Trace Evidence: A Virals Short Story Collection

by Kathy Reichs

  Tempe shook herself, strode quickly to my side. “Okay. Disaster. Do we have a plan?”

  I nodded, standing a bit straighter. Tempe had that effect on me. “Every flower in here is toast, but there’s a botanical garden on the grounds. I sent Ben to alert Kit—it might get expensive when we gut the flowerbeds to replace the centerpieces.”

  Tempe closed her eyes a moment. Then, oddly, barked a laugh. “Clinical and effective. Good thinking. If the manager doesn’t have us arrested for destruction of property, that is.”

  I cringed. “I was just going to get his permission.”

  Tempe shook her head firmly. “We pick first, ask permission afterward. Fortune favors the bold, right?”

  Roses.

  Red. White. Pink. Yellow.

  Working swiftly and silently, we plucked dozens of delicate buds, then smuggled them into the ballroom undetected. Hi kept lookout by the door as Harry assembled the arrangements. In thirty minutes, the chamber had a brand-new look.

  A damn good one, if I do say so myself.

  Whitney would notice the changes instantly, of course, but no one else should. Harry had done a masterful job. As Tempe slid the last centerpiece into position, I breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted, with minutes to spare.

  “Okay everyone, let’s go!” Tempe was tapping her watch.

  “Things are happening!” Hi called from the door. He’d cracked it an inch, was peering out at the guests in the courtyard. “Kit just walk-ran down the aisle. He looks like he’s freaking out. And there’s a green-dress girl circling the audience. She looks mad.”

  I winced. “Searching for the maid of honor, no doubt.”

  “Go.” Harry made shooing motions with her hands. “Y’all are in the wedding party. The service starts in five, and they must be frantic. I’m done here. Tempe and I will be on your heels.”

  The boys straightened their tuxes, then hurried out to join Kit by the altar. I was halfway through the door when Tempe caught me by the hand.

  She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Nice work, Tory. You saved the day.”

  “Just glad it worked out.” But I felt a warm flush of pride. Booyah.

  As I stepped from the ballroom, the frantic bridesmaid spotted me and practically ran in my direction. I plastered on a smile. The day was saved. Whitney would understand. But as I was being literally yanked toward the building—and scolded by a complete stranger for good measure—an unsettling thought occurred to me.

  All those centerpieces destroyed, because of an incredibly stupid blunder.

  But what if it wasn’t a mistake?

  What if the flowers had been murdered?

  I put one foot in front of the other.

  Slowly. Stately.

  Wobbly.

  I’m not an ace in heels.

  Whitney’s train slid down the aisle before me, a tidal wave of white silk whispering along the red carpet. Though maid of honor, I was to follow directly behind her as she entered, a dictate of DuBois family tradition. No doubt a relic of their cherished debutante past, allowing the bride-to-be a final, glorious one-upping of her sister or closest friend.

  Don’t be ugly. Whitney means well. Mostly.

  Step. Pause. Step. My floor-length dress made each stride a challenge, but I was determined not to pull a Jennifer Lawrence. When she trips in front of everyone, it’s adorable. I’d look like a circus clown.

  My hastily assembled crisis team had scrambled back into their respective positions. Problem solved, but I still couldn’t understand how such a ridiculous mistake could occur. Those florists were in for some sharp words. I’d make sure Kit demanded a refund.

  Beyond Whitney, I could see Kit grinning like a dope as he stood before the raised wooden altar. The priest, Dr. Allen, was on his left. Whitney’s younger brother Eric, in from Chicago, stood to his right. Whitney had suggested that Eric be Kit’s best man. Kit being Kit, he’d agreed without complaint.

  My God, it’s really happening.

  At the end of this walk, that ditzy woman would become my stepmother.

  Blargh.

  I squeezed my lids shut. Snapped them open. Glancing around for a distraction, I spotted my friends’ parents in a row to my right. Tom Blue looked sweaty in his ill-fitting rented tuxedo, but he smiled and nodded as I paced by. We’d gotten to know each other on a personal level in the months that Ben and I had been dating. A well-read man, he was thoughtful and polite, prone to quoting famous literature when making a point. Ben’s ears burned every time it happened, but I was a fan. I love it when life—when people—surprise me.

  Unless they’re trying to kill me, of course.

  But I was all done with that.

  Ben’s mother, Myra, sat next to Tom, in a lovely cinnamon dress that matched her eyes. I’d never sensed any bad blood between the elder Blues—honestly, I wasn’t even sure they were officially divorced. That topic I studiously avoided. Ben would say more when he was ready. It wasn’t my place to pry.

  Beyond Myra sat Shelton’s parents, Nelson and Lorelei Devers, holding hands, eyes glued to each other. Shelton said they loved weddings. Watching them now, I guessed they liked to relive their own. Farther down the row, Linus Stolowitski was patting the shoulder of his wife, Ruth, who’d buried her nose in a handkerchief. Linus gave me an apologetic shrug, but I smiled. Ruth’s an emotional lady, no question. Ask Hi anytime he gets on her bad side.

  Another pace forward. The next row held less pleasant guests.

  Dr. Mike Iglehart sat in the closest chair. He dodged my glance as if burned by it, and well he should. Chance had divulged that Iglehart had been his secret spy at LIRI, but I’d decided to keep the information to myself. Kit liked to think the best of everyone at the institute, and the Iglehart problem was fully neutralized. No need to shatter my father’s illusions.

  Still. What a jerk.

  The rest of the row was filled with classmates I was less than thrilled to see. Ashley Bodford sat with her parents, looking bored yet beautiful in a jet-black dress that matched her hair, eyes, and heart. Beside her, Courtney Holt sat with perfect posture, her cream-colored dress way too close to white, not that she’d understand why that mattered. The clingy, low-cut garment set off her blond hair, and that’s all she cared about.

  I hated that they were invited, but, naturally, their parents were close friends of the DuBois family. So they got to attend my father’s wedding despite having tortured me daily for the better part of two years. My glance hardened to a glare, but they didn’t notice.

  Easy, tiger, Hi sounded inside my skull. Don’t forget—police are in da house!

  My gaze flicked back to the altar, a high, wide platform of polished oak, cunningly fit together to appear as a single unbroken piece. A carved wooden arch graced its apex, woven with garlands of white flowers. Whitney had had the entire thing flown in from Ireland for the service, and it’d taken several hours to reassemble the night before. Anything for her ladyship.

  Hi, Ben, and Shelton stood atop the bulky platform, in a line with the other groomsmen. I was genuinely touched that Kit had chosen my best friends to fill out his wedding party. Having them close by made the whole day easier for me, which was likely his intention.

  On the opposite side of the archway were the bridesmaids, their makeup-coated expressions a mixture of happiness, envy, and boredom. Squinting, I could easily picture Ashley and Courtney in their vapid company.

  Parasites, I sent back to Hi, still riled by unwelcome faces in the gallery. I wouldn’t mind if a few chairs collapsed. Into a volcano.

  Haven’t mastered that trick yet. Shelton smoothed the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket, ducking his head to hide his smile. When I can do more than talk in your dome, I’ll let you know.

  I wouldn’t worry about these cops. Ben was scowling at Captain Carmine Corcoran, who was hitching his pants beside the c
ourtyard entrance. That moron couldn’t guard a cheeseburger unless there was a press conference involved.

  I lowered my head, stifling a laugh as I kept my sapphire eyes from view. Kit’s idea. He thought an official presence might keep the paparazzi away.

  It hadn’t worked. A gaggle of photographers was lurking just beyond the courtyard wall, hoping to get lucky. I’d spotted at least one snapping shots from a nearby roof.

  As director of the Loggerhead Island Research Institute, Dr. Christopher Howard was—distressingly to my father—one of the prominent citizens of Charleston. Add in the wealth and prestige of the DuBois family, plus the infamous Chance Claybourne in attendance as a guest, and this wedding was officially an Event in the city. Despite Corcoran’s preening, I was glad for the extra security. His team of off-duty cops had bounced a dozen crashers already.

  The people discovered Hiram Stolowitski would be here, Hi trumpeted inside my head. I watched him buff his fingernails on a silk lapel. TMZ coverage was inevitable.

  Red sparks in my mind, followed by inarticulate squawking. Ben had struck a third time.

  One of these days, Hi griped, I’m charging you with assault.

  I’ll alert my attorney. Ben’s eyes found mine, and the skies cleared.

  Benjamin Blue, now a serial smiler.

  Who’d have thunk it?

  We continued down the aisle, passing rows filled with LIRI staff, local dignitaries, and Bolton Prep families. Madison gave me a friendly nod, Jason a grin. His mother sat in the chair beside him, wearing a small frown as she muttered about the pollen count. Whitney nearly missed a step. As president of the Magnolia League, Agnes Taylor’s opinions on style were local gospel. Whitney would’ve crawled through a sewer pipe to make a good impression.

  Mrs. Taylor was a substitute teacher, and, being the nosy type, stayed in-the-know regarding school gossip. It wasn’t clear what she thought of Madison and her son being together, but her face was pinched in a scowl. Jason pretended not to notice, his fingers interlocked with his girlfriend’s. Though Maddy smiled prettily, I noticed her knuckles were white.

  Kit’s family manned the front row. Harry sat between Tempe and Kit’s father, Howard Howard—don’t ask about the name—who was followed by Tempe’s daughter Katie, her ex-husband Pete, and some others I didn’t know very well. I ignored the opposite side of the aisle, jam-packed with DuBois family members and their countless friends and social connections. A decent-sized crowd, all told, though I knew Whitney had agonized over whom to invite. And delighted in several snubs.

  Last chance to blow this up. Hi kept his face straight, but his voice swirled singsong in my brain. You could still fake a seizure. Or grab the rings and bolt.

  Don’t think I haven’t considered it.

  We reached the foot of the altar. I looked up, saw my father’s beaming face. His palpable joy burned away my cynicism.

  Can’t do it, folks. I’m going down with this ship.

  Bah. Shelton made a covert dismissal with one hand. Twelve months, then you’re out of there. Just make, like, a yearlong Advent calendar or something. Count the days.

  True. I didn’t like thinking that way—it wasn’t fair to Kit, who’d taken me in when I’d had nowhere else to go—but facts were facts. After one more year at Bolton, I was off to college. Whitney would become a summers-and-holidays-only problem.

  I glanced at Ben, who was studying his boxy black shoes. A strange cocktail of emotions was seeping from him, before closing off abruptly. I kept my own fears from flowing back.

  I didn’t know yet where I’d go to college, but it almost certainly wouldn’t be in Asheville like Ben. I’d already applied to Wake Forest and Vanderbilt, which weren’t too far, but the other schools on my list were all a plane ride away. And, given that I was a shoo-in for valedictorian—everyone else knew it, so there was no point denying it myself—I’d have good options.

  Options away from Ben. Some far away.

  He looked up then. Gave me a sad smile.

  I jerked my eyes away. Missed a step and nearly went down. I realized Whitney and her father had stopped moving. With infinite dignity, the elder DuBois placed his daughter’s hand in Kit’s.

  It’s real. My God, it’s real.

  Tears gleamed in my father’s eyes. His happiness filled me, too.

  Whitney’s head whipped around. She gave me an exasperated look. “Tory!” Suddenly, everyone was looking at me. I was supposed to be doing something.

  “Oops, sorry!” I dropped to a knee and smoothed Whitney’s train, then hustled up the altar’s three steps to my spot on the left, facing the assembly.

  Wood groaned beneath my feet, the ancient platform dipping a fraction.

  I shuffled a step to keep my balance.

  Accidentally locked eyes with Chance.

  He was sitting in the second row on the DuBois side, black hair slicked back, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. Chance’s tuxedo clearly wasn’t a rental, a classic James Bond number with a silk tie and cummerbund—he’d once said that vests were for bartenders. Ella sat beside him, looking gorgeous in a sleek lavender cocktail dress.

  Chance smirked. Nodded. Ella’s smile, at least, seemed genuine.

  So much has changed.

  Dr. Allen mounted the first step, turned to bless Kit and Whitney as they stood together at the foot of the altar. I wobbled in my heels as the platform shifted slightly.

  Chance could get under my skin without even trying. Our alliance had been pressure-forged like a diamond, but there were times when I still didn’t know what to make of him. Were we friends? Good friends? Frenemies?

  We’re no longer pack, that’s for sure.

  Did he know that my friends and I had evolved a second time?

  That some powers still flowed on Morris Island?

  I couldn’t say, but I fervently hoped not, for everyone’s sake. If experience had taught me anything, it was this: the fewer people who knew my secrets, the better.

  Chance and I had barely spoken in the months since our escape, a necessary cooling-off period for both sides. Plus, though Ben had mellowed considerably since we’d started dating, any mention of Chance resurrected his scowl. Understandable.

  My heart lurched. I felt eyes on the back of my head.

  No, more personal. Inside my head.

  I pivoted slowly to avoid notice. Spotted Ben glaring at Chance, and making very little effort to hide it. They hadn’t been in the same place since Ben and I got together, but today had been unavoidable.

  I detected a flurry of sendings from Shelton and Hi, trying to put out the fire.

  Ben ignored them at first. Then he noticed me watching.

  I don’t like how he’s looking at you.

  Ben, this is my father’s wedding. Tighten up.

  Ben flinched. Taking a deep breath, he gave me a nearly imperceptible nod, schooling his face to stillness. But I could feel his anger burning white-hot.

  We need to keep those two apart, Hi sent, feeling a need to state the obvious.

  For his part, Chance seemed indifferent to Ben’s ire. He patted Ella’s hand, whispering something in her ear that evoked a laugh. Over her shoulder, his gaze found mine again.

  Something hid there. What, exactly, I had no idea. Interest? Mockery? Challenge? Maybe all three. Then the window shuttered as Chance snapped his trademark wink.

  Which I hated.

  He wasn’t hitting on me. I didn’t think. But casual flirtation had masked deceptive agendas in the past. I’d been hoping we were beyond that. Now? I couldn’t say.

  Just how he likes it. Damn him.

  Dr. Allen mounted the last two steps, strode to the archway, and then turned to address the congregation.

  A tiny vibration tickled my heels.

  Uh, guys?

  I glanced across the platf
orm to see Shelton, brow furrowed as he squinted down at the wooden slats beneath his feet. You hear that? Something sounds . . . off.

  What is it? I asked. Though our powers had migrated to being nearly equal in most aspects, we each still possessed an area of greater acuity. Shelton could hear like a bat. If he said something didn’t sound right, I paid attention.

  I’m not sure. Shelton said, straining to listen. But every time someone moves, there’s a . . . a scraping . . . or . . .

  Ben looked down at his feet. The platform is wobbling. I felt it when Tory stepped up, but it got worse when the priest stepped up.

  Dr. Allen’s voice rang out, beginning the service.

  Hi nodded toward Kit and Whitney at the foot of the altar. What happens when they join us up here?

  Shelton discretely tapped a heel against the polished oak flooring. It’s a grinding noise, like sandpaper. Wood on wood, maybe. I . . . uh . . . guys, I think it’s getting worse.

  Dr. Allen intoned a blessing. The audience repeated his words.

  Kit and Whitney mounted the first step.

  Suddenly, I heard it, too—a faint tearing, grating sound from under our feet. I thought the noise emanated from the center of the platform, beneath the carved archway. Right where the happy couple was supposed to stand and make their vows.

  Kit and Whitney ascended the second step.

  The scraping intensified. I felt a sickening vibration in my toes.

  The bridesmaid on my left quirked her head. Glanced down at her feet.

  The floor’s trembling over here, Hi sent from the opposite side of the archway.

  Kit and Whitney reached the top of the platform.

  I watched in horror as the entire structure bowed beneath their added weight.

  A sharp crack. Then another.

  The reports released me like a starter’s pistol.

  “Wait!” I shouted, waving my hands as I bounced forward. Startled, Whitney stumbled backward, only her grip on Kit’s arm saving her from face-planting in the grass. Her momentum dragged them both down the steps and off the platform.

  Steadying themselves, they stared back up at me in shock.