Murder On The Bride's Side Part 4

Elsie stared at her son-in-law with undisguised scorn. "Claire, please put your husband to bed."

At her mother's words, Claire scrambled to her feet, her hair falling over her face. A crimson blush peeked through the auburn veil. "David," she pleaded in a low voice, "let's go. Come on, it's time for bed."

"Leave me alone," he mumbled. Claire reached out and grabbed her husband's hand and pulled. "Leave me alone, you cow!" he barked. Elsie's face darkened and she gripped her cane until her knuckles showed white. Anna, sensing her mistress's emotion, leaped to her feet and growled at David, the black hairs on her back standing up in an angry salute.

Graham stood up and roughly yanked David to his feet. "How dare you speak to Claire like that!" he hissed, his black brows bristling. "Get out of my sight before I lose my temper!"

"Who the h.e.l.l are you to talk to me like that?" David retorted, his face dark with anger. "She's my wife and I'll talk to her any d.a.m.n way I please. You think you can stop me?" David pushed himself off the couch and onto unsteady feet. I held my breath. David was clearly well past his fifth gla.s.s of scotch of the night; anything was possible when he was this drunk. However, once he was upright, his body gave way and he fell into Graham.

"Graham, please," Claire pleaded. "It's okay. He doesn't mean it. You know how he gets when he's . . ." She started to say drunk but finished with "tired." "Please," she whispered, "don't make a scene."

"I didn't," Graham shot back, as he attempted to prop David up. "He did!"

Blythe was now on her feet as well. "Graham, honey, calm down. Let's just get him to bed."

"Fine with me," Graham muttered, as he spun David around and roughly shoved him toward the stairs. Blythe put her arm around Claire's slumped shoulders and led her away as well. Elsie watched them go with a shake of her head. "It's a real toss-up which one of them I detest more. You know, sometimes I think the animal kingdom has it right. They have no problem thinning the herd when necessary-and both Roni and David certainly present valid arguments for us adopting the practice."

Turning back to Peter, Bridget, and me, she said, "I'm going to bed, my loves. And I suggest that you all do the same. Peter, I've put you upstairs with Harry in the green room. Bridget will show you. Now remember, the electrician hasn't finished rewiring the bedroom wall switches, so you'll have to use the lamps instead. Try not to trip over yourself in the dark, Bridget," she said, surveying Bridget's shoes with a critical eye. Waving her cane at us, she left, followed closely by Anna.

Bridget frowned at Elsie's retreating form. "Are you okay?" I asked.

Giving herself a shake, she looked at me, her lips pulled up into a sad smile. "I'm fine. It's just that after scenes like that, I realize how lucky I am. My parents might drive me crazy nagging me about my hair and clothes, but I know they love me. I can't imagine what a nightmare it would be to have either Roni or David as a parent."

From behind us a chair sc.r.a.ped across the floor. Horrified, I turned around. Megan! I had completely forgotten she was in the room. She stood up and walked out from behind the plant.

Bridget's face flushed bright red as she stuttered her apologies. "Megan, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were still here. I didn't mean-"

Megan interrupted her. "Yes, you did mean it. But don't worry about it. Being Roni's daughter is a nightmare."

Bridget stared at Megan and then nodded her head sympathetically. "It must be. I'm really sorry."

Megan ducked her head, trying to hide her tears, and slowly made her way toward the staircase. "Me, too" was all she said.

CHAPTER 6.

Avoid running at all times.

-LEROY "SATCHEL" PAIGE "Wake up!" this command was accompanied by a kick, a forceful kick.

"Unless it is a respectable hour, say anytime after nine o'clock, then get away from me," I muttered, rolling away and ducking my head farther under the pillow.

Bridget was undeterred. She was also an absurdly early riser. "Let's go for a run," she persisted.

I cautiously opened one eye and peered at the clock on my nightstand. "Bridget! It's not even six thirty!" I pulled the down comforter up over my head.

She poked me in the back. "Come on. I can't sleep. I'm a nervous wreck about today. I need to go for a run."

"Then by all means do so," I said, curling into my pillow. As friends go, I consider myself loyal and true, but I do have my limitations. Running through chilly early morning mist is one of them. Actually, doing anything through early morning mist qualifies.

"We could run along the path by the trees," she coaxed. "You know how pretty it is this time of year, with the all leaves starting to turn."

"It is not everyone who has your pa.s.sion for dead leaves," I quipped.

She did not rebuke me for the line. Instead, she urgently whispered, "Elizabeth! Please?"

I eased the comforter down an inch and peeked over its snowy top to look at her. She was dressed in a purple tracksuit emblazoned with tiny orange roadrunners. I winced.

"Where on earth did you get that outfit?"

She looked down. "On eBay," she said proudly. "It was a steal!"

"I would hope so. Now, what's the matter?"

"I don't know. I couldn't sleep last night. I kept having nightmares."

"About what? Not about you and Colin?"

"No. Not exactly. I just have a feeling that something bad is going to happen today. Something really bad." She twisted her engagement ring around her finger, a habit of hers when agitated.

In addition to being an early riser, Bridget is convinced that she has a sixth sense about danger. A trait, I might add, that fails her utterly when it comes to her driving. It was on the tip of my tongue to point this out when it finally penetrated my sleepy brain that Bridget would never force (read: kick) me awake before eight A.M. unless it was really important.

"All right," I said with a sigh, flinging back the heavy comforter and swinging my feet out onto the cool wood floor. "You win. Let's go for a run. But don't be surprised if the 'really bad thing' you're foreseeing is me having to be carted away by ambulance."

Thirty minutes later, we were off and running. Music from my headphones blared, but not loudly enough to drown out my pounding heart as I pushed my leg muscles to carry me forward. I need this, though, I thought as my lungs burned as I strained to match Bridget's stride. As I mentioned, I'd been mastering my stress in the same manner a baker masters a pie crust: with a lot of sugar and b.u.t.ter. From the corner of my eye, I saw that she was trying to talk to me. "What?" I huffed, pulling the headphones away from my ears.

"I said, how far do you want to go?"

"I'm ready to stop whenever you are."

She laughed. "Stop? We're not even out of the driveway yet!"

I turned in disbelief. Sure enough, there was the house, a scant one hundred yards behind us. I sighed and clicked off my music. "Bridget," I said, coming to a stop and resting my hands on my knees. "Please don't make me do this. I'm still half asleep. I haven't even had coffee."

Bridget placed her hands on her hips and considered me. "Are you telling me that you agreed to this run only because you didn't think I deserved the compliment of rational opposition?"

"Have I really been watching the DVD that much?"

"You have indeed."

"Well, you drove me to it." I sighed. "Bridget, I love you dearly, but can't we just take a walk while you tell me what's bugging you?"

"All right," she conceded.

I fell into step next to her as we continued down the gravel driveway. "It's not about marrying Colin, is it?"

"G.o.d, no!" she said. "It's just a feeling that something bad is going to happen and on my wedding day."

"When did it start?"

She twisted her ring as she thought. "It might have started last night when Mom told me that Julia is coming."

"Julia!" I said, stopping and staring at her. "Julia's coming? Jesus! Does Avery know?"

"I don't know."

We fell silent as we contemplated this potentially awkward reunion. Julia Fitzpatrick had been the best friend of Avery's late wife, Ann. After Ann died, Julia and Avery became particularly close. Julia's own marriage was miserable and Avery was terribly lonely. When Julia's husband, Tom, died, everyone in Bridget's family had a.s.sumed that Avery and Julia would marry. And they might have done so had it not been for the arrival of Roni in Avery's life. One look at Roni and Avery lost all reason. Julia had said nothing, but the consensus was that she had been deeply hurt by Avery's desertion.

I gave myself a shake. "Well, so what if Julia is coming?" I said firmly. "She isn't a vengeful woman. Even if she considers Avery a complete cad for throwing her over, she wouldn't come to your wedding simply to make trouble."

Bridget stopped. "You're right," she said with a relieved smile, "she wouldn't. I'm just being melodramatic."

"Gosh. You? That's so unusual."

"You're not nearly as funny as you think you are."

"True. But I was dragged out of bed at an unG.o.dly hour, so I have an excuse."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll race you to the house."

"You're on," I said. "Ready, set . . . go!" She took off and was soon a blur of purple sprinting in front of me. I made no move to chase her and instead walked slowly up the driveway, listening to gravel crunch noisily underneath my feet. I was glad that I had been able to extinguish Bridget's fears. Now I just wished someone would do the same for this very uneasy feeling of mine.

I dragged myself up the stairs, heading for my room. Rounding the corner, I was startled by the sound of David's voice, raised in anger. "I need that money!" he yelled. "You promised me that you'd get it!" His voice was coming from one of the bedrooms, but I couldn't tell which one. A second voice answered him; it was Roni. "That well is dry," she said, her voice laced with disdainful amus.e.m.e.nt. My question as to which bedroom they were in was answered a second later when David furiously burst out of Roni's room. I had a brief glimpse of Roni's laughing face before the door slammed shut. David looked terrible. He was wearing a faded green shirt that only served to make his pale and spotty complexion look even worse. I noticed, too, that his hair hadn't been properly sh.e.l.lacked yet. It was standing out in at least six different directions. Seeing me, he stopped. His face was bunched in a ferocious scowl and his eyes were black with rage. I knew his ire wasn't directed at me, but I nevertheless took an involuntary step back. David scared the c.r.a.p out of me when he was like this. The long hallway seemed to shrink with his menacing presence, and I became acutely aware that I was several feet from the top of the stairs. I couldn't fathom how Claire could live with such a ticking bomb.

Thankfully, David wanted as little to do with me as I did with him. Quickly rearranging his face into a less antagonistic expression, he grunted at me and disappeared into his own room. I let out a sigh of relief. No sooner did his door shut than the door to the hall bathroom opened. Claire emerged. She was wearing an ankle-length cream-colored dress, the kind an ex-boyfriend of mine used to refer to as a "decoy dress." Pithy comments like that were just one of the many reasons I broke up with him. Claire's hair was neatly pulled back from her face with a black beaded headband. Unfortunately, this only highlighted her blotchy skin and bloodshot eyes. Apparently, Claire had not had an easy night after dragging David to bed. All the same, she smiled brightly when she saw me. "Have you been out running? Wow. That's dedication. I don't know where you get the energy. I'm beat this morning. I could barely pull myself out of bed."

"Well, that's where I'd rather be, but Bridget made me go. I think she needed to work off some nervous energy. Not that I was much help," I added. "I made it as far as the end of the driveway."

"Well, it is a long driveway," Claire said sympathetically, returning to her room.

Back in my own room, I debated changing, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee proved too strong. I headed to the dining room, where breakfast was set up on the sideboard. On the way downstairs, I b.u.mped into Megan, who was headed in the same direction. Most everyone else was already there, Peter among them. I poured myself a large cup of coffee, grabbed a poppy seed bagel, and sank down into a chair next to Peter. Looking askance at my outfit, he said, "Dare I ask?"

"Bridget and I went for a run."

Peter, who knew about my penchant for sleeping in, made an odd noise and asked, "You're kidding, right?"

I took a grateful swallow of coffee. "Sadly, I am not. She dragged me out of bed so she could work off her nerves."

His dark brows pulled together in concern. "Is she all right?"

"I think so. She had one of her premonitions."

"Ah," said Peter dispa.s.sionately. He was used to Bridget's superst.i.tious tendencies. "Not about her and Colin?"

"No. She's worried about something bad happening during the wedding. She wasn't too specific." I spread a thick layer of cream cheese on my bagel, remembered I still had to fit into my maid of honor dress, and sc.r.a.ped some off.

"Well, I suppose it's not strange to be jittery on your wedding day," Peter said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"True, but even so, I can't imagine anything going wrong on Chloe the Tyrant's watch." I took a bite of bagel, decided I'd sc.r.a.ped off too much cream cheese, and added more.

Peter looked blankly at me. "Who?"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot you haven't met her yet. Bridget's mom hired this top-notch coordinator. Her name is Chloe Jenkins, but she marches around barking orders and generally inspiring fear, so Bridget dubbed her Chloe the Tyrant."

Peter choked on his coffee.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

Grabbing a napkin, he held it to his mouth and nodded weakly. He seemed on the verge of speech when Claire entered the room. She had added a black beaded cardigan sweater to her ensemble, making her look exactly like an ad for Laura Ashley, circa 1982. "Good morning, everyone," she said.

Elsie looked up from her newspaper. "Good morning, dear. Where's David?"

Claire ducked her head and headed toward the sideboard. "He's not feeling too well this morning. I think he's coming down with a cold."

"It's called a hangover, dear."

Claire bent her head low as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "Mother, please don't start."

Elsie spread out her hands in a defensive gesture. "Fine. Have it your way. I won't say another word. Except . . ."

Whatever Elsie was going to not say was lost in the arrival of Roni. Wearing a tight turquoise silk dress that left very little to the imagination, she was, to quote Jane Austen, at once expensively and nakedly dressed. She sauntered into the room and issued a cheery h.e.l.lo. Not counting Avery's response, her greeting was largely ignored. Her smile still firmly fixed, she turned to Elsie, who sat absorbed in reading the paper. "Any interesting news today, Elsie?" she asked.

Elsie did not look up. "None at all," she replied, continuing to read.

Taking a plate from the sideboard, Roni placed a few pieces of fruit on it and sat down next to Avery. Eyeing her daughter's full plate of eggs, bacon, and toast, she said with a sigh, "Really, Megan. You're never going to lose weight if you insist on eating like a truck driver."

Crimson crept up Megan's neck and across her cheeks. Without a word, she pushed her plate away, stood up, and left the room. I caught a glimpse of her pinched, angry face as she hurried out the door. Harry, who had been sitting next to Megan, glared across the table at his stepmother. "You're unbelievable," he said disgustedly.

Roni raised a delicate eyebrow in surprise. "What are you talking about? I'm trying to help her."

"Help her? How is embarra.s.sing her helping her? She ran out of here completely miserable, thanks to you."

"Thanks to me? You have no idea what you're talking about. Her weight is making her miserable. She's constantly complaining to me about it. I'm only trying to help her."

"By being cruel and making her cry?"

"Of all the nerve! How dare you speak to me like that! Avery, say something!" Roni demanded.

Avery, who had been listening to the exchange with an expression of growing dread, now grimaced. He looked as if he might agree with Harry, but he nevertheless said, "Harry, I'm sure Roni has Megan's best interests at heart. Let her handle it."

Roni was not mollified. Sc.r.a.ping her chair back, she rose to her feet in one majestic movement. "That's not the point, Avery, and you know it. I'm talking about the insulting way he speaks to me while you just sit there and let him get away with it!" Flinging her napkin on the table, she stared piercingly at her husband.