Murder of a Wedding Belle

by Denise Swanson

  Riley glared at her future stepmother-in-law. “You haven’t come to one single event before this. And now you appear wearing that ... that hideous outfit. You have no room to talk, so just shut the hell up.”

  Skye had to agree with her cousin; Natasha’s attire did seem more like a costume than a dress. It looked as if a red silk and gold lace tablecloth had been wrapped from her chest to her knees. Then a tutu skirt of tulle fluttered from her shins to her feet. Circling her brow were three gold chains with a huge ruby brooch in the center.

  “You will not speak to me that way.” Natasha shook her head, sending her long curls rippling down her back. “This gown is Alexander McQueen original and cost over ten thousand dollars.” The shapely blonde sneered. “I am Russian royalty and you are country bumpkin.”

  “Royalty, my ass!” Riley screeched. “More like a mail-order bride from Siberia who married some rich old geezer to stay in the United States.”

  Natasha took a deep breath that nearly had her breasts escaping the confines of her dress’s bandeau top. “Last person who talk to me that way no longer alive.”

  Skye took a hasty step between the two women, wondering whether Natasha and Belle had ever crossed paths. “Ladies.” She glanced down and saw that Luca Jay’s baby blue eyes were rounded and his rosebud mouth puckered, as if he were about to cry. “Not everyone knows you’re kidding.”

  Natasha and Riley followed Skye’s gaze and moved apart, but the women continued to glower at each other.

  Finally, Riley turned her back on the older woman and said to Skye, “Let’s get this over with.” She grabbed the paper plate bouquet, then ran a slim hand down the pale pink charmeuse of her strapless sheath. “How do I look?”

  “Truth aside,” Natasha sniggered, “you look fabulous.”

  Riley stiffened, then almost as if in slow motion, she swung around and smashed her mock bouquet over Natasha’s head, causing the paper plate to disintegrate into confetti. Who knew such an ethereal-looking bride could pack such a wallop?

  In the next instant, Natasha lunged and fastened her hands around Riley’s throat. Instinctively, Skye wrapped her arms around the older woman’s waist and pulled with all her not inconsiderable weight. Natasha’s grip loosened, and she and Skye staggered backward, falling into an ungraceful heap on the floor.

  Everyone had been staring, frozen, but when Skye and Natasha hit the ground, their menfolk ran toward them. As Wally helped Skye to her feet, she watched Jay Jordan lead his son and wife away while picking ribbon and bows out of Natasha’s hair.

  Once the Russian woman was gone, the rehearsal went smoothly. And when they entered the dining room, Skye was relieved to see that Nick’s stepmother was seated at the far end of the horseshoe, and Riley was at the center.

  After popping into the kitchen to let Allison know they were ready to eat, Skye slipped into her chair. Wally was on her right and Paige on her left. The food was delicious, and a different wine was served with each course. Skye was careful to take only a sip of each, but Paige drained every glass.

  As they waited for the dessert, Paige got unsteadily to her feet and marched toward the door, announcing that she needed to use the little girls’ room. Skye observed her wobbly gait and hastily decided to join the tipsy woman, discreetly steadying the redhead as her stilettos skidded on the slick hardwood floor.

  When Paige emerged from the bathroom stall, Skye was applying a coat of red amber to her lips. She dropped the lipstick tube into her purse and said, “Well, only one day to go.”

  “Right.” Paige washed and dried her hands. “And once Riley has her perfect wedding, we can all relax for a while.” She ran a comb through her hair; it fell in a flawlessly straight curtain nearly to her waist. “Things certainly would have been different for her if she’d married her high school sweetheart and never moved to California.”

  Skye couldn’t believe her luck. She had almost forgotten that she wanted to know what had happened with Riley’s hometown beau. “You know, I wasn’t in Scumble River when Riley was in high school. Who was her boyfriend, and why didn’t she end up marrying him?”

  “I don’t remember his name. Riley told me about it our freshman year of college, so it’s been a while,” Paige explained. “But they broke up briefly the middle of their senior year.”

  “Briefly?” Skye asked. “I’m confused. Did they get back together?”

  “Yeah, a month or so later they made up. But it was too late.”

  “Too late?” Skye couldn’t contain herself. “What do you mean? What happened?”

  “He had already asked another girl to the senior prom and refused to renege, which meant Riley didn’t have an escort, and by that point, all the decent-looking guys were taken.” Paige frowned. “I think that may be another reason she decided to have the wedding in Scumble River. She wanted to show the town that she was no longer the girl without a date to her senior prom. Now she’s a princess.”

  “You’re probably right,” Skye agreed, then asked, “So they broke up again. This time for good.”

  “Yes.” Paige tsked. “But the worst part was that the night of the prom the brakes failed on his car, and he and his date were in an awful accident. The girl was scarred for life, and he never walked again.”

  “Oh, my. How awful. Riley must have felt terrible.”

  “Not so you’d notice.” Paige shrugged her tanned shoulders. “When she told me about it, she almost seemed to be gloating.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case.” Skye scrambled for something to say, wondering how far Riley would go if Belle had somehow disappointed or upset her.

  “And now that Riley has found her true love, I’ll bet she’s really sorry about what happened the night of the prom.”

  “I wouldn’t call Nick Riley’s true love, but he has all the characteristics that make her happy.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Paige pushed open the restroom door and said over her shoulder, “She and I both like our men the same way we like our chocolate bars: rich with big nuts.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Final Touches

  “Vince, this is Paige Hathaway, Tabitha Urick, and Hallie Jordan.” It was the day of the wedding and they were all gathered in the dressing room at the country club. “Ladies, this is my brother, Vince Denison.” Skye finished the introductions, then asked, “Who do you want to work on first?”

  “I usually start with the bride, but you said she was running late.” Vince plugged in a set of hot rollers and a curling iron.

  “She just phoned and is on her way, but it’ll probably be at least thirty minutes.”

  Skye frowned, thinking of the call. Riley had been hysterical because she couldn’t locate her grandmother’s silver cake server. When Skye reminded her that Dora had brought it to the club last night and it was lying on the cake table ready to be used, her cousin had slammed the phone down, but not before Skye heard her screaming at her mother.

  While Vince and the makeup artist, who had arrived late yesterday from California, got started on the bridesmaids, Skye went to check on the groomsmen, who were assembled in the country club’s bar. Since Nick had rented the entire clubhouse for the day, they had the whole place to themselves. Skye found them sprawled on sofas and chairs, drinking Bloody Marys and watching ESPN.

  She examined their tuxes and saw that they were all in order. Jay and Natasha had promised to bring Luca Jay already dressed at one p.m., just in time for the pictures to be taken before the ceremony. Everyone agreed the little ring bearer would be bored waiting around the country club with the rest of the bridal party, which provided Skye with a good excuse to keep Natasha and Riley apart for as long as possible.

  As Skye walked back through the lobby, Frannie and Justin arrived, along with Iris Yee, her husband, and the crew she’d hired from Chicago. It would take several hours to set up the flower arrangements, even with the teenagers’ help, and the floral designer waved but didn’t stop to speak.

&
nbsp; Next to walk in was Yves Galois. After escorting the photographer to the bridesmaids’ dressing room, Skye inspected the ballroom, patio/pool area, and tent.

  Finding everything in order, Skye crossed her fingers. If all the vendors showed up on time, and with the goods they had promised, Riley would have the dream wedding she wanted. That is, of course, depending on what Wally found out when he interrogated Earl Doozier.

  Wally was giving the Red Ragger until noon to sober up, then would show him the pictures of Zach’s and Nick’s backs. Skye refused to think of what it would mean if Earl identified either man. Could she talk Wally into waiting until after the wedding to question whichever guy had been fighting with Belle? But if it was Nick, shouldn’t Riley know that before she married him?

  Pushing that conundrum aside, Skye checked her watch. The bride should be arriving any minute. As Skye approached the lobby, she saw Riley, Anita, and Dora swarm through the entrance. A few steps later they converged on her like a cloud of killer bees, demanding to see the venue before getting their hair and makeup done.

  While the three women inspected the tent, Skye thought about Belle’s killer. They’d eliminated several of their prime suspects, although Iris and the other vendors the wedding planner had been shaking down continued to be possibilities. But Skye wasn’t convinced any of them had a strong enough motive to kill Belle. Could the bride obsessed with perfection be the murderer?

  What had she and Wally learned so far? One, Belle had expensive tastes and no longer had a trust fund to support them, but she was still making two-thousand-dollar weekly deposits into her bank account.

  Two, Belle had given Bunny a large sum of counterfeit cash, and the money hadn’t come from the vendor kickbacks she’d demanded because she wouldn’t get her cut until they received their final payment.

  Three, she’d been overheard arguing twice. Was it with the same person both times?

  And four—

  “Skye! Pay attention!” Riley poked her shoulder. “The material at the sweetheart table is supposed to be swagged and it’s not.”

  “Since the linen consultant isn’t here today, I’ll ask Iris if she has something to fasten it with.” Skye pulled out her memo pad and made a note. “I can pin it up while you all are getting your hair done.”

  Riley nodded, and they walked back to the clubhouse and into the ballroom. Skye sniffed discreetly. Yep. The Febreze she’d sprayed as soon as she’d arrived at the country club that morning had worked.

  “Skye!” Riley poked her again. “Did you get rid of the stuff my relatives insisted on baking?”

  “No.” Shoot. Skye had been hoping Riley would forget about the homemade goodies. “I told you I wasn’t going to get in the middle of that issue.”

  “Honey,” Anita pleaded with her daughter, “can’t you just put it on a side table?”

  “But, Mom,” Riley whined, “it’ll look tacky.”

  “Sweetie pie.” Dora patted her granddaughter’s hand. “Please, for me.”

  “Okay, Grandma,” Riley sighed. “But it’s not going to be served on the living buffet.” The older women nodded their agreement, and Riley turned to Skye. “Is Nick here?”

  “Yes ...” Skye answered cautiously, hoping that was what her cousin wanted to hear.

  “Good.” Riley turned. “I thought of something last night that needs to be done before the pictures.”

  Skye shuddered but followed Riley, Anita, and Dora as they marched down the hall. What did Riley want now?

  When they entered the bar, Riley strode up to Nick and said, “Hale needs to shave off his facial hair and remove all his earrings.”

  “Okay.” Nick’s attention was on the TV, but he absently patted his fiancée, then said, “Take care of it, Son.”

  “No way, Dad!” Hale howled.

  “Just do it.”

  “Why should I?” Hale griped. “She’s not the boss of me.”

  “But I am.” Nick tore his gaze from the screen. “Unless you don’t need me to pay for the rest of your college education.”

  “Dad ...,” Hale whined.

  “The money or the beard?” Nick stared at his son. “Your choice.”

  “I don’t have a razor,” Hale said, his expression smug. “Do you?”

  Nick shook his head, and Skye said, “I’ve got one in my emergency kit.” She hid her grin. Hale never should have called her fat at the dance lesson.

  “Thanks.” Hale shot Skye a dirty look. “For nothing.”

  Skye ignored the petulant young man and added, “I also have a sewing kit, Buttoneer, stain-removal stick, and first-aid supplies, so come find me if you need anything.”

  After leading Riley, Anita, and Dora to the dressing room, Skye borrowed some fasteners from Iris, then returned to the tent. As Skye gathered up the fabric, she noticed a label. It read MADE BY WILMA SNOW, CHICAGO, IL. Hmm. The lace was supposed to be imported from France.

  She finished swagging the material on the head table, then phoned the linen consultant. Skye assured Angela that as long as her bill was corrected to reflect the lower price for the domestic lace, Skye didn’t care where the material was made, since it was gorgeous. She also reminded the woman that on the day of the wedding no planner in her right mind would be willing to upset the bride about something as petty as the source of a tablecloth.

  Having been reassured, Angela admitted she had been waiting for Wilma Snow’s husband, Al, to deliver the overlays the day Skye and Wally talked to her. She was afraid Al would arrive while they were there, and Skye would find out about the lace being local versus imported. And no, Belle had not known about the substitution. With that mystery solved, Skye mentally crossed Angela off her suspect list.

  Two hours later, the bridal party’s makeup was done and Vince had just finished Skye’s hair when Allison poked her head around the door and said, “Cake’s here.”

  Skye excused herself and, still wearing shorts and a T-shirt, went to greet the pastry chef from Deliciously Different, the Chicago bakery Belle had hired. The shop specialized in one-of-a-kind creations, and the groom’s cake was in the shape of Nick’s yacht.

  Skye escorted the talented woman and her helper to the tent and showed her the specially lit tables where the cakes were to be displayed. The five-tiered wedding cake was covered in pleated pink fondant with hand-detailed piping, and had fifty pushpins of Swarovski crystal, two hundred handmade pink icing flowers, and dozens of blown-sugar bubbles more delicate than glass.

  Due to the complicated structure, and the price tag—the groom’s cake cost nine hundred dollars and the wedding cake four thousand—the pastry chef had agreed to stay with her creations until they were cut after the dinner.

  Walking through the lobby, Skye glanced out the front doors and noticed a line of limo-buses disgorging the California guests who had been flown in by private jet. They all wore expensive designer formalwear and bored expressions.

  As soon as Skye got back to the dressing room, she was immediately shoved into her bridesmaid’s gown, and Yves led the group outside to where the formal pictures would be shot. This was Skye’s first glimpse of Natasha, and she held her breath. Riley had been right. Nick’s stepmother had definitely chosen her dress to outshine the bride. It was nearly as outlandish as last night’s creation, and very, very purple. Thousands of tiny appliquéd violets made up the short skirt, and the bodice looked like it was constructed entirely of pavé diamonds.

  Skye braced herself for Riley’s explosion, but the bride merely whispered to her, “Remember you promised to seat her in a dark corner.”

  Swearing that Natasha’s table was in the back and partially obscured by a floral screen, Skye whispered a silent prayer of thanks that Riley hadn’t remembered her original plan to pour a drink on her future stepmother-in-law.

  It was quarter to three when the photo session ended, time to get everyone inside and in place for the ceremony. Skye ushered the bride and her attendants back into their dressing room and herded th
e groom and his men toward the ballroom.

  She arranged the guys along the raised platform, checked that the string ensemble was in place, and shooed guests into their chairs.

  Once everyone was settled, Skye hurried to the dressing rooms. On her way, she noticed Yves huddled in an alcove, speaking on his cell.

  As she passed, she heard, “No! I must have that green card right away. I’m too vulnerable without it.”

  Skye slowed down and listened to the photographer.

  “Word has gotten around among the wedding planners that I’m in this country illegally, and now they’re all blackmailing me into doing their events.”

  Ah. So that’s how Belle had persuaded Yves to photograph Riley’s wedding, even though he hadn’t wanted to leave the city. But if all the wedding planners knew his secret, he had no reason to murder Belle. There went another suspect out of the pool.

  Skye sighed, then hurried away to fetch the rest of the wedding party. After they were all assembled, she lined everyone up along the hallway, starting with Dora and Anita, then Hallie, Tabitha, herself, and Paige. Last, just before the bride—who had chosen to walk down the aisle unescorted—was the ring bearer.

  Luca Jay’s blue eyes sparked with excitement, and he was loudly telling everyone what he had learned in his Bible class. “St. Paul cavorted to Christianity. He preached holy acrimony, which is another name for marriage.”

  Skye laughed along with the others, then got out of line and knelt down next to him. Putting a finger to her lips, she said in a low voice, “Shh. We need to be quiet now.”

  Luca Jay’s forehead wrinkled. “Why do we have to be quiet?”

  “Well ...” Skye searched her mind for a reason a six-year-old would understand. “This is sort of like church.”

  “Oh.” He nodded. “I remember Mommy telling me you have to be quiet in church.” Skye patted his shoulder just before he said loudly, “That’s because people are trying to sleep.”

  Once everyone stopped giggling, Skye stepped up to her cousin for one last inspection. Reciting the old rhyme, she checked out the bride—something new was more than taken care of, something borrowed was Dora’s lace handkerchief, something blue was the bow on the garter. She frowned and asked Riley, “What’s your something old?”