Shear Murder (3 page)

Turning in her seat, Jill tilted her head. “Kevin's already done some checking on the site,” she told Marla, “and apparently it's not zoned for drive-ins. He'd only mentioned swapping as a means to get an equally valued location with better variances.”

“I don't like it.” Torrie rolled her shoulder. “Now that the property is worth so much more, everyone is out to get it.”

“You're too paranoid. We have to trust someone, and my vote is for Kevin.” Jill wagged her fingers at Marla. “I asked Uncle Eddy to advise us on termination procedures with our current tenant. He's drawing up a partnership agreement for us and suggested this might be a good time to sell.”

“I won't sell. I need the income,” Torrie persisted.

“Then we need Kevin to find us another tenant so we won't be left high and dry,” her sister said. “Give him a chance—”

“I still intend to communicate with Pete Schneider. He may come up with a better deal. It can't hurt to sound him out.”

“We can't talk to him if we're giving Kevin the listing.” Jill spread her hands in exasperation.

“Look, you worry about the wedding. I'll work on this.”

Sensing her friend was getting upset, Marla changed the subject. “Tell me about Orchid Isle. Our rehearsal last night went too quickly for me to scout around. It looks like a beautiful park.” She'd gotten a brief impression of lush tropical grounds, winding paths, and brightly colored flowers.

Torrie glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “I'm friends with Leanne Oakwood, Falcon's wife. Falcon devised the idea of a local attraction for nature enthusiasts as well as orchid fans. He hopes to finance research into advanced horticultural techniques. It's like a combo between the American Orchid Society place in Delray Beach, and Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden.”

“I can't believe the grand opening is today,” Marla told Jill. “Your wedding should be one of the highlights, especially when—”

“That's how I got my magazine to provide coverage,” Torrie interrupted, which appeared to be a habit of hers.

Marla didn't care for people who had to be the center of attention, but she cut Torrie some slack because of the wedding.

“I don't get it. Do you mean
Boca Style
is covering Jill and Arnie's event, or the park's opening ceremonies?” she asked the matron of honor.

“The angle is ‘Where to Get Wed and Go to Bed: Romantic Locales in South Florida for Marriages and Wedding Nights.’ Our magazine photographer, Griff Beasley, and society reporter, Hally Leeds, will be present.”

“So you're responsible for Jill being able to book the place?”

“That's right.” Torrie lifted her chin. “She doesn't give me any credit, even when I try to do the right thing. You don't know how much effort I've put into her wedding gift. It's—”

Her cell phone rang, and she grimaced. “That's probably Scott wanting to know where we are.”

“So answer it,” Jill snapped.

“Hello? Yes, dear, I'm with Jill now. We're at least a half hour away.” A pause. “Why is Kevin telling
you
that? It's not your problem. Tell him to take a hike.” She pushed the end button and stuffed the phone back into her purse.

“What did he say?” Jill pulled a compact from her handbag and checked her complexion.

“Kevin advises us to remain tenants-in-common on the deed.”

“Why?”

“Who knows? It irks me that Kevin would talk to Scott about a matter concerning you and me. My husband should stick to fixing clocks in that dusty old shop of his. He doesn't have a good head for business. I'm the one who manages our finances.” Glancing in the side mirror, she changed lanes.

“You brag about that all the time,” Jill said, “but you haven't done any estate planning. When are you going to fulfill your promise? You told me you'd—”

“Who are you to talk about promises, darling? You didn't exactly hold true to yours in the past.”

“Maybe not, but knowing why I acted as I did, you shouldn't blame me. And yet, that's all you've done through the years.”

Torrie gave a heavy sigh. “I know, and that'll change soon. Until then, let's hope your vows mean more this time around.”

Marla sped down a winding brick path at Orchid Isle. Or rather, she walked as fast as she could in her dyed heels and bridesmaid gown.

Why did Torrie say Jill's vows should mean more this time around?
Those words didn't make any sense.

This was Jill's first marriage. Surely Torrie must have been referring to something else? Maybe Jill had made a promise to Torrie that she hadn't kept. That could account for their strained relationship, especially since Torrie hadn't struck Marla as the forgiving sort. Then again, Jill had been known to lie in the past. She'd pretended to be an old classmate of Arnie's when they first met.

Reaching an intersection, Marla examined the signposts. Even though she had been here last night, she couldn't remember which way to go. She aimed to find the Bride's Cottage, where Jill was getting dressed.

Lugging her bag full of supplies, she swiped at her forehead, beaded with sweat. Her lavender gown swished about her ankles as she swatted an insect, cursing the humidity. She'd left behind the other bridal attendants, still primping in a private room across from the banquet hall. They had the benefit of air-conditioning, while she sweltered in the afternoon heat.

An evergreen scent pervaded the moist air, likely from the pine needles used as mulch. Colorful orchids mingled among the tropical foliage along with red crotons, pink pentas, and Chinese fringe flowers. Dense growth peppered the area, broken by a trickling stream. Alongside the path, green liriope acted as ground cover while moss-draped live oaks and laurel fig trees provided shade. Ferns, palms, and bromeliads competed for space. The wedding would take place in the gazebo by the Rose Garden. Should she go left or right? She couldn't remember if the wedding site was by the Floral Clock or the House Museum. Listening to birds twittering in the branches, she discerned voices coming closer.

“Chill out, babe. The ceremony hasn't started yet. And anyway, I'm not the danged wedding photographer. My job is to cover the event in conjunction with the park's debut, remember?”

“So why are you in such a hurry?” a sharp female voice replied. “It can't be because you want to see the matron of honor, is it? Her husband is here somewhere. You wouldn't want him to see you having an intimate tête-à-tête.”

“Get off my case, Hally. Focus on what you do best: observing other people and criticizing them.”

The couple rounded a corner and fell silent when they spotted Marla. Her quick glance detected the man's scowl and the woman's taut expression. Hally, a tall redhead, wore a black dress with a deep V-neckline, an empire waist, and a skirt that fell to just below her knees. Floral appliqués at the bust and hem gave the dress a modest flare. Paired with dark heels, a shimmering metallic belt, and crystal jewelry, the ensemble fit in with the fashions displayed by Jill's well-dressed guests.

Hally's companion, on the other hand, seemed ill at ease in a tuxedo, although he'd differentiated it from the standard with a gold vest and tie. His tousled dirty-blond hair and naughty blue eyes, along with a trim beard and mustache, gave him a roguish look more befitting Robin Hood. The bulky camera in his hands revealed his trade.

“Excuse me,” Marla addressed them, “are you familiar with this place? I'm lost, and I have to find the bridal cottage.”

“Yo, I think it's thataway,” the guy said, pointing to the left. “Near the herb garden, if I remember correctly.”

“Thanks.” Marla fell into step beside them. “Are you here for the wedding?”

“Sorry, I'm Griff Beasley and this is Hally Leeds.” The guy tilted his head. “We're from
Boca Style Magazine.
”

“Oh, isn't that where Torrie works? I met her this morning,” Marla explained at their questioning looks. “I'm a friend of her sister Jill's, the bride. My name is Marla Shore, and I own a hair salon in Palm Haven called the Cut 'N Dye.” She dug into her beaded handbag for a business card.

Hally took it and examined her card with interest. “Thanks. I like my current hairdresser, but you never know.” She patted her sleek, straight hair, flipped up at the ends. “So tell me, what do you think of Orchid Isle so far?”

“I haven't had the chance to look around, but it's really beautiful. Are you covering the grand opening for this entire weekend?”

“Yes, we'll be here again tomorrow when the mayor shows up. We don't normally do run-of-the-mill weddings. This ceremony is newsworthy because it's the first one in the park.”

“Well, I'll bet Torrie will be glad to see you.”

Hally snorted. “Don't count on it.”

Griff sidled up and took Marla's elbow as they approached an arch covered by winding vines with purple flowers. “Go through the arbor and hang a right at the citrus grove. Follow the brick path and you'll come to the bride's house. Be careful to watch your footing. We wouldn't want you to trip and soil your lovely gown. Maybe I should accompany you?”

She shook him off. “That's okay. Thanks for the help.”

“Griff, get your paws off her and hoist your camera. Isn't that Falcon Oakwood over by the master curator's office?” Hally pointed to a small white house with a slanted shingle roof.

“No shit? That's the big man? What's he doing talking to Torrie?” Griff squinted at the middle-aged fellow wearing eyeglasses and a formal black tuxedo.

Falcon looked as imposing as his reputation, Marla thought, observing his tall stature, wide shoulders, and graying temples. She'd figured the developer of Orchid Isle would wear an air of authority like a second skin, but it didn't seem to be working with Torrie. His hunched posture and frown indicated his displeasure with whatever she was saying.

“I hope Torrie isn't trying to edge in on my column.” Hally pulled a notebook from her bag.

“I doubt it, babe. Maybe they're talking about Leanne. Torrie is friends with Oakwood's wife,” Griff explained to Marla. “That's how she got her sister's wedding booked into the place.”

“So where is the wife?” Hally said.

“Who knows? Let's see if Torrie will introduce us. Oakwood should be delighted to give an interview. Hey, Marla, catch ya later, okay? Save me a dance at the reception.”

“She's engaged, you dolt,” Marla heard Hally mutter as they hurried off. “Didn't you see the ring on her finger?”

“That hasn't stopped me before.”

Marla turned away, wondering what Torrie was doing schmoozing with the park's owner instead of helping her sister get ready.
Never mind. You're here for the wedding, not to snoop into anyone else's affairs.
She hustled through the arch, veered to the right, and located the bridal cottage, another white building shaded by a Southern live oak.

“Jill, how's it going?” she called out, pushing open the door. A couple of other bridesmaids had made it inside, presumably via a different path than the one Marla had taken. They fussed over the bride, arranging her gown as she stood chewing on a fingernail in the center of the room.

“Marla, thank God. Where is everyone else? We're due to start in twenty minutes.”

“They're on the way. Stop biting your nails. You'll ruin your manicure.” Spotting a water cooler, Marla grabbed a fast drink and filled a cup for her friend.

“Thanks.” Jill took it with a shaking hand. “Did you see Lisa and Josh outside? Their nanny phoned to say she'd arrived. They should be with Arnie.”

“I didn't go by the groom's house.” Marla's cell phone rang and she answered. “Hello, Dalton. Glad you made it. What? You're getting seated? Okay.” She held her hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to Jill. “He says the guests have filled most of the chairs, and the rabbi is there.”

“I know; he came in for me to sign the
ketubah.
The Jewish marriage contract,” Jill explained to another friend.

The door opened and the rest of Jill's attendants bustled inside, followed by Arnie's mom. Since the bride's parents were deceased, Bev Hartman had been helping Jill make arrangements.

“Get your flowers, girls,” Bev said. The older woman looked attractive in a lilac suit and matching wide-brimmed hat. “Jill, you look beautiful. Where's your bouquet? They'll be starting up the music soon.”

A string quartet was set to play during the ceremony. The instrumentalists would move inside afterward as part of a larger band for the reception.

A man barged his way into their dominion to a muted chorus of gasps from the ladies. A couple of inches short of six feet tall, he had a narrow face, pale blue eyes, and a wide smile. He wore his longish ebony hair tied in a ponytail.

“Jill, sweetheart, you're absolutely gorgeous. Absolutely,” he said, waving his hands. “Did you unpack my boxes? Is everything wonderful?”

“Marla, this is Philip Canfield, our florist.” Jill raised an eyebrow. “Marla is getting married next month at the Queen Palm Country Club.”

“Really? Do you have someone to do your flowers?”

“Ah, yes, thanks, but I'll keep you in mind,” Marla replied.

“Bev, did you find my bouquet?” Jill called. Bev handed her the arrangement. “Oh my, it's lovely.” She sniffed the white carnations and roses. “I hate to have to toss them.”

“Tradition, sweetheart, tradition.” Philip patted her shoulder. “Now if you'll excuse me, duty requires my attention elsewhere. Wait until you see the reception hall. It's absolutely fabulous.”

Torrie breezed in, just as he departed. “Are we ready to go, people?”

Her hair was starting to wilt, Marla noted with alarm. Why had she stood outside so long in the humidity?

“Let me fix those curls in front.” Marla withdrew a portable curling iron from her bag.

After fixing Torrie's hairdo, she helped Jill don her veil.

“Really, Jill, you're going all out,” Torrie said with a sniff. “This getup suits a virgin more than you.”

“Maybe you're not aware,” Marla said, insulted for her friend, “but in a Jewish ceremony, the bride is veiled. The tradition honors Rebecca, who veiled her face when she was first brought to Isaac to be his wife.”