Dying To Marry (18 page)

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Authors: Janelle Taylor

BOOK: Dying To Marry
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“Didn't I tell you the party was formal?” Jake asked. “Jeans aren't formal.”
“Didn't you also tell me that clothes don't make the man?” Jimmy retorted. “That it shouldn't matter what you wear, just what you are inside?”
“He's got you there,” Holly said, winking at Jimmy.
Jimmy beamed at Holly.
“Hey, just because you made the lady smile doesn't mean you're off the hook, kid,” Jake said. “When you're invited to a formal party, you need to dress appropriately.”
“Even if I had worn that monkey suit in my closet, I'd still feel way out of place here,” the teenager said. “I'm outta here.”
“Jimmy,” Jake said. “Stay the three seconds long enough for me to introduce you to Holly Morrow.”
The boy glanced up at Holly. “Hi,” he said.
“It's nice to meet you, Jimmy,” Holly said.
“So can I go now?” Jimmy said to Jake. “When you told me to come, you said I could leave if I wasn't having fun and I'm not.”
“Why do I doubt you've given the party a chance,” Jake said, ruffling Jimmy's sandy-blond hair. “How long have you been here?”
“Five, six minutes,” Jimmy responded. “The bartenders won't let me drink any of the good stuff, all the girls are older than me, and Dylan's too busy with his girlfriend to have time for me—as usual.”
“Lizzie is his fiancée,” Jake corrected. “Not his girlfriend. And this is their engagement party. Lovey-dovey comes with the territory.”
“Well, it makes me sick,” Jimmy said. “I'm outta here.” He stepped away, then turned back. “It was nice to meet you, too,” he said to Holly, then stalked off.
“Well, well,” Jake said. “That last bit of politeness threw me. Just when I think I have the kid pegged, he does something surprising.”
“He doesn't seem too happy with Dylan,” Holly said. “What's their relationship? And how do you know Jimmy?”
Jake explained how he came to meet Jimmy and how his attitude had changed lately. “It kills me to have him on my list of suspects, but the way he's reacted to Dylan's engagement ...”
“Sounds like he's hurting pretty bad,” Holly said. “My heart goes out to him. And to you, too—it's clear you care a lot about him.”
“I do,” Jake said. “And so does Dylan. Most of me thinks he's incapable of some of what's been happening, but a part of me has to be realistic about how angry he is, how rejected and abandoned he feels.”
Holly squeezed Jake's hand and he squeezed back, then dropped her hand. “I have that sensation again, that someone's staring,” she said.
Jake glanced around, sure it was Pru Dunhill who was staring. But Pru wasn't even looking in his direction. Instead, she was heading out the door with Arianna.
“Jake, Arianna and Pru are leaving,” Holly whispered. “Should we trail them?”
He glanced at his watch. “It's a little past nine. The party's ending. I want to be the last to leave so that I can monitor who leaves when. If you don't mind sticking around, I'll see you and Gayle home.”
“I don't mind,” Holly said.
Neither did he.
The band suddenly stopped playing and a bell tinkled over and over until there was silence. “Thank you all so much for coming,” boomed the voice of Victoria Dunhill, her silver bell in hand.
She stood in the center of the ballroom, on a little box. Her butler stood next to her, his hand on her elbow.
Mrs. Dunhill, I'm sorry, but you are not the queen of England.
“In celebration of this occasion, the bride-to-be has chosen an adorable party favor,” said Mrs. Dunhill. As you leave, you'll find the favors in lovely lavender gossamer sacks on the marble table in the foyer. Please help yourself to one, and again, thank—”
A piercing shriek from just outside the ballroom interrupted her.
Jake grabbed Holly's hand and rushed into the foyer. Mrs. Chipwell, one of Mrs. Dunhill's close friends, was sitting on a chair by the front door, fanning herself with the invitation to the party as she caught her breath. A small group of people gathered around her.
“Look at this!” Mrs. Chipwell shrieked. “I took one of the party favors—and this was what was inside the little bag!”
She held up a bride and groom cake topper. It was wood and painted, Lizzie's and Dylan's names inscribed across the bottom.
And a little noose around both of their necks with a note:
You'll be dead before you're wed!
CHAPTER TEN
Holly felt Lizzie sway beside her, then wobble, and just as Lizzie's legs gave out, Dylan caught her.
He lay her down on the red velvet chaise in the foyer, brushing back her hair. “Lizzie, sweetheart. Lizzie?”
Holly kneeled down next to Dylan and held Lizzie's hand. “Lizzie, if you can hear me, everything's all right. Everything's going to be all right.”
Lizzie's eyes fluttered open. She looked at Holly, at Dylan, and then at the many eyes peering down at her, and she began to cry. “That's it,” she said. “We have to call off the wedding. I can't take another minute of this.”
“Lizzie,” Dylan said. “Just rest.” He brushed her hair back from her face and caressed her temples. “Just catch your breath and relax.”
Lizzie slowly sat up. “Who would do this?” Lizzie cried. “Who
is
doing this?
We
brought those favors over straight from my
house
. So either someone broke in and ransacked through them, or the culprit was—is—here tonight!”
“Don't you worry, Lizzie,” Jake said. “We're going to find out. You can count on that.”
“I still think we should cancel the wedding, Dylan,” Lizzie said, tears pooling in her eyes. “Mrs. Chipwell's heart could have given out!”
“Dear girl, I am not frail!” Mrs. Chipwell scolded.
“Lizzie, remember what we talked about,” Dylan said, taking both her hands and bringing them to his lips. “We're not going to let some psycho ruin our plans. We love each other and we're getting married and that's all that matters.”
“But, Dylan—” Lizzie began.
Dylan shot up. “Do you hear that,
Psycho
?” he shouted, glancing wildly at the guests who crowded into the foyer. “If you're here, if you're one of us, one of our friends, your evil isn't working. And trust me, when I find out who you are, watch out!”
Mrs. Dunhill, who'd been standing quietly by the entrance to the ballroom, pushed through the crowd and stood in front of her son. “Dylan Dunhill!” she said, her usually calm voice raised. “Are you insinuating that one of my dear friends is the person behind the unfortunate incidents troubling Lizbeth and her friends?”
“It's
Lizzie
, Mother,” Dylan said. “And no, I'm not
insinuating
. I'm flat out saying that it's entirely possible—probable—that our culprit is in this room.”
As the guests gasped and murmured and muttered and began looking around, looking for the guilty party, Holly squeezed Lizzie's hand.
“The party is over, everyone,” Dylan announced, his expression grim.
“Dylan, how dare you be so rude!” his mother scolded. “I am hosting this party.”
“Mother, I do believe you made the same announcement fifteen minutes ago,” Dylan said through gritted teeth. He kneeled beside Lizzie. “Honey, do you think you can stand? I want to get you out of here.”
“I think so,” she said, sitting up.
Jake leaned over to Dylan and whispered something in his ear. Dylan nodded and helped Lizzie to her feet.
“Holly,” Jake said, “Dylan's going to take Lizzie home and stay with her until I bring you back to her house. I'd like us to do a little work here first.”
Holly nodded. She gently put an arm around Lizzie's shoulder. “I'll be back soon, Lizzie. Jake and I are going to find out who's behind all this. I promise you that.”
Lizzie offered a tearful nod, and Dylan escorted her out.
Henrietta Dunhill, the elderly aunt of Victoria Dunhill, reached for one of the favors as she was slowly making her way out with the help of her cane.
“No, no, Mrs. Dunhill,” Jake said gently. “These favors have been tampered with.”
“What's that you say?” Henrietta asked. “Lovely favors. Since the place has cleared out, I'll take two,” she added with a wink. She grabbed the favors and opened one. “Just adorable.”
The bride and groom topper she held had no noose, no note. Jake glanced at Holly and they lunged for the marble table, opening the little lavender sacks as quickly as possible. Only two others contained nooses and notes.
“And only three of the guests are members of the bridal party,” Holly said slowly. “Lizzie, Gayle and me.”
“Well, whoever altered the favors clearly wasn't concerned with who actually ended up with those three favors. Mrs. Chipwell isn't a member of the bridal party.”
“Maybe he or she figured whoever got the tampered-with favors would scream bloody murder about it.”
“Meaning it wouldn't matter if one of us got them, since the message would make its way to us,” Holly said.
Jake nodded. “And it did.”
Yes, it did
, Holly thought, a weariness settling over her.
“All this unpleasantness has made me very tired,” Victoria Dunhill said, reaching for the banister of the stairs. “Walker,” she droned to her butler. “See me up the stairs, will you. And fetch Louis to accompany us.”
“Before you go, Mrs. Dunhill,” Jake said, “I'd like to ask you a few questions.”
She offered him a smile. “Jacob, dear, it's late. I'm tired. And under a great deal of stress. Why don't you come see me in the morning.”
“I will,” he said. “You don't mind if I have a look around, do you, Mrs. Dunhill?”
She stopped on the stairwell, then turned just a bit so that she was facing nothing in particular. “Of course, dear. Go right ahead.”
Jake waited until she had ascended the stairs, then turned to Holly. “A guest at this party tampered with those favors. And we're going to find out who if we have to spend the night here.”
Holly glanced up at him. Spending the night with Jake Boone didn't sound so bad.
 
As an antique grandfather clock ticked-tocked on the wall across from where he sat, Jake breathed very slowly, very calmly—which was difficult as Holly was leaning against him, her head on his shoulder.
She was fast asleep.
God, she felt good.
He didn't dare move a muscle, lest she awaken and startle to find herself in such an intimate position.
Intimate. It was funny to think of it that way. A decade ago, Holly had often fallen asleep sitting next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. They'd be on one of their living room sofas watching a video, or down by the lake, tossing pebbles into the water, and Holly would fall asleep. Back then, she'd awaken as comfortably as she'd fallen asleep, her head on Jake Boone's shoulder as familiar and normal as talking to him.
Only he'd be stock-still, listening to her breathe, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, smelling her shampoo, watching every slight and tiny movement, her lips, a hand, a tiny coo.
And he'd want to stay like that forever. Then, in those moments, she was his.
Now didn't feel so different. She lived far away from him. They weren't even friends. But she was Holly Morrow, and she was sleeping against him.
He very gently caressed her hand, then stared at the brass hands of the clock.
It was midnight, three hours since the party ended. Three hours since they'd combed through the Dunhill mansion and the grounds, looking for something, anything to shed light on who had brought the nooses for the party favors. A crumpled receipt thrown away foolishly in a trash can. A wrapper or a bag from the store where the items had come from. Something dropped or missed. Or something right out in the open.
People were careless when they committed crimes. Nerves got the best of them, and they slipped up, made mistakes.
But Jake and Holly had found nothing.
After two hours, they'd gone to Jake's office to talk over the case, where things stood, what they did know, what seemed to be, what could be. The best they could come up with was that their culprit was very careful and right under their noses.
“There's Pru and Arianna, individually or together. There's young Jimmy. There's Bobby Jones. There's Victoria Dunhill. They all have motives.”
“And unfortunately, just about anyone who's seen an old movie had access to Lizzie's home,” Jake pointed out, “thanks to the keys she left under the doormat, under a flowerpot, above the doorjamb. Perhaps our psycho let him or herself in, saw the party favors and tampered with a few.”
“And a lot of people in town have their own key to her house—her mother, her friends, her handyman, Dylan. Lizzie's unusually trusting with everyone.”
“Even I have a key,” Jake conceded. He shook his head. “Before I became a cop, I thought that only happened in the movies. I had no idea people left keys right in front of their doors for anyone to use. It's practically a cliché to hide a key under the mat, or above the door or under a plant.”
Holly nodded. “Like I said, Lizzie's unusually trusting. She's never had much reason to trust people, given how she's been treated since puberty, but she always has trusted.” She glanced down at her feet. “It's one of the biggest differences between us.”
“Do you want to be more trusting?” Jake asked.
She shrugged. “I honestly don't know. Part of me thinks it's safer not to trust, safer to keep your guard up—as long as you're open, I guess. And the other part thinks that as long as your guard is up, you can't really be open.”
“I suppose there's a middle ground,” Jake said. “Reasonably cautious.”
“I guess that could describe me,” she said. “Do you think I'm—” She stopped and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She didn't finish her question.
I wouldn't know,
Jake finished silently for her.
I used to know if
reasonably cautious
fit you, but I don't know the woman you've become
.
She took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “Jake, after the mound of dirt was left on her bed, she got rid of the keys around the property and had the locks changed. The only people who have new keys are Dylan, me, you, and her mother. So if Dylan has a key, it's possible that Pru could have gotten her hands on it and made a copy.”
“It's possible,” Jake said.
The words
anything's possible
seemed to hang in the air between them, even though neither spoke them aloud.
It was interesting—back then, when they were as close as two people could be, it wasn't possible for them to become a couple. Now, when they barely knew each other, it was very possible.
Perhaps that was how it worked. Couples hooked up all the time because of that very fact.
Now who's cynical
, he thought.
Holly stirred, jolting him out of his reverie. He watched her slowly open her eyes and glance around, then she bolted upright when she realized there was a body next to her. “Did I fall asleep?” she asked, suppressing a yawn.
“You took a twenty-minute catnap.”
“Was I leaning against you the whole time?” she asked nervously. “I'm sorry about that.”
“It was fine,” he said. “I'm used to it.”
“Putting women to sleep?” she asked with a smile. And then she laughed, and he laughed, too. Her humor was unexpected.
And it broke the ice.
“I can make that joke only because I know how untrue it is,” she said. “Boring is not an adjective that describes you, Jake Boone.”
“Glad to hear that,” he said and laughed again.
She smiled and the warmth in the room held and spun around them. “It's nice to be with you again, Jake,” she said, looking at him shyly for a moment, then looking away. “You don't realize how much you miss something ...” She shook her head. “I won't even bother with that because it's not true. I missed you fiercely right away.”
“I missed you, too,” he said quietly, so quietly he wondered if he thought it or said it aloud.
Tears came to her eyes, and he knew he'd said it aloud.
He stared down at the hardwood floor. “Perhaps if we'd been this direct with each other, our friendship wouldn't have ended.”
Why had that come out of his mouth? He wasn't supposed to say that. Now
he'd
brought up their past.
“Meaning?” she asked.
“Meaning I didn't know what low regard you held me in.”
She gasped. “Low regard? Jake, are you kidding? I thought you walked on the moon!”
“I'm the last man on earth you'd marry, Holly. I heard you say it yourself.”
Her face crumpled. She stared at the ground, then slowly back up at him. “Jake, I've regretted saying that from the moment it left my lips.”

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