by Jeff Shelby
Mabel clucked her tongue. “Poor dear was so upset when she heard the news earlier today. Weren’t you, sweetheart?” Mabel reached for her granddaughter’s hand.
Zoe grimaced. “It was…a surprise.”
Mabel nodded. “Of course it was. No one expects to hear news like that. I’m afraid I don’t remember all the details. It was an accident, you said?”
My eyes narrowed.
An accident?
Zoe had told her grandmother it was an accident? Nothing had been established about Drew’s death until this afternoon, when Sheriff Lewis had come into the Cow & Vine and announced that he had been murdered.
Why would she have told her grandma it was an accident? Unless it wasn’t…and she was the one trying to cover it up.
I started trying to form questions in my mind, questions suitable to ask, when a shiny convertible pulled into the driveway and thwarted my plans.
Sophia Rey.
She was parked and out of her car within seconds, yanking the passenger door open. “You all can help,” she told us. “Since I’m not supposed to lift things.” She smiled and then her head disappeared as she leaned into the backseat. She pulled out a ball of white fluff. “Except for you,” she cooed. “I can still lift you.”
Tallulah, her tiny white dog, licked her face in response.
“Why can’t you lift anything?” I asked.
Sophia pouted prettily. “Because of this,” she said, motioning to the small bulge visible under her shirt.
I cocked my head. “Are you on some kind of doctor’s orders limiting physical activity?”
She shook her head. “No, but I don’t want to do anything that might harm this little peanut. And lifting things could throw my back out of whack or strain my stomach muscles…and then what would happen to the baby?”
Probably absolutely nothing, I thought, remembering all of the things I’d done while pregnant with my two. But this was Sophia, I reminded myself, and I needed to reserve judgment…but only because she had so nicely volunteered to help with the wedding.
I headed toward the car and after a moment’s hesitation, Luke followed.
“What do you have?” I asked.
She waved her hand with a flourish, and she reminded me of one of those women on the old show The Price Is Right, showing off the items in the Showcase Showdown.
“All of the centerpieces!” she exclaimed. “Well, all of the parts to them. They still need to be assembled.”
Her car was filled to the brim with cardboard boxes filled with mason jars, all of them painted a pretty robin’s egg blue, and rolls of lace.
“These are beautiful,” I said, admiring the color.
“They are, aren’t they?” she said proudly. “I painted them myself. Of course, I made sure to wear a mask when I did it.”
I hoisted one of the boxes out and Luke followed suit. Mabel and Zoe were still standing where I’d left them parked next to Billie and Sunny, who also looked frozen in place, their eyes locked firmly on us.
“Did you use spray paint or something?” I couldn’t smell any fumes.
Sophia shuddered. “Of course not. Just craft paint.”
I was almost positive that craft paint wasn’t, in fact, toxic or required a face mask during use, but I held my tongue. Again.
The sound of the front door slamming shut got my attention. Laura was now on the porch, hurrying in our direction.
“They’re done?” she asked Sophia. Her tears from before were gone, and her eyes were now shining with excitement.
“The painting is done,” Sophia clarified. “We just need to put them together. I have the flowers ordered. They’ll be ready Friday so all we’ll need to do is pop them in the jars on Saturday morning.” She smiled. “Not we. Me. You’ll be much too busy getting ready for your big day!”
Laura nodded, her expression sobering.
Sophia noticed immediately. “What’s wrong? Do you not like the color or something?” She grabbed a jar out of the box Luke was holding and held it up. “It’s too dark, isn’t it? You wanted something lighter.”
“No, no,” Laura said. “The color is fine. It’s just…” She glanced down at the pavement.
I set the box down and took a step in Laura’s direction. “Is everything okay?” I felt like I should ask, too, seeing as how I was her mother. Maybe something else had popped up, something besides the fact that her maid of honor had gone into early labor and was no longer available to stand up with her.
“It’s just…I don’t have a maid of honor anymore.” Laura wasn’t talking to me. She was telling this to Sophia. “Mine was planning to be here but she had her baby today and well, now she can’t do it.”
Sophia gave her a horrified look. “Oh my goodness. But…but…” she sputtered. “But what will you do? This is your wedding, for heaven’s sake!”
Like Laura, the wedding was her only focus, despite the fact that Sophia herself would soon be delivering her own baby. I’d thought she might be more sympathetic to Kate’s situation but it appeared that all she could focus on was how this was ruining Laura’s big day.
Laura nodded miserably, and I saw the tears begin to well up in her eyes.
Sophia did, too. She glanced at me and then thrust her little dog into my empty hands. “Hold her,” she ordered.
And then she wrapped my daughter in a supportive hug.
“There, there,” she murmured, her head pressed close to Laura’s. “We’ll get this all figured out.”
“It’s hopeless.” Laura’s voice was muffled. “I don’t have anyone else to ask on such short notice.”
Sophia laughed. “Don’t be silly.”
“She really doesn’t,” Luke said bluntly.
I glared at him, and his eyebrows lifted, a “What did I do” expression on his face.
“Of course she does,” Sophia said firmly. She held Laura by the shoulders, a few inches away from her, and somehow managed to get Laura to look at her.
Sophia smiled. “You do have someone. You have me.”
“You?” Laura said.
“You?” I echoed.
Sophia’s brow furrowed slightly. “Yes, me. I’d be delighted to step in as your maid of honor. If you’ll have me, of course.”
Laura’s face registered all of the shock she was feeling, and I felt a small ball of dread form in my stomach. She was going to say no.
And I had no idea how Sophia might respond.
But Laura surprised me. A smile spread across her face and this time, I was pretty sure the tears in her eyes were tears of happiness.
“I would be honored to have you as my maid of honor.”
Sophia squealed, and the little dog in my arms jumped. I held tight to the squirmy ball of fur, hoping she wouldn’t leap out of my arms and fall to the pavement. Sophia would never forgive me.
“This is going to be amazing!” Sophia was practically bouncing up and down, and I wondered if this counted as an exercise she should be avoiding.
I didn’t ask.
Because before I knew it, Laura and Sophia were wrapped in a hug, their talk reaching a fevered pitch as they discussed gowns and hairstyles and who knew what else while the rest of us watched silently.
Luke finally stole a glance in my direction. He was still holding his box and I was still clutching Sophia’s dog.
“Well, it looks like one problem is solved,” he said.
I had to agree with him there.
One problem had been solved.
Laura had a maid of honor.
I looked at the women still standing in the driveway, my gaze focusing in on Zoe Wilson.
Yes, one problem had been solved, but it wasn’t the biggest one.
The biggest one was finding out what exactly had happened to Drew Solomon.
And just who had been responsible.
TWENTY THREE
I was already on my third cup of coffee and still felt like a zombie.
It was Thursday morning, two days be
fore the wedding, and I knew there were a ton of things left to do to prepare. Getting a good night’s sleep should have been at the top of my list of things to do.
But sleep had eluded me. After welcoming Sophia as the newest member of the bridal party, Zoe and Mabel had left and I’d spent the rest of the afternoon helping to adhere lace around the mason jars. Luke had used this as his opportunity to disappear for the remainder of the day—probably so he could avoid any more questions from me—and Connor had poked his head into the dining room once, saw what we were doing, and had vanished, as well.
Billie had gone to the guest house to lay down for a nap and Sunny had come back and helped us with the centerpieces, which because of both Laura and Sophia’s desire for perfection, took infinitely longer than necessary to complete.
We’d ordered pizza for dinner, which Tallulah ate and then got sick, and I’d finally managed to drag myself to bed shortly after ten.
I was convinced that I’d fall asleep the minute my head hit the pillow, but my mind had other plans.
Plans that included wondering just who had killed Drew Solomon, and why.
I’d tossed and turned in bed, mulling over everything I knew.
And I was still doing that now, sitting by myself at the kitchen table, picking at a days-old muffin, my gaze focused on the window that overlooked the backyard.
I’d originally been concerned that Luke had had something to do with Drew’s death. It still wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, of course, but I kept coming back to Zoe and her connection to the dead drummer.
And her potential motive for killing him.
The motive was pretty obvious. She desperately wanted her grandmother to provide the music for the wedding.
And she had the ability to get into St. Simon’s to vandalize the drum set; if memory served, Mabel had her own key to the church. In fact, I’d caught Zoe with it once before, back when things had been stolen during preparations for the silent auction event. She’d also been at the church the night before Drew’s death, when they’d practiced their one and only time there.
So she wanted her grandma to provide the music for the wedding, which meant she’d have to find a way to prevent the band from doing so. Vandalizing the drum set was one way to do it.
And so was killing the drummer.
I went back to all the questions I’d had for Zoe when I first learned that Drew was an ex-boyfriend. How did she feel about him? Had it been a bad break-up? And most importantly, would she actually have been capable of killing him?
I sipped my coffee, still thinking.
There was definitely motive, at least the way I saw it, and I could easily picture Zoe slashing the drums.
But how would she have gotten into the bungalow to kill Drew? And if he had been strangled with an electric cord, would she have had enough strength to do it? How had Luke not woken up during the attack?
That was actually an easy question to answer. He’d always slept like the dead. Even as a kid, we could have the fiercest thunderstorms roll through and he would sleep right through them.
Even though Luke slept like a log, that didn’t explain how Thor hadn’t heard anything.
I popped a piece of muffin in my mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
Thor.
He’d been out for a run when I’d gone to the bungalow and discovered Drew.
But had he?
I’d never even considered him a potential suspect, but I didn’t know anything about him. What if he’d lost his temper and snapped and killed Drew in a fit of rage?
As soon as I thought this, I dismissed it.
Thor might look like a giant warrior, but I’d seen him in the aftermath of finding Drew. Thor had bawled like a baby.
He’d also screamed in shock, which was what had brought Gunnar running over to see what was wrong.
No, I was pretty sure Thor was not a suspect.
But Zoe Wilson definitely was.
I drained my coffee and stood up to get a refill. The house was still and quiet, and muted birdsong from outside was the only thing that penetrated the silence.
I filled my cup, noting I’d have to make a fresh pot for when everyone else woke up, when I heard a low voice from the living room.
I tilted my head in that direction, trying to identify who it was.
It took all of five seconds to recognize the voice.
Connor.
I gripped my coffee cup with both hands, wondering if I should go to the living room and sit with him and whomever else he was with. I doubted it was Laura. She would have marched directly into the kitchen, ready to announce the day’s schedule. We were two days out from the wedding, after all.
I stepped toward the hallway, halting mid-step when his voice rose a fraction.
“Nothing is going according to plan.” His voice was still low, but I could hear the resignation in his voice.
I felt a fresh pang of sympathy for him.
“The food truck thing didn’t pan out and now I’m stuck with this local restaurant.” He made a noise, something that sounded part groan, part sigh. “Burgers and wine.” There was a pause. “I know. If someone had ever told me that I’d be serving burgers at my wedding, I would have told them they were crazy. And yet here I am…”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I wondered if he was going to hold a grudge about the food for the rest of his life.
“Yep. And I can’t even provide the music.”
I frowned.
The music?
What did he have to do with the music?
I had a sudden flashback to Connor’s reaction when Jackson first showed up at the house earlier that week to discuss his DJ services. He’d seemed sour about the whole thing but I’d just chalked that up to him not really wanting to be involved in all of the tedious details, and getting hushed up by Laura.
“…stupid drummer…”
I froze.
Why was Connor talking about Drew?
I inched closer to the kitchen door. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I could feel my heart thumping against my ribcage.
“…this close to pulling it off…”
I gasped, and my mug slipped out of my hands. A splash of hot coffee soaked my pajama pants and the cup shattered to pieces, effectively breaking the silence and announcing my presence.
“Rainy?” Connor’s tone echoed his concern. “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” I said in a small voice as I bent down to pick up the pieces of the mug.
I heard his footsteps approach. “Is everything okay?”
I managed a weak nod. “Just dropped my mug.”
“I didn’t know you were down here.”
“I…I’ve been in the kitchen.” I looked up at him and then at the coffee-soaked pieces of ceramic stacked in my hand. “Did you just come downstairs?”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw a flicker of relief flash in his eyes. “Uh, yeah. Just a minute ago.”
I nodded and looked away.
Connor was lying about that. I’d heard him, clear as day, in the living room.
But that wasn’t what had my heart still beating wildly out of control.
I thought back to the one-sided conversation I’d just overheard.
I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed against the lump in my throat.
Because I was suddenly looking at the potential that there was a new suspect in Drew Solomon’s death.
And he was standing right in front of me.
TWENTY FOUR
“I hope it still fits.”
Laura and I were in one of the guest bedroom upstairs, where she was in the process of trying on her wedding dress. She’d stripped out of her clothes and was standing next to the bed, staring at the white frothy concoction laid out in front of her.
I hoped it did, too.
Because we didn’t have time to get it altered if it didn’t, and I was positive she wouldn’t be able to find a new dress she liked on such short
notice, either.
I lifted the dress off the bed and held it so she could step into it. I was trying to focus on this moment and not the conversation I’d overheard in the living room just an hour earlier.
But it was hard.
My mind immediately drifted back to Connor.
Who had he been talking to? And what had he been “this close” to pulling off? I had so many questions.
And zero answers.
I pulled the dress up and Laura slipped her arms through the thin straps. “Can you zip it?”
I found the zipper nestled between the folds of fabric and gently tugged. I heard Laura suck in her breath, and I didn’t know if this was so it would fit better or because she was worried it wouldn’t.
Either way, the zipper slid up the backside of her dress easily, and she and I both breathed an audible sigh of relief.
She spun around so she was facing me. “Well, what do you think?”
I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. My eyes stung, and it was suddenly hard to swallow.
Laura’s eyes narrowed. “You hate it, don’t you?”
Wordlessly, I shook my head. “No,” I murmured. “I don’t hate it. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” A tear slipped down my cheek, and then another.
Laura looked a little taken aback, both at my words and at my reaction.
But then she smiled. “Do you think so?” she said as she glanced down at the dress.
All I could do was nod.
I’d missed out on dress shopping with her, so although I had a general idea of what her dress would look like, this was the first time I’d seen it. Having her standing there in front of me in this beautiful gown flooded me with a mix of emotions I hadn’t been expecting. Memories of her as a young girl playing princess flashed in my mind. How had twenty-plus years gone by in the blink of an eye? It seemed like just yesterday that she was parked at my old kitchen table, wearing a Cinderella costume, her fine blonde hair pulled back into pigtails as she created a finger paint masterpiece that inevitably ended up with her painting herself, too.
Another tear escaped.
“Why are you crying?”
I brushed them away and pasted a smile on my face. “Isn’t that what the mother of the bride is supposed to do?”
