Marriage Is Pure Murder

by Staci McLaughlin

  A MURDER FOR THE BRIDE

  The door to Don’t Dilly-Dahlia was closed, and I knocked, not wanting to startle Bethany by entering unannounced.

  No one answered this door either. I tried the knob, expecting it to be locked like the front, but the knob turned easily in my hand. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The overhead light was off. The only sources of light were from the opened door and the tiny window over the sink.

  “Bethany?”

  Silence.

  Where on earth was she? Why hadn’t she called if she needed to reschedule? Since I was already inside, I’d wait a few minutes to see if she came back.

  I strode across the room, hit the light switch, and turned around. My breath caught.

  Bethany lay face-up on the floor near a work table. The front of her ivory-colored blouse had turned a violent shade of dark red. What appeared to be blood pooled around her body. Her eyes were wide open, staring at nothing.

  My breath started coming in hitches. I felt like my insides had turned to ice.

  Now I knew why Bethany had missed our appointment.

  She was dead . . .

  Books by Staci McLaughlin

  GOING ORGANIC CAN KILL YOU

  ALL NATURAL MURDER

  GREEN LIVING CAN BE DEADLY

  A HEALTHY HOMICIDE

  MURDER MOST WHOLESOME

  MARRIAGE IS PURE MURDER

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Marriage Is Pure Murder

  Staci McLaughlin

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  A MURDER FOR THE BRIDE

  Books by Staci McLaughlin

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Tips and Recipes from the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Staci McLaughlin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7582-9492-0

  First Kensington Mass Market Edition: June 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-9493-7

  eISBN-10: 0-7582-9493-X

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: June 2017

  Chapter 1

  I woke before my alarm rang, and practically hopped out of bed. With the workday looming before me and my wedding day approaching, my mind was already racing. After a quick shower, I donned a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved work shirt with O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa embroidered on the front pocket. I stuck my phone in my pocket, grabbed my sunglasses, and glanced around my bedroom to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything.

  Satisfied, I headed to the kitchen for coffee. My younger sister, Ashlee, was already sitting at the table, clutching her cup of coffee with both hands. Her blond hair, three shades lighter than mine, was piled on top of her head in a frizzled mess.

  She looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “Why is six-thirty so early in the morning?” she asked with a groan.

  She wasn’t an early riser on her best day, and I couldn’t help needling her. “It’s only early if you go to bed too late,” I said in a loud voice. She winced at the noise. “Why are you up anyway?” I asked.

  “My boss’s cousin has a dog that needs an operation. Since he’s doing it for free, my boss wanted to squeeze it in before our regular appointments and insisted the entire staff be there, too.”

  I poured myself a cup of coffee, added a spoonful of sugar, and took a sip. “Getting up early for work just this once won’t kill you. I do it every day.” I picked up one of my sneakers off the floor and slid my foot inside. “You could have gone to bed at a reasonable hour, you know.”

  She glowered at me. “I was on a date.”

  No surprise there. Ashlee was always dating guys she met at the vet’s office where she worked, or that she met at the grocery store, or waiting in line at the coffee shop, or when friends set her up. Her main criteria for any guy seemed to be their hotness, as Ashlee herself would say.

  “I had to stop by Brittany’s on my way home,” she said. “Logan and I met up with a bunch of his friends, and one of them is totally perfect for her. By the time I finished describing him, one of our favorite shows came on. Next thing I knew, it was after midnight.”

  “Just think,” I said, tying my other shoe, “in another week and a half, you and Brittany will be sharing this place. You can tell her all about your dates the second you get home.”

  Ashlee shook her head, letting loose a cascade of hair on one side. “I still can’t believe you and Jason are getting hitched. My sister, old and married already.” She let out a pretend sob.

  “Hey, I’m not even thirty.”

  “You will be in a few months. That means I only have three more years before my life is over, too.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop being so melodramatic. Being almost thirty isn’t bad, even if I did yank out a gray hair the other day.”

  Ashlee’s hand flew to her head. “Tell me you’re joking. Am I going to start getting gray hairs, too?”

  “You never know. Don’t forget Uncle Fred’s hair turned white at thirty-five. One of us could have gotten stuck with his genes.”

  “I bet it’s because he got married so young. Weren’t he and Aunt Lucy teenagers?” She grimaced, as if marrying that young was a death sentence. “And you’re getting married at the farm. Where’s the grand ballroom with the chandelier? The chocolate fountain? The swan ice sculpture?”

  “I don’t need a big shindig. The highlight of the day is that I’m marrying the guy I love. And let’s not forget Jason and I are trying to keep this whole affair on a budget.”

  She made a face. “Budget, schmudget. Just wait until I get married. My wedding will be so awesome people will be tweeting about it for weeks. Facebook and Instagram will explode from all the pictures my friends will be posting.” She held up a hand. “Not that I’m planning on getting stuck with the same guy anytime soon. I’ll leave that to you.”

  “Thank you.” I rose from my chair, placed
my coffee cup in the sink, and pulled my jacket from the hall closet. “Make sure you don’t sneak back to bed once I’m out the door.”

  Her eyes lit up, as if considering the suggestion. If she did go back to bed, she’d better not count on me to stick around and wake her up. I had to get to work.

  With a last good-bye, I stepped out of the apartment. The early-November morning brought a chill to my skin, and I stopped to pull on my jacket before I headed down the stairs to my Civic. It started without too much protest, and I soon found myself cruising down Main Street, Blossom Valley’s major artery through the downtown. The town would never be as trendy or artsy as Mendocino, the seaside tourist destination just over the hill, but Blossom Valley had a homey, small-town vibe that I loved. Having only five thousand residents probably helped.

  On my way past the Don’t Dilly-Dahlia Flower Shop, I checked to see if anyone was there, but the place was closed at this early hour. I had an appointment during my lunch break with the owner, Bethany Lancaster, to go over final decisions about my wedding bouquet. With the big event only days away, I was getting down to the last-minute details.

  I almost slammed on my brakes at the thought. While I’d had five months to savor Jason’s proposal, the idea of my actually being married still seemed more like a hypothetical situation. The reality probably wouldn’t sink in until I was walking down the aisle and saying, “I do.”

  I had met my fiancé, Jason Forrester, at the O’Connell farm after a guest was murdered there. It wasn’t the most auspicious beginning to a relationship. As lead reporter for the Blossom Valley Herald, Jason had been so focused on the story that I’d found him pushy and overbearing when we’d first started talking, and I’d wanted nothing to do with him. Now, I couldn’t picture my life without him.

  Turning my attention to my driving, I merged onto the highway that led out to the farm. A few miles and three turns later, I pulled into the far corner of the farm’s parking lot.

  Esther O’Connell and her husband had always wanted to turn their modest farm into a bed-and-breakfast someday, but her husband had died before they could finish their plans. Esther had no experience in the hospitality business, but she’d decided to carry on their dream by adding a row of guest cabins, further developing the trails that wound through the back of the property, and making sure any meals served in the dining room used vegetables from her own garden. More recently, she’d added a spa, where guests could be pampered with facials and massages. I’d worked here as the marketing guru from the first day and practically considered the farm a second home.

  I got out of my car and followed the side path past the vegetable garden and to the guest cabins. With the spa off to my right, I turned left and crossed the patio. I caught a whiff of the fragrant rosemary in the herb garden as I entered the farmhouse through the back door.

  In the kitchen, Zennia Patrakio, the farm’s healthy and organic-centric cook, sat at the kitchen table with a tray full of stuffed mushrooms near her elbow. Her long dark hair, with hints of gray, hung in a braid down her back, and Birkenstocks peeked out from under a long cotton skirt.

  As a fast-food enthusiast from a young age, I’d been repulsed and slightly terrified by Zennia’s tofu fish sticks and wheatgrass shots when I’d first started sampling her inventive cuisine. Lately, though, I often found her dishes downright tasty, even if she did use a ridiculous amount of vegetables.

  I studied the contents of the cookie sheet. “You’re serving stuffed mushrooms for breakfast?” I asked.

  Zennia laughed. Her light, twinkly laugh always made me smile in return. “Of course not. My egg-white and broccoli casserole is in the oven. While I have a few minutes, I thought I’d experiment with a new appetizer.” She picked up a mushroom. “Here, try one.”

  I stuffed the mushroom into my mouth and raised my eyebrows as the flavors of goat cheese and roasted red pepper exploded over my tongue. “Wow, this is really good, Zennia.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. If you think the mushrooms are delicious, then I’m sure your wedding guests will, too.”

  Zennia had witnessed Jason’s marriage proposal and been absolutely thrilled when I’d said yes. Once she found out I’d be holding the reception here at the farm, she’d offered to cater the event.

  I bent down and gave her a hug. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’re doing for me.”

  She patted my back. “You’re more than welcome. And I even promise to use plenty of butter and cheese, just this once. One day of eating all that saturated fat won’t damage your arteries too much.”

  “And let’s not forget the luscious cake with buttercream frosting from the Hand in the Cookie Jar bakery.” I licked my lips as I remembered the cakes I’d sampled there.

  Zennia cringed. “Maybe I’ll add a vegetable platter to the menu.” She checked the rooster clock on the wall and stood up. “But right now, I’d better finish getting breakfast ready for the guests.”

  “Need any help?” I asked.

  She shook her head as she slipped on a pair of oven mitts. “I’ve got it covered, thanks.”

  I left Zennia to her preparations and headed out of the kitchen. Voices drifted toward me from the dining room, but I went straight into the office across the hall and sat down at the desk. While I waited for the computer to boot up, I hung my jacket on the back of the chair, put my purse in the bottom desk drawer, and checked my cell phone for messages.

  I had a text from Jason, inviting me over tonight for home-cooked beef stroganoff. We spent almost every Friday night together, but we usually went to the Breaking Bread Diner for a burger or fish and chips. I felt a warm glow in my chest as I thought about how lucky I was to be marrying a man who made me homemade meals. I quickly texted back my acceptance; then I set the phone on the desk and started my workday.

  As the sole marketing person, I performed a variety of tasks, including creating and placing ads in local publications, designing brochures and pamphlets, maintaining the Web site, and coming up with different ways to attract new customers and keep the old ones coming back. So far, our loyalty programs, coupons, and two-for-one manicure and lunch deals had proved the most popular.

  When I wasn’t working on marketing-related tasks, I helped with odd jobs around the farm. Some days I filled in for Gordon Stewart, the farm’s focused and money-conscious manager, at the front desk when he had to run errands, helped Zennia serve meals to the guests, or restocked towels and other supplies for Gretchen Levitt, the young masseuse and facial expert who spent her days running the spa that Esther had built. When there were no other pressing matters, I occasionally resorted to cleaning out the pigsty.

  By now, I was almost as familiar with the farm as Esther. While uploading pictures of the duck pond and flower garden to the farm’s Web site one day, I’d realized what a perfect location the farm would be for our wedding ceremony. When I’d suggested the idea to Esther, she’d been downright tickled. And as I’d started nailing down the specifics, I’d realized that Esther’s farm would be a fantastic place for anyone to get hitched, not just Jason and me.

  If everything went according to plan, my first order of business after returning from my Hawaiian honeymoon would be to start advertising the farm as the perfect getaway destination for a wedding in the country. Though we’d had a steady rise in business since first opening, too many people still didn’t know we existed. This little venture might finally put Esther’s place on the map.

  As if on cue, Esther walked into the office. “Morning, Dana,” she said as she ran a hand through her curly gray hair.

  “Hi, Esther. Did you need to use the computer?” I asked.

  “No, I’m just here to look for some papers I misplaced. Don’t let me interrupt your work.” She pulled open the bottom drawer of the small file cabinet in the corner and started digging through the folders.

  I turned back to the computer and opened a pamphlet I’d been designing. As I moved the images around on the screen, Esther
muttered behind me, “I’d swear I left it in here.” I continued to work while she mumbled to herself.

  After a few minutes, I heard an “Aha!” and spun around in the chair. Esther held a small stack of papers aloft as if it was the National Dairy Championship trophy and she’d just won a year’s supply of ice cream. When she caught me looking, she gave me a sheepish grin. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

  I held up my hand. “Hang on. As long as you’re here, let me get your input on this pamphlet.”

  Esther stepped up and leaned over my shoulder. “What a lovely photo of the vegetable garden,” she said as she read through the material. “And I like how you mention how close we are to Mendocino. Everyone loves the cute little shops and the beach.”

  “Considering it’s less than an hour away, it seems like a waste not to capitalize on it.”

  Esther nodded and patted her curls. “I wouldn’t change a thing. After all, a bird in the hand is worth two hands in the bush.”

  Esther’s version of the proverb was a little off, but I knew what she meant. “I’m glad you like it.” She left the office, while I continued my work.

  I spent the rest of the morning printing out samples and fine-tuning the pictures and text. Around eleven, I went into the kitchen and washed my hands so I could help Zennia with lunch prep, watching the rooster clock as I did so. I didn’t want to be late for my appointment at the flower shop.

  At a quarter to twelve, I stopped in the bathroom to freshen up and then grabbed my purse from the office before heading to my car. Bethany and I had already met on two previous occasions to decide on the flowers for my bouquet, as well as Ashlee’s, who was maid of honor, and in the boutonnieres for Jason and his best man.