White Wedding

by Jean Barrett

  “Then this doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Not by itself,” he agreed. “There’s more.”

  He drew her on through the garden in the direction of the chapel. Then he stopped again, indicating in the snow a rust-colored spatter. Lane stared at the stain, then at Jack.

  “Blood?”

  “I think so.”

  “It could be from a wounded animal.”

  “Or a wounded human.”

  “What human?” she asked, though she knew before he told her.

  “Teddy Brewster. I don’t think he was killed down in the cave. That’s just where he was dumped afterward. I think he was killed out here, maybe after he tried to hide from his murderer under the cedar back there.”

  “That’s a pretty farfetched theory.”

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Not when you add up the evidence. There was no sign of any conflict in the cave, only the body neatly placed there. Besides, cedars don’t grow in caves.”

  “Meaning?”

  “There were needles sticking to the florist’s legs. Dried cedar fronds, to be exact.”

  It didn’t surprise her that Jack should have been so observant during their discovery of the body. The rest of them had been oblivious to anything but their shock. Jack’s profession and his self-control, however, had trained him not to miss any detail, no matter how emotional the situation.

  “Which,” she realized, “brought you out here this morning.”

  “Well, it did seem logical to look where cedars are growing in abundance.”

  Lane lifted her gaze from the spatter in the snow and looked back at the topiary garden. Jack was right. She knew he was right. Teddy Brewster had been killed out here. She had felt something like this from the moment she had first glimpsed the garden. That it was a bad place. That something had happened here that made her flesh crawl.

  And Hale? Was this an explanation for his morbid fascination with the garden? Or, unlike her, had he more than just sensed evil? Had he known?

  “But if it did happen like that,” Lane asked, “what does it prove?”

  Jack’s compelling blue eyes narrowed. “That the florist didn’t die simply because he violated a sacred cave. That his murder is probably something far more complicated than that. And maybe involving more individuals than the victim and his killer.”

  There was an ominous certainty in his tone that made Lane tremble with dread.

  * * *

  “SOMETHING IS WRONG!”

  It was Dan who spoke. Startled by his abrupt assertion, they turned their heads to gaze at him. He was looking at the painted grandfather clock in the corner.

  “Almost four hours since Nils left here,” he said, his concern evident in his affable face. “He should have reached the mainland. The sheriff should have gotten to us by now.”

  They were gathered in the lounge, all of them except Chris, who was out collecting more wood for the fires, and Allison, who was in the kitchen with Dorothy arranging for lunch. Anxious about the weather, they had grouped themselves in front of the television set. The reception was poor, but they were finally able to hear a forecast. The report wasn’t encouraging. The ferocious winds were expected to continue through the day and into tomorrow.

  It was Jack who lowered the volume on the TV, then answered Dan. “Be reasonable, Whitney. The man is dealing with blinding conditions out there. His pickup is going to have to crawl every inch of the way back to Ephraim.”

  “Four hours is a lot of crawling,” Hale muttered.

  “Well, possibly he has reached the other side and reported the situation,” Jack maintained. “That leaves the sheriff and his people having to figure out a way to get to us. Could be he refuses to try until the wind eases. With the phone here still useless, we can’t know.”

  “Police chopper,” Stuart offered.

  Jack looked doubtful. “Maybe, or under these circumstances maybe not.”

  “Which means we have no choice but to go on waiting,” Ronnie complained, expressing the restlessness all of them were increasingly experiencing.

  “There is a choice,” Dan insisted, leaning forward in his chair. “I know that ice almost as well as Nils. I have my cross-country skis and the ability to use them. I think I should go after him.”

  Jack responded to his proposal with a dry but emphatic reply. “You don’t strike me as the suicidal type, Your Honor. If Nils did encounter trouble, or lost his way, one man on his own in a whiteout situation, and with no vehicle under him, isn’t going to help. We don’t need two missing people out there.”

  Missing. It was that one word that stuck in Lane’s mind and made her feel sick as she sat silently listening to the exchange. She pictured the treacherous ice and the gaps of open water around which the sleighs had carefully detoured in yesterday’s crossing. There had been a perfect visibility then. Today there were those whirlwinds of lifted snow, like sandstorms in a desert. What if Nils had lost his way? What if the truck had gone under?

  She was surprised when Hale ended up agreeing with Jack. “I suppose Donovan’s right. We need to sit tight and wait it out. This wind has to quit sometime.”

  Lane expected a further argument from Dan, but he sat back in his chair, accepting the general opinion that Nils should be trusted to fulfill his promise.

  Ronnie might be as willing as the others to acknowledge a logical delay, but she didn’t like it. Lane could see that she was clearly bored. Only one thing interested her. Jack.

  Lane, with a mixture of amusement and sympathy, watched the older woman snatch another opportunity to corner her hapless ex-husband. Slipping out of the room, Ronnie was back in seconds, triumphantly bearing a thick volume.

  “Look what I found on the shelves after breakfast,” she purred. “Dinosaurs!”

  Not waiting for an invitation, she perched herself seductively on the arm of Jack’s chair. Before he could object, she had placed the open book in his lap and was leaning over him. He was effectively trapped.

  “Educate me, Jack,” she implored. “Tell me all about these fabulous beasts of yours.”

  There was one thing you had to admire about her maneuvers, Lane thought. They weren’t subtle, but they were relentless.

  Actually, she was rather grateful for Ronnie’s direct attack. In her own restlessness, Lane had been waiting for a chance to slip away from the lounge unnoticed. She was frankly curious about this guesthouse that Jack was occupying. With Ronnie keeping him busy, she could glimpse the place without the risk of encountering him. She wasn’t forgetting that he was determined to have that private and personal talk with her. He could have tried for it again out in the topiary garden earlier, but the subject of murder had made the moment inappropriate. Well, she was just as determined to avoid the talk.

  The others were focusing on the TV again as Lane stole out of the room. She had left her coat hanging in the foyer. Slipping into it, she left the house by way of the front door with its ponderous iron hardware. The sun was shining through a haze as she followed the flagged path in the direction of the guesthouse, which was situated off the service wing of the lodge opposite the Viking hall and topiary garden.

  She saw the place as she rounded the corner of the house. Tucked in its own small clearing, it was as charming as a fairy-tale cottage with its stout stone walls and narrow windows. The path she traveled wasn’t the direct route. A convenient access was provided by an open arcade linking the guesthouse with the lodge. Lane could see one end of this covered passageway as she approached through the ragged evergreens.

  She had no intention of trying to enter the tiny house. It was Jack’s domain this weekend, and she meant to keep it that way. In fact, she refused to believe that her interest in the place was in any way connected with its current occupant. Then why, mocked an irksome little voice inside her, did you bother to come out here at all?

  Silencing that voice, she neared the steps that mounted to one of the stone arches of the arcade. That was when she noticed that t
he raised walkway wasn’t deserted. At the lodge end of the passage, sheltered in a shadowy corner that protected them from the gusting winds off the bay, as well as any chance observation from the house, were two people sharing an intense moment.

  Allison was not in the kitchen, and Chris Beaver was not hauling firewood. They were here together on the arcade.

  Lane hadn’t caught them in anything so obvious as an embrace. But there was an intimacy about their togetherness that was unmistakable. There was also a stormy emotion in the scene. She couldn’t hear any of their conver- sation from her position, and didn’t want to, but it was evident that they were quarreling again. There was as much passion in that exchange as a guilty kiss.

  Before Lane could retreat, Chris flung himself away from Allison and strode out of sight where the arcade turned at the corner of the house. Lane glimpsed the grim expression on his face before he disappeared, leaving a distraught Allison staring after him.

  Lane hoped she could back away through the evergreens before Allison discovered her presence. These intrusions on private moments, no matter how accidental, were getting downright embarrassing. But Allison saw her before she could escape. She seemed relieved rather than displeased, and motioned for Lane to join her. Lane went reluctantly.

  “I could use a friendly shoulder right about now,” Allison confessed when Lane reached her.

  “It’s yours.”

  The tall blonde turned her head, gazing silently for a moment toward the ice-locked bay. Lane could feel her frustration.

  Allison glanced at her again. “Would you be cold if we sat for a few minutes?”

  Lane shook her head, and they settled side by side on the low stone wall. Unlike yesterday afternoon, Allison was prepared to talk. Needed to talk. Lane was more than willing to be there for her.

  “You know, don’t you?” she began. “About Chris and me, I mean.”

  “It’s...been kind of apparent,” Lane confessed.

  Allison nodded. “I should have confided in you before this. I meant to, but—” She stopped, then changed her approach. “You know, I’ve always admired you, Lane. I mean, your evenness and how you always seem to know your direction and purpose.”

  Lane was astonished. “I wish I did have it all together like that. I don’t. But is that why you didn’t tell me?”

  “Well, it’s harder to talk to someone you imagine has her life in perfect order. But the major reason is because I was concentrating on putting it behind me. I was trying not to think about it, much less talk about it. I thought I’d managed to do just that.” She laughed. An unhappy laugh. “Until yesterday, that is. The minute I saw Chris here I knew it wasn’t finished. Probably will never be finished.”

  “You love him,” Lane said gently.

  “Wildly,” she admitted.

  “When did...?”

  “Oh, we’ve been friends since we were kids, and I spent all my summers up here. But this past summer was different. Things just...exploded for us. It was fantastic, Lane.” Her eyes glowed at the memory.

  “Does he feel the same about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why...?”

  “A lot of things. My damn money is one of them, of course. I love him because he’s so proud and stubborn, but those are the very qualities that are keeping us apart. He’s convinced that we come from two different worlds and that makes it hopeless. I think he’s wrong. I think we could have worked it out. The thing is, there’s this other complication.”

  Allison hesitated at this point. Lane could see that she was uncertain about revealing the rest. She didn’t urge her. She waited patiently for her friend to decide whether she could trust herself to continue.

  “This part isn’t easy,” she finally went on. “Especially after what happened here last night.”

  “If it’s a sensitive subject...”

  “It is, but I want you to understand. You see, there’s this other conflict because of something else that was happening with Chris last summer.”

  “Yes?”

  “He and his brother, Mike, started to discover their tribal heritage. Before that I don’t think it much mattered to Chris one way or another whether he was a Menominee. Actually, I encouraged him. I thought it was wonderful that he wanted to get in touch with his roots, to learn and respect all the old ways of his people. And if that was all it was...”

  “But it didn’t stop there,” Lane guessed.

  She shook her head, looking even more miserable. “It just seems that overnight he became this activist speaking out about injustices. That’s not wrong, but when you become militant about it...”

  “How militant?”

  “Nothing very alarming at first. There was a quarrel or two in this tavern he and Mike sometimes go to. Chris can be hot tempered. I guess you noticed that.”

  “But solid and loving underneath,” Lane contributed.

  “All of that and more,” Allison agreed, brightening over her friend’s defense of the man she loved. Then she frowned as another memory surfaced.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “Trouble,” Allison admitted. “It started when some vacant land on the peninsula was sold. The new owner was planning to develop it. There’s a certain spot on the property that’s sacred to the Menominee. Something called a Spirit Rock. It’s always been unofficially respected and protected.”

  “And the developer was going to violate that?”

  “He wanted to relocate the rock, not destroy it. He was legally entitled to do that. Chris and Mike were furious. In protest, they camped on the spot and performed a Dream Dance. It’s something to do with an old Menominee cult. They resisted removal and were arrested for trespassing. The case came up before Dan. He did his best to resolve it, but after that Chris was never the same. The event just seemed to put an impossible barrier between us.”

  Last night in the foyer, Lane remembered, she had overheard Dan reminding his cousin of the Dream Dance and its unlikely but possible implications with Teddy’s death. The reference had made no sense to Lane then. Now she understood.

  “In the end,” Allison added, “I had no choice but to try to get over Chris. You can see how well I’ve succeeded. The worst of it is, I insisted on having the wedding here. I think I was trying to prove to myself that I could get married on the island without feeling a thing about last summer. Now it’s all gone wrong in the worst possible way.”

  There was a long silence between them, and then Lane dared to ask, “Allison, why on earth are you marrying Hale?”

  Her friend shrugged. “I convinced myself I was in love with him, that we had everything in common and that Chris was behind me. It’s a mess.”

  Lane wished she had the right to tell Allison the truth about Hale and the daughter he refused to acknowledge. It was something she couldn’t bring herself to mention. Not yet. She could only trust that, by now, Allison must realize the kind of man Hale was and that she wouldn’t pursue this marriage.

  She laid a comforting hand on Allison’s arm. “It’s trite to tell somebody it will all work out, but I’m confident that it will. It just needs time.”

  Allison’s shoulders slumped. “I wish I could believe that. But the only thing I’m certain of right now is that Chris had nothing to do with Teddy Brewster’s death.”

  Lane hoped she was right. But where human nature was concerned, she knew that anything was possible. Including murder.

  * * *

  AT ONE O’CLOCK they collected in the dining room to eat a lunch none of them had an appetite for. Two of the party were missing. Jack and Dan.

  Dorothy, standing by to serve them, offered an explanation for Jack’s absence. “Dr. Donovan asked to be excused. He took a sandwich with him out to his room. Said he had this paper he had to work on for a journal.”

  Lane wondered about that. Ronnie looked so disappointed over his absence that she suspected Jack was deliberately hiding out in the guesthouse to avoid the woman. If that w
as true, she didn’t blame him. Or had he another reason for not being here?

  “What about Dan?” Hale asked.

  They looked to Dorothy for a further explanation. She shook her head. “The judge was on his way to his room when I mentioned to him lunch would be at one. That was some time ago. I suppose he’s forgotten.”

  “Stuie,” his mother commanded, “go up and call him. Tell him we’re all waiting.”

  Stuart assumed his familiar mutinous expression. “Why do I always get targeted to be the gofer?”

  “Don’t argue, just do it,” his brother insisted.

  The teenager, muttering under his breath, slouched out of the room. They settled themselves around the table as they waited for his return. Dorothy remained standing at the sideboard, her face impassive. But Lane knew she had to be deeply concerned about her husband.

  There was impatience in the dining room over Stuart’s delay. What was keeping him and Dan?

  Moments later they heard the youth pounding down the stairs. He appeared in the archway between the lounge and the dining room, announcing flatly to the expectant company, “Gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?” Ronnie demanded. “If Judge Whitney isn’t in his room, then where is he?”

  “Bye-bye.” Stuart grinned as he held up a note, waving it at them. “This was propped on his bed waiting for one of us to find it.”

  Hale came to his feet and snatched the note out of his brother’s hand. He scanned its contents, frowning.

  “Share it with us,” Allison urged, a tenseness in her face.

  Hale read Dan’s brief note aloud. “I’ll be on my skis and under way when you get this. Sorry, everyone. I know this is something you all voted against my doing, but I just had to go. I’m worried about Nils. I’m worried about all of us.”

  There was silence when Hale finished. It was Allison who finally offered quickly, “He’ll be all right. He can make it. Dan is wonderful on those skis.”

  Lane could hear a forced quality in the brightness of her assurance.

  Lunch was a quiet, awkward affair. They didn’t discuss Dan or their predicament, but Lane was aware that everyone at the table was thinking of both and that no one could forget the body in the cave. It seemed almost indecent, she thought, to be sitting here eating spinach quiche.