The Bride Wore Crimson

by Adrianne Lee

  “Look at me! You’re going to pay for this,” Willa shouted, throwing a tantrum as if someone else, not her, had perpetrated this terrible mess. I wanted to smack her, but Lisa Marie beat me to it.

  “Oh, shut up,” she said, dumping a full pitcher of strawberries and juice on Willa’s head. The juice ran across the floor, joining the iced coffee already soaking into my clothing.

  “Auk!” Willa squealed. “I’m allergic to strawberries.”

  Lisa Marie chuckled. “You’re lucky it wasn’t gasoline.”

  “You all heard that.” Willa indicated each of us; then her index finger shifted like the pointer on a compass dial to Lisa Marie. Hatred blazed in her eyes. “She threatened to kill me.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The door to the coffee shop slammed as Willa stormed out.

  “This is your fault, Daryl Anne,” Velda said as I helped her to her feet.

  I arched a brow. “How do you figure that?”

  “If you’d have stayed where you were, I wouldn’t have ended up on the floor, sopping wet.”

  “No good deed,” I muttered, tugging the saturated seat of my skirt away from my body.

  “You’d all better leave,” Lisa Marie said. “I’m closing down for the day.”

  “But I need my iced coffee,” Velda said, heaving herself to the counter. “I paid for it.”

  Lisa Marie plunked the money onto the counter. Velda shoved it back at her. “I don’t want my money back. I want my iced coffee.”

  “And I didn’t get my Frappé.” Jeanette was fussing with her own damp maxi dress, wringing the hem like a soaked washcloth.

  “I’m out of strawberries.” Lisa Marie waved her hands, gesturing to the pink mess on pretty much every surface in the room and on a couple of us.

  “Well, that’s not Jeanette’s fault,” Velda said.

  Lisa Marie slapped Jeanette’s money down beside Velda’s and then grabbed a rag from the sink and swiped at the whipped cream on her face, irritation tightening her jaw. “Go. Now. I need to deal with this mess.”

  She shooed us out the door like a bunch of yowling cats. Velda glared at me. “You’re going to be sorry, Daryl Anne.”

  Translation: my mother and Billie are going to hear about it. And probably most of the town.

  Meg’s hands landed on her hips. “How do you figure that, Velda?”

  Velda pointed at me. “She knows.” With that, she grabbed Jeanette’s arm and started off in the direction of the Wedding Cakery—likely to update Wanda on the excitement she’d missed, as well as bad-mouth me.

  I was still puzzling how any of what had happened was my fault as Meg and I chose a different route to Front Street. The warm afternoon held a soft breeze that lifted the full skirt of my sundress, quickly drying the dampness from my backside. If only it could remove the stickiness.

  Meg was lost in her own thoughts. Finally she said, “Do you think Lisa Marie might have taken the invitations?”

  I considered the possibility. “You mean to ruin Willa and Dillon’s wedding?”

  Meg nodded.

  “Nah. There’s plenty of time to reorder invitations. And based on what we just observed, Lisa Marie doesn’t strike me as one to go looking for trouble. Or even revenge.”

  “But she won’t back down if trouble comes to her.”

  “Exactly. If she was into revenge, I think she’s more the type who would show up at the ceremony with a paint ball gun.”

  Meg laughed, picking a strawberry from the hem of my dress. “Yeah, I could see that.”

  “Besides,” I said on a sigh, “we know Lisa Marie isn’t the Weddingville thief.”

  I just didn’t know then that she was much worse.

  * * *

  Do you have any idea how hard it is to spy on someone whose living is made unmasking others’ bad behavior? Someone with watchdog eyes and a security guard mentality? Neither did I. Until I tried it over the next two days.

  Oh, I thought I’d considered all the angles, everything that might give me away. Including my face. But the one thing I hadn’t calculated was how I’d react to what I was doing. I couldn’t turn off my emotions like a switch. I couldn’t disconnect from them like a cord in a wall socket. I couldn’t keep my palms from getting damp, or my mouth from drying, or my stomach from pinching.

  At first, it felt as if I were doing okay. Whitey didn’t seem to notice the nervous hitch in my voice. A certain confidence started to seep through the nerves as I casually asked him who he’d pitched his security systems to in town. Simple enough. I took mental notes of all the stores he’d visited. Then I asked who, if any, of those proprietors had hired his services. Nothing suspicious about that question either. In fact, Whitey seemed more than willing to dish.

  But in the back of my mind, I kept chewing on what it would do to Mom if I discovered he was the Weddingville thief and worrying that he might be a danger to her. She deserved a good guy. A great guy. Maybe Whitey was that guy, but what if he wasn’t?

  In the end, the worry proved my downfall.

  Whitey didn’t catch on. Seth did.

  I felt his stare before I glanced in his direction. His narrowed brown eyes seemed darker than sable and gave me pause. I could tell he was trying to figure out what I was doing, what I was thinking. Well, he could keep wondering. No amount of monetary offering could pry it out of me. But then, he had other means of persuasion to which I wasn’t immune.

  Best to avoid him altogether. Of course, that proved impossible. He found me at the coffee machine. “Blessing, what are you up to?”

  “Nothing.” My glance shifted to the left in the classic way of all liars. “Much.”

  His sexy mouth lifted on one corner, and he shook his head. “Does your mother know you don’t trust her boyfriend?”

  Guilt shot through me, and denial spilled through my lips. “No. That’s not true.”

  “Yeah, it is. But what I’m wondering is why? Did you find evidence that he’s cheating on her?” He studied me for a long moment, then quirked his head. “Or do you suspect him of another kind of crime?”

  “Shh,” I said. “He’s right behind you.”

  “Gearing up for another busy day?” Whitey asked, striding to the counter, coffee cup in one hand, his phone in the other.

  “Yep,” Seth answered, recovering his poise twice as fast as me. “You?”

  Whitey set his empty cup in the sink. “I’m off to see Wanda Perroni this morning.”

  “Excuse me?” I needed to clean the wax from my ears. I couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Did you say Wanda? Wedding Cakery Wanda?”

  He grinned as if we shared a private joke. “She wants to put in some security cameras.”

  I didn’t believe it. More likely she wanted to give Whitey “the scoop” about his girlfriend’s daughter’s antics at Pre-Wedding Jitters the other day. I heard suspicion in my voice. “Why?”

  “Someone stole a cake from her bakery yesterday,” he said.

  My mouth dropped open. “Really? A cake? I could see a donut or even a few cookies, but how does someone sneak out a cake without being noticed?”

  Whitey shrugged.

  Seth said, “It was a wedding cake.”

  “A wedding cake? Impossible.” I wasn’t buying this.

  “Not really,” Whitey said. “When I was there the other day, I noticed a couple of gaps Wanda has in security.”

  When he was there the other day? He’d gone back a second time to try and sell Wanda a security system after the first debacle? That took balls. And determination. I wasn’t sure if I respected him for that or thought him a fool. A little of both, I supposed. It also made him even more suspect since he’d seen a way to take something from the shop, and then someone had.

  I shook my head. “I can’t get over someone taking a wedding cake.”

  “It was a small one,” Seth said.

  “So you knew about this?” Actually the question was why no one had told me. Had I been kicked off
the grapevine? Did Gram and Mom know? Surely Gram did. On the other hand, she’d been preoccupied the past two days after her checkup with the doctor. He was considering calling in a wrist specialist, which might mean another surgery. Mom and I had been trying to keep her spirits up, but I wasn’t sure we were succeeding—because the idea worried us both too much.

  “I heard the police investigated,” Whitey said, pulling me back to the cake robbery. “Did they find any clues, Seth?”

  “Nothing I can talk about,” Seth said, staring pointedly at Whitey as if he were also thinking along the same lines as me.

  Was he? Or was I coloring innuendoes to suit my investigative theories? What if I was wrong? What if Whitey’s interest was nothing more than curiosity? I rubbed the nape of my neck, coming slowly to the conclusion that I needed a refresher course in Sleuthing 101.

  “I gotta run. Have a great day,” Whitey said, giving Mom a peck on the cheek as she came in. “See you later, Susan. Wish me luck.”

  “You’re all the luck you need,” Mom assured him. The love I saw in her eyes when she turned toward us was strictly for the man hurrying out the back door, and I felt something inside me shift. I had to find proof that Whitey was innocent, or my mother was going to take an emotional hit that could send her back into spinster mode for another fifteen years.

  She snapped her fingers in an oh-I-forgot-to-tell-you gesture. “Daryl Anne, before I forget, I took the precaution of moving Meg’s wedding dress into your bedroom closet. I’m probably worrying for nothing, but after her ring went missing, well, you know, I didn’t want to risk that disappearing too.”

  “That poor girl,” Gram said, coming in from alterations to accept the cup of coffee Seth had poured for her. “Even though we have the security system, I still don’t know if we’re much safer.”

  Seth’s gaze met mine and conveyed the message that our conversation, although interrupted, was not done. “Ladies, I have a couple of photo shoots today. I’ll be out most of the day. If anyone inquires about my services, I’ve left out brochures, business cards, and a sign-up sheet for anyone wanting to leave their name and number.”

  He squeezed my shoulder as he passed me, whispering softly, “Dinner tonight?”

  He’d been so busy fulfilling existing bookings that we hadn’t had another evening together. Or even much time. I answered his invitation with a warm smile as my heart clenched in anticipation. “You’d better bring your piggy bank if you plan on me spilling secrets, though.”

  I heard his soft chuckle long after he’d left the room.

  “Did you hear about the theft at the Wedding Cakery?” I asked my parental units, still a bit upset that no one had told me.

  “How does someone sneak a wedding cake out of a bakery?” Hannah asked as she emerged from alterations.

  Mom, Gram, and I suggested possible scenarios, some of them absurd and hilarious, but Hannah remained her usual strange self. She hung in the shadows, making me think she could slip in and out of a space without anyone noticing her. Like wallpaper. Like a sneak thief. And then I felt her breath on my neck as she whispered, “These thefts are strange… like someone is stealing a wedding.”

  “Geesh, Hannah.” I brushed the air as if I were swatting at a fly. How had she moved from across the room to behind me without me noticing? “Stop sneaking up on me.”

  “Sorry.”

  But I doubted she was. She just didn’t seem to have developed any social skills.

  “Oh, Daryl Anne, would you go to the Flower Girl for me this morning and pick up the roses for the shop? Flora is too busy to deliver them. Whitey said he’d fetch them when he goes to his appointment with her later, but I want the flowers before we open today. We have a full schedule of appointments.”

  “Flora’s getting a security system?” Gram asked. “Don’t tell me that she was robbed, too?”

  “What?” Mom quirked her head. “Oh no, dear. She just decided to install a couple of cameras. Better safe than sorry, like some others in this town.”

  Meaning Bernice, I thought.

  “Smart woman,” Jenny said, coming in from the storeroom, wearing her usual black skirt and crisp white blouse. If I were casting her in a TV show, she’d be “young, no-nonsense, personal secretary.” The only flaw was the missing button near her waist. I made a mental note to tell her.

  Jenny smoothed a hand over her sleek ponytail. “Some of those antique planters and wall and garden accessories in the florist shop are expensive items. There’s an ironwork trellis that I’d love to have for my garden wedding.”

  “Well, I say it’s a shame,” Billie said, “that everyone in this town feels the need to lock up and spy on every passerby. Give me the old days when no one locked their doors.”

  I was with Gram. I wanted to go back two weeks to when everyone felt safe, when neighbors didn’t cast sidelong glances at one another.

  * * *

  It always feels like I’m walking into a secret garden when I enter a floral shop. Green everywhere. Take another step and bursts of color catch the eye. But the first sensation is the ambrosia scent, a mix of different blooms that I can never quite define. Sweet. Pleasant.

  This was the Flower Girl. The narrow entrance, like walking through a trellis, opened to a wide room that held racks and displays and an array of accessories for garden and home, just as Jenny had described. The mesh of voices, however, robbed the sense of a secret garden today.

  Customers milled throughout the display racks, oohing and aahing at the variety of arrangements. Several were almost nose-touching the glass cooler case, peering in at myriad bouquets in a riot of hues that could suit any wedding theme.

  As I worked my way toward the counter, I spied Flora working the cash register. Her daughter, Violet, and another person I didn’t recognize were in the work area behind her, putting together arrangements.

  Flora looked up, spotting me in line. She was in her late forties with thick glasses, straight blond hair going gray, and a penchant for oversized jeans and men’s plaid shirts. She waved me forward, leaned across the counter, and said, “Daryl Anne, your mother’s roses are in the cooler in the storeroom. Just go on back and get them.”

  “Sure.” I retreated along the line of buyers waiting to pay for treasures they’d found or to place an order for that something special that would add to their own perfect ceremony. At the end of the day, I thought, there are worse jobs than fulfilling someone’s dreams. I cut across the room to a doorway marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, humming “Here Comes the Bride.”

  I entered a short hallway that opened into a ten-by-twenty-foot windowless room. I suppressed a shudder, telling myself it wasn’t some creepy basement, just a storeroom. But the sputtering fluorescent lighting overhead did not alleviate my unease. I hummed a little louder. My gaze darted to the shelves at one end of the room, stuffed with boxes, vases, planters, and big plastic buckets. Nothing there to cause the hair on my nape to stand on end. And yet it was.

  My arms were even goose bumpy. Stop it, Daryl Anne. All the talk about locking doors and no one feeling safe in this town had me scaring up nightmares in the daytime. Nothing scary, except maybe a spider or two. My gaze went to the two refrigeration units at the other end of the room. The glass front of the larger cooler seemed frosted, but as I neared, I realized it was just steamed up, as if someone had let too much warm air into the interior by holding the door open too long.

  I peered into the smaller cooler first. Baby’s breath, lilies, carnations, even lilacs, but no roses. I moved to the other cooler, grabbed the handle, and pulled the door open. Chilled air rushed out to greet me. I stared at the calamity inside, not comprehending what I was seeing. It looked as if someone had taken a baseball bat to the glass shelving, vases, and flowers, smashing everything. Shards of glass clattered to the concrete, onto my sandal-clad feet, cutting into my toes.

  I didn’t feel it. Not then. My attention zeroed in on the mound of rose petals and broken stems on the bottom of the cooler. A
fisted hand rose from the heap as if reaching toward me. I recoiled. I wanted to run. But what if this person was alive? Needing help. I leaned forward to touch the wrist and felt cold, rubbery flesh. Someone started screaming. It might’ve been me.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I lost time and my breakfast, contaminating the crime scene. At some point, I became aware of someone speaking to me, and as my vision began to focus and the numbness receded from my brain, I found myself staring at Troy’s handsome face and wondering what he was doing here.

  Worry radiated from his bright blue eyes. “Daryl Anne, can you hear me? You’ve had a little shock.”

  A little shock? More like a seismic jolt, I realized as memories awoke, swarming me like a hive of angry bees. I struggled to sit up. I was seated on a hard bench set against a wall. I glanced around. I was still in the storeroom but no longer alone. Three or four official-looking people in uniforms were gathered around the coolers. I could hear one voice mumbling orders.

  I began to shake. “W-who is it?”

  Sheriff Gooden came into my line of vision. “Deputy O’Malley, there will be no leaking of information. Need to know only. Identity has to be confirmed, family notified.”

  “But I found the body,” I said with authority, forgetting I had none. To my currently shaky reasoning, finding the body meant that I had a right to know a few things. Like who it was. And how they’d died. And probably who’d killed them. I glanced toward the ceiling, instinctively looking for a camera, then remembered that Whitey was going to be meeting with Flora today about installing surveillance devices. So no camera footage of the murder.

  Murder. I shuddered, my gag reflex kicking in. Troy jammed a plastic bucket in front of me. When I looked up, I saw the sheriff rubbing his jaw like a man thinking of early retirement. Two murders in three months was more than he’d signed on for. He hadn’t exactly done himself proud solving the last one, and if he couldn’t do better with this one, the body in the cooler wouldn’t be the only thing dead.

  I couldn’t, however, fault him on procedure. “We’ll need a statement, Daryl Anne, and to print you.”