Murder Had a Little Lamb (2 page)

“Who’s Ruthie—and who’s Gladys?” he asked, blinking.

“Ruthie was my first cousin—which makes Nathaniel my first cousin once removed,” Dorothy replied, still staring at the dead man. “I never knew Ruthie all that well. I knew her sister, Gladys, a little better, since she was a lot closer to my age. Of course, both Ruthie and Gladys are gone now. In fact, Nathaniel’s the only one left from that branch of the family.”

A vague memory was surfacing from one of our endless phone conversations about the guest list: Dorothy mentioning that she felt obligated to invite some distant relative she hadn’t seen in ages. At the time, I remembered thinking something trite like, “The more the merrier.”

With a sigh, she added, “It’s been so long since he’s
had any contact with our part of the family that I never really expected him to show up.”

I bet he wishes he hadn’t, I thought grimly.

It was at that point that I realized it would be more appropriate for me to use the past tense when referring to Poor Cousin Nathaniel.

“I’ll be darned,” Dorothy went on, shaking her head in wonderment as she continued studying the lifeless body lying in front of us. “He looks good. I mean, better than I would have expected. I haven’t seen him in—I don’t even know how long it’s been. But it’s so like Ruthie’s side of the family to ruin somebody’s wedding. I bet the egotistical so-and-so didn’t even bother to bring a present!”

The fact that this particular guest might not have increased my ever-growing collection of small appliances didn’t seem to matter much given the fact that he wouldn’t even be around to eat a piece of wedding cake.

“But who could possibly have done this?” Nick cried. “Surely it couldn’t have been one of our guests!”

“I’m pretty sure everyone we invited was sitting out there on the folding chairs,” I said, mentally running through the guest list.

Dorothy nodded. “While I was waiting for the ceremony to start, I counted heads to see if everyone who’d said they were coming had actually shown up.” Frowning, she said, “I couldn’t figure out why I came up one short, but now I know. Nathaniel must have come into the house for some reason.”

That meant that every one of the people Nick and I
had invited to our wedding had an alibi. I was relieved, since the idea that one of our friends or family members could possibly have had anything to do with this was too horrible to contemplate.

I’d barely had a chance to digest that thought before people began rushing at us from all directions. The rest of the catering staff crowded into the room first. Only seconds afterward the guests began streaming inside, their furrowed foreheads and clouded eyes completely out of sync with the bright flowered sundresses and pastel-colored sports shirts they wore.

I was about to tell them all to calm down and to back away from what was now a crime scene when Dorothy grabbed my arm. She yanked me over to a granite counter at the back of the kitchen. I couldn’t help noticing that it was covered with tiny quiches and scallops wrapped in bacon, neatly arranged on silver trays.

“Will you look at this?” Dorothy cried mournfully.

I blinked. “The hors d’oeuvres?”

“Of course not!” she sputtered.
“This!
It’s started already, and the cops aren’t even on the scene!”

“What’s
started already?” I asked. Not only was I completely bewildered, I could practically feel a black-and-blue mark forming where Dorothy’s fingers were clamped around my flesh.

“The—the chaos, of course!” she sputtered. “The craziness. And the newspapers and TV stations haven’t even gotten wind of this yet!”

“I can imagine how you must feel,” I said sympathetically. “Losing a relative in such a horrible way, even though it sounds as if you hardly knew him—”

“I was thinking of how bad this looks,” she interrupted. “I mean, what kind of people have someone in their own families murdered? Certainly not respectable people!”

I was still trying to process Dorothy Burby’s obvious lack of a sympathy gene when Nick emerged from the crowd, his expression grave. Even amid all the chaos, I couldn’t help noticing how handsome he looked. I also realized that I actually preferred the usual version of Nick to this polished one—that is, the one wearing jeans and a T-shirt and distractedly pushing back that renegade lock of hair.

Standing alongside him was his father, a tall, lean man with a full head of white hair and a gaunt face. Like Nick, Henry Burby wore a tuxedo. But his hung loosely on his gangly frame.

I was normally struck by how much Henry looked like his son. This time, however, what I noticed most was that the expression on the older man’s face was one of complete bewilderment.

“Has someone called the police?” Henry asked, his voice edged with panic. “Dorothy? What should we do?”

“The police are on their way, Dad,” Nick assured his father along with the rest of us. “And I think I’ve managed to convince everyone to start moving away from the area. People are already going back outside.”

Turning to me, he grimly asked, “What about us? What happens now?”

“I don’t think we can go on with the ceremony,” I replied softly. “Do you really want to get married with
Poor Cousin Nathaniel lying dead mere feet away from our wedding cake?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have invited him,” Dorothy grumbled. “Even as I was addressing the envelope, I had a bad feeling. Of course, at that point I was merely afraid he’d drink too much champagne and insist on making some inappropriate speech or … or that he’d scarf down so many hors d’oeuvres that there wouldn’t be any left for the other guests. Even as a child, he was always so … trying.”

Tossing her head, she added, “If you want
my
opinion, I think we should go ahead and just get this over with. The best thing to do would be to have that maid of honor of yours get everyone back in their seats so we can finish up before this place charges us for overtime. Suzanne—isn’t that her name?—she’s pushy enough that she shouldn’t have any trouble getting these people to behave.”

Fortunately, that same pushy individual, the one person in the world who seemed able to take on Dorothy Burby and actually prevail, chose that moment to step in and work her magic. Wrapped around her wrist were two leashes, since her responsibilities as maid of honor included taking care of the only two canines who’d been invited to my wedding.

As usual, my tailless Westie, Max, looked as if he were posing for the Milk-Bone box, with his teddy bear face and his fluffy snow-white fur. In honor of the occasion, a satin ribbon the same color was tied jauntily around his neck. As for my Dalmatian, Lou, he already looked as if he’d been partying a little too hard. His white ribbon had come untied, and the
frayed ends flopped forlornly against his chest. Of course, the fact that he only has one eye always makes him look a bit bedraggled.

“No can do,” my friend Suzanne countered, wagging one finger at Dorothy.

Suzanne Fox and I went back more than fifteen years, when we’d met during our freshman year at Bryn Mawr College. We’d immediately had a common bond, since we were both biology majors who dreamed of pursuing a veterinary career.

Four years later, when she went off to Purdue University’s veterinary college in her home state of Indiana and I went upstate to Cornell, we lost touch. But we’d reconnected one summer, when I’d gotten involved with a charity dog show in the upscale area of Long Island known as the Bromptons and discovered Suzanne had been living there for years after opening a small animal clinic in West Brompton Beach.

Somehow, over the years, Suzanne had managed to take on the characteristics of some of her patients. The bulldogs, for example.

“Dorothy, a man is
dead,”
she snapped, standing nose to nose with Nick’s mother. “The unfortunate soul was murdered, and now he’s lying in the middle of the kitchen with a knife sticking out of him as if he were a—a giant baked ham. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the poor guy was related to Nick—not to mention related to you!”

She grabbed my hand, then reached for Nick’s. “And an occasion that was supposed to be one of the most wonderful events in Jessie and Nick’s life has been ruined! Think about how
they
must feel! They
must be devastated.” Glowering at Dorothy, she added, “What part of this aren’t you getting?”

“But the bride and groom didn’t even
know
Nathaniel!” Dorothy cried. “And Henry only met him once or twice, so I’m sure he’s not all that upset, either. Isn’t that right, Henry?”

Henry’s sheepish shrug made it clear that he’d learned long ago that arguing with his wife simply wasn’t worth it.

“In fact, none of us thought he’d even show up!” Dorothy continued, wagging her finger right back at Suzanne. “The only reason I sent him an invitation in the first place was that I thought it wouldn’t look right if we left one of our blood relatives off the guest list.” Lowering her voice so that she seemed to be talking to herself rather than to us, she added, “Even if he was the black sheep of the family.”

“The black sheep?” I repeated. “What do you mean by—?”

“Surely even
you
don’t expect your son to get married with a bunch of cop cars cluttering up the lawn!” Suzanne exclaimed. By this point, her rounded cheeks were almost as bright as her fiery red hair. “Not to mention all those lights from the ambulance flashing a few feet behind the tent!”

“In that case, we’ll just wait until the police go back to the station or wherever it is they go when they’re not driving around,” Dorothy replied, folding her arms firmly across her chest. “Do you have any idea how much work I put into planning this—”

“Ladies, be gentlemen!”

I turned, relieved to see that another positive force
in my life had just stepped in: Betty Vandervoort, looking as dignified as a queen in a pale-yellow silk dress with a matching jacket.

“No matter what each one of us thinks about this situation,” she said in a soft, even voice, “it’s up to Jessica and Nick to decide.”

Throwing her arms around me in a gigantic bear hug, she half-whispered, “Jessica, I’m so sorry that today has turned out this way.”

Thank goodness for Betty, I thought for about the millionth time in my life. Somehow, the fact that our ages were quite a few decades apart never seemed to get in the way. Not only was she my landlady, she was also one of my closest friends. She also served as sort of a surrogate parent, since I’d lost both of mine in a car accident several years before.

I cast her a look of gratitude. Then I looked at Nick as if to say, “Okay, this one’s your call.” After all, it was true that his mother had put a humongous amount of effort into planning my wedding. More than I deemed appropriate or desirable, in fact, since in addition to calling me countless times to talk about the guest list, for weeks she’d tormented me with questions about every single aspect of the evening—everything from what kind of place cards we should have to whether the ice sculpture she insisted was a “must” should be shaped like two lovebirds or two swans with their necks intertwined.

My guests had put a lot of effort into making this day special, too, getting all gussied up and then driving out to the eastern end of Long Island. Not that it
was much of a hardship, especially on a perfect weekend like this one. While this wonderful old mansion wasn’t what anyone could consider conveniently located, it was smack-dab in the middle of one of the most scenic areas that surrounded New York City. One of the most peaceful, as well.

Given the events of the day, however, the word “peaceful” hardly applied.

And as far as I was concerned, the fact that there was a dead man lying in the middle of the kitchen was a darn good reason to postpone tying the proverbial knot.

Yet while I was inclined to send everyone home with a promise that we’d reschedule, I didn’t want to be the one to make the call. Not when all along I’d had a few, shall we say, commitment issues.

So I told Nick, “I’ll go along with whatever you want to do.”

“I think we have no choice but to cancel the wedding,” he said, frowning. “Suzanne is right. I don’t want our wedding photos to have police cars in the background.”

“Good call,” Suzanne said heartily.

Striding toward the group of dazed-looking wedding guests who still stood around, she announced, “Okay, people. The wedding is off. But it would probably be a good idea for all of you to remain on the property until after the police get here in case they want to question any of us.

“Sorry all of you had to waste a shower and a long drive,” she continued, “but maybe on your way home you can save the day by hitting a few farm stands.
Even better, a few wineries, as long as someone in your party agrees to be the designated driver.”

Clapping her hands loudly, she added, “Let’s move it out!”

She then demonstrated a level of sensitivity I would never have dreamed she possessed by turning to me and asking, “What about you, Jess? Are you okay?”

I opened my mouth to reply. But for the second time that day, I didn’t have any idea what I was going to say.

•   •   •

Talk about a letdown, I thought as I tottered into my cottage in my satin heels, wrapping the skirt of my wedding dress around me to keep the folds of ivory silk from getting snagged on the door frame.

My two dogs squeezed past me, loping inside with so much energy that it was obvious that they, at least, were happy to be home. As Max headed for his water bowl and Lou zeroed in on a tennis ball, I tossed my bouquet onto the couch and scanned the living room with dismay.

Nick and I had decided to delay our honeymoon until August, after he’d finished his summer internship at a Long Island law firm. That meant we’d planned on coming straight to the cottage after the reception. To make our homecoming a little more romantic, I’d draped white crepe paper streamers over the dining area, then hung one of those wonderfully tacky 3-D paper wedding bells in the center. Two champagne flutes stood side by side on the large table that did double duty for dinner plates and laptops. The glasses
were supposed to go with the bottle of champagne I’d left chilling in the refrigerator.