A Wedding to Die For, page 20
“Hmumm. Since we’re living celibate lives, I decided to be more discreet in my dress. But, never fear, as a married man I plan on returning to my comfortable night shirts.”
She laughed. “Oh, your night shirts are modest enough. But they’re kinda like kilts. I’ve wondered what men wear under them.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Marry me and find out. And, what do you usually wear under nightgowns? Anything?”
“Henry King, shame on you. Cotton underpants, if you must know. Can’t account for other women.”
“You’re the only one I’m interested in.”
She smiled up at him and realized a conversation about what one wore under nightclothes was treading on quicksand.
“So,” he continued, “let’s say tonight I’m matching pajamas with pajamas. That’s what you have on, my dear, and fetching they are, with those little flower bouquets all over.”
He sat on the edge of her bed and touched a bouquet on the front of her pajama top. “I like that one, it sorta stands out.”
“Henry...”
His arms went around her. As she shut her eyes, a warm mouth touched hers, and she realized the magazine was going to be a mass of crumpled pages.
His hand brushed the skin under her pajama top. She felt so incredibly soft there. Henry decided he preferred Carrie’s softness and round curves to whatever those perky calendar girls must feel like. He had no personal knowledge of course, but the picture pin-ups looked slick, smooth, and...frightening.
This soft woman was—would soon be—all his.
He hoped his hands didn’t feel too rough against her delicate skin.
Henry’s touch awakened absolutely amazing feelings. Why hadn’t she ever felt like this with Amos? What had been wrong between them? He’d never made her feel this...warm. Henry made it so lovely to be close. With just one light touch of a finger, he could...
She shivered involuntarily.
“I, uh, think you’d better go over there now.” She freed an arm and pointed to the bed on the other side of the night stand.
Thank goodness he went.
She rubbed her hand across the magazine to smooth it out and stared down at a page. She was still staring when Henry said, “Well, well, listen to this!”
Startled, she awakened from her reverie and looked over at him. He held up the book he’d been reading and she recognized it as one she’d seen on sale in the lobby downstairs: The Crescent—Crown Jewel of Eureka Springs. Henry rested the book against his bent legs and read aloud:
“‘My experiments show that when loving married couples share a bed in the hotel, the red bride does not appear to them. Couples on honeymoon prove an exception to this general rule. It’s as if she wants to spy on the type of love denied to her over a hundred years ago. Her appearance then is generally quiet. There is none of the regular tapping or moaning, only the soft swish of a bridal gown and puffs of chilled air. When individuals are sensitive, they may also glimpse a wisp of red fabric.’”
“Does it say why she wears red?” Carrie asked, already imagining the answer.
“Red for the blood of the man she was forced to marry—and killed.”
“Like Lucia.”
“Yes.”
“Nonsense,” Carrie said, suddenly feeling cranky because he’d reminded her of the red bride. “Nonsense,” she repeated. “Besides, with my white curls and your grey hair, we certainly wouldn’t look like a honeymoon couple to any ghost—imaginary ghost.”
Henry cocked his head to one side and his wide-set dark eyes studied her. “Well, my dear, love is love at any age, no matter who observes it. Besides, the guy who wrote this book seems to have done a lot of research. Makes me wonder, though, where does our ghost get information about the marital status of couples staying in the hotel? I’ll bet she’s psychic!” He laughed, which made Carrie feel even more vexed.
“I have no idea and I don’t care.” She put her glasses and magazine on the night stand and slid under the covers, turning her back to him and pulling the sheet over her head.
She heard his startled, “Huh?” and then the soft thup of the book being put down. In another minute he turned the lamp off, and except for a tiny night light, the room went very quiet and dark.
She usually made a trip to the bathroom before going to sleep at night. A couple of hours later she was reminded that her crankiness had caused a break in normal routine.
Something moaned when the toilet flushed. Then she heard tat-tat, tat-tat. The noise seemed to be coming from the hallway.
She scurried past the hall door and bounced into bed, once more pulling the covers over her head.
The tapping stopped. Carrie knew, because it took her a long time to go back to sleep. She was imagining Henry, strong and warm, lying beside her.
The mood that swamped her at bedtime had disappeared when she awakened the next morning.
Henry was in the bathroom, so she had time to lie in bed and think. She’d overreacted again and it was silly. She wasn’t some teenager, she was a mature woman, getting ready to marry a man she truly, deeply loved.
She slapped at the pillows, then pushed both of them behind her and sat up. At times she felt overwhelmed by love for Henry. And when his kisses and touches came, it was like drowning in a strange and unfamiliar ocean of new sensations. That part was a little frightening.
The bathroom door opened, filling the air around her with clean, soapy smells floating on damp heat. “Well, good morning, Cara,” Henry said. “You were still asleep so I went ahead. Now it’s all yours.”
Neither of them said anything about the previous night’s events, and she chose not to tell him what she’d heard when she was in the bathroom after he’d gone to sleep. Probably her imagination anyway. Old buildings could be creaky.
Carrie and Henry were finishing breakfast when Eleanor and Shirley walked in the dining room. Carrie noticed that her friends looked excited and happy. Watching them as they came toward the table, she marveled at how kind they both were. They seemed truly eager to join her in helping the Mukherjee family.
The four sat over coffee while Henry shared information about what they’d learned at church and told them about the confrontation with Melissa Donley. “Partly because of that,” he said, “none of you should be alone from now on. Always stay in the company of at least one other person. Don’t forget for a moment that we’re dealing with a killer.”
After they had all nodded solemnly enough to satisfy him, Carrie said, “Guess we should check in with Asher and Chandra first and see how and when we can best help them.”
“I hope I’ll learn about making bouquets and corsages and wedding decorations,” Eleanor said. “I’ve always wanted to do that, and I really enjoy flower arranging. I wonder...” She paused, then ducked her head and fiddled with her coffee spoon. “Maybe I could apprentice here. You know, come over a few times after all this is over and learn more about the business. I’ve often thought I’d like to open a little flower shop in Guilford. What do you think?”
Both Shirley and Carrie stared at her. Carrie was trying to picture Eleanor as a business owner and couldn’t, but Shirley was either kinder or had a better imagination. “Well,” she said slowly, “you’d be good at it—with the public, I mean—and Jason could do the bookkeeping and business stuff.” After a pause she began to smile broadly. “It sounds like fun. Maybe, after Junior comes back home to work on the farm, you’d let me help out in your shop, off and on. You might need a hand sometimes. I wouldn’t ask you to pay me,” she added hastily.
“That would be fun,” Eleanor said, “but, so far, it’s just a dream.” Carrie stared at them in amazement and couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Henry broke in. “Okay, plans for today. This morning I’m visiting the school, then I’ll stop by the police station. I’ve decided to ask if they’ll share new information they might have with us. We haven’t seen anyone from there since Monday, and I think I’d better explain we’re trying to uncover whatever we can about the murder of Sonya Wells at the request of the Mukherjees. I’d like Trent and the others to know, because working together can be a good deal for all of us, provided they’re flexible enough to agree. I’ll assure them we’re being discreet, will stay out of their way, and report all findings to them at once. I’m sure they realize civilians sometimes talk with other civilians more freely than they do with uniformed officers—like the people at church did with us last night. The police department would probably be concerned about liability so won’t be able to give us an official okay, but I don’t think there’ll be any open objection to a little extra detective work on the side.
“You three go on with your plans now, and let’s meet back here for lunch at one o’clock. Just remember, no going off alone.” He got to his feet, pulled Carrie’s chair back for her, then turned to Eleanor and Shirley. “May I help you ladies bring your luggage in from the car?”
The three friends found Asher, Chandra, and Purdy at work inside the wrecked shop, filling boxes with the last few items that could be salvaged. After the boxes were loaded in the trunk of Eleanor’s car, Chandra joined the women and they drove to Rebecca and Purdy’s home, located next door to the family’s two greenhouses.
First, Chandra knocked gently at the house and a tired-looking Rebecca welcomed them in for a brief admiration scene with baby Charlie. Then Eleanor, Shirley, and Chandra headed for a workroom in one of the greenhouses to begin creating flower baskets for a weekend wedding, and Carrie stayed behind to watch the baby while Rebecca napped.
Using the time alone, Carrie put a load of laundry in the washing machine, then began dusting furniture. She’d just moved a second load to Rebecca’s dryer when Charlie let his hunger be known. On cue, his mother awakened.
While the baby was nursing, Carrie settled in a chair nearby, leaned her head back, and shut her eyes, listening for ideas about how to direct their conversation. The silence was broken only by baby noises and she relaxed, letting her mind wander.
Then Rebecca said, “I like your hair, sort of silver and white. Hope when I’m your age, my hair looks like that.”
Startled, Carrie replied without thinking, “You’ll always be beautiful. It won’t matter what color your hair is, brunette or grey.”
She’s making conversation, Carrie thought. Wants to ask me something and doesn’t know how to do it.
Silence returned. Finally Rebecca spoke again. “Anything new about the murder of Sonya Wells?” There was timidity in her voice, and Carrie wondered if Rebecca might be afraid of the answer she’d hear.
Carrie explained how she and Henry learned that the slanderous talk Melissa reported wasn’t happening anywhere but between a few teenagers at school. “I believe Melissa invented that story,” she said.
The young woman looked startled. “Why would she make up such awful things? I don’t understand.”
Carrie thought back to what Rebecca told them about Melissa’s conversation in the hospital and suddenly sat upright in her chair.
Theknife! Hadn’t she said Melissa mentioned a knife?
“When Henry and I visited you in the hospital, did you tell us Melissa said people suspected the Mukherjee family of killing Sonya Wells because of a knife?”
Tears began streaming down Rebecca’s cheeks. “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “The knife that killed Ms. Wells was mine. I gave it to Melissa a couple of weeks ago. I’d been cutting stems to arrange flowers in a vase at the wedding chapel downtown when she saw me and came in. She admired the knife, and since we have so many of them, I gave it to her. She told me Tuesday that she never used it because it disappeared at the Crescent a short time later. Can they tell if it was mine? My fingerprints...”
“Henry saw the knife that was next to Sonya Wells’s body. He said it had a lot of decoration on the handle and probably wouldn’t show clear fingerprints. Besides, Melissa’s fingerprints would be there with yours, and possibly others.”
“Not Melissa’s. I couldn’t find the cardboard cover for the knife so I wrapped it in green florist paper when I handed it to her. She said on Tuesday that she’d never unwrapped it, so my fingerprints would still be there and the police would think, you know, that I...”
Carrie jumped to her feet and went to take Charlie as his mother began crying. She laid the baby against her own chest with his head resting on her shoulder and patted his back gently while Rebecca’s loud sobs continued. Carrie looked out the window and hoped the three women in the greenhouse next door couldn’t hear the noise.
After a couple of bubbling sounds Charlie fell asleep against Carrie’s soft front, and, assured that he wasn’t going to begin crying too, she turned back to Rebecca and said, “Hush now, and listen to me. I know that knife couldn’t be yours.”
She had Rebecca’s attention. “But, how?”
“Because I have something to confess, too. As you know, Henry and I found the body. I saw a knife sheath in the parking lot just above where Ms. Wells was lying, and, since it had the IBE logo on it, I thought I’d be protecting your in-laws if I picked it up and put it in my pocket. What I did was wrong and stupid. There may well be a killer’s fingerprints on it, and picking it up made possible evidence worthless. The police would only have my word now that the cardboard cover was ever in that parking lot.
“But, I think the knife Henry found must have had the sheath on it before it was put next to the body. I don’t think a knife was what killed Ms. Wells anyway, or at least it wasn’t the only weapon used, since her head was smashed with a rock. Therefore, I’m convinced the knife was left there to direct suspicion toward one of you. If so, the cover must have been dropped in the parking lot for the same reason, to direct suspicion at the Mukherjees.”
Carrie’s brow wrinkled as she tried to focus her thoughts. That darn cardboard cover, why...
“Oh, wait a minute...that means...that means if the cover was intentionally left where the police would find it, then I’m wrong about fingerprints. There wouldn’t be any belonging to the killer. If he or she didn’t wear gloves, it would have been wiped off.”
She took in a huge breath, and Charlie, sensing the movement under his little body, snuggled closer to her.
“I do hope I’m right. I’ve been feeling a truck load of remorse ever since understanding I’d tampered with evidence that could have told us who really killed Wells.”
She looked at Rebecca and her mouth twitched with the wisp of a smile. “I still regret picking up that cardboard, but maybe it did no harm after all.
“Here’s something else. Since the police aren’t saying anything about finding the knife, and Henry and I haven’t told anyone, how did Melissa know about it?”
She and Rebecca stared at each other, and Carrie was sure they were both thinking the same thing.
She handed Charlie back to his mother, who settled him in to continue nursing. Then she looked up at Carrie, who was still standing. “But why on earth would she do such a terrible thing? I can’t believe someone could just...kill...”
“Ummm, we’ve discovered several things that might help us figure that out. You said Jan and Melissa are probably close friends, and you believe Jan is paying Melissa a percentage fee to direct business her way, right?”
Rebecca nodded her head.
“Henry and I learned when we visited the Owen Shop on Tuesday that, though Jan is totally devoted to her floral business, her sister Sonya wasn’t. She wanted Jan to close it down and join her in the land investment office. I suspect the shop hasn’t been doing all that well recently, and, rightly or wrongly, Jan blames your in-laws for her diminished income.
“If sales were decreasing and Sonya wanted Jan to close the shop, well, it would give Jan plenty of reason to try and get all of you out of town. Didn’t the ugly stuff start a short time after Sonya Wells moved here?”
Rebecca was staring up at her, wide-eyed.
“Then what if—motivated by friendship with Jan as well as the extra income gained by directing business toward Owen’s Flowers—Melissa decided to get rid of the person threatening to close Jan down?”
“But,” Rebecca said, “murder? That’s a terrible response to what was really a business dispute.”
“It seems so to us. But how do we know what’s been going on inside Melissa Donley’s head?”
Carrie noticed that Charlie had fallen asleep again. “Do you want to hold him, or shall I put him in his crib?”
“I think I’ll hold him for a while,” Rebecca said. “He’s so normal, so real.” She kissed her son’s head, then continued. “On the other hand, what you’re talking about doesn’t seem real; it’s an ugly nightmare. And what are we going to do about it?”
“Well, for one thing, protect ourselves, because you could be in danger too. If Melissa realizes she mentioned that knife to you and the presence of a knife by the body isn’t general knowledge, she’ll be afraid of what you might say. Henry has already warned Eleanor, Shirley, and me that we must be extra careful simply because we’re investigating the murder, and also because Melissa knows we discovered there is no bad talk about the Mukherjees around town generally. He said we shouldn’t spend any time alone while we’re here in Eureka Springs, and he hasn’t heard what you and I know yet, which makes Melissa look even worse.
“I think we should tell the police about this as soon as we can. If we tell them and make sure Melissa finds out we did, we won’t be in danger. It would be out of our hands. So, shall we talk to them right away? I bet they’d even come here. Okay?”
Slowly, Rebecca nodded.
“Henry was going to the police station this morning. Maybe I can catch him there. Ideally he’ll tell the police and bring an officer here. We’ll face this together and feel better for it, won’t we?” Carrie smiled, and Rebecca managed a small grin in return.
“The phone is over there,” she said. “And would you see if you can get Purdy on his cell phone? I’d like him to be here, too.”
Chapter 27
Sergeant Lonnie Trent had been barking at them for several minutes. Barking was the only word Carrie could think of that fit the sergeant’s sharp, jerky delivery.
