Murder on the Bride's Side (23 page)

She looked pleadingly into each of our faces one more time and, with a shrug, gave up. “Fine, but will you at least promise to help if things change?” she said to me.

“I promise,” I said, hoping it was a promise I would never have to keep. Seeing that everyone was finished eating, I signaled for the check. Sandy practically threw it in my lap and ran off. I insisted on paying. “Think of it as another wedding gift,” I said, pulling out my credit card. Besides, I wanted to give Sandy a hefty tip. We’d given her a hell of a morning.

The ride back to Barton Landing was quiet. Colin drove, and I was actually able to relax and enjoy the scenery. The rain had stopped and the sun looked as if it would soon break through the cold, gray clouds. Hope rose in my chest that it was a sign that all would turn out well.

We pulled into Barton Landing’s drive. No sooner had we stepped out of the car than the front door burst open and Elsie ran out, Anna barking at her heels. “Oh, thank God you’re here,” she cried.

Bridget ran forward. “Why? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“It’s that damn detective,” Elsie said. “He’s gone and taken Harry to the station!”

Bridget gasped and turned to me. She didn’t need to say a word.

Somewhere, in the deep recesses of my brain, I heard a faint cry. “Luuuucy!” it called. “I’m home!”

Look for the ridiculous in everything and you will find it.

—
JULES RENARD

Bedlam reigned inside the house. Graham paced the length of the dining room, shouting into his cell phone about lawyers and Harry. At the long table, Blythe and Julia were trying to console Megan, as she sobbed uncontrollably. The only living being not animated was Anna. Her large brown eyes solemn, she curled up under the sideboard to watch the action.

Bridget and I pressed Elsie for details. “What happened exactly?” asked Bridget.

Elsie ran a shaking hand across her face before answering. “Well, as you know, after that detective finished his interview with David, he asked to see Harry. I should have guessed what David had said by the way he scurried out of here.” She paused, shaking her head. “Anyway, Harry was in there a long time. Then the detective came out and told us that we should get a lawyer for Harry, a good one, as he was sending him downtown for further questioning.”

“He said, ‘a good one’?” asked Bridget.

“He did.”

“Shit,” Bridget whispered.

“At the very least,” agreed Elsie, nodding.

“Is Detective Grant still here?” Bridget asked.

“He’s in the study,” said Elsie.

“So, wait,” I said. “Was Harry arrested, or was he just taken in for further questioning?”

“Officially, it’s just for questioning. But I saw the look in that detective’s eyes. He’s convinced that it’s Harry. He’s ready to call it a day on Roni’s murder.”

“Then we’re not too late.” Bridget exhaled with relief.

“Too late for what?” said Elsie.

“Too late for me and Elizabeth to find the real killer! Elizabeth promised to help!” said Bridget with giddy confidence.

Elsie turned to me for either confirmation or explanation. Unfortunately, inasmuch as my mouth was hanging open in shock, I doubt I was a reassuring sight. Not that it mattered, of course. Bridget kept going.

“Elizabeth has a knack for this sort of thing,” she said. “You should have seen her last New Year’s. Remember that horrible murder at Aunt Winnie’s B and B? When the police suspected Aunt Winnie of being the killer, Elizabeth immediately began her own investigation. Elsie, she was amazing.” Bridget beamed at me. “She not only figured out who the killer was, but overpowered her!”

Next to me, muffled choking sounds emerged from Peter. His eyes were suspiciously bright. And no wonder—he had been with me when I had “overpowered” the killer. As flattering as Bridget’s version of events was, it was far from reality. The sad truth was that I had been kidnapped and held captive in a basement; I escaped
from my bonds long enough to bash who I thought was my captor over the head with a flashlight. Only it was Peter’s head that I bashed. And while the reasons for this slight goof on my part were completely understandable, they were nevertheless a constant source of teasing by Peter. I suspected that his portrayal of my detective skills would be vastly different from Bridget’s.

“And,” Bridget continued, “you yourself said that the whole experience was so exciting that you wouldn’t mind getting involved in another investigation!”

My jaw dropped in astonishment. “I said no such thing!” I protested. “Don’t palm your own absurd thoughts off onto me!”

“Bridget,” said Colin, “I know you want to help, but maybe we should—”

“Should what?” Bridget demanded, hands on hips. “Let the police handle it? Well, we did that and look how
that
worked out!”

Elsie sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I have to agree with Bridget. I fear the police have made up their minds.” Turning to me, her blue eyes grave and lined with worry, she grabbed my hand. There was a tremor in her normally firm grip. “Elizabeth,” she said, “I don’t know if you can help or not. But I’ll be forever indebted to you if you can do anything for Harry.”

All thoughts I had of protesting my ability to be of any real assistance died in my throat. I nodded. “Of course I’ll help,” I heard myself saying. I ignored the looks that Peter and Colin shot my way. Apparently, their opinions of my talents were not far from my own.

Bridget turned to me. “Okay, now that that’s settled, here’s what I had in mind. First, we need to get some electronic
equipment . . .” The rest of her plan, which no doubt involved bugging bedrooms and God knows what else, was mercifully cut short by the arrival of Avery. Slumped low in his wheelchair, he stared at us with lackluster eyes. Behind him, Millie gently guided him to us. Her hair was still scraped off her face in a severe bun, and she still wore her starched nurse’s uniform, but she was somehow different. I peered at her, trying to identify the change, when it hit me. Millie was wearing makeup. It wasn’t obvious; only a slight addition of rouge, a touch of mascara, and a hint of eye shadow. However, given the stark plainness of her face, even these small changes made quite a difference.

Avery looked up at Elsie. Seeing the expression on her face, he simply asked, “What’s happened?”

As if pulled by the same puppeteer’s string, every head in the room swiveled in Elsie’s direction to see how she was going to tell Avery that Harry was the lead suspect in Roni’s death.

Elsie paused. It was enough to alert Avery that something was amiss. Elsie is many things, but she is rarely at a loss for words.

A wary expression crept into Avery’s eyes. He sat up straighter in his chair and glanced around the room.

“Where’s Harry?” he demanded.

Elsie’s hands clenched. “Avery, I hate to tell you this, but the police are interviewing Harry downtown. Graham is getting a lawyer.”

Avery turned to Graham, who put the mouthpiece of his phone to his chest and said, “I’m on the phone with Jake Martin now. He’s one of the best defense lawyers in the state. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this.”

Avery shook his head in disbelief. “But I don’t understand. Harry? Why do the police think Harry did it?”

Why would the police think Harry killed Roni? I silently echoed. Was he kidding? Given the kind of woman Roni was, it was more of a question of finding someone who
hadn’t
wanted to kill her. I averted my eyes. I didn’t want Avery reading my expression. I noticed I wasn’t alone. Around me, numerous heads ducked low.

Elsie’s did not. Staring calmly into Avery’s questioning eyes, she said, “Because he didn’t like her, Avery. Unfortunately, someone made sure the police knew that.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Avery began and then stopped. Taking a deep breath, he nodded his head in silent acknowledgment that what Elsie had said was true. Raising his eyes again, he asked, “Who told the police?”

No one answered. Again all eyes were on Elsie. Squaring her shoulders, she answered him with one curt word. “David.”

Avery’s complexion flared bright red and he gripped the rails of his chair so tightly that the veins on the backs of his hands popped forth in an angry blue maze. I glanced at Millie in concern. Her eyes were riveted on her patient.

At that moment, as though bidden by all thoughts in the room, David himself wandered in. From the empty cup clutched in his hand, I assumed he was in search of more coffee. An uneasy silence prevailed as we all stared at him. Pushing free of Millie’s grip on his chair, Avery angrily wheeled himself to where David stood.

“You,” Avery spat out. “You fed the police your perverted theory that Harry killed Roni, didn’t you?”

“Avery . . .” David said. I don’t know what he planned on saying in his defense because he got no farther. Avery latched on to David’s hand and viciously yanked him down to his own eye level. David tried to pull away but failed. Avery was holding on to David’s arm with a death grip. It was not without cost. Beads of sweat broke out on Avery’s pale forehead. “I’ll see you rot in hell, you bastard!” he hissed.

Heaving his body backward, David broke Avery’s grip. Avery struggled in his seat, intent on getting at David. Stunned, I watched him plant his feet on the wheelchair’s footrest and push himself forward. Millie saw the movement, too. Her face a mask of horror, she burst out, “Avery! No!” Rushing to him, she firmly pushed him back into his seat by the shoulders. “You must remain still. Please,” she added in a lower voice. Turning his chair so that he no longer faced David, she said, “We must get you some orange juice. You need to get your blood sugar up.” She quickly pushed him toward the kitchen. No one pointed out that there was a large pitcher of orange juice on the sideboard.

Once they were gone, Elsie rounded on David like an irate tiger. “Get out of here,” she said, her voice shaking with anger.

David shifted his sizable bulk aggressively, but there was uncertainty in his eyes.

Elsie took a menacing step toward him. Through clenched teeth, she bit out, “I’m only going to
ask
you once.” She took another step toward him, raising her cane high above David’s head. Earlier, when Elsie had confronted David, I wondered if she was going to bash him over the head with her cane. This time, there was no doubt. David’s eyes opened wide as he reached the same conclusion.

The room fell silent; all action came to a halt. Julia and Blythe stopped soothing Megan, their hands frozen in midair. Megan’s sobs ceased and Graham stopped pacing.

“Claire!” I yelled, as David stumbled backward away from Elsie, lost his balance, and fell into an ungainly heap.

Claire ran in from the terrace, her cell phone in her hand. Her eyes went from Elsie’s outstretched arm and cane, to David sprawled on the rug. The color drained from Claire’s face. “Mother! You didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t,” replied Elsie, with more than a little regret in her voice. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t. Now get this jackass out of my sight, or I swear to God there’ll be another body going over to the county morgue today!”

“Go upstairs, David,” she hissed. “Now.”

For once David didn’t resist Claire’s advice. Pulling himself to his feet, David shot Elsie a look of malice and turned and left. When the sound of his footsteps echoing to us down the long hallway faded, Claire turned to Elsie. “I will not allow you to threaten my husband,” she said. “I don’t know what he said to that detective about Harry, nor do you. Until we do, you leave him alone. Do you understand?”

Elsie did not speak. Slowly, she lowered the cane and nodded. “Fine, Claire. I’ll leave him alone—for now. But if I find out that he was responsible for getting Harry arrested, I’ll—”

“You won’t do anything,” said Claire, turning to go. As she left the room, headed after David, I heard her mutter, “I will.”

No good deed goes unpunished.

—
CLARE BOOTHE LUCE

Minutes later, Claire and David left. They were having lunch downtown. If there was to be any kind of calm, it was obvious that David would have to be kept away from Elsie. And vise versa.