by Adrianne Lee
The sleek car slid to the curb, its passenger door swinging wide. Peter barked, “Get in. Quick. Before those paparazzi scumbags catch sight of me.”
“I’m sorry,” Meg mumbled at me as she slipped into the car and was gone as fast as a bug swallowed by a giant toad. She’d barely shut the door when Peter gunned the engine.
Exhaust fumes swirled into my nose, the foul stench leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I wanted to shout to Peter that he might want to heed the warnings and dangers of texting while driving, but they were rapidly disappearing up Front Street. I exhaled in frustration.
As I started toward the bridal shop, I began wondering why Meg had said she was sorry. Sorry about what? For leaving me at the casino? For dirty dancing with her ex-lover? Or that Peter had found out?
Peter. Found. Out. The realization slammed into me as though I’d heard a gunshot a few minutes earlier and was only now feeling the bullet’s impact. Oh, God. This was exactly what I’d worried would happen last night when Troy crashed the bachelorette party. When Tanya began taking photos. Tanya.
This was her fault. It was all her fault. Meg leaving me at the casino. Meg dancing with Troy. Did it make me a bad person that I wanted to do murderous things to her? I groaned. I was going to hell. I caught my reflection in a shop window and was surprised not to see steam coming out of my ears. Rage burned through me, heating my cheeks. My hands curled into fists at my sides.
I zeroed in on Blessing’s Bridal, quickening my step, hoping Tanya and Kramer were waiting to do our interview. No one messed with this maid of honor. But as I sucked in the salty sea air, it seemed to clear my head and cool my jets. Anger ebbed from me like the morning tide, a little more with every step, leaving a wide shoreline of doubt. Was I jumping to conclusions in thinking Tanya had Instagrammed the photo to Peter? The main thing in her favor: He hated her, which meant he hadn’t given her his phone number.
I stopped, waiting for a group of early morning shoppers, a bride-to-be and her entourage, shoving into the bridal shop, giggling. Their excitement was palpable, but it didn’t lift my spirits. My mind raced. If not Tanya, who might have sent Peter the photos? Anyone at the party or at the casino could have snapped shots of Troy and Meg dancing, but not anyone could have sent those pictures to Peter’s phone. Not without having his cell number. That narrowed the suspect list to Meg. Me. And maybe—though I couldn’t be sure—Meg’s assistant. I didn’t do it. I couldn’t see Meg doing it. But Ash didn’t seem likely either. She’d been covering everything at work, allowing Meg to concentrate on the wedding. Then who?
Disquiet spread through me. This mess was my fault. I hadn’t stayed vigilant at the bachelorette party. I’d allowed myself to engage in the fun, forgetting that part of the maid of honor’s duty in keeping the bride emotionally calm was to foresee the danger in partygoers with smart phones. It just hadn’t occurred to me that I’d need to worry about one of our friends wanting to derail the wedding. But apparently someone did. And if the conversation Meg and Peter were having right now didn’t go well, that someone was going to get their wish.
* * *
Tanya and Kramer didn’t show up. Meg did. Her usually sparkly green eyes were dull, swollen, streaked red. My heart stopped, then filled with compassion and pity. Don’t get me wrong, I was still pissed at being left at the casino, but we’d been friends too long for me to turn away when she was hurting this much. I couldn’t be that cruel.
Obviously, the wedding was off.
The methodical side of my brain began chocking up the list of calls I’d be making soon. The caterer. The restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. The florist. The wedding site. The guests. I took her upstairs to our family quarters. I poured us each a cup of coffee, and we sat on cushions on the floor next to the coffee table as we’d done so often through our teens. The morning sun poured in the windows. I said, “I’m sorry about the wedding, but I was afraid this was going to happen when Troy showed up last night and, and—”
“And we got in a fight?” Meg said, putting it out there. Evidently, she wanted to clear the air as much as I did. “I won’t apologize for being pissed. Everyone is hating on my mom, and it’s ruining my wedding.”
I recalled Zelda’s warning. Apparently the meeting Meg had had with her dad ended on the same keep-Tanya-away-from-me theme. “Not everyone is as happy about seeing her again as you.”
Meg said, “It really hurt my feelings when you called her a bitch.”
My hackles shot up. “What about my feelings? What about trusting that I must have had a pretty good reason to call her that?”
For a long moment, we seemed to take each other’s measure like duelers about to choose weapons. And then the defensive set of Meg’s jaw softened. I could understand her not wanting to believe anything bad about her mother. She didn’t want the perfect fantasy she’d created in her mind to crumble or be exposed for what it really was. A sham. “She, my mom, said you’d called her that because of the bad juju between her and Susan. I told her you wouldn’t do that.”
I was glad to learn Meg had defended me, but my pulse was tripping at the possibility of learning the history between our mothers, since my family wouldn’t tell me. “Did Tanya say what that bad juju was?”
Meg made a face. “She didn’t volunteer anything.”
And Meg hadn’t asked, I realized, for fear of touching on why Tanya had abandoned her. Sympathy and disappointment twined through me, but I couldn’t drop it. “I wish you would have asked. Billie and Mom are staying mum on the subject.”
“Maybe it’s best we don’t know.” I could almost see the rose-colored glasses dropping into place on her lovely face.
I hated to play devil’s advocate, but someone had to. “Meg, you might not want to hear this, but you don’t know Tanya. She’s not the mommy you remember, the mommy you wanted her to be. You’re trusting her too much too soon, believing everything she says, taking her word when she might be lying. I mean, who do you think sent the photo to Peter of you and Troy dancing?”
“Not my mom. And not me.”
The glare she shot me was accusatory. I blanched at the unspoken indictment. “I didn’t even take pictures last night.” I slapped my phone into her hand. I was this close to telling her to leave, to deal alone with the wedding mess she’d created. The words died on my tongue as an old memory flashed, tugging me back to the saddest day of my life. My daddy’s funeral. Meg finding me on the dock, holding my hand until the sun went down and we were both shivering in the chill night air. I could still hear her telling me that Daddy wouldn’t have left me if he could have helped it. My throat tightened. We’d bonded that day. The glue was still tighter than any outside force, no matter how hard it pulled. “Go ahead, look. You won’t find any photos from last night. Your mom was the one taking the pictures. Not me.”
Meg set the phone on the coffee table without looking at it. Self-reproach shone in her eyes as she sought my gaze. “Oh God, Daryl Anne, of course you didn’t do that. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. I didn’t mean to imply you did. I don’t know what I’m thinking or why.”
I could think of a reason, and her name began with a T. I didn’t say it. I hated how contentious this was getting, even if we both had reason to be upset. “Well, someone did.”
“The photos were sent from my phone,” Meg said.
“What?”
“Yes. One minute I had it, the next, well, I lost track of it.”
As usual. That meant anyone of the bachelorette party could have sent those photos to Peter. But who was most likely to have done it? Tanya was back on top of my suspect list, but she wasn’t the only one. “Do you think Ash did it?”
Meg blinked. The idea had obviously not occurred to her. “Why would she?”
“I don’t know. Why would anyone?” I sighed, another idea occurring to me. “Maybe Troy?”
“No,” she said too quickly.
I considered asking her to pinkie swear, but I recalled the way they were together
last night and wasn’t as positive as Meg. “He didn’t look to me like he was over you. Or like he’s one bit happy about you marrying someone other than him.”
Her cheeks went scarlet. “How did you know?”
I rolled my eyes. “Meg, do you still have feelings for Troy? Serious feelings?”
“No.” She shook her head, her ruby curls catching flecks of sunlight, giving her an angelic look. She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Wow. Just wow. A kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar didn’t look this guilty. I blurted, “Did you and Troy spend the night together?”
“No.” Her eyes widened. “I wouldn’t.”
The tightness in my chest eased a notch. “Well, thank God for small favors.”
“You didn’t really think I would, did you?” She lifted the coffee cup she’d ignored until now and took a sip, peering at me over its rim.
How did I answer that? It wasn’t like I didn’t know their steamy history or how hard she’d taken their breakup. “Before last night, no. But after watching you two making goo-goo eyes at each other, dancing so close a piece of ribbon couldn’t fit between you, well, I-I…”
I shrugged. Meg blushed again. I should have left it at that. Let her speak, but I was on a roll and couldn’t seem to stop while I was ahead. “After being left at the casino, and then not hearing from you all night or half the morning, I confess, a few things were running through my imagination.”
Her hand went to her mouth as if she might be sick. “I have no excuse. I got caught up. The champagne. The limo. The excitement of having my mom around. Our fight. Troy. It’s like I don’t know me anymore. Who am I? Why am I doing this crazy shit? I don’t understand. I don’t know what to think. I can’t explain it.”
She’d always been the Queen of Chaos. Always. It was as if the random drama she created filled the gaping crater created by her mother’s abandonment. On the plus side, Meg was never dull. I tried to put myself into her shoes. What if I were as stressed as she’d been this week over the normal, last-minute wedding preparations? What if then, my former lover suddenly appeared on the eve on my wedding, acting as though he wanted to pick up where we left off? How would I feel? If it had been a love like Meg and Troy’s, I’d feel pretty darned conflicted and probably confused.
Then add in the biggest stressor of all—the chance to reconnect with a mother I’d ached for half of my life. Another memory from the day of my daddy’s funeral came to me. This time it was Meg telling me that her mother was never coming back, the words so full of conviction they’d chilled me. To Meg, her mother’s return must feel like a miracle. She finally had that one missing element restored.
Compassion spread through me. “I’m sorry it’s all so difficult, Meg. This was supposed to be the happiest time of your life.”
Although tears glistened in her eyes, none fell. She inhaled a shuddery breath and spoke in a shaky voice, “Am I having fun yet?”
I took a long sip of coffee. “Did Troy and his gang go with you and the bridesmaids when you left the casino?”
She bit her lower lip and nodded, remorse projecting from every inch of her. “We went clubbing. I swear I didn’t know you weren’t in the limo when we left the casino.”
That was probably true. I imagined the group of them crammed into that big car, champagne flowing, Troy working his magic on Meg, keeping her distracted while someone in the group used her phone to record it all and then send the images to Peter. A wayward shiver tracked down my spine.
“I didn’t get my phone back until this morning,” Meg said.
“Pardon?” I frowned, my mind still on suspects and motives.
“It’s why I didn’t answer your texts. I didn’t see them until just before I saw you. The limo driver dropped the phone off at my dad’s this morning. It was why I went to the café.”
My heart sank. “Did your dad see the photos too?”
She made a face. “My dad hates cell phones. He refuses to own one and barely tolerates his customers using them in the café.”
We both smiled. But instead of laughing, Meg let out a little sob. “Daryl Anne, please don’t be mad at me. Please forgive me. I don’t want to fight with you. Not ever. I swear I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Tears filled her eyes, and this time they ran down her cheeks, and I realized that I was looking at her through my own tears. Mom was right. We’d been friends too long not to work out whatever might try to come between us. Even our own craziness. “I don’t want to fight either.”
She hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Daryl Anne. You and Dad are my anchors. The only ones I can count on, and I’ve been a bad daughter and an awful friend. I don’t even know how you got home last night.”
I said, “Seth took me.”
Meg released me, wiped at her tears, studying me with interest. “Seth?”
I swiped at my own damp face and smirked. “Don’t go reading anything into it. He still thinks of me as a pal. Nothing more.”
“Are you sure?”
I shrugged. “What does it matter? We’re heading back to L.A. in a couple of days. Our love lives are a mess, but it’s a good thing you and Peter called off the wedding because you shouldn’t marry one man when you’re still have romantic feelings for another.”
“What? We didn’t call off the wedding. Peter was angry but, when I told him that what went on between Troy and me last night was just some dancing and flirting, he believed me. You saw. It was all innocent.”
If that was innocent, I was a monkey’s uncle. Meg was in complete denial. I wanted to shake her until those rose-colored glasses shattered and she woke up from this fantasy. “How can you marry Peter when you just admitted that you might still be in love with Troy?”
“I didn’t say that I was in love with Troy. Just that I was still attracted to him. It’s not the same thing. I love Peter.”
She looked so sincere, I decided to back off and stop challenging her. In the end, she had to do what felt right to her. Not what I felt was right for her. But was one of the duties of the maid of honor to allow the bride-to-be to marry the wrong guy? And what about the person who’d tried to ruin the wedding? What would he or she do when they discovered their nefarious plan hadn’t worked?
CHAPTER SIX
Meg and I had made amends. I should feel relief and joy as I readied for the rehearsal and dinner afterward. So why was my stomach one big knot of dread? Someone had tried to ruin Meg’s wedding, and might try again. I stared at my reflection, frowning at what stared back. As Key Wardrobe, I prided myself on selecting the right outfit to fit the scene, but this flowery sundress with the cloth belt—that I’d bought on a whim, that I’d thought apropos for the event—made me look prepubescent and as washed of color as the day we buried my daddy.
My hands shook as I rifled through the few clothes I’d brought with me, then through the things hanging in my closet that I’d left behind when I moved to California. How desperate was that? If I didn’t find something soon, I’d be late. I had an urgent sense that I shouldn’t be late.
Mom peeked in. “Aren’t you dressed yet?”
“I can’t figure out what to wear.”
“Definitely not that,” she said, eyeing the fuchsia profusion with disdain. “That color does nothing for your skin tone, sweetheart.”
She helped me go through my things and shook her head sadly. “None of this seems right either.”
“I should have borrowed something from wardrobe,” I said, sighing with regret.
“Maybe something of mine would work for you.”
I winced at the suggestion. Our styles were light years apart.
She snapped her fingers. “Oh, wait a minute. I might have the perfect thing. Hang on while I get it.”
Like I was going to leave in my underwear. I heard the whirr of the elevator descending to the shop and a few minutes later as it ascended. She returned with a dress covere
d in protective plastic draped across her arm. “Someone ordered it for an aunt of the groom, you see, and then decided it wasn’t appropriate for the wedding.” Mom made a face. “Or for her age, frankly.”
“Do you think it will fit me?”
“It should. If you haven’t lost too much weight since moving to L.A.” She removed the covering, exposing a white dress with royal blue and black accents. My skin tone is winter; primary colors always flatter me. My heart raced as I slipped into it, zipping it up.
Mom said, “It’s a bit loose in the waist, but if we adjust the belt a notch, like this…” She fussed over me before stepping back to let me see my reflection.
The top had a shallow V-neck and was just full enough that, with the belt tightened, you couldn’t tell it wasn’t a perfect fit. The heaviness weighing on my spirit seemed to lift a bit. I rotated my hips slightly and the full skirt danced around the top of my knees “I love the fabric and the little cap sleeves. It’s so feminine.”
I slipped into my strappy black sandals, giving myself one last glance.
“Ahh,” Mom said, “look how this dress makes your eyes pop. It’s like it was designed with you in mind, sweetheart. I’m glad I didn’t send it back. You’re going to look beautiful in all those photos Seth will be taking tonight.”
Seth. My pulse skipped, and butterflies filled my stomach. The last thing I needed was to be distracted by that sexy man. Or my wayward feelings for him. What I did need, however, was to find out who was out to stop this wedding and why.
* * *
The wedding was being held at Tie the Knot, Tyson Knott’s ten-acre private estate, the favorite choice of marrying couples with deep pockets. The grounds were fenced on three sides, the fourth side abutting Puget Sound. The offered venues included a ballroom wedding and reception package, a traditional non-denominational service in the large chapel with a ballroom reception afterward, a small chapel wedding with a garden reception, or a garden wedding with a garden reception.
