Body in the Bookcase

“You’re not coming to my wedding!”

It was Stephanie, with Binky at her heels. She stopped short in horror as the details of the scene became clear.

“Why can’t I have normal parents like everybody else—alcoholics, cokeheads, spouse swappers? Unless this is very kinky and very tacky sex—I mean, the help . . .”

Unlike his bride, Binky hadn’t paused. He’d calmly grabbed Courtney, efficiently wrenching the gun from her hand as Stephanie whined. He had his future mother-in-law pinned before his intended had finished her last sentence.

“Hand me some of that rope, darling, so I can tie your mother up. I think we’ll leave everyone as they are until the police arrive and we get this sorted out. Go in the house and call them, please.” His voice rang with unmistakable authority. It was Bancroft, not Binky.

“Are you out of your mind!” Stephanie cried.

“It’s my wedding day tomorrow, in case you’ve forgotten. We don’t want people to think anything’s wrong, and the police are bound to make a big deal out of this. I’m getting the shoes I left behind and we’re out of here— all of us!”

“It is a big deal, Stephanie,” Faith implored.

“Your mother has been involved in a ring of house burglaries, buying and selling stolen goods. She murdered her partner, George Stackpole, and maybe George’s girlfriend, Gloria, too.” Damn, she’d forgotten to get that on the tape.

“And she was indirectly responsible for the death of a dear friend of mine!” While she was reciting this litany of crimes, she was well aware that Stephanie was probably thinking of something else—like whether she’d be featured in the

“Vows” section of the New York Times.

But Bancroft’s eyebrows shot up. A few crooked branches on the family tree were par for the course, but this sounded like the last stages of Dutch elm disease.

“I don’t care,” Stephanie pouted. “I’m sure Mummy had a very good reason for everything she did. Now, Binky, untie everybody and let’s all leave. I’m going to have bags the size of steamer trunks under my eyes tomorrow!”

It was the first time Faith had ever heard Stephanie make a joke, but this was no joking matter.

“We’re talking about murder! Two, maybe three! And blackmail, and theft!” Faith exclaimed in desperation. She appealed to Bancroft, who had blanched but, thankfully, not moved the gun—which was squarely pointed at Courtney.

“There’s a cell phone in Courtney’s purse. Please call the state police and ask for Detective Lieutenant John Dunne. He knows all about the case.

Please!”

“Are you going to believe the ravings of this woman, Bancroft? If so, I’m very, very disappointed in you. You’re not the man I thought you were!”

Was it possible that Courtney still thought she could pull this off? Winging her way to South America within the hour? Faith didn’t want to say anything about the tape in the library.

Stephanie was liable to destroy it in the interest, self-interest, of maintaining face.

“Not the man I thought you were, either,” Julian said admiringly. “I think this could be the start of a long and beautiful friendship, although why you’re marrying my spoiled-rotten daughter eludes me.”

“Daddy!” Stephanie started to move toward her mother with the clear intent of releasing her.

“No, Steph, stay where you are.” Bancroft inched forward, picked up the purse, and got the phone out. He called the number Faith recited by heart and then dialed 911 for the Concord police to get some reinforcements right away.

While they waited, he addressed Julian’s question. “She’s beautiful, smarter than she appears, and, as for the rest, definitely educable. Good in bed, too, but you probably don’t want to hear that, sir.” He smiled.

“Au contraire. Hat’s off to you. Very important in a marriage. Never had it myself.”

Courtney didn’t bother to say a word, but the look she gave Julian was so poisonous, Faith was amazed the man didn’t fall to the ground frothing.

Within minutes, there were flashing blue lights, sirens, cops everywhere. Here we go again, Faith thought, so tired, she could barely give her name.

Soon after, John Dunne strode into the middle of the melee and, seeing Faith tied up, immediately ordered her released. “I thought you’d like me this way, out of commission,” she said as she tried to restore circulation to her arms and legs. Securing loads of furniture had made Julian extremely proficient at bondage. Dunne frowned. “Not when the bad guys do it, and I assume that’s what’s going on here. Not that keeping you out of commission hasn’t crossed my mind in the past, but no, I’m not happy. I have the feeling I will be, though. This all connects to the Stackpole murder, right?”

“Right. I have something for you to listen to.

Courtney Cabot Bullock’s confession of Stackpole’s murder—and a variety of other misdeeds.” The police were untying Courtney, and when she heard this, she lunged for Faith. “You whore!

You were taping me! Forget about ever getting a decent catering job in this town again. You’ll be lucky if they let you make the fries at McDon-ald’s!”

Faith wasn’t worried.

She led Dunne out of the barn back into the house. “And Julian Bullock?” he asked.

“He’s out of this. We worked out the trap together. He had nothing to do with the murders—I’m afraid Gloria is not in Canada—or anywhere else alive—but we didn’t get the details. I think Courtney wanted a backup suspect in case she couldn’t make the charge stick on Julian.” Dunne shook his head. “You were only supposed to go to a few pawnshops.”

“That’s what you said. I never did. How could I let Sarah’s death go by and not do everything possible to find out who killed her?” Dunne opened the back door for her. “Show me this tape and we’ll get Julian to hand it over, since I don’t happen to have a warrant on me; then let’s get you home. You’re going to have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“A wedding, primarily.” Faith grinned. “A very beautiful, very expensive, very unusual wedding.”

Promptly at noon the following day, Stephanie Cabot Bullock marched down the aisle at Trinity Church on the arm of her father. Her white satin gown fit to perfection, scooped low in the front and back, tight over the hips, the full skirt billow-ing out in shimmering folds. Her hair was pulled back in a demure knot, a few artful wisps escaping. Bancroft’s gift, a double string of luminous pearls, and a single white rose in her hair were her only ornamentation. No veil. She carried a small, tight bouquet of more roses—white, ivory, and cream. Julian and Bancroft wore morning coats. The bridesmaids in their honey-colored Caroline Bessette Kennedy slip dresses stood at either side with the ushers. The maid of honor was in a pale green version, an embodiment of the promise spring makes to summer with its first tender shoots and buds. Each young woman carried a spray of white lilacs.

The mother of the bride was wearing orange or olive green at a secure facility. Her absence was impossible to overlook, but it went unmentioned—at the ceremony and the reception. Everyone was much too well bred to do more than exchange a meaningful glance, a glance that promised future revelations entre nous.

Faith had gone to the church, leaving her expanded staff to cope with the preparations for the reception. She had to see the thing through. The frosty look Stephanie gave her as she glided past the pew was what Faith expected. The wink from Julian wasn’t. She sat down and listened to the familiar words, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God . . .”

Dearly beloved, two of the most beautiful words in the English language.

Then it was over and the young couple, now joined as husband and wife, came joyfully down the aisle. Stephanie was truly radiant. There were no bags of any size under her clear blue eyes.

Maybe Binky was a safe harbor for someone who had been brought up with very little in the way of mooring lines. Faith hoped so and wished them both well. Then she raced across town to the Wentworth Building and worked feverishly for the rest of the afternoon on what was indeed a perfectly splendid wedding reception.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to cook tonight—and we’re dying of curiosity.” Faith arrived home, to find Patsy