Cat rolled her eyes. “The one right over there.” I looked to where Cat was pointing and saw a modest-sized cottage on the other side of the lawn about fifty yards away.
“I’ve also secured the newlywed suite for the two of you for tomorrow night.”
“Newlywed suite?”
Cat’s scowl deepened. “If you’d come here and taken the tour like I told you to eight hundred times, you’d know that there is a romantic cottage up that cliff and tucked into those woods.”
I again looked to where she was pointing and very faintly I could just make out the outline of a stone cottage way up the bluff overlooking the lawn we were standing on. Holding up my cane, I asked, “How the heck am I supposed to get up there?” There was clearly no road up to the cottage, and with my cane and bad hips there was no way I could hike up the side of a steep bluff.
Cat pointed to her left at the woods that flanked that portion of the lawn. “If you go to the left of the driveway out front, there’s a little footpath that leads to a gondola made for two that takes you up to the cottage.”
“A gondola?” Was she kidding?
“It’s perfectly safe, Abby,” Cat said.
“I’ve been up in it many times,” Jenny Makeanote assured me. “It’s actually a beautiful ride through the trees.”
I wasn’t convinced until Cat said, “I thought you’d be excited to have a little cottage to yourselves up in the hills where no one can get to you. I mean, with Dutch’s brothers staying at your house…” She let the last part of that sentence trail off, and after thinking about it, and all the practical jokes Mike, Chris, and Paul might pull on us, I pushed that well-practiced smile onto my lips and nodded like a happy-faced bobblehead. “Awesome! What’s a wedding night of bliss without a gondola ride?”
Cat narrowed her eyes at me. She could sense fake enthusiasm a gondola ride away. “Anyway,” she continued, “as I said, you’ll need to be dressed and ready by two. The photographer swears that with such a small wedding party he can get all the pictures he needs in an hour, and the rest during and after the ceremony. Which reminds me, Jenny Makeanote, I need to sign the checks for the photographer, caterer, and baker tonight so that you can deliver them promptly when they arrive here tomorrow.”
A tiny thread of a thought floated up from the back of my mind, but at that moment Cat raised her bullhorn again and yelled, “Let’s go, people! We have the rehearsal dinner to get to! And Milo, please make sure the Rivers boys aren’t driving, okay?”
Just like that, whatever thought had been about to surface evaporated and I was whisked off to a celebratory dinner, wishing the whole time that Dutch and I could sneak away and avoid the next day entirely.
* * *
I woke up on the day of my wedding feeling terrible. It might have been that I’d been sleeping on a lumpy couch for five days. Or it could have been that I’d had several glasses of red wine the night before. Or it could have been that I’d had a restless and fitful night’s sleep, never really falling into more than a doze.
Mostly, though, it was probably because I didn’t want to show up to my own wedding.
I sat up blearily and listened. The clock on the far wall said it was half past five, but no stirring sounds came from Brice and Candice’s room. They appeared to be sleeping in.
I felt too restless to stay put, so I stood up, got dressed, left Candice a note in case she woke up and wondered where I was, and headed out.
I spent some time in my favorite coffee shop. It was nice and quiet on a Saturday morning, but after a while I felt too anxious and troubled to stay there too.
Getting in my car, I drove over to the new house. Several cars were parked in our driveway, but I didn’t pull in. Instead I sat at the top of the drive, staring at our new beautiful home, and simply couldn’t shake the ominous feeling I had that today was going to be awful.
Tears welled in my eyes for no reason I could identify, but I was helpless to stop them. I just felt sad. Terribly, terribly sad. And the more I tried to rationalize it as simply being overwhelmed by the wedding and the case I’d been working, the more the melancholy seemed to settle into my bones.
Finally I drove off and just meandered around the winding roads for an hour or two. I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t know that I could talk to either Candice or Dutch about what I was feeling without them thinking the wrong thing.
Around then I got a text from Candice asking where I was. Remembering the limo and our plans for breakfast, I texted her an apology and told her to go ahead without me. I’d meet her at the venue. She immediately called my phone, but I didn’t pick up. I couldn’t talk to her without completely losing it and all I wanted was a little time to myself to try to pull it together.
I drove south to a park I knew and pulled into a space near a man-made lake and just stared out the window for a while. But my emotions wouldn’t settle and the more I tried to figure out what the heck was going on with me, the more the answer seemed to elude me. I tried to think happy thoughts, that in just a few hours Dutch and I would be man and wife. I knew the idea should’ve made me happy, but it was as if some kind of a barrier had gone up inside me, and any thoughts about marrying Dutch only filled me with dread. In fact, the thought of walking down that aisle in a few hours made me almost physically ill.
Still, because so many people expected me to show up and smile like a good little bride, I eventually left the park and made my way over to the manor house, where I sat until nine, when the manager came out to let me in. She showed me to the room I’d been assigned, and then left me to go answer the doorbell. I saw that my gown had been placed on a hook next to a full-length mirror (after handing us our dresses the night before, Cat had thought better of it, and she’d grabbed them back and had them kept here).
I moved over to my dress and ran my hand down the beautiful silk. And then I burst into tears.
After having a good cry, I blew my nose, dried my eyes, and tried to find a distraction. Moving to the window, I focused on the wedding preparations. The day was gloomy, but the cold front that was supposed to sweep through Austin and bring rain and strong winds hadn’t arrived yet. In fact, there seemed to be small holes in the clouds where some rays of the sun were managing to get through.
Meanwhile, out on the lawn there was a flurry of activity—chairs were being set out, flowers were being arranged, a red carpet was being unrolled. Everyone was working hard, but I could see them all periodically give the sky a wary glance.
Cat and her bullhorn hadn’t yet arrived, but I knew she’d be here soon. In her place was Jenny Makeanote, who was talking to a man wearing Wellies with several pet carriers in tow. It seemed we were going to have swans after all. She handed him an envelope, then made a check mark on her clipboard before moving off to hand another envelope to a woman in a white apron I recognized from one of the meetings with Cat. She’d been the caterer, I thought.
With a sigh I moved away from the window and began checking out the digs. They were nice. There was a bottle of champagne chilling on a side table, along with a saran-wrapped fruit plate containing white grapes, pears, and sliced cheese. Nothing that might stain a wedding gown, I noticed.
There was also a photo album on the bureau, and curiously I opened it. Inside were the wedding photos of all the brides and grooms that had gotten married at the lovely estate.
As I was mindlessly flipping through the album, that tiny thread of a thought that I’d had in the back of my mind from the night before finally surfaced and bloomed so fully that I gasped. It had mingled with the image of Jenny handing envelopes to the swan handler and the caterer. “Checks!” I gasped. “He would have written them all checks or put down a deposit using a credit card!”
If I was right and Buzz had used Rita’s salon, Carly Threadgill’s bridal store, and Simon Salisbury’s photography studio for his own wedding, then he would have put down some sort of deposit and made a payment. We already had Carly’s and Rita’s financial statements
—that’d been part of the initial investigation into the bombs at their shops—and I was certain that we’d already collected Simon’s bank statement records; that’d be useful in helping nail him as a dealer in child pornography. It would take only a few minutes for one of the agents to sort through the deposits in Rita’s, Carly’s, and Simon’s accounts for a name that was consistent on all three statements. I was certain Buzz’s name would pop up.
Whirling around, I ran to the bed where I’d thrown my purse and pawed through it to find my cell. Hauling it out, I was thumbing through my contacts list when there was a loud knock on the door and Cat sashayed in, holding tightly to her bullhorn and Jenny Makeanote close on her heels, along with Kendra, the makeup artist Cat had hired, who was carrying several small makeup bags.
“Who’re you calling?” Cat demanded right away.
At first I ignored her. I was way too excited about what I’d just figured out, but Cat was clearly out of patience with me because quick as a feline she was in front of me, pulling the phone out of my hands.
“Hey!” I yelled at her. “Give that back! I have to call Gaston!”
“Who’s Gaston?” Cat demanded, moving the phone behind her and out of my reach.
“He’s my boss, Cat, and I really have to call him! It’s important! I have a solid lead he has to follow up on!”
Cat squinted at me like she thought I was crazy. “Abby,” she said crisply, “this is your wedding day! You’re not calling anybody.”
“Fine, then let me just call Brice really quick….” I made another grab for my phone, but Cat was too fast for me.
“No!” she yelled, twisting away and handing the phone to Jenny Makeanote, who took it and dashed out of the room like a running back with a football at the Super Bowl.
I wanted to swat my sister. “Fine. Then I need to talk to Candice, Cat.”
Cat shook her head, all the while continuing to look at me like I was a nut. “Candice isn’t here yet, and I’m not letting you talk to her even when she does arrive. You are not working today; do you hear me? And you are not sending any of our FBI wedding guests or the groomsman on some wild-goose chase to hunt down some silly lead. You’re always chasing a lead, Abby. That’s your number one excuse, actually.” Cat then adopted a tone a few octaves higher than her own, which I supposed was some kind of imitation of me. “Oh, Cat, I can’t help out with all the gazillion things that need to get done for my wedding because I’m chasing a lead! Oh, Cat, Candice and I have to run out on you because we have a lead! Oh, look, the wind just blew in a new lead and now I’m going to do my disappearing act and drive you crazy!”
My eyes bugged. She had the crazy part down. “This is important, Cat.”
My sister only glared at me. “So is this wedding, Abby. Whatever this new lead of yours is, it can wait a few hours.”
I balled my hands into fists and started to protest again, but Cat wasn’t hearing any of it. Instead, she held up her hand to me before turning to the woman carrying the makeup cases, and said, “Kendra, you remember my sister, Abby? She’s impossible. Still, you have an hour to make her into a gorgeous bride. She will ask to borrow your phone. If I discover you’ve lent it to her, and it results in any of our guests dodging this ceremony, I will sue you into the ground. Do we have an understanding?”
The makeup artist paled; then she dug her phone out of her jacket pocket and handed it to my sister. “I don’t need it while I work.”
Cat took it, narrowed her eyes at me one last time, then headed to the door, tossing a “Good luck” to the makeup artist as she exited.
The door closed firmly behind my sister. I thought about chasing after her, but Cat could enlist an army of support with one swipe of her AmEx no-limit credit card.
Kendra the makeup artist smiled nervously at me. My mind spun with options. Just as I settled on one, there was a knock at the door. Kendra opened it for me and Jenny Makeanote was there. “Hi, sorry, Abby, a messenger just dropped this off for you. He said it was from Mr. Rivers and that he wanted you to read it before the ceremony.”
In her hand was a creamy envelope. Kendra took it and handed it to me. For a minute I was too distracted to think about plans of escape. Opening the envelope, I found a sweet card inside with a puppy on the cover. Opening the card, I immediately recognized Dutch’s tight script and read:
Hey, dollface,
I know things are a little insane right now, but if you have time to meet me at the new house, come by. I’ve sent everyone out for a few hours and I have a surprise for you.
Love you—always,
Dutch
I was a bit shocked by the message and turned the card over to see if there was more, but there wasn’t. And then I had the boldest thought of all. If Dutch was alone at the house, then maybe after I got through calling in my lead to Brice, I could talk to my fiancé and convince him to ditch the ceremony and run away with me. I knew that Cat would be absolutely furious, and Dutch’s family too, but deep down I just didn’t think that I could go through with this whole Cirque du Ceremony. Dutch loved me. He’d listen. He’d do it for me if it was important enough. I just knew it.
“Miss Cooper?” Kendra asked.
I jumped a little, realizing Kendra was still in the room and looking at me expectantly. I doubted she’d let me leave without alerting Cat. Smiling brightly at her (man, my smile was getting a good workout these days!) I said, “Let me just go to the bathroom and you can have at me.”
Kendra seemed to relax and she returned my smile. I almost felt sorry for her. “No problem! I’ll get my stuff set out. Take your time.”
I headed to the bathroom, making sure to take my cane, the note, and my purse with me. I then moved immediately to the window, which was thankfully on the outer side wall of the house, out of view of the wedding crew, and pulled it open slowly, careful not to let it squeak. Then I pushed out the screen and hoisted myself up and out, landing a bit indelicately on the soft grass. Squatting down low, I snuck around the house to the driveway. Looking around, I waited until the coast was clear, and then I hurried to my car; ducking into it, I started the engine with a pounding heart and raced out of the drive. I didn’t relax until I’d made it to the highway, but the thrill of escaping the ceremony was amazing. Deep down I knew I’d never go back there. As I drove, one thought prevailed—I had to get to Dutch.
Our house wasn’t far from the venue, only about ten minutes, and I pulled into the driveway and saw there were no familiar cars there, but oddly, there was a white van. I wondered if Dutch’s surprise involved a cargo van.
I was so intent to see him that I ignored the small tingle of warning my radar sent off, and parked at the bottom of the drive, shuffling quickly to the back door, which led straight into the laundry room. I turned the handle, finding it unlocked, and stepped across the threshold calling out to Dutch. Almost immediately the fumes hit me and I wobbled on my already unsteady feet. Where was my cane? Oh, yeah, it was in the car. I’d been so anxious to see Dutch that I’d left it behind. But what was in the house that was making me so dizzy? I blinked and tried to hold on to the washing machine to steady myself, but my hand missed it and I sat down hard on the floor, my head swimming so badly that I thought I was going to be sick.
My chin dropped forward and I saw stars, my vision was clouded by an encroaching darkness, and I heard myself call out to Dutch again, but my own voice sounded dull and lifeless to my ears. And then a figure stepped forward from the darkness of the hallway. But it wasn’t Dutch. Whoever it was, he wore a gas mask. I could hear the sound of his breathing filling my ears with a haunting sound.
“Wha…wha…Why?” I asked, even as I felt my head loll back toward the tile floor. A sharp pain at the back of my head told me I was now flat on my back and as I stared up, my already clouded vision was filled with the sight of that man in the mask standing over me. And then I was falling down, down, down, and I saw nothing more.
T-Minus 00:10:32
M.J. felt to
tally discombobulated flying through the air in a helicopter, which was nothing like riding in an airplane. Closing her eyes to fight the motion sickness, she squeezed the bar at the top of the chopper even more tightly. After a few minutes of flying blind, however, she decided it was probably better to keep her eyes open, but avoid looking down.
In the seat facing her was Dutch, his gaze trained on the ground visible through the small window next to him. His face was hard and his jaw clenched, and there was a large welt at the top of his forehead where he’d hit the ground after being Tased, but his eyes were intense and focused. M.J. didn’t know how he was holding it together, because if the tables were turned and word came in that her boyfriend, Heath, was strapped to a bomb that could go off at any second, she’d have a complete meltdown.
Sitting next to Dutch was Candice; her lovely bridesmaid’s dress now torn and dirty, her knees were both scuffed, and the paleness that’d marked her complexion earlier had returned. She held tightly to Dutch’s hand while tears rolled down her cheeks. M.J. knew exactly how she felt—the situation seemed hopeless.
Before entering the chopper, she’d learned that Abby had been seen heading down a road close to the wedding venue. How she’d gotten there from the house, she could only guess, and M.J. didn’t know if Abby was trying to make her way to the estate or was trying to avoid it. M.J. suspected that she was probably out of her mind with fear, and she simply couldn’t imagine what her friend might be going through.
The chopper made a sudden sharp sweeping turn and M.J. held her breath and fought the lurch in her stomach. “Put it down!” Dutch shouted, his body leaning forward as he stared out the window. M.J. knew he’d just spotted his fiancée.
Overcoming her fear, M.J. leaned forward too, and she caught a glimpse of a figure in white moving raggedly along the side of a railing acting as a barrier to the edge of a cliff.
The helicopter turned in another tight circle, but the pilot called over his shoulder that there wasn’t a good place to land.
Deadly Forecast: A Psychic Eye Mystery Page 32
