Something Buried, Something Blue

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  “How’s it going?” she asks.

  “Already fixed.”

  “Really?”

  He nods and gets to his feet. “Try it.”

  Bella opens the door and lets it close. It slowly swings shut and fastens with a loud click. Giving it a slight push and then a harder one, she nods her approval when it stays closed.

  “Thank you. Now as long as Chance and the kittens don’t figure out another escape route, we should be . . .”

  Gazing out into the yard, she spots a stumpy, fur-tufted gray tail just as it disappears behind a barrel planter filled with white and yellow mums.

  “Oh, no! I think I spoke too soon.” She quickly opens the door and steps outside. “I think I just spotted a kitten out there, and I’m hoping it’s not one of ours.” She hurries across the yard with Drew on her heels.

  Chairs are scattered on the grass, waiting to be arranged into neat rows for today’s wedding. In her haste, Bella trips over one.

  “Whoa!” Drew, behind her, reaches out to catch her as she starts to fall.

  “Sorry. I’m not the most graceful woman in the world.”

  “Or even in the yard.” He smiles down at her, holding her steady.

  That’s the nice thing about Drew. You think he’s always dead serious, but then he pops out with an unexpected quip and you remember that somewhere deep down inside, he’s just . . .

  A guy.

  A nice, normal guy.

  A guy like . . .

  No, not like Sam. Sam was chatty and poetic and he wore his heart on his sleeve. Drew is the opposite.

  But Sam would approve, Bella tells herself before wondering what, exactly, requires his approval. The local veterinarian catching her before she face-plants in the dirt? Yes, of course Sam would approve.

  A handsome, rugged guy holding his wife so close she can identify the brand of his soap?

  Max telling another guy—less rugged, but no less handsome—that he should share her bed?

  Yeah, not so much.

  She reluctantly pulls away and breaks eye contact.

  Drew is big and strong, and for a moment there, she felt safer than she has in a long while. Funny, since somehow she’s now even more aware of the danger of . . . falling.

  How long has it been since someone hugged her?

  Max doesn’t count. He’s smaller than she is, and she’s the one who does the hugging.

  “Is that the kitten you were chasing?” Drew asks. A few yards away, in a sunny patch of grass, curled into a drowsy, little blue ball, lies the little guy she saw in the garden earlier.

  “That’s him. Not one of ours, but he’s been hanging around since yesterday. Hey, there, fella. Are you okay?”

  The kitten, no bigger than Bella’s fist, opens kiwi-colored eyes. They’re big and round, gazing up in alarm, as if he’s belatedly realized he might be in mortal danger. He rolls over, but Drew scoops him up before he can scamper away.

  “Let’s take a look at you, little Blue.”

  “He is blue, isn’t he?” Bella says. “Max and Jiffy saw him yesterday, but I’d never heard of a blue cat. I thought they made it up.”

  “He’s a Russian Blue, although I’m guessing he’s not purebred.” Drew strokes his fur with one gentle finger.

  “Aw, he looks like he’s wearing a bowtie,” Bella notices, seeing the angular crest of white fur beneath his chin when he lifts it to nuzzle Drew’s hand. “You’re a dapper little chap, aren’t you?”

  Drew sets him gently on the ground again and he scampers away.

  “Wait, what are you doing?”

  “He might have a mama cat out here looking for him.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “Then finders keepers.”

  “No way. I can’t take in another kitten. I need homes for the ones we already have.”

  “Well, hopefully, the little chap’s mother will come back for him. But in case she doesn’t do that any time soon, you might want to put out a bowl of water and some kibble. Maybe set out some old towels in a crate or one of those big plastic tubs.”

  “Seriously?” She looks around, imagining a tub full of towels and a kitten in the middle of the Maynard-Langley wedding. That might be taking the shabby a little too far.

  “If mama cat doesn’t show up, he’ll have a safe place to nest.”

  “Good morning,” a voice calls, and she and Drew turn to see Luther Ragland striding into the yard.

  He’s balancing a long, bulky object—a chuppah?—on one broad shoulder.

  Tall and handsome, with dark skin and just a touch of salt-and-pepper in his close-cropped hair, Luther always reminds Bella of the actor Morgan Freeman playing a cop in a movie. Only this is real life, and Luther really is a cop—a retired detective.

  “You can put it right over here,” she says, hurrying toward the designated patch of lawn.

  He sets it down with a huff. “I got your message. I was up in Canada last night, and I had my phone turned off.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Sorry I got home too late to call you back. What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  She hesitates, not wanting to say anything in front of Drew. “I just had a question, but I . . . figured it out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive,” she lies.

  He shrugs and looks around. “Hey, where’s your friend Odelia?”

  “Good question.” In the bustle of activity, Bella had again forgotten all about her.

  “Isn’t she supposed to be here?”

  “Yes, she is.” Looking toward the house next door, Bella spots Millicent sitting on the back step. She’s still dressed in what Bella hoped was a traveling outfit early this morning. A book lies open on her lap, but she isn’t reading it.

  No, she’s staring straight at Bella.

  She must have seen everything.

  Not that everything was anything, but still . . . Drew, holding her in his arms, even for a few seconds, couldn’t have made Sam’s mother very happy.

  Bella fights the urge to call out something like, “Don’t worry, it was nothing!”

  Whatever it was—nothing, something, whatever—it’s Bella’s business. If she wants to hug a man in her own backyard, she can. And if she wants to . . .

  If she wants to be brainwashed by a religious cult—which she doesn’t and isn’t—but if she wants to, she can.

  Oblivious to Millicent’s presence, Drew asks Luther about the object on the ground.

  “It’s part of a chuppah. The rest is in my car. How about helping me unload it?”

  “Sure,” Drew says agreeably.

  As they head toward the street, Bella escapes to the house, leaving Millicent to brood on Odelia’s steps and the kitten to snooze in her morning glories.

  In the kitchen, she nearly crashes into Parker. Seeing the urgent look on his face, she has a sinking feeling.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “No, everything isn’t all right. I can’t find Daisy’s wedding ring.”

  “She lost her ring?”

  “Not her ring.”

  “I’m sorry, I thought you said—”

  “I haven’t given it to her yet,” Parker cuts her off curtly, “because we aren’t married yet. And we won’t be able to be married unless I find the ring.”

  Bella’s overcluttered brain digests this, and she asks him where he last saw it.

  “It was in my suitcase. Zipped into an inside pocket.”

  “Just the loose ring? Could it have slipped into a hole in the lining or something?”

  “No, of course it wasn’t loose. It was in a box from the jeweler,” he says as if she should have known. He goes on to impatiently describe the box—turquoise, from Tiffany—and the ring—eighteen-karat-gold band encircled with diamonds—as if to help her differentiate it from other stray jewelry she might have stumbled across.

  Insisting she hasn’t seen it, she tells him she’s certain it
hasn’t been stolen.

  “Did you unpack your bag when you got here?”

  “My clothes, yes. But not the ring. I didn’t want Daisy to see it.”

  “But you’re sure it was there, in your bag, when you got here?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “You saw it when you unpacked?”

  After the slightest hesitation, he shakes his head. “No, but it was there. Someone stole it from our suite.”

  Her thoughts fly to Virginia. Earlier, Ryan had mentioned that she was wearing a ring around her neck.

  And, face it—the fact that she’s toting a gun isn’t making her seem quite so sweet and innocent.

  “What about Virginia?”

  “What about her?”

  Bella shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, not wanting to sound accusatory. “She has a ring around her neck on a chain. Maybe—”

  “Are you suggesting that my own cousin stole the ring?”

  “No! I just thought maybe you’d given it to her for safekeeping or something.”

  “Don’t you think I’d remember doing that?”

  “I . . . it’s a stressful time.” Plus, the drinks were strong last night. He hadn’t seemed inebriated, but you never know.

  “The ring Virginia wears belonged to our grandparents,” Parker tells her grudgingly, as if it’s none of her business. “She was Granny’s favorite. So no, she didn’t steal Daisy’s ring. But there are all sorts of people on the premises who might have. Your handyman and . . .” He gestures at the window. “Who is that man?”

  She follows his gaze to Luther and Drew, assembling the chuppah on the lawn.

  “That man is my friend Luther. He’s a police officer, so if you really think someone stole your ring, I’ll call him in here right now.”

  “He’s a police officer? Then why is he here, putting up a tent?”

  “Because Odelia asked him to help. And he’s actually a retired detective. Do you want me to get him?”

  He hesitates. “He might want to go into our room to look around and . . . I don’t know, dust it for fingerprints or something. Daisy is finally sound asleep. Let’s hold off on that.”

  She nods, understanding his reluctance to wake the sleeping tigress. “Have you kept the door to the suite locked, whether or not you’re in the room?”

  “What do you think?” he shoots back. “Wasn’t I just telling you”—he lowers his voice—“that I’m concerned someone might have followed us here? Of course the door is locked.”

  “Who’s been in the room besides you and Johneen?”

  “Not a soul, unless you have? You’re the one who does all the housekeeping around here, right? You must have a key.”

  “I do,” Bella agrees stiffly, “and I can assure you that I’m no thief.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you were. Look . . . I’m sorry. Maybe I’m letting my imagination get carried away. Maybe I . . . I suppose I could have left it at home. I packed quickly, and I was running late for my flight, trying to do a million things at once. You know how that goes.”

  “Like I said, it’s a stressful time.”

  “I’m going to try to get ahold of the neighbor who has the key to my apartment,” he decides, “and have him go see if it’s there. In the meantime, let’s just keep this between us, all right?”

  For the second time today, Bella agrees to keep Parker’s secret. It isn’t until he’s left the room that she allows a troubled frown to replace the agreeable expression on her face.

  She can’t help but recall that she’d heard someone slip out the door early this morning—much too early for any of the guests to be up. What if an intruder had snuck into the house and right back out again with the wedding ring?

  He’d have needed a key to get past the locked doors. Bella has two sets of duplicates to the front door and the doors to the individual rooms. She usually carries one set with her. The other is kept in the top drawer of her nightstand. The same drawer where she stashed the note.

  Heart racing, she heads upstairs. Opening the drawer, she sees that the note is still there, along with the set of keys. But that doesn’t mean someone didn’t borrow them and put them back. Unlike the original antique keys to the guesthouse rooms, these new modern keys could easily have been duplicated.

  Unless . . .

  What if the intruder came up through the basement tunnel, crawled through the panel in her closet, and—

  It could even have happened while she was asleep.

  Bella’s skin prickles as she imagines a prowler stealthily creeping through her dark bedroom.

  A prowler—who?

  A stranger? One of the guests?

  Tanya’s words echo back to her, then Odelia’s.

  Blue Slayton told me there are tunnels that lead downstairs and outside . . .

  Why does he have to hang around here now, of all times?

  Why, indeed?

  But if he’s behind the theft, what’s his motive? Odelia said he has plenty of money. Or is that merely the perception because his father is a wealthy celebrity? Maybe they’re estranged, like Johneen and her family. Maybe . . .

  Something else comes back to Bella.

  Johneen had a fling with Blue back in college. For her, it seemed casual, but what if he never got over her? What if he’s the one who’s stalking her?

  And Hellerman—he, too, could be trying to sabotage the wedding, motivated by unrequited lust or love, or plain old spite.

  I have to tell Luther, she thinks, pocketing the keys and hurrying back downstairs. I don’t care what I promised Parker. Luther should know what’s going on here.

  Outside, she finds Luther and Drew attempting to drape white fabric around the poles of the awning. It snaps and billows in the breeze.

  Millicent is still sitting on Odelia’s back steps, chaperoning the proceedings from afar.

  Remembering that Odelia was supposed to be here hours ago, Bella asks the men if they’ve seen her.

  “Not yet, but you know Odelia. The world is her shiny object,” Luther says with a shrug, consulting the instruction manual.

  “What do you mean?” Drew asks.

  “You know . . . she’s a little bit flighty,” Luther tells him. “Easily distracted.”

  That’s true, but when Bella needs her, she’s always come through.

  Odelia knows she’s up to her eyeballs in in wedding preparations, and the clock is ticking away. If her mother-in-law wasn’t posted like a sentry next door, Bella would have long since run over there after her friend failed to answer her phone. But Odelia is scarce, and so are the guests who earlier volunteered their services. Either they all went back to bed, or they found something better to do.

  “Actually, it looks like she has company, or a client,” Luther says, indicating Odelia’s back steps with a jerk of his head.

  “You mean the lady sitting on her steps, looking daggers at us?”

  At Drew’s comment, Bella darts a sidewise glance at Millicent. It’s impossible to get a read on her mood.

  “I wouldn’t say daggers.”

  “Maybe not at you,” Drew tells Luther, “but I’m definitely getting daggers.”

  “That figures,” Bella mutters.

  “Who is she?”

  “My mother-in-law.” She quickly explains about Millicent’s surprise visit and how Odelia is playing hostess since the guesthouse was full. She neglects to mention the part about her motive to rescue Bella and Max from an evil cult.

  “Is that why she’s glaring at you, then?” Drew asks her. “Because there’s no room at the inn?”

  “I thought she was glaring at you,” Luther says.

  “She’s glaring at both me and Bella.”

  Luther looks from Drew to Bella and back again, wearing a thoughtful expression.

  He’s wondering if something is going on between us.

  As is her mother-in-law, apparently.

  Let her wonder. We haven’t done anything wrong.

&n
bsp; Even if they had done . . . something, it wouldn’t be wrong. Tragic as her circumstances might be, she’s no longer a married woman. Drew is a single man. A romance between them couldn’t possibly violate any reasonable person’s ethics—not that there is, or would be, a romance, she reminds herself.

  Realizing she’s staring at Drew—and that he’s staring right back—Bella hastily turns her attention back to the matter at hand, which is . . . which is . . .

  What the heck is it again?

  She can feel Drew’s gaze still fixed on her. Her face is flushed.

  “Are you guys done with this?” she asks, gesturing at the chuppah.

  “Almost.”

  Good. The moment they finish, she’s going to have a private little conference with Luther. She heads over to a shady corner of the yard, where the buckets of flowers are waiting to be arranged for the wedding. She’d been planning to delegate the task to Frankie, Tanya, and Virginia, but she might as well work on it until they reappear.

  She grabs a couple of Queen Anne’s lace blooms from the bucket and shoves them into a mason jar, clumsily bending one of the stems in her shaky hands.

  Sneaking a glance at Drew, she’s relieved to see that his back is to her now. He’s listening to something Luther is telling him—about the lake, judging by the way he’s gesturing at the rippling, blue water. And her mother-in-law is looking down at the book in her lap, presumably reading.

  Nerves calming, Bella sets aside the ruined flower and inserts another Queen Anne’s lace blossom, then a few more, admiring the airy effect. She sets the jar aside. Only one more to go, and a bridal bouquet, before she can move on to the next task. And there are many. Too many. Where the heck is Odelia?

  And what the heck is going on around here? Where’s the ring, and who wrote the letter, and why does Virginia have a gun?

  She has to tell Luther—

  “Mom?”

  Looking up, she sees Max on the back porch. He’s barefoot, wearing pajamas and glasses.

  “Good morning, sweetie. There’s cereal in the—”