Murder of a Wedding Belle (21 page)

“It started last October when you were nearly killed by that psycho.” Simon’s voice hardened. “Before that, in the back of my mind, I always thought we’d get together again once you got over your infatuation with Boyd. Realizing that I could lose you forever before that happened was a real eye-opener. That’s when I started ‘accidentally’ running into you after Mass.” He smiled sadly. “I was sure that, given enough time, once we started talking again, you’d see I was the one for you. But you didn’t.”

“I thought you just wanted to be friends.” Skye frowned. Hadn’t she? “So you’ve been leading up to this moment for eight months? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I was sure the chemistry between you and Boyd would burn out.” His hopeless stare drilled into her soul. “But tonight, when I saw you march into battle for my mother, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“So, then you really didn’t mean it when we had our big fight and you said the relationship I want doesn’t exist? That I was deluding myself by wanting a soul mate?”

“No. I was the one deluding myself.” Simon’s expression was bleak. “Now I know there
is
only one person who completes me, and it’s been hell since she’s been gone.”

Skye sat, stunned. She had never expected to hear those words from Simon.

When she didn’t respond, he said, “I know you’re involved with Boyd. And I know our breakup was my fault—”

“Wait.” Skye interrupted him. She had to tell Simon about Wally’s proposal before he said something he might regret. “Wally has asked me to marry him.”

“Have you answered him?”

“Not yet.”

“Then there’s still time.” Simon produced a faint smile.

“For what?”

He stared into her eyes. “For you to give me a second chance.”

Flower Power

E
very instinct in Skye’s body told her to roll over, pull up the covers, and go back to sleep. Her legs and back ached, probably from the dance class, and it felt as if she’d lain down only five minutes before, even though her alarm claimed it was six a.m. and she knew she’d gone to bed at ten thirty.

Of course, she hadn’t fallen asleep until after three, having tossed and turned, her thoughts leapfrogging from the wedding preparations to the murder to Simon.

His astonishing plea for a second chance had left Skye speechless, and she had finally told him that she couldn’t even think about what he was asking for until after the wedding was over. Simon had said he understood, and after they’d finished their meal, he’d dropped her back at her car, announcing that he’d see her Sunday to find out her verdict. The irony that Sunday was the same day she’d promised Wally a decision about his proposal was not lost on her.

Then there was the little matter of Kathryn Steele. As Skye and Simon were leaving the restaurant, Skye noticed Kathryn watching them from a corner table. Skye knew that the probability of meeting someone you know increases exponentially when you’re with someone you don’t want to be seen with, but it was just her luck that that someone was the owner of the local newspaper. No doubt, a report of Skye’s dinner with Simon would be in next week’s “Talk of the Town” gossip column.

Skye groaned, then decided she needed to channel her mother and pretend none of it had happened. If this was during the school year, rather than three days before a million-dollar wedding for which she was solely responsible, she would have called in sick. But since she was the boss, she had to get up.

Skye staggered to the bathroom and stared into the mirror over the sink. She looked awful. Her hair gave the impression that she had spent the night in a Cuisinart, but her face argued that she’d been sleeping on a waffle iron. Would a shower help, or since she looked like the Wicked Witch of the East, would she just melt under the water? She decided to find out.

Having survived bathing, and feeling marginally better, Skye threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, then gathered her hair into a ponytail. She didn’t have time to mess with her appearance today.

Before getting her own breakfast, Skye fed Bingo and cleaned his litter. She’d found out the hard way that if the box wasn’t immaculate, the finicky feline refused to use it and would choose somewhere more to his liking—like her most expensive pair of shoes or the middle of her bed—to do his business.

Finally, cradling a precious cup of tea as if it were a baby bird, Skye took a seat at the kitchen table to plan her day. First on the list was to make sure she still had a floral designer. If Wally arrested Iris, the shit would hit the fan, and the fallout would not be evenly distributed.

Taking a legal pad and pen from the kitchen drawer, she wrote:

Skye checked the time: eight ten. Rats! She was already running late. Scooping up the phone, she dialed Wally at home. When his voice mail message started, she hung up and tried his cell, then his private line at the PD.
Shoot!
Where could he be? Exhaling noisily, she pushed the buttons for the station’s general number.

Her call was answered immediately. “Police, fire, and emergency department. How may I help you?”

Skye recognized the voice. “Thea, it’s Skye. Is Wally around?”

“Hi, hon. Nope. He got a call a couple of minutes ago from County, then took off. Said he needed to talk to that florist over at the motor court.”

“Shit!”

“Skye,” Thea tutted. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Sorry. If Wally checks in, ask him to call me.”

“Sure thing, hon.”

“Thanks.”

“Oops!” Thea yelped. “Gotta go. My other line is ringing. Bye.”

So much for Skye’s schedule. Now the top priority on her to-do list was find Wally and pray she still had a floral designer. If not, she would have to take a crash course in Flower Arranging 101, and she knew that wouldn’t turn out well. Her eighth-grade home-ec project had ended up looking more like a compost heap than a centerpiece.

Skye grabbed the breakfast of champions—a can of Diet Coke and a brown-sugar-cinnamon Pop-Tart—and flew out the door. She made record time, and it was only a little past eight thirty when she pulled into the motor court.

The bad news was that a squad car was parked in front of Iris Yee’s cabin. The good news was that the floral designer was not locked in its backseat.

After pulling in next to the cruiser, Skye jumped out of the Bel Air and headed toward Iris’s cabin. A few steps before she got to the entrance, she stopped, unsure of her next move. Should she knock, wait for them to come out, or what?

While she vacillated, the door opened and Wally emerged. His well-muscled body moved with an easy grace, and as he came toward her, she could see his broad shoulders straining against his navy uniform shirt. Even at a time like this, she couldn’t help but notice how hot he was. Regrettably, the frustrated expression on his handsome face did not add to his attractiveness.

When he spotted her, he said, “Getting a late start today?”

“Yeah. I had a hard time waking up this morning.” Skye noted that his greeting wasn’t as warm as usual, but she figured he was preoccupied with the investigation. “I called to ask if you had heard anything about the bouquet holder yet, and Thea said you were here talking to Iris.”

“Yeah. County called the minute I walked into my office this morning.” Wally glanced around the parking lot. “Let’s sit in the squad so we’re not overheard.”

Skye barely waited until the car doors were closed before she asked, “Are you arresting Iris?”

“No.” Wally hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Damn it! Everything that connects her to the bouquet holder is circumstantial.”

“What did County find out?” Skye was torn—relieved Iris was still free to work the wedding but discouraged they weren’t making any progress on the case.

“The bouquet holder does match the wound on Belle’s head, and they even found a strand of her hair caught in the seam, but with no usable prints we don’t know who wielded the weapon.”

“I’m guessing that because the bouquet holder wasn’t on the invoice, Iris claims she has no knowledge of it.”

“Exactly.” Wally’s nostrils flared.

“How did Iris explain what she’d said about Belle being a pain?”

“She maintains that while the vic
was
difficult to work for, she made more money off Belle’s weddings than any three or four other planners’ events put together.”

“So why kill the golden goose?” Skye tapped her chin. “That would be true for all the vendors.”

“Maybe the California ones, but for the local businesses this is a one-shot deal.”

“True.”

“Also, the method makes it look like an unplanned murder. A heat-of-the-moment killing.”

“Right.” Skye nodded. “Whoever did this wasn’t prepared. Something Belle did or said must have set him—or her—off. Which means it could be anyone. She had a knack for finding a person’s sore spot and poking at it until they screamed.”

“What do you mean?”

“She knew Riley was intent on having the wedding in Scumble River, so Belle threatened to move it back to California if she didn’t get a local assistant. And with Iris, Belle continually questioned her creative vision just to see her squirm.”

“This last month has been tough on you.” Wally’s voice was cool.

“I’m used to handling mean people. I work in public education, remember?” What was he getting at?

“But this is your vacation. Your time to recover from being poked at.” Wally frowned. “If you’d let me help you out, you wouldn’t have to take these summer jobs. I could lend you the money to fix up your house.”

“I already have one home-improvement loan. I don’t want to get in over my head. Besides, I might not be a good investment,” Skye teased. “You could lose your shirt.”

She had no idea how much money Wally had. His father was a multimillionaire, but because Wally refused to work for his dad, she didn’t know whether he had only his chief of police salary, or some sort of trust fund. It seemed mercenary to ask him before she accepted his proposal, but the whole money issue was one of the big reasons she couldn’t decide whether to marry him or not. She’d been engaged to one wealthy guy, and that hadn’t worked out very well.

“I’m sure you’re a great investment,” Wally said flatly. “But you’re not sure if I am.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “It’s just—”

“But I guess I shouldn’t complain, since I was the one who talked you into filling in for Belle so you could help me out.”

“Yes. You did.” Skye jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. “You owe me big-time for that.”

“You’re right. I do.” Wally’s tone was thoughtful. “And I had to renege on dinner last night, too. I hope you weren’t too disappointed.”

Skye felt her heart sink. Did he know about her dinner with Simon? Should she tell Wally what he had said? Wally had enough on his mind, and he’d have a fit when he heard. He was already jealous of her ex-boyfriend.

“Skye? Are you there?”

“Sorry.” Great. She had hesitated too long, and now he was looking at her funny. “I was just thinking.”

Wally raised an eyebrow. “So, did you go right home last night?”

“Well, actually, no.”
Shoot!
He definitely knew something. Skye bet that the newspaperwoman had called him, told him she had seen Skye and Simon together, and offered him the details for an exclusive about the murder. Skye was pretty sure Wally wouldn’t make that deal, but she realized she’d better fess up. “Simon took me to get a bite to eat to thank me for helping his mother.”

“Was Bunny with you?”

“Uh.” Skye bit her lip. “No. She was probably too tired after all she’d been through.”

“Bunny Reid? Too tired to go out? Are we talking about the same woman? Red hair, fake boobs, about five-seven?”

“Very funny.” Skye’s swatted his biceps. “Okay, so Bunny wasn’t too tired. Maybe Simon was tired of
her
.”

“That’s a lot more likely, but my guess is he wanted to be alone with you.”

Skye made a noncommittal sound. She hadn’t decided if she should reveal what Simon had said.

“Where did you eat? The Feed Bag was closed. Did you go to McDonald’s?”

“No. Did you know there’s a new restaurant a few miles south of town on the river?”

“Yeah. A couple from Clay Center opened it up a few weeks ago. It’s called the Moonstone.”

“The food was good, and it has a really pretty view.” Skye tried to distract him. “We should go sometime.”

“I have reservations for us for Sunday.” Wally stared at her with angry eyes. “I thought it would be a nice place to celebrate our engagement. That is if you’re
finally
ready to forget the past and start our future together.”

“Oh.” Skye studied her left hand, which was bare of Wally’s ring. He had a right to be angry about her indecisiveness. “I know you’re right.”

“But I think I’ll come up with somewhere else now.” Wally’s mouth had formed a thin white line.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to go to a place you associate with Reid.”

Skye nodded, feeling terrible. Wally was a good man, and she loved him. She pressed her fingers against her temples. Should she just tell Simon it was too late and tell Wally yes right now? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

After a few seconds of silence, Wally sighed, seeming to resign himself that he’d have to wait a few more days for her decision. “Well, I should let you get to work.”

“Right. Frannie and Justin will be here any second, and there are five hundred little pink boxes with their names on them.”