank God for that,” Billie said, coming toward us. “I’m glad Susan had Whitey install security cameras here. Anyone rips us off, we’ll catch them on tape.”

  “Yes, we will.” I didn’t bother telling her it was digital feed these days, not tape, that the cameras recorded, but I was also glad for the security measures. Then again, the jewelry shop had security before anyone else in town, and it hadn’t deterred the thief. I kept that thought to myself. No reason to cause Gram worry.

  “It’s a shame the rest of this town hasn’t been more eager to hire Mr. Grobowski,” Seth said.

  “It is.” Gram poked hairpins into her chignon in an effort to secure it. The exercise proved futile. “Since the murder, Weddingville has become a destination site for more than the wedding services we offer. People are coming to sightsee. No telling what kind of element we’re attracting. Next thing you know, we’ll have gangs and people getting shot down in the street.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Let’s not get carried away, Gram.” Where was her usual don’t-borrow-trouble attitude?

  “You have an in with Troy and the sheriff, Seth.” Gram abandoned the effort of fixing her hair without a mirror and reached for her coffee. “Did they tell you what the crook stole from the jewelry shop?”

  “No,” he said, too quickly. Billie accepted his answer, but I was starting to know him a lot better, and I could tell he was holding back. He knew. He’d probably been called in to film the aftermath shortly after the robbery happened, which would explain his late arrival today.

  “I need to clean up my area and see what materials I’ll have to replace for tomorrow,” Seth said, leaving as Mom, Jenny, and Hannah arrived for a last cup of coffee.

  I followed Seth to the salon. “What’s going on, Quinlan? You’re too distracted.”

  “Only by you, Blessing.” He reached for me, but I stiff-armed him, holding him at bay.

  “Sweet talk won’t make me forget”—permanently—“what I want to know. Out with it. What was taken from the Ring Bearer?”

  Seth looked suddenly more sad than anything else. My stomach dipped. I’d rather have him closed-mouthed than see that regret in his sexy eyes. “What is it?”

  “Meg’s ring was taken.”

  I heard a gasp and thought it was my own, but Seth was looking past me. I spun around, half expecting my sneaky cousin to be standing there. But who I saw was worse. Meg.

  “Granny O’Malley’s ruby ring was stolen?” she sputtered, her eyes the size of giant green marbles. The color drained from her face, her freckles standing out like paint splotches across her pert nose. She opened her mouth to speak. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally she managed, “Why didn’t Troy tell me?”

  That’s what I was wondering. I shot a me
aningful glance at Seth. “Yeah, why didn’t he?”

  Seth looked as disgruntled as a man stuck carrying someone else’s burden. “It’s a detail they, the police, are holding back. Only the thief will know what was taken.”

  Meg’s frown deepened, but the confusion faded from her eyes, replaced by a growing horror. I held my breath for an impending emotional storm. She didn’t disappoint. “It’s a sign. It’s that ring. It’s cursed, you know. Granny O’Malley told me so when I was fifteen.”

  “She did?” How come I’d never heard about this? “What curse? You never told me about a curse.”

  “This wedding is doomed, too, isn’t it, Daryl Anne?” Meg sobbed. “And I haven’t even looked for a gown yet.”

  Leave it to my best friend to reduce the disaster of a family heirloom disappearing to a sign from God that she’d never find a happy union. I shook my head. The theft was a sign of something all right. Criminal activity. “There are no such things as old Irish curses.”

  There aren’t, are there?

  “But in case there are,” I added, totally covering my bases, “it’s probably a good thing that you won’t actually be wearing that ring when you wed Troy.”

  Meg’s drowning green eyes stilled on me. “Are you crazy? I can’t marry Troy without that ring. It’s his family tradition.”

  Oh. Wow. She’d slipped off the edge of the pier and was sinking into the salty waters of illogic. It couldn’t be called a tradition, could it, if Troy’s granddad gave it to his bride, and his grandson, not his son, passed it on to his bride? It had skipped a generation. I struggled for something to say that would bring her back to the surface of sanity. It came to me in a flash. If the ring was such a tradition, then why had Troy offered her a ring of her choice if she didn’t want to wear the ruby one?

  I stopped short of asking this as something else snagged my curiosity. “Exactly what kind of curse did Granny O’Malley tell you was on the ring?”

  Seth produced a box of tissues, and Meg snatched a few, blowing her nose and dabbing at her tears.

  “Do you remember me telling you that she was a Traveler? Her whole family was.” Meg glanced from me to Seth, explaining, “Irish gypsies. They traveled the countryside in caravans, camping and living together.”