Murder on the Bride’s Side

“Please,” Claire repeated wearily. “Work has been very stressful for him. He’s taken over some different client accounts and has been working very hard to win them over.”

I hid a smile as Elsie murmured, “Yes, I imagine that would be very hard work for David.”

Claire did not seem to hear the remark and continued. “And then those stock options didn’t pan out the way David imagined. You know he’s never been very good at handling stress.”

“I see,” said Elsie. “May I ask what exactly he is good at?”

Claire picked up one of the fallen rose petals on the table, crushing it between her thumb and forefinger. “Look,” she said, her voice low, “I know David has his faults, and I know that you don’t like him, but he is my husband and I expect you to treat him with a modicum of respect. You don’t realize how your behavior affects me .”

Elsie sighed. “Claire, I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. But you could do so much better —”

“Please, Mother, not again,” Claire interrupted. “We’ve had this conversation too many times already. David is my husband and that’s that. I can’t believe you can be so cavalier about a marriage. I said until death do we part, and I meant it.” Flinging the crushed petal on the table, she swung around and stormed out of the foyer.

“From her mouth to God’s ears,” Elsie muttered, watching her go.

Claire had just disappeared through the arched doorway when another face appeared in her place. It was Bridget’s father, Graham. The second of Elsie’s three children, Graham Matthews favored his mother. A successful trial lawyer, he was tall and lean with angular features. His faded blue eyes peered out from underneath bushy black eyebrows with a mix of irreverence and intelligence that had helped sway many a juror to his side of an argument. Like his mother, he was driven and opinionated. But whereas Elsie had become increasingly dogmatic in her views over the years, Graham had not. Much of this softening seemed due to Blythe. She was the perfect foil for her husband, both physically and mentally. Round and plump, she possessed a keen understanding of human nature thanks to her years as a schoolmistress. She was also thoughtful and slow to judge—traits not commonly associated with the Matthews family.

“What’s the matter with Claire?” Graham asked, seeing Elsie’s dark expression.

Elsie gave a casual shrug, but her pursed lips and furrowed brow gave away her annoyance. “David is the matter with Claire.”

Graham shot Elsie an appraising look. “Have you been after her again about him? I realize you don’t like the man. Hell, I don’t think any of us like him, but they’ve been married for almost twenty- two years now. I think it’s time we face the fact that he’s here to stay.”

Elsie scoffed. “Here to stay, my foot. How can you speak such nonsense? You yourself once said that you would do anything in your power to get rid of David.”

Graham gazed at his mother with studied indifference. “I never said any such thing and you know it. Don’t foist your own absurd wishes onto me. David is here to stay. Bullying Claire about him isn’t going to change anything.”

Elsie lifted her chin and gave Graham a level look. “That’s your opinion. A mother can always hope. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some things I need to attend to.” Pausing in the doorway, she turned and said, “And for the record, I have never bullied anyone in my life.” Sending Graham a curt nod, she swept out of the foyer, leaving the rest of us in open-mouthed shock. I fancied that even Anna looked startled. Elsie could write a primer on the fine art of bullying.

Graham shook his head in bemused disbelief before turning back to us. Focusing on me, he pulled me into a tight hug. “Elizabeth! It’s wonderful to see you! When did you arrive?”

“Just this morning,” I answered, happily returning his hug. I smiled at the familiar feel of his tweed sport coat scratching my cheek. I’d always been fond of Bridget’s father, having practically grown up in their rambling house, but I’d become even closer to him in the past few years after my own father’s untimely death. Graham had unobtrusively stepped in and filled that void, becoming almost a surrogate father to me.

“Well, all I can say is thank God you’re finally here. You always have a much-needed calming influence on Bridget.”

Turning now to her, he kissed Bridget on the cheek, saying, “And speaking of which, how’s my baby girl?”

Bridget scoffed. “Dad, I’m getting married tomorrow! I’m hardly a baby anymore.”

Graham chucked her lightly under her chin. “My mistake. You are, as always, correct. How’s my decrepit old maid?”

Laughing, Bridget said, “Oh, I’m fine. But Elsie thinks someone is going to die.”

Graham cocked one of his bushy eyebrows. “Dare I ask why?”

“Because of the seagulls she saw.”

Graham’s eyebrows now pulled together and he turned to his wife. “Seagulls?” he repeated.

Blythe rolled her eyes and handed him her garment bag. “Yes, seagulls. Apparently, it’s a sign. ”

“Sounds like I missed quite a time.”

“You have no idea. Come on, I’ll fill you in on all the details upstairs.”

They left, leaving the foyer empty save for Bridget and me. Moving toward the table, she picked up one of the fallen petals and gazed at it thoughtfully. “Maybe I should just elope,” she said.

“Don’t you even think about it!” I snapped. “After all I’ve been through this past year? You most certainly are not going to run out on me now!”

Bridget spread her hands out defensively. “Okay, it was only an idea. But the way everyone is carping at each other, this is turning into a nightmare rather than a dream wedding. And all this fuss really isn’t my style, anyway. Martha Stewart centerpieces are more up your alley.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that if Colin and I did elope, then you and Peter could take our place. You guys get married with all the trim and pomp, and Colin and I will run off to Vegas.”

“You’re forgetting two very important points,” I said, ticking them off on my fingers. “One, if you run off to Vegas, your entire family will tan your hide. And I’ll hold you down while they do it. And two... ”

“Yes?”

“Peter hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

Bridget waved her hand. “A minor detail and one I’m sure he’ll rectify soon.”

I rolled my eyes. With Bridget to wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect. “Nice try,” I said with a laugh, “but no dice. You are getting married. Here. Tomorrow . Not me.”

Bridget placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t you want to marry Peter?”

I felt my face flush. “I don’t know... ” I sputtered. “We’ve been dating less than a year... ”

With an arch look, she said, “Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.”

That caught me by surprise. “Is that... ?”

Bridget grinned smugly. “Jane Austen? It is indeed. Now answer me this: you are in love with him, aren’t you? I mean, he is the ‘one,’ isn’t he?”

“Bridget, I don’t know. And keep your voice down. I mean, I like him. A lot. But, well, we haven’t really discussed it and—”

Bridget cut me off with a derisive snort. “You ‘like him’!? Coldhearted Elizabeth! Oh! worse than coldhearted. Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again and I will leave the room this moment.”

After a beat, I said, “Okay, now you’re scaring the crap out of me.”

“Well, what do you expect? You’ve played that damn Sense and Sensibility DVD so many times over the past month that now you’ve got me quoting it.” She paused. “Actually, to be honest, I’m beginning to see the attraction.”

Rallying my composure, I said, “Bridget, this weekend is about you , not me. Besides, after this past year, going through another wedding is the farthest thing from my mind.”

Bridget didn’t say anything, but from the sudden twist of her mouth, I don’t think she believed me.