The Silent Bride awm-7

by Leslie Glass

  "No. And maybe he didn't either. That's why he shot her outside."

  Click. Ah, it might have been someone who had been inside but went outside when the cathedral was cleared.

  "Are you certain it was a he?"

  "They've asked me that. I don't know. I didn't really see much. It was so sudden. I just saw the flash of gray, the raincoat. I never even saw the barrel of a gun. It might have been a revolver. There was just a little sound. More like a cough than a pop. She just..." Anthony shook his head as if it were his fault. "I just didn't see it coming."

  "I know you've gone through this with the officers before, but we want to see what we can do to jog your memory. Just for a few seconds. Try to tell us what you saw, what you might not even know you saw. It's okay if you just give us impressions."

  His color leached out as he searched his memory. "It's like a black hole in my mind—" He stopped. "All I can think of is I was struggling to keep the umbrella over her head, their heads. Then blood spurting out on her dress. So much blood. It covered her in a second. She drowned in it." He reached for his own neck.

  April's heart thudded.

  "It was so . .. horrible.

  Horrible!

  I was trying to hold the umbrella over them. The wind changed; it turned inside out. I let it go and I saw .. . her eye was gone." His shoulders shook. "All I know for sure was that the man's raincoat had a hood."

  "Were you aware that Wendy Lotte was the party planner for both weddings?" April asked.

  "Yes. After the first girl was killed, it was in the newspapers."

  "Were the Hays concerned?"

  "About their daughter, yes. About Wendy, no. They trusted her."

  "How about you? Did you trust her?"

  "No."

  "Was that why you went to St. Patrick's?"

  "No, I didn't trust her because she has light fingers," Anthony said.

  "You mean she steals." A confirmation of what they knew. April glanced at Mike. His eyes flickered.

  "I'm not accusing. It's just possible," Anthony said, neutral.

  "How about the florist? Anything unusual about him?"

  "I don't know anything about him. He never came to the house."

  April began to revive with the tea. "Did you drive Prudence everywhere?" "Pretty much."

  "Great. Let's go back through the week. Everything she did, who she saw, that kind of thing."

  Anthony nodded and poured more tea. It was going to take a while.

  Forty-two

  T

  he dog was barking, and Kim was upset. Wendy wasn't answering her phone, and he had no one to talk to except his wife. Clio wouldn't let him near the phone. She stood in front of him, pushing the broom against him so he couldn't get to the phone without hurting her.

  "You so bad person," she screamed.

  This made Kim feel terrible, but he knew he wasn't a bad person. He did so many things for people. "Honey, I bought you a diamond ring," he reminded her, pushing a little at the broom.

  "Only little one," she screamed, shoving back. "Who you calling, huh? After all I do for you? Who you calling? I hope that woman's business fall into the ground. I hope you lose your job."

  "Don't say that. Tang's a great woman." This made Kim mad.

  "I married you for nothing. I should throw you away today."

  He bit his tongue because he didn't want to scream back. Whenever he fought back, she hit him.

  "You don't give me money. I should divorce you. You can go right back to those ships."

  Right now it didn't sound so bad to him. He'd had some beer so he wasn't really listening to her. He was thinking of his poor sister beaten so bad by her husband. His not listening made her madder still.

  "Why are you crying? I didn't hurt you." She poked him in the shoulder with the broom handle, almost knocking him over.

  He shook his head. He wasn't crying.

  "Yes, you're crying. Stop crying. You're not a child." She stamped her foot, mad enough to hit him some more.

  People said Clio Alma was a beautiful woman. She had a round face with smooth skin, full lips, and not a bad figure for someone so old. But she was a cold woman, hard and angry all the time. She pushed him back against the wall, screaming at him.

  "Why you so bad person? Why don't Tang give you more money? Huh, why not? Why you like her?" Clio was so mad her English broke up.

  Kim was scared of her. Everyone said she was a nice woman, but he knew she was really a witch and not right in her head. He had bruises. His head hurt. He didn't just like Tang. He loved Tang. She was good to him. He didn't love Clio, it was true. She was mean to him. And even though he'd told her before they married that he could never give her a child, she was still mad that he wouldn't sleep in her bed. Three years and she wouldn't give up.

  She wanted money. She wanted a child. She wanted to know where he was every minute of the day Jealous of everybody. Who could live like that? He was only thirty and could not sleep even on the same floor with her. He had to be downstairs, near the door so he could get out whenever he had to. He felt choked to death, also contrite and sorry that she thought so much was wrong with him. He wanted to tell her he didn't like Tang that way, either. No girl.

  Clio spat at him. "You didn't come home last night."

  "Yes, I did," he whispered. But she always knew. He wiped her spit off his face with the back of his hand.

  "Where were you?"

  He was not going to tell her he was with his friend Bill, an old man who gave him money. She didn't like him having friends. She didn't like him getting money that she didn't know about. If he told her he had money, she always took it from him.

  "Tell me," she demanded.

  He put his hps together. He wouldn't say anything. Whatever he said made her madder.

  "It's your fault he did it. You were supposed to come home and take him out. His mess is your fault." Now she was complaining about the dog.

  He looked sorry. He was busy. He'd forgotten about the dog.

  "Stop that; you're disgusdng."

  His face turned sullen.

  "Stop it," she yelled.

  He wasn't doing anything. He bit his lips. This angry woman who didn't get what she wanted burned him like acid. He wished he weren't such a good and tender person, so kind to her no matter what she did. She was the one who hid all the money. Even if she were hit by a subway train, he would never get any money.

  "You're worse than the dog," she screamed. "You took my money. You took a thousand dollars."

  He shook his head, his eyes rolling up. It was the other way around. She took his money. He didn't even know where she hid it.

  "Yes, you did. You took my money. Where is it?" she demanded.

  "I didn't take your money. I have my own money." He couldn't help teasing her just a little.

  "What money?" Her voice rose almost to a howl.

  Sometimes Clio screamed so loud in this quiet Queens neighborhood that someone called the police to make her stop. As soon as the police came, she opened the door nice and calm and said she was so sorry. Her husband was a little crazy, but nothing she couldn't handle. She assured them he wouldn't hurt anyone, and no one ever looked to see if she hurt him. It made him feel bad that she would say the noise was his fault.

  "No money. I was just kidding," he said, meek again. "I'll talk to you. What do you want me to say?"

  "What money?" she yelled, hurting his ears. She let him go and started looking through his things for the money.

  "No money, really," he cried. He didn't want her to take the money he'd gotten from the old man. He wanted to use it to buy more flowers for Tang. She'd been so happy with the last ones. Clio didn't find the money. He forgot he'd hidden it somewhere else. When she took the dog out he called Wendy. He wanted to tell her he'd found her gray raincoat, but she didn't answer her phone.

  Forty-three

  Candles burned. Dozens of them, all colors. Some smelled like wine, others like vanilla, oranges, root be
er. The peculiar collection of scents assaulted April's nose when Louis the Sun King opened the door to his Beekman Place town house apartment. The warmth and aroma of candles reached out and choked the air in the second-floor hallway.

  "I thought we were finished." He was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt with a pleated front, a Spanish shirt, and was surprised to see Mike again. From the look of him the party had been going on for a while. April glanced at Mike.

  "Uh-uh, we're not finished," Mike told him.

  Louis groaned and retreated into his highly stylized living room that was all clogged up with deep, soft sofas in orange and red, black and white Moroccan inlaid tables, oversize sari-covered pillows. Painted ostrich eggs, twig balls, vases and urns. Chairs and upholstered stools filled every corner. Scrolls covered the walls. It was a busy place. The burning candles danced colors around like spangles in a kaleidoscope.

  "We're coping as best as we can," Louis murmured, indicating the martini shaker. "Poor Prudence loved her martinis. Would you care to join us?"

  April's eyes swept the room, taking in the objects and the boyfriend, handsome as a movie star.

  "This is Jorge," Louis said proudly.

  "Sergeant Woo," April introduced herself.

  "I know. I know. Come in." Louis led the way to the sofa Jorge wasn't occupying. 'Two in one week. This epidemic could ruin me."

  "Two what?" April asked, playing the dummy.

  "I already told him these dead girls are bad for business."

  "What a joker," Mike remarked.

  "Believe me, I'm not laughing. What do you want from me now?"

  April didn't appreciate his attitude. "A better story than your last one."

  "Oh, for Christ's sake, I'm just a civilian. I don't know what that means."

  "Fine, let's start with Wendy."

  "Oh, before it was poor Ubu and Tito and me. Now it's Wendy. Jorge, these people can't make up their minds." Louis threw himself on the sofa next to his friend, jogging him slightly with his foot. April tilted her head at Mike.

  'Jorge, go to your room," he said.

  "I don't live here," Jorge replied, reaching over to pour himself more drink.

  "I don't care. 'Bye now." Mike squared himself off for a little Latin confrontation. Jorge evaluated the situation and said something—something probably not so nice in Portuguese. Then he downed the last of his martini and stood to go. His compliance indicated to April that he didn't have a green card.

  "Hey, what do you think you're doing? You can't throw my friends out." Louis jumped up to follow

  Jorge as he made for the exit. "Jorge, just walk around the block and come back, okay? This will only take a few minutes, I promise." They argued at the door for a moment. Louis's voice was pleading.

  Then he came back into the room angry as a hornet. "What's the matter with you? Are you nuts? He didn't do anything."

  "Let's impress upon you the seriousness of this matter, Louis. Two girls are dead, and none of us are sleeping until we find out who killed them. So lef s not cha-cha around this anymore." April said it as nicely as she could.

  "Believe me, I haven't forgotten. I did their weddings, their fucking wakes. I may go broke over this. It's hard enough to get paid when they

  live."

  He tossed his head, acting.

  "Still joking," Mike said, annoyed enough for both of them. "Cut the crap; we don't have the patience."

  "Humor is my crutch, okay? Doesn't mean I don't have feelings." Louis sank down on the sofa with a loving pat to the dent left there by his friend. "Quite aside from the personal, there's a financial component. I'm hurting here. This is going to cost me, maybe ruin me." He held both hands over his heart. "I'm not involved in any crimes."

  "Oh, you're involved. You're right there at the top of the list."

  This elicited a laugh. "Why? I've been written up everywhere. Didn't he tell you?" Louis pointed at Mike, still on his feet.

  April was still on her feet, too. She didn't want to sink into that soft sofa and have trouble getting up down the road. "The killer is right here in your little group, Louis. It's one of you, or all of you. Lefs face it. You know it's one of you."

  He patted his pompadour, anxious. "I know. I know. I

  know

  you think that. I told the lieutenant here where I came from, about my parents. He knows. And poor Ubu, this has sent him over the edge. It's a fucking tragedy." He pointed at Mike. "Sit down, will you? You're making me nervous."

  Mike obliged. April didn't.

  "I told you. I have nothing to hide. I had a shitty past, okay? I took a new name and found a new life. And now I feel bad for kids who suffered like I did. I'm giving something back. You want to sue me because I help them, sue me." He was emoting all over the place, but dead serious and right on the nerve center of his life. April yawned.

  "You think we're different, huh? Well, nobody escapes violence in this life, okay? I know that. Ask the shrinkers, they'll tell you. Everybody's been brutalized one way or another."

  Pat pat

  at the pompadour.

  "I may be an aging queen, but I know a thing or two about this. Take Tito. Both his brothers disappeared in Argentina, just disappeared. Politics. The police didn't care, claimed they didn't know anything. Tito was the baby, the faggot the family beat up, and suddenly the sole male survivor. Now he's just a loony bedbug, positive those brothers aren't really dead. The/re around every corner, coming back soon so he can go home again."

  April watched his eyes and yawned again. How did this pertain? Louis shot her a bitter look.

  "People don't talk about this stuff. They get nervous if you tell them that growing up you got fucked over every single day. People just plain don't like to hear it. Doesn't mean we turn out killers."

  April yawned a third time.

  "Fuck it, you don't give a shit," Louis grunted at her.

  "Tell me about Wendy," she said.

  "Huh. Do you have a year? She's a very complicated person."

  "No, Louis, I have an hour. Come on, tell me something I need to know. Did you see her this morning?"

  Louis dropped his head into his hands. "We spoke on the phone. You probably have all the phone records. You know we spoke. Where is she?"

  "What did you talk about?" April asked.

  "Nothing. Details. She was upset about the rain. She wanted to make sure we didn't line the red carpet with flower trees as we'd planned."

  "Any particular reason?"

  "Wendy is particular about everything. The winds were high. She knew the flowers would be spoiled. She was concerned the image of decay would give a bad impression."

  "The image of decay?" April said, not believing a word of this.

  "She always wanted her brides to have happy memories. It's ironic." He sniffed angrily.

  "Because she knew Prudence would die? Were you the final say on the flowers, Louis?"

  "No, no. Of course not. Mrs. Hay ordered them. I couldn't just not deliver them. I spoke to Mr. Hay about it. He was only too happy to cut them out. We donated all twenty-six flower trees. I'm praying they'll pay me. Maybe I should sue the city." He got up to move his glass, then sat again, eyes moving from one to the other.

  "Did Wendy have anything else on her mind?" April asked.

  "No, not that I remember." Louis's face was flushed almost purple from emotion, or drink. He looked about ready to have a stroke. "I already told him all this."

  "Well, here comes something new. You're very close. You know her state of mind. So far, she's the key to the killings, and you're the key to her."

  "No. I said this before. Wendy has her weaknesses, but she's not a killer."

  April lifted a shoulder. "Nonetheless. You're the key to her."

  Louis raised his hand. "I'm not the key to her. We do business. I wouldn't say we're close."

  "Hey, don't play with me!" she said sharply. "I have the party list going back years. You've had your problems in the past. We know about that
, too. So cut the cha-cha. You do a lot of business with Wendy."

  "Okay, a lot. So what?" Louis's face went through a number of expressions: pissed, nervous, impatient.

  'You did a wedding together on Martha's Vineyard a month ago?"

  "Yes ... ?" Now he was wary.

  "How did you get there?"

  "We took the van." Very surprised.

  "Your van?"

  "Of course my van."

  "Who went?" April asked.

  Louis pursed his hps. "Uto and me." He raised his shoulders.

  "What about Wendy?"

  "Wendy went in her own car."

  "Did anybody go with Wendy?"

  "I don't know, why?" "Did you know Wendy was a marksman?"

  "Of course."

  "Did she brag about it?"

  "Brag, no. It was a fact of life, like being left-handed."

  "Is she left-handed?"

  "No."

  "What did her being a shooter mean to you?"

  Up went that shoulder. "I don't know, nothing. Wendy's good at her job. That's all I think about."

  "You're a smart man, Louis. Don't give me that. Did she ever talk about taking somebody out?" April kept pushing.

  "Never."

  "What about Tito?"

  "I told you he's a bedbug, afraid of his own shadow."

  "Like Ubu?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Did you shoot the guns, Louis?" April demanded.

  "Me, are you crazy?" His eyes bulged out.

  "Oh, come on, it's fun. You know it's fun. Why not?" she prodded. "Everybody likes to shoot."

  "I still don't know what you're talking about." He looked pained.

  "I'm talking about the guns on the Vineyard. Wendy told me all about it. She said you all shot the guns."

  Up went the shoulder.

  'You remember it now?"

  He shook his head. "I'm not sure. I don't remember. Maybe some of the others did." His face was draining now.

  "Did you all stay at the house while you were there?" "Wendy's house?"

  April nodded, holding her breath.

  "Yeah, we stayed at Wendy's house."

  "Ubu, too?"

  "Yeah."

  April exhaled, and so did Mike. "You may go away for the rest of your life for not telling us about the guns sooner, Louis. You certainly could have saved Prudence. I don't know. Maybe you didn't want to save Prudence. I don't know, Mike, does this look like a conspiracy to you?"