Terror in Taffeta

by Marla Cooper

  The guests filed out, glancing back to see me hovering over Dana while trying my best to look upbeat. Once they were all safely outside, I felt Dana’s wrist. I couldn’t find anything, but then again, I wasn’t an experienced pulse taker.

  This could not be happening. I frantically felt up and down her forearm, but all I could feel was my own heart thudding in my chest.

  “Dana, come on, wake up,” I said, shaking her slightly. She didn’t move.

  I lifted one of her eyelids, not sure what I was looking for, and was greeted with an empty gaze.

  Father Villarreal returned from closing the church doors with a questioning look on his face. “Enferma?”

  Stunned, I shook my head as I sank down onto the floor.

  “No, I—I think she’s dead.”

  CHAPTER 2

  When it comes to weddings, there are emergencies, and then there are emergencies. Having a trio show up when you were expecting a quartet? Unfortunate, but salvageable. Finding out the bakery accidentally sent a Styrofoam dummy cake to the reception? Pretty disappointing, but still not an emergency. Wedding dress catching fire? Okay, I suppose that would be an emergency—but still nothing compared to what I was dealing with now.

  Because this was more than just an emergency. This was without a doubt the worst thing I’d ever had happen at a wedding. I mean, I’d thought through some pretty dire scenarios and figured out what I’d do—like if the bride got cold feet and bolted in the middle of the ceremony—but I could never have anticipated a tragedy like this.

  Father Villarreal had called the paramedics, and they’d arrived quickly. They worked at trying to revive Dana, but after several minutes of performing CPR, one of them looked up at Father Villarreal and shook his head, the universal sign for “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do.”

  I stood there frozen as Father Villarreal knelt over Dana’s lifeless body. He made the sign of the cross, then whispered a prayer in Spanish.

  The room was silent as the paramedics packed away their equipment.

  “What happened?” I whispered.

  Father Villarreal spoke to the paramedics, then turned back to me. “They don’t know. Is there a family member we should contact?”

  I wrapped my arms around myself and shuddered. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask Nicole.”

  Nicole. She didn’t know yet, and I was going to have to tell her. I dreaded having to ruin the party with this awful news, but there was no way around it. I watched numbly as the paramedics strapped Dana onto the stretcher and wheeled her down the aisle.

  After they left, I retreated to the back of the church and collected my belongings as well as a few things the bridesmaids had left behind. I was loaded up like a packhorse and already way too exhausted to think, but the guests would be arriving at the reception, and I needed to break the bad news.

  By the time I got to the Instituto Allende, the party was in full swing. Nicole and Vince were posing for family photos with the Morenos, including Vince’s parents, his sister, and two rambunctious toddlers who couldn’t stop squirming long enough for Brody to get a shot. Not wanting to interrupt, I waited patiently for them to finish so I could talk to the bride and groom.

  “There you are,” said Mrs. Abernathy, swooping in out of nowhere and steering me away from the crowd. “Now, I’ve made a few last-minute changes to the seating arrangements and—”

  “Mrs. Abernathy,” I interrupted. “That’s not important. I—”

  “Well,” she huffed. “I would think you’d want to make sure your guest of honor is happy.” I had a feeling she meant herself rather than Nicole.

  “Jeanette, listen to me.” That did the trick. Mrs. Abernathy looked as shocked as if I’d tossed a glass of sangria onto her meticulously tailored mother-of-the-bride dress—a champagne-colored designer gown that, by the way, would have looked perfectly at home at a society gala.

  “Mrs. Abernathy, I’ve got some bad news.”

  “Is it about the caterers? I knew they weren’t up for the job.”

  “No.” I jumped in before she could build up another head of steam. “It’s about Dana.”

  “Oh, her. Listen, darling, there’s simply not room at the head table, and she was a last-minute addition. Surely she’ll understand.”

  “Mrs. Abernathy, she’s not going to be sitting at the head table.”

  “That’s right. I’ve got a nice little spot for her right over—”

  “She’s not going to be sitting at any table. Dana’s dead.”

  “Dead? Why, whatever for?”

  I stared at her while the message sunk in.

  “You mean dead dead?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh, dear. That’s unfortunate,” she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose while she processed the information. “Well, okay, that means there’s an extra space at table twelve.”

  Was she serious? A bridesmaid was dead and all she cared about was the seating chart?

  “I’m sorry, Kelsey, not to be callous, but I haven’t seen the girl in ten years. And standing here yapping about it isn’t going to make her any more alive, is it? We’ve got hungry guests!”

  There it was, then. She’d spent quite a chunk of money on this event, and she wasn’t going to let the small matter of a death put a damper on things.

  “Okay, well, do you want to tell Nicole, or should I?” Please say you’ll do it, please say you’ll do it.

  She stared at me, puzzled. “I don’t see any reason either of us should tell her, at least not right this minute.”

  “We have to tell her!” I exclaimed. “I mean, don’t we?” I didn’t want to do it any more than she did, but it seemed wrong to withhold the information.

  “It will just ruin her night. Besides, that girl will still be dead tomorrow, right? And it’s not like they were best friends or anything. You need to just let it be.” And with that, she turned back to her guests, beaming, and began air-kissing a stream of well-wishers who had come over to offer their congratulations.

  I looked around for Brody. He’d know what to do.

  Brody Marx was an amazing wedding photographer and one of my best friends in San Francisco. We’d worked together for several years, and I always tried to get him hired when I could. Not that it was difficult. Good, reliable photographers are hard to come by, and you really don’t want to try to track down photos in another country after you’ve flown back home to your own. Most brides agreed that it was worth the small extra expense to fly him in, and it was always nice to have a familiar face among all the chaos.

  Thanks to his height—he’s just north of six feet tall—I was able to pick him out easily in the crowd. He spotted me as I made my way over to him, and his face broke out into a big, broad grin. “Kelsey! There you are. Hey, is Dana feeling better? We wanted to get some group shots.”

  “Can I talk to you?” I whispered.

  “Sure,” he said, holding up a just-one-minute finger to Nicole and Vince.

  I pulled him through a nearby archway into a quiet corridor.

  “Brody, Dana isn’t sick. She’s dead!”

  “What?” He stared into my eyes to make sure I wasn’t joking.

  “I thought she’d fainted, but she never got back up.”

  “That’s terrible! What are you going to do?”

  “Mrs. Abernathy said I’m not supposed to tell Nicole, but I have to tell her, right?”

  “Hmmm,” he said. “What would Emily Post do?”

  “I don’t know!” I snapped. “I skipped that chapter.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, sensing correctly that whatever he was about to say should be kept to himself.

  “Sorry,” I said. “You know how I get when I’m stressed. Oh, man, look at her.”

  Across the room, Nicole and Vince chatted with some guests. Vince said something and she threw her head back and laughed. The radiant bride. It’s a cliché for a reason.

  Brody shook his head. “She lo
oks so happy.”

  “I know,” I said. “I hate the thought of taking that away from her.”

  “Well, Mrs. Abernathy told you not to say anything, and she’s the one paying the bills for this shindig. I say keep your mouth shut. You can always blame her later.”

  I nodded in agreement. It wasn’t the best plan. But it would have to do.

  * * *

  I hadn’t had a bite to eat all night long, so I headed toward the kitchen to see if I could wrangle some leftovers out of the caterer, whose snapper Veracruz had been the talk of the evening.

  “Ah, Miss Kelsey!” he exclaimed as I walked into the kitchen. “How did you enjoy dinner?”

  “It looked amazing, but it’s been crazy out there and I didn’t get a bite. Can you help a girl out?”

  “For you, señorita? Of course. Let me see what I can put together.”

  As he buzzed around the kitchen, clanging lids and scavenging for leftovers, I peeked out to gauge how much longer we should wait before we cut the cake. Surely no one would notice if I disappeared for ten minutes. I needed a moment alone so I could figure out what to do.

  “Here you are,” he said, handing me a steaming plate that he’d warmed up for me. “There’s plenty left, so come see me if you’re still hungry.”

  “Thanks—I owe you one,” I said gratefully, taking the food and heading back into the courtyard.

  The bridesmaids, having gotten a few cocktails in them, were getting boisterous. “Kelsey, come dance with us!” Zoe yelled as she kicked off her shoes and ditched them under a chair.

  “Yeah,” Claire chimed in. She shimmied her way over to me and tried to drag me onto the dance floor. “C’mon!”

  “I have to check on the cake,” I replied, plastering a convincing smile onto my face. “I’ll join you in just a bit!”

  “Okay,” Zoe said, “but as soon as you’re done, get your butt back over here!”

  I smiled and waved, sure she’d forget I existed as soon as I was out of sight. The girls danced away, and I made a U-turn toward the stairs to the second floor. I needed to get some food in me and I needed time to think, but before I could make it to the walkway, one of the groomsmen intercepted me.

  “Kelsey,” he said. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure, Trevor—give me a few minutes and I’ll be right back,” I said, trying to breeze past him before he stopped my momentum.

  “No, it’s important.” He grabbed my arm, coming dangerously close to upending my dinner plate. Didn’t he know not to stand in the way of a woman with blood sugar issues? My stomach growled at him menacingly.

  “Okay, what’s up?”

  “I wanted to ask you about Dana.”

  My stomach dropped. “Oh, um, yeah?”

  “How is she?”

  “Oh, are you two friends?” I said, trying to keep my facial expression neutral. Okay, so I was stalling, but I hadn’t seen the two of them even speak a word to each other all weekend. Then again, it wasn’t unusual for groomsmen to inquire about the other members of the wedding party. Hooking up with bridesmaids was part of their unwritten duty.

  “We’ve met,” he said noncommittally.

  Well, of course they’d met, but how well did he know her? Was he going to push me for answers?

  “I’m not sure where she is right now,” I said, which was very true.

  “Is she okay?” he prodded. “She didn’t look too good.”

  “Too much heat.” I waved my hand casually. “Happens all the time.”

  “But I haven’t seen her since the ceremony. How was she feeling when you left? Is she coming back to the party?”

  My vague-but-truthful comments weren’t satisfying him. I quickly weighed which would send me to hell faster: lying or letting Nicole find out from someone else that she was short a bridesmaid.

  Deciding to go the lying route, I plastered a smile on my face. “She’s absolutely fine. She’s just had a lot of excitement. She’s back at the villa. In fact, I’m taking her this plate so she can eat something. So if you’ll excuse me…”

  Trevor stared after me as I darted away. I’d tried to sound convincing, but I’m no Meryl Streep. At least I hadn’t cracked under the pressure.

  Away from the crowd at last, I scarfed down a few bites and tried to formulate a plan. I needed to tell Nicole before she found out on her own, but when? How? This was so not part of my job description.

  I still didn’t have a plan, but having something to digest improved my mood dramatically. I steeled myself for a moment before I reentered the fray. Everyone looked like they were having fun; at least I had that going for me. Brody spotted me across the courtyard and worked his way through the guests. “Rough night, huh?” he asked.

  “I’ll say. I’ve never lost a bridesmaid before.” I stared off, lost in thought. “Although I did lose a flower girl once.”

  Brody stared at me, aghast. “You did? That’s horrible!”

  “What? Oh, no, it wasn’t like that. We found her in the garden, poking at a ladybug. Totally ruined the dress, though.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  We watched the happy guests gathered in the courtyard, oblivious to Dana’s absence. “I really should get back out there, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this fake smiling.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Brody said. “You’re doing the best you can under the circumstances.”

  “I know.” I shook my head. “But I have to get it together. I’ve been hiding from Nicole all night because I’m afraid she’ll see right through me, but avoiding the bride is kind of a wedding-planner no-no.”

  “Hang in there,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing. “We’ve only got a couple more hours.”

  “Thanks. Now get out of here. Don’t you have to go get a picture of the dad with his empty pockets turned inside out or something?”

  “Ouch!” he replied. “That hurts.”

  “And that,” I said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, “is my cue to have them cut the cake!”

  As I headed over toward Nicole, I passed Zoe and Claire chatting amiably with the best man, Ryan McGuire, at one of the eight-top rounds.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time to cut the cake.”

  “Okay,” Zoe said, grabbing her drink from the table and slurping up the last of it. “I don’t suppose Dana is going to grace us with her presence?”

  I shook my head, smile frozen in place to keep my face from betraying anything.

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe she’s being such a drama queen. I knew she’d mess things up for Nicole.”

  “Please don’t be mad at Dana,” I said, thinking how bad Zoe would feel when she found out the real reason for Dana’s absence.

  “Well, good riddance,” said Zoe. Claire nodded in agreement.

  Ouch. “Okay, well, let’s go finish things up and I’m sure tomorrow—”

  “We’re six minutes past cake-cutting time.” Mrs. Abernathy appeared out of nowhere, a particular talent of hers that I’d only just realized. “If we’re going to be delayed, Kelsey, I certainly hope it’s not because you’re partying with the bridesmaids.”

  “I’m not partying with anyone,” I said. “I’m working.”

  “Well, that couldn’t possibly be true, or we wouldn’t be six minutes past cake-cutting time. I’m sorry: seven minutes.”

  Oh, why had I given her the schedule?

  “No, yes, of course,” I said, pushing Zoe and Claire in front of me, partly to point them toward the cake but mostly to put them between me and the mother of the bride.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Abernathy said, glancing down at the bridesmaids’ bare feet. “Girls, put your shoes on. This is a wedding, not a hoedown.”

  Two minutes later—making us nine minutes late, which I considered a victory overall—Nicole and Vince pulled off their cake-cutting duties admirably, neither one smushing fondant into the other’s face. Not that they would
have dared, as Mrs. Abernathy had warned them more than a few times that it was uncouth.

  As the servers passed around the wedding cake, Nicole pulled me aside.

  “Hey, Kelsey, where’s Dana? Is she okay?”

  That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. The statute of limitations on mother-of-the-bride threats had just run out.

  “Nicole, can we talk for a second?”

  “Sure,” she said, looking concerned. We tried to duck out unnoticed, but an overly cheery voice interrupted our trajectory.

  “There you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Abernathy.

  “We’ve been here all along, Mom.”

  “Isn’t this cake to die for?” she said, taking Nicole by the arm.

  Okay, seriously? She was going to go there?

  “Mom, Kelsey and I are going to step outside for a second—”

  “Nonsense, darling! Your guests are starting to leave, and we simply must do the sparklers before everyone’s gone.”

  “But, Mom, I asked Kelsey about Dana and—”

  “Oh, yes, dear, Dana is sleeping. She even asked us to bring her a plate earlier, isn’t that right, Kelsey?”

  The evil eye Mrs. Abernathy gave me as she patted her daughter on the cheek had me rooted to the spot.

  Oblivious to any tension, Mr. Abernathy approached, beaming at his daughter. “There are my two girls! Great job, Kelsey. What are you ladies gabbing about?”

  “Nothing, darling,” Mrs. Abernathy cooed at her husband. “Nothing at all.”

  CHAPTER 3

  When my cell phone started sounding wake-up marimbas the next morning, I chucked it across the room. But when the church bells of La Parroquia started clanging every fifteen minutes, there was nothing I could do but pull a pillow over my head.

  I hadn’t slept more than two hours all night because I couldn’t stop replaying the events of the evening in my mind. I burrowed down into the covers, but an insistent knock on my bedroom door sent me hurtling out of bed.

  “You in there?”

  Thank God. It was only Brody. I padded across the chilly, Saltillo-tile floor and opened the door to find him greeting me with an extra-large mug of café con leche.