Tracy Kiely: Murder on the Bride’s Side

“Uh... not really,” Peter said. “It’s my parents’ company.” He shot me a quizzical look and I shrugged in response. Among David’s many odious traits was an obsession with money, mainly other people’s money, as he never seemed to have any of his own.

“Say, Pete,” David continued, “why don’t we talk later about you guys using us for your landscaping needs? Given Elizabeth is practically family, I’ll give you a good deal. But then, maybe I’d better talk to Elizabeth first,” he said with a broad wink, “and find out how serious you two are before I start handing out discounts.”

My cheeks flushed. “I would never dream of asking for special favors for anyone, David,” I said as diplomatically as I could.

David threw back his head again and made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Oh! Watch out, Pete! Did you hear that?” he jeered. “You don’t even rate the discount yet!”

Beside him, Claire saw my flush and quickly interjected, “David’s only kidding.”

David’s eyes briefly glanced in Claire’s direction, as if surprised to find her next to him. “Huh?” he asked.

Claire did not answer. Instead, Elsie spoke. “As grandmother of the bride, I insist that there be no business talk tonight. Let’s just enjoy the festivities.”

David took a large gulp from his glass and shrugged his large shoulders. “Whatever you say, boss .”

Elsie’s eyes narrowed and her nose pinched as if suddenly assaulted by a foul odor. David missed the look, but Claire did not. Two red spots flamed brightly on her pallid cheeks. Glancing uneasily at Elsie, she gently tugged on David’s sleeve and pulled him away under the pretext of making an introduction. Elsie’s eyes followed Claire as she dragged her husband across the room.

Seeing her glower, Harry leaned over and said, “Let it go, Elsie. She’s a grown woman. She can make her own choices.”

“The man’s a jackass,” Elsie muttered.

“True, but as someone once said, ‘There is probably nothing like living together for blinding people to each other.’ ”

Elsie turned to him with a reluctant grunt of amusement. “Since when did you get to be so smart?”

“I’ve been taking a correspondence course,” he said, extending his arm. “Now, why don’t you buy me a drink?”

As we watched them go, Bridget turned to Peter. “Nicely done, by the way. Not many people know that movie.”

Peter laughed. “I don’t think anyone could hang out with you two and not know that movie.”

Bridget nodded. “Elizabeth has Jane Austen; I have Cary Grant.”

“Not tonight, you don’t,” said Colin good-naturedly. “Now if you two will excuse us for a second, I need to introduce Bridget to my cousin.”

Peter turned to me. “Okay, just so I’m clear. I’ve been here only ten minutes and so far someone has informed me that he wants to run away with you, a drunk I just met wants me to hire him, then I had to pass a test on old movies. Is there anything else I need to be worried about for this weekend?”

“Nothing at all,” I said laughing, hugging his arm and feeling warm just standing next to him. “The worst is over.”

What a whopper that turned out to be.

At the prompting of the waitstaff, we took our assigned seats. Bridget and Colin settled in at a table with their parents, while Peter and I were seated with the rest of Bridget’s family. I quickly introduced Peter. The first to speak was Bridget’s uncle Avery—Elsie’s oldest son and Harry’s father.

“Elizabeth,” he said as we sat down, “it’s nice to see you again. How have you been?”

“I’m fine, Avery,” I answered. “How have you been?”

Avery has a long sad, horselike face, salt-and-pepper hair, and slate gray eyes. Until recently, he ran the Secret Garden, the Matthews family’s business, with workaholic zeal. However, a stroke a few months back had confined him to a wheelchair and left his role as company president in doubt. Seeing him now, I was taken aback by his frail appearance. The stroke had severely damaged his once-lean, athletic body. His left side had been primarily affected, but his right side seemed just as weak. His whole body seemed to have simply given up. He was only fifty-eight years old, but he looked at least a decade older.

He produced a determined smile. “Oh, I’m fine. Getting stronger every day. I’m quite sure I’ll be out of this contraption soon.” He lightly slapped the arm of his wheelchair. “I owe most of my recovery to Roni, really. She’s been my angel.”

Roni, Avery’s much younger second wife, had been married to Avery for only a few years, but for most who knew Roni, that was deemed long enough. With delicately winged eyebrows framing sapphire blue eyes, a flawless complexion, sleek black hair, and a figure that simply has to be man-made, Roni is easy to hate. Happily, her monstrous personality removes any guilt one might feel about such superficial snap judgments. At Avery’s praise, her coral lips curved into a coy smile and she patted his hand. “Oh, Avery, please,” she purred with false modesty. “I haven’t done anything special.”

She was right, of course. Bridget had told me that Avery had been forced to hire a full-time nurse because of Roni’s inability to be of any real use. In fact, she was so worthless that she was even staying in a different room from Avery. Avery claimed the reason for this was his recent difficulty sleeping, but no one believed him. While Roni’s unintentionally honest assessment of her nursing abilities was lost on Avery, it wasn’t on the rest of us. Claire quickly looked down at her lap, Elsie rolled her eyes, and Harry coughed uncontrollably into his napkin. Roni peered suspiciously at her stepson before continuing. “I just know that you’ll be up on your feet by Christmas, honey,” she said.

Only her brother-in-law David was impressed with her performance. He beamed at Roni with all the goofy admiration of a love-struck schoolboy. “That’s right, Avery,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be back at your desk in no time.”

“Well,” said Roni softly, fiddling with the tiny strap of her lavender sheath. The small movement brought everyone’s attention to one (or rather two) of Roni’s most stunning features. For a moment, I thought that David would fall into his lobster bisque, but Roni’s next words righted his posture in a jiffy. “That may never happen, if Avery decides to accept Landscape Garden’s most generous offer.”

Her words threw the table into stunned silence. The Secret Garden had been in the Matthews family for generations. The mere idea that it be sold—and to an impersonal corporate chain such as Landscape Gardens—was dumbfounding.

Elsie broke the silence. Slamming her spoon down, she bit out through clenched teeth, “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly? Are you considering selling the Garden?”

Avery opened his mouth, but it was Roni who answered. “Well, yes, Elsie, we are.” She leaned in close to Avery and slid her arm under his. Avery shifted uncomfortably. “After Avery’s dreadful stroke, I thought it best that he concentrate on enjoying life rather than working so much. With this wonderful offer we could retire, travel, take it easy.”

Elsie fixed her daughter-in-law with a glacial smile. “I wasn’t aware that you were working, dear.”

Roni fixed Elsie with a frosty smile of her own. “I just want what’s best for Avery.”