Murder on the Bride’s Side

he said. “However, I must say I find it strange that you are just giving it to me now.”

“There’s nothing strange about it. With all the commotion, I just... forgot.” Damn it, he was right. It did sound strange. Detective Grant said nothing but continued to stare at me, his gray eyes inscrutable. Then he rapidly scribbled away in his little black notebook, no doubt adding other various comments about my evasive and suspicious nature.

When the scratching of his pen on the paper subsided, he looked up at me, his cold eyes boring into mine. “Did you happen to see anything else, Ms. Parker?”

“No, just the key.”

“I see,” he said. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled what looked like a sandwich baggie from a folder in front of him. Inside was a note written on heavy white paper. “Any idea what this might mean?” he asked, handing me the letter.

Across the top was the logo for the Jefferson Hotel. Below that ran the message. In thick black words, it read, “MEET ME OUTSIDE THE SIDE TERRACE AT 2 A.M. OR I TELL ALL!” It was written in all capitals; there was no signature.

I looked back up to find Detective Grant studying me intensely. I handed him back the letter. “Where did you find that?” I asked.

“Inside the deceased’s purse. Any ideas?”

“Well, it would seem that someone who was staying at the Jefferson wanted to meet Roni at two A.M. And based on the room key I found, it would appear she kept the appointment.”

“Quite a lot left behind at the scene, I’d say,” he said.

“I suppose.”

He eyed me in silence before continuing on a different track. “How was the deceased’s behavior during the wedding? Did she seem upset? Nervous?”

“No, she seemed fine.” I paused, thinking back. “I sat with her and Avery for a while, and then Avery said he was tired and wanted to go to bed early. Roni said that she’d be along shortly to say good night to him, but she stayed at the reception. I remember because she came inside a few minutes after I did, and I remember... feeling sorry for Avery.”

“Wait a minute. She stated she was going to say good night to her husband when she got in? Weren’t they sharing a room?”

“No. Avery recently had a stroke. He said he’d been having trouble sleeping lately and didn’t like keeping Roni up. He has a room here on the first floor. Roni has—had—a room upstairs.”

A faint line formed between Detective Grant’s eyebrows. He flipped through his notebook until he found what he was looking for. “I have here”—he tapped the page with his pen—“that Mr. Matthews stated he slept through the night last night.” He looked up at me.

I shrugged. “I didn’t say it was true that he was having trouble sleeping, I just said that was the reason given for the separate rooms.”

“Ah, I see.” He closed the notebook and drummed his fingers on the desktop. “So you saw Mrs. Matthews at the end of the night. What time was this?”

“Around one thirty, I guess.”

“That is interesting.” It was? My heart beat faster. Not to be outdone, my head picked up the thumping beat. Great. I had a band of pain pulsating through my body.

“Why is that interesting?” I asked.

“The coroner places the time of death between one and three A.M.”

“Really? Well, then that means that the note was probably from the killer!” I said excitedly. “They met at two and... ” Seeing Detective Grant’s exasperated expression, my face flushed. I shifted gears. “Right. Well, you probably already figured that out for yourself,” I said, trying to undo the damage.

“Yes, my brain was actually able to make that rather astounding leap of logic,” he said. “But thanks for the tip.”

As there seemed to be no intelligent response to this, I remained silent: I wished I would stay that way, but experience assured me that in mere moments I would again be saying something stupid.

“Quite a bit of luck for the family, you finding this key and us finding the note, wouldn’t you say?”

From his tone, I gathered that he meant anything but that. “What do you mean?” I asked warily.

“Just that this note, written on hotel stationery,” he said, giving it an accusatory shake, “and this key left at the scene, sure do point to someone outside the Matthews family committing this crime, now don’t they?”

“Well, maybe that’s because someone outside the family did commit the crime,” I shot back.

He shrugged his large shoulders, the action sending a wave of movement across the expensive fabric of his suit. “Maybe. But it’s a rather neat little find you made, wouldn’t you say?”

I wouldn’t. I stared back at him with what I hoped was a look of sublime innocence at his sordid meaning.

After a beat, he smirked. “Let’s get back to last night. You said you last saw Mrs. Matthews around one thirty. Was anyone else with you?”

“Oh, yes!” I replied, glad to prove that I hadn’t been alone with Roni. “My boyfriend, Peter, was with me. And Claire and David were in the room. And Harry was there, too... ” I came to an abrupt stop before I chucked Harry under the bus next to where I’d thrown Megan. If Detective Grant noticed my sudden cessation of speech, he didn’t say. Instead, he looked at his notebook—for a very long time, it seemed to me. Finally, he looked back at me. “How would you describe the deceased?” he said.

“How would I describe her?” I repeated, startled by his abrupt change of subject. Was he trying to catch me off guard, hoping I’d say something stupid? I debated telling him that if this were the case, he needn’t bother. I was quite capable of saying something stupid without any help from him.

“Yes. What kind of person was she?”

Was he kidding? She was an egotistical bitch, but I couldn’t very well come out and say that. He might really start to think I killed her. “I didn’t know her very well, so—”

“Don’t give me that crap. You are a longtime friend of this family. You strike me as a moderately intelligent young woman. Surely you must have formed some kind of an opinion about the woman. Was she well liked?”

I bristled. “Moderately intelligent?”

His lips curved into a malicious smile. “Well, let’s see how you answer my questions before we upgrade that assessment, shall we? Now, why don’t we try this again? Was she well liked?”

“Her husband loved her,” I said, still stalling for time. I knew that he would eventually discover that most of the Matthews family hated Roni. I just didn’t want it to be from me.

“Okay,” said Detective Grant, with exaggerated slowness. “But that leaves”—he silently counted on his fingers—“at least eight other people I need to know about. Can you enlighten me on them ? Ever overhear any of them talking about her?”

At the word overhear , the memory of Roni on the phone slipped into focus. Glad to have something to give the detective that wasn’t related to the Matthewses, I sat up straighter in my chair. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I did overhear something yesterday. It was in this room, actually. Roni was in here alone. She was talking on her cell phone about her efforts to get Avery to sell the family’s landscaping business.” I tried to glide over the part where I stood outside and blatantly eavesdropped, fearing it might suggest nasty things about my basic character. “From her end of the conversation, it sounded not only as if she was working with the person at the other end but that she was also having an affair with him. Maybe he was the one who sent her the note and dropped the key!”

Detective Grant stared at me. I don’t know for how long exactly, but long enough for my upper lip to start twitching.

Pushing himself off the desk, he strode around to the other side and sat down heavily in the chair. Muttering something about the stupidity of people withholding important evidence, he grabbed his pen again and furiously scratched in his notebook. I had a sneaking suspicion that my “moderate” rating had slipped a notch.

“Start at the beginning,” he said. “What’s this about the family business being sold?”

I took a deep breath. “From some conversations last night, I gather that Avery—he’s president of the Garden—received a buyout offer. He was mulling it over and was going to get input from the whole family before