For Whom the Bluebell Tolls (23 page)

Little did he know that since the last wedding I’d attended, I’d given up dancing. But I nodded just the same.

I barely had time to reach into a basket to pull out a beribboned silver bell—“Ring the bell for the first kiss”—before Liv took my arm, nothing gentle about her grasp. “What are you doing?” she whispered, as we made our way to the usher standing near the doors.

Before I could answer, we were being escorted to our seats. From the end of an otherwise empty pew, Nick Maxwell stood waving in our direction.

“Tag team?” Eric said, looking mildly amused, at least until Liv socked him in the arm.

She pushed me ahead of her so I’d be next to Nick, who was looking dapper in a dress shirt and tie, if not a bit sweaty in the warm room.

“You look hot,” I said, then wanted to do an instant face-palm.

He chuckled. “It is a bit warm in here, if that’s what you meant.” He winked. “But you look hot, too.”

Liv had slid close next to me, making sure there was little room between Nick and me. No hiding where her sympathies lay.

I glanced around the church. Most wedding guests, upon arrival, would probably be looking at the people. Newcomers to Ramble might check out the architecture. I looked first at the flowers. Except for two standing altar arrangements that had each been moved a foot closer in, all the other flowers remained just how we’d placed them. They looked fine at the moment, all in full bloom, but I could tell some of the more fragile varieties would start drooping and turning brown around the edges as early as tonight due to the excessive heat.

Only after I was satisfied the flowers would make a good showing did I notice the robed bell choir overflowing the choir loft with their lushly draped tables covered with gleaming bronze bells. The bells ranged from tiny ones, a little over an inch, to some with diameters of over a foot. Mallets rested next to the largest ones.

Then I looked at the guests. Except for maybe a dozen strangers near the front, the rest of the church was filled with Ramble residents, dressed in their Sunday best and sitting with their finest postures. Shirley’s invites. The police were there in force with their families, sans Bixby, but an empty space next to his wife indicated the spot from whence he had been removed. Lafferty was also missing, but I knew he still had guard duty over at the Ashbury. I waved across the aisle to Mrs. June.

“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.