Killer Honeymoon

by Traci Tyne Hilton

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  CHAPTER 1

  “You had better not be pregnant.” Marjory Crawford’s sour words matched her pinched expression. Jake’s aunt had been hovering on the outside of the action for a while now, waiting for a lull in the chatter to sling her rock.

  Jane sputtered on her coffee. “What?”

  “A wedding in a month? After you’ve practically been living with my nephew?”

  Phoebe yanked on Jane’s corset strings like she was trying to choke her aunt.

  “Hey!” Jane waved her arms behind her in an attempt to get her almost-sister-in-law to lay off. What she didn’t need in this exact moment was to lose her ability to breathe.

  “If you only knew how many times Jane has been in danger of her life but refused to take Jake’s protection, you wouldn’t be so rude.” Phoebe tied the satin corset ribbons in a tight bow.

  “Not using protection is exactly what I’m worried about.” Marjory adjusted the corsage on her lapel.

  Nancy Adler pushed open the door to the nursing room at The Old Church in Southeast Portland. The Adlers had thought they were booking the more popular Old Church in downtown Portland but had made a mistake. It was just as well, in Jane’s opinion, as this one had better parking and she had gotten a deal on a wedding-night package at a local inn—The Miramontes—just down the block.

  Jane closed her eyes and counted to five. The horse and pony show would be over before she knew it, and she and Jake would be ensconced in their honeymoon suite. It did not matter what anybody said.

  It did not matter what anybody said.

  It did not matter what anybody said.

  “A Tuesday night wedding. Who gets married on a Tuesday night?” Marjory looked around the little room with its IKEA sofas and glider-rockers and shuddered.

  “Jane, please eat something. I can’t stand the idea of you fainting up at the altar.” Nancy handed Jane a corn dog.

  Jane took a long, deep breath, fearing it might be her last with Phoebe in charge of her underpinnings. She stared at the corn dog. Its golden crust and that sweet, fried aroma turned her stomach. She set it on the small table nearest her. There wasn’t enough room in her new fashionable torture device for both her guts and a greasy corn dog.

  Marjory folded her arms.

  “Hello, Marjory.” Nancy sighed. “Is there something you needed?”

  Marjory cleared her throat. “No. I just wanted to give Jane a few of my thoughts before her wedding.”

  “Hmm.” Nancy refrained from saying more, but the tired look on her face indicated she had some thoughts she would have liked to share.

  “Don’t believe her. She came to shame Jane. You know, because there’s only one reason a couple would get married on a Tuesday.” Phoebe picked up the corn dog and took a bite.

  Nancy sighed and picked up Jane’s dress. “Put your hands over your head, Jane. Let’s slip this on.”

  “Let it go, Phoebe. We knew people would talk.” Jane did not lift her hands over her head. She was a little afraid she couldn’t. And according to her calculations, she had at least seven minutes before she needed to carry around the pounds and pounds of satin her overly sentimental self had convinced her mom to buy.

  “What would people talk about?” Jake popped his head in the door, his face lit up with a smile bigger than the whole town.

  “Get out of here, Jacob. What’s wrong with you?” Marjory pushed the door shut.

  Jake popped it open again. “Does anyone need anything? My men are all dressed and we’re bored. A back rub? A game of canasta? A pizza? Nothing?”

  Jane felt like she was in an oven with the people pressing around her, watching her cook, and Jake staring at her, his eyes hungrier than a Christian boy’s ought to be.

  “Don’t look at the bride before the ceremony,” Nancy’s motherly tone ordered. She held the heavy ivory gown backwards in front of her half-dressed daughter.

  “Will she evaporate into a cloud of dust if I look at her?” Jake asked. “Because that would be a bummer but also kind of cool.”

  “Jacob Terwilliger Crawford, get out of here,” Marjory said.

  Nancy drew her brows together. She shifted the heavy dress in her hands. “Jake, can you go get a flat of water bottles for the bridal party? Just set it outside of the door and try hard not to peek again.” She offered him a sympathetic smile, then turned to Marjory. “And maybe you can go find Stan. We’re going to need him here any minute.”

  Marjory pursed her lips. “Well.”

  “Thank you!” Jane piped up. She gave a bright smile to Marjory. It pained her, but it was worth it to get at least one more person out of her hair.

  Marjory flipped her dove gray pashmina over her shoulder and left. She was going to represent the Crawford family in the wedding processional, but she didn’t seem to be happy about it.

  Seven minutes of adjusting the perfect wedding dress and fixing the hair that had gotten messed up while adjusting the dress blew by, and Jane found herself in the foyer of the little church, with her arm tucked carefully into her father’s, before she was mentally ready. She had too much to say, too much to do. She couldn’t catch her breath.

  What business did they have getting married like this?

  On a Tuesday?

  In the wrong church?

  Before she had ever even left the country?

  Before she had…she couldn’t think of anything else to freak out about, but the anxiety pressed against her rib cage anyway.

  She looked around for a place to sit down.

  “Take a deep breath, then count to ten and exhale.” Her father led her to a pew against the wall. “Sit down. Nobody gets married without a little panic.”

  Strains of “Ode to Joy” played on a pipe organ could be heard faintly from the sanctuary.

  That wasn’t the music they had planned.

  “What’s going on, Dad?” Jane asked after she exhaled. “Why am I freaking out?”

  “Why did you insist on going to that little Bible school? Why wouldn’t you even try to go to university?” He smiled, the sting of that old fight long gone.

  “Because I knew what I wanted. I had a plan.” Jane took another one of those deep breaths and tried to hold it.

  “Is this wedding your plan?”

  “Kind of.” Jane let the breath out, but it didn’t help.

  “And kind of Jake’s too, right?”

  “And kind of Mom’s.”

  Stan laughed. “So it was a team decision. You weren’t in charge.”

  She tugged her dad’s arm. “Hey.”

  “Are you in love with Jake?”

  “Yes.” She agreed without thinking, the answer a reflex like breathing. She loved Jake like she loved life itself.

  “But?”

  “If I marry him, he will be the boss of me.” This answer also came out fast, without thought, and sounded like a three-year-old.

  Her dad laughed softly. “I pity the man who tries to be the boss of you. That’s all I am saying.”

  “You don’t think this will ruin everything?”

  He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “No.” He looked down at her with tears in his eyes. “But if you don’t want to do it, you and I can get out of here, right now.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “I do want to, but maybe in three more minutes.”

  “You’ve got all the time in the world.” Stan squeezed his daughter’s arm.

  The organ music changed. “A Kiss from a Rose” this time. Jane leaned forward so she could hear better. “Why is she playing that?”

  “Hmmm?” Stan had
a dreamy look on his face and a tight grip on Jane’s arm like he was still hoping she might change her mind and go back to being his kid again.

  “That song. That’s not on the list. And it’s kind of sloppy.” Jane got up and led her father to the sanctuary doors.

  The organist slouched, and her song was off beat.

  Phoebe and Gemma, who had been hanging back in their matching navy blue dresses, joined Jane and Stan at the door.

  “Look at Franny at the organ,” Jane said.

  “She doesn’t look well,” Gemma murmured.

  “What on earth is she playing?” Phoebe tapped the wall with her small bouquet of red roses. “That’s not ‘Be Thou My Vision.’”

  “No, it’s not.” Jane scanned the audience to see if anything else seemed amiss, but other than some shifting in seats and the low murmur of small talk, all seemed normal.

  Franny, the fifty-year-old organist who came with the church, slumped forward, hitting a sour note.

  “Franny!” Jane pulled open the sanctuary door and dragged her dad down the aisle. “Franny! Are you okay?” She got to the organ, just to the left of the altar, in less than five seconds. She went straight for Franny’s neck to check her pulse—faint, but at least it was there. “Someone call 911!”

  Several hands rose with phones—guests indicating they had already called. Jane took a deep breath and gave Franny a longer look over.

  Franny’s red face rested on the lower keyboard of the organ, eyes closed. Her white fingers had slipped from the keys—her arms dangling at her sides. She was fit. Surely she hadn’t had a heart attack, but Jane couldn’t be sure. She had only met the lady once before.

  Could she have been poisoned?

  Before she could check for any signs of poison, like a weird smell in the water glass on the organ, the paramedics were on hand and moving Jane out of the way.

  The wedding guests had stood up and moved to the sides, almost as they would have done if the ambulance had driven down the aisle. The low murmur of conversation had risen to a steady thrum of excitement, especially as they rolled the organist back out of the church on a gurney.

  Grant Bryce, Jane’s policeman friend, walked with the paramedics, managing to talk without slowing them down.

  The back rows of wedding guests followed him out and watched Franny as they loaded her into the ambulance. The middle rows of guests followed them, some taking pictures as they went.

  Jane had a feeling pictures from her wedding were already on Facebook and Instagram. She slid down the side aisle, hoping to connect with the paramedics before they left, to find out what was going on, to ask questions. To find out what had happened to Franny. Maybe Grant would hook her up with the info she needed.

  A gentle arm stopped her. “Don’t you belong up there, kiddo?” The gravelly voice belonged to her new boss, Rocky Wilson. He gave her a nudge back toward the altar.

  Up front, Phoebe was far to the side, by a window, watching the ambulance drive away. Gemma, Jane’s maid of honor, was taking pictures of the muddled crowd with her phone. Jake and his cousin Jeff were speaking to the pastor.

  Jane turned again, to look behind her.

  Her dad stood there, right behind her, patient. Smiling. He offered his arm again, and they walked back up to the altar.

  Stan cleared his throat.

  Jake offered his hand to Jane.

  The pastor moved to the mic, but Jake shook his head. “Let’s do this quick and quiet while the crowd is distracted.”

  Jane’s heart fluttered. She liked the idea. Sneaky. Get it done before anyone noticed.

  “Why not?” The pastor smiled conspiratorially.

  The two rows at the front—Jane’s mom and aunt and uncle, and Jake’s cousins and aunt—were seated again and close enough to hear without the use of microphones, so they were the only ones who got to hear the exchange of vows, though the guests had eventually returned to their seats.

  After they were pronounced man and wife, and Jake kissed Jane, his best man hit a button on a tape deck. “The Wedding Song” by Peter Paul and Mary blared out, but Gemma’s phone rang, interrupting the tune with “Bad Boys.”

  “It’s Grant!” Gemma called out. “He says Franny is going to be okay. It was a small heart attack, but her vitals are fine. Nothing to worry about!”

  The crowd cheered, and Jake lifted Jane into his arms and toted her out of the church entirely, skipping the dinner and cake and toasts.

  She loved the feeling of being carried away in his arms. As he ran out the door, she whispered in his ear, “Is it wrong that I wanted to be detective girl in the middle of the wedding?”

  He stopped, set her on the ground and looked her in the eye. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  They ran across the street hand in hand, to their honeymoon suite at the pretty little inn.

  Jake didn’t let her out of his sight again until the next morning.

  He wasn’t even a little bossy about it, so Jane found that she didn’t mind being married to him one bit.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jane pushed open the door to the old Crawford family vacation house. A blast of cold, dusty air hit her full in the face. She sneezed and then laughed. “The life of ease.”

  Jake flipped on the light and tugged their suitcases in. “Smells like the beach.”

  Jane had to agree. Her own parents’ little house at the coast had always had the same salty, dusty, cold welcome for her. She shivered, but her heart was happy. After the wedding they had had, a couple of quiet weeks at the beach were exactly what they needed to start their married life. “Just sun, sand and love,” Jane said. “No more crisis.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Outside, the sky was hung with streamers of stars, and the crashing waves of the Pacific roared a welcome. The night air was a blend of salty-beach freshness and a distant beachside bonfire.

  “Close your eyes.” Jake led her through the house—up a small staircase and around a corner. “Here we are.”

  Jane opened her eyes to a bedroom straight out of a magazine. “Ooh…” A sea breeze blew through the open window, fluttering the cheesecloth curtains. Low, romantic light glowed from two bedside lamps. The bed itself was a high, four-poster bed painted white and covered with a simple, fluffy down comforter. And rose petals.

  Jake slipped his fingers through Jane’s and walked very slowly toward the inviting bed. “Baby…” He drew the one word out, slow and rough. Very sexy.

  A pure, delicious shiver skated up Jane’s arms. She breathed deep, savoring the moment.

  Her honeymoon. The perfect honeymoon with Jake.

  A gust blew through the open window, delivering a sour punch.

  “Ew,” Jane whispered, and giggled, embarrassed by how embarrassed she was to be in this moment, and almost grateful for the break the less-than-amorous aroma had brought.

  Jake shut the window.

  “No, leave it open,” Jane said. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

  He cracked the window, but the wind must have turned because the smell came in even stronger. “I’ll just shut it, baby,” he said.

  “Isn’t that an ocean-facing window?” Jane asked. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. That smell was especially bad. Worse than the grossest things she had come across in her life as a housecleaner, and that included a few different dead bodies. “What do you think is out there stinking like that?”

  “Dead fish?” Jake flung himself onto the bed, his hands behind his head.

  “It’s not a fishy smell. It’s…earthier than that.” Jane moved to the window and opened it again. “I think it’s something in our yard.” She stuck her head out the window and took a deep breath. “I could be wrong, but whatever it is, it’s close.”

  “Then shut the window and let me help you forget about it.”

  Jane blushed. Then she shut the window, and for the rest of the night she completely forgot the weird smell outside.

  The cry of a gull
woke Jane in the morning. She rolled over and pressed her face to the pillow, happy, content. It had been a good idea to get married in August. Right now, the wedding and all it entailed over, she could no longer remember why she had wanted so badly to put it off. She rolled onto her back with a sigh, arms over head.

  The window was open and an ocean breeze ruffled the soft curtains. Jane took a deep breath.

  That earthy, rotten smell from the night before floated in on the wind and gagged her.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Something had died outside, probably in their yard.

  Their yard. She was officially Mrs. Jake Crawford, and that patch of sand behind the clapboard bungalow was her yard.

  At her beach house.

  She couldn’t laze around enjoying that fact for long, with the smell rolling in the window, so she padded downstairs barefoot, enjoying the cold, painted steps on her toes.

  Jake was lounging on a rattan sofa in front of a huge window that looked out across the small, unfenced yard and straight to the ocean. “Good morning, light of my life.” His eyes had a satisfied look to them that made Jane blush.

  “I smell coffee,” Jane said. “Which is a miracle considering the something outside that is ruining the morning breeze in our bedroom.”

  He sighed. “Shall we start an investigation into who killed the raccoon?”

  “It was a raccoon?” Jane shuddered. Raccoons had those cunning eyes and creepy hands. She was definitely a city girl.

  “Don’t know yet, but it has to be that or a possum.”

  “Worse and worse! I’ll just stay in here, staring at the ocean and drinking that good coffee, while you make it disappear.”

  “As you wish.” Jake took his time getting off the couch. He wandered over to Jane and took her in his arms for a long kiss. “To remember me by.” He held her, stroking the backs of her bare arms with his fingertips.

  “You are my hero.” She moved to the kitchen. If he had had the place stocked up in advance, she would make him a big breakfast to say thanks for taking care of the dead raccoon/possum/monster outside.

  There was a little food. Jake must have put some effort in to set the house up for their honeymoon. Jane put a pat of butter in a frying pan and yawned. She could do fried eggs and toast with the best of them, though her sausage patties needed a little practice.