Killer Bridal Party

by London Lovett

  "So it was premeditated?" I rubbed my hands together. "The plot thickens."

  "This is not a novel, Miss Taylor. If it were, the murderer would have left some nice big fat clues around this camp. Then I could solve it with very little effort and save the day and earn the kiss from the pretty girl and have it all tied up nicely in the epilogue."

  "Interesting, only I'm fairly sure the kiss from the pretty girl happens in the romance genre and not the murder novel."

  "Yeah? Then I might be in the wrong business. Anyhow, that's all I've got for you." He looked past me. "I think that's your sister with the food. That'll at least keep the campers happy for a bit while we finish up."

  "Guess I'll go help Lana then. Unless you need some assistance with something else?” I stayed for a second hoping he would find some reason for me to stick around.

  "I think we've got it covered, Bluebird. Like I've told you before, leave the murder investigation to the experts."

  I saluted him. "Yes, sir, Detective Jackson. I will stay out of your way." I turned back toward the tables where Lana was already distributing lunch. The only guests sitting anxiously and waiting for food were Brooke, Trina and Kyla. There was no sign of Cindy. I could see both Jeremy and Tom standing closer to the road for better phone reception. Each man was engaged in a phone conversation and neither of them looked too pleased about still being trapped in the mountains. Perhaps they should have heeded Lana's warning that sneaking up on the bridal shower wasn't the grandest of ideas. Or just maybe one of the men was responsible for Tory's death. Then, if they hadn't shown up, the tables would be filled with rollicking party-goers eating cake, listening to the maid of honor toast over champagne and giggling about slinky lingerie shower gifts. That thought stopped me a few feet short of the picnic tables. Maybe the reason the men insisted on their surprise visit was because it had all been part of a premeditated murder scheme.

  Lana and I met at the table at the same time. She was using a linen towel to hold two chicken pot pies. Each pie had a delicious smelling wisp of steam curling up from the vent holes in the crust.

  "Where's Raine?" I asked.

  "She had to do a few things at home, but she is going to drive up here soon." Lana drew her gaze around the campground. "I'm hoping we can take these tents down soon. The adventure company should be here in an hour."

  "I think they are wrapping up shortly."

  Brooke and her cousin helped themselves to the first two pot pies that Lana placed on the table. Murder or not, the two women had appetites. Even though Brooke had that slightly emaciated look about her, she dove full fork into the crust.

  Lana looked around as she placed one pie she was holding in front of Kyla. She looked excited to have something to do other than sit around and wait.

  "Where is Cindy?" Lana asked.

  It was an easy and innocent enough question, but it sent an eye roll around the table. "She's off in the woods or at the portables again doing heaven knows what," Brooke said with another eye roll. "She's been disappearing into the trees every hour or so today and last night too. Frankly, I don't know what's wrong with her. She's acting very strange." She followed up that rather accusatory statement with a large bite of pie.

  Lana motioned toward the pie. "Do you want one, Sunni? I brought extra, thinking the police officers might be hungry, but I see we're down to just Detective Jackson and his young, skittish partner."

  "I think I'll wait. I told Emily I'd drop by to see her this afternoon. I think she was baking some treats.”

  "Ah, I see. And would a certain pair of goats be the other reason for the visit?"

  My sister knew me too well. "They might have played a part in the decision."

  I decided to get a bit more out of Brooke. It seemed now that the shock of the murder had passed and she had some sustenance in front of her, she was ready to talk. And it seemed the topic of Cindy was a sore one. I hadn't expected it, coming from the woman who'd planned an entire night of camping just so her bridesmaids could bond.

  I sat down across from Brooke. "Why do you think she's acting strange?" I waited to see if my journalistic straightforward approach would put her off, but she huffed as if she was ready to unload. But not without first making sure Cindy hadn't re-merged from the shadows. It seemed the coast was clear for a rant.

  "She's not normally so distant or secretive for that matter. She left the tent three times last night. She claimed she was going to the bathroom twice and to get a drink of water the third time. It kept waking me up. I'd agreed to bunk with her last night because she was nervous about sleeping outside. Jeremy and Tom stayed in one tent and Tory, Kyla and Trina each had their own. Being the bride, I should have had my own, but I wanted Cindy to be happy and comfortable," said the woman who was subsequently throwing her comfortable, happy bridesmaid under the proverbial bus, all while she was out of earshot. Another huff as she dug her fork into the pot pie. "Then she kept me awake all night with her revolving tent door." She was pleased with her choice of words.

  "I noticed this morning that she looked as if she wasn't feeling too well," I remarked. "Maybe she is just not the outdoorsy type."

  "Mmm hmm," Brooke agreed over a mouthful of food.

  I used the momentary lapse in conversation to glance at the other two women. Trina just looked pleased to not have to be part of the conversation. Being an out of state cousin, it was more than possible that she knew nothing about the dynamics between her cousin Brooke and the other girls. And Kyla, who was exceptionally reserved, was far too involved in her pot pie to even listen in.

  Lana spotted Jeremy and Tom walking back together toward the tables, and hostess extraordinaire that she was, even in the middle of the wilderness on the fringes of a murder investigation, she hurried to her truck to retrieve two more pot pies from her insulated food case.

  Brooke noticed the men approaching and leaned in to add a few more layers to her diatribe. "Frankly, I don't think Cindy ever got over Tory stealing her prom date in high school. She always harbored a good deal of anger about that." Brooke shrugged. "It was just a silly high school boy. Then, of course, after I chose Tory for my maid of honor instead of Cindy—" She lowered her voice, even though no one else on the bench seemed to care to hear what she had to say. "I mean what was I supposed to do, pick two maids of honor?"

  "I suppose that would be hard if you had two best friends," I said.

  The men arrived at the table, and I got up to give them room to sit with their lunches.

  I looked back at Brooke as I headed over to Lana's truck. She focused again on her pie and had no words or smile for Jeremy. I'd even go so far as to call it a cold reception. Brooke, who had seemed like a rather fragile bride-to-be determined to make sure everyone got along nicely, had certainly turned against her good friend Cindy. If I didn't know any better (and I didn't) it almost seemed as if she chose Tory as maid of honor just to upset Cindy. Now the question was, had the high school boyfriend issue and the maid of honor snub been enough to drive Cindy Hargrove to murder? Brooke sure seemed to be implying it.

  Chapter 14

  Raine pulled her car up next to Lana's truck while the group was finishing the pot pies. Jeremy and Tom had downed their lunches quickly. They were both too antsy to sit still for long, and Jeremy seemed to have an endless run of phone calls. Unfortunately, the trees and surrounding mountains made cell reception sketchy and each time his phone rang he had to trudge quickly back to the road to talk. It seemed fairly plausible that an important member of a vast tool empire might receive a lot of calls, even on the weekend. Then there was the obvious issue to deal with that one of the company's employees had been murdered. From his expression and tone each time he lumbered back to the road, it seemed he was dealing with a lot of problems which were compounded by the morning's tragedy. Either way, I was certain Jeremy Stockton wanted to kick himself for barging in on the girls' camping trip. If he'd heeded Lana's advice and not carried through with his little surprise, he'd be somewhere e
lse right now, far away from the campgrounds and the shoddy cell phone reception.

  My sister was going to take a big loss for this event. Lana had generously offered to refund half the weekend's cost to Brooke, which she gladly accepted. Lana was a clever business woman. I knew she was thinking ahead to the wedding, the big money event. Even though none of this was Lana's fault, without the refund, Brooke might very well have cancelled her wedding plans and taken her business elsewhere. With the refund offer in place, Lana felt free to pass out the food to whoever she wanted. No one could blame Detective Jackson and Officer Norton for taking a brief break from the investigation to indulge in the chicken pot pies. Not that Brooke would have refused a lunch for Detective Jackson, the only person at the campsite who actually looked better as the day progressed instead of drained, weary and red cheeked from sun and wind like the rest of us. Something told me the detective rarely heard the word no from women. Although it probably would do him some good to feel the sting of rejection every once in awhile. It might take his cockiness level down a few notches. And I had no idea why I'd let my mind branch off into that particular tangent. I must have been more tired than I realized.

  Lana made two trips to Jackson's table to make sure he had everything he needed to enjoy the lunch. She smiled proudly at his fondness for the food as if she had cooked it with her bare hands. After catching me watching her hover admiringly around the table, Lana quickly brushed her hands together as if she'd completed an important task and walked briskly back to her truck.

  It seemed that everything was progressing quietly toward an ending when Cindy appeared from the tent looking pale and sickly. Brooke thought she'd gone off into the woods or to the portable restrooms, but it seemed all this time she'd been inside one of the tents. And from the rumpled t-shirt and hair, it seemed she'd been napping. The tents were far enough from the picnic tables that I doubted Cindy could have overheard any of Brooke's earlier remarks, but Cindy definitely looked miserable. Of course, that made sense, considering the circumstances.

  Lana handed Raine a pot pie. "Take this over to Cindy please. She hasn't eaten yet." Lana did a double take. "She still looks sick. I wonder if on top of everything else we've all been exposed to the flu on this terrible, epically bad morning. See if she's hungry."

  Raine walked away with the pie.

  "What can I do to help?" I asked. "I'm starting to fidget with nothing to keep me occupied."

  "There's not much to do except wait for the tents to come down."

  "You! This is your fault!" The high pitched, frazzled cry sent the birds who were waiting for lunch crumbs from the trees. Cindy's feet plodded weakly in front of her as if her shoes were filled with sand. Her long white finger was trembling as she pointed rudely at Raine. Her distressed, shrill voice caught everyone's attention.

  Raine's mouth dropped and her eyes rounded with confusion. She stepped back with the pot pie as Cindy moved toward her. Detective Jackson and Officer Norton had disappeared inside a tent but stepped right back out to see what the commotion was about.

  "What on earth?" Lana muttered.

  "You knew Tory was going to die. You said as much yesterday inside that squalid, smoke filled creepy house of yours." Cindy's harsh laugh was completely out of step with the rest of her moment of drama. "You call yourself a psychic, but it's a bunch of mumbo jumbo. How did you know there would be a death?"

  "That's it," Lana and I said simultaneously. We both rushed to Raine's side.

  I put up my hands to stop Cindy's progress. "You're obviously not feeling well." I glanced around to see if anyone from her group of friends would come to help her. She looked terrible and close to getting sick again. Brooke stood nearby with her bridesmaids looking dumbstruck and frozen to the spot. They also didn't seem the least bit inclined to step in and help.

  Detective Jackson seemed to be assessing the moment from an investigator's perspective, waiting to see if something significant emerged from the exchange. Lana wasn't having any of it. Raine was close to crumbling into sobs. Lana took hold of her arm and led her to the truck.

  I was left standing in front of a highly distraught Cindy. She looked close enough to throwing up that I backed up a few steps to move my hiking boots to safety.

  "Let me get you some water," I suggested.

  "No." Her pointing finger came out again, but this time it was aimed at me. "I know it was Raine. It had to be. She knew Tory would die."

  A tall figure rushed through the trees from the road. Jeremy's face was smooth with worry as he reached the tents. He stuck his phone in his pocket and came to Cindy's side. He took hold of her hand and gently braced her elbow with the other hand as he walked her to one of the tables at the far end of the camp. He was speaking quietly to her, and it seemed to calm her down. Naturally, my gaze shot to Brooke expecting to see a proud bride-to-be, beaming that her future husband was a kind and true gentleman. But I'd been dead wrong with my prediction. Brooke scowled coldly at the pair as they walked away from the camp. It was not at all the reaction I'd expected, but then I also hadn't anticipated Brooke's harsh words about Cindy over chicken pot pie.

  I headed toward the truck to catch up to Lana and Raine but was slowed by Detective Jackson who had swept up next to me.

  "Care to fill me in on what just happened back there?" he asked.

  I cast a sideways glance his way. "I see. You want me involved with your investigation only when I can supply you with pertinent information."

  "Yeah. Pretty much. In fact, that's usually how it works. Someone has information I need, and I ask them for it."

  I stopped and looked back toward the truck. Raine saw me talking to Jackson. It made her face twist up more in worry. "As you know, Raine is a psychic. She reads tarot cards for people."

  He pushed away a fleeting smile and his tongue ran around the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, I know all about her magical abilities."

  "See, you're being facetious but you should probably dim that flashy white grin. The bridal party showed up at Raine's on Friday for a card reading. I reached the shop just as the three women, Brooke, Cindy and Tory, your murder victim, were leaving. They were, for lack of a better word, distressed. Raine told me later that the cards had shown her that something terrible was going to mar the wedding. She held back from the women that the cards actually predicted someone would die." I put my hands on my hips. "So what do you think of that?"

  "I think I should talk to Raine and find out how on earth she knew someone was going to die."

  I grabbed his arm as he turned. He looked down at my grasp. My cheeks warmed as I pulled my hand away. "Wait. No. Raine had nothing to do with Tory's death. You know that as well as me." I took a deep breath to straighten out my words before I stepped into a mud hole again. "I told you that to let you know that maybe we should take Raine's abilities more seriously."

  "Right. So, I'm supposed to believe that Raine knew about the murder because the cards revealed it to her?"

  "Yes," I said simply and then looked for more to bolster my defense. If only I could reveal my gigantic, enormous, impossible to believe secret. It would make even the world's biggest skeptic a believer. "Look, I'm just saying that I saw her face yesterday and she was upset. She had sensed something when she talked to Brooke and her friends. I've rarely ever seen her so agitated. Maybe it wasn't the cards. Maybe it was just good old woman's intuition." Before he could counter, I pointed at him. "Which exists. Just ask my mom. She always knew when I was lying."

  "That's not intuition, Bluebird," he drawled. "That just means you're bad at lying." My fretful expression made him pause. He leaned a little closer to lower his voice. I noticed, (unnecessarily) that there were flecks of cocoa brown in his amber eyes. "Look, I know Raine had nothing to do with the murder, Sunni. But after that accusation, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't follow up. I'm just going to talk to Raine. I promise I won't be dragging her away in handcuffs."

  Chapter 15

  Detective Jackson had walke
d Raine to a quiet place at the far end of the camp to ask her some questions. For the first few minutes of the conversation, she was fidgeting with the zipper on her sweatshirt. She adjusted her bright headscarf a million times while she tapped out an entire dance with her nervous feet. But then Jackson placed his hand against her arm. He seemed to be assuring her it was all just routine because she relaxed enough to leave her feet solidly on the ground. Although she was still fiddling absently with the zipper pull.

  Lana walked up next to me. She'd been watching the exchange too. "I guess that man knows how to calm frazzled nerves. One touch and a few quiet words, and I thought Raine might melt into a puddle of butter at his feet. I'm going to walk out to the road to wait for the tent people. They should be here any minute. The baby-faced officer is taking his sweet time going through each tent. He still has two more to go before he even gets to the one that Tory slept in."

  I looked back toward the tents. "So the fourth one from the end was Tory's?" I decided to switch to investigative reporter mode. Jeremy and Tom were sitting along the embankment talking. Brooke and her friends, growing more anxious to leave the site, had gone for a short walk. It was probably my only chance to gather some possible clues into Tory's murder.

  I took a stealthy glance around the camp and saw I was virtually alone. Officer Norton was two tents over from Tory's so I had a few minutes. The tent flap was unzipped which made sense since Tory had left and never returned. I slipped inside. A plush, downy sleeping bag that looked brand new as if she had purchased it for the trip laid unzipped like the tent flap. Tory had even brought along a plump down pillow for her roughing it in the wild weekend. A Louis Vuitton handbag sat next to the pillow, and an open suitcase sat alongside the sleeping bag. The bag was filled with designer sweaters and jeans. Even her socks looked expensive. Tory had money, or at the very least, she liked to spend it. It seemed I wasn't going to find much on my clandestine tent excursion, but as I turned I kicked something. A cell phone slid out from the edge of the sleeping bag.