Murder on the Bride's Side (3 page)

We stepped into the ornate entrance foyer, roughly the size
of my entire apartment. A large mahogany table stood center, topped by an enormous blue-and-white vase, yellow roses spilling out. Knowing Elsie, the vase could be from either Pier 1 or the Ming Dynasty. To the right and left stood arched doorways with intricately carved moldings. Directly in front, a wider doorway led to the living room. It was from here that Elsie’s newly acquired black Russian terrier puppy, Anna (as in Anna Karenina), came charging. Her paws hit the waxed wood floor and she lost control, skidding sideways into the wall.

“Anna! No!” admonished Elsie. Anna paid no attention. Untangling her legs, she righted herself and charged again. Bridget and I instinctively stepped back, pressing against the wall and out of her path. Placing her hands on her hips, Elsie turned and yelled, “Vronsky!”

Anna’s furry ears perked and her hind legs pulled up, slowing down her onslaught. She skidded to a halt inches from Elsie’s feet.

Elsie looked down and smiled proudly. “Good girl.”

Blythe couldn’t believe her ears. “Vronsky? You trained her to stop on Vronsky?”

“What’s Vronsky?” asked Bridget.

“Who, not what,” replied Blythe absently. “Count Vronsky was Anna Karenina’s lover. The one she gave everything up for.”

Elsie nodded. “Exactly. When Anna is about to do something really naughty, I simply yell, ‘Vronsky.’ It’s much more effective than ‘no.’ ” Anna sat complacently at Elsie’s feet, happily thumping her tail against the floor.

Blythe stared suspiciously at Elsie. “You
are
kidding me, right?”

Elsie’s answer was lost in the arrival of her daughter, Claire. At forty-two, Claire looked exactly as she had at eighteen. She wore an ankle-length floral print dress that minimized but did not obscure her plumpness, and her straight auburn hair was cut in a pageboy style. Over the years, I had seen only two variations to Claire’s hair. Her bangs were either pulled back off of her round face with a tortoiseshell headband or left hanging in an even line above her brown eyes. Today she had opted for the latter. While some women find a flattering hairstyle and stick with it for life, Claire’s homage to an entire look had more to do with her husband, David Cook, than with a becoming fashion.

David and Claire had gone to high school together, but that’s not to say that they had been high school sweethearts. Far from it, in fact. Claire, a plain, shy, and not particularly athletic girl had adored David with his thick ash blond hair, ruddy complexion, and toothy grin. He had been the revered captain of the football team. He was also, as he would tell anybody in earshot, destined for big things. Unfortunately, in his senior year a knee injury had ended that career path. Instead of continuing with his plans to go pro, he had married Claire and accepted a position in the Matthewses’ family business, the Secret Garden. The marriage was a puzzlement to most until six months later when Claire gave birth to their eight-pound baby daughter, Georgia.

These days David’s athlete’s build was giving way to a middle-aged paunch and his ruddy complexion was more of a bourbon blush. That said, there were many women who still considered David very handsome; a fact of which David openly took
considerable advantage. For the most part Claire turned a blind eye to David’s womanizing. Claire had never been the head cheerleader (or even on the squad, for that matter), but she had nevertheless married the captain of the football team and it was her crowning glory. So, in a manner of speaking, she froze time. She wore her hair the same, dressed the same, and convinced herself that she had a happy marriage.

As for Georgia, she had just started her freshman year at Cambridge in the UK. It was a long way away and her first time living abroad. Bridget’s family thought that the impetus for Georgia’s escape was the same as Claire’s lack of transformation: David.

Seeing us now, Claire smiled at our garment bags. “Oh! You got your dresses!” she said. “How is René?”

“Effusive as ever,” said Elsie. “Have I missed anything here?”

“No, I was just looking for David. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

Elsie’s upper lip curled slightly at the mention of her son-in-law’s name. “Have you checked in the study? That’s where the liquor cabinet is, after all.”

Claire sighed. “Please don’t start, Mother. David’s going through a very difficult time right now.”

“David is
always
going through a difficult time,” countered Elsie.

“Please,” Claire repeated wearily. “Work has been very stressful for him. He’s taken over some different client accounts and has been working very hard to win them over.”

I hid a smile as Elsie murmured, “Yes, I imagine
that
would be very hard work for David.”

Claire did not seem to hear the remark and continued. “And then those stock options didn’t pan out the way David imagined. You know he’s never been very good at handling stress.”

“I see,” said Elsie. “May I ask what exactly he
is
good at?”

Claire picked up one of the fallen rose petals on the table, crushing it between her thumb and forefinger. “Look,” she said, her voice low, “I know David has his faults, and I know that you don’t like him, but he is my husband and I expect you to treat him with a modicum of respect. You don’t realize how your behavior affects
me
.”

Elsie sighed. “Claire, I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. But you could do so much
better
—”

“Please, Mother, not again,” Claire interrupted. “We’ve had this conversation too many times already. David is my husband and that’s that. I can’t believe you can be so cavalier about a marriage. I said until death do we part, and I meant it.” Flinging the crushed petal on the table, she swung around and stormed out of the foyer.

“From her mouth to God’s ears,” Elsie muttered, watching her go.

Claire had just disappeared through the arched doorway when another face appeared in her place. It was Bridget’s father, Graham. The second of Elsie’s three children, Graham Matthews favored his mother. A successful trial lawyer, he was tall and lean with angular features. His faded blue eyes peered out from underneath bushy black eyebrows with a mix of irreverence and intelligence that had helped sway many a juror to his side of an argument. Like his mother, he was driven and opinionated.
But whereas Elsie had become increasingly dogmatic in her views over the years, Graham had not. Much of this softening seemed due to Blythe. She was the perfect foil for her husband, both physically and mentally. Round and plump, she possessed a keen understanding of human nature thanks to her years as a schoolmistress. She was also thoughtful and slow to judge—traits not commonly associated with the Matthews family.

“What’s the matter with Claire?” Graham asked, seeing Elsie’s dark expression.

Elsie gave a casual shrug, but her pursed lips and furrowed brow gave away her annoyance. “David is the matter with Claire.”

Graham shot Elsie an appraising look. “Have you been after her again about him? I realize you don’t like the man. Hell, I don’t think
any
of us like him, but they’ve been married for almost twenty-two years now. I think it’s time we face the fact that he’s here to stay.”

Elsie scoffed. “Here to stay, my foot. How can you speak such nonsense? You yourself once said that you would do anything in your power to get rid of David.”

Graham gazed at his mother with studied indifference. “I never said any such thing and you know it. Don’t foist your own absurd wishes onto me. David is here to stay. Bullying Claire about him isn’t going to change anything.”

Elsie lifted her chin and gave Graham a level look. “That’s
your
opinion. A mother can always hope. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some things I need to attend to.” Pausing in the doorway, she turned and said, “And for the record, I have never
bullied
anyone in my life.” Sending Graham a curt nod, she swept out of the foyer, leaving the rest of us in open-mouthed shock. I fancied that even Anna looked startled. Elsie could write a primer on the fine art of bullying.

Graham shook his head in bemused disbelief before turning back to us. Focusing on me, he pulled me into a tight hug. “Elizabeth! It’s wonderful to see you! When did you arrive?”

“Just this morning,” I answered, happily returning his hug. I smiled at the familiar feel of his tweed sport coat scratching my cheek. I’d always been fond of Bridget’s father, having practically grown up in their rambling house, but I’d become even closer to him in the past few years after my own father’s untimely death. Graham had unobtrusively stepped in and filled that void, becoming almost a surrogate father to me.

“Well, all I can say is thank God you’re finally here. You always have a much-needed calming influence on Bridget.”

Turning now to her, he kissed Bridget on the cheek, saying, “And speaking of which, how’s my baby girl?”

Bridget scoffed. “Dad, I’m getting married tomorrow! I’m hardly a baby anymore.”

Graham chucked her lightly under her chin. “My mistake. You are, as always, correct. How’s my decrepit old maid?”

Laughing, Bridget said, “Oh, I’m fine. But Elsie thinks someone is going to die.”

Graham cocked one of his bushy eyebrows. “Dare I ask why?”

“Because of the seagulls she saw.”

Graham’s eyebrows now pulled together and he turned to his wife. “Seagulls?” he repeated.

Blythe rolled her eyes and handed him her garment bag. “Yes, seagulls. Apparently, it’s a
sign.
”

“Sounds like I missed quite a time.”

“You have no idea. Come on, I’ll fill you in on all the details upstairs.”

They left, leaving the foyer empty save for Bridget and me. Moving toward the table, she picked up one of the fallen petals and gazed at it thoughtfully. “Maybe I should just elope,” she said.

“Don’t you even think about it!” I snapped. “After all I’ve been through this past year? You most certainly are not going to run out on me now!”

Bridget spread her hands out defensively. “Okay, it was only an idea. But the way everyone is carping at each other, this is turning into a nightmare rather than a dream wedding. And all this fuss really isn’t my style, anyway. Martha Stewart centerpieces are more up your alley.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that if Colin and I
did
elope, then you and Peter could take our place. You guys get married with all the trim and pomp, and Colin and I will run off to Vegas.”

“You’re forgetting two very important points,” I said, ticking them off on my fingers. “One, if you run off to Vegas, your entire family will tan your hide. And I’ll hold you down while they do it. And two . . .”

“Yes?”

“Peter hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

Bridget waved her hand. “A minor detail and one I’m sure he’ll rectify soon.”

I rolled my eyes. With Bridget to wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect. “Nice try,” I said with a laugh, “but no dice.
You
are getting married.
Here. Tomorrow
. Not me.”

Bridget placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t you want to marry Peter?”

I felt my face flush. “I don’t know . . .” I sputtered. “We’ve been dating less than a year . . .”

With an arch look, she said, “Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.”

That caught me by surprise. “Is that . . . ?”

Bridget grinned smugly. “Jane Austen? It is indeed. Now answer me this: you are in love with him, aren’t you? I mean, he is the ‘one,’ isn’t he?”

“Bridget, I don’t know. And keep your voice down. I mean, I like him. A lot. But, well, we haven’t really discussed it and—”

Bridget cut me off with a derisive snort. “You ‘like him’!? Coldhearted Elizabeth! Oh! worse than coldhearted. Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again and I will leave the room this moment.”

After a beat, I said, “Okay, now you’re scaring the crap out of me.”

“Well, what do you expect? You’ve played that damn
Sense and Sensibility
DVD so many times over the past month that now you’ve got
me
quoting it.” She paused. “Actually, to be honest, I’m beginning to see the attraction.”

Rallying my composure, I said, “Bridget, this weekend is about
you
, not me. Besides, after this past year, going through another wedding is the farthest thing from my mind.”

Bridget didn’t say anything, but from the sudden twist of her mouth, I don’t think she believed me.

Which was only fair, considering that I didn’t quite believe me, either.

He is a rogue of course, but a civil one.

—
JANE AUSTEN, LETTER TO HER SISTER, CASSANDRA

“What do you say, Elizabeth? Let’s make it a double wedding.”

We were standing in the back room of Richmond’s most romantic restaurant. The private room boasted dark paneling on three of its walls with a polished bank of windows making up the fourth. The city below shimmered silver and white against the dusky, indigo sky. The low melody from a strings ensemble mingled with the occasional clink of crystal and murmured laughter. It was the perfect place and moment for a proposal. Unfortunately, these words were whispered to me not by Peter but by Bridget’s cousin, Harry Matthews. Ten years ago I would have jumped at a proposal from Harry. Hell, who am I kidding? I would have jumped at a mere proposition from the man. Harry is three years older than me and for a long time had been my idea of perfection. Tall, with light blond hair, cobalt blue eyes, and a cleft that rivaled Cary Grant’s, he was easy to fall for. But as I grew older, I realized he had a bad-boy streak a mile wide. Trouble didn’t just follow Harry; it stalked him.