A Groom With a View

appears Mrs. Crossthwait was pushed pretty hard. There are faint fresh bruises that look like fingertips on her back.'

“What?' Jane exclaimed. 'You'd have to really put a huge amount of force behind a shove to make finger marks.'

“Not if the person was on a blood thinner, apparently,' Mel said. 'The officer on the scene found a bottle of medicine in her purse, called the prescribing physician, and was told she had recurring incidents of phlebitis and was taking a pretty hefty daily dose of anticoagulant. That's why she bruised so easily. Now, you two chew that over while I eat.”

Jane looked at Shelley. 'Maybe somebody shoved her earlier.'

“But why?' Shelley asked.

“Maybe by accident,' Jane improvised. 'If somebody else tripped, they might have put their hands out to stop their fall and ran into her instead.”

Shelley rolled her eyes. 'Yeah, right. And she didn't say a word of complaint? Jane, this was a woman born to complain.'

“Well, I'm going to believe it until someone proves otherwise,' Jane said. 'I don't want to think someone deliberately pushed her down those steps to her death.'

“Jane, don't be a Pollyanna,' Shelley said. 'It sounds to me like someone did exactly that. And I'd like the authorities to scoop him or her up before we have to spend another night in this place with the perp. I don't think there are even locks on the bedroom doors.”

Jane put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. 'Okay, okay. But it wouldn't necessarily be someone who's staying here.'

“The Wandering Maniac Theory?'

“No, but there are a lot of people involved in this wedding who were nearby last night. Some of the guests at the motel arrived last night. The Hesslings, for instance.'

“But what could the Hesslings have had against Mrs. Crossthwait?' Shelley asked.

“What could anybody have had against her?' Jane countered. 'Except that she was a rude old bat.”

Mel was chewing thoughtfully and looking back and forth at them as if they were a tennis match.

“Nothing,' Shelley said. 'Nothing that I can guess, anyway. Jane, you're the only one who was seriously mad at her — don't bridle up like that — and you're also the one who had the most to gain from her staying alive and well and sewing her fingers to the bone.'

“Well, if somebody deliberately killed her — and I don't admit I believe that — then it was someone in her own life who simply followed her out here so as to cast suspicion on somebody at the lodge. I will not allow this to have some connection to my wedding planning.'

“Ah,' Mel said around a potato chip. 'Now I get it, Jane. You think this is going to reflect on you somehow?'

“Are the police checking on her private life?' Jane asked, not answering his question because the honest reply would sound mean-spirited, even to her.

“So far, they haven't found evidence that she had much of a life,' Mel answered. 'A rented apartment above a bookstore, a bit of savings but not an impressive amount. She was a childless longtime widow with Social Security, a little pension from her late husband, and her sewing money. She lived a very quiet life, the bookstore owner says. Her only visitors, as far as he knows, were the ladies she sewed for, and a couple women from her church who held an occasional meeting at her place. Oh, and she took a trip once a year in January to visit a cousin in Florida or Texas, he couldn't remember which. Somewhere warm, he said.'

“But—' Jane said.

“It's too early to know more, Jane,' Mel said, holding up his hand like a traffic cop trying to stop a runaway eighteen-wheeler and believing he could do it. 'They only started this morning. You may be right and she has some dark secret that will come to light. But right now, the only suspects are the people who are here for the wedding.'

“Swell,' Jane said. 'I suppose in view of those bruises, presumably from a strong malicious shove, the local police are going to be back here. Casting a pall. Questioning the guests. Making nuisances of themselves.'

“Afraid so,' Mel said.

“Okay,' Jane said with a martyred sigh. 'We can cope. I can get a grip. Figuring out a murder is, in the grand scale of things, more important than a picture-perfect wedding.”

Mel muttered something that sounded like, 'And a lot more interesting.”

“What was that?' Jane asked.

Mel smiled. 'Me? I didn't say anything.”

Shelley glanced at her watch. 'Almost time for the bridal shower, Jane. Eat your lunch and then we'll go make sure it goes well.'

“I'll consider it to have gone well enough if everybody comes out of it alive,' Jane said.

Ten

The bridal shower had a brittle atmosphere of ·· forced festivity. The air crackled with high-pitched laughter. Few of the women attending really knew each other terribly well. Some of Jack's friends' trophy wives were acquainted and regretted it and snubbed one another in the nicest possible way. Only Layla and Eden seemed to have formed a friendly bond with Kitty on the fringes of it. The aunts were pretending that the whole plan had rested in their capable hands, and were playing the role of cohostesses with relish — which irritated the stuffing out of Jane.

She and Shelley had rounded up the guests and seen to it that the food and drinks were ready, then got out of the way. 'I don't suppose we can hang around and eat?' Shelley asked. 'Sort of lurk in the background and munch quietly?' The menu for the party included puff pastries with raspberry filling, rich little handmade chocolate wafers in the shape of bells, and champagne cocktails.

“There will be leftovers,' Jane assured her. 'And if we eat them in private, we can be much greedier. We can rub them straight onto our thighs if we want and skip the digestive process entirely. What a dismal party.'

“Dismal-ish,' Shelley admitted. 'But that's not your fault. It's because the only thing they all have in common is poor Livvy. If you'd put on the exact same shower for Eden, for instance, it would have been fun because she has a personality. What were the little foil packages Livvy was carrying around?'

“Compacts. Really lovely things and the only decision Livvy seemed to have a strong opinion about,' Jane said. 'They're bridesmaid gifts. Real gold with Livvy and Dwayne's names and the date of the wedding beautifully engraved on the back. They must have cost her the earth.'

“What a lovely memento,' Shelley said. 'At least she has good taste. Oh, that's bad of me. She's such a nice, Milquetoast sort of girl. I just want to give her a transfusion of spunk.”

Jane nodded. 'I'd like to like her, too. I think everyone would. What's not to like? But she's a mannequin with a complex computer system that instructs her to talk and move and act with propriety, but no sparkle.'

“What's all that noise outside?' Shelley asked.

'The groom and his friends, I assume,' Jane

said as she and Shelley hauled themselves out of

their comfortable chairs and went to check. The

young men were playing touch football. Except for their size, they were indistinguishable from a bunch of fifteen-year-olds, although their language was a bit cleaner. Not much, though.

Somebody, perhaps the lethargic Uncle Joe, had dragged out a couple of lawn chairs and set them by the main door. Whether this was their destination for some reason, or they were just in transit, Jane couldn't guess. But Jane pulled one of them in front of the door. 'Sit down, Shelley. If any of the bride's party needs me, they'll be able to spot us here.'

“Sure you wouldn't really rather sit a little farther away? Like somewhere in Seattle?' Shelley asked.

As they got situated, Mel and Officer John Smith emerged from the woods. They had old Uncle Joe walking between them. It was impossible to hear the conversation they were attempting to have with him, but not hard to guess the gist. Mel or the local police officer would speak. Uncle Joe would instantly shrug incomprehension. Joe's part consisted entirely of hands outspread in ignorance, negative shakes of the head, glares, and halfhearted attempts to shake the other two men off.