Murder of a Wedding Belle

by Denise Swanson

  “Pff. She was greedy.” Madam Olga shook her head in disgust. “There was a higher profit margin on the ones Riley decided against and thus Belle’s commission would be bigger.”

  “Oh, so she was getting a cut from you?” Skye asked. “Is that usual?”

  “It is not uncommon.”

  Skye decided to press her luck and ask about what she had seen in the workroom. “How about sewing designer labels into dresses. Is that a common practice, too?”

  “Ah.” Madam Olga smiled thinly. “You thought you saw something, but you saw nothing.” She took Skye’s elbow and steered her down the hall. “Mrs. Erikson is in here.” As Madam Olga opened the door, she hissed, “Silly little girls should mind their own business.” She released Skye, turned, and marched away.

  After checking on Dora—the older woman insisted she’d be fine and adamantly refused to be taken home—Skye returned to the waiting area. Hallie was back, pacing in a tight circle. The others sat silently munching on refreshments.

  “Has Riley come out yet?” Skye eyed the group thoughtfully. Did any of them know more about Belle than they were admitting?

  “No. You’re safe.” Paige smiled reassuringly.

  “Good.” Skye plopped down on the sofa and reached for a cookie. “I didn’t have time for lunch, and I’m starved.”

  “Hardly.”

  Hallie’s voice surprised Skye. The girl hadn’t said two words since she’d arrived. “Excuse me?” Was Hallie commenting on Skye’s weight?

  “You are not starved. You may be hungry, but no one here is starving. Not like those poor children in Haiti.” Hallie’s tone was accusatory. “You all disgust me. The money being spent on this stupid wedding could support a whole village over there for ten years.”

  “The money isn’t yours to say how it should be spent,” Paige snapped.

  Hallie’s shoulders sagged and Skye asked, “Have you spoken to your father about this?”

  “He won’t listen,” Hallie sobbed. “He just says that he’s worked hard and the poor people should too.”

  “That’s his privilege.” Skye got up and handed the girl a tissue from her purse. At this rate she should invest in Kleenex stock. “Everyone has to make their own decisions in life. If you want to give your money to the poor or volunteer your time in third world countries, that’s your right. If your father doesn’t see it your way, that’s his. Maybe he supports a cause you don’t know about.”

  Hallie features were pinched. “None of you understand.” She was clearly not convinced.

  “No. I’m sure we don’t.” Skye remembered her own view of the world when she was Hallie’s age. She’d joined the Peace Corps, sure she could make a difference. And even though she was disillusioned by her failure to see much progress, she’d become a school psychologist for the same reason—because she was sure she could save the world. That hadn’t worked out exactly as planned either, and now she worked on helping one person at a time. “Maybe you can explain it to Riley, and she could help you persuade your father to make a significant donation.”

  “I’d like that.” Hallie’s expression was odd. “But I doubt Riley would care.”

  “Hasn’t she been nice to you?” Skye asked, wondering if Riley was the stereotypical evil stepmother.

  “It’s not that.” Hallie shook her head. “Hale and I are nearly nonexistent to her, which is how she wants it. Either we’re at college or Dad sends us on some trip to get us out of the way. It’s just that she’s a user, you know, just like that wedding planner of hers.”

  “Did you know Belle?”

  Hallie twitched her shoulders, but before Skye could press her for an answer, Riley swept into the room, and everyone’s attention focused on her.

  The wedding dress she wore were breathtaking. The A-line gown was made of pearl-colored silk with jewel-encrusted straps whose beading extended downward and joined to form a vee under the bustline.

  As if the wedding march were playing, Riley walked the length of the room, revealing the intricate organza flowers twining around the Swarovski-crystal monogram on her train. She slowly turned and struck a pose before saying, “Isn’t it fabulous? It’s a Badgley Mischka.”

  Skye wondered whether it was really made by the designer whose tag was sewn into it but decided not to open that can of worms. Better Riley was happy with a beautiful fake than demanding that Skye find her the genuine article less than a week before the wedding.

  Anita, apparently recovered from her hot flash, piped up, “It cost twelve thousand dollars.” She rose from her chair, walked over to Riley, and fingered the veil. “This is one of a kind. It’s embroidered with real gold thread and cost two thousand all by itself.”

  Skye cringed, afraid of Hallie’s reaction, but the girl only moaned softly and bit her lip.

  Riley pulled the skirt up and stuck out her foot. “I’m not sure I like these.”

  They all stared silently at the high-heeled sandal the bride was brandishing. Everyone was plainly afraid to comment.

  Finally, Skye asked, “Are they really important? Your dress completely covers them. No one will even see them.”

  “The right shoes can change your life,” Riley declared and crossed her arms.

  “You’re kidding me!” Hallie blurted out. “You don’t really believe that?”

  The bride put her hands on her hips. “Look at Cinderella.”

  “But she’s not real,” Skye said gently.

  “Neither is Riley,” Hallie muttered.

  Skye held her breath, waiting for her cousin to explode, but Madam Olga stepped forward and said, “I have several other wonderful pairs of shoes in your size. Why don’t you go back to the dressing room and Patricia will get them for you.”

  “Do you have any Louboutin’s?” the blonde asked excitedly.

  Skye didn’t relax until Madam Olga nodded and guided Riley down the hall.

  What seemed like hours later, Riley decided on a new pair of shoes and decreed that they could leave.

  As they walked out of the salon, Hallie put a hand on Skye’s arm, drawing her back a little from the others, and whispered, “I’d like to talk to you alone. Can I see you tonight?”

  “Sure,” Skye agreed. “I’ll be at the motor court working until at least ten.”

  As she climbed into the Thunderbird beside Wally, Skye thought about Hallie’s request. What did the girl need to discuss with her—alone?

  CHAPTER 10

  Off Center

  “No! Oh, shit!” Frannie’s scream made Skye jump, and she lost her footing on the slick porcelain of the motor court’s bathtub.

  Frannie Ryan had been one of Skye’s students at Scumble River High School but now attended Joliet Junior College. Yesterday afternoon, after agreeing to be Riley’s wedding planner, Skye had hired Frannie and her boyfriend, Justin Boward, as her assistants. They had started work a few hours before, when Skye had gotten back from Chicago.

  “Help, Ms. D.!” Another shriek burst through the bathroom door just as Skye regained her balance.

  This scream sounded more frantic. Skye grabbed the shower curtain, which instantly clung to her like syrup to a waffle. As she wrestled with the cheap plastic, an image of the murderer returning to the scene of the crime and attacking Frannie popped into her head.

  Skye succeeded in peeling the curtain from body, but as she leaped out of the tub, she slipped on the linoleum floor and slid into the toilet. Furious at herself for leaving Frannie alone while Belle’s murderer was still walking around free, she ignored the pain shooting from her shin down her leg and snatched a towel. What if the killer was intent on stopping Riley and Nick’s wedding by getting rid of anyone who was working on the event?

  Adrenaline pounding, Skye dashed into the cabin’s main room and skidded to a stop in front of the girl, who was kneeling by an open carton, yelling at its contents.

  Crap! This was getting old. How many times did she have to rush in to rescue someone who didn’t need her help b
efore she learned her lesson?

  “Look at these.” Frannie stood and held out a menu card topped with a pink tulle bow. “Just look at these.” The girl was a little taller than average, and, like Skye, a lot curvier than was fashionable. “They all have Riley’s name spelled wrong.” Frannie dug through another bundle. “The programs are misprinted, too.”

  Skye stood dripping, clutching the towel to her breasts with one hand and holding the offending square of pasteboard with the other. Frannie was right: Riley was spelled Riled.

  “Holy smokes!” Skye quipped. “That’ll definitely rile the bride’s temper.”

  Frannie joined in, “Yep, no way she’s not getting riled up about that.”

  After they stopped giggling, Frannie said, “You’re not dressed.” She had apparently just noticed Skye’s appearance. “And you’re dripping on the carpet.”

  “Really?” Skye glared at the girl. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re in the shower and someone screams for help as if they’re being murdered.”

  “You were in the shower?”

  “I told you I couldn’t stand the stench any longer and needed to wash up.”

  Skye and Frannie had been sitting on the floor unpacking the latest UPS shipment when Frannie had dropped a carton full of perfume bottles meant for the bachelorette party’s goody bags. She’d been able to roll out of the way, but Skye hadn’t been as fortunate. A wave of fragrance washed over her like an incoming tide, drenching her T-shirt and bra. She smelled as if she had been marinated in rose cologne.

  “Oh, yeah.” Frannie held her nose with her fingers. “That stuff is nasty.”

  “Yes, it is.” Skye turned to go back into the bathroom to get dressed, thankful that she always kept a change of clothes in her car. You never knew when a three-year-old would pee on your lap during a preschool screening, or an older student would vomit all over you during an evaluation. Not to mention the occasional lunchroom incident.

  “Why do you think Riley picked it?”

  “I have a feeling she chose it more for the color than the scent,” Skye answered Frannie, then added over her shoulder before she closed the bathroom door, “Which is why I had you put the rest of it in the trash outside.”

  “Speaking of that,” Frannie shouted through the thin plywood, “when are they going to empty that Dumpster? It’s so jam-packed, I could barely squeeze in the carton, let alone close the lid.”

  “Garbage day is tomorrow, I think.” Skye returned wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Why’s it so full?”

  “Partly because of all the packing material we’ve been shoving into it. But also, all of the supplies Belle rejected are in there.”

  “You mean she threw away good stuff?” Frannie twisted a glossy brown lock around her finger, stared at it as if she’d never seen it before, then let it unwind. She had cut her nearly waist-length waves when she entered college, and her hair now hung in a straight curtain to the middle of her back. “Why?”

  “She claimed the quality wasn’t what she was promised.” Skye pulled on socks and laced up her tennis shoes. “It’s shocking how many companies would rather have you toss their merchandise than pay for return shipping.” She pulled her wet curls back into a ponytail. “And it seemed that no one was willing to incur the wrath of Belle by refusing her demands.”

  “It sounds as if Belle was a pain.”

  “I thought so, but dealing with the bride today put Belle’s behavior in a whole new light.”

  “Riley gave you a hard time?”

  “Not me so much, but she expects perfection.” Skye thought about her cousin’s behavior at the dress salon. “And she isn’t afraid to cry��or to make other people cry—to get her own way.”

  Skye wrinkled her forehead. That reminded her; she’d forgotten to tell Wally about Madam Olga and the phony designer labels. His account of the DJ’s interview had taken most of the drive from Chicago to Scumble River. And since they both had too much to do to have a leisurely dinner together, he’d dropped her at the motor court as soon as they got back to town.

  “Tantrums never work for me.” Frannie narrowed her brown eyes. “Why do they work for her?”

  Skye hesitated, but Frannie wasn’t her student anymore, and she had decided to treat the girl more like a friend than a responsibility, so she didn’t try to soften what she had to say. “Sad as it is, between Riley’s beauty and Nick’s wealth, people behave a lot differently toward her than they do you or me.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “You’re right,” Skye agreed. “But that’s reality.”

  “But it sucks.”

  “I agree with you.” Skye shrugged. “But, for this week at least, Riley is the queen, and we’re the drones.” She handed Frannie paper and a pen. “Now, make a list of everything that hasn’t arrived yet or that we need to replace, so you can start making calls tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay.” Frannie sighed, then seemed to forget the world’s injustices and took the legal pad. “I’ll compare the inventories against what’s here.”

  “Great.” Skye checked her watch. It was close to eight thirty. “Any idea what’s taking Justin so long?” She had sent him to get a pizza more than forty minutes ago.

  “Want me to call his cell?” Frannie offered.

  “No. I guess I’m just hungry.” Skye shook her head. “It does take a while to get over to Clay Center and back. I sure wish someone would open up a pizza place in Scumble River.”

  “Ms. Bunny was talking to Simon about adding a takeout window at the bowling alley.” Frannie worked parttime at the bowling alley’s grill.

  “Hmm.” Skye’s response was noncommittal. Like May, Frannie desperately wanted Skye to go back to dating Simon. Frannie’s father, Xavier, was Simon’s assistant at the funeral home, and Frannie considered Simon her big brother.

  Frannie and Skye worked in silence until the door to the cottage opened and the enticing scents of pepperoni and cheese preceded Justin into the room. He was juggling a large, flat box, a six-pack of Diet Coke, and a stack of napkins, and as soon as he cleared the threshold, he announced, “Dinner is served.”

  At eighteen, Justin topped six feet, but his weight had not caught up with his height, and his skinny build induced any woman with a smidgen of maternal instinct to try to feed him. His hair was military short and he hid his long-lashed brown eyes behind thick glasses. He wasn’t an attractive teenager, but Skye suspected that he would grow into a nice-looking man.

  “Thank goodness. I thought you’d gotten lost.” Skye relieved Justin of the box. “I’m starved.” As soon as she uttered the words, she remembered Hallie Jordan’s reaction to them earlier that afternoon. Would the young woman show up tonight for the private talk she wanted? And if she did, what would she say?

  “Me too.” Frannie took the plastic bucket from the nightstand. Charlie had removed the beds from the cottages they were using for storage but had refused to take away the rest of the furniture. “I’ll go get ice.”

  Justin dropped the napkins and sodas on the desk. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  Skye opened her mouth to say that it didn’t take two people to get ice but immediately closed it. If Frannie and Justin wanted a few minutes of privacy, she wasn’t about to stop them. Besides, it was probably better that neither was alone at night around the motor court.

  As soon as the teenagers were gone, Skye snatched a slice of pizza and took a huge bite. A nanosecond later her cell rang. She put the piece down, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and grabbed her purse.

  Skye tried to remember to put the phone in an outside pocket of her bag but rarely did so. This time she found it near the bottom, tangled up with a terry-cloth headband, a grocery receipt, and her key ring.

  Flipping it open, she hurriedly said, “Hello.”

  No one answered.

  “Hello.” Skye wondered whether whoever had been calling had given up. “Is anyone there?” When Justin g
ot back she’d have him show her, again, how to check for missed calls.

  As she fumbled to turn off the phone, she detected the sound of breathing.

  “Can you hear me?” Scumble River didn’t have the best cell phone reception.

  More breathing; then, as she was about to close the phone, a genderless voice said, “Keep your nose out of other people’s business and your mouth shut about things you don’t understand or this might be the last wedding you organize.”

  Unnerved, Skye returned the phone to her purse. Her heart was pounding and her knees were shaking. Whom had she ticked off today? Shoot! Every vendor she’d talked to was unhappy with her for one reason or another. Before she could narrow the list down, she heard Frannie and Justin returning.

  As the teens burst into the room, both were flushed and a little giggly. Justin was saying, “So she was all, like, whoof, and then, you know, I was all, like, whatever.”

  Frannie answered, “Gah!”

  Skye had no idea what the teens were saying and didn’t mention the threatening call to them; she’d talk to Wally about it later.

  Justin put the ice bucket on the desk and scooped up a slice of pizza. In between bites, he said, “You’d better tell Mr. Patukas that some animal’s gotten into his garbage.”

  “Was it a raccoon?” Skye took a swig of soda. “I hope it wasn’t a coyote. I’ve heard there’s a real problem with them this year.”

  Frannie shrugged. “We didn’t see it, just heard some noise by the Dumpster.”

  “I’ll let him know.” Skye finished eating and put the debris in the trash can.

  Once Justin and Frannie were full, they all buckled down to work and unpacked the remaining boxes with no more interruptions.

  Just before ten, Skye told the teens they were through for the night, instructing them to meet her back at the motor court at nine a.m. and reminding them to keep track of their hours.

  After Frannie and Justin had gone, Skye gathered up her things, turned out the lights, and headed for her car. As she stepped off the pavement, she spotted Hallie and Hale getting out of a bright yellow cab parked in front of cabin ten. Hale handed the driver a wad of cash, and the taxi left in a squeal of tires.