by Diana Palmer
She stopped beside Dugin and smiled at him demurely through her veil, Jessica noticed that her hand trembled just before Dugin grasped it, and she was breathing rather quickly. Naturally, she would be nervous, because it was her first marriage. Mary Jo was no spring chicken. Probably she’d never dreamed that she, a children’s librarian, would end up married to the son of the richest man in Whitehorn. It was truly a fairy-tale occasion.
The minister presiding at the brief ceremony performed his duties with solemn dignity. Watching the wedding, Jessica thought dreamily of her own forthcoming marriage to Sterling. She lifted her eyes to his when the minister pronounced Dugin and Mary Jo man and wife, and the love in them made McCallum lose track of everything except her radiance.
“I never dreamed of being so happy,” she whispered to him, while shouts of glee went up after Dugin had kissed his bride.
“Neither did I,” McCallum replied with breathless delight. He touched her face lightly. “You’ll be a beautiful bride, Jessie.”
“Mary Jo looks gorgeous, doesn’t she?” she asked, glancing at the bride. “So pretty—”
A curdling scream cut her off. Everyone else stopped talking, too, and the sudden silence of the bridal party seemed deafening as the scream heightened in pitch and loudness.
“What is it?” someone cried.
McCallum turned instantly, his professional demeanor snapping into place as a woman wearing a caterer’s uniform came running toward the crowd.
“It’s a man,” she cried hysterically. “He’s dead, he’s dead!”
McCallum moved Jessica gently aside and went to the woman. “Calm down,” he said soothingly. “Where is he?”
“Over there,” she whimpered. “Behind the oak trees. He’s dead…!”
Jeremiah and Dugin Kincaid went with McCallum and a stiff-lipped Sheriff Hensley to a point just beyond the big oaks. A man in a suit was lying faceup on the ground. His eyes were open, staring sightlessly at the blue sky. He had a knife—the kind meat was carved with—sticking out from under his rib cage.
Hensley and McCallum knelt by the body.
Hensley felt around the ears and checked the nails. “Rigor hasn’t set in,” he stated calmly. “He hasn’t been dead long. Skin’s not cold.” He lifted his head. “Nobody leaves! Lock the front gate and make sure nobody gets out of here,” he told McCallum.
“They’ll have to get over me first. I’ll radio for the coroner and an ambulance.”
“Get Bill out here with that fingerprint kit,” Hensley added quietly. “If there’s a print on that knife, I don’t want it smudged. See if someone in the kitchen has some plastic bags.”
“On my way,” McCallum said. He mentioned for another guest who was a deputy to help him, and stopped to explain to Jessica what had happened. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he added.
“Is it anyone we know?” she asked worriedly.
“No,” he replied.” I haven’t seen him before, and I’ve been in Whitehorn long enough to recognize a face even if I can’t put a name with it. He’s a stranger. God knows why he ended up like this.” He touched her shoulder. “Try to help us keep people away from there until we get the forensic evidence in hand. It might be the difference between catching the killer or not.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
He nodded and went off to follow the sheriff’s orders. The manner in which the man had been killed was disturbing, although he didn’t mention that to Jessica. The stabbing was precise enough to indicate that the killer was experienced. It also indicated that the fatal wound had been struck in a most efficient manner—underhanded, not overhanded, and with deadly accuracy. McCallum had investigated murders before. He knew that such proficiency denoted skill. He was hoping against hope that this murder didn’t indicate a professional killer was on the loose in Whitehorn.
Two hours later, the forensic evidence was bagged, the medical examiner and the coroner had done their parts and the body had been taken away by ambulance for autopsy at the state crime lab. Hensley had concurred with McCallum’s deductions, but that brought them no closer to identifying the killer.
The guests were all closely questioned, but everyone’s story seemed to check out. Most troubling was that not one of the guests recognized the murdered man. He was a total stranger, which raised some disquieting questions.
Hensley had to let people go in the end. Mary Jo and Dugin were remarkably patient and understanding about the disruption to what should have been the most memorable day of their lives.
“Imagine that, a murder at my wedding!” Mary Jo said nervously. “What is the world coming to!”
Dugin had his arm around her. “Now, now, honey, let’s try not to let it spoil our day.”
She looked up at him tearfully. “But it has, don’t you see? Oh, why did he have to come here?” She took a steadying breath and lowered her eyes. “After all, nobody even knows who he is!”
“We’ll find out,” the sheriff said solemnly. “We’ve got his prints and we’ll send them to FBI headquarters back East. If he’s ever been in trouble with the law, we’ll know his identity.”
“I’ll bet he has,” Mary Jo said coldly. “I’ll bet he has! Did you see the way he looked? That cheap suit and that little mustache…”
“Honey, you can’t tell a man’s character by that,” Dugin said indulgently. “Anyway, what would a sweet little lady like you know about such things?”
She straightened her billowing white skirt. “But of course I don’t. I was just guessing. Would anyone care for a cold drink? I feel absolutely parched,” she said, lightly touching her throat.
When the others declined her offer, Mary Jo wandered over to a bar set up on the wide patio. Jessica watched as she put some ice in a glass, then added a generous pour of liquor. No soda or water, Jessica noticed. The poor woman was obviously more upset than she’d let on. Well, she’d hardly be the first person to reach for a strong drink under stress. Who could blame her? Jessica wondered if she should walk over and say a few words. Then she thought it best to let Mary Jo take a private moment to compose herself.
Mary Jo gave her drink a brief stir, then turned her back to the others and took a deep swallow. The straight bourbon delivered a familiar and satisfying burn. First genuine drink she’d allowed herself all day and it tasted mighty fine. If she had to be kissed, squeezed or oozed over by one or more of these Whitehorn hicks she would scream. Playing the blushing bride had bene more of a strain than she’d expected and she could barely wait for the show to be over. Even though that meant being left alone with her darling Dugin.
But Hensley and McCallum hadn’t gotten tired yet of playing detective, she noticed. Her dead wedding guest had made their day. Mary Jo smiled to herself, struggling to control her expression. Poor old Floyd, he’d made quite a splash at her party, hadn’t he? The man was clearly more interesting dead than alive. That was for sure. How had he ever tracked her down, now that was the mystery. Last she’d seen of Floyd, they were standing before a judge in Denver, and wearing matching bracelets; that lovely police model that comes with a key. But the charges didn’t stick and once they’d been released, she and Floyd had a fairly bitter parting.
She’d lived nine lives at least since her days of running scams with Floyd Oakly. She’d always imagined he was either serving hard time, or dead. Floyd was just a two-bit operator; always was, always would be. Showing up here, for example. Bad move, Floyd. And on her wedding day, of all things. What could he have been thinking of? Didn’t he remember how quickly she would pick up whatever he taught her, then show him one better? Thank goodness she’d been able to keep the blood off her dress. Now that would have been a problem. She just didn’t know how she managed to handle the stress.
Mary Jo sighed and finished off her drink. She placed the empty glass on the bar and took a deep breath. It looked like the last of her guests were about to go. Wearing a pleasant smile, she started across the patio to say her goodbyes, as a gracious hoste
ss should.
As she joined the group, Jessica smiled and lightly touched her arm. “Feeling better?”
Mary Jo smiled and nodded. “Yes, thanks. I am.”
“Don’t let it spoil your day, Mary Jo,” Jessica said kindly. “It was bad luck that it had to happen here, but you and Dugin have the rest of your lives to be happy together. I hope you both will be.”
“Thank you, Jessica. You’re so nice.” Mary Jo hugged her warmly. “I’m glad you could come.”
“So am I.”
They left the bridal couple and went back to the car. Jessica looked at McCallum with open concern. He was very quiet, hardly communicative at all as they drove back to town.
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.
“That man,” he said. “Why would someone murder him at a wedding? And what was he doing at the wedding in the first place, when not one of the guests knew him?”
“Someone probably did and was afraid to say so,” she said.
“That’s what I suspect.” He sighed heavily. “Jessie, I’m uneasy about the murder. This case has all the earmarks of a professional killer—not a gangland one, but an experienced one, just the same.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. I’m sure. The murderer knew exactly how to place that knife. It wasn’t an amateur attempt.”
“That means that someone at the wedding was a killer,” she deduced. “Possibly a professional killer.”
He nodded. “That’s it.”
She sighed heavily. “But this is a small Montana town,” she protested. “We’re old-fashioned, and people look out for one another….”
“We’re part of the modern world, too,” he said seriously.” And violence has become part of the American experience.” He cradled her hand in his as he drove. “Don’t worry. There may be a good motive, once we identify him, and it could even turn out to be self-defense.”
“You don’t think so.”
He glanced at her with soft eyes. “Jessica, you already know me too well. God knows what our lives will be like in twenty years or so.”
She smiled brightly. “We’ll be just as happy as we are today,” she assured him. “And little Jennifer will be in college, or getting married, too.”
His fingers contracted around hers. “I hope we have that much time together, and more.”
She returned the warm pressure. “So do I.”
Their own wedding took place just a few weeks later, in July. They were married in the Whitehorn Methodist Church, with a small group of friends as witnesses. Jessica wore a simple white wedding dress. It had a lace bodice and a veil, even though it was street length, not long and elegant like Mary Jo Plumber’s. But when, after their vows, Sterling lifted the brief veil to kiss her, she knew that the dress was completely incidental. The love they shared was the end of the rainbow for her. When his lips touched hers, she laid her hand against his hard, lean cheek and felt tears sliding down her face. Tears of joy, of utter happiness.
Their reception was simplicity itself—the women at the office had baked cookies and a friend had made them a wedding cake. There was coffee and punch at the local community hall, and plenty of people showed up to wish them well.
Finally, the socializing was over. They drove to Jessica’s house, where they would have complete privacy, to spend their wedding night. Later, they planned to live at McCallum’s more modern place.
“Your knees are shaking,” he teased when they were inside, with the door locked. It had just become dark, and the house was quiet—even with Meriwether’s vocal welcome—and cozy in its nest of forestland.
“I know,” she confessed with a shy smile. “I have a few scars left, I guess, and even now it’s all unfamiliar territory. You’ve been…very patient,” she added, recalling his restraint while they were dating. Things had been very circumspect between them, considering the explosive passion they kindled in each other.
“I think we’re going to find that this is very addictive,” he explained as he drew her gently to him. “And I wanted us to be married before we did a lot of heavy experimenting. We’ve both suffered enough gossip for one lifetime.”
“Indeed we have,” she agreed. She reached up to loop her arms around his neck. Her eyes searched his. “And now it’s all signed and sealed—all legal.” She smiled a little nervously. “I can hardly wait!”
He chuckled softly as he bent is head. “I hope I can manage to live up to all those expectations. What if I can’t?”
“Oh, I’ll make allowances,” she promised as his mouth settled on hers.
The teasing had made her fears recede. She relaxed as he drew her intimately close. When his tongue gently penetrated the line of her lips, she stiffened slightly, but he lifted his head and softly stroked her mouth, studying her in the intense silence.
“It’s strange right now, isn’t it, because we haven’t done much of this sort of kissing. But you’ll get used to it,” he said in a tender tone. “Try not to think about anything except the way it feels.”
He bent again, brushing his lips lazily against hers for a long time, until the pressure wasn’t enough. When he heard her breathing change and felt her mouth start to follow his when he lifted it, he knew she was more than ready for something deeper.
It was like the first time they’d been intimate. She clung to him, loving his strength and the exquisite penetration of his tongue in her mouth. It made her think of what lay ahead, and her body reacted with pleasure and eagerness.
He coaxed her hands to his shirt while he worked on the buttons that held her lacy bodice together. Catches were undone. Fabric was shifted. Before she registered the fact mentally, his hair-roughened chest was rubbing gently across her bare breasts and she was encouraging him shamelessly.
He picked her up, still kissing her, and barely made it to the sofa before he fell onto it with her. The passion was already red-hot. She gave him back kiss for kiss, touch for touch, in a silence that magnified the harsh quickness of their breathing.
When he sat up, she moaned, but it didn’t take long to get the rest of the irritating obstacles out of the way. When he came back to her, there was nothing to separate them.
Her body was so attuned to his, so hungry for him, that she took him at once, without pain or difficulty, and was shocked enough to cry out.
His body stilled immediately. His ragged breathing was audible as he lifted his head and looked into her eyes, stark need vying with concern.
“It didn’t hurt,” she assured him in a choked voice.
“Of course…it didn’t hurt,” he gasped, pushing down again. “You want me so badly that pain wouldn’t register now…God!”
She felt the exquisite stab of pleasure just as he cried out, and her mouth flattened against his shoulder as he began to move feverishly against her taut body.
“I love you,” he groaned as the rhythm grew reckless and rough. “Jessie, I love you…!”
Her mouth, opened in a soundless scream as she felt the most incredible sensation she’d ever experienced in her life. It was like a throbbing wave of searing heat that suddenly became unbearable, pleasure beyond pleasure. Her body shuddered convulsively and she arched, gasping. He stilled just a minute later, and his hoarse cry whispered endlessly against her ear.
He collapsed then, and she felt the full weight of him with satisfied indulgence. She was damp with sweat. So was he. She stroked his dark hair, and it was damp, too. Wonder wrapped her up like a blanket and she began to laugh softly.
He managed to lift his head, frowning as he met her dancing eyes.
“You passed,” she whispered impishly.
He began to laugh, too, at the absurdity of the remark. “Lucky me.”
“Oh, no,” she murmured, lifting to him slightly but deliberately. “Lucky me!”
He groaned. “I can’t yet!”
“I have plenty of time,” she assured him, and kissed him softly on the chin. “I can wait. Don’t let me rush you.”
“Remind me to have a long talk with you about men.”
She locked her arms around his neck with a deep sigh. “Later,” she said. “Right now I just want to lie here and look at my husband. He’s a dish.”
“So is my wife.” He nuzzled her nose with his, smiling tenderly. “Jessie, I hope we have a hundred more years together.”
“I love you,” she told him reverently. Her eyes closed and she began to drift to sleep. She wondered how anything so delicious could be so exhausting.
The next morning, she awoke to the smell of bacon. She was in her bedroom, in her gown, with the covers pulled up. The pillow next to hers was dented in and the sheet had been disturbed. She smiled. He must have put her to bed. Now it smelled as if he was busy with breakfast.
She put on her jeans and T-shirt and went downstairs in her stocking feet to find him slaving over a hot stove.
“I haven’t burned it,” he said before she could ask. “And I have scrambled eggs and toast warming in the oven. Coffee’s in the pot. Help yourself.”
“You’re going to be a very handy husband,” she said enthusiastically. She moved closer to him, frowning. “But can you do laundry?”
He looked affronted. “Lady, I can iron. Haven’t you noticed my uniform shirts?”
“Well, yes, I thought the dry cleaners—”
“Dry cleaners, hell,” he scoffed. “As if I’d trust my uniforms to amateurs!”
She laughed and hugged him warmly. “Mr. McCallum, you’re just unbelievable.”
“So are you.” He hugged her back. “Now get out of the way, will you? Burned bacon would be a terrible blot on my perfect record as a new husband.”
“You fed Meriwether!” she gasped, glancing at her cat, who was busy with his own breakfast.
“He stopped hissing at me the second I picked up the can opener,” Sterling said smugly. “Now he’s putty in my hands. He even likes Mack!”
“Wonderful! It isn’t enough that you’ve got me trained,” she complained to the orange cat lying on the floor beside the big dog. Mack was already his friend, “now you’re starting on other people!”