A Most Unpleasant Wedding (17 page)

Rudley moved closer to Margaret, said in a hoarse whisper, “Margaret, that man's voice is like nails on a blackboard. I thought men of the cloth were supposed to be soothing.”

She shushed him. “Be nice, Rudley.”

Reverend Pendergast plodded along. Miss Miller's attention wandered. She turned her head, let her gaze drift over the crowd.

Tim stood to one side with Tiffany, Gregoire, and Lloyd, then Officer Petrie, Officer Vance, Detective Creighton, Officer Owens, the Phipps-Walkers, the Sawchucks, Detective Brisbois, and Mary.

“Do you, Edward Simpson…”

Simpson turned to Elizabeth. “I do.” He paused, then repeated in a stage whisper to get her attention, “I do.”

She smiled, distracted.

“And do you, Elizabeth Miller…”

Miss Miller continued to scan the gathering. Her gaze fell on Herb. She tilted her head, frowned.

“The reverend is asking if you want to marry me,” Edward whispered.

She turned to him, smiled. “Of course, I do, Edward.” She returned her attention to the guests.

Reverend Pendergast sighed when he heard
I do
. “Thank God, that's over,” he said.

Simpson's forehead crimped. “I now pronounce you,” he mouthed.

Reverend Pendergast chuckled. “Oh, it's not over. Of course. Pardon me. I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Mr. Bole hit the keys. Cheers erupted from the audience.

“Isn't this wonderful, Rudley?”

“Wonderful, Margaret. The damned man has forgotten about signing the marriage certificate.” Rudley waved to get the minister's attention, made a gesture to signify writing.

The reverend gave him an apologetic wave, took a folder from the table behind him.

“Now that would have been a fine state of affairs,” said Rudley. “If they hadn't signed the registry.”

Margaret squeezed his arm. “You've saved the day. They would have been off in the woods without a licence.”

“I doubt if that would have put a damper on their activities, Margaret.”

“Be nice, Rudley.”

“I don't know about you, Margaret, but I think the modern mores do take the mystery out of the ceremony.”

“Nonsense. Couples have been cohabiting without benefit of clergy since Adam and Eve.”

“We didn't.” He paused, smiled a jaunty smile. “Although I could have been persuaded.”

“We were delighted when Edward and Elizabeth told us they were to marry.” Mrs. Simpson cast a loving eye toward the buffet.

“Spirited girl,” Mr. Simpson said. “Does our son the world of good. We were so worried Edward might marry someone like himself and have a perfectly boring life.”

Mrs. Miller helped herself to a glass of punch. “Elizabeth needs someone like Edward,” she told Detective Brisbois. “She's impulsive. She needs a steadying influence.”

“She's a dynamo,” said Mr. Simpson. He glanced to where Elizabeth Miller stood, talking to Herb. “But she has a tender heart.” He leaned toward Detective Brisbois, whispered, “Much like Mrs. Simpson.”

Brisbois smiled. “I guess you could say your son has followed in your footsteps.”

Mr. Simpson winked. “Pamela was always getting into one jam or another when we were courting. I went along with her because I really did admire her stuff, and” — he smiled — “it was a bit of a lark. Especially that incident where she thought her new neighbour was a spy for the Soviet Union.”

“I think I've heard that sort of thing before,” Brisbois murmured.

“I think the outfits Mrs. Rudley chose from Riverboat are charming,” Tiffany said. She stood on tiptoe to see over the crowd. The reception was in full swing, guests sitting here and there on lawn chairs, wandering from group to group, balancing plates of salmon and asparagus quiche, glasses of wine and iced tea. “When will the bride be throwing the bouquet?”

“I don't know,” said Tim. “But I think I'll be making myself scarce for that, thank you.” He plucked an olive from a condiment tray. “That thing has pieces of driftwood and shells in it, and some kind of bramble.”

Gregoire cast a look of satisfaction toward the buffet. “She made it herself, which makes it unique and special.” He checked his watch. “In a few minutes I should be bringing down the desserts.”

Tiffany clapped her hands. “And the cake.”

“The cake,” said Gregoire, “will not be coming out until I have the undivided attention of the blessed couple.”

Tiffany scanned the crowd. “Mr. Simpson is just over there with the Benson sisters, but I don't see Miss Miller.” She smiled. “Oh, there she is, talking to Herb.” She lowered her voice. “Aunt Pearl's taken quite a shine to him.”

“When he is fixed up, he is actually quite an attractive man,” said Gregoire. “Almost distinguished.”

Tiffany nodded. “Perhaps if he were to establish a permanent residence, he could collect his pension and have a reasonable life. I know the Rudleys would fix him a room in the coach house.”

“I don't think he wants that,” said Gregoire. “He is footloose and fancy-free. The world is his oyster.”

“I'll bet that oyster gets chilly around January,” said Tim. He glanced around. “I don't think the romance of the wedding rubbed off on the Lawrences. She's standing by herself, looking down in the mouth. He's glad-handing with the rest of the guests.”

“I am so looking forward to the bride throwing the bouquet,” Tiffany said. She edged away, ignoring Officer Owens, who was waving at her hopefully.

“Tiffany is determined to catch the bouquet,” Tim said. “I don't know why. It's not as if things are going smoothly with any of her beaux.”

Gregoire aimed an index finger at him. “You do not understand the mystique surrounding the catching of the bouquet. It singles you out to all of the eligible bachelors.”

“I didn't know you were such an expert on bouquets.”

“I have caught one or two, although it was by accident.” Gregoire straightened his tie. “I'm going up for the desserts.”

Elizabeth Miller thought she had lost sight of her quarry. She had watched during the ceremony as Bonnie crept closer to Herb, hovering like a moth before a flame. She had headed in her direction but was detained by groups of well-wishers. She had to stop and acknowledge them and thank them for attending, a sentiment she felt sincerely but found inconvenient at that moment. By the time she reached Herb, she had lost sight of Bonnie. She chatted with Herb for a few minutes, then began to work her way through the crowd again. Finally, she reached clear ground. She hoisted up her skirts, climbed up onto a bench, and caught sight of Bonnie working her way toward the edge of the crowd, a frozen smile on her face, a hurried word here and there. She reached the edge of the crowd, took a quick look back, then scurried away.

Elizabeth looked around. Where was Detective Brisbois? She scanned the crowd but couldn't spot Creighton, who should have towered over everyone. Edward was halfway across the lawn in conversation with Mr. Bole. She hesitated, then made a decision. She hopped off the bench and headed toward the cabins, nodding and smiling to the Sawchucks, who assumed she was headed for a bathroom and made no attempt to detain her. She skipped past the inn and down past the Elm Pavilion.

Bonnie entered her cabin. Elizabeth crouched behind a spruce and waited.

Within minutes, Bonnie Lawrence reappeared, something balled up in her fist. She cast a frightened look around, then headed toward a garbage can at the back of the Elm Pavilion. She lifted the lid, dithered, then turned away and headed back toward her cottage. She stopped at the doorway, vacillated, then headed west along the lake and into the woods. Elizabeth Miller stepped out from behind the tree and followed, darting in and out among the trees. Bonnie stopped at a bluff fifteen feet above the water.

Elizabeth stepped forward. “Bonnie.”

Bonnie Lawrence turned, her face frozen in horror. Then she smiled. “Why, Elizabeth, you startled me.”

“What are you doing?”

Bonnie fisted her hands at her sides. “I wanted to get away for a few minutes. Weddings are so intense.”

Elizabeth took a step forward. “What do you have in your hand?”

Bonnie laughed. “Oh, just something I picked up.” She shrugged helplessly.“This is so embarrassing. It's a secret. A little tradition of mine. When I attend a wedding on the water, I like to throw something out onto the waves. It's good luck.” She turned toward the lake.

Before Elizabeth could react, Bonnie tossed the object toward the lake. “There,” she said, smiling, “done.”

Elizabeth ran to the bank and looked down. The object Bonnie had thrown had missed. It lay a foot from the water's edge, riding back and forth on the ebb and flow.

The next thing Elizabeth Miller knew, she was tumbling down the embankment.

“Miss Miller.” Gregoire broke through the foliage, stopped, his jaw dropping as he saw Bonnie push Miss Miller. “My God.”

Bonnie hurtled past him toward the cabins.

Gregoire ran to the edge of the bluff. “Miss Miller.”

She lay there, face down in the water.

“Miss Miller.” He scrambled down the bank, reached Miss Miller, and pulled her out of the water. “Are you all right?”

Elizabeth Miller lay on the settee on the veranda while the paramedics flashed lights in her eyes and questioned her about the date and her whereabouts. Simpson hovered at the railing.

The paramedic inspected the wound. “Superficial,” she said. She took out a large Band-Aid.

“Lucky that drop wasn't any further,” said Brisbios.

“Lucky Gregoire was so eager for you to see the cake,” said Tim.

Brisbois pushed his hat back. “Gregoire saved the day. If he hadn't pulled you out right away, you would have drowned.” He stood up. “Are you guys going to take her in?”

“To be on the safe side,” said the paramedic over Miss Miller's protests.

Brisbois held up a hand. “Do what she says, Miss Miller.”

“But I want to know what happens.”

He grinned. “I'll talk to you afterwards. Right now, I've got some work to do.”

Bonnie Lawrence looked very small, sitting in the chair across the table, her arms wrapped around her chest. She had been fingerprinted and photographed, not looking her best, hair dishevelled, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Bonnie,” said Brisbois, “we're going to be taping this interview. You understand?”

She nodded.

“You need to answer in words.”

“Yes,” she said.

Brisbois read the particulars into the record, noting the presence of Bonnie's lawyer, a tired-looking man from a prestigious firm. The lawyer had rushed down from Ottawa the minute he received the call.

Brisbois had Bonnie state her name and address, then sat back to review his notes. Creighton sat beside him, his legs crossed.

Brisbois put his notes aside and leaned forward. “Mrs. Lawrence, you understand why you're here?”

She smiled like an eager student about to give a correct answer. “Because I killed Evelyn Hopper, and you think I tried to kill Miss Miller.”

Brisbois nodded. “A witness, Mr. Gregoire Rochon, saw you push Elizabeth Miller off the bluff. She fell fifteen feet into the water. She was knocked unconscious. If Mr. Rochon hadn't come along, she would have drowned.”

“I suppose so.” Bonnie sighed, then brightened. “But I had to.”

“You had to?”

“Yes. She recognized my scarf. The hobo must have found it. He was wearing it.” She shuddered. “I know I'll never be able to wear it again, not after he's had it around his neck.”

Brisbois stared at her.

The lawyer touched her arm. “Bonnie.”

She pushed his hand away. “It matches Tee's tie. I knew she'd noticed that. I had to get rid of it.” She wrung her hands. “I didn't know what else to do.”

“Let me repeat for the record,” — Brisbois glanced at his notes — “you've previously confessed to killing Evelyn Hopper and have signed a document to that effect.”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“And in that confession you said you pushed Elizabeth Miller because you were worried about the scarf. You knew you had lost it in the woods the night you assaulted Evelyn Hopper. You've admitted you assaulted Elizabeth Miller because you believed she recognized the scarf and deduced you had killed Mrs. Hopper.” He shrugged. “You were correct. That's exactly what Elizabeth Miller deduced.”

“Yes.” Bonnie shook her head slightly. “I know. I could see her even during the ceremony. She was looking around. She wasn't behaving like any other bride I've ever seen. I had to get away. I knew she was looking at me and at the hobo. I knew she knew the scarf was a match for Tee's tie and she knew what had happened. I had to get rid of the tie.” She glanced at her lawyer. He was busy taking notes. “Miss Miller is one of those women who couldn't imagine coordinating her accessories with her husband's. She never said that directly, but she said other things. I knew what she was thinking. Everybody else always said how nice we looked together.”

Brisbois smiled. “You did.”

“And if she'd just minded her own business…” Bonnie stopped, flushed, apparently aware of the anger in her voice.

Brisbois waited her out. When she spoke again her voice had recaptured its sweet, pleading tone.

“She followed me. What was I supposed to do ?” Bonnie looked to Brisbois for validation, got a blank stare. Creighton answered her by looking away.

Brisbois looked down at his notes. “Now, reading from your previous statement, on the night Evelyn Hopper was killed, you went to her home. You wanted to talk to her because you thought she and your husband were having an affair.”

The expression in her eyes sharpened. “I know they were. I followed them in the city. Tee and I used to have lunch together every day. Then he started making excuses. It was her. He was seeing her.”

“Did you confront him about the affair?”

She studied her hands. “No,” she said finally. “I thought he would get tired of her. I thought if I didn't let on I knew, we could just go on as if nothing had happened. But when he said he wanted to come here for his fishing trip — he takes one every year — I knew he was coming to see her.”

“So you decided to come too.”

She leaned forward. “Yes. I knew he was surprised. I never want to go on his fishing trips. He tried to talk me out of it. He said I'd be bored. I told him I'd seen a brochure for the Pleasant, about all the wonderful art colonies nearby, the boutiques. He usually goes places you have to fly in by float plane. So I knew it was her. I thought if I was with him I wouldn't have to worry.” She paused. “Then he signed up for the night fishing trip. I knew he was trying to get away to see her.” She laughed. “I didn't know what to do.”

“Why didn't you go with him?”

She looked at him, repulsed. “I hate fishing. Tee knows I hate fishing.”

“So what did you do?”

“I thought he'd probably planned to go to her house. So I waited until after dinner. Everybody was busy up at the inn. I thought nobody would see me. I walked up the side road. It wasn't very far.”

“You walked up the side road to Mrs. Hopper's home.”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

“There was nobody there,” she said. “Her car was gone. There were no lights on in the house. I waited. Then I decided she and Tee had planned to meet somewhere else.” She swallowed hard. “Maybe in a motel or something. I was just about to leave when I saw the headlights of a car pulling into the laneway.”

“Then what?”

“She went into the house. I didn't know what to do. I hid beside the house. I almost went back to the Pleasant but, then, just as I was going to do that, she came out. I introduced myself. I said I wanted to talk to her about Tee.” Her voice shook. “She just gave me this look. As if I was nothing. She brushed past me and went on down to the stable.” She stopped, struggling to control her voice.

Brisbois gave her a minute to compose herself. “Please continue, Mrs. Lawrence. Tell us what happened next.”

Bonnie took a deep breath. “I followed her. She was saddling the horse. I tried to talk to her. She laughed at me again. She told me I was stupid, that Tee was tired of me and was going to leave me.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I couldn't bear hearing her say that. She got up on the horse. I didn't intend to hurt her. I was just trying to talk to her. I begged her to stay away from Tee. She gave me this smile. It was so condescending. She was so cold. There was a shovel. I grabbed it. I just wanted to get her attention. I wanted her to take me seriously. I didn't hit her that hard, but the horse reared up. She didn't fall off but she couldn't control it. It ran off.”

Brisbois waited.

“I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to get away from there. But I had to talk to her, to tell her I didn't mean to hurt her. I didn't want her to tell Tee what I did. I thought if I offered her some money. Most people…” She paused, then said in a whisper, “Most people like money.”

“What did you do next?”

“I followed her.” She sighed. “It was terrible. I kept catching my clothes on the trees. My clothes were ruined.”

Creighton disguised a derisive grunt with a cough. Brisbois gave him a sharp look, then turned back to Bonnie. “Please, continue.”

“I found her. She was lying on the ground.”

“Dead?”

“I don't know. I said her name, but she didn't answer.”

“So you bashed her head in to make sure,” Brisbois said casually.

She looked at him bewildered. “No.”

He reviewed his notes, said without looking up, “Come on, Bonnie, half of her skull was missing.”

Her voice rose in dismay. “No, that's not true. I couldn't have. I wasn't close enough. I was afraid of the horse. It was standing right beside her.”

Brisbois reached for an envelope. “I can show you the pictures, Bonnie. Her skull's bashed in.”

She stared at the envelope, brow furrowed. “She fell off the horse and hit her head on a rock. Somebody at the inn said that.”

“But you must have seen that when you saw her lying there on the ground. That she had this big dent in the back of her head, blood running down onto her shirt.”

“No,” she protested. “I told you, I wasn't that close to her.”

He put the envelope aside. “Her head was bashed in, Bonnie, and it wasn't the result of her falling from the horse.”

She didn't respond.

“So you went back to the inn,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, subdued.

“Which way did you go?”

She looked up, confused. “I went back the way I came. On the side road. I didn't know how to get there through the woods. I didn't know it was so close.”

“What time did you get back?”

“About ten-thirty, I think.”

“And you told everybody you'd spent the whole evening in your cabin going through wedding magazines.”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever think of calling an ambulance for Mrs. Hopper? In case she wasn't dead? ”

She looked at him, round-eyed. “I couldn't do that. Then everybody would have known.” She wrung her hands. “I did do something.”

“What did you do?”

“ When Tee came home, I told him.”

“And what was his reaction?”

“He told me she was lying. He said he knew her but just because he'd met her at a convention, that she'd wormed her way into some meetings with him. She wanted to get a contract to redecorate his offices.” She looked at him, defiant. “You have to see it was her fault. She was forcing herself on Tee.”

Brisbois considered this. “You know, Bonnie, men don't usually have trouble fending off these sorts of advances.” He paused. “If they want to.” She opened her mouth to protest. He stopped her with a question. “So you told Tee. He denied having a relationship with Evelyn Hopper. Then what?”

Her gaze drifted to the wall over his shoulder. “He asked me if I was sure she was dead. I said I wasn't. Not a hundred per cent. He said he'd have to check because, if she was still alive, we would have to call an ambulance. I didn't want him to go, but he insisted. He waited until the lights in the other cabins were out, then he went up there. When he came back he said she was dead. We put our clothes and shoes into a garbage bag. Tee pretended he was going fishing the next morning. He took the bag and dropped it in the lake by those shoal markers.”

“So Tee was involved.”

She looked at him, smiled. “All he did was get rid of the clothes. He didn't do anything wrong. He did it for me. Because I'm his wife and he loves me. Wouldn't you do that for your wife?”

He didn't answer. He knew in his heart he'd break every law on the books to protect Mary, especially if, like Tee, it was his behaviour that had set the tragedy in motion.

“So,” he said finally, “you thought you were home free and then you started to worry that Elizabeth Miller knew too much.”

She nodded. “I'd heard others — the staff, some of the guests — talking about how smart she was, about how she had helped solve crimes before. Tim, the waiter, said she'd have this one solved before the police.”

Brisbois kept his expression neutral.

“Then, at the wedding, I saw her looking at that hobo and at me. Right in the middle of the ceremony. She couldn't keep her eyes off us. I knew then that she knew.” She looked down at the table, defeated, then said quietly, “I suppose I panicked. But I couldn't keep pretending. It was too much. Trying to hold things together, trying to act as if nothing had happened. I'd been doing it so long. Mrs. Hopper, then that awful Mr. Arnold.”

Brisbois straightened. The lawyer shook his head, puzzled.

She shivered. “He was watching me all the time. At first I thought he was just being flirtatious. Then he told me he had seen me going up the side road that night, when I'd told everybody I hadn't left my cabin. He said if I paid him fifty-thousand dollars, he'd forget he saw me.”

The lawyer put up a hand. “One moment. I want to confer with my client.”

Bonnie shook him off. “No, I want to explain.”

“I must advise you…”

She turned to him, eyes blazing. “I'm tired of all this. Besides, when you hear…”

Brisbois sat back. “How did it happen, Bonnie?”

She paused to compose herself, looked him straight in the eye. “We agreed to meet the night of the bridge tournament. I pretended I didn't know Blackwood's convention.” She smiled. “That was hard, after all the afternoons I've played bridge. I made sure we lost the hand so I could excuse myself. I knew Norman was glad to see me go. I slipped out and went to Mr. Arnold's cabin. Everybody was so busy they didn't notice me leaving. Even Tee didn't notice.” She pressed her lips together for a few moments, then continued. “I had some Benadryl capsules. I'd taken them apart and emptied the powder into my compact. I knew he used Benadryl. I heard that boy tell him he shouldn't, that he shouldn't mix it with alcohol.”