Murder on the Bride’s Side

making a decision, but it was clear that Roni wanted him to sell.”

“Did she say why she wanted him to sell?”

“Avery is a workaholic. He had a stroke last year and a lot of us thought his work habits were to blame. Roni said she was worried about his health and wanted him to retire.”

“And what did you think?”

I shrugged. “The Garden is worth a lot of money. Avery would be very wealthy if he sold it.”

“Could you tell what Avery thought about the deal?”

I hesitated. “I think he wanted to get the family’s opinion first. After all, Elsie’s father started the business. Selling it would have to be a family decision.”

Detective Grant wrote something down. Tapping his gold pen thoughtfully on the desk, he asked, “But Mrs. Matthews—Roni—thought she could convince her husband to sell?”

“Well, from what little I heard of the phone conversation, she did seem pretty confident, yes.”

“And you’ve no idea who she was talking to?”

“No, she never said his name.”

“But you assumed it was a man?”

“I did, yes.” He wrote something again and I thought about his question. The phone conversation had been loverlike, but Roni a lesbian? I dismissed the idea. I had never seen her look twice at a woman and I had seen the way she looked at men. No, it had to be a man on the other end of that phone call.

“Okay, so you said it sounded as if this person wanted to meet her but she said no?”

I thought back. It had all happened so fast. What had Roni said? “She told the person not to come and meet her, that it wouldn’t be safe. Whoever it was must have gotten angry because Roni got upset and said that she wasn’t going to double-cross them.”

“Double-cross them,” he repeated. “Did she use those exact words?”

“Yes.”

“Did she say anything about a meeting later?”

“No.”

“Did you happen to”—he paused significantly—“accidentally overhear any other phone calls?”

I flushed. “No, but I noticed Roni did receive several more during the day. I happened to be nearby when some of them came in, but she didn’t take the calls. She kept hanging up, claiming that it was either a wrong number or a crank call.”

“But you don’t believe this was the case?”

“Not really. I guess because of what I’d overheard earlier, I just assumed that the person from before was calling again and she didn’t want to take the call.”

“Did anyone else overhear this first conversation?”

I hesitated. All I had was a suspicion. And that suspicion could potentially implicate someone in Bridget’s family.

“I can see from the expression on your face that the answer is yes. By the way, if you don’t already know this, let me offer you a word of advice—never play poker. Now, who else overheard this conversation?”

“I don’t know for sure. When Roni left the study, she went out to the terrace to have a cigarette. Through there.” I pointed to the French doors behind him. “She smoked when she got upset and I didn’t want to bother her just then,” I continued in a rush, not caring for the knowing smirk Detective Grant directed my way. “I stepped back inside the house through the French doors leading to the living room. It was then that I heard the footsteps. I followed them but didn’t see anyone. When I came back, I saw that the door to the study was open a crack.”

“Meaning someone could have been listening.”

“I guess so. But as I said, I didn’t see anyone.”

“And where did these footsteps go?”

“Down the hallway, toward the upstairs staircase.”

“Describe the footsteps. Were they heavy, light, lumbering?”

I thought back. “They were rapid and loud, as if someone was wearing a hard-heeled shoe.”

“High heels?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

The sound of footsteps rapidly approaching the door caught my attention. Detective Grant stared at me. “Were they like those?”

They were, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. As it turned out, I needn’t have bothered. Detective Grant took one look at my face and knew the answer as surely as if I’d screamed it at him.

In silence we watched as the door swung open and the owner of the footsteps entered. It was Elsie. She was bearing an elaborately set tray, with a coffeepot, cups, a pitcher of cream, and sugar, as well as a plate of assorted tea cookies. I noticed that the coffee service was her best set. She was certainly pulling out all the stops.

Placing the tray in front of Detective Grant, she said, “Your coffee, Detective. May I pour you a cup?”

Detective Grant leaned back in the leather chair, the movement making a soft creaking noise, and casually crossed his arms across his chest. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Matthews. And then perhaps you can tell me if you’ve had any success locating Megan.”

If his question rattled Elsie, she did an excellent job of hiding it. Calmly pouring out a cup of rich, hot coffee, she handed it to him before answering. “Well, no, Detective. We haven’t found her yet. I’m sure she’ll turn up soon. This is such a dreadful business. Megan will be just devastated. She’s a good girl, really, but you know how teenagers can be.”

“Actually, as I told Ms. Parker here,” he said, with a brief nod in my direction, “I don’t have any kids. How would you describe teenagers?”

Elsie studied him with a level look. “Well, Detective, I don’t think one necessarily needs to have teenagers to understand them. For instance, you were a teenager once, correct? Or did you just skip all that and spring to your current age?”

I winced. Elsie’s family and friends had grown accustomed to her outspokenness. At times it could be endearing. I suspected from the way Detective Grant’s gray eyes glittered that this was not one of those times.

“Surprisingly enough, Mrs. Matthews, I was indeed a teenager—a very long time ago. And I think I remember how it feels to not get along with a parent, which, from what you two are not telling me, seems to be the case with Megan. Now, why don’t you tell me exactly why Megan and her mother didn’t get along?”

Elsie ignored his question and instead pounced on something else. “You didn’t get along with your parents? Why ever not? An upstanding man like yourself? I find that hard to believe.”

Detective Grant glared at Elsie. “This conversation isn’t about me, it’s about Megan.”

“Of course, but I’d feel better knowing that I’m talking to someone who might actually understand our Megan. Megan is a special girl, but that fact seems to have escaped her mother.”

Was Elsie completely off her rocker? She was telling the detective in charge of the case to open up about himself before she told him about Megan. I braced myself for the explosion.

Surprisingly, Detective Grant did not leap to his feet and place Elsie into custody. Shifting in his seat, he merely said, “I wanted to be a dancer. Like Gene Kelly. However, my father had very definite ideas about my career, and being a dancer wasn’t on the list.”

While I struggled not to gasp in astonishment at the image of Detective Grant deftly swinging from a lamppost, Elsie contemplated him with serious eyes. “So you just gave it up?” she asked.

“No. I kept at it for a while, actually. But in the end, I just didn’t have the talent to make a career out if it. But it was a rough time for me and my dad. So in answer to your question, yes, I think I can view a rocky parent- child relationship with an open mind. Now, why don’t you tell me about Megan?”

After a moment, Elsie gave a sharp nod of her head. “Megan doesn’t look like a Barbie doll and she has a brain. In short, she is the complete opposite of her mother.” With a twist of her mouth, she added, “May she rest in peace.”

“Mrs. Matthews,” Detective Grant said with slow deliberation, “a murder was committed here last night. Not only that, but the victim was your daughter-in-law. She was brutally stabbed not fifty feet outside these doors