Weddings & Wine Cake

by Nancy McGovern

  “Er…I’m sure it would look very nice on you,” Rachel said. There were no price tags anywhere and she really wanted to know how much these pieces of artwork cost. She had a feeling she’d have to mortgage her house to afford them.

  Valentina smiled. “Go on, pick one, will you? We’ve got a busy day ahead of us — a private dinner with my favorite stand-up comedian and actress, then dinner on the yacht, and then back home. Nothing too fancy.”

  Nothing too fancy indeed. Rachel had to keep herself from bursting out in laughter. Valentina was so completely at home in this world. Rachel found herself staring at her father’s fiancé, trying to decode her. Completely at home dropping thousands on a dress, or dining on a private yacht and, yet, sensitive enough that she’d wanted her own grandmother to bake her wedding cake. Who was Valentina, exactly? And what the heck was she doing with Rachel’s father?

  Before she knew it, Valentina had pushed her into a dressing room with a black polka-dotted dress that was impossibly stylish. Rachel stared at herself, blinking.

  “Remember, it’s my bachelorette so this is absolutely my treat,” Valentina said, popping her head into the dressing room. “Oh, wow! You look gorgeous, Rachel. Wait, let me get you this cute jacket I saw...”

  Rachel found all her protests over-ridden. She was made to try at least twenty dresses and, when they walked out of the store, she was transformed. New sunglasses, new dress, new shoes. New earrings even. Valentina had bought them all without even allowing Rachel a word of protest. And without even taking out her credit card. Apparently, her name was enough.

  “And now, let the real fun begin!” Denise smiled. “Come on, girls! Time’s a wasting.”

  *****

  Chapter 7

  Gunshots

  They landed back on the island near midnight, slightly tipsy and very much happy. Rachel had had an incredibly good time. Valentina and Denise had never once talked down to her or ignored her. Instead, they’d kept up a stream of hilarious anecdotes from their time together in college until Rachel almost felt as though she’d been there, too. Valentina talked about how Denise had helped get her an internship in the firm, thus indirectly introducing her to Rachel’s father.

  “It was love at first sight for me,” Valentina gushed. “He’s so charming and handsome, but boyish, you know? Like Hugh Grant, kind of.”

  “Well, he’s always just been Dad to me,” Rachel said.

  “You should see him at work — so dynamic and focused, but always witty and ready with a joke. I fell in love even more as we worked together. I was so excited when Denise finally set me up on a date with him.” Valentina smiled. “Now, here we are...”

  “And you, Denise?” Rachel asked. “How did you first meet Leon?”

  “Oh, my family’s had him as our wealth manager for years now,” Denise said with a little laugh. “He never really noticed me till I turned 22. He was at our college graduation, for some reason. Then suddenly, he was after me like a tiger after a zebra, or whatever tigers eat! The point is, Leon is one determined man. What he wants, he gets.”

  Now, with the stars twinkling high above her and the moon shining silver on the waves, Rachel made her way back to her cottage, wondering at the differences between the relationships. Valentina had talked about Rachel’s father as though she genuinely loved him, whereas Denise had sounded disinterested and bored with Leon. Rachel couldn’t help noticing, too, the way Denise had been flirting all night with a cute Scandinavian waiter on the yacht. She’d even vanished for fifteen minutes with him. Valentina had seen this, but hadn’t said a word, even though disapproval was written all over her face.

  The cottage windows were one-way and, although she could see yellow light blazing inside, she couldn’t tell whether Scott was there. She rang the doorbell and he opened up immediately, one hand grasping a book with his thumb as a bookmark.

  “You won’t believe the day I had,” Rachel said.

  “Did it involve shooting at targets, playing virtual reality games and drinking unhealthy amounts of champagne?” Scott grinned. “Coz that was my day. That big house in the center of the island is a real live man cave. It was amazing!”

  “Was my Dad…did he…” Rachel hesitated, remembering the events of the morning. They seemed so far away now.

  “Don’t worry. They were all very nice to me,” Scott said. “Though Leon got testy when he found out I was better at Starship Nine than him.”

  “Nerd,” Rachel teased. But a large load seemed to evaporate from her shoulders. Whatever her father may think of Scott, at least he wasn’t going to be rude. Thankfully.

  “By the way, while I was gone, someone delivered these packages,” Scott said, pointing to a pile of fancily wrapped boxes by the door.

  “Wha—”

  “Somehow, your father and Valentina got hold of your measurements and now you possess a new wardrobe,” Scott said. His voice was light, but his face was a little tight. “Check out this note.”

  “Rachel. I know you’re not a big fan of extravagance, but I’m the bride and what I say goes. Consider this my gift! I hope you will enjoy. And I’ll be very hurt if you even talk of returning them.”

  Rachel went through the boxes and shook her head in silent awe. “I can’t accept this. This is way too much!”

  “Valentina’s trying really hard to make you like her, isn’t she?” Scott asked. He had the ghost of a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

  “It feels more like a bribe to me,” Rachel said, her mouth turning a little firm. “Scott, you know I can’t take this.”

  “I know that if you don’t, you’ll insult Valentina, possibly cause a row at your father’s wedding and create a mess where there doesn’t need to be one.”

  “You don’t understand,” Rachel said. “These boxes, they’re hundreds, if not thousands of dollars worth of clothes. I couldn’t—”

  “To Valentina, they’re the equivalent of a Starbucks Venti, right?” Scott asked. “She’s trying to be nice, Rachel. Let her. It won’t bankrupt her, not even close.”

  “So you found out.” Rachel frowned. “About her wealth.”

  “Hard to miss it. Dr Gomez only stayed with us a little while, but your father and his partners were downright deferential. It was mentioned that the family is a new and important client for your father’s firm,” Scott said.

  “I don’t like it,” Rachel said. “Any of it. The flashiness, the underground vein of politics and power. This isn’t who my dad was.”

  “Who was your dad?”

  “I—” Rachel paused. Who was her dad? Really? She had memories — childhood memories of playing soccer in the backyard or washing the dishes side by side. More awful memories of being scolded when her grades didn’t meet expectations or of staying up late at night, listening to her parents yell at each other. To her, her father had always been a protective, loving man, if a little distant and focused on work. But it was so hard to see him as another adult, an actual human being, and not just a father.

  She opened her mouth to say something and froze. The crack of a gunshot sounded out from somewhere close by. Startled and immediately alert, Scott turned to the window.

  “Was that—” Rachel paused. “Do you think someone is at the gun range down at the big house?”

  Scott shook his head. “That sounded like it was closer. Maybe from the cottage next to us? Besides, the shooting range is sound-proof.”

  “Should we go—” Before she could say anything else, a thin, shrill scream rang through the air, sending goosebumps down her spine. It was a cry of horror, strangely familiar, alerting her every sense.

  Scott’s lips thinned and his shoulders squared. Instantly, he was out the door, with Rachel right behind him. She had a moment’s flash to the events of that morning — when Abuelita had attacked Tony for breaking the bottle of wine. Could this be round two?

  No. While Abuelita’s shouts had been angry and frustrated, this chilling scream was more. There was terror
in this woman’s voice.

  Within seconds, they were standing in front of the next cottage. Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw a shadow move somewhere between the trees and heard a branch crack as someone ran away.

  Scott was unaware. He was banging on the door, asking the people inside to open up. The screaming stopped abruptly, as if the very sound had been sliced clean with a knife. Scott put his ear to the door and heard nothing — no footsteps, no answers.

  “Stand back,” he warned Rachel. Taking a step back, he gave a sharp kick under the doorknob, instantly breaking the flimsy lock. Then, with a shove, he had sent the door flying open. He and Rachel rushed into the cottage, prepared for anything.

  Except for Leon’s body, blood pooling out from under it.

  “Oh, no.” Rachel’s voice was quiet. She put a hand over her mouth and looked away, knowing there was nothing left to do. She was no medical expert, but even she knew that a gunshot wound to the head was deadly.

  Scott’s face was passive, but his body alert. He put a hand out, immediately sweeping Rachel behind him for safety. He’d spotted what she hadn’t — footprints in the blood. Kneeling down, he touched Leon’s neck, even though he knew there would be no pulse. He had to make sure. The body was still warm.

  “Rachel.” Scott’s voice was low, a soft whisper that tickled her neck. “There’s still someone in this house. Very likely, it’s the killer and they’re armed. I need you to run to the next cottage and call the police. I’ll try and—”

  “You’re not apprehending the killer alone and unarmed,” Rachel whispered back, her voice decisive. “I’m with you on this, Scott. Don’t try and shake me off.”

  From the inner room, they heard a quiet shuffle and the sound of heavy breathing.

  Scott gulped. Looking around, he grabbed a chair and held it up in front of him, wishing that his trusty gun was with him instead of in a safe back in California.

  “Whoever you are, come on out,” Scott called out, his voice booming with the confidence of a sheriff. “Drop any weapons and surrender. Police are on their way and there is no way off this island. I repeat. You must surrender.”

  The door creaked open and Rachel found herself peeking over Scott’s shoulder, not realizing that she was holding her breath. Scott’s breathing was steady, controlled, his eyes like lasers on their target.

  Then, the door opened and a woman in her mid-50s appeared. She wore a long, yellow dress that was stained red near her knees. Strands of blonde hair stuck to her forehead and two blue eyes stared blankly ahead. But that wasn’t where Scott’s attention was focused. In her hand, the woman held a revolver, dangling loosely from two fingers. There was a smudge of blood on her fingers.

  “Scott...” Rachel’s voice was horrified, disbelieving.

  Ignoring Rachel, Scott’s eyes darted around, trying to assess the situation. Was this woman a danger to them? The gun in her hand made it obvious that she was the killer. A lover’s quarrel gone wrong? The reason didn’t matter at the moment. The killer looked like she was in shock, but recovery could occur soon enough and then her first thought might be to try to eliminate any witnesses. Accordingly, Scott’s first priority was getting Rachel out safely and, then, arresting the woman.

  “He’s dead.” The woman’s voice was horrified, unbelieving. “He’s just… gone.”

  “Ma’am. You did the right thing coming out of the room. Now place the weapon on the floor. Gently...”

  Amazingly, to Scott’s relief the woman did just that. She looked almost grateful to have someone telling her what to do. That was a look Scott had seen several times in the course of his career. In times of crisis, people gravitated towards leadership and command. The trick was never letting them know by word or by gesture how much your leadership was a bluff for nervousness. Even hardened criminals could react like grateful puppies if they were in shock and saw someone to turn to.

  “Good.” Quickly, Scott rushed over to the woman and, with a handkerchief, picked up the gun. He didn’t point it at her — not yet — but he was prepared to. It appeared loaded, with the safety off. “Now, ma’am, I need you to sit down and tell me what happened. Why did you shoot Leon Ericson? Was he threatening you?”

  The woman in the yellow dress was mute. She collapsed onto a red armchair, her gaze still blank, though now it was completely focused on Leon’s prone body.

  “She didn’t shoot him Scott.” Scott turned to see Rachel and, for the first time, realized that she was in shock, too. It must have caught up to her. She’d been okay when they first found Leon… but now she looked as though she had seen a ghost.

  “She didn’t shoot him, Scott,” she repeated, her voice oddly confident, even if her eyes had that same peculiar blank look as the woman in the yellow dress. “I know it.”

  “How?”

  “Because...” Rachel was shivering now, rubbing at her arms to get the chill out. “I know her.”

  “What? How—” Scott looked from Rachel to the woman in yellow and his eyes widened. From behind him came footsteps and then screams as Mason, Denise, Ryan and Valentina crowded around the door.

  “The police!” Valentina was saying over and over. “We have to call the police.”

  Their voices overlapped as Mason fell to his knees and began howling in pain, shouting “Dad!” over and over. There was pain in his voice, Scott judged, but it wasn’t just grief Mason was feeling. That much was clear. There was relief there.

  Denise was just staring at Leon, her lips moving in soundless horror, while Ryan’s eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets. But it wasn’t Leon Rachel’s father was looking at. His gaze went beyond the body, toward the woman in yellow.

  “Lily?” His voice was full of disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

  “You know her?” Scott turned to Ryan, wanting answers.

  “Know her?” Ryan clutched at a lock of hair on his head. “Of course, I know her! That’s my ex-wife. That’s Rachel’s mother!”

  *****

  Chapter 8

  What’s The Mater

  Rachel felt as though her world was blurring around the edges. Ever since she’d seen her mother walk out of the room, gun in hand, she’d felt like the world had stopped making sense. Her parents had divorced so long ago. More than ten years now. So why was her mother here? It didn’t make any sense. Nothing made sense, in fact.

  Behind her, Scott had swung into action. His first endeavor had been tasking each person there with a job, to keep them busy and prevent mass hysteria. He’d asked Denise to take Mason to another room and deal with his tears, and he’d asked Valentina to call the police. As for Rachel’s father, Scott sent him away, ostensibly to get Dr. Edward Gomez but, really, to prevent any new conflict from breaking out.

  So it was just the three of them in the cottage again, if you didn’t count Leon’s body lying between them. Rachel’s mother was still shivering. Using a few chairs and cables, Scott roughly cordoned off the cottage, then led Rachel and her mother outside to calm them down.

  In minutes, they were sitting on a bench looking out at the ocean, and Rachel wondered why the calming waves now seemed far too loud and dangerous. A man was dead. Her father’s partner was dead. Worse, her mother was in the room, holding the murder weapon. What would happen next was as alien to Rachel as the bottom of the sea.

  “Ma’am?” Scott bent down on one knee and gently tapped Rachel’s mother on the shoulder. “May I call you Lily?”

  Lily nodded. “He’s dead...” she repeated again, in a dream.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Scott asked. “The KWPD will get here soon.”

  “KWPD?”

  “Key West Police,” Scott clarified. “I want you to be prepared. They might arrest you, or at least detain you. Given the evidence, I can’t blame them. But I want to hear your side of the story first.”

  Rachel felt a tug at her heart. Her mother was a total stranger to Scott and yet he was trying his hardest to protect her, s
olely because he cared for Rachel. She knew enough about him now, however, to know that if her mother had murdered Leon, Scott would want the law to follow through, no matter how anyone was related.

  “Who are you?” Lily asked, blinking.

  “He’s my boyfriend, mom,” Rachel said. “You can trust him. You can trust us. You didn’t kill Leon. There’s no way you did. But Scott is right. The police are going to suspect you at first. So please tell us what happened and we can...” Rachel’s voice trailed off. She didn’t know what exactly she or Scott could do.

  “We can try our best to catch the real killer,” Scott said firmly, completing her sentence.

  Lily nodded. “Leon and I met earlier today,” she said. “We’ve been talking online for quite some time now. He came to pick me up from Key West with his powerboat. Around 9pm.”

  “Have you known him long?” Scott asked.

  “Of course. He is…was…my husband’s partner.”

  ‘Ex-husband, mom,” Rachel said gently. Scott shot her a look and shook his head. Now was not the time.

  Lily appeared not to have heard her. Rachel wanted desperately to hug her mother, to comfort her. But she knew that, in times like this, the last thing her mother would want was a hug. She had never been an overly affectionate person, always needing her own space.

  Lily cleared her throat. “Leon and I… we’ve kept in touch over the years. He told me about Ryan getting married.”

  “And?”

  “And Leon wanted me to talk Ryan out of it. To show him that it was a bad idea,” Lily explained.

  “Oh, Mom...” Rachel said. “You didn’t—”

  “So I came down here,” Lily continued. “Leon told me we’d talk to Ryan, together. Have an intervention, of sorts. He told me you’d support it, too, Rachel.”

  “Me?!” Rachel was outraged. “How could he just assume that? I never even saw Leon before today.”

  “Well, anyway, Leon and I were in the cottage together and he was telling me...” Lily hesitated. She looked from Rachel to Scott and then back. “Never mind. We were in the cottage together. I went to use the bathroom and then, while I was in there, I heard a shot. I didn’t know it was a gunshot. I thought Leon had dropped a glass or something. I wasn’t really thinking, I guess. Then, when I came out, he was just lying on the floor… dead.”