Tracy Kiely - Murder on the Bride’s Side

“Her cell phone,” Elsie echoed with an emphatic nod.

I realized it did make sense. I had already guessed that it was Elsie’s footsteps I had heard hurrying away after listening in on Roni’s phone call. For her to take Roni’s cell phone to track the call was entirely consistent with the special brand of morality that Elsie employed when her children were concerned.

Giving my hands a shake, she peered at my face closely. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

I looked into her eyes and, with a wave of relief that made me grateful I was already sitting down, I knew that I did. Seeing my expression, she pulled me into a fierce hug. “Oh, thank God. You’ve no idea how terrible I felt thinking that you thought I... ”

“I’m sorry, Elsie. I don’t know what got into me. It’s been such a horrible couple of days; I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.” I gave a rueful laugh. “As you have no doubt already realized, I’m not the great detective that Bridget makes me out to be.”

Elsie placed her hands on my shoulders and eased me back. Staring into my face with a sober expression, she said, “I wouldn’t say that, my dear. You’ve learned quite a lot. And don’t forget, you saved Harry. For that, I will be forever grateful. You are a very special young lady. I knew that the very first time I met you.” She added, a glint in her eyes, “And remember, I have the ‘sight.’ I know these things.”

I scoffed. “Elsie, you told me that I was destined to marry a rocker and live a life of international travel.”

Elsie shook her head. “No, dear. I said that you were destined to marry a ‘rock,’ not a rocker.”

“I’m meant to marry a rock?”

“When you get a minute, look up the meaning of the name Peter ,” Elsie said kindly.

I blushed at her words. Changing the subject, I said, “Well, I hope this investigation gets cleared up soon. I have a feeling that until it does, Detective Grant is going to want to keep a very close eye on me. I don’t think he believes me about finding the necklace.”

Elsie nodded. “I think you may be right. But I know that it’ll get straightened out. In the meantime, get some sleep. You look like you could use it.”

She left, Anna padding happily along behind her. I stared blankly at Megan’s bed, wondering where she could be. I don’t know how long it took me to notice that the bedpost where she hung her purse was bare. Shit. Where had she gone? I looked at the clock; it was a little after ten. Where would a seventeen-year-old go at that hour? I knew the answer almost immediately: she was at the boathouse smoking pot. Enough is enough, I thought. If I was going to catch her in the act, I’d have to hurry. I slipped on my robe and slippers, reasoning that the sight of my ensemble might be enough to scare her straight. As I grabbed a hair tie off my nightstand to pull my hair back, I saw Megan’s flowers. Some of the roses were already dying, their pink heads bent low, their stems limp. I continued to stare at them as another memory swirled. The impact of that memory made my knees buckle. Thankfully, the bed caught me as I sank backward. I’d been looking at the whole thing upside down!

It all made sense now—the calls to Roni’s cell phone, the source of the thump, the letter from the hotel.

I sat there in shock, struggling to find a flaw in my reasoning, but for once there was none. Only Megan would be able to tell me if I was wrong. I made my way downstairs and slipped outside into the darkness, intent on finding her.

The moon hung behind thick clouds, transforming the wide lawn into a maze of shadows. Carefully making my way to the boathouse, I could hear Bridget and Colin’s murmured conversation from the patio. Soon their voices faded, seemingly swallowed up by the night. Ahead of me a branch snapped. A second later, the sound was repeated. An uneasy premonition slid down my spine. Hurrying, I had just rounded the curve leading to the boathouse when I heard a sickening thump. My heart thudding in my chest, I picked up the ends of my robe and ran toward the sound.

I had gone only a few steps when I saw the dark crumpled heap. With terrible certainty, I knew it was Megan.

Running over to her recumbent body, I was dimly aware that I was screaming. I hoped Colin and Bridget could hear me, but my voice sounded like it was originating from the end of a long tunnel. I came to a skidding halt over Megan’s body and knelt beside her. Blood streamed down her face and onto the grass. There was a large gash from her forehead almost to her crown. A heavy black flashlight lay on the ground next to her. Numb with terror, I frantically felt for a pulse and went weak with relief when I felt a faint and thready one. Just then, I saw a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. A dark figure darted furtively across the back lawn in jeans and a black shirt. I couldn’t make out many details, but I saw the black ski mask over the face.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was bounding across the lawn in full pursuit. The grass was slick from rain and I discovered quickly that bunny slippers do not provide much, if any, traction, but I wasn’t going to let the bastard who attacked Megan get away without a fight. Luckily, her attacker appeared even more unsteady than I was, and soon I was within arm’s reach. With a burst of speed, I hurled myself at the runner’s waist and the two of us fell to the ground. I had the upper hand for a moment, the element of surprise being on my side. But with an embarrassingly easy shove, I was flung off. I had a brief sensation of weightlessness as I soared through the air before I crashed back down to the ground in an ignominious heap. The jolt of the landing knocked the wind out of me and I desperately sucked at the air. Flopping on the ground like a fish out of water, I was helpless as my attacker jumped up and took flight. But after only three or four steps a quick-moving blur to my right tackled the form. To my surprise, I realized that the blur was Peter. This time the figure wasn’t able to toss aside its attacker, especially after Colin joined the fray.

Writhing in pain, the dark figure let loose a stream of obscenities that left me with no doubt as to its identity. Even before Peter ripped off the black ski mask, I already knew it would be David’s face underneath.

Colin and Peter managed to drag David back to the house, although it wasn’t an easy task. David is not only a big man, but he was also drunk, and the alcohol surging through his blood gave him added vigor. I ran back to where Megan lay; Bridget joined me a second later. Together, we gently carried her to the house. The fact I kept tripping on my slippers’ bunny ears didn’t help matters.

We lay Megan on the living room couch. She was terribly pale but, thankfully, conscious. The house was suddenly alive with activity. Julia, who had been visiting Avery, let out a small scream when she saw Megan. Hovering over her with anxious desperation, she knelt beside the couch, her face ashen, and gently cradled Megan’s battered head in the palms of her hands. Time seemed to slow for me and I realized that my earlier deduction had been right, after all. Megan was the key to all of this. It had been about her all along. It explained everything—the source of the mysterious thump, the key, and the note. The realization and its implications almost made me throw up.

In the distance, I heard sirens screaming toward the house, and for the first time since I’d arrived I hoped that they brought Detective Grant with them.

Peter and Colin shoved the struggling David into a chair and stood over him with the fireplace poker while Elsie ran to the kitchen for something to secure David with. Claire stared aghast at her husband, uttering only one anguished word: “Why?”