by Anna Drake
“You’re keeping out of that one, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“And what are you hoping your Santa brings you?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush.
Josh grinned. “Maybe he has a surprise planned.”
“Maybe. But I think he should know that hate surprises. Couldn’t he give me even a tiny clue?
“Not a chance,” Josh said with a soft chuckle. “I’ve heard the big guy just loves surprises.”
Other Books by This Author:
Death among the Roses, a Melanie Hart Mystery
Murderous Decisions, a Tale of Mystery and Suspense
Murderous Relations, a Tale of Mystery and suspense
The Capture, A Delton Ross Short Story
The Baying Witness, A Delton Ross Short Story
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Read the First Scene from Death among the Roses
A wedding can be a glorious event. Anytime or anyplace, nuptials will often put a smile on a woman’s face.
But not mine. I hate weddings. I’ve never seen one where the bride wasn’t a nervous wreck, the mother a walking zombie, and the groom little more than a second thought.
Was that why I was in my present funk? I was headed to a wedding, my best friend’s wedding. And I was running late.
Now, almost at my destination, I wrestled my car around the corner at Main and Maple Streets like an Indy driver on steroids. Flooring the gas pedal, I flew past a startled Mabel Florent, who was taking out her trash. Next, I barreled onto Torrance Street, and halfway down the block, I stomped on my brakes, tires screeching, to turn into the parking lot of the Cloverton Methodist Church.
Easing my Fiesta into a vacant space, I sank back in the seat and took in my surroundings. The church sat in gray splendor to my left. A rose bed lined up before the nose of my car. The parking lot was stuffed nearly to overflowing. I stepped outside, pulled in air, and admired the day. It was perfect weather for a wedding. Bright sunshine. Blue sky. Greening grass and….
And that’s when the impossible happened. My gaze fell to an object among the roses.
I blinked, momentarily wondering what the groom was doing stretched out in a rose bed? But a closer look brought the reality of the situation home. Obviously Cordelia’s intended groom, Gary Pepper, was dead. But not only dead, but murdered. I could tell.
My breathing quickened. My heart banged inside my chest. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t.
Behind me, a car pulled into the parking lot. Its door banged shut. Footsteps drew near.
What’s happened,” a man’s voice asked. “Are you ill?”
Still unable to speak, I raised my hand and pointed a trembling finger at the body.
“Oh,” he said, the one word coming out in a great whoosh. He wrapped his strong arms around me. He gripped me tightly to his chest. My fingers clutched at his lapels. I silently vowed never to let go of them.
“Here,” he said, releasing me a few seconds later. “Come. Sit down.” He led me to his car, opened the door, and steadied me. I sank down onto the seat. I gazed up at him, trying to figure out just who my helpmate was. Mid-twenties, tall, slender, I’d never seen the man before.
“Do you have a cell phone with you?” he asked.
I nodded. Licked my lips. “It’s inside my purse.”
“Would you retrieve it for me, please?”
I fished the phone free.
He gently removed it from my outstretched hand. “You stay here. Take deep breaths. I’m calling the police.”
The fellow’s fingers punched in numbers on the keypad. He drew even closer to the fallen man. Once connected with the county dispatcher, he gave him our location and described what we had found.
“No, there’s no reason to rush,” he said a short time later. “I can’t find a pulse.”
At hearing the finality of those words, I shivered. My mind, which had been numb until then, launched into overdrive.
Gary Pepper, a man I’d known since childhood had been murdered. I shook my head. How could this have happened? And on this of all possible days. Then, my thoughts turned to Cordelia, waiting inside the church for a groom who would never come.
.
