Leann Sweeney - A Wedding To Die For

Roxanne stopped in midwail, snapped her mouth closed, and stared at me for a second. Then, in absolute control, she said, “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior, but this has been an extremely emotional time for myself and my family.”

“Right. So what’s with this confession? Did you kill them to protect your sister?”

Fielder offered one of those frustrated and disgusted sighs she was so good at. “Protecting Courtney? All I’ve heard is some cock-and-bull story about a fiddler boyfriend her uncle and her father sent out of town.”

Roxanne jerked in Fielder’s direction. “Violinist. And I loved him. Uncle James and Father conspired against us. Just like Romeo and Juliet, we were doomed. So I made them both pay with their lives.”

“Okay,” said Fielder. “And why don’t you tell your beloved Abby how you killed your uncle.”

“I hit him over the head with a vase.”

“And what color was the vase?” Fielder said.

“You’ve asked me a dozen times. Why do I have to keep answering the same questions over and over?”

“Because you give me a different response every time,” said Fielder.

“I was too overwrought to remember much about that afternoon. People in homicidal rages do not remember details. But Megan received several vases as wedding gifts and I know it was one of them. I think it was the blue and white Wedgwood.”

“Right.” Fielder looked my way. “You see what I’m dealing with here?”

I did. If you hit someone over the head hard enough to knock them senseless, wouldn’t you remember what you used? Maybe Roxanne needed a good shock to refresh her memory. “I don’t think Roxanne killed anyone, Chief. She’s protecting Courtney because she knows her sister was blackmailing her father.”

My words had an immediate effect. Roxanne leaped to her feet and stared down at me. “How dare you come here as my friend and then betray my sister and myself in this manner?”

“Courtney is willing to come clean,” I said. “I suggest you follow her lead.”

Roxanne slowly reclaimed her seat. Her frown reminded me of a kid whose gerbil had just died. I hoped she wouldn’t start crying again.

“She admitted she killed them?” Roxanne said.

“Huh?” I said.

Fielder echoed my surprise with a “What?”

“It was most certainly the drugs,” Roxanne said quickly, her eyes darting between Fielder and me. “She wasn’t herself... but she’s getting better. She wasn’t responsible. You can’t send her to jail for something she probably doesn’t even remember doing.”

“She didn’t kill them, Courtney,” said Fielder. “Despite what some people think”—I received a pointed stare—“I have been doing my job. Your sister is one of the few people with an alibi for both murders. The easiest part of this whole case was finding out who was selling her drugs and when. She met with her dealer outside the Beadford house during the reception and in the funeral home parking lot right about the time her father died.”

Roxanne turned to me. “Is this some sort of ruse, Abby? Because I am more than willing to go to the big house—that’s vernacular for prison—because I am guilty.”

“From what you’ve told me,” Fielder said, “you’re merely guilty of telling your father that Megan Beadford was looking for her birth mother. That’s not a crime, Roxanne.”

“It is to me,” she said quietly. “Because that’s what started everything.”

I had to agree with her there, but I didn’t say this out loud. I wanted no more calf calls in my immediate future.

Fielder said, “Could you please recant this confession now?”

She crossed her arms and looked downright defiant. “I’m not recanting if it means Courtney goes to jail for her drug problem.”

Man, Roxanne had more grit in her craw than I ever gave her credit for.

Fielder pointed a finger at her. “You are wasting my time. Courtney is not going to jail—at least for now.”

“See, Abby? She’s lying. She does think Courtney is a cold-blooded murderer.”

“Don’t you get it?” I said. “Number one, your sister has an alibi. Number two, if Courtney killed your father and your uncle, how would she get money for drugs? After all, your uncle James was supporting your father. That’s how the money flowed in your family, right? From Uncle James through your father and then to you.” Yes indeed, combined with what Courtney had told me, it all made sense now.

“How did you know?” a wide-eyed Roxanne said.

“I put two and two together. After you told your father that Megan was looking for her mother, he wasted no time contacting the woman. He knew where to find her, which means he knew his brother’s secret, and he figured Megan would learn that secret soon enough, too. James would have no reason to continue paying your father for his silence. Your dad wanted his revenge before the money stopped coming in, right?”

Roxanne hung her head. “Uncle James humiliated him so many times, and Dad thought he finally had a way to get even.”

“So,” I said, “with the money cow about to dry up, what better way to end their relationship than with a hefty dose of payback? I’ll bet he loved seeing the look on James’s face when Laura Montgomery showed up at the wedding.”

Fielder said, “Wait a minute. Who’s Laura Montgomery?”

“The woman in the composite. Megan’s birth mother.”

And I had to admit I loved the look on Fielder’s face right now. Stunned and dismayed about covered it. And I was hoping she also felt like an idiot for having gone bucktooth and hangnail with me from the minute we met.

As it turned out, I was saved from having to take Roxanne home. Between Fielder and me, we convinced her that Courtney wouldn’t be sent to jail. Courtney had an alibi, she was in rehab, and Fielder had no reason to go after her. So Roxanne called Sylvia, who agreed to pick her niece up.

While Fielder and I stood by, and Henderson smiled as wide as a game show host, Sylvia ushered Roxanne out of the police station like a mother duck, telling her she needed to bathe and rest up to be ready for the visitation tonight.

Once she was gone, Fielder said, “I never thought I’d be grateful to you for anything.”

“So you are thanking me?”

“Yeah. You want to have dinner or something? Talk this case over?”

Henderson folded his arms and nodded, looking satisfied. “Very classy, Chief. I think you’re getting the hang of this job.”

“Would you shut up?” she said, but she was fighting a smile.

“You mean you want to talk over the case like two professionals?” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and think I succeeded.

She nodded. “I need to know what you’ve learned. I seem to have missed a few things.”

“You had too much evidence and not enough manpower.” I was suddenly feeling generous and forgiving in the face of her turnaround. “Like my daddy used to say, you couldn’t see the pigs for the slop.”

And I wasn’t sure I could either, but I was enjoying this too much to make that admission out loud.

We ended up going to Quinn’s surprisingly large house and ate leftover pizza right out of the fridge. At least the woman knew how to provide a decent meal. After we finished eating, we went to her living room, Dr Peppers in hand.

The place was organized and tidy like her office, the decor modern with sleek curvy tables and a leather sofa. One wall was filled with her father’s framed awards. His badge was displayed in a glass box on a small table beneath the commendations, and I also noted a picture of him shaking hands with the first President Bush.

“You were very proud of him,” I said.