Murder on the Bride's Side (22 page)

“So,” said Bridget, quickly surveying her menu, “we need to prove that Harry is innocent.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“It’s simple. All we need to do is find the
real
killer.”

“
All
we need to do?” sputtered Peter.

Colin shot Peter a quelling glance. “Bridget, honey,” he said, “I understand that you want to help Harry, but I think we should leave it to the police.”

“The police? Are you kidding? Did you see that detective? He hates us!”

“I don’t think he hates us,” I said slowly, pushing my menu away. “I think he’s annoyed. Elsie told me that she called in a few favors to put pressure on him to wrap up the case quickly. I think she thought it would force him to focus on the outsider theory.”

Bridget covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God! I know she means well, but the last thing we need is a detective who’s in a rush to solve this case! He’s going to fixate on Harry and
arrest him merely to be done with it! I just know it! He’s not even going to consider anyone else!”

“You don’t know that for sure—”

She interrupted me, throwing her menu down on the table in frustration. “For Christ’s sake, this is ridiculous! Why would Harry kill Roni? Why would any of us kill her? Please! The woman was a pain in the butt, but to brutally stab her in the chest like that suggests a level of hatred that goes
way
beyond mere annoyance.”

I was spared a response by the return of Sandy. Hearing Bridget’s last comment, the wattage of her smile dimmed significantly. She quickly distributed our drinks, took our orders, and scurried away.

Bridget didn’t notice. “Elizabeth, you talked with Detective Grant. What did he say? Did you get any idea of what he thinks?”

I took a grateful mouthful of my Bloody Mary, then forced myself to put the heavy glass down before I drained it in one gulp. I took a bite of the celery stick before answering. “He didn’t exactly confide his thought process to me. Somehow, I didn’t get the impression that he liked me very much.”

“As I said, I don’t think he likes
any
of us. But what did he
say
?”

“Just that Roni was probably killed somewhere between one and three in the morning. They don’t know for sure if the knife is from the kitchen. I don’t know if there were any prints on it.”

“And at around one thirty Roni came in saying that she was looking for Megan?” asked Bridget.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s what she said, but I doubt she was telling
the truth. It’s more likely that she was trying to hide the fact that she was supposed to meet someone at two.”

Bridget nodded in agreement. “Who else was there?”

“Just me, Elizabeth, Harry, David, and Claire,” said Peter. I took another sip of my drink. “Both Harry and David were pretty bombed.”

“And that’s when Harry had the fight with Roni?” asked Colin.

I nodded. “Yes. It was awful. I really thought he was going to hit her.”

“And David saw all this, right?” asked Bridget.

“Yes.”

“Okay, wait a minute,” said Bridget slowly, her eyes closed in concentration. Finally, she gave a loud snap of her fingers. “David. It must have been David.”

I eyed her doubtfully. “David?”

“Yes, David! Don’t you see?”

I frowned. “Not really . . .”

“Think about it,” she pressed. “It makes perfect sense.” I silently questioned her use of the word
perfect
, but I knew better than to voice it. In an eager whisper, she continued. “What if David and Roni were having an affair and then he found out that Roni was not only seeing someone else but was plotting with this other person about selling the Garden? He’d be pretty mad. I mean, let’s be honest, if Avery sells the Garden, David is out of a job.”

“True,” I conceded. “But why on earth do you think that David was having an affair with Roni?”

“Because it makes sense. You said yourself that he was in
her bedroom. That’s kind of odd, don’t you think? And let’s face it, David has never bothered being faithful to Claire. If Claire found out about the affair, it would explain the fight she had with Roni.”

“So would at least three dozen other scenarios . . .”

“But this one makes the most sense.”

Before I could argue the truth of this, she went on. “And we all know David has a terrible temper, especially when he’s mad or drunk. And he was certainly drunk last night.”

“True, but he’s drunk nearly every night and so far he hasn’t killed anyone.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Bridget looked meaningfully at me. “Think about it. Based on what you overheard between the two of them yesterday, we know that David needed money and Roni refused to give it to him. He’s furious. He slips Roni the note, telling her to meet him outside. He’s going to blackmail her into giving him the money. She either gives it to him, or he’ll ‘tell all.’ But something goes wrong. Maybe he realizes that she’s going to double-cross him.”

I saw Sandy approaching with our food and tried to stop Bridget from continuing. “Bridget!” I hissed.

“Wait! I think I’ve got it,” she said, shutting her eyes again. “Having just seen Harry threaten Roni, David decides to kill her, take her necklace, knowing he can probably shift suspicion to Harry given the fight they’ve just had. David grabs a knife from the kitchen and voilà! he stabs her in the chest.”

From the sharp intake of breath to my right, I knew that Sandy had overheard. Glancing up, I saw that her earlier perkiness was gone. Her rosy complexion had paled, and her eyes
were wide with horror. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile and said, “It’s a plot for a TV show.”

From the way she quickly deposited our plates and bolted from our table, I don’t think she believed me. I couldn’t really blame her; I wouldn’t have believed me, either.

Bridget went on, oblivious that the entire staff was probably being informed that crazy, homicidal people were eating at table ten. “That works,” she said, slapping the table triumphantly. “David, drunk and angry that Roni has been playing him for a fool, kills her knowing that Harry will most likely be blamed. Plus, with her gone, his job is safe. I doubt Avery will sell the Garden now.”

The image of Roni’s body sprawled on the chaise longue, an enormous kitchen knife protruding from her bloodstained chest, swam before me. Bile rose in my throat and I pushed away my eggs Benedict. Losing the few pounds I’d gained over the past months would be easier than I’d thought.

“So how did the necklace end up in Elizabeth’s drawer?” asked Peter.

“I haven’t figured out that part of it yet,” said Bridget with a casual wave of her hand. “Maybe he stashed it there and meant to get it later. We know he’s in need of money. And if that necklace really
is
worth two hundred thousand dollars, then he’d definitely take it. Besides, it confuses the motive.”

“Well, that works, then, because I’m definitely confused,” agreed Peter. I kicked him under the table.

“Bridget, I’m not disagreeing with you,” I said, “but there’s so much that we don’t know. If it really
was
David, then wouldn’t
Claire have noticed that he was gone? And why would David write a note on Jefferson stationery? He wasn’t staying there . . .”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t have a room there,” she countered.

I shook my head. “Why on earth would he have a room there?”

“What about . . .” began Colin.

Bridget ignored him. “Oh, don’t be so naïve! People having affairs need hotel rooms for their rendezvous!”

I sighed. “Bridget, you have got to stop reading those Harlequin novels.”

“One thing we could do . . .” ventured Peter.

Bridget talked over him. “Whatever,” she said, “we need to tell the police.”

“Tell the police what?” I asked. “That you think David might have done it? We have no proof! I know you don’t like David—I’m not fond of him, either. But just because you can’t stand him doesn’t mean he’s the killer.”

“Just because I can’t stand him doesn’t mean he
isn’t
the killer, either,” Bridget said with surprising logic.

“We have no evidence!” I insisted. “And besides, he’s not the only one who had a reason to dislike Roni.”

“So Peter, what do you think of the Colts’ starting lineup?” Colin suddenly interjected.

“Not bad,” said Peter. “Of course, I’m a Pats fan myself, but the Colts seem to be having a pretty good season so far.”

“Did you see last week’s game?”

“No, I missed it. They won, right?”

Bridget turned to stare disbelievingly at Colin. “How the hell can you jabber on about football at a time like this?” she burst out.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Colin with mock surprise. “I didn’t think you were interested in our opinions. You seemed to be handling everything just fine without our input.”

Bridget tapped her fingers in annoyance on the table. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Can we move on now?”

“Absolutely,” Colin agreed with a grin.

“So, who do you suggest, then?” asked Bridget.

“I’m not suggesting
anyone
,” said Colin, “but I agree with Elizabeth. I don’t think we can leap to David.”

“Meaning you can’t think of anyone else. And the reason you can’t is because I’m right.” Bridget smirked.

“No . . .” said Colin.

“Then tell me one other person who has motive.”

The memory of Julia hugging Megan floated before my eyes and I realized the reason for my earlier feeling of discord. “Becky,” I said to myself.

“Becky?” Bridget repeated in surprise, turning to me. “What are you talking about?”

“I just realized that when Julia hugged Megan, it reminded me of—”

“Becky!” Bridget finished, seeing my meaning.

“Becky’s father was a lot like Roni,” I said softly.

Bridget nodded, her spiky red bangs falling into her eyes. “Except for the tight dresses and the enormous breasts, he was exactly like Roni.”

“Well, that’s a big exception, but do you see my point?”

“Sort of, but—”

“Wait!” interrupted Peter. “Who is Becky?”

“Becky was Julia’s daughter and a close friend of Harry’s,” I explained quickly. “She died of an alcohol and drug overdose a few years ago.” Turning back to Bridget, I continued. “Julia may have thought she could prevent Megan from ending up like Becky,” I said, remembering the way Julia reacted to seeing Roni and Megan fight at the wedding. “Do you remember how devastated she was about Becky’s death? She blamed herself for not preventing it. I don’t think she ever forgave her husband for his treatment of Becky. Remember how when he died a few years later, she didn’t seem that upset? And there’s the fact that I think she’s still in love with Avery.”

“It’s possible,” Bridget conceded, mulling over this information. “But I just can’t see Julia stabbing someone. However, I
can
see David doing that.”

“I really can’t see Julia doing it, either. But you can make a case based on motive for just about anyone. Let’s face it, Roni wasn’t a popular woman. But until we have
proof
, we have nothing.”

“That’s just what I propose we get. I refuse to sit still and let the police think Harry did it.” Bridget pointed a triangle of toast at me for emphasis. A yellow glob of egg yolk dripped off its corner and landed on her plate. “Maybe we can bug David’s room.”

“Bug his room?”

Bridget nodded eagerly. “Yes. If we work together, I know we can find out—”

“No,” I said.

“No,” Peter echoed.

She stared uncomprehendingly at me, as if I’d suddenly launched into a torrent of French. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, no.” I spelled it for her to be extra clear. “I see no reason for us to get involved. Detective Grant seems capable. I’m sure he can handle this investigation just fine without our help. You may not like him—and I’ll admit, he’s not high on my list of People I Want to Spend More Time With—but he does seem competent. I don’t think he’ll bow to pressure from his bosses and rush an arrest. I’m sure that he can find Roni’s killer without our help. And especially without us bugging David’s room!”

“But you were so great helping Aunt Winnie last New Year’s!”

“That was different! I got involved in that because the police suspected Aunt Winnie. I was trying to clear her name.”

“Yes, but—”

“Bridget, wait! The police are still investigating. We don’t even know for sure that they’ve focused on Harry! I’m not about to pull some Lucy-and-Ethel stunt with you simply for the hell of it!”

“This isn’t for the hell of it! It’s got to be David. I just know it. Didn’t I tell you that something terrible was going to happen at my wedding? Well, something bad
did
happen. Roni was killed!” She slapped her hand on the table for emphasis.

“Bridget,” I said slowly, “most brides are convinced something is going to go wrong on their wedding day.”

Bridget’s eyes narrowed underneath her spiky red bangs. “I am
not
most brides.” She emphasized these words by jabbing
her finger onto the table on each syllable. “You know that I’ve always been sensitive to things.”

Sensitive. In the sixth grade, Bridget’s “sensitivity” to the weather convinced me that there was no need to study for our upcoming math test because we were going to get a huge snowstorm that night. It rained. In high school, Bridget’s sensitivity to my love life convinced me to buy a nonreturnable purple Calvin Klein dress because she was sure that Joe Cassidy was going to ask me to the homecoming dance. He didn’t. Two years ago, her sensitivity to numbers convinced me to give her my grocery money to buy lottery tickets. We didn’t have even one of the final numbers and we were forced to eat crackers and jelly all week. Now her sensitivity was telling her that David killed Roni. I bit my tongue. Hard.

She went on, outlining the need for our involvement, oblivious to my reservations. Which, in my opinion, showed a definite lack of sensitivity to anything.

When she finally finished, she saw my unmoved face and shifted her glance to Peter. Seeing his doubtful expression, she sighed and turned to Colin. “Colin? What do you think?” she asked.

He put his arm around her and hugged her close. “Bridget, I love you. I love your enthusiasm and your loyalty to your family, but in this case, I have to agree with Peter and Elizabeth. I think we should let the experts handle it.”