Tying the Knot

by Jeff Shelby

  “Probably.” She eyed me warily. “But you’re not a normal mother.”

  I chuckled, not hurt at all by her frank assessment. “You’re probably right.”

  She walked toward the mirror, her eyes locked on her reflection. “It’s not too much, is it?”

  “It’s a wedding dress, Laura. It’s supposed to be a little ‘too much,’” I pointed out.

  “You know what I mean.” She turned to the side, assessing the back of the gown.

  I did. She wanted reassurance, plain and simple. Fortunately, this was something I could easily provide, and without needing to stretch the truth even a little.

  “It’s a gorgeous dress,” I said. “And you look stunning in it.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she mumbled.

  But she did. Even if I wasn’t her mother, I would think so. The fitted bodice had a beautiful lace overlay, complete with delicate beading, and the skirt was a cloud of lace-encrusted tulle that ended just at the floor. She looked like an angel.

  And for the first time that week, I felt a flicker of excitement about the wedding. If I could somehow manage to block out all of the current drama—the dead drummer in my bungalow and the worry over who might be responsible for this death—the next couple of days would look significantly better.

  But I knew I couldn’t. I wasn’t wired that way. If there were questions that needed answering, I was determined to find them.

  Especially if doing so would clear up a murder.

  The problem was, it might clear up one thing but muddy another.

  Especially if someone I knew and loved was found to be responsible.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Connor is going to love it.”

  Laura was still checking out her reflection. “Guys don’t usually care about dresses.”

  “I think he’ll care,” I said. It was a small opening, to sort of see if I could get any information out of her about what I’d overheard during Connor’s one-sided conversation.

  “Maybe,” she answered.

  I picked at a loose thread on the comforter. “How involved was Connor with the wedding planning before the schedule got moved up?”

  Laura took one last look in the mirror before she shimmied out of the dress. “Not very.”

  “No?” I gathered up the dress and set it back on the bed.

  “He’s a guy, Mom,” she said. “He doesn’t care about that kind of stuff.”

  She stood there in her underwear, running her fingers over the fabric of the gown, apparently looking to make sure it hadn’t gotten dirty or damaged while she’d been wearing it. Satisfied, she turned her attention away from it and pulled back on the t-shirt and yoga pants she’d been wearing.

  I folded my hands in my lap. “A lot of guys help with the planning,” I said. Technically I didn’t know if this was true—Charlie certainly hadn’t lifted a finger when I’d planned our wedding all those years ago—but I knew times had changed. I added, “And it seems like he cares.”

  Laura just shrugged. “I was fine with doing the planning.”

  I knew what that really meant. It meant that she had wanted to do it, to be in charge and make all of the decisions.

  She gathered her hair and pulled it into a ponytail. With no make-up and her hair off her face, she looked like her teenage self and I was once again threatened with flashbacks and memories. I wisely decided to look away lest the fountain of tears turned back on.

  “But he’s helping with the food, right?” I pressed. “That seems like it’s important to him.”

  She grabbed a tube of lip balm off the nightstand and swiped it across her lips. She rubbed them together. “I guess,” she said. “But I think he’s just doing that because he knows how stressed I am about everything. You know, with having the date moved up.”

  “So he wasn’t interested in doing the menu planning before? Back when the wedding was still a year away?”

  “Annabelle was helping out with that.” Laura’s expression darkened. “She was helping out with a lot of things, remember? Until she got Zika.”

  I acknowledged this with a nod. I didn’t want to open up that can of worms.

  “Anyway, I’m sure he offered to take over the catering details so that I wouldn’t have to,” she said. “And you know how important meals are to him. If he could start over, I think he might actually be a celebrity chef or something.”

  I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t think someone could just decide to become a celebrity chef, but what did I know?

  “Well, that was nice of him,” I said. “To try to take some of the pressure off of you.”

  Laura nodded. She’d replaced the lip balm and had fished a bottle of lotion out of the nightstand’s drawer. “He’s really tried to help. Of course, sometimes his help is more of a hindrance. Like his fight with Drew.” She rolled her eyes.

  I froze. “His what?”

  She shoved the lotion back into the drawer. “Oh, he was just trying to tell Drew what songs I wanted the band to play and he wouldn’t listen. Said we couldn’t dictate his creativity or anyone else’s.”

  “And how did Connor respond to that?”

  She took out the ponytail she’d put up just minutes earlier and began running a brush through her long hair. “Just that it was our wedding and that we would decide on the music.” She smiled. “He was pretty firm with him, which is sort of very unlike Connor.”

  I managed a half-nod. I was far more interested in hearing more details about the argument. “And what did Drew say to that?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “He said he wasn’t getting paid for this gig so he would play whatever the heck he wanted.”

  I swallowed. “How did Connor take that?”

  “He got mad and stormed out.” The brush stilled in her hands. “He told me later that Drew should be glad it wasn’t the 18th century. Otherwise Connor would have challenged him to a duel.” She shook her head. “I guess someone else felt the same way, too. About Drew…”

  I tried to nod, but I couldn’t.

  All I could think about was the sinking feeling in my gut that was growing bigger by the minute.

  Laura thought someone else was responsible for Drew Solomon’s death.

  But I was pretty sure she was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  TWENTY FIVE

  “You’re awfully quiet.”

  Gunnar and I were in the kitchen, beginning the process of assembling the lasagnas I’d decided to make for dinner. It was only three o’clock, but Connor’s parents were due to arrive any time and I wanted to have dinner ready to just pop in the oven.

  “Rainy?”

  I glanced up from the large pot of noodles I was stirring. “Hmm?”

  Gunnar smiled. He was standing next to me, grating mozzarella into a bowl on the counter. “I said you’re awfully quiet. Did you hear me?”

  I had. I just hadn’t responded.

  “Sorry.” I smiled. “I’m a little distracted.”

  That was a major understatement. I was a lot distracted. I couldn’t stop thinking about Connor: what I’d overheard that morning and what Laura had told me in the upstairs bedroom.

  None of what I’d heard proved that Connor was responsible, of course. But it did put him on the suspect list. And I hadn’t been prepared for that.

  Questioning Luke and worrying about his potential connection to Drew’s death had been tough, but for some reason, having Connor in the same boat felt harder. I didn’t know Connor nearly as well as I knew my own son. I had years of experience to draw on with Luke. I’d raised him; I knew his quirks and his triggers, and I knew I could flat-out ask him difficult questions, as painful as they might be. How was I supposed to ask my future son-in-law if he’d killed the stand-in drummer because the man had refused to play the music his fiancée wanted to hear at the wedding?

  “You are a million miles away,” Gunnar commented.

  I sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Anything you w
ant to talk about?”

  “I’m okay,” I told him. “Just thinking about all of the wedding stuff.”

  I grabbed the colander from the counter and set it in the sink. I wasn’t ready to spill all of the details spinning through my mind. Not because I didn’t trust Gunnar or because I wanted to keep it all to myself, but because I was still trying to make sense of everything.

  Besides, we had a full house of people, and the last thing I needed was to begin spouting theories that someone else might overhear. Sophia and Laura were just down the hall, sitting at the dining room table attaching beads to the centerpieces. They’d come up with this last-minute adjustment yesterday, and they were now scrambling to finish them. Billie and Sunny had parked themselves out on the front porch and the last I’d seen, they were huddled over a game of cards. And the guys were out in the backyard, running through a quick practice with Jackson and his synthesized drums. Connor had followed them outside, presumably to watch.

  Any of them could wander into the kitchen at any time, so even though Gunnar was offering a listening ear, I was staying quiet.

  For now.

  Gunnar finished with the mozzarella and wiped his hands down the sides of his jeans. He waited as I drained the noodles, watching the steam cloud billow up from the sink. I transferred the noodles back into the pot and that was when I felt his arms wrap around my waist and pull me close.

  “You look like you need a hug,” he murmured.

  I closed my eyes and leaned back into him.

  He had no idea.

  I felt like a ball of nerves, just waiting to unravel. His arms, his embrace, was just what I needed in that moment.

  “Mom.” Laura’s voice interrupted the moment of calm and Gunnar dropped his arms.

  She appeared a second later. “Connor’s parents are here.”

  My hands instantly went to my hair, which was bound to be a mess after the steam bath I’d just stood in. I smoothed it as best I could, then glanced down at my clothes. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Perfect clothes for cooking, but not so perfect for greeting your future in-laws.

  “You look fine,” Gunnar told me. “More than fine.”

  I smiled gratefully. He was probably lying, but at least he was trying to make me feel better.

  I fixed a better smile on my face before heading out of the kitchen and into the living room.

  Peter and Madeline Bishop were waiting for me.

  We’d met a couple of times over the past few years, but hadn’t formed any type of real friendship. They’d moved in different circles in than I had, and once I moved to Latney, any chance of us sharing awkward Thanksgiving dinners or other holidays had quickly faded.

  “Rainy.” Madeline came forward, her hands outstretched. She reached for mine and squeezed them before leaning in for a pseudo hug. “How lovely to see you.”

  She was at least ten years older than me, with blonde hair that was quickly going silver, and deep-set blue eyes. She was dressed elegantly, in black slacks and a light pink silk blouse. Her neck and arms were adorned with jewelry, and I wondered how many of the pieces were costume jewelry and how many were the real thing.

  Peter extended a hand. “Lovely to see you, Rainy.” He was an older version of Connor, with thick silver hair and hazel eyes, and a clean-shaven jaw.

  “What a lovely home you have,” Madeline said, her gaze traveling the room. She spotted the centerpieces on the dining room table. “Oh, and are these for the wedding? They are just divine.”

  Laura wore a proud smile and Sophia stood up, beaming. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she said. “Laura and I did all the work ourselves.”

  Madeline hurried over to ooh and aah over the decorations.

  “I’m thinking I should maybe open a side business along with the boutique,” Sophia said, to no one in particular. “I can be a wedding planner. And designer! It’s all just so much fun.”

  I shifted my attention to Peter. “I trust your drive was fine?”

  He nodded. “Piece of cake.”

  “And you saw Billie outside?” I asked.

  He nodded. “We’ve been here for a few minutes. Said hello to her and her…friend and got caught up a bit.”

  Madeline returned to where we were standing.

  “Here, let me walk you out to the guesthouse,” I said. I grabbed the keys off the hook by the door.

  “Guesthouse?” Madeline echoed.

  “I hope that’s okay,” I said. “We have quite a houseful, and I figured you would be more comfortable having your own space. I have your mom and Sunny out there, too. Thought that might be nice.”

  Madeline and Peter followed me back outside. Billie and Sunny were still on the porch but it looked as though Billie had dozed off.

  Sunny smiled up at us and held her finger to her lips. “She’s needed a nap all day,” she whispered. “I’m going to let her sleep out here for a bit. But I’ll stay with her.”

  I nodded, and the three of us tiptoed down the stairs as quietly as possible. Peter stopped at the car, a shiny black Mercedes, and hauled out what seemed to be an inordinate amount of luggage. I grabbed the handle of one of the suitcases and picked up a small duffle bag before leading the way toward the guesthouse.

  “I’m worried about Mom,” Madeline said as we walked.

  I didn’t think she was talking to me.

  “She looked alright to me,” Peter responded.

  I silently agreed with him. I wasn’t sure what deathbed Billie Applegate was supposedly on because she’d seemed perfectly healthy to me in the two days she’d been here.

  Madeline sighed. “Of course she did. She’s always been good at pretending to be in better shape than she is. You know that.”

  I inserted the key into the lock but found it was already unlocked. And then realized of course it was…Billie and Sunny were already staying there and probably saw no reason to keep it locked up.

  Unless the fact that a supposed murder had taken place in the building just behind it…

  “What a charming little house,” Madeline gushed as soon as she stepped inside.

  I felt a surge of pride. I loved the little guesthouse, and had oftentimes thought that, if I’d had to do it all over again, I might pick out a house that size. Less to take care of, obviously, but there was just something cozy and comforting about small spaces, especially now that my kids were grown and raised. But then I would flash forward a few years and remember that grandchildren might soon be in the cards, and how I loved the fact that the property I owned really did have enough room to accommodate lots of people.

  This week had been proof of that.

  Peter set his bags down and then grabbed the ones I’d carted inside. Once he was done piling them into the corner, he dusted his hands and glanced around the room. “Very nice,” he said.

  He lacked the effusiveness of his wife, but I smiled and said thank you just the same.

  Madeline dropped her purse on the coffee table and sank into the couch. It squeaked a little, and I felt a momentary pang of guilt that the pieces of furniture in the guesthouse were mostly castoffs or items I’d picked up used.

  She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “So how are the wedding plans coming? Everything going according to plan?”

  I almost laughed out loud.

  “Things are going alright,” I said instead. “There have been a few hiccups, but I think that’s to be expected with planning something with such short notice.”

  Madeline nodded solemnly. “I’m sure it was a nightmare to move up the wedding. I can’t tell you how grateful we are that Laura agreed to the change. It’s just with Mom’s health…” Her voice trailed off. “Well, it’s just so important to her that she sees Connor married before she passes. He’s the only grandson, you know.”

  I nodded.

  Peter cleared his throat. He was still standing near the luggage, his arms folded against his chest. “How has she been this week?”

  I realized he was
talking to me.

  “Uh, well, they only just got here yesterday,” I told him. “And with everything going on, I haven’t been able to spend too much time with Billie.” I paused, feeling a little guilty that I hadn’t interacted with her more. “She seems fine.” And then because I wasn’t sure if that was the answer they were looking for, I added, “I mean, as fine as I would expect for someone her age.”

  Madeline smiled. “She is one tough cookie. We’ve had a couple of close calls over the past few years but she always seems to rally.”

  “What exactly is wrong with her?” I asked. I hoped it wasn’t a horrible thing to ask. “Is it cancer or…?”

  Madeline shook her head, her expression sobering. “No, nothing like that. She has high blood pressure and she’s been pre-diabetic for years.”

  I tried to keep a neutral expression. Those things qualified for being at death’s door? I was pretty sure I was close to falling into at least one of those categories, if not both.

  “She has a weak heart,” Peter added. “That’s what her doctors are most worried about these days.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Her heart has a hard time pumping blood,” he explained. “It’s quite common as people age, I guess, but Billie’s has worsened over the last year or so.”

  I didn’t know the first thing about it. “How does it manifest?”

  “Fatigue and shortness of breath,” he told me. “Weight gain. Lightheadedness. Confusion. There’s a wide range of symptoms.”

  I nodded, mulling all of this over.

  I hadn’t seen any of these signs from Billie, but I’d also spent precious little time with her. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure that I would have even noticed those symptoms if I’d seen them, as all of those things could easily be signs of simply being old.

  “I’m glad she seems to be doing well so far this week,” Madeline said. “I was worried that the excitement of traveling here might prove to be too much.”

  “Yes, our brief conversation with her indicated she was doing well,” Peter said.

  “And having that nice woman come with her from Florida.” Madeline smiled again. “Can you imagine? What a thoughtful thing to do, especially when she isn’t even being paid to do it.”