Tracy Kiely - Murder on the Bride’s Side

Claire looked at me, her red-rimmed eyes pleading. “Please,” she said in a low whisper. “It’s all over now.”

I’m not sure how long after that Detective Grant left. Time seemed to take on a different quality for me. At times, it flew by in lighting-fast spurts; at others it dragged with maddening slowness. Like now.

It was well past midnight. Peter sat next to me on the terrace—the back, not the side. Idly, I wondered if I’d ever be able to sit in that area of the terrace again. Neither of us had spoken for what seemed a long while, but maybe that’s just because my perspective was so screwed up.

“So,” Peter finally said.

“So,” I agreed.

After a beat, I asked, “How did you happen to be here, anyway?”

“Colin and Bridget called and invited me over for a drink.” Suddenly, I understood their interest in getting me to join them as well.

“What are you going to do now?” Peter asked.

“I’ll stay for the funerals, and then I’m going to the Cape. I’ve got some vacation time I can use. This whole weekend has thrown me, I guess. A lot of things that I thought were solid, were unalterable facts, just got thrown out the window. I think I need some time to sort through everything.”

After a long silence, Peter said, “Well, I’m leaving next week for London. I’ll be gone for at least three months. When I come back, maybe we can get together or something... ” He trailed off.

Just don’t be engaged , I prayed. I wanted to tell him that I still wanted him to come to the Cape with me, but somehow the words wouldn’t come out. The fact of Chloe—the fact that he hadn’t told me about her—raised every red flag in my head. The awkward, fat girl inside me still had too strong a pull. I heard her familiar taunt of “Yeah, right, like he’s going to stick with you when he could have Chloe,” and stayed silent.

After another minute, Peter stood up to go.

Later in the day, Megan came home from the hospital. She’d suffered a slight concussion and needed a tremendous amount of stitches, but she was going to be all right. Julia and Avery sat with her; every once in a while one or the other would reach over to touch her as if to reassure themselves that she was really there. Harry stayed near them, an expression of calm on his drawn face as he watched Avery and Julia together. He’d had a rough couple of days, I thought. I hoped now that he would be able to find some peace.

Bridget and Colin had booked another flight to Bermuda. They were scheduled to leave immediately after the funerals and were obviously excited to finally start their honeymoon. Blythe and Graham both offered them last-minute advice, advice I could tell Bridget had every intention of ignoring.

Claire and Elsie sat in the two hearthside chairs. Between them a fire danced happily inside the grate. I noticed that while they spoke very little, there seemed to be a quiet understanding between them that I couldn’t ever remember having seen before.

I leaned back in my chair. So was this it, then? Roni is killed and David is posthumously judged to be the murderer and the Matthewses experience some peace. I looked around wondering how long it would be before Elsie returned to dictating everyone’s lives and they were all grumbling in frustrated protest. For now, though, they were a family unit once again—and for me, that would have to be enough.

Roni’s funeral was held the next day. It was a subdued affair, just as Avery wanted. David was buried the day after. By Claire’s request, it was also a quiet remembrance. Detective Grant attended both funerals. At each, he nodded gravely at me but said nothing.

The next day, I packed to leave for the Cape. Bridget and Colin had left early that morning. All that was left was for me to say good-bye to the rest of the family. Standing in the driveway, Blythe and Graham said good-bye, making me promise to come and visit them again very soon. Elsie’s good-bye was more meaningful. Giving me a long hug, she said, “Thanks again for everything, kiddo. You were amazing.” After searching my face carefully, she said, “You gave us back our family. And for that I can never thank you enough.”

I nodded, unsure what to say. Claire stepped forward next. She wasn’t wearing a headband and her bangs were pushed over to one side. It was a tiny change, but I hoped it was the first of many. Pulling me into a tight embrace, she said, “Thanks, Elizabeth. Thanks for everything. We’ll be fine now.”

Megan, Julia, and Avery were next. I was relieved to see that Megan seemed to be handling the traumatic events of the last few days quite well. I suspected that Julia’s calming influence and professional expertise had much to do with that.

Harry was last to say good-bye. Grabbing my hand with a flourish, he said, “Ah, Elizabeth, parting is such sweet sorrow.”

Giving him a level look, I said, “And a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.”

Confusion crossed his face. “Don’t you mean, ‘A rose by any other name ’?”

“No.”

Something in his expression changed. “You always were smarter than me.”

Before I could answer, he pulled me close. Wrapping his arms around me, he whispered into my ear, “Thank you, Elizabeth. Thank you... well, for everything. I’ve always known you were special, but I don’t think I knew exactly how special until this weekend. I missed my chance with you. Don’t make the same mistake and miss your chance with Peter.”

“Good-bye, Harry,” I said, turning away before I started to cry.

He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on my forehead. There was nothing else to be said. I got into my car and headed for the Cape.

Three months later

I sat in Aunt Winnie’s reading room at her Cape Cod B and B, the Inn at Longbourn. As I had last year, I was spending New Year’s Eve with her. Unlike last year, there would be no murder dinner theater—no point in tempting fate again. A large fire danced and crackled in the hearth, helping to ward off winter’s chill. Lady Catherine, Aunt Winnie’s large white Persian cat, lay curled up in her basket on the hearth. If this suggests a cozy arrangement, it was anything but. Lady Catherine has no manners to speak of and dislikes me almost as much as I dislike her.

In my hand was a letter I’d just received. I think I always knew it was coming, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be to read it. I saw with some sadness that the handwriting was faint and weak.

Dear Elizabeth ,

By the time you read this, I will, as they say, have moved on. I’m not sure how I feel about that, to tell you the truth, but it will be a relief to not have to fight this illness anymore. The leukemia was just too strong for me this time.

Unlike others who don’t know when their death is coming, I’m trying to stay positive and look at this as an opportunity to reflect on my life. I think you should know that I’ve decided to categorize you as my Greatest Regret. Leave it to me to have the perfect girl right under my nose and not realize it until it’s too late. Don’t make the same mistake I made, Elizabeth. I know you love Peter. Don’t be an ass and ruin it just because you’re afraid of getting hurt. If you don’t fight for what you want, you run the risk of missing too much.

I shifted uncomfortably. I hadn’t talked to Peter since he’d left for London. I’d hoped he would call me, but he hadn’t. I had begun to resign myself to the fact that he never would. I focused on the letter again rather than deal with my own emotions.