Murder on the Bride’s Side

Three months later

I sat in Aunt Winnie’s reading room at her Cape Cod B and B, the Inn at Longbourn. As I had last year, I was spending New Year’s Eve with her. Unlike last year, there would be no murder dinner theater—no point in tempting fate again. A large fire danced and crackled in the hearth, helping to ward off winter’s chill. Lady Catherine, Aunt Winnie’s large white Persian cat, lay curled up in her basket on the hearth. If this suggests a cozy arrangement, it was anything but. Lady Catherine has no manners to speak of and dislikes me almost as much as I dislike her.

In my hand was a letter I’d just received. I think I always knew it was coming, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be to read it. I saw with some sadness that the handwriting was faint and weak.

Dear Elizabeth,

By the time you read this, I will, as they say, have moved on. I’m not sure how I feel about that, to tell you the truth, but it will be a relief to not have to fight this illness anymore. The leukemia was just too strong for me this time.

Unlike others who don’t know when their death is coming, I’m trying to stay positive and look at this as an opportunity to reflect on my life. I think you should know that I’ve decided to categorize you as my Greatest Regret. Leave it to me to have the perfect girl right under my nose and not realize it until it’s too late. Don’t make the same mistake I made, Elizabeth. I know you love Peter. Don’t be an ass and ruin it just because you’re afraid of getting hurt. If you don’t fight for what you want, you run the risk of missing too much.

I shifted uncomfortably. I hadn’t talked to Peter since he’d left for London. I’d hoped he would call me, but he hadn’t. I had begun to resign myself to the fact that he never would. I focused on the letter again rather than deal with my own emotions.

I also want you to know how much it meant to me to have this short time with my family. You have no idea how much peace I feel seeing my dad happy again and knowing that Megan is going to be okay. When Dad told me that he was going to marry Julia, I knew they’d be all right. And really, what more can I ask for?

And now for the real reason for this letter: I know that you deciphered the truth about that terrible night—nice with the “rose by any other word” bit, by the way. Roni was truly evil, Elizabeth. She was using my dad for his money and she was destroying him. Megan was well on her way to becoming a wreck because of Roni. I caught Megan smoking pot a couple of times—it was like watching Becky self-destruct all over again. When I found out that my leukemia had returned, I had a feeling that this time it would win. Like Elsie, I’m a firm believer in premonitions. Laugh all you want, but I do believe that certain members of our family have a kind of “second sight” (except for Bridget, of course, so don’t ever listen to her predictions). Anyway, knowing that my time was limited was torture because I knew I wouldn’t be around to help anyone. I had to stop her. It was my last chance.

I tried to set it up so that the police would think someone outside the family killed Roni. I swiped one of those electronic keys from the Jefferson Hotel and wrote her a blackmail letter on their stationery. Then I called her cell phone a few times from their lobby. I figured the trail would eventually grow cold and her case would never be solved. I stumbled in that night pretending to be drunk and intentionally picked a fight with her, knowing that afterward she’d go outside for a cigarette. She always ran outside for a cigarette when she got upset.

I suspect you know the rest. We scrambled around that roof too many times as kids for you not to guess what happened. I turned the shower on and crawled out the window and onto the roof, climbing down the trellis to where Roni was. I had hidden the knife in one of the cushions earlier. It took only a second. I stuffed the blackmail note in her purse, covered her with the blanket on the chaise, dropped the key on the terrace, and then I was back on the roof and in the bathroom. This time I took a real shower. The whole thing lasted less than ten minutes.

I stared at the fire, remembering the trellis. On the day of Bridget’s wedding, the roses were healthy and vibrant, yet the next morning, after I’d discovered Roni’s body, some were already dead and dying. I didn’t register that fact until later. When I’d run into Harry on the terrace, he told me he was getting some roses for Megan, but in reality, he was clipping off the damaged ones, the ones he’d crushed while climbing the trellis. It wasn’t until I saw the roses on Megan’s nightstand, wilted and limp, that I realized the truth. I concentrated on the letter again.

I had hoped that the police would think it was an outsider who committed the crime, but David ruined that by stealing Roni’s necklace. For a while, it looked like I was going to end up in jail anyway, but then you stepped in. I guess you know now that I arranged that, too. I slipped a few No-Doz into Peter’s drink so he could vouch for my being in the room. While I never would have let someone else take the blame and was quite prepared to step up and go to jail should the need arise, I also wanted to take every precaution that the need wouldn’t arise. I wasn’t kidding when I said that jail didn’t agree with me. After they let me go, I really thought that Roni’s murder would get tossed into the unsolved file and that would be that. But then David attacked Megan. After he died, the police decided they had their man. Everyone seemed to accept it, even Claire. Everyone seemed to find a kind of peace in that solution. At least that’s what I convinced myself of, anyway.

That’s my little story. Now that I’m gone, I’m giving it to you. You can decide what you want to do with it. I am literally leaving it in your hands. Take care of yourself, Elizabeth, and keep an eye on the family.

Love,

Harry

I dropped the note onto my lap as tears streamed down my face. Soon after the wedding, Harry had started radiation, but this time it didn’t work. His funeral had been both beautiful and heartbreaking. I clutched the letter a little harder; it was my last contact with Harry.

My mind reviewed the horrible events of that weekend. I don’t know when I first suspected Harry; it was nothing concrete, just a lot of little things that didn’t add up. The thump from upstairs (which was the sound of Harry on the roof), the No-Doz in Harry’s dopp kit along with all his vitamins, and Megan’s reluctance to tell who she saw that night on the terrace. It was Harry she had seen, of course. She hadn’t ever seen David. Once she realized what had happened and what it meant, she had lied about not being able to see the figure. Harry was the only person Megan would lie for, but I didn’t register that fact right away. David certainly didn’t; he thought she had seen him and was lying about it so she could get the necklace from him.

All his short life, Harry had tried and failed to save the people he loved. First his mother, who died despite his fervent prayers, and then Julia’s daughter, Becky, died because Harry hadn’t known to get her to a hospital. I think that’s when I knew for sure my suspicions were right—when I saw Julia with Megan after David had attacked her. Julia worried over Megan like a mother. Julia also saw that Megan was on the same path of self-destruction that Becky had taken. Harry obviously realized this, too, and looked upon Megan as his last chance to “get it right.” In his mind, Harry began to believe that for Megan to live, Roni had to die. The only thing I didn’t pick up on that weekend was that Harry was sick again. I should have. We all commented on how tired he looked and both Julia and Bridget noticed that he’d lost weight. I’d even found all those vitamins in his dopp kit. I guess none of us ever wanted to think he’d get sick again, so we attributed it to the strain of dealing with Roni.

I stared at the heavy cream paper for a long moment. Then I slowly got up and knelt before the fireplace. Lady Catherine eyed me with distaste for invading her space and angrily twitched her tail. I ignored her. With once last glance at the letter, I threw it into the fire. The flames licked at the paper faster and faster until it lifted and curled, its edges blazing red before fading to a dull white. Within seconds, it was gone.

The doorbell chimed, startling me out of my reverie. From the other room, Aunt Winnie called out, “Could you get that, Elizabeth? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Sure thing,” I called out, pulling myself into an upright position. I crossed to the foyer and swung open the door.

It was Peter.