Murder on the Bride’s Side

I was only half listening. Events and facts swirled in my head. I was missing something—something important—something about the time of the murder. If I could just remember what it was. Suddenly, the increasingly murky surface of my brain cleared and the solution to the puzzle swam to the surface.

“Wait!” I cried, pushing myself off the bed so suddenly that Bridget started backward. “I think I have it!”

Chapter 18

Santa Claus has the right idea; visit people once a year.

—VICTOR BORGE

Within minutes, I was once again seated opposite Detective Grant in the study. Only this time, I was in a good mood. Although Peter would need to speak with Detective Grant himself, I hadn’t pulled him into the room with me yet. First, I wanted to confirm that my suspicions were correct.

“You said that the murder was committed between one and three A.M.?” I said.

“Yes,” said Detective Grant slowly.

“Then Harry couldn’t have done it!” I cried triumphantly.

“I see. And how do you figure that?” he asked, leaning back into the desk and folding his arms across his wide chest.

“Wait and I’ll tell you!” In two quick strides, I was across the room. Swinging open the heavy door with a flourish, I looked out into the living room for Peter. Once again, Chloe stood close to his side. I swallowed the words I wanted to shout and instead merely bit out, “Peter! Can you come here?”

Within seconds he was in the doorway. I ushered him in and shut the door. With a wary glance at Detective Grant, he asked. “Are you all right? What’s happened?”

As there weren’t enough hours left in the day to coherently catalog all the things that were currently wrong with me, I opted to ignore his first question and focus on the second. “According to the coroner, Roni was killed between one and three A.M.,” I said. “If that’s true, then Harry couldn’t have done it! You and I were with Harry right after his fight with Roni.” Peter nodded. I continued. “Immediately after which, Harry took a shower while we waited for him in the hallway. And then... he went to bed. And... ”

Realization dawned in Peter’s eyes. “And I was with him the rest of the night!” he cried.

“Exactly!”

Detective Grant did not share our enthusiasm. His bulky frame remained reclined against the desk. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t leave the room once you fell asleep” was his calm reply.

“But he didn’t—he couldn’t have!” said Peter.

Detective Grant’s brows snapped together. “Why not?”

“Because I couldn’t get to sleep last night. I stayed up reading until around three! After that, I tried to sleep but Harry snored like a jackhammer. Trust me, if he had stopped, I would have noticed.”

I looked expectantly at Detective Grant. He said nothing, but he did blink several times. After an eternal pause, he asked, “Would you testify to this if necessary?”

“Of course,” Peter replied.

“Well, then I guess I need to make a few phone calls about Harry,” said Detective Grant with a sigh. He reached for his phone.

Peter turned to me, a wide grin on his face. I momentarily forgot my anger with him and returned it. Detective Grant spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece before shutting the phone with a loud click.

“Well?” I asked.

“I’ve asked one of my deputies to drive him home. He should be here later this afternoon.”

“That’s great!” I said.

Detective Grant nodded slowly. “It’s great news for Harry. But I wouldn’t say it’s great news for certain people,” he said with a meaningful look at me.

Without thinking, I said, “People? I ain’t people.” However, quoting from Singin’ in the Rain didn’t seem to change Detective Grant’s low opinion of me, judging by the scowl on his face.

Shit. My brilliant deduction had just opened up the spot of main suspect for someone else in the Matthews family or for me.

This kind of crap never happens to Nancy Drew.

Three hours later, everyone was gathered in the living room anxiously awaiting Harry’s return. No one spoke, preferring the soothingly monotonous ticking of the grandfather clock’s swinging pendulum to conversation. At the first sound of tires crunching over Barton Landing’s driveway, everyone scrambled outside to the front steps. Well, almost everyone. David was absent from our group, opting instead to stay in his room and keep a previous engagement with a fresh bottle of vodka.

Gingerly pulling his long, bedraggled frame out of the squad car, Harry quietly surveyed us with a shadow of his old smirk. “I have an announcement to make,” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, jail is not good for you.”

Although his tone was light, I could see that he wasn’t kidding. His pale complexion and bloodshot eyes were evidence of his obvious miserable state. Granted, he was hungover, but I doubted that was the sole cause of his haggard appearance. Any of his friends had seen him hungover a dozen times, but I’d never seen him like this.

With a muffled sob, Megan pushed past the rest of us and flung herself into Harry’s arms. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re home,” she said, her voice thick with tears.

“Well, that makes two of us,” he joked. Hearing Megan’s soft sobs, he wrapped his arms protectively around her. “Don’t cry, Meg,” he said, his voice soothing. “It’s all over. How are you ?”

Megan lifted her face to his. “Better now,” she said with a watery smile. “I was just so worried.”

Elsie let out an impatient grunt. “Move over, Megan,” she said. Using her cane to put those words into action, she gently but firmly moved Megan to one side, saying simply, “I want to see Harry.”

After staring searchingly into Harry’s wan face, Elsie said, “Did they treat you all right? Were they abusive?”

Harry managed a smile. “Abusive? Far from it. I was quite the hit. In fact, I believe one of the other inmates proposed.”

Avery cleared his throat. “Harry?”

At the sound of his father’s voice, Harry turned. “How are you, Dad?” he said softly.

Avery nodded. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Harry moved to hug Avery, while Elsie shooed the rest of us back into the house, saying, “Let’s give them a minute, shall we?”

As we dutifully filed into the living room, there was almost a new lightheartedness in the air, an easiness that had been missing ever since... well, ever since Avery married Roni. I stood back a bit, watching as everyone settled into their seats, smiling at each other with obvious relief. Roni was gone and Harry was home. I was half surprised that Elsie didn’t crack open a bottle of champagne. Like them, I was happy that Harry had returned, but I couldn’t totally share in their celebration. I wondered if one of them had really tried to divert attention from Harry by throwing me into the glare of Detective Grant’s bright spotlight. The fire blazed in the hearth, but I was overcome with a chill that no amount of external heat could chase away.

My eyes stung and I knew I was seconds away from bursting into tears or screaming in rage. Someone had planted Roni’s necklace in my room—among my things! Someone had tried to frame me ! My mind reeled. The Matthews family was an extension of my own, yet one of them had tried to pin Roni’s murder on me. I was both furious and sick to my stomach.

I made my way to the study. I needed to be alone. I needed to regain my composure. I stepped inside and reached to shut the door, when Peter pushed it back open. Poking his head around the wooden frame, he said,