“The police presence should make it safe,” Nick said.
I nodded. “As safe as it can be with a killer still out there.” I got a chill thinking that this would be the killer’s last chance to stop the wedding.
“Any ideas yet?”
“Too many,” I said. “Narrowing it down is the hard part. Too many people had some kind of motive. I can’t see any of them going to such an extreme.”
“Including your friend Brad.”
“Yes, including Brad, but—”
“Listen, Audrey, I’ve been thinking.” He took my hand in his. “I’ve been a bit foolish. I was jealous when Brad came back into town, and I’m sorry for that. I trust your instincts, and if you say he isn’t the killer, then I believe you.”
I nodded, and he squeezed my hand a little tighter. The bell choir started playing Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” I swallowed. I’m a sucker for the “Moonlight Sonata.”
“And I was wrong when I said that we should date other people,” he said. “It’s true that I have no claim on you—and I can’t even think about . . . taking our relationship to the next level until I have the means of supporting . . . Well, it sounds so old-fashioned, but it was how I was raised.”
I nodded again.
“But I’m not sure I was being completely honest with you.”
“Not honest?”
“Well, while I said those words, I knew that the last thing in the world I wanted was to date other people, and I hoped you’d feel the same.”
I squeezed his hand as the doors opened and the ushers escorted family members to the front.
“Who are they?” Nick followed my gaze.
“My guess would be the groom’s parents.” As a smiling older couple took a seat on the right-hand side, I added, “Yep.”
“How do you know?”
“Grandma Mae used to always say, ‘The groom insisted he was right, so the bride left,’ to help us remember which side was which at weddings. At least that’s the case with traditional Christian weddings. I think Jewish weddings are the opposite.”
“The bride is always right?” Nick said. “Sounds like a safer plan.”
“His parents look pretty happy.”
“You had them on your suspect list?”
“Briefly,” I said. “If for some reason they didn’t like Suzy, they’d have motive. But they weren’t staying at the Ashbury. In fact, I haven’t seen them around at all.”
I turned to Liv, who was rubbernecking the crowd in the church. “Looking for suspects?” I asked.
“That man,” she said. “Third row.” She pulled out her phone and flipped through the images of the people from Gary’s exposés. “Does he look like . . . ?”
I looked at the picture on the phone first. It was a grainy picture. “Who is this guy?”
“Alderman. Took bribes.”
I looked up at the third row. There was some resemblance in hair color and profile, but then she turned around.
“Never mind,” Liv said as she snatched back her phone.
No family was escorted to the bride’s side, probably because Suzy’s father would be walking her down the aisle, and he was a widower.
The next person in the room was Marco, the cameraman. Nathan, covered in camera gear, looked like a foreign legion soldier who had just crossed the desert. Sweat beaded on his forehead and soaked through the back of his shirt. Brad also carried a camera, smaller, but more portable. And the sound guy had his boom mic.
And when the cameras were set, Gigi and Henry Easton came in next, arm in arm. The cameras focused on them as they pointed and looked dreamily at the empty stage. I recalled watching the show and seeing Gary and Gigi commenting on how nice the wedding was turning out. But of course, with limited cameras, this was not taking place at the same time as the wedding, as the viewer was led to believe. All staged and scripted and edited to look like it was happening in real time.
The music changed to “Canon in D” as Pastor Seymour, followed by the groom and the groomsmen all wearing their campanula boutonnieres, entered through a side door. The groom (Michael or Martin, or whatever his name was) strode to his marked spot at the front of the church. I could tell it was marked because he stopped, looked down, then shuffled three inches to the right. He sent a brief, nervous smile to his parents, then fixed his eyes on the back door, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
The bridesmaids seemed to race down the aisle, wobbling a bit on their stiletto heels. As they did, I could have sworn I heard sleigh bells, their random tintinnabulation clashing with the clear tones of the bell choir. As the bridesmaids took their places at the front of the church, I began to figure out where all those tinkling sounds were coming from. Bell earrings. Bells woven into their hair ornaments. Bells on the sashes of their dresses. Bells on their shoes. Wasn’t that an old nursery rhyme—rings on her fingers and bells on her toes?
And here I was worried that bellflowers would be too literal.
When the bride and her father appeared in the doorway, the room hushed. Except for the bells. The bride was wearing the vintage bell-sleeved gown, but they had at least altered it to remove the high neck. The sleeves started just below her bare shoulders. They were fitted until they reached the elbow, then flared out into a fluttery bell shape that no longer quite reached the floor. Seed pearls sewn in bell shapes decorated the bodice and the train, and more seed pearls repeated the same pattern on the veil. The effect was striking. Nevena must not have slept in days.
As the bell choir started the next tune, Suzy’s father rubbed his trimmed beard. Apparently Suzy failed in her bid to get him to shave it. She held her bouquet low, probably as Easton had directed her so that the camera could pick up the dress. The muted colors of the campanula mixed well with the white of the calla lilies, making the bouquet seem airy and light, as if it were in soft focus. And although you couldn’t see much of the bell design on the silver bouquet holder, I knew that Suzy knew it was there. And by the smile on her face, I imagined she was pleased.
Max looked shell-shocked as he made his way past the cameras with Suzy tugging his arm as she half-walked, half-danced down the aisle to the bell choir playing a rocking tune. I checked the program.
“‘You Can Ring My Bell’?” I whispered to Nick.
“I think it’s an old disco tune,” he said with an amused smile.
In fact, all of the uses were with us. Pastor Seymour looked a bit bemused at the bell choir. Most of the audience looked amused as the bride sashayed down the aisle to the beat of the music with her evidently confused father in tow. And my eye caught Bixby, standing near the back door leaning on the frame, the silhouette of his gun in its holster evident under his suit coat as he mused over the situation.
Butterflies in my stomach discoed to the rocking processional tune. Would the wedding go on as planned? Or would the killer make one more attempt to stop it?
I think I daydreamed through much of the rest of the wedding. Well, not quite daydreamed. When younger, I’d let my mind wander during weddings, thinking about the day I’d march down the aisle. I’d planned my dress, my flowers, and my cake. That seemed less likely to happen all the time, but those were the silly daydreams of a young girl. Today, however, my eyes darted back and forth among the various suspects. I could see why the Secret Service wear those dark glasses—it not only cuts down glare, but it hides the direction in which they’re looking. If anyone was looking at me that day, they probably thought I had some kind of spastic eye disease.
When the groom began his vows, I breathed deeply and tried to focus.
“Suzy, you bring joy and laughter into my life. I promise that I’ll be true to you, cherish you, and take out the garbage. I will never take you for granted, or ask you to be quiet because I’ve had a long day at the office. I’ll be ready to listen, ready to share all of life with you, to the
sound of the tinkling of hundreds of bells. I won’t even complain if you keep your Tinker Bell doll on the bed, because I know it reminds you of your mother. And I love her without even meeting her because she’s the one who gave you to me.”
At this point, Suzy’s eyes welled up, and she pulled a small handkerchief from the middle of her bouquet. I don’t necessarily recommend brides store them there, but it happens.
I didn’t pay much attention to Suzy’s vows, since I’d heard them at the rehearsal. Until she left her script and started winging it.
“And at the beginning, I didn’t know whether you’d end up being my best friend or something more. Until that first kiss . . . Then I knew we weren’t destined to remain friends.”
I couldn’t help the snort that escaped. I tried to mask it with a sniffle and prayed that it didn’t make its way to the front of the church or the running microphones.
An intake of breath from Nick made me look in his direction. He was studying the floor with a jaw so tight I could tell he was stifling laughter. I didn’t dare look at Liv.
Then, nothing . . .
Nothing happened. When I looked up, the bride and groom were staring at each other. Members of the wedding party were looking around. Pastor Seymour’s head was bowed, as if he were in deep prayer. Only townsfolk had seen him do this before.
Shirley left her seat near the front of the church and climbed the podium, squeezing in behind the bridesmaids before coming up to the pastor and simply laying her hand on his arm.
He awoke with a start, cleared his throat, and said, “Let us pray.”
I have no idea if a prayer was supposed to go there, but while Pastor Seymour offered a quick prayer for the happiness of the new couple, I peeked under my lashes to watch Shirley creep off the stage and the wedding party share a few smiles.
Shortly after the “Amen,” the couple exchanged rings, kissed, and walked down the aisle. The bell choir remained silent, but up from the belfry came the deep peals of the church’s historic bell. I hadn’t heard it since it had marked Gary’s death, and it gave me a thrill of victory, that the killer hadn’t been able to stop the wedding.
Then again, the killer had not yet been caught, so the victory wasn’t complete.
The bell choir played another tune, and then another, and I was grateful when the ushers finally released our row to stand in the reception line. Not that the choir wasn’t good, but I think I was starting on a heat-induced headache. Good thing we had three hours before the start of the reception. I’d need a shower and a change of clothing.
We stopped and briefly chatted with Pastor Seymour and Shirley. The bell choir filed past us, whipping off their robes at the earliest convenience to reveal sweat-soaked T-shirts, and the bridal party went back into the church with their photographer to re-create scenes they’d missed the first time.
I watched them for a few minutes, relieved that the wedding went off—and without a hitch. And the flowers lasted, even in the heat. Nick, Liv, Eric, and I exited the church to observe an animated exchange between Bixby and Brad. I rushed over.
“Some security,” Brad said, shaking his head.
Just when everything seemed to be going right. Had the killer struck again? “What happened?” I asked.
“You shouldn’t have left the keys in it,” Bixby said, ignoring me and answering Brad. “My men were watching the entrance, not the parking lot. But I’ll file the report.”
Brad ran a hand through his hair. “File a report. What good is that going to do?”
“Maybe someone will find it. Or try to sell it. I can interview the crowd, ask if they saw anything.”
“I already did that,” Brad practically whined. “Everybody was watching the building, waiting for the bride and groom and the cast to come out.”
I put my hand on Brad’s shoulder. “What happened?” I asked again, only this time a little louder.
“Somebody stole the Range Rover,” he said.
Bixby took Brad by the arm and gestured to a spot in the churchyard farther away from the throng behind the barriers and we followed him there. Dennis Pinkleman had his cell phone camera focused in our direction. I didn’t see Jackie and her crew among the group of onlookers, but they could have headed out for more coffee. Or more margaritas, for that matter. Hopefully not in the Range Rover.
“And you’re sure it’s stolen?” Bixby asked. “Maybe someone else from the show needed to use it.”
Brad shook his head. “That was my first thought, too. But I checked already.”
“When did you last see it?” I asked.
“I didn’t misplace it, Audrey,” Brad barked back. “It was stolen.”
“I didn’t say you misplaced it,” I said. “I simply asked when you had last seen it.”
Bixby crossed his arms and looked amused. “I’d answer the lady. It’s a good question. In fact, it was the next one I was going to ask.”
“I carried the guestbook and supplies out just before the wedding began.”
“That’s a big window,” Bixby said. “Could have been taken during the wedding, or after.” Bixby scanned the crowd and sighed. “I should try to establish a time frame for who left and when. I don’t suppose the Pinkleman kid would relinquish that cell phone voluntarily, would he?”
“You might be better off waiting until he posts his pictures on the fan site. I suspect he’s not your number one fan. Wait!” I turned to Brad. “Did you say the guestbook was in there? What else?”
“Odds and ends, mostly. The street clothes for the whole wedding party. They changed here. An extra outfit for Gigi, just in case. Thread, ribbon, emergency supplies.”
“No expensive video equipment or anything like that?” Bixby asked.
Brad shook his head. “Anything valuable is either locked up or being used. I was going to run this stuff back to the inn, unload, and come back for some of the cast and crew.” Brad froze for a moment, the blood draining from his face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The marriage license,” he said. “It was in the van, signed, but not filed yet.”
“But that means . . .” Bixby started. Nobody finished the sentence.
Someone had managed to stop the wedding after all.
Chapter 21
I sent a group text to Liv and all the Rose in Bloom employees. “Meet me at the shop in twenty.”
I showered quickly, dried off in front of the air conditioner in the bedroom, and slipped into a jade dress. I pulled into the alley behind the shop just before Amber Lee.
When I unlocked the back door, I was amazed at how clean the place looked—and how incorrectly Eric and his crew had managed to put all the salvageable supplies away. It would take us weeks to find everything and straighten it all out after his straightening.
I turned the thermostat down to bump on the air conditioning.
“Do we have a floral emergency?” Amber Lee said.
“No, I just—”
Darnell was the next to peek his head in the door. Followed by Shelby. I hadn’t bothered texting our irregular interns. When Liv and Eric arrived, looking every bit as confused as the others, I started.
“I think you all have heard that a Fix My Wedding Range Rover was stolen,” I said.
“With the wedding license,” Liv added.
Amber Lee raised her hand. “But I heard Bixby got the county clerk to issue a replacement. They got it signed and filed, so the wedding was valid.”
Our little group applauded that, and since Amber Lee’s gossip sources were generally reliable, I was happy for the couple.
“But someone did try hard to stop the wedding from being official,” Shelby said.
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe they were after something else.”
“Like what?” Liv asked.
“Range Rovers go for a chun
k of change,” Eric said.
“True,” I said. “But how coincidental that someone would steal that particular vehicle, even if the keys were left in the ignition.”
“The theft of the Range Rover has to be tied in with the other things,” Liv said. “The break-in here. The damage of the wedding dresses. And maybe Gary’s murder.”
“All to stop the wedding?” Amber Lee asked. “Then he failed. Or do you think there’s another angle?”
“Suzy’s wedding does seem to be the focus of it all, doesn’t it?” I said. “Liv, you mentioned there were a bunch of interviews that Gary did with Suzy on the computer disk. Was that disc taken during the break-in?”
“No,” Liv said. “It was still in the computer.”
“Good. Then we still have access to it.”
“But whoever vandalized the shop was interested in those old videotapes of Gary’s,” Shelby said.
“Which is why I’d like you and Darnell to head to the library. Take a copy of the list of Gary’s news stories, and see what you can dig up. Ask for Mrs. McGregor, the research librarian. Those stories are over twenty years old, so not all the information might be available on the Internet.”
“Mrs. McGregor is like seventy,” Shelby said.
“Who better to know how to find something that’s not on the Internet?” Amber Lee said. “Now shoo. It takes longer with microfiche.”
As our two part-time employees made their way out the back door debating what microfiche might be, Liv squinted at me. “You know more than you’re telling us.”
“It’s not something I know. Just . . . what if the person who took the Range Rover wasn’t after the marriage license?”
“What would they be after?” Amber Lee said.
Liv’s eyes grew wide. “The guest book . . . or poster . . . or whatever they want to call it.”
I nodded. “With all the fingerprints on it. It’s a cute keepsake, but it caught my attention because it really didn’t have much to do with the theme of the wedding. Yes, there were a few bells hanging from the tree, but not enough to stand out. Yet Brad told me that Gary had specifically chosen it.”
For Whom the Bluebell Tolls (A Bridal Bouquet Shop Mystery) Page 23