Leann Sweeney - A Wedding To Die For

“Good morning, Ms. Rose... Miss Beadford.” Her gaze rested on the large envelope in my hand.

“Good morning.” I handed her the drawing once she crossed the threshold, wondering if she would pick up on the resemblance to Megan.

“Are you satisfied with the composite?” Fielder asked.

“Very,” I answered.

“Composite of what?” Roxanne asked.

“I’ll fill you in later, Miss Beadford,” Fielder said. “But for now, I’d like some time with your aunt. Can you tell her I’m here?” Fielder sounded about as pleasant as I’d ever heard her. Guess she saved up her best stuff for the victim’s family—and I couldn’t argue with that approach.

“Certainly,” Roxanne said. Then she lowered her voice. “Aunt Sylvia’s upstairs preparing for her trip to Galveston. The medical examiner will be performing a postmortem examination on Uncle James’s remains, and she must complete the paperwork for the eventual release of his body.”

I swear she almost smiled before she walked through the foyer and made a slow ascent up the right staircase. Hmmm. Maybe someone forgot her medication today.

I caught Fielder rolling her eyes. Then she said, “I appreciate you coming down here, Ms. Rose.” She wore black trousers and a herringbone blazer, but even her expertly applied makeup couldn’t hide her fatigue. Definitely puffy around the eyes.

“I’m much more comfortable with Abby,” I said.

“Certainly.” She forced a smile.

The awkward silence that followed was broken by Sylvia and Megan’s appearance. Megan had on the same clothes she’d worn yesterday, but Sylvia was dressed in a throat-high black knit dress that made her look like she was already headed for the funeral.

We exchanged greetings, and before Fielder escorted Sylvia into the formal living room off the foyer, she told Megan to wait, that they’d only be a minute or two.

Keeping her voice low, Megan said, “Sorry I had to hang up on you last night. Why do we need to go to the Bureau of Vital Statistics? I thought the Adoption Registry was a dead end.”

“I’ve been digging deeper, and you may not have been born at St. Mary’s,” I whispered. “Maybe a new copy of your birth certificate will confirm this.”

“Not born at St. Mary’s? But—”

“I don’t think this is the best place to talk,” I said.

“You have a real lead?” she asked, eyes bright.

“Could be the break we’re looking for,” I replied.

“Okay. We go today.”

“But Fielder wants to show you the composite. And you said you had to take Sylvia to Galveston.”

“Travis will fill in for me with Mother.”

“She won’t mind if you bail?”

“Oh, she’ll mind,” Megan said. “But Travis is good with her. He’ll think up a decent excuse—like I need some time away from everything, which happens to be true.”

“Okay, we’re on,” I said.

The living room door opened and Sylvia came out. “Chief Fielder would like to see you now, sweetheart.”

Megan brushed past her mother, and Sylvia’s sad gaze followed her daughter as she entered the room and pulled the door shut after her. The weekend events seemed to be taking their toll on everyone.

“How are you, Mrs. Beadford?” I asked.

She glanced at the closed door. “I’m upset.”

“I think Megan’s handling this situation as well as anyone could under the circumstances.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Is it something the chief said?” I asked, curious now.

“The chief’s doing a fine job. Seems to be working hard on this horrible murder. But she showed me that drawing, and I never saw that woman before. Why would a stranger invade our home, destroy our beautiful wedding, and kill my husband?”

“Did the chief tell you that the woman in the composite is the killer?” I asked.

“She wouldn’t say. But it seems the only logical explanation.”

Not the only explanation if that stranger came here to see her child get married. But I certainly couldn’t offer this insight. “Maybe there are other possibilities,” I said. “The chief may find some other clue to Mr. Beadford’s death once she’s sorted through all the evidence—and there seems to be plenty of that to go around.”

Sylvia’s eyes flashed. “Do you know something I don’t? Has that policewoman been discussing my husband’s death with—” She stopped, closed her eyes, and pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. “I am so sorry, Abby. I’ve been snapping at everyone today. First Megan and Roxanne this morning at breakfast and now you. There’s just so much to deal with and...” Tears filled her eyes.

I put an arm around her shoulders. “No need to apologize, Mrs. Beadford. I understand. By the way, is that coffee I smell?”

She nodded.

“Could I bother you for a cup?”

“Certainly. Yes. Coffee would be good.”

We went to the kitchen together with her tottering on yet another pair of ridiculous shoes similar to the ones she’d chosen for the wedding—pointy with one-inch narrow heels—throwbacks to foot binding, in my opinion.

The kitchen had far more to offer than coffee. A silver tray filled with breakfast pastries sat on the counter beside platters of cookies, covered sheet cakes, and a huge fruit basket.

“The neighbors have been so supportive,” Sylvia said, gesturing at the food. “Help yourself while I get your coffee.”

I chose a raspberry kolache and sat at the kitchen table. Sylvia placed a white mug of steaming brew in front of me and sat down with her own cup.

After my daddy died, I’d wanted to talk about him in the worst way, but had little opportunity. People seemed almost afraid to say his name in front of me. So maybe Sylvia needed time to talk about her husband. “Tell me about Mr. Beadford. I met him only once, at the rehearsal dinner, but he seemed to command the room.”

She smiled and her whole body seemed to relax. “He could grab your attention, couldn’t he?”

“And he owned his own business, right?” I bit into the kolache, the pastry so rich I figured I was about to consume enough fat calories for a week.

“Built the company from the ground up twice. There was no quit in that man.”

“Twice?” I said around a mouthful of berry heaven.

“The first time we went bankrupt. Not through any fault of James, mind you. Running a small business is tough, and supplying equipment for the oil business is very competitive in Texas. James thought he’d do better here than in Dallas, and as it turns out, he was right.”

“So you’re not from this area originally?” She definitely seemed calmer and happy to talk about her husband’s accomplishments.

“We came south for a fresh start, a move that also allowed James to put some space between him and his brother, Graham. They’d been in business together, but it’s very difficult working day in and day out with family members.”

“I understand,” I answered, wondering if Graham had something to do with the first failure. That might explain the animosity between the brothers.

“Graham stayed in Dallas,” Sylvia went on. “His wife had a decent job and supported the family for several years, but when she passed on from breast cancer—horrible time for Courtney and Roxanne—Graham never seemed to recover. He’s lost one job after another.”

“So he and his daughters are only staying here because of the wedding?”

She nodded, her chubby right hand working the fingers on the left. “They arrived two weeks ago. Graham is at the Surfside Resort, thank goodness, but the girls wanted to be near Megan, so they’ve been with us. Having relatives underfoot day and night, well, I’m not coping very well, Abby. Not with James... not with the—”