Murder on the Bride's Side (31 page)

I blushed at her words. Changing the subject, I said, “Well, I hope this investigation gets cleared up soon. I have a feeling that until it does, Detective Grant is going to want to keep a very close eye on me. I don’t think he believes me about finding the necklace.”

Elsie nodded. “I think you may be right. But I know that it’ll get straightened out. In the meantime, get some sleep. You look like you could use it.”

She left, Anna padding happily along behind her. I stared blankly at Megan’s bed, wondering where she could be. I don’t know how long it took me to notice that the bedpost where she
hung her purse was bare. Shit. Where had she gone? I looked at the clock; it was a little after ten. Where would a seventeen-year-old go at that hour? I knew the answer almost immediately: she was at the boathouse smoking pot. Enough is enough, I thought. If I was going to catch her in the act, I’d have to hurry. I slipped on my robe and slippers, reasoning that the sight of my ensemble might be enough to scare her straight. As I grabbed a hair tie off my nightstand to pull my hair back, I saw Megan’s flowers. Some of the roses were already dying, their pink heads bent low, their stems limp. I continued to stare at them as another memory swirled. The impact of that memory made my knees buckle. Thankfully, the bed caught me as I sank backward. I’d been looking at the whole thing upside down!

It all made sense now—the calls to Roni’s cell phone, the source of the thump, the letter from the hotel.

I sat there in shock, struggling to find a flaw in my reasoning, but for once there was none. Only Megan would be able to tell me if I was wrong. I made my way downstairs and slipped outside into the darkness, intent on finding her.

The moon hung behind thick clouds, transforming the wide lawn into a maze of shadows. Carefully making my way to the boathouse, I could hear Bridget and Colin’s murmured conversation from the patio. Soon their voices faded, seemingly swallowed up by the night. Ahead of me a branch snapped. A second later, the sound was repeated. An uneasy premonition slid down my spine. Hurrying, I had just rounded the curve leading to the boathouse when I heard a sickening thump. My heart thudding
in my chest, I picked up the ends of my robe and ran toward the sound.

I had gone only a few steps when I saw the dark crumpled heap. With terrible certainty, I knew it was Megan.

Don’t overestimate the decency of the human race.

—
H. L. MENCKEN

Running over to her recumbent body, I was dimly aware that I was screaming. I hoped Colin and Bridget could hear me, but my voice sounded like it was originating from the end of a long tunnel. I came to a skidding halt over Megan’s body and knelt beside her. Blood streamed down her face and onto the grass. There was a large gash from her forehead almost to her crown. A heavy black flashlight lay on the ground next to her. Numb with terror, I frantically felt for a pulse and went weak with relief when I felt a faint and thready one. Just then, I saw a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. A dark figure darted furtively across the back lawn in jeans and a black shirt. I couldn’t make out many details, but I saw the black ski mask over the face.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was bounding across the lawn in full pursuit. The grass was slick from rain and I discovered quickly that bunny slippers do not provide much, if any, traction, but I wasn’t going to let the bastard who attacked Megan get away without a fight. Luckily, her attacker appeared even more unsteady than I was, and soon I was within arm’s
reach. With a burst of speed, I hurled myself at the runner’s waist and the two of us fell to the ground. I had the upper hand for a moment, the element of surprise being on my side. But with an embarrassingly easy shove, I was flung off. I had a brief sensation of weightlessness as I soared through the air before I crashed back down to the ground in an ignominious heap. The jolt of the landing knocked the wind out of me and I desperately sucked at the air. Flopping on the ground like a fish out of water, I was helpless as my attacker jumped up and took flight. But after only three or four steps a quick-moving blur to my right tackled the form. To my surprise, I realized that the blur was Peter. This time the figure wasn’t able to toss aside its attacker, especially after Colin joined the fray.

Writhing in pain, the dark figure let loose a stream of obscenities that left me with no doubt as to its identity. Even before Peter ripped off the black ski mask, I already knew it would be David’s face underneath.

Colin and Peter managed to drag David back to the house, although it wasn’t an easy task. David is not only a big man, but he was also drunk, and the alcohol surging through his blood gave him added vigor. I ran back to where Megan lay; Bridget joined me a second later. Together, we gently carried her to the house. The fact I kept tripping on my slippers’ bunny ears didn’t help matters.

We lay Megan on the living room couch. She was terribly pale but, thankfully, conscious. The house was suddenly alive with activity. Julia, who had been visiting Avery, let out a small scream when she saw Megan. Hovering over her with anxious desperation, she knelt beside the couch, her face ashen, and
gently cradled Megan’s battered head in the palms of her hands. Time seemed to slow for me and I realized that my earlier deduction had been right, after all. Megan was the key to all of this. It had been about her all along. It explained everything—the source of the mysterious thump, the key, and the note. The realization and its implications almost made me throw up.

In the distance, I heard sirens screaming toward the house, and for the first time since I’d arrived I hoped that they brought Detective Grant with them.

Peter and Colin shoved the struggling David into a chair and stood over him with the fireplace poker while Elsie ran to the kitchen for something to secure David with. Claire stared aghast at her husband, uttering only one anguished word: “Why?”

“Goddamn you, Claire, you stupid idiot, get me out of here. Tell these morons to let me go,” he screamed at her.

“Shut up, David,” Bridget said, her voice furious. “You can’t bully her anymore. We’ve got you. You’re done.” Elsie returned to the room and tossed a roll of duct tape to Colin.

“Sorry,” she said with an apologetic shrug, “it’s all I could find.”

“It’ll do,” Colin replied, and immediately knelt behind David and secured him roughly to his chair.

David struggled against the tightening bonds, all the while staring at us with wild eyes. “What are you talking about?” he sputtered.

Bridget looked at him with disgust. “What are we talking about?” she repeated sarcastically. “How about murder? You killed Roni. And now you tried to kill Megan! Why?”

David’s eyes widened in panic. “You think I killed Roni? I
didn’t kill Roni!” Seeing our disbelieving expressions, he continued. “Okay, I . . . I took her necklace, yes, I admit it, but that’s all!” He shut his eyes, trying to pull a coherent narrative out of his alcohol-soaked brain. “She was already dead, don’t you see? She was dead and she owed me money. She promised me that money!” He looked wildly about for a sign that we either understood or believed him. He found none. “I went downstairs to make myself a drink. That’s when I found her dead and . . . I . . . took the necklace. I figured she owed me. But then Megan said she saw someone on the terrace. She said that I could make it right. I figured she meant the necklace! She wanted the necklace!”

I struggled to understand David’s rambling story. Looking over at Megan, I saw that she had revived enough to respond. With Julia pressing a large towel to her bleeding head, Megan whispered, “You’re crazy! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“But you have to,” David pleaded. “You said that if I could figure out how to help you, you’d listen to me.”

“You’re crazy!”

I pressed my fingers against my eyes. Some of what David was saying did have a familiar ring to it. I tried to remember why. Then it came to me. After trying to pin Roni’s murder on Harry, David had told Megan that he was sorry for her mother’s death and asked her if there was anything he could do. Megan’s response echoed in my head.
“Anything
you
can do? Just what do you think you can do, David? From what I’ve seen
, you’ve
done quite enough!”

I struggled to remember the rest of the conversation. David
had pressed her, obviously trying to win her over. What had he said?
“I know you’re upset. But I’d like to help.”

And then Megan had responded.
“Help. Here’s an idea, David—how about you do the right thing? For once, why don’t you just do the right thing?”

On a certain level, it made sense, especially to someone as drunk as David. He had taken the necklace and then panicked when he thought that Megan had seen him on the terrace. His exchange with Megan had left him with the impression that she would keep her mouth shut about what she’d seen if he only gave her the necklace.

“
You
put the necklace in my bureau,” I said suddenly.

David glanced at me and nodded. “I thought it was Megan’s bureau. It was what she wanted me to do!”

“I didn’t want you to do anything! I don’t understand what you’re talking about!” Megan protested faintly, then fell back against the cushion as the effort caused a fresh spasm of pain. Julia gently stroked her cheek and tried to calm her.

“But you do!” countered David with a pathetic whine. “You have to!”

More of the puzzle fell into place. “You were in the hallway earlier, weren’t you, David?” I asked. “You heard me tell Megan that she had to go to the police. You were afraid that she was going to tell Detective Grant that it was you she saw that night on the terrace.”

David’s glance slid away from mine. “I didn’t kill Roni,” he said, his lips pulled into a petulant pout.

I heard the front door slam open and the sound of rapid footsteps. Detective Grant burst into the room and took in the
scene before him, from Megan on the couch to David taped to a chair. Two paramedics rushed in behind him and immediately made their way to Megan. Within minutes, they had removed her from the room and were on their way to the hospital. Julia and Avery followed, anguish etched on both faces.

Detective Grant eyed David with abhorrence. “Enjoy attacking young girls, do you, Mr. Cook?”

“It’s not my fault,” David retorted. Turning a loathing eye on me, he said, “If you hadn’t found the necklace, none of this would have happened. She would have kept quiet if she’d had the necklace!”

Looking into his bleary, unfocused eyes, I realized that he was so drunk that basic logic was beyond his grasp. With a sob, Claire buried her head in her hands. “I can’t believe you did this, David. You tried to kill Megan! What kind of a monster are you?”

“Oh, shut up,” came his illogical reply. “She’s fine, isn’t she?”

A fresh burst of tears came from Claire and she looked away.

Detective Grant stepped forward. “David Cook, I’m arresting you for the murder of Roni Matthews and the attack on Megan Matthews.”

David thrashed wildly upon hearing these words. “I didn’t kill her!” he screamed. “I didn’t!” With a sudden burst of strength, he broke free of the tape. Grabbing the chair, he flung it at us. It caught Detective Grant square in the chest and he fell back with a crash. In a flash, David sprang out of the room, onto the terrace, and disappeared from sight.

Pulling himself to his feet, Detective Grant darted after him. The rest of us followed. As we reached the terrace, we saw
Detective Grant round the corner of the house and head for the front lawn. I sprinted after them and had just reached the front steps when I saw David’s car charge down the driveway. Detective Grant ran for his car, yanking open the driver’s-side door. His ignition had roared to life when another, louder sound took its place—the sound of crunching metal. Running down the driveway, I saw the source. Wrapped around the base of one of the ancient magnolia trees that lined the stately drive was the shattered remains of David’s car.

Detective Grant got there first. He reached into the driver’s side of the wreck, and after a minute, pulled back. Seeing our expectant faces, he slowly shook his head.

Beside me, Claire moaned and covered her face. Detective Grant walked back to us.

“Is he dead?” Elsie asked in a strained whisper.

“I’m afraid so,” Detective Grant said.

Her face a mask of sadness, Elsie wrapped her arms around Claire. “I’m so sorry, Claire,” she murmured. Claire nodded mutely.

I looked at Detective Grant. I had to ask him the question, but at the same time I dreaded it. “What about Roni’s murder?” I said.

Detective Grant studied me thoughtfully. “Well . . .”

Claire raised her tear-stained face from Elsie’s shoulder. “It was David, of course,” she said, after an uncertain glance in my direction. Turning to Detective Grant, she said, “They were having an affair, you know. David and Roni. But then Roni tried to double-cross him.” Her voice grew stronger as she continued her story. “She wanted Avery to sell the business so she could
run off with yet another man. When David found out, he was furious. David has”—she squeezed her eyes shut—“
had
a terrible temper.”