by Leslie Caine
“How’s she doing?” I asked.
“Not well.” When I gave no reply, he added, “Maybe you should talk to her in the morning.”
“Actually, I think I’ll try to talk to her right now.” I promptly left the room and went down the hall to our guest room. I knocked lightly on the door. She didn’t answer.
“Amelia, can I come in?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered dully.
When I entered, she was sitting in the rocking chair, hugging her knees to her chest. I closed the door behind me and sat down on the side of the bed. “Would you like to come help me get a teapot and a couple of cups? We can put Sleepy Time tea to the test.”
She shook her head. “I’m tired of life. I can’t keep fighting the voices in my head. And everybody always telling me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong. Life is hard. For everybody.”
“It’s harder for me than most people. I never know for sure when I’m telling the truth—when I just imagined doing something, and when I actually did it.”
“What I know to be true about you today, Amelia, is that you made the considerable effort to get from Denver to our house so that you could do us a big favor. I also know that, because of you, Lucas brought us a delicious meal. That you and he taught us a lovely dance that your brother and I will love having learned, and that, thanks to you, we will use that gift of yours on the most important and happiest day of our lives. Most of all, I know that Steve and I care about you and appreciate you for every single one of those things.”
“Really?” she asked quietly.
“Really.”
“I get so mad when I think about it. The drugs are what make me talk like this. They slow me down. I’m not stupid.”
“What happens when you aren’t taking your meds?”
“The voices tell me what to do. There’s this one voice that wonders why I keep trying. That’s the voice that makes it so hard for me to see my way out of this. I think I might have killed both men.”
What she was saying couldn’t be true. I couldn’t let myself even think that it might be. “You didn’t, Amelia. I’m sure that, if you did, you would remember. Those memories would have been as clear and real as when you taught us to dance.”
“I’m not sure that’s true, though, Erin. Remembering is like…looking through blurred glass. Sometimes memories look and feel a little different than my imagination, but both are still there. Drew and Fitz were killed. What if I did it, Erin? It’s not impossible.”
“Fitz’s murder was premeditated. The cyanide was brought to Audrey’s house. You couldn’t have even known Fitz was invited. It’s a thousand times more likely that you’re innocent.”
She nodded. “Let’s go get tea.” She stood up and led the way to the kitchen. Actually, as I quickly rehashed our conversation, my definitive statements proving Amelia’s innocence weren’t completely accurate. Fitz had been in touch with all the members of Steve’s family. He might have told Amelia he would be at the shower. Even if she had no idea he was coming, she could have brought poison to the party intending to kill Drew, only to use it on Fitz when he insisted on taking her necklace.
I sent up a silent prayer that, however this terrible business with Fitz and Drew’s murders wound up, Amelia would prove to be innocent.
The next morning, I returned to Audrey’s house while Steve drove his sister home. Hildi gave me her tail-flick brushoff on her way out her cat door, punishing me for leaving her for two nights in a row. Feeling blue, I nursed a cup of coffee at the kitchen counter, when Audrey entered and peered at me. “What’s wrong, Erin? Your bridesmaids are still arriving this afternoon, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” My two friends from Parsons were flying in from LaGuardia, and my maid of honor, a high school friend, was flying in from Boston. “But Steve and I had a fight last night, which his sister Amelia overheard. She wanted to leave because he was being so ungracious about her and Lucas teaching us a choreographed dance for our wedding.”
“Oh, dear. That was my fault.”
“It was a good idea, Audrey. It wasn’t your fault. Steve was angry about Drew’s murder and my being vulnerable to getting killed myself for asking too many questions about it. I was angry because I don’t get to have the wedding of my dreams, but rather a patched-back-together one, and because I wished he’d chosen a better best man to begin with.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Oh, no. That would be too easy. Much better to carry the weight of my anger around with me…to slip it on like an ugly, scratchy, wet sweater and feel sorry for myself.”
“Well. We all do that from time to time. Welcome to life on planet Earth.”
“Thanks. It’s a nice planet, overall.” I sighed. I was also annoyed that Steve never apologized. So much so that I allowed myself to act like a brat, unable to act upon my knowledge that it never matters who apologizes first, just so long as one person bridges that divide and lets mutual injuries be mended.
“He drove Amelia back to Denver,” I continued to complain to Audrey. “My parting words to him were: ‘I’ll see you on Saturday.’ As if he needed the reminder to attend our wedding. That’s about as lame as it gets.”
Audrey snorted. “I’ve been married three times. Trust me on this. That’s not even half of a pea in the soup of lame comments you’re going to say to your spouse at one point or another. And that, later, you’ll want to eat every bite of that pea soup.”
I grimaced at her analogy. “That is so not reassuring, Audrey.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll try again. ‘According to the Bible, love is not easily angered and does not keep track of its wrongs.’ But, Erin, your friends do keep track. I can assure you, at this juncture, you’re fifty points ahead of Steve on Audrey’s Scale of Goodness. I know Steve well enough to be confident that he would agree with me. In other words, no worries, my dear.”
I had to smile. “That’s because you’re only hearing my side of the story.”
“Nah.” She shrugged. “It’s because I am all-knowing.”
Later that evening, Mark Dunning rang the doorbell. I answered and was immediately ill at ease. So much so that I stared at him and didn’t even say hello. He was unshaven and his shirt and slacks looked rumpled. He was less attractive than ever, and as always, I was struck by what an odd pairing he and Michelle were.
“Erin, can we talk for a minute?”
I stood in the doorway, not wanting to let him in, yet torn. Part of me suspected he could be getting a bad rap that he didn’t deserve. It seemed too stupid for him to have killed Drew on his own front porch. Also, if they’d had an argument and Mark had lost his temper, how would he have gained access to Drew’s needle to give him an overdose?
“This isn’t a good time,” I told him. “We’re just about to sit down to eat.” That wasn’t strictly accurate, but we had been discussing the fact that one of us should be making dinner.
“Can we talk on your porch, at least?” Mark asked, his voice irritable.
“I…sure.” I stepped out beside him, letting just the outer door close behind me. I could get away from him in an instant. If he tried to jab me with a syringe, that is.
“You’ve got this whole thing exactly wrong, Erin. I am not battering my wife. Or my daughter. Or anyone.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t give Fitz cyanide, or Drew an overdose.”
“That’s good to hear. Thanks for stopping by and telling me that.”
“I want to show you something before it fades.” He started to roll up his sleeves. I glanced behind me to see if, by now, Audrey was watching us through the glass door. Indeed, she was.
“Take a gander at this.” Mark’s forearms were riddled with bruises.
“What happened to your arm?”
“Michelle pushed me down the stairs.”
“You can’t be serious,” I retorted.
“Oh, I’m serious, all right. That’s the irony
of the situation. She’s the one who hits me, yet I never laid a hand on her. But I’m the one who’ll wind up going to jail on bogus-spouse abuse charges.”
“I saw similar bruises on her arms.”
“She banged her arms repeatedly so that they’d bruise. She’s framing me.”
Or maybe he’d bruised his arms to frame her. “Mark, if you’re innocent, you won’t go to jail. And if you can prove your side of the story, you can bring charges against her.”
“That’s easy to say from where you’re standing, so nicely distanced. There’s never been a rat’s chance in hell that anybody would ever believe me. It was her all along. She’s the one who would hit me. She wanted to make me hit her back. She taunted me. We all know Amelia’s sick, but it’s really Michelle who is the bigger mental case. If I were you, I’d steer clear of the Sullivan family. Steve’s bound to have mental problems himself.”
“Mark,” I said, trying to keep my temper under control. “You’re not helping yourself.”
He spread his arms, which only made his pot belly more noticeable. “Why would I? Why would talking to you be any different from any other conversation I’ve ever had? That’s the story of my life. I rub people the wrong way. I fought my way up with no high school degree. I grew up in a trailer park. My background makes me good at my job. I understand alcohol from the bottom of the keg to the finest of scotches. Michelle is jealous and insecure. She turns into a witch when we’re alone. I’m only staying with her for Zoey’s sake. And the baby’s.”
“Where is Zoey right now?”
He averted his gaze, the muscles in his jaw working. His reaction gave me my answer; she was home with Zoey. I turned away and grabbed the doorknob. “If Michelle is an abuser, your first priority should be protecting Zoey. Always. Nothing I can do or say will help. Furthermore, I love Steve. However dysfunctional his family may be, I am marrying into it anyway.”
Mark snorted. “Funny. That’s exactly what I said to myself right before marrying Michelle. And look at us less than three years later.”
Chapter 28
Late the next morning, my phone rang. I jumped with joy when I saw that it was my maid of honor, Carly Friedman. She and my two bridesmaids were flying in today and renting a car from the airport. Mentally crossing my fingers with the hope that she was calling to say that she and our friends Rhonda and Rachel were here, safe and sound, I pressed my “talk” button. “Carly?” I said.
“Guess what? The town of Crestview is considerably less cool than it was a minute ago, now that we’re schlepping through.”
“You’re here!” I exclaimed. “Did your flight go well?”
“Meh. It took off and landed in the right airport. That’s all I ask. Rachel is driving as we speak.”
“Oh-my-god-Erin-you’re-getting-married!” I could hear Rachel cry.
“Happy day, Erin!” Rhonda said a moment later.
Overjoyed, my eyes misted. “I am so glad you guys are here!”
“We are, too. Although your texts and messages feel like they’re from a made-for-TV movie. What the what is going on!? The wedding planner, and now the best man? Is your wedding being managed by drug lords, or something?”
“Not intentionally. But…that’s close to the truth. Sadly.”
“So Steve didn’t realize his best man was seriously into drugs? Isn’t that a bit…unobservant of him?”
I grimaced and didn’t answer.
“It’s about time Steve joined the club,” Rhonda said, apparently bogarting Carly’s phone. “You’ve known that I’m an international weapons broker, Rachel’s a hooker, and that Carly’s a cattle poacher for years now, right?”
“Hey! It’s my turn to be the hooker,” I heard Carly object. “I’m letting you mind the livestock. Remember?”
I laughed. “Where are you exactly?”
“We’ve parked our rental car and are walking up to your house. And, oh, by the way, O.M.G. Nice digs!”
I dashed to the door and threw it open. There were Carly, Rhonda, and Rachel, heading up the front walkway. I literally hopped up and down in my excitement. We indulged in a group hug, then individual hugs, all of us chattering away as I invited them inside. We were acting like the teenagers we’d been when we’d first met, and none of us cared in the least if we were being a little overly loud and zealous in our greetings. Eventually the conversation rolled around to the house again, and I took them on a tour, reminding them that Audrey’s house didn’t belong to me.
“So, first things first, how is everything going with the wedding dress?” Rachel asked.
“I’m trying on the dress tomorrow to make sure it’s been fitted correctly.”
“Yay,” Carly said to Rhonda with a big smile, “she saved that for us.”
“Well, that and the fact that it won’t be ready until tomorrow.”
“This is something that I never understand,” Carly said. “You buy your wedding dress months before the event, you get measured, etcetera, and yet it’s invariably not ready until immediately before the wedding. What is happening to the dress in the meantime? Is every store employee taking it home for a couple of days?”
“My theory is that the dresses are where they’re supposed to be much earlier than they claim,” Rachel said. “They only want to make alterations once, though, and they’re afraid that wedding nerves lead to extreme fluctuations in the bride’s weight.”
“Let’s call the bridal shop and test your theory,” Carly said.
I told them the name of the place. Rhonda dialed the number and spoke with the clerk. She nodded, and lowered the phone to say, “Yep. It’s there.” Rachel was soon doing a victory dance, set to the lyrics: “I knew it! I knew it! I’m so smart….”
“Okay, so let’s go to the dress shop right now, then hit the bars,” Carly suggested.
The four of us were soon in my minivan, heading to the bridal store in the northwest suburbs of Denver. Carly joked that wished they could bring their bridesmaid dresses with them to the store, so that we could get the full effect. We had collectively opted to allow each of them to select and wear their own black cocktail dresses, and simply consult with one another via photos.
Upon our arrival, the four of us crowded into one of their oversized dressing room. I was nervous. My designated saleswoman went to fetch my dress. It had been insanely pricey, but Steve had insisted that I should not even look at price tags when I shopped. The strapless, shimmery gown had looked and felt as like a white orchid that had enclosed me in its embrace. Even so, a week or so after making the purchase, I had second thoughts, but they left me whenever I looked at the photograph of my selection. Every so often in the last several weeks, I repeated that sequence.
My heart was racing as the saleswoman approached with my dress. I realized then how wonderful it was to be anxious about something good, instead of feeling that my life was in jeopardy. All three of my friends were squealing with their approval.
“Wow, Erin!” Carly cried. “This is like a Hollywood star’s dress!”
“Feel how heavy the dress is,” Rachel said.
“That’s because the fabric is made from stardust,” Carly said.
“Would stardust be heavy?” Rhonda asked.
“Sure it is. It’s tiny sparkling…meteors. Or, well…. Let’s just go with that image,” Rachel said. “Put it on, Erin!”
A minute or so later, I was in the shimmery gown. Someone had zipped me up. At first I didn’t notice that the room had suddenly hushed; I was too focused on staring into the two-seventy mirror, feeling that once again the dress had transformed me into this glamorous sight that bore only a passing resemblance to my actual appearance.
“What do you think?” I asked, turning around once more. Rachel, Rhonda, and Carly were quietly crying, dabbing at their eyes with tissues. “You’re just so beautiful, Erin. I mean, holy crap!”
The saleswoman joined in with her own gushing, although that struck me as a basic job requirement. Soon they were usher
ing me out to step onto the raised platform to check the length with my shoes.
As we emerged from the dressing room, I thought for a moment that my eyes were deceiving me. But, no, unfortunately, Michelle was truly waiting for me right there in the bridal shop.
“Surprise,” she said. “I called your house, and Audrey told me where you were going. I was in the general area anyway, and couldn’t stay away. You look…absolutely stunning in that dress.”
“Thank you.” This was truly nice of her. It’s just that I wanted to be strictly the bride right now, marrying the man of her dream in three days.
“You’re more than welcome. I’m so proud of my little brother’s excellent taste.”
I introduced her to everyone, and she said, “I feel like I already know you. Erin’s told me how wonderful you are.”
“They are. And I’ve been woefully neglectful of all of them lately.”
“That’s true,” Rhonda said.
“Yeah, you’d think that you had a lot of things going on in your life, or something,” Carly scoffed.
“True,” I said. “And most of it was unexpected. I fully intend to make it up to you guys.” I had left out Michelle. “And to my sister-in-law.”
“Oh, you’ve already been way too attentive to me,” Michelle said. “I’m the one who kept dragging you away from your own wedding plans. Not to mention forcing Fitz on you. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
“He’d have done a fine job anyway, if he’d gotten the chance,” I said. Which was true. If he were to try to hit on my friends, they would have kept him in his place. Rhonda and Rachel were happily married. Carly was between boyfriends, but was nobody’s fool when it came to habitual flirts.
Not surprisingly, the reminder of Fitz and Drew lowered my spirits. A moment later, though, I was swept back into the buzz of the dress and being the center of attention. Michelle had effortlessly blended in with my friends. The saleswoman brought us champagne, and we let ourselves get swept into the bubbling joy of it all.
Still feeling high, we accepted Michelle’s offer to buy us a bottle of wine at the pub across the street. It was only a little after four, and we had no trouble finding an empty booth. “I don’t know about you all,” Rachel said, “but I’m voting to go with white. I don’t want to spill red wine all over myself…and Erin.”
