You May Now Kill the Bride

by R. L. Stine

  “I need to see the manager,” I said.

  Her smile faded. “Is there a problem?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. “Actually, there are a lot of problems,” I said. “But I just want to ask for some information about a guest.”

  She nodded. For some reason, she kept her fingers on the computer keyboard. “Well, I’m the Sunday manager,” she said. “My boss doesn’t come in on weekends.”

  “Well, can you help me, Lisa?” I asked. “I’m with the wedding party. Last night, I spoke to a guest here named Aiden Murray. I just want to know if he checked out. You’re allowed to tell me that, right?”

  She blinked. I think my intensity surprised her. “Yes, I can help you with that,” she said. She lowered her eyes to the screen and typed for a long while.

  Then she frowned. “You said the name was Aiden? Can you spell the last name for me?”

  I spelled it. She typed some more. “Hmmm. It’s not coming up.” She typed some more. “Are you sure he checked in under his own name?”

  “I know I talked with him. He was in room 237.”

  She nodded. “Room 237.” She typed, then squinted at the screen. “No, that’s not the right room, I’m afraid. We’ve had a couple staying in there since Monday. His name isn’t Slocum, is it?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Aiden Murray. Murray.”

  She brushed a hand through her short hair. She let out a long breath. “Must be some mix-up. I’m so sorry. That name just doesn’t come up on my computer. Aiden Murray has never been a guest at this lodge.”

  I had the urge to pound my fists on the computer top, but I controlled myself. “This is crazy,” I murmured. “I was at this desk last night. I saw Aiden’s name on the screen.”

  Lisa narrowed her eyes at me. “You saw this screen?”

  I nodded. “The guy, Mr. Himuro, he stepped away for a moment to answer a call, and I read the screen while he was away. You know. Just to find Aiden’s room number.”

  Lisa pressed a hand on her forehead. “I’m sorry. You’re confusing me. Who did you say stepped away from the desk?”

  “Mr. Himuro,” I said. “He told me Aiden was here, but he wasn’t allowed to tell me—”

  “The night manager is Phillip Brandt,” Lisa interrupted. “Blond guy, stubble of beard on his face, looks a little like Ryan Gosling?”

  “No. Mr. Himuro,” I insisted.

  “This is very weird.” She stared at me, as if trying to read my mind, see if I was some kind of nutjob. “The lodge doesn’t have anyone working here named Mr. Himuro.”

  “But—” I gripped the countertop. The dizziness swept back, making the room tilt in front of me.

  No redheaded valet? No Mr. Himuro? No red sports car? No Aiden in room 237?

  But they were all real last night, and I knew I wasn’t dreaming now.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you,” Lisa said. She was still studying me. “I really can’t explain the confusion.”

  “Neither can I,” I murmured. I didn’t want to let go of the counter. I felt that my knees would collapse and I would form a puddle on the floor, just melt away and disappear like Mr. Himuro and the valet last night.

  Lisa lowered her eyes to her keyboard and began to type. I knew she was just waiting for me to leave.

  I let out a long sigh, let go of the countertop, and started to back away. But something on the wall caught my eye.

  The wall to the left of the reception desk was covered with framed black-and-white photos, old photos of groups of people. They were all standing out in front of the lodge, all in lodge uniforms, all smiling.

  “Lisa, I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes on one of the old photos. “Could I see that photo?”

  She stood up, her face knotted in confusion. “A photo? I don’t understand.”

  “That one,” I said, pointing. “The third one from the top.” I knew I sounded frantic, like a crazy person. But the face in the photo . . .

  Lisa stood on tiptoes to reach the framed photograph. She gripped it in both hands and raised it off its hook. Then she carried it over and set it down in front of me on the counter.

  “These are old photographs taken over the years of the workers at this lodge,” she said. “I think my grandmother is in one of them.”

  I could barely hear her words. I was squinting hard at a face in the front row of this old photo. I grabbed the frame by its sides and brought it close to my face.

  “That’s him!” I shrieked. I stabbed the glass over the face with my finger. “See?” I turned it so Lisa could see.

  She followed my pointer finger. “That’s who?”

  “Mr. Himuro,” I said. “That’s the man I talked to here last night.”

  Lisa gazed at it for a long moment. Then she raised her eyes to me. “But—”

  “And look!” I cried. “That guy in the back row. On the end? See him? That’s the parking valet from last night. I’m sure it is. Tall and red-haired. I mean, it’s black and white. But you can see his hair is light. That’s him!”

  She took the photograph from me and studied it for a moment. Then she turned it over. “There’s a date on the back,” she said.

  “Huh? What does it say?” I demanded.

  She squinted at the little rectangular label on the back of the frame. “I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “You must be mistaken. It says this photo is from 1924.”

  Twenty-Eight

  I had to force myself to breathe. My head suddenly felt light, as if it could float away. The voices in the lobby faded from my ears, and all I could hear were my own racing heartbeats.

  Himuro and the valet. That was them. Definitely them. In the photo—from 1924. I knew I had talked to them.

  But of course it was totally impossible.

  “Thank you,” I managed to say. I spun away from the reception desk and took a few unsteady steps across the lobby. My cousins were still sitting at a table near the back wall. They waved to me again, but I pretended I didn’t see them.

  I have to get back to my parents, I thought. They must wonder where I’ve been all this time.

  Could I tell them? Could I tell them the truth? Tell them I’d lost my mind? That I’d been seeing people from over ninety years ago?

  No, I decided. If I tell them, it will only add to the confusion, add to everyone’s unhappiness. I wanted to shut myself in my room and just think. Try to figure this out. Try to make sense of this insane thing that happened to me.

  This is a cursed place. Grandpa Bud’s words came back to me again. He knew the whole story of the Fear family wedding from 1924. But did he know more? Did he know more about this lodge and the curse than he had told me?

  Maybe Grandpa Bud could help me make sense of it. Help convince me that I wasn’t going totally insane.

  Then I thought: He is an old man. He’s frail. He must be seriously upset about Marissa’s disappearance. Would it be fair to add to his burden?

  I didn’t know what to do. I only knew I had to get back to my family and see if there was any news about my sister.

  So I made my way across the crowded, noisy lobby, trying to shut out everyone, shut out the voices, shut out the spinning thoughts inside my head.

  And there he was in front of me.

  “Ohmigod!” I uttered. I nearly tripped over my own shoes. There was Aiden walking toward the bar.

  He had his back turned. He was only a few steps in front of me. I recognized the little black hat first, and then his blond hair sticking out over the back of his neck.

  He wore a trench coat, and its belt was unfastened and trailed along the floor. He was taking long strides, and I had to run to catch up to him.

  Breathing hard, I stepped up behind him and touched him on the shoulder.

  He spun around—and I let out a startled cry.

  Twenty-Nine

  “Hello,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  I stared into his face. It wasn’t Aiden.

  He was older, in his
thirties maybe, with circles around his dark eyes, cheeks sagging, tired-looking, a weary face. Salt-and-pepper mustache and a few days’ stubble.

  Not Aiden’s face.

  Was this who I saw last night?

  No. Of course not. I spoke to Aiden. In room 237. We spoke. He knew my name. It wasn’t this man. This imposter. This man in the black hat with Aiden’s walk.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “No worries,” he said. “Have a good one.” He turned and strode away.

  When I returned to my parents’ room, it looked as if no one had moved. Mom was still in the armchair, drink in one hand, a bunched-up handkerchief gripped in the other. Dad stood behind her chair, looking pale and unsteady. Robby sat at the table behind them, rolling his phone between his fingers.

  Doug stood beside the table, phone to his ear. He lowered it as I entered the room. “I keep calling her,” he said, “but it goes right to voice mail.” He sighed. “She doesn’t answer my texts, either. It says they are delivered, but she doesn’t reply.”

  Silence. We stared at each other.

  “Where’ve you been, Harmony?” Dad asked finally.

  “I had a few ideas,” I said. “But they . . . they were a waste of time.”

  Mom shook her head. “I—I don’t know what to think. I can’t believe Marissa would be this inconsiderate. It just isn’t like her. She would have called. She . . . she must be in trouble.” She swallowed and made a coughing sound. “Oh my God. She could be . . . dead.”

  “Don’t say that!” Dad shouted. “Why do you always have to go to the worst possible thing? Marissa isn’t dead. I know she isn’t. Try to be more positive.”

  Mom sipped her drink. “Positive? My daughter is missing on her wedding day, and I’m supposed to be positive?”

  A knock on the door interrupted the conversation.

  “Who is it?” Dad shouted.

  “Kenny.”

  Dad frowned. “I know what he wants. The police won’t let anyone go home until they’ve all been questioned.”

  The door swung open and Uncle Kenny strode in, followed by Max, who carried a red plastic fire truck. Max dropped instantly to the rug and began pushing his fire truck around, making annoying siren noises.

  Kenny had changed from his wedding suit into a loose-fitting blue polo shirt and khaki shorts. “Sorry to barge in again,” he said. “But they won’t let me check out, and I have an important meeting that just came up this minute in Philly tomorrow.”

  “Kenny, how about a drink?” Mom said, raising her glass to him. She was beginning to slur her words, and her voice was throaty, kind of deep and fuzzy.

  Kenny shook his bald head impatiently. “I’m going to miss my plane unless the cops let me out of here. Do you think you could talk to them, David?”

  “I could try,” Dad said reluctantly. I could see the anger in his eyes. Even in an emergency like this one, Kenny had to be a pain.

  Max sent his fire truck smashing into the wall. He laughed and retrieved it and made more siren wails. You’d think maybe he’d notice the sadness in the room, but he didn’t.

  Lucky kid.

  Meanwhile, I still felt dazed by my encounter in the lobby, and not just with the guy who looked like Aiden. I kept seeing that old photograph from 1924, kept seeing the two guys I talked to posing in there so long ago.

  I’m crazy. Marissa’s disappearance has totally knocked my brain off balance.

  Dad stepped away from the chair and started toward the door. “If I can find the police, Kenny, maybe I can ask them to interview you first.”

  “I don’t think there’s time. It’s an hour drive to the airport. Can’t you just tell them I’m your brother and there’s no reason—”

  “I saw Marissa.” Max’s words made everyone freeze.

  He sat with his legs crossed, spinning the fire truck wheel against his palm.

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  “I saw Marissa,” he repeated.

  “When?”

  “This morning.” He lowered the truck to the rug and sent it rolling toward the wall.

  Mom climbed to her feet, spilling some of her drink. “Where, Max? Where did you see her?”

  No one moved. We all stared down at him, cross-legged and nonchalant on the floor.

  “In the lobby,” Max replied, standing up. “Before the wedding. Want me to show you?”

  “Yes. Show us.” Uncle Kenny placed his hands on Max’s shoulders. He turned back to my dad. “But quickly, because we really have to leave. I don’t mean to be difficult, but if I miss this meeting . . .”

  Dad held the door open. “We don’t all have to go,” he said, motioning to Mom. “Why don’t you stay, and I’ll report back right away.”

  Mom settled back into the chair.

  “I’ll stay with Mom,” Robby said.

  Doug followed Dad and me to the door. “Where are we going?” Kenny asked Max.

  Max gripped the fire truck in one hand. He pointed with his other hand. “To the lobby. Can I have an ice cream?”

  “Not right now,” Kenny said.

  “But I want one,” Max insisted.

  We turned the corner. The lobby was at the end of this hallway.

  “You’re sure you saw Marissa?” Dad asked Max, stepping up beside him. “This morning? You’re sure?”

  Max nodded. “Yes. I saw her.”

  “Did she talk to you?” Doug asked.

  “Of course not,” Max said. “That’s dumb.”

  Doug and I exchanged glances again. Max’s answer made no sense.

  We stepped into the lobby. The crowd had thinned out. A family of four was checking in at the front desk. The seats where I’d seen my cousins were empty.

  “Max, show us where you saw Marissa,” Kenny said. He’d been holding on to Max’s shoulders the whole way. Now he let go of them.

  “Over here,” Max said. He took off, running toward the front doors. He stopped at the steps that led down to the exit. He turned toward an easel propped up at the side.

  “Here she is. Right here,” Max proclaimed.

  I gasped. He was pointing at the sign announcing the wedding. It was a large photo of Marissa and Doug, and it had words in a fancy script beneath it: The Wedding of Marissa Fear and Douglas Falkner. 1 p.m. On the Mesa Today.

  Max stabbed the photo with his finger. “See? I told you I saw her. Can I have ice cream? I want vanilla.”

  They looked so happy in the photo, big smiles and their arms around each other. I had to force back a sob. Dad just shook his head, his eyes shut. For once, Uncle Kenny was speechless.

  Doug, still in his tuxedo, but the tie gone and the shirt open a few buttons at the collar, one side untucked, shoved his hands into his pockets. He had his head down. I couldn’t see his expression.

  “Ice cream!” Max shouted.

  Kenny turned to Dad and shrugged. “Sorry about that.” He started leading the kid away. “Better find him some ice cream. David, you’ll get me out of here, right?”

  Dad didn’t answer. We turned and started to walk back to the room.

  But a shout from the entrance doors made us stop. “Mr. Fear, can I see you for a moment?”

  The three of us spun around to see a blond-haired, very young policeman come up the stairs. He had a badge pinned to his blue short-sleeved uniform shirt. His black gun holster bounced against his leg as he hurried toward us.

  “I have to ask you a question,” he said, a little out of breath. His eyes were olive-colored, and he had a spray of freckles around his nose.

  He raised a blue-and-red running shoe in front of him. “Do you recognize this?” he asked.

  We all squinted at it as if we’d never seen a sneaker before.

  “Is it your daughter’s?” the officer asked, pushing it closer to us.

  “Could be. I can’t tell,” Dad said softly.

  “Where did you find it?” I asked.

&nbs
p; “On the mesa. At the edge of the cliff.”

  Thirty

  Dad grabbed my arm. “Do you recognize it? Is it Marissa’s?”

  I squinted hard at it. “I don’t recognize it. I’m sorry. I can’t remember seeing her wear it. But I don’t know.”

  The officer lowered the shoe to his side. “We called the state police,” he said. “They have choppers that can fly over the canyon and search the canyon floor.”

  Dad gasped and gripped my arm harder. “You mean—”

  “Looking for her body?” Doug said, his voice just above a whisper.

  “There’s probably no one down there,” the policeman replied. His olive eyes locked on Doug. “A shoe doesn’t mean anything. But we have to look.”

  I covered my face with my hands. My knees suddenly felt weak. I held on to Dad.

  “We think she left early this morning,” Dad said. “Maybe before breakfast.” His eyes questioned the young officer.

  “We had a long talk with the parking valet on duty this morning, sir. He didn’t see anyone with your daughter’s description leave on her own.”

  “Did he mention a blond man in a red sports car?” I asked. Once again, I pictured Aiden being handed a ticket by the tall red-haired valet I had spoken to.

  The officer scratched his head. “No. He didn’t. Should I ask him about that? Do you think Miss Fear might have left with this man?”

  Dad and Doug were staring at me.

  “You can ask,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure he’ll say no.”

  We walked back to my parents’ room in silence, each with our own frightening thoughts. Dad stopped outside the door. “Harmony, what was that about a guy in a sports car?”

  “Not worth mentioning,” I said, knowing that I was lying. But I was still way too confused to talk about it. “We can talk about it later, Dad. It’s not important.”

  He studied me for a long moment, then pushed open the door.

  While we were away, Grandpa Bud had showed up. He had pulled an armchair across from Mom, and the two of them had drinks in their hands. He had changed into a baggy gray sweatshirt and faded jeans.

  Robby was stretched out on the couch, eyes shut and mouth open, sound asleep. My brother can sleep through anything. I guess it’s one way to deal with the worst family tragedy imaginable.