A Deadly Edition

by Victoria Gilbert

  Adele, smiling, responded with an elegant curtsy.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  After Brad and his team, joined by some of Scott’s colleagues, carted off Esmerelda and Lance Dalbec, I had to endure another round of questions. Staggering out of Kurt’s study, which had been requisitioned as one of the interview rooms, I was greeted by Richard.

  “So much for the rehearsal dinner,” he said, taking my arm as we descended the stairs to the main floor.

  “Oh dear, all that food gone to waste.” I glanced into the dining room, noticing that the table had already been cleared.

  “Not exactly. Kurt asked the chef and her crew to pack it up and carry it over to Lydia’s house. She invited anyone who didn’t want to just make a beeline for home to stop by and enjoy a buffet-style meal.”

  I shook my head. “Sounds like Aunt Lydia. Always the gracious hostess, even during a crisis.”

  “That’s where everyone is, I think. Of course, I waited around to take you home. And Adele too, although Brad told me that he’s going to drive her so they can stop by that minimart to retrieve her car.”

  “Sounds good.” As I looked over at the entrance to Kurt’s living room, I was surprised to see him standing in front of a tall occasional table, examining something. “You coming?” I called out.

  “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I believe it would be best for me to just stay here tonight. Not all of Esmerelda’s crew have been rounded up yet.”

  “You think they might try to attack you again?” I headed into the living room, Richard at my heels.

  “If they do, they’ll get a surprise.” Kurt met my concerned gaze with a smile. “The chief deputy has left a solid contingent of deputies stationed around the estate.”

  “So more of a trap than protection?” Richard asked, with a lift of his dark eyebrows. “Don’t you ever get tired of being in danger?”

  Kurt shrugged. “I’m used to it by now. Anyway, I just got this earlier today”—he motioned to the object on the table—“and want to spend some time admiring it before I lock it in my vault.”

  I stared at the beautiful leather-bound book. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Indeed. A Kelmscott Press edition of the works of Geoffrey Chaucer. The very one Oscar and I were vying to buy. Come, take a closer look.” Kurt held up one of his hands, clad in a white cotton glove. “I’ll flip the pages.”

  Richard and I stood close together as Kurt stepped to one side to open the book and slowly turn the pages.

  “It really is gorgeous,” I said, staring at the hand-set type and elegant borders surrounding the text. “The Burne-Jones lithographs are just stunning.”

  “Yes, a true treasure.” Kurt closed the book and shot me a look from under his pale lashes. “But not worth anyone’s life.”

  Richard nodded. “For sure, which makes me glad it wasn’t actually the cause of Oscar Selvaggio’s death. That would’ve tainted it, don’t you think?”

  “Wouldn’t have been the book’s fault, in any case,” Kurt said. “But yes, I’m glad it wasn’t the Chaucer that cost Oscar his life.”

  Richard took my hand. “Sounds like it was his own bad decisions. Selling forgeries to a notorious drug dealer is a risky proposition.”

  “No question about that.” Kurt pressed his gloved palm against the back of the book. “Sadly, I think Oscar had gotten away with so many questionable deals in his life, he thought he could pull off anything. Hubris”—Kurt narrowed his eyes—“always the downfall of those who’ve simply been lucky before.”

  “What are you going to do with this, now that you have it?” I asked.

  “Have a case made and display it in here, I think,” Kurt said, looking around the large room. “Although I plan to make special provisions for it in my will.” He flashed Richard and me a smile. “I thought perhaps the Clarion University library might like to have it for their rare-book collection.”

  “I’m sure they would,” I said, as Richard tightened his grip on my fingers. “I’m glad you let us see it, but now we should be getting along. We need to visit with our other guests before the party breaks up at Aunt Lydia’s house. Thanks for providing the food, by the way.”

  “No problem.” Kurt stepped back and looked us over. “Tomorrow’s the big day. I’m looking forward to being there.”

  “It’s great that you can make it,” Richard said.

  “Yes, so fortunate that you’re not dead,” I added with a sly smile.

  Kurt grinned. “I couldn’t allow that. I wouldn’t want to spoil your wedding day. Oh, by the way, I convinced Mary Gardener to accompany me.”

  “I’d already heard about that from Delbert Frye, and wholeheartedly approve,” I said, before dropping Richard’s hand and impulsively throwing my arms around Kurt.

  “Maybe I should try to get almost killed more often,” Kurt said as I stepped back from my unplanned and, I had to admit, rather exuberant hug.

  “Maybe not.” Richard pointed a finger at the older man. “I don’t care what you do in your business dealings, but don’t you dare try to steal my bride.”

  “As I’ve assured the authorities, my thieving days are over,” Kurt replied.

  “I’m not sure I believe that,” Richard said. “But I’ll trust you this once.”

  I placed my balled fists on my hips. “Anyway, I’m not property, so no one can steal me.” I shot Richard a sharp look before turning back to face Kurt. “I’m not your Kelmscott Chaucer. You can’t put me in a vault or under glass.”

  Kurt gave me a wink along with a little bow. “Understood, my dear.”

  “But you are priceless,” Richard said, before leaning in to give me a kiss.

  * * *

  When we arrived back at Aunt Lydia’s, some of the guests had already left, including Sunny, Karla, and Jessica. According to my mom, they’d headed out to hit some night spots closer to DC.

  “They were going to wait for you,” Mom said, “but I told them I didn’t think you’d be up for a girl’s night out, despite the excellent company. I hope I said the right thing.”

  “Definitely.” I gave her a hug. “Besides, I don’t want to look like death warmed over tomorrow.”

  “No, I imagine you need some rest after that ordeal.”

  I turned around to meet Fiona Muir’s steady gaze.

  She almost looks … concerned, I thought. “I certainly do. By the way, I know Richard has already thanked you for so generously paying off the remainder of our catering bill, but I want to offer my thanks as well.”

  A tinge of pink colored Fiona’s cheeks. “Oh, it wasn’t so much. Anyway, Jim and I wanted to contribute something toward the wedding expenses.”

  You did, you mean. I doubt your husband was involved. “It was still a lovely surprise,” I said, studying her face. There was a softness in her eyes I’d never noticed before. It made Richard’s resemblance to her much more evident. “Wait a minute, there’s something I need to ask you. I keep forgetting.”

  “Not surprising,” my mom said. “What with all the kidnapping and rogue drug dealers and such.”

  “Something I can help you with?” The quirk of Fiona’s eyebrows was so exactly like her son’s that I had to swallow back a foolish comment. Maybe they’re more alike in other ways too, I mused as I turned and headed for the staircase. “Yes, it’s a gift we received in the oddest fashion. It just showed up in our pile of wedding presents.” I paused to lean over the balustrade. “There was no card attached, so we have no idea who sent it. I wanted to check with you because I thought maybe it was from one of your friends. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

  As I clattered up the stairs, I heard my mom explain to Fiona that the gift was a piece of antique jewelry and that no one had any idea where it had come from.

  Grabbing the white box, I headed back down to the hallway, where Mom and Fiona were discussing, of all things, Mom’s collection of rare seashells.

  “Here it is,” I said, handing the bo
x to Fiona.

  She flicked the hinged lid open with one of her perfectly manicured fingernails, then shocked me by voicing a swear word.

  “Where did you find this again?” she asked, her hand trembling as she snapped the lid closed and pressed the box to her breast.

  “It was lying in a pile of gifts that one of the cats knocked off the desk in the back room. Richard and I were both confused, because neither of us remembered receiving it. Not to mention it wasn’t wrapped and had no card.” I shared a puzzled look with my mom before looking back at Fiona. “Have you seen this necklace before?”

  Fiona took an audible breath. “Many years ago.” She squared her shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes. “The truth is, the last time I saw this pendant was when Uncle Paul showed it to me on his deathbed.”

  I was my turn to swear. “It belonged to Paul Dassin?”

  “Yes, although he told me he’d had it made for someone else.”

  My mom’s dark eyes widened. “For Eleanora Cooper?”

  Fiona nodded. “That’s right. He said he commissioned it during her trial, and planned to give it to her when she was acquitted. Which she was, of course, but then she disappeared. He never saw her again.”

  “But he kept the necklace, always hoping he would,” I said, speaking slowly while my thoughts raced. “Forget-me-not. That was his message to her.”

  Fiona dipped her head and stared at her now steady hands. “But it was really his fate to always remember her, wasn’t it?” When she looked back up at us, I was surprised to see tears welling in her gray eyes. “Uncle Paul was a good man. I enjoyed visiting him when I was younger, because he allowed me to … be myself. Not something I experienced at home. My parents were wonderful people, but they had a lot of expectations they thought I should fulfill.”

  Aha, I thought. There it is. Like her son, Fiona had been an only child and, it seemed, had also been forced to meet a set of rigid standards.

  Fiona rolled her shoulders, as if casting off some unseen burden. “But Uncle Paul always seemed so sad. Even when he smiled, there was this wistfulness in his face … Anyway, I didn’t know anything about his feelings for Eleanora Cooper until the moment he showed me that necklace.”

  I brushed an errant lock of hair behind my ear. “And you never saw it again, until today?”

  “No.” Fiona pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her damp eyes. “Uncle Paul asked me to put it back in the drawer of his nightstand, which I did. But when I cleared his home after he died, I couldn’t find it. I thought it was lost, because we definitely cleaned everything out of the house before we rented it. At any rate, none of our renters ever mentioned discovering that necklace, and apparently Richard never found it when he was doing renovations to the house. So how it has appeared again …”

  “Another mystery,” my mom said, offering Fiona a sympathetic smile. “Not one we’re likely to solve right now either, so how about you and I head to the kitchen and grab a cup of coffee instead. Or wine, if you prefer.”

  “Coffee would be good,” Fiona said, before holding out the box to me. “I think, all things considered, this belongs to you now.”

  “Thank you.” I popped open the lid to gaze down at the necklace. “I will wear it tomorrow,” I said, looking up and locking eyes with Fiona. “To honor your side of the family.”

  “I’d like that,” Fiona said, before offering me the first genuine smile I’d ever received from her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Dad squeezed my hand as the dulcet strains of the Rachmaninoff Rhapsody hung in the air for a moment before they were wafted away by the breeze. It was our cue to line up on the path that led from Aunt Lydia’s garden into Richard’s backyard.

  Soon to be my backyard too, I thought, as I looked up to meet my dad’s watery gaze. His eyes had welled with tears the moment I’d walked down the steps in my wedding gown and veil, prompting my mom to stuff a few extra tissues into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  “Ready?” he whispered.

  I nodded before fixing my gaze on the back of Sunny’s head. I couldn’t help but admire her upswept hairdo—a loose chignon threaded with tiny braids plaited with peacock-blue ribbons. As if sensing my focus, she lifted her bouquet in a little salute.

  Our nosegays were similar, although Jessica’s and Sunny’s arrangements were composed of greenery, Queen Anne’s lace, and white roses, trimmed with white ribbons. My bouquet included more color—lilac sprigs and purple wisteria were interspersed among the greenery and white flowers, and my ribbons included all the colors worn by my bridesmaids and Karla.

  As Delbert Frye launched into his hammered dulcimer interpretation of Pachelbel’s Canon in D, I took a deep breath. I knew that as soon as Dad and I walked into the adjoining backyard, following Jessica and Sunny, I would see Richard waiting at the arbor.

  He would see me too, and I was anxiously anticipating his reaction. I knew that I looked splendid, with the natural makeup applied by the cosmetologist Zelda had recommended. It was a lovely look, enhancing my features without appearing overdone. My dark hair had also been professionally arranged—softly curled and swept away from my face with the help of delicate gold barrettes. The barrettes, once owned by my grandmother Alice Litton, who’d tragically died when my mom and aunt were young, had been given to me by Aunt Lydia, who’d also provided a pair of her pearl-drop earrings as my “something borrowed.” Of course, my “something new” was the rest of my wedding ensemble, including the veil that trailed from my fresh flower–decorated headpiece.

  My “something old” and “something blue” were reflected in the necklace that had once belonged to Paul Dassin. More than fitting, I thought, since I am marrying his great-nephew at Paul’s former home.

  Sunny cast a smile over her shoulder before she stepped through the rose-draped archway to follow Jessica.

  My dad offered his arm, which I clung to tightly. As much as I wanted to marry Richard, I was suddenly overcome with a sense of panic that made my mouth go dry and my heart flutter like a bird beating its wings against a cage.

  Dad and I stepped through the archway and walked behind the last row of white folding chairs to reach the white carpet runner covering the center aisle. All the chairs were filled, and I vaguely registered the faces of people I knew as well as a few—the Muirs’ family and friends—that I didn’t. But all that faded when I focused my gaze on the white lattice arbor placed at the far end of the aisle.

  Scott, quite handsome in a light-gray suit with a mauve waistcoat, dark-gray tie, and crisp white dress shirt, caught my eye and gave me a wink along with a smile. Karla, wearing a one-shouldered draped silk dress the color of a purple twilight sky, truly looked every inch the Greek goddess I’d always imagined her.

  But it was the man standing beside them who attracted all my attention. Richard was wearing a gray morning suit with a white shirt and a tie the color of the wisteria in the airy fountains of flower arrangements decorating the area around the arbor.

  I gripped my dad’s arm, almost stumbling when I made eye contact with Richard and saw the look that suddenly suffused his handsome face.

  Sunny and Karla had been right—although his expression was joyful, he also looked like he might pass out. As if sensing this reaction, Karla reached out her hand, which he clutched blindly, his gaze fixed on me.

  Jessica and Sunny lined up on the other side of the arbor, and the minister stepped forward when my dad and I reached the front row of chairs. As Dad leaned in to kiss my cheek, I felt the dampness on his face and patted his jacket. “Tissues,” I whispered, offering him a warm smile as he turned away to take a seat between my mom and Aunt Lydia.

  I handed off my bouquet to Sunny before facing Richard. Taking hold of his outstretched hands, I kept my eyes lowered, not daring to catch a glimpse of his face until the minister began speaking.

  When I finally looked up, the pure, powerful, love shining in Richard’s beautiful gray eyes almost undid me. It w
as just as well that he was gripping my hands so tightly, or I might’ve been the one to sink to the ground. As the ceremony progressed, our clasped hands shook like leaves in the wind. Not sure if it was my fingers trembling or his, I kept my eyes locked on his and held on for dear life.

  We made it through the vows without breaking down, but after I slipped the ring on Richard’s finger, I glanced up and caught him dashing away tears with his other hand. Which made my own eyes well up.

  When Richard reached out and wiped away the tear skidding down my cheek with one finger, I heard a sob erupt from somewhere. Glancing out over our assembled guests, I caught my dad clutching a damp wad of tissues and openly weeping as my mom passed clean tissues to both my aunt and Hugh.

  Richard leaned in to whisper, “I’m told I can kiss you now.” He gave a little nod of his head toward the minister. “Shall I?”

  “Please,” I said, rising on tiptoe to meet his lips.

  * * *

  After the ceremony, we posed for a round of photographs while Hani Abdi directed the guests over to Aunt Lydia’s backyard. It had been transformed into a reception space by the addition of a large, open tent placed at one side of the garden and a variety of small tables and chairs scattered along the gravel paths. Under the tent, long tables held the buffet supplied by Hani as well as a selection of drinks. Aunt Lydia’s slices of cake were artfully arranged on a tiered silver tray, creating a luscious centerpiece.

  I tossed the bouquet, guided by hand signals from Mom to angle my throw so it landed where I wanted it—in the hands of Alison Frye. Then, with Richard at my side, I mingled with our guests before we engaged in the traditional cutting of the cake and champagne toasts. Delbert Frye, seated on a small platform at one corner of the tent, provided background music on his dulcimers.

  Standing behind the cake table, Richard tapped his champagne flute with a fork to get everyone’s attention. “I almost forgot, but before we head back over to my yard for the dancing, I understand there’s a newly engaged couple here,” he said, as the crowd fell silent. “I think we should toast them as well.” He lifted his glass. “To Brad Tucker and Alison Frye—congratulations!”