The Bride Wore Dead

by E M Kaplan

  Ah, she’d been dreading this moment. “Sure, I’ll check to make sure you didn’t wrap the Honda around a telephone pole when I get back. You sure you know your way back there?”

  “No problem. I feel like I could do anything right now. No shit.”

  “Okay, great.” She turned toward the house, not waiting to watch him pull out of the garage, hoping that he didn’t scrape anything on his way out. As she let herself back in the front door, she heard the overcrank of the Honda as Patrick turned the ignition again even though the car was already running. As he drove away, she heard shouts from the house. She frowned and started jogging toward the door. “Hey, Lib,” Josie ran into her cousin before the others.

  Libby, her face twisted with worry, said immediately, “A car hit Benita on the road. Mom called the police.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “Benita? Is she all right? Where is she?”

  “Come with me.” Libby led her to the bedroom at the back of the house.

  People were swarmed through the hall and into the bedroom. Benita’s mother was crying and holding her daughter’s bloody hand. Josie’s head swam when she saw the girl. Blood from her beautiful dark hair was soaking into the pillow case. One side of her face was covered with dirt and sweat or tears.

  “She’s hurt real bad,” Libby whispered into Josie’s ear. “I carried her home. The car hit her from behind. I’m pretty sure her leg is broken. I saw some bones sticking out.”

  A nauseated flush crept up through Josie’s neck. She didn’t have the heart to tell Libby that she probably shouldn’t have moved Benita. She could only hope that the ambulance wouldn’t get lost in the dimly-lit remote streets of her aunt’s neighborhood. Josie stared at Benita’s pale face and heaving chest and felt sick again realizing how much they looked like each other. Especially in the dark with Benita standing next to her cousin Libby, Benita could easily have been mistaken for Josie.

  Libby caught Josie’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

  She kept her voice low, “A car just tried to run me off the road. We were out by the road taking a walk when a red convertible Beamer swerved right at me.” She gestured an abrupt turning motion with her hand. But they hadn’t been aiming for her at all. She fingered the baseball cap on her head. They’d been aiming for Benita thinking that Benita was her.

  “Did you get the plates?” Libby wanted to know.

  “No, I was blinded by the headlights. Couldn’t see much except the color and make.”

  Libby frowned intently. Then she said, “I know that car. There’s only one of them around here. It’s a convertible M3 2001. Two point three liter. Twenty-four valve. Six-cylinder engine. The manufacturer price is about fifty-three thou.”

  A shiver ran through Josie, “Was that a broken car you worked on?”

  Libby shrugged. “Nothing wrong with the car. Dead battery. The owner wasn’t smart enough to change it out himself. He had me bring it over to his house. He watched me put it on the car. Actually, I told you about him before.”

  “You were at his house?” Josie asked. Then, “What do you mean, you told me about him before?” She couldn’t recall ever having talked to Libby about the Williams brothers at all.

  Libby stared at her. “Remember I told you about him?” She paused and said bluntly, “He’s the one I had sex with.”

  The acids in Josie’s stomach sudden leapt to a high boil. “Jesus. You didn’t say his name was Peter.” She reached out and took Libby’s hand. Suddenly, she wanted to make sure she was all right. As if any minute, Libby would crumble, having been tainted by the psychological diseases that the Williams brothers seemed to transmit to every woman that they came in contact with.

  “Not Peter, his name was Michael. I had sex with Michael,” Libby said.

  “Oh, I feel sick.” Josie had a sudden need to hug a toilet. It was one thing to observe predators and to poke at their nest. But it was an entirely different thing to learn that they have been in your home and messed with your own kin. She squinted hard and tried to ingest this new discovery. That animal had screwed Libby.

  “God, you look like you’re going to puke. Go into my bedroom. I’ll go get Mom.”

  Josie nodded mutely and made her way down the familiar hallway that led to the back bedrooms. She watched her feet tread the old tan carpet that had been there since she’d lived with them. She pushed the door to Libby’s room open and went in. The covering on the bed was a blue plaid pattern that she’d never seen before. It was soft enough to lie down on, so Josie sank back on it. She took some deep breaths and tried to distract herself by examining her legs. She discovered that she had a couple of deep scratches from hitting the cactus when she and Patrick had ditched into the bushes. She grabbed some tissues off Libby’s nightstand and blotted away the blood. Just like old times, she thought ruefully, looking at the dotted-line scratches. That would sting like hell the next time she got a chance to shower. Oh God, Michael Williams and Libby. Josie swallowed rapidly, but got it back under control.

  So it seemed Michael Williams’s tastes ran a wide gamut. From the easily-subjugated Leann, to her cousin, the girl-child Amazon. Josie groaned again at the thought and tried to wipe the image from her mind. Shelves inside of Libby’s bedroom were stacked from floor to ceiling with car manuals. It had been so hard to get Libby to read anything in the past. Now she seemed to live in an automotive library.

  “What’s the problemo, kiddo? We got a lot going on here tonight.” Her aunt pushed open the bedroom door. “You get a hold of something bad in your tank?” Josie hid her tissue and swung her legs over the side of the bed so that the scratches weren’t noticeable.

  Josie sat up, “It’s not me. It’s her.” She pointed to Libby, who had followed her aunt back in the room.

  “Lib?”

  “Tell her the name of the guy you slept with, Lib,” Josie said.

  “What’s the big deal?” Libby said.

  Josie shook her head again in disbelief. “Just tell her.”

  “Michael Williams,” Libby said.

  There was a pause before Josie’s aunt exploded. “Sweet Jesus,” she said. And after a second or two of realization, she said, “Libby, remember the time we took the Rolls out and had that little accident? We had to get the fender fixed on our own?” Libby was nodding. “Well this is one of those times just like that. You can never, never tell this fella’s name to your father.” Aunt Ruth took a couple of calming breaths, though her hand had suddenly reached out and grasped Josie’s.

  “Sure. Okay,” Libby said shrugging.

  “Now this fella,” Josie’s aunt continued. “When you slept with him, did he hurt you in any way? Jesus, you wouldn’t even know if he tried something unusual, it being your first time and all…” she trailed off. “But did he hurt you or make you do anything that made you feel strange or bad?”

  “Sweet Jesus alive,” Libby said using her mother’s emphatic epithet. “I’m not a child. I know he didn’t do any S&M or anything. I surf the Internet, so I’m not a total lame-o. And besides, if he’d have really tried anything, do you think I would have let him? He’s like half my size.” Yet another image that Josie could have done without. But it was more or less true. Most likely, Libby could have held her own against Michael physically. But the idea of it was still disturbing.

  “We’re just worried about you, Lib,” Josie explained. “It turns out that this guy Michael is a sick bastard. I think he probably helped kill that woman.”

  Her aunt gave her a hard look. “You learn something new?”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Josie confirmed.

  “Do those boys know you’re asking around after them?”

  Josie thought long and hard before deciding to talk. She narrowed a look at her aunt, not wanted to upset Libby. “Don’t you think Benita looks a little bit like me? Especially at night in the dark?”

  Her aunt drew a hand over her mouth. “Damn those boys.”

  “Well, I thought he was a goober.
I mean, he couldn’t even change his own tire. How pathetic is that.” And in Libby’s world, that was quite a pronouncement.

  Josie’s aunt was now staring at her. “You need to go back to that place—the spa, where it’s safer—and get some rest. It’s too noisy here or I’d open up the spare room for you.” She meant she wanted Josie away from all of them, back at the spa where she could draw the violence away and no other innocent women would be hurt. Josie understood that.

  Josie shook her head and got up from the bed. “I’m fine. Go on back to Benita.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh, but I’m going to need a ride back to Castle Ranch. I almost forgot that I sent the movie star back in the Honda. He was getting a little too big in the britches for our celebration.” And more than a little too irritating for her nerves.

  “I’ll drive you back there,” Libby immediately offered. “It’ll only take about twenty minutes, both ways. I can be back for cake…if we’re still having it.” She apparently, was thinking out loud, but it made Josie smile despite everything. Then she soured. Benita wouldn’t be eating cake. Most likely, she’d be eating liquids only if she had surgery.

  “Okay, then. We’re settled.” Josie’s aunt gave a matter-of-fact little wave and left to go back to the injured girl.

  Within a matter of minutes, Josie and Libby were back in the Starmist blue T-bird. They headed back down the same road on which the red convertible had hurt Benita and tried to run down Josie and Patrick.

  “Seriously, are you doing okay?” Libby asked her. “I’m so worried about Benita. Do you think she’s going to be okay? You still don’t look too good. Did you eat anything at the party? I ate so much, my pants aren’t going to fit me tomorrow.” Libby’s attention wandered easily away from the injured girl. Josie was glad to leave it, at least for the moment.

  “I’ll be all right,” Josie said. “It’s a pain the in butt having a stomach that thinks it’s the boss. It thinks it can tell me what to do.”

  “That must be weird. Like Mom’s colostomy.” She said the word easily, probably having heard it numerous times.

  “The truth is,” Josie admitted. “I’m supposed to be relaxing out here, but what I’ve really been doing is the exact opposite. I’m totally stressing out about being here. And finding out all these details about the woman who died at Castle Ranch.”

  “What about that guy Rod? Didn’t you like meeting him?”

  “I didn’t notice that he was a movie star,” Josie said.

  “But do you like him?” Libby pressed.

  Josie thought about it. “Not particularly. He’s ‘easy on the eyes,’ as your dad would say. But other than that…” She shrugged, not particularly motivated to say words that were harsh or mean.

  “A good man is hard to find,” Libby said, and for once, her placid look faltered. And then she nodded sagely, her jaw set.

  CHAPTER 25

  After Libby dropped Josie off in front of the lobby, she walked straight through, giving a perfunctory wave to Antonio who was behind the desk. It was getting on nine o’clock. She wanted to take a shower to wash out her scratches, order some room service to try to settle her anxious stomach, and maybe organize her notes. Later, she’d call her aunt to ask about Benita. Her return ticket to Boston was for late the next day, so it wouldn’t be long before she’d on her way back to Massachusetts, and then have to face Greta Williams. Josie hoped she’d gathered enough information, even if it was hearsay, to convince Greta Williams of what her sons had done. It was piss poor evidence, but nevertheless, pointed to the truth.

  Nervously, Josie opened up the door to her room and flipped on every light switch that she could find. She checked the closet, under the bed, and behind the shower curtain. She even glanced at air conditioning vents to see if a man could fit through either of them. That was completely ridiculous. If Peter Williams were after her, he’d most likely break down the door, and then break her bones. If Michael Williams were after her, she’d probably be poisoned to death in some grand, Shakespearean gesture…after he slept with his mother or something equally sick and twisted.

  With those images in her mind, she double-bolted the door…and then dragged the writing table so that it partially blocked the door. She sat on the bed staring at the barrier she had created. Then she cast her eyes toward the bathroom. Forget the shower, she told herself. That’s where people were murdered, obviously. And while this place hardly resembled the Bates Motel, she’d be in the safety of her own apartment in less than twenty-four hours. A shower could wait.

  Her stomach, however, could not. It had been sending her warning signals all evening in the form of little twists of pain in her lower abdomen. She picked up the phone and gave her room number. She asked at the front desk for room service. A “light snack” was one of her menu choices, meaning that they would tailor it to her dietary needs without her even knowing what it would be. Good enough for her—a lot like a chef’s special. And not having to make a decision was a luxury. She could get used to service like this. Minus the murderous brothers.

  She spent some time carefully washing her scratched up legs at the sink. Her left leg had gotten the brunt of the damage. She followed the pattern of wounds that matched the circular pad of a prickly pear and found some of the tiny prickers still embedded in her flesh. Her skin had become swollen around them, but she did her best to get them out with the tweezers from her pocket knife. She worked on them until she got tired. She’d be sleeping on her right side with no sheets that night. If she could sleep at all. She wiped her sweaty palms on a towel by the sink.

  She sat back down on the bed to wait for her food and was surprised to be awakened about twenty minutes later by a knock on the door. It took her a second to re-orient herself. Then, at the door, she had to move the writing desk back into its place so Clay could come in. Her snack turned out to be a bowl of steaming miso soup, a cucumber salad, and a small amount of vegetable yakisoba, a kind of Japanese buckwheat noodle. He set it up carefully without saying much. When he thought she might not see him, he let out a huge, gaping yawn. The district had already started back, she realized, and it was late on a school night for him. The last thing that he set out before he left was a small cooler.

  “This is awesome,” he said gesturing toward it. “It wasn’t on your menu, but I know you’ll like it. It’s mango sorbet. Don’t worry. It’s totally approved for you, non-dairy, so it’s all good. I thought you might like some. Just, you know, give it a try.”

  She gave him a tired smile and tucked a tip into his hand before he left the room. A couple of seconds after she shut the door, she heard him exclaim on the other side of the door, “Holy shit,” as he discovered that she’d given him a hundred dollar bill. It was the last of her travel money except for a twenty that she’d keep for the trip home. Emergency money, so to speak. But she shrugged at having given him that much. He’d probably seen equal, if not better tips from the clientele of this place. But coming from her, a person who’d even bothered to find the kitchens and talk to him while he’d eaten his lunch, it may have been a surprise. No big deal—she liked the kid.

  She sat down, careful not to brush her punctured leg and gingerly tested the miso soup. It went down well and warmed the inside of her belly. She turned off her mind—all the details, Benita’s injuries, all the crap that she’d been pursuing the last couple of days—and set to work on feeding herself. She listened to the rhythms of her own swallowing, the scrape of her fork against the bowl as she ate noodles and vegetables. Within twenty minutes, she was taking her first taste of the mango sorbet. It was very good, but when she was through eating, she felt almost exhausted by the effort. It was the first full meal that she’d eaten in about five days. Her belly felt distended, but not uncomfortably so.

  She picked up the telephone, dialed a pager number from memory, and then hung up. In the next few minutes, she cleared her throat probably more times than she absolutely needed to. She even practiced saying th
e word “Hello” as if it were some new dialect that she had just picked up. Drew called her back within minutes. When she heard his familiar deep voice—oh God, even his voice sounded like heaven—instead of the casual greeting she’d been practicing, she ended up saying, “Hey, I hear you’re kind of mad.” His cousin Antonio had said Drew was livid, actually.

  She received complete silence in response. Her pulse throbbed. She could feel a heat creep up around her ears and cheeks. “It’s hard for me to see what you’re thinking across a phone line,” she said, after she couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Yeah,” he finally said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I should have known,” he said.

  “Known what?”

  She heard a deep inhalation. Then, “I should have known that you were going to go there to do your own thing. I’m not even sure what I was thinking, that you would magically change and suddenly do what’s best for you? You’re so…you’re so damn pigheaded. You were supposed to be going there to rest. But you’d do anything but what’s best for you.” He was talking in a controlled whisper, through gritted teeth. Probably at work, she thought, but it was so late. Maybe he’d been on call.

  He went on, “Here I was thinking you were actually going to go out there and have a good time. I thought you were going to relax and finally get it together, get your stomach back in line and find out what’s wrong. But there you go…You went out there to find out about Leann Williams, to see if he killed her. If you get hurt…if that motherfucker even touches one hair on your head, I’ll come out there and nail his coffin shut myself. I’m so furious, I can’t even see straight.”

  “But—” she got only a word in.

  “And another thing,” he said. “I’m tired of this. It’s so exhausting just to watch you do this, this self-destruction thing where you hold yourself apart from everyone. You’re just a person. A person who needs to take care of herself, a person who needs to be taken care of. And you’re all the way the hell out there. I can’t even bitch at you face-to-face.”