The Bride Wore Crimson

by Adrianne Lee

  “Print me?” I gaped, my mouth drying. Was he trying to pin this on me? I supposed that would be the easiest resolution for his shoot-the-messenger mentality and his desperation to salvage his career. A new round of shivers wracked through me. I tried to stop my knees from knocking and failed. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “No,” Troy said. “The fingerprinting is to distinguish yours from all the others that might be on the cooler, in order to eliminate you as a suspect.”

  Eliminate me? That means I’m a person of interest.

  “I touched the handle,” I said. And the corpse’s wrist—that cold, cold wrist. Could fingerprints be extracted from skin? I gagged again. Fortunately, there was nothing more left in my stomach to expel.

  The sheriff eyed me like a third-time offender he couldn’t wait to send to the big house. His hand reached for his utility belt, hovering near a set of handcuffs. I cringed. “You can’t arrest me. I don’t even know who died.”

  Apparently the hysterical edge in my voice was reason for concern and quick action. Troy and Gooden said in unison, “No one’s arresting you, Daryl Anne.”

  Then Seth came through the doorway, and I swear I heard angels sing and saw light form a halo around his tawny hair. Then again, maybe it was the shock. A camera hung at his hip and one around his neck. The normalcy of that comforted me. I wanted to run to him, to wrap myself in his arms until I felt normal again. But I didn’t think I could get to my feet. Besides, he wasn’t here for me. He’d been called away from his appointment to photograph this crime scene. I cringed. I didn’t want him to see what I’d seen. Or worse. Even if it was his job.

  He didn’t see me. He headed toward the cooler, greeting someone there with a solemn response. Whoever it was must’ve immediately mentioned my being there because he spun in my direction, worry shaping his mouth into an O. Our gazes collided, mine growing wide as the person I couldn’t see told him I’d found the body.

  Sheriff Gooden ordered him to stay clear of me. Seth ignored the order and rushed to my side. “Blessing,” he said, gathering me in his arms, my knight in shining armor.

  Oh God, he feels solid and warm and safe. I stifled a sob but couldn’t contain the next one, or the next. I cried until the front of his shirt was damp, until the impulse calmed. He held me tight the whole while, never wavering, just comforting me. Apparently my outburst had subdued the others as well, including the sheriff.

  When I finally felt in control again, I eased from Seth’s embrace, embarrassed that I’d fallen apart in front of an audience. But I didn’t apologize. Except to Seth. He used his clean hankie to dry my damp face, holding my cheek in one hand as he spoke. “I’d take you back to the bridal shop, but I’m needed here right now.”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll see she gets home,” Troy said. “I’ve called Meg. She’ll meet you there.”

  Turned out, it would take more than my BFF to soothe what ailed me.

  * * *

  I was certain it must be afternoon by now, but as Troy and I entered the bridal shop through the back door, we found Gram, Jenny, and Hannah still in the coffee area, chatting instead of waiting on customers. The wall clock showed ten minutes to opening.

  Billie glanced at me, eyebrows lifting. “Daryl Anne, you don’t have the roses. Didn’t Flora have our order ready?”

  I shook my head, afraid that I’d fall apart again if I tried to explain.

  “Personally,” Hannah said, “I can’t stand the smell of roses.”

  “Oh, I love that fragrance.” Jenny blew on the steaming mug she held, her crisp black and white look contrasting with Hannah’s careless appearance. “Reminds me of Brad’s mother’s garden.”

  “Or a funeral home,” Hannah mumbled.

  “Don’t say such things, Hannah,” Gram admonished. “It’s liable to give the grim reaper ideas. I came too close to making his acquaintance a couple months ago. I don’t need a repeat.”

  “I doubt he’s listening to me, Billie,” Hannah retorted, her tone full of cynicism.

  “Especially in this place where happiness is on sale every day,” Jenny said.

  “Yeah, we’re a regular Disneyland of the bridal world,” Hannah mumbled, eyeing Jenny like she would a bouquet of wilted roses.

  I stifled the urge to scream at Hannah that someone had died violently a few doors down, and she was here, alive, breathing, with a chance for happiness. If only she’d try. But she wasn’t going to change. What is it they say about relatives? You can’t choose them? I rubbed the nape of my neck, curbing my irritation. Hannah was too easy of a target. In my current mood, I might say something I couldn’t take back or that I’d regret later when I wasn’t trembling like a wet cat.

  Hannah leveled her dull gaze on me, but whatever she’d been about to say was lost as she took a long look at me. I’d been crying. I was pretty sure my nose rivaled Rudolph’s on Christmas Eve. She took an involuntary step toward me, her hand reaching out. “Daryl Anne… what’s happened?”

  The sincere caring touched my heart arousing such emotion that words choked in my throat.

  “There’s been a death at the Flower Girl,” Troy said, stepping forward. “Daryl Anne found the body.”

  A collective gasp issued from the three women. Gram went pale, but color rushed into Hannah’s normally pale cheeks, her eyes losing their half-mast dullness to a wide-awake stare.

  “How awful for you,” Jenny said.

  But it was Hannah who came to help me, leading me to a bar stool, making sure I sat.

  Isn’t it strange how something totally obtuse crosses your mind in the wake of a jarring shock? This was the first time I’d seen my cousin blush in recent years. The animation transformed her. As everyone reacted to the news, I pondered the change in Hannah. She’s actually lovely, I realized. Pretty, even. Her beauty was usually hidden by an apathetic nature, as though she were hiding from the world, discouraging anyone from noticing her. When had that happened, and why hadn’t I noticed before today?

  As everyone fussed over me, I struggled to recall what kind of child Hannah had been. Spirited came to mind. I know I said she was a sneaky, sticky-fingered kid, but was that a fair assessment? Had I been remembering right? Or not? I couldn’t be sure.

  Mostly I remembered what a pest she was, always into my stuff, always wanting to tag along with me and Meg. But then to a teenager, any child is a pain when they’re five years younger. She’d probably only wanted to be included back then. And now she seemed to want to be excluded. What had caused such a dramatic shift? I made a mental note to find out. Sleuthing isn’t limited to murder and jewelry heists.

  “Was it Violet?” Hannah asked me, fear taking over her initial shock, her voice shaky.

  “I don’t know.” I glanced at Troy. “Was it?”

  He wore his cop mask, remaining silent for several seconds. I didn’t think he was going to tell us, and I knew I’d hate him for letting us speculate and worry for hours on end. But he had a good heart. He sighed. “It wasn’t Violet.”

  “Then who was it?” Gram’s voice brooked no nonsense. That need-to-know gene obviously ran in the family.

  Troy’s palm shot up like a stop sign at a school crossing. “I can’t give out a name until identification has been confirmed and family notified. Please. Don’t keep asking.”

  Gram ignored his edict and pulled out the I-used-to-change-your-diapers card. “At least tell us if it’s someone we know, Troy O’Malley.”

  “Billie, I’m not allowed to divulge that information.” Troy sounded stern, but a line of red along his jaw gave away his discomfiture. “Daryl Anne, are you going to be okay? Meg should be here any minute. I have to get back to…” He walked toward the door as he spoke, leaving his last statement unfinished as he hurried out.

  Gram grumbled, “No reason we shouldn’t be told who died.”

  “Daryl Anne found the body,” Jenny said, as if being reminded wouldn’t upset me more. She brought to mind a voyeur at a fatal accident
, craning her neck for a better view, for a glimpse of the blood and gore. “She knows who it is, don’t you, Daryl Anne?”

  “D-do you?” Hannah asked softly, almost cringing from the idea.

  “No… he… she”—surely that hand poking from the heap of flowers was too small to belong to a man—“the face was covered with rose petals.”

  Someone gasped. Maybe Hannah. Gram had her hand to her mouth.

  Jenny leaned toward me, her ponytail swishing. “Didn’t you move them and, you know, peek?”

  “No.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Hannah recoiled, as did I, at the very thought.

  Jenny’s hands went to her hips. “Well, I only meant that she might’ve brushed the petals aside while checking to see if the person was still alive.”

  “No. Whoever it was, was not alive.” The feel of that cold flesh returned, and I thought my knees might collapse.

  “That settles it,” Gram intervened, cutting Jenny off before she could ask more gruesome questions. I breathed a sigh of relief. Gram said, “We’re closing for the day.”

  “But I have two brides coming for final fittings,” Hannah said.

  “When they arrive, you and I can see to them,” Gram assured her. “But no one’s getting in today without an appointment. Jenny, you can help me put the sign in the window letting customers know that we’re doing appointments only. Then you can have the rest of the day off.”

  Jenny pouted, as if she were being punished instead of getting a paid afternoon to spend anyway she liked. “All right. Maybe Lisa Marie will know who’s dead. She hears all the news.”

  I shuddered again, eyeing Hannah. She said, “Would you like some coffee? Or maybe a whisky? I’ve heard that’s good for shock.”

  “No. Thank you, though,” I said, offering her a grateful smile.

  The rest of the day was a blur. Mom arrived, then swept me into the elevator and up to the third-floor apartment we shared with Gram. Meg and I had no time alone with Mom hovering. She fussed over me like a five-year-old with a bad fever. She insisted I take a hot bath, have some herbal tea and toast, and climb into bed. I didn’t think I’d sleep, but I zonked. I suffered a couple of bad dreams, but nothing major. I woke to discover I’d slept the afternoon away.

  Mom began to hover again. While I appreciated her concern, a grown woman can only take so much coddling from her mother. So when Seth showed up, suggesting he’d like to take me to his house and fix me dinner and dessert, I jumped at the invitation. Dessert turned out to be my favorite—hot naked male who couldn’t get enough of me. Kisses sweeter than ripe cherries, touches more fiery than flambé, and pleasure as decadent as the richest chocolate.

  We fell asleep entwined, my sense of security returned. No nightmares invaded my dreams, and I didn’t wake until daylight peeked through the blinds and Sonny whined to go outside. Seth was still dozing as I eased out of his arms and slipped from the bed, to discover I was sore in a few new places, but otherwise, fully restored to my pre-finding-a-corpse-in-a-cooler-self.

  As I started the coffeepot, I let Sonny out the back door and filled his dish with food and water. By the time I’d showered and dressed, I was determined to get some answers. I texted Meg to meet me out front of Cold Feet Café. She agreed. I brought Sonny in and left Seth a note; then I slipped outside into the early morning air, tugging up the zipper of my sweatshirt hoodie as I hurried along the sidewalk toward the diner.

  The sky was a glorious blue, the air rife with a briny twinge and the odor of frying bacon. Traffic, both street and sidewalk, was slight. Usually, temperatures are a bit cooler near the water, but today the air felt several degrees warmer than earlier in the week. I suspected the afternoon and evening would be one of those picnic nights where families gather outdoors to share homemade dishes, play games with their kids, and catch up on each others’ lives.

  I spotted Meg as I neared the diner, and she spotted me. She started walking toward me, studying me like a psychiatrist looking for tics in a mental patient. It was as if we’d reversed roles. I was usually worrying over her state of mind, but now she was the one obviously fretting over mine. How I longed for the normalcy we’d had before returning to Weddingville. If, that is, one could call living and working in the entertainment industry normal.

  Meg seemed subdued, her unruly curls pulled into a thick braid, her makeup subtle, her eyes clear. Even her attitude struck me as different. There was a confidence in her step that had been missing since before she’d almost married Peter. My BFF was finally reemerging. My heart did a happy flip.

  She smiled and gave me a quick hug. “Are you okay?”

  “Turns out I’m pretty tough,” I reassured her, a quality we shared this day. “Do you know anything new?”

  She shook her head. “Troy won’t tell me a danged thing.”

  “I figured. But I’ve been mulling over something that Jenny said yesterday, and I think it’s worth exploring. If it doesn’t pay off, we can console ourselves with a great latte.”

  We headed back toward Blessing’s Bridal, Meg on the shop side of the sidewalk so that I wouldn’t have to face the Flower Girl. Her plan to protect me went awry when Flora came bustling out, waving at us. “Yoohoo, Meg, Daryl Anne, wait up.”

  Of course the first thing I wondered was how the florist was dealing with having a dead body stuffed into her flower cooler. She seemed a little flustered, her plaid shirt buttoned unevenly, her glasses smeared, running one sentence into another, making little or no sense. Meg and I nodded and inserted “yes” and “no” where it seemed appropriate. And then I began to wonder if maybe she knew who’d been in her cooler.

  “No,” she said. “Sheriff Gooden had just come into the shop when you started screaming. He shooed me out along with all of my customers.”

  One of whom could well have been the killer, I thought, surprised that the sheriff had taken that action. Stellar police work, Gooden.

  “I’m so very sorry, Daryl Anne, for what you went through.”

  Probably better me than Flora, I thought, realizing how distraught she was. “I’m sorry, too, but it’s not your fault.”

  But whose fault was it? That was the question. The problem in solving this crime, however, was that I didn’t know who’d been killed. So how was I supposed to come up with a motive?

  Meg caught my arm. “We have to go.”

  “Oh, sure.” Flora pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “But, oh, wait, the reason I stopped you. I almost forgot. I’ve tried to reach Troy, Meg, but he’s not answering his phone. Could you give him a message for me? He wanted to know if I was missing anything, what with all the thefts in town. I told him I wasn’t, but then I wasn’t thinking very clearly, was I? It wasn’t until this morning that I discovered it’s gone.”

  “What’s gone?” My attention snapped to Flora.

  “The bouquet I finished shortly before you came in, Daryl Anne. It was in the cooler that wasn’t destroyed. It’s not there now.”

  Hannah’s eerie words zinged through my mind: “It’s like someone’s stealing a wedding.”

  “It was actually a sample bouquet. The customer wanted to take it home and think it over.”

  “Who was the customer?” Meg asked.

  “What, oh, ah, what is her name? She reminds me of an Echinopsis blooming cactus, lovely to look at and just as prickly. Darn, why can’t I recall her name?” Flora frowned, then brightened. “Trillum. No, that’s not it, but something close to that.”

  “Willa—” I broke off before I added Bridezilla.

  “Oh, yes, that’s it, Willa, er, something. Sorry. I can’t seem to remember anything today.”

  Meg’s gaze met mine, and she seemed to be adding up awful possibilities as quickly as I was.

  I said, “We do have to go, Flora. Right now.”

  Meg nodded. “I’ll see that Troy knows about this, Flora, as soon as I see him. Thank you for telling us.”

  We set off, both lost in thought. When we we
re beyond Flora’s hearing, Meg said, “Do you suppose the body in the cooler was Willa Bridezilla?”

  I recalled the small, cold hand fisted as if clenching something. A bad feeling settled in my stomach. “Maybe.”

  We picked up our pace. Meg must have sensed the same unease that was plaguing my every step. The urge to hurry to Pre-Wedding Jitters before it was too late. But too late for what? Half a block away, I had the answer. I glanced at Meg, dread filling me. “We’re too late.”

  Police cars, lights flashing, were angled at the door to the coffee shop. As we watched, moving closer and closer, we spied Troy and Sheriff Gooden escorting Lisa Marie, her hands cuffed behind her back, to one of the patrol sedans.

  “Oh no. Does this mean it was Willa Bridezilla?” Meg asked as we kept moving toward the chaos.

  “It sure seems like it.” Why else would the police arrest our favorite barista?

  “How awful.” Meg all but whispered the words, her tone suggesting she’d had another reminder of just how quickly things one takes for granted can change—not always for the better.

  I didn’t speak. I hadn’t liked Willa. She’d stolen Lisa Marie’s fiancé and was flaunting it, rubbing her nose in it. She’d deserved a comeuppance but not to be murdered.

  As we crossed the parking lot of the coffee shop, Troy was just putting his hand on Lisa Marie’s head, assisting her into the backseat of a squad car. She spotted me and yelled, “Daryl Anne, I didn’t do this. I swear it. You have to help me.”

  * * *

  Hours later, my curiosity had me in a dither. I needed to know why the police had arrested Lisa Marie. Why she thought I could help her. I considered my options. Troy and the sheriff weren’t going to take me into their confidences, but I had a police-connected source whom I might be able to seduce into spilling what he knew. If I played my cards right.

  I arrived at Seth’s house armed with the tools of a small-town seductress: a six-pack, buffalo wings, and barely there red underwear. I wasn’t sure which one was happier to see me, Sonny or Seth. I suspected the buffalo wings would get the dog to hand over his secrets, but the man wouldn’t be so easily duped.