Dying To Marry

by Janelle Taylor

  “Lizzie, I love the way you dress,” Holly said. “You dress like you. Wonderful, colorful you.”

  “She’s gotten a few comments from the Dunhills about the ‘inappropriateness’ of some of her outfits,” Gayle said, rolling her own eyes. “A few days ago, we ran into Victoria Dunhill and a snooty friend of hers on the street, and as we passed, Victoria very loudly commented that Lizzie’s dress was ‘most unbecoming and inappropriate for an engaged woman!’” Gayle shook her head. “And Lizzie was wearing one of her tamest outfits!”

  Lizzie smiled, then bit her lip. “Dylan says he likes me just as I am and that if I changed one single thing about me, he’d cancel the wedding. But maybe I should try to fit in with the Dunhills. Dress differently. More like them.”

  “But then you’d find yourself without a groom,” Holly pointed out with a smile.

  “Yeah,” Gayle agreed. “So I guess you’ll just have to keep being you!”

  Lizzie laughed. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “I have to say, Lizzie,” Holly said, “sounds to me like Dylan’s doing a very good job.”

  “Told you so,” Lizzie said, tapping Holly on the nose.

  Holly smiled. “I’d really like to get to know him better.”

  “That makes me so happy, Holly. You’re gonna love—”

  Suddenly, glass shattered and a scream came from the back area where the dressing rooms were.

  “Flea!” Holly called. She ran to the dressing rooms, Lizzie, Gayle and the shop staff racing behind her.

  Flea was slumped against the wall across from the floor-to-ceiling three-way mirror, a jagged cut bleeding on her forehead.

  “Oh, my God, Flea!” Lizzie screamed. “Call 911,” she said to the assistants, racing over to Flea and kneeling down beside her. “What happened?”

  Flea opened her mouth, but no words came out and she pointed to a stone that was half concealed by her body.

  Holly gasped and immediately looked at the bay window behind the mirror. She ran over and parted the curtains to find a stone-sized hole

  “Flea, are you all right?” Holly asked, kneeling beside her. “That cut looks pretty deep.”

  “I’m f-fine—I think,” Flea said, gingerly touching her finger to the cut on her forehead. She tried to sit up straight, but slumped back against the wall. “A little dizzy.”

  Holly grabbed the rock. “There’s paper rubber-banded around it.” She pulled off the rubber band; it was a half sheet of loose-leaf paper with a message.

  Holly gasped when she read the two lines, then folded the paper.

  “Holly?” Lizzie said. “What did it say?”

  Now it was Holly who couldn’t speak.

  “Holly?” Lizzie repeated.

  When Holly didn’t speak or move, Lizzie gently took the paper from Holly.

  “Whores don’t wear white,” Lizzie read. Her eyes filling with tears. “Cancel the wedding, or I’ll cancel you and your friends.” Lizzie crumpled up the paper and threw it against the wall, angrily wiping at her eyes. Then she fell on her knees next to Flea. “I’m so sorry, Flea. It’s all my fault you got hurt. I’m so sorry.” Tears streamed down Lizzie’s cheeks.

  Bettina rushed into the dressing room. “I knew I should have listened to my friends and the other proprietors on Troutville Plaza! They told me I’d have nothing but trouble if I welcomed you and your party in here!”

  Lizzie stared at her, a stunned expression on her face.

  “I want you all out of here!” Bettina screamed. “Out! I should have listened!”

  “We’ll gladly leave when the ambulance and police arrive,” Holly snapped.

  Bettina harrumphed and stalked out of the dressing room, then stalked back in. “That’s blood on my new beige carpeting! I’ll be sending you the cleaning bill, Lizzie Morrow!”

  “You’ll have to try to collect in court,” Gayle said. “My boss will fight you on it. Trust me.”

  “I want all of you out the moment the police and ambulance arrive,” Bettina shouted. “You’re not welcome in my store.”

  “Lizzie will be very happy to spend her tens of thousands of dollars in another store, Bettina,” Holly gritted out.

  The woman turned up her nose and left.

  “I’m so sorry, Lizzie,” Flea said, wincing as she touched the area around her cut. “I’ve ruined everything for you. Your gown ... and these pretty pink dresses—”

  “We’ll find pretty pink dresses and my gown somewhere else,” Lizzie said. “And you ruined nothing—Flea, you got hurt, for God’s sake. This is all my fault!”

  “I’ll make that dress for you myself,” Flea said. “I don’t care if I have to work twenty-four hours a day for the next two weeks!”

  “Flea, sweetie, you don’t have to do that,” Lizzie said. “You’re going to need to rest up and recuperate, not work even harder than you do already.”

  “I’m making that dress for you,” Flea insisted. “And I’m going to rub Bettina’s face in it!”

  “I’ll help,” Gayle said. “With the dress and the face rubbing.”

  Flea laughed.

  Lizzie let out a very deep breath. “Thank God, you’re laughing. Oh, Flea, I’m just so sorry.”

  “I think I hear sirens,” Holly said.

  “Ambulance and police are here,” Bettina called coldly. “I’ll be sure to alert the police that I heard laughter in there. So if you try to sue me for the insurance, I’ll see that you’re all fought on that!”

  Gayle shook her head. “She is some piece of work.”

  “I can’t get the note out of my head,” Lizzie said. “And that stone. Why is someone doing this? Why would they resort to this kind of violence? Flea could have been killed!”

  Whores don’t wear white. Cancel the wedding or I’ll cancel you and your friends ...

  The vicious words repeated over and over in Holly’s mind.

  What the hell is going on here? Holly wondered wildly. Who is behind this?

  “I’m calling Dylan right now,” Lizzie said, pulling her cell phone out of her purse. “The engagement party is off. There’s no way I’m risking the lives of my friends and family. It’s off! And forget about the reunion. I don’t think any of us should leave our homes.” Clutching the phone, she dissolved into tears on the floor next to Flea.

  I will find out who’s doing this, Holly vowed. I’ll find you and I’ll see justice served.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jake had spent three hours turning over every rock, leaf, and stick in the back alley of Bettina’s Bridal salon. Nothing. Whoever had thrown the stone had been careful.

  And, apparently, lucky. The window in the dressing room was covered by a sheer drape; it was possible to see a figure in front of the mirror. Had Lizzie been the intended target?

  Given that Lizzie and her bridal party had made an appointment at Bettina’s, an appointment that had made the society page of the Troutville Gazette—and no, it hadn’t been a slow news day—where and when the party would be was right there in black and white. Perhaps the culprit hadn’t cared which member of the wedding he or she struck as long as one of them got hit. Was the shop owner or one of her assistants involved? Had they alerted someone that one of the party was in the dressing room? Had the culprit been hanging around in front of the store, seen one of the four friends go into the dressing room, and then scurried to the back alley to throw the stone?

  He pushed through the double doors of Troutville General Hospital with a lot of questions and no answers. The police had dismissed the entire incident as petty vandalism; they’d conducted a brief investigation, had turned up nothing, and asked that Jake keep them informed of any new developments. The police regarded the case as they would a bunch of feuding high schoolers.

  He stopped by the information desk for Felicia’s room, then rode up in the elevator to the third floor.

  “Jake!”

  The moment the elevator doors pinged open, Holly was run
ning toward him. He saw Lizzie and Gayle in the waiting area, wearing worried expressions, shaking their heads and pacing.

  “How’s Felicia?” he asked.

  “She’s going to be all right,” Holly said. “She needed stitches—the cut was so deep it’ll scar, unfortunately, but the doctors said she was very lucky the rock missed her eye.”

  There was that word, again: lucky. But Jake didn’t think luck was involved here. The culprit had known when and where to throw that stone. And he had a feeling he or she had aimed it for the face so that whoever was hit would be a walking reminder to Lizzie of what would happen if she went ahead with the wedding.

  “Is someone with Felicia now?” he asked. “I’d like to ask her some questions if she’s up to it.”

  “The police were here to take her statement but they’re long gone. She’s alone, but she’s resting now.”

  Jake nodded.

  “They’re going to send her home in an hour,” Holly added. “She’ll stay with me and Lizzie for a couple of days. You can come by Lizzie’s later today or tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, I will,” he said. “Felicia’s been through quite a lot.”

  Holly smiled gently. “You were always the only person to call her Felicia.”

  “It’s a nice name,” Jake said. “I don’t know why she prefers to be called Flea. I’ve never understood that.”

  “Her father always pronounced her name as though it was two syllables—Flea-sha,” Holly explained. “So when she learned her name, she would refer to herself as Flea.”

  “Ah, put that way, it’s a very sweet nickname,” Jake said. He remembered the first day of middle school, when they were thirteen, and the teacher called roll. When she came to Felicia Harvey, some of the Down Hillers spoke up and said everyone called her Flea for short. Pru Dunhill snorted and said, “You can borrow my dog’s collar, if you need to.” The room had erupted with laughter, and Pru had been sent off to the principal’s office. But the damage had been done.

  “I assume you investigated the bridal salon and the property?” Holly asked.

  “I did,” he said. “And I also told you that I don’t discuss an ongoing case.”

  “Jake, Flea could have been killed,” Holly said, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’re not talking notes and scratched cars anymore. We’re talking about life and death.”

  “I’m aware of that, Holly.”

  She stared at him, taking measure of him. Jake was aware of how well she still knew him. She would get no further information out of him. He saw her process that. He also saw she was angry about it.

  She sat on a hard plastic chair, and he sat down across from her. “Lizzie wants to cancel the engagement party,” she said. “Dylan was here a couple of hours ago, but he had an emergency with a client and had to go. He also thinks they should cancel it.” She buried her face in her hands, and he was tempted to put his arm around her. He braced his hands on his thighs to keep them from touching her, from tucking aside the heavy strand of brown hair that always fell in her face when she hung her head. From comforting her. Soothing her worries. From telling her everything would be okay.

  God, how he wanted to do all that.

  “I’ve spoken to Dylan by phone,” Jake said. “And I’ve talked him out of canceling the party.”

  “What?” Holly said, jumping up. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Holly, the engagement party is in two weeks. Hopefully, I’ll catch the jerk long before then, but if I don’t, I can count on him or her being at the engagement party. Practically every one of my suspects is on the guest list. That means they’ll all be in one room at the same time. Any suspicious behavior will be noticed. It’ll also allow me to question people surreptitiously. Besides, if they cancel the party they might as well call off the wedding.”

  She seemed to be taking that all in. “But it also tells the person that Lizzie and Dylan won’t be scared off. What if they resort to more violence? What if instead of a rock, the next weapon is a knife or a gun or—” She stopped and shook her head, closing her eyes. “I’m just so scared for Lizzie. For all of us, now. I don’t know what to think, who to talk to.”

  “Holly, just be assured that I’m on the case. Dylan has hired discreet bodyguards to trail the four of you at all times. In fact, if you look to your right, there’s a rather muscular man supposedly reading the paper.” She glanced over. “But he’s watching the area very carefully.”

  “I need to do more,” she said. “I need to work with you on this case.”

  “No.”

  “Give me one good reason,” she said.

  “I’ll give you three. One, you’re not a detective. Two, you could get hurt. And three, I don’t want to work with you.”

  “Because of what happened between us?” she asked softly.

  “Nothing happened between us.”

  “You know what I’m referring to,” she said.

  “In any case, that’s not the reason I don’t want us to work together.”

  “Then why?” she asked.

  “I gave you three reasons, Holly. That’s all you’re getting.”

  “The police are acting as though what’s happening is high school hijinks,” Holly said. “Flea might as well have been hit by a water balloon.”

  “They did conduct an investigation and found nothing,” Jake explained. “Not just from what happened at Bettina’s, but every incident. They know I’m working on the case and that I’ll keep them apprised of all developments.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure to do the same,” she said, standing.

  He stood, too. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m going to conduct my own investigation,” she said. “And I’ll keep you informed.”

  She stared at him, waiting, he knew, for him to tell her she would do no such thing, that she could get hurt, killed, and that, all right, they could work together, but he was the boss and she’d better remember that.

  “You will do no such thing,” he began.

  A hint of a smile crossed her red lips.

  “We’ll begin Saturday night at the reunion,” he said, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake. At least by working with her, he could keep tabs on her. She was absolutely right about how serious their culprit was. “Similar to the engagement party, a good majority of the suspects will be there.”

  “And we’ll all be safe,” she asked, “at the reunion?”

  “I’ll have excellent security stationed,” he responded.

  She nodded. “Thank you, Jake. I mean, for agreeing to let me work with you. I need to do something. I need to help.”

  “I understand.” He glanced at his watch. He had an appointment to interview Bettina Tutweller in ten minutes. “Till the reunion, then. I’ll see you there.”

  He froze for a moment; those were his exact words the night of the prom. He’d wanted to pick her up at her house; he’d spent the afternoon polishing his beat-up car, but Holly had wanted to meet at the school gym, where the prom would be held. He’d been disappointed; he’d wanted to do the entire night right—pick her up, knock on the door, be greeted by her parents, wait for her to come downstairs in her beautiful dress, pin on her corsage, his hands sure to tremble.

  But she’d wanted to meet at the prom, and so he’d said, “I’ll see you there.”

  If she remembered, she showed no sign. Then again, why would she remember? He’d been just a friend to her then, not the love of her life.

  As she’d been his.

  Holly had been in Troutville for two entire weeks. She couldn’t quite believe it. A week and a day ago, she hadn’t thought she’d last a weekend. Yet here she was, staying at Lizzie’s in her old family neighborhood, spending time with her friends and her aunt Louise and Lizzie, and with Jake Boone, of course.

  Not of course. During the past two weeks, she’d seen him a few times. He came by to visit with Flea those first few days after the accident, and once Holly had run into him at Morrow’s Pub. He�
��d been cordial, nothing more, nothing less. She’d asked if there were any new developments in the case—there weren’t—and that had been that.

  Actually, there had been more, unless she was imagining it. It was in the way he looked at her, with those intelligent, knowing eyes. It wasn’t a look of anger or resentment or long-simmering bitterness.

  It was a look of ... desire.

  Perhaps she was crazy. Perhaps she’d been without male companionship for too long. But the way he looked at her was the way a man looked at a woman he was very, very attracted to. There was nothing overtly sexual about it; the look in his eyes, his body language, came from somewhere deep inside.

  And tonight, they would meet where they had left off ten years ago. With their classmates. At their reunion.

  I can’t believe I’m really going, Holly thought, glancing at herself in the mirror over Lizzie’s bureau. She, Lizzie, Gayle, and Flea were all in Lizzie’s bedroom. Lizzie sat at her vanity table, halfheartedly applying cosmetics while glancing sadly at Flea, who lay on Holly’s bed with a tray of cookies, a pot of tea, and a thick paperback romance novel. Gayle was rummaging through Lizzie’s closet for sexy shoes with which to impress her boss, who would also be attending the reunion. Luckily she and Lizzie wore the same size.

  “I really don’t feel right about going to a stupid high school reunion while Flea is still recuperating,” Lizzie said, absently stroking a blush brush over her cheeks. “Why don’t we all just skip the reunion and stay here and have a slumber party. Like old times.”

  No one jumped at the idea. For one thing, old times might have been not so perfect, but at least no one was hurling heavy stones at them or leaving mounds of dirt on beds back then. Now, their huddling together was necessary for them to feel safe. It was almost too much a reminder of all that was going on.

  A week had passed since Flea had been hurt in Bettina’s salon—a week without further incident or notes—or clues, for that matter—and Flea was recovering well. The emergency room doctor had encouraged her to stay quiet for two weeks, and though she wanted to get back to work, Lizzie insisted she follow the doctor’s orders. Flea was sleeping over at Lizzie’s tonight since Lizzie had cable television and a movie Flea wanted to see was on at nine, and a security guard was posted outside the house.