Bride and Doom

by Deborah Donnelly

  After the finale and the applause, we sipped cappuccino and he told me the story.

  “You were such a good sport about not buying a diamond, Stretch. And I really do think we’ve got better uses for that kind of money. Only then I remembered Bella’s ring.”

  “Bella was Izzy’s wife?”

  “Right. I used to play with the ring on her finger when I was a kid.” He touched the ring on my pinky now, tracing the circle of diamonds with his fingertip. “I knew Izzy kept it after she died, but not if he still had it after all these years. And his memory’s so bad, I didn’t want to mention it to you until I actually had it in my hand.”

  “So you asked him about it when you went down there.”

  “I didn’t have to! The minute I told him we were engaged, he couldn’t wait to get home from the hospital so he could give it to me. I honestly think it helped his recovery.”

  “Bless his heart.” I’d met Izzy once, the previous winter, and fallen for him on sight. But I’d never met Great-Aunt Frances. “Tell me, Aaron, does he mind that I’m not Jewish? Or does—anyone else?”

  “You mean Frankie?” He hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “Izzy’s crazy about you, but Frankie’s pretty traditional. You know how it is.”

  “Actually I don’t, but I can imagine.”

  Aaron’s first wife, Barbara, was Jewish. It was one of the few things I knew about her. Jewish, ambitious, disappointed in Aaron’s lack of ambition. And toward the end, unfaithful to him. Your loss, I thought, and slipped the ring back into its envelope.

  “I’ll have this resized next week. There’s one particular jeweler I want to use, and he’s in the middle of moving his store.” I yawned so wide that my jaws cracked. “Right now I’m going to go home and crash.”

  “So you’re too sleepy for the rest of your surprise?” Aaron’s eyes were sparkling. “That’s too bad, because it was really—”

  “What? You’ve got something else up your sleeve? Of course I’m not too sleepy.”

  “In that case we’re out of here.” He paid our bill, then held my chair for me. “Let’s take a little walk.”

  “Where to?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Part two of the surprise wasn’t quite the triumph of part one, though Aaron was quite proud of it and I played along. He led me up James Street, through the lunch hour crowds, and into the stolid gray King County administration building on Fourth Avenue. I guessed our destination right away, and I almost protested that it was going to be a wasted trip. But then I figured, why rain on the man’s parade?

  “I know I’ve been a typical guy,” Aaron said as we crossed the lobby and he waved me into an elevator. “I mean, leaving all the planning to you. So I researched this part myself. Ta da!”

  The elevator doors whooshed open on the Records, Elections and Licensing Services Division—the place where you apply for a marriage license. Aaron was so pleased with himself as we joined the line of waiting couples, I didn’t have the heart to tell him what every wedding planner in Seattle knows by heart: a King County marriage license is only valid for sixty days after it’s issued.

  Aaron and I hadn’t even picked a date yet, so the odds of our tying the knot in the next sixty days were zip to nil. A large formal wedding takes at least a year to plan, and if I wanted one of the primo sites in Seattle, ours would take even longer.

  But you can always reapply for a license, and we could stand to wait a year. It was fun anyway—and just a little scary—to fill out the “Affidavit of Female” section of the application and watch Aaron complete “Affidavit of Male.” Typically for him, he didn’t read the fine print about the time limit. He just signed the form with a flourish and handed it to the smiling clerk, along with a check for the fee that he’d written out in advance.

  “So tell me,” he said triumphantly as we left the counter, “now that you’ve got a ring and a license, are you feeling thoroughly engaged?”

  “I’ll do more than tell you. I’ll show you.”

  We had the down elevator all to ourselves and made good use of it. By the time we reached the ground floor, Aaron had decided that the Sentinel could wait, and I’d decided that I wasn’t all that sleepy after all.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  I woke up hours later that afternoon, stretching luxuriously in my own bed. Aaron had slipped away to go to work, but I’d mumbled my goodbye and plunged straight back to sleep. Self-employment has its privileges.

  I rolled over and glanced at the clock. Plenty of time to get ready and make a few phone calls as well. As I got up, I saw the ring in its envelope lying on my dresser. On one corner of the faded old paper, Aaron had scribbled a little heart pierced by an arrow.

  Humming dreamily to myself, I lifted a thin gold chain from my jewelry box and threaded it through the ruby ring. Then I slid the chain over my head and dropped my robe to the floor, admiring the effect of the jewel on my naked skin. Too bad we had this dinner tonight. I didn’t feel like sharing Aaron with anyone. Of course there was always afterward…

  But for now I pulled on jeans and an old sweatshirt. I had wedding work to do, and I wanted to check in with the bride. Last night after the police were done with me I’d returned to the Batter’s Box, only to find that Rose had gone home along with almost everyone else. The news of Nelly’s death had arrived before me, just as the Cubs lost in a humiliating 13–2 rout, and the party had broken up.

  So now I climbed the outside stairs to the office, still stretching and yawning, with Rose’s wedding on my mind. Eddie had already left for the day, and the sunset over Queen Anne Hill suffused the empty workroom with a golden glow. I admired it for a few moments, and then as the glow faded, I flipped on the lights and got down to business.

  First, to get it over with, a call to Beautiful Beau. He was still fuming about his phone.

  “Who was this Tibbett?” he complained. “I do not know the name.”

  Briefly, I explained Nelly’s role with the team.

  “So, not an important person? His death does not affect the wedding?”

  “No,” I said sadly. “I don’t suppose it does.”

  “Bon. Now, the outlet for the chocolate fountain, what did you find?”

  And with this outpouring of compassion, Beau and I ran through the final details for McKinney/Gutierrez. There wasn’t much, but this late in the game it was important not to let anything slip. Game, as in baseball, was the operative word here. In addition to the baseball cake and the chocolate fountain, we’d have waiters with old-fashioned vendor trays strolling through the crowd to offer little bags of peanuts and, what else, Cracker Jack.

  Which meant that someone had to check that the bags were filled and stapled, and the trays had proper carrying straps, and the waiters remembered to wear their Navigator logo ties. Somebody meaning me. I scribbled notes as Beau and I talked, and when we finally finished, I went through the notes Eddie had left me, including the latest weather forecast.

  Continued unseasonably warm and sunny through the weekend, it said, and I recalled the old proverb, “Happy is the bride the sun shines upon.” As I worked, I was feeling like a busy but fairly sunny bride-to-be myself—if I could just keep the dark picture of Nelly Tibbett out of my thoughts. I held it at bay by concentrating on the tasks before me, like the bride’s request for apricots.

  You can dip anything in a chocolate fountain. I’d even heard about a southern-fried celebration that offered—oh, the horror—pork rinds. Fortunately, we were sticking with a conventional array of fresh fruits, macaroons, almond biscotti, and honey wheat pretzel rods for that sweet-salt taste that so many people, including me, find irresistible.

  And now an additional item. I reached the Navigators’ caterer, and after a token protest at this last-minute change, he promised me a platter of the finest apricots to be had. Then, duty done, I called Rose.

  “How are you doing? Nervous?”

  “Nah. Gordo’s a little edgy, but I’m cool.”

&nb
sp; Of course, I thought. This bride is used to the spotlight.

  “What about you?” she was saying. “Must have been gross, seeing somebody off himself like that.”

  “It was—disturbing. Did you hear much about it?”

  “Just that Nelly did a face plant from the concourse.” The words were crude, but Rose’s voice wobbled a bit as she kept up her tough-girl front. “We heard he was the one who killed Duvall. Is that for real?”

  I found myself strangely reluctant to confirm it. “It seems that way, yes.”

  “Gordo says he had a hunch it was him all along.”

  “Did he really?”

  “Yeah, he’s telling everyone that Duvall was always nasty to poor old Nelly, and he must have pushed him over the edge. He says Nelly was drunk enough to do anything that night. What a loser.”

  “Rose, the man is dead.” I felt a spurt of anger at her and Gordo both, taking their youth and success for granted while they belittled Nelly Tibbett. Stupid nickname, anyway. None of us even knew his real name. “Show a little respect, for God’s sake. You were drunk yourself, as I remember.”

  “Hey, don’t yell at me. I was just—”

  “I’m not yelling!” I realized that I was, though, in some kind of delayed reaction to last night. I made myself take a deep breath. “Sorry, Rose. I’m still shaken up, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, that figures.” She added in a subdued voice, “I guess I’ll see you in the morning? You don’t have to help me get dressed if you don’t want.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it! That’s one of my favorite parts of a wedding, and the gown is so lovely on you. Come on, let’s go over the schedule one last time…”

  By the time we finished, both of us were in better spirits—though I still had a nagging question about Gordo. Where had this hunch of his come from? He hadn’t mentioned it earlier, at least not in my hearing. But then there was no reason he should. As I locked the office door and went downstairs to dress for dinner, I told myself I was just being paranoid.

  But still, if someone other than Nelly was the killer, wouldn’t that person do everything possible to promote the idea of the dead man’s guilt? The thought niggled at me as I pawed through my closet. Owen was taking us to Canlis, one of Seattle’s oldest and most expensive fine-dining establishments. They no longer required formal dress, but Aaron had offered to suit up for the occasion. The trouble was, with everything else going on, I hadn’t selected an outfit for myself.

  My jade silk? Getting shabby after way too many wearings. That red dress I’d bought last summer? I hardly ever wore it—because I’d bought it for a date with Mr. Extremely Wrong and it carried bad memories. The long-sleeved black velvet? A little warm for tonight. The off-white silk suit? Not festive enough.

  “Enough, already,” I said aloud. “Get a grip!”

  I fled the bedroom for the cool salt air of the deck, determined to clear my mind and conjure up a better mood. Tonight was a celebration of my mother’s engagement and my own, and I refused to be tense and distracted. After all, I’d just been given a beautiful engagement ring…

  Breathing slowly, listening to the wavelets lap against the floats beneath my feet, I made two decisions. First, to wear the black velvet after all, as a splendid backdrop for the ruby. And second, to call Aaron’s grandfather and thank him for his remarkable gift.

  It was getting late in Florida, but I knew from Aaron that Izzy was a night owl. Besides, he always turned off the phone in his assisted living apartment when he wanted to sleep. So I got dressed and did my makeup, to be all ready when the others arrived, before I sat down in the kitchen and placed the call.

  The phone barely rang once before someone picked up—a woman. I was so prepared for the old man’s voice that this threw me off balance.

  “Gold residence.”

  “Oh. Oh, is that Frances? I mean…” What the hell was the aunt’s last name, Gold or something else? “This is Carnegie Kincaid, Aaron’s fiancée? I was hoping to speak to Izzy.”

  “He’s indisposed.”

  “Is he all right? It’s not his heart?”

  “What are you talking about, his heart?” Frances had a New York accent and a voice that could etch glass. “I said indisposed, not sick. He’s in the bathroom! I’ll tell him you called.”

  “Wait, I wanted to—to introduce myself, if that’s all right. Should I call you Frances or—”

  “Frankie is fine. Even strangers call me that.”

  “Frankie, then. It’s, um, good to talk with you.”

  An uncomfortable pause, and then she said, “So. You’re Aaron’s new girlfriend. Izzy says you’re very nice.”

  She made it sound like a dubious claim on his part.

  “He’s a wonderful person,” I said, trying to warm things up. “I was sorry I couldn’t come down there with Aaron, but—”

  “It’s fine. It’s good Aaron was here. He and Barbara had a few laughs, that was nice.”

  “Barbara?”

  “Aaron’s ex. Izzie’s very fond of our Barbara. Didn’t Aaron tell you she was here?”

  “Of course.” I was gripping the phone so hard it hurt. “Of course he did. Well, I’m going out in a few minutes, so I’ll try calling tomorrow.”

  “You do that,” she said, and hung up.

  I stared at the phone in my hand, my thoughts spinning and colliding and spinning away again like a rack of pool balls after a violent break.

  Barbara? He’s spending time with goddamn Barbara and not telling about it?…No, it’s all right, she was just visiting the old man…So what? He was with her and he lied to me about it and that’s nowhere near all right…The son of a bitch didn’t even tell me about her in the first place, and now he’s lying to me again… I didn’t know whether to weep or smash dishes or both.

  But I didn’t have the chance to do either, because just then a jaunty rapping sounded at the door. I wrenched it open and saw Aaron—with my mom and her man right behind him.

  “Look who we found in the parking lot!” Owen said in his hearty, self-confident way. As the three of them trooped inside, the men in dark suits and Mom in dark blue silk, he added, “Look at you, Carrie. You must have had lots of sun on that hike of yours. You’re all red!”

  “Hush, Owen,” said my mother. “You look lovely, dear, just a pretty glow. And there’s the ring Aaron was telling us about. You must be thrilled to have it.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, not looking at my treasonous fiancé. “Thrilled to bits.”

  Chapter Thirty

  To say that the mother-daughter engagement dinner did not go well is to say that the Titanic had a fender-bender.

  Not that it was the restaurant’s fault. When Peter Canlis founded the place on a hilltop above Lake Union back in 1950, he envisioned a bastion of elegance, sophistication, and the very finest food. He succeeded admirably, and since then his sons and now his grandsons have only enlarged on the tradition.

  The Canlis building alone is a work of art, with natural stone columns, old-growth cedar beams, and a wall of windows cantilevered over a breathtaking view of the lake, the Seattle valley, and the Cascades in the distance. The mountains were barely visible tonight, of course, but as the four of us emerged from Owen’s car, the stars were out and the nighttime glitter of the city was spectacular.

  For all the good it did me. While the others oohed and aahed and pointed out landmarks like Gas Works Park, whose rusting machinery looked like spot-lit metal sculptures in the darkness, I just stood there silently, trying to control my temper.

  Not to mention my disappointment. I’d arranged parties at Canlis for my clients but never dined here myself, and I’d been looking forward to this dinner for weeks. But now I barely noticed the famous valet parking, where instead of issuing numbered receipts the attendants simply remember each guest’s vehicle. And as Mark Canlis himself escorted us to our window table, all I could think about was how royally pissed off I was at Aaron Gold.

  Aaron knew s
omething was amiss. He was seated across from me at the round table, and as Mom admired the handcrafted wall hangings and the heavy damask table linens, he nudged me with his foot and raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

  But what was I supposed to do, open an interrogation about his ex-wife in front of my mother? I just gave him a flash-frozen smile, ignored the frown I got in reply, and listened to Owen expounding on the wine list.

  “Fifteen thousand bottles,” he announced, as proudly as if he’d stocked the cellar himself. “They have eight sommeliers here, and their own whiskey consultant in Scotland. Supposed to be one of the best collections of single malts in the country. We’ll have to test that out, won’t we, Aaron?”

  “What? Oh, sure. Absolutely. Carnegie, are you—?”

  “I’ve read that they use only Riedel crystal stemware,” I chimed in, speaking solely to Owen. “It makes the wine taste even better.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Aaron with a good-natured smile. “Glass is glass.”

  “It’s twenty-four percent lead crystal,” I said icily, “not glass. There’s a big difference.”

  “No kidding,” he said, growing testy. “So now you’re an expert in—”

  “Aren’t these candleholders lovely?” said my mother the diplomat. “Honestly, Owen, every single detail here is just perfect. This bud vase, Carrie, isn’t it pretty?”

  “It’s beautiful, Mom. Look, here’s our champagne.”

  Owen had preordered a premium bottle, which fizzed merrily as the waiter poured and we raised our flutes to offer toasts all around. Owen said some charming things about the Kincaid girls, Mom offered Aaron and me her love and best wishes, and Aaron congratulated Owen on his lovely bride. That left me. I lifted my champagne and stared deliberately at Aaron.

  “To truth,” I said. Then, as Mom looked puzzled, “To truth and beauty and romance, now and in the future. Cheers.”