Down the Aisle with Murder

by Auralee Wallace

  “You don’t have to think about the wedding. Didn’t I just say that?” Freddie asked me of all people. I didn’t know! I was busy reeling. “Two weeks, that’s not much time. But doable. I assume you already have your own glass slippers?”

  What … what was happening here? I was pretty sure he knew nothing about planning a wedding. Or replanning … or rescheduling … whatever! In fact, when Candace announced she was getting married a couple of months ago, Freddie had gone on about the fact that she’d better not ask him to plan it. That it was such a gay-man stereotype—I inwardly gasped. Of course! He was just covering for the fact that he’d really wanted to plan the wedding all along! It made perfect sense. Freddie loved telling people what to do and dressing up. He was a wedding planner at heart. He probably wanted to do the bachelorette party too! That’s why he hated it so much. He probably planned this whole th— Okay, that was going too far. I didn’t think he orchestrated Lyssa’s death. I was getting carried away. “Freddie,” I hissed, jumping to my feet, “what are you doing?”

  “Erica’s right, Freddie. You are such a sweetheart,” Candace went on, “but there’s too much involved. It can’t be done.”

  Freddie’s eyes widened. “Can’t be done?”

  Oh God, by making it a challenge, she was just making it worse. “Excuse us for just a second,” I said back to Candace with what I hoped was a reassuring smile then straight-armed Freddie to the other side of the room. “What exactly do you think you are doing?”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Freddie, weddings are a big deal. A very big deal. Especially to people like Candace who started their wedding binders back in high school,” I said through my teeth. God, the binder was huge. I don’t think I put that much effort into, well, anything. I once started a vision board, but I couldn’t decide on the color of background I wanted, and it all just fell apart from there. “You don’t know anything about planning a wedding. I certainly don’t know anything about planning a wedding.”

  “Listen. I know you have issues with weddings—”

  “I do not have issues with weddings!” I shout-whispered.

  “But it’s just a party,” Freddie said. “A party she was planning to have at the town gazebo. Her vendors are mainly local. We can get them to postpone. The hard work is already done. It’ll be a piece of cake.” A smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Wedding cake. Get it?” Oh sure, now he was in a better mood.

  I scowled at him. “This is the most important day of Candace’s life. We cannot screw it up.”

  “Of course we’re not going to screw it up. That’s why we’re doing this, because what will screw it up is a dead nonna attending the ceremony.”

  “I … I don’t think that would happen.”

  “You know what I mean. Besides,” he said under his breath, “someone in this cursed town should be happy and in love.”

  What the heck was that supposed to mean?

  “And look at her,” Freddie hissed, waving a hand at Candace. “Does she look happy and in love to you?”

  Candace sniffed. “Guys, you are so sweet, but…” And she was crying again.

  “She needs us, Erica.”

  “Really,” Candace called out through her tears, “I couldn’t ask you to do this.”

  This was not happening.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  How was this happening?

  I swallowed hard and faced Candace. “You’re not asking,” I said, forcing what I hoped was a convincing smile to my face. “We’re offering.”

  “Oh Erica…”

  “Nope,” Freddie said, holding his stop hand up. “No more crying. You’re going to need to pace yourself with all those tears. Save some for the wedding of your dreams.”

  “But … what about Lyssa?”

  “Lycra—I mean Lyssa—would want you to be happy,” Freddie said with a smile.

  “But I don’t think I could … I mean, until I know what happened…”

  “No problem. It’s like Erica said. We’ll do that too. Pro bono,” he said, shooting me a look.

  I struggled to keep my face neutral. Offering our services to look into Lyssa’s death was so not the same thing as offering our services to take over the wedding. We were way better at handling death than we were at handling love.

  “Do you really think it’s possible?” Candace asked. “Erica?”

  I looked back and forth between Freddie’s unreadable face and Candace’s devastated one now with just a little bit of hope.

  “I … uh … guess we can.” I said, making extra sure I was nodding my head up and down and not shaking it side to side. “Yup. We’ll do it. Will plan the wedding and find out what happened to Lyssa. No problem.”

  Chapter Four

  I could totally do this.

  I just needed to sit down somewhere nice and quiet and make a list.

  Number one on the list?

  Kill Freddie.

  I mean, what was he thinking?

  He wasn’t thinking. That was the truth of it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help Candace. I did. She was my friend. And as Candace’s friend, I would recommend not putting Freddie and me in charge of her wedding. Again, the investigation was one thing. We had looked into deaths before, and likely this was just a tragic case of death by misadventure. But the wedding …

  Freddie had taken full advantage of my state of shock on the way out of Candace’s, and we had divvied up the preliminary tasks before he’d dropped me back at the retreat. He was supposed to get in touch with as many of the guests as possible to see if they could come in two weeks then call the town offices and find out if the gazebo was still available. I was supposed to call the DJ, cake baker, and florist to see where we were at. We’d figure out the rest after that.

  I sighed and plopped myself down at the picnic table under the shade of trees. A couple of crows squawked at me. I guess this was their picnic table. Well, they could just, “Bite me,” I called up to the trees.

  I ran a hand over the front of Candace’s binder. Okay. Again, I could do this.

  Really, this was all part of being friends with Freddie. He was unpredictable. I knew that. And he apparently also liked to keep secrets about things that were bothering him. Yeah, I still wasn’t over that either. But, again, at least he was in a better mood. Too bad I was in a much, much worse one.

  And what was that whole somebody in this town should be happy and in love thing? I really, really hoped something hadn’t happened between him and Sean. It would explain a lot, but … they were good together.

  I sighed.

  I couldn’t help but think inviting me to get involved in wedding planning was a little like asking a goldfish to do the tango. I mean, I had grown up at a feminist retreat. I seem to recall my mother referring to marriage as state-sanctioned slavery at some point. What did I know about … about … those little pillows that you tie the rings on to? Did people actually do that at weddings? Use those little pillows? For the ring bearers? Was that a thing? I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything about weddings!

  But, again, it was time to rally. I didn’t have time to explore my feelings about weddings. I was suddenly very busy.

  I took a deep breath.

  I just needed to make some phone calls. Being the small town Otter Lake was, everyone would surely be willing to help Candace out.

  I opened the binder and flipped to the first tab as a cicada buzzed in the tree above me. Mrs. Roy. Check. The florist. That seemed like good place to start. I mean, I knew Mrs. Roy. She was a bit of a rambler, but a sweet lady. She wouldn’t have a problem postponing two weeks. Sure, there might be some financial considerations, like an added fee or something, but—no, this was Otter Lake. Candace was one of us. We could make this happen.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed the number in the binder.

  “Pansies and Posies.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Roy, it’s, uh, Erica Bloom calling. How are you?”

  �
��I’m lovely, dear, but I’ve just heard the news about Candace’s maid of honor.” Of course she had. It had been a few hours now. The whole town would know. The ladies’ society was probably already working on a needlepoint commemorative pillow. “It’s awful. Just horrible. I bet you’re calling to sort out the flowers.”

  I felt my shoulders drop in relief. Mrs. Roy had gotten straight to the point. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “I am.”

  “Of course, dear. I’ll help any way I can.”

  “Great. That is so good to hear. I was worried—”

  “But first,” Mrs. Roy said. “Tell me, Erica, is she really … dead? The maid of honor, I mean?”

  Okay, I guess we were taking one little tangent on our way over to the point, but that was to be expected. “Yes, unfortunately. She—”

  “I just wanted to be sure. Everybody is so upset, but it seemed so unlikely her being thrown from a horse like that.”

  “Horse?” I frowned. “Oh. No. I mean, there was a mechanical bull at the bachelorette party, but that’s not what happened.”

  “Are you sure? I heard that she went flying off and slammed right into the jukebox. Snapped her neck.”

  “Nope. Nope. I think that was me you heard about actually. Minus the snapped neck.”

  “Oh, that makes more sense.”

  I blinked a few times. “Right.” I took another breath. “So about the flowers for the wedding—”

  “But wait, it doesn’t make any sense then. If she didn’t fall off the horse, how did she die? Was it the polly?”

  “The polly?” I scratched my temple. “Wait … do you mean molly? The drug?”

  “Yes, but I don’t like to call it molly. I know it sounds silly, but I had a cousin named Molly. Lovely woman, Molly. It just wouldn’t feel right.”

  I clutched my head. “I understand. But it wasn’t—”

  “It’s such a waste.”

  “You mean … the death?”

  “Well, I meant the name, but that’s awful too. Drugs take too many young people. You shouldn’t go into the city.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly before blurting out, “but it wasn’t drugs. I think she might have drowned.”

  “Drowned? That’s awful. How did she drown? Oh,” she said with the sound of lots of realization dawning. “Alcohol must have been involved. I’ve been to a bachelorette party or two in my time. I know what goes on.”

  I planted my elbow on the picnic table and dropped my forehead against my palm. This … this had to be what having a stroke felt like. “I really don’t know. Now about the flowers—”

  “Are they sure Tommy wasn’t involved?”

  I jerked up. “Tommy? Tommy Forrester?” Grady’s cousin. “Why … why would anyone think that?”

  “Oh, I just heard they were cozying up toward the end of the night.”

  “Really?” That must have been after I left. “Is your source legit?” Otter Lake had a thriving rumor mill, but while output was plentiful, quality was questionable. I mean, look how they had mangled Lyssa’s cause of death. Maybe they had somehow mistaken Tommy for Lyssa’s boyfriend, Justin.

  “Margot has all the best information, dear. And you know that Tommy’s never been quite right in the head since you tried to implicate him in Dickie Morrison’s murder.”

  “Tried to implicate him? I did no such thing. He—”

  “Well, however it happened, he hasn’t been quite right since then.”

  Tommy had been involved in some shady business when I had first come back to town a couple of years ago. A rogue employee of MRG Properties had paid him and his buddies to cause trouble around town to help encourage some of the more reticent seniors to sell their properties. It hadn’t amounted to much more than minor vandalism and noise violations, but the scheme blew up in their faces. Everybody around town ended up knowing what Tommy had done, and right around the same time one of his closest friends was murdered. The whole thing had left him a little messed up. Rumor had it the only time he left his home was to go to the Dawg. To drink. Alone. It was sad. I mean, Tommy had always been a bit of a douchebag, but—

  “Plus I heard Amos found a condom at the scene.”

  “What?” I near whimpered.

  “Oh yes, took it away in one of those little baggies.”

  “I—”

  “I thought you’d already know that. Are they doing a postmortem?”

  “I’m … not sure…” Why would I know that? was the rest of that sentence.

  “I thought Sheriff Forrester might have told you. Nobody can really tell if you’re on again or off again.”

  “We’re off and—”

  “And rumor has it Freddie has found a way to hack into the department’s computer system.”

  “What?! That’s ridiculous.” Please, God, let it be true that that was ridiculous.

  “Well, I just thought I’d ask.”

  I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. “Now about the flowers for the wedding, I see that Candace ordered white peonies—”

  “That’s right. They’re just beautiful.”

  Finally … finally, we were getting to the flowers.

  “Well, the wedding is being pushed back two weeks and—”

  “And all the peonies will be dead.”

  “What?”

  “Well, maybe not completely dead. But brown and limp.”

  “All the peonies in the world will be dead?”

  “No,” she said with a chuckle. “Just all the ones from my gardens, and the ones I ordered.”

  “Well, can’t we order some more or—”

  “On such short notice? In that quantity? Oh no. Why are those two in such a hurry to get married anyway? They’ve only known each other for six months, and two weeks seems a little inappropriate given that a member of the wedding party has died.”

  “Joey’s nonna’s not well and—”

  “Oh, I see. That makes sense. And, you know, on second thought, maybe it’s a good thing. Candace and Joey are such a sweet couple, and the town needs something to celebrate. It seems like it’s just been murder after murder ever since … well, I guess since the time you came back to town.”

  “I … I…”

  “This town needs a win.”

  “Right. Well, it won’t be much of a win without—”

  “Carmen!” Mrs. Roy snapped.

  Carmen? I looked up at the trees. The crows sitting up there didn’t seem to know who Carmen was either.

  “Carmen! You walk away. Those cupcakes are not for you.”

  I blinked. Oh, that’s right. Mrs. Roy had a hound dog named Carmen.

  “Sorry, dear. Carmen! It’s really sweet of you to help, but—Carmen! I love this dog to bits, but she is going to be the— I see you thinking it. Don’t you think it.”

  “Mrs. Roy?”

  I could hear Carmen howling in the background.

  “Erica, I have to let you g— Don’t you make me get up!”

  “But what about the flowers? A wedding needs flowers.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out. Oh! You know, I’ve been meaning to experiment with tree-branch bouquets and—”

  “Tree-branch bouquets?”

  “Come by and we’ll talk. That’s the lovely thing about nature. No time is a bad time to create something beautiful! I’ll text you. Oh, now I’m on my feet. You’re only getting one treat now. Not two. That’s what happens when you don’t listen to Mommy.”

  Click.

  I thunked my forehead onto the picnic table.

  It’s just a party, he had said.

  The hard work is already done.

  It’ll be a piece a cake.

  Killing Freddie was moving right back up the list.

  Chapter Five

  “It’s murder.”

  “Rhonda?” I rubbed my hand roughly over my face. I really needed to stop waking up like this. Correction, other people really needed to stop waking me up like this at—I cracked one eye open and
peered at my clock—six in the morning. “What’s going on?”

  “Lyssa was murdered after all.”

  And here I had been thinking things couldn’t get any worse. That must have been my mistake. The universe heard me thinking that yesterday and took it upon itself to show me who was boss.

  I had gotten pretty much nowhere with the wedding planning. I couldn’t get a hold of Vivienne—she was making the cake—and the DJ Candace had hired was booked solid for the next four months. I had spent the rest of the day buzzing around the retreat trying to get the cabins ready and directing the vegan caterers my mom had hired. A couple more guests had also arrived early.

  And now there was this.

  Murder.

  All sorts of unpleasant emotions washed over me. I mean, yes, I didn’t know Lyssa, but … murder? There had to be some sort of mistake.

  “How do you know it was murder?”

  “Freddie called me and told me.”

  “He what?”

  “He called me and—”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I got that,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut tight. “Why didn’t he just call me?”

  “Don’t know. I’m just the messenger.”

  Okay, that made zero sense. Zero. Even when we were annoyed with each other, Freddie and I were still joined at the hip. And by the sound of Rhonda’s voice, I wasn’t entirely convinced that she didn’t know the answer to that question. “Rhonda—”

  “Anyway, he wants you to meet him at the sheriff’s department. You’re going to tag-team Amos for some answers. I obviously can’t do it. I’ve got to get out to the site for the insurance job. You’re still bringing me lunch today, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And don’t be too hard on Amos. He’s such a sweetheart.”

  “I know. But Rh—”

  “Got to go. Bye!”

  I let out a grunt of frustration and dropped my phone from my ear. What was going on here? Since when had I become the third wheel? Not that Rhonda was the third wheel … but yeah, she kind of was because Freddie and I were best friends first. I mean, I could have accepted being a threesome of best fr— Actually, no, that sounded wrong, but the point was still valid.