A Wedding To Die For

“She won’t mind if you bail?”

“Oh, she’ll mind,” Megan said. “But Travis is good with her. He’ll think up a decent excuse—like I need some time away from everything, which happens to be true.”

“Okay, we’re on,” I said.

The living room door opened and Sylvia came out. “Chief Fielder would like to see you now, sweetheart.”

Megan brushed past her mother, and Sylvia’s sad gaze followed her daughter as she entered the room and pulled the door shut after her. The weekend events seemed to be taking their toll on everyone.

“How are you, Mrs. Beadford?” I asked.

She glanced at the closed door. “I’m upset.”

“I think Megan’s handling this situation as well as anyone could under the circumstances.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Is it something the chief said?” I asked, curious now.

“The chief’s doing a fine job. Seems to be working hard on this horrible murder. But she showed me that drawing, and I never saw that woman before. Why would a stranger invade our home, destroy our beautiful wedding, and kill my husband?”

“Did the chief tell you that the woman in the composite is the killer?” I asked.

“She wouldn’t say. But it seems the only logical explanation.”

Not the only explanation if that stranger came here to see her child get married. But I certainly couldn’t offer this insight. “Maybe there are other possibilities,” I said. “The chief may find some other clue to Mr. Beadford’s death once she’s sorted through all the evidence—and there seems to be plenty of that to go around.”

Sylvia’s eyes flashed. “Do you know something I don’t? Has that policewoman been discussing my husband’s death with—” She stopped, closed her eyes, and pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. “I am so sorry, Abby. I’ve been snapping at everyone today. First Megan and Roxanne this morning at breakfast and now you. There’s just so much to deal with and...” Tears filled her eyes.

I put an arm around her shoulders. “No need to apologize, Mrs. Beadford. I understand. By the way, is that coffee I smell?”

She nodded.

“Could I bother you for a cup?”

“Certainly. Yes. Coffee would be good.”

We went to the kitchen together with her tottering on yet another pair of ridiculous shoes similar to the ones she’d chosen for the wedding—pointy with one-inch narrow heels—throwbacks to foot binding, in my opinion.

The kitchen had far more to offer than coffee. A silver tray filled with breakfast pastries sat on the counter beside platters of cookies, covered sheet cakes, and a huge fruit basket.

“The neighbors have been so supportive,” Sylvia said, gesturing at the food. “Help yourself while I get your coffee.”

I chose a raspberry kolache and sat at the kitchen table. Sylvia placed a white mug of steaming brew in front of me and sat down with her own cup.

After my daddy died, I’d wanted to talk about him in the worst way, but had little opportunity. People seemed almost afraid to say his name in front of me. So maybe Sylvia needed time to talk about her husband. “Tell me about Mr. Beadford. I met him only once, at the rehearsal dinner, but he seemed to command the room.”

She smiled and her whole body seemed to relax. “He could grab your attention, couldn’t he?”

“And he owned his own business, right?” I bit into the kolache, the pastry so rich I figured I was about to consume enough fat calories for a week.

“Built the company from the ground up twice. There was no quit in that man.”

“Twice?” I said around a mouthful of berry heaven.

“The first time we went bankrupt. Not through any fault of James, mind you. Running a small business is tough, and supplying equipment for the oil business is very competitive in Texas. James thought he’d do better here than in Dallas, and as it turns out, he was right.”

“So you’re not from this area originally?” She definitely seemed calmer and happy to talk about her husband’s accomplishments.

“We came south for a fresh start, a move that also allowed James to put some space between him and his brother, Graham. They’d been in business together, but it’s very difficult working day in and day out with family members.”

“I understand,” I answered, wondering if Graham had something to do with the first failure. That might explain the animosity between the brothers.

“Graham stayed in Dallas,” Sylvia went on. “His wife had a decent job and supported the family for several years, but when she passed on from breast cancer—horrible time for Courtney and Roxanne—Graham never seemed to recover. He’s lost one job after another.”

“So he and his daughters are only staying here because of the wedding?”

She nodded, her chubby right hand working the fingers on the left. “They arrived two weeks ago. Graham is at the Surfside Resort, thank goodness, but the girls wanted to be near Megan, so they’ve been with us. Having relatives underfoot day and night, well, I’m not coping very well, Abby. Not with James... not with the—”

“I think you’re doing fine,” I said quickly, hoping to abort a round of tears.

“Tell me more about yourself, Abby,” she said. “Megan met you at the health club, right?”

Before I could answer, someone rapped on the back door. Saved again, thank goodness.

She rose to answer, and a second later Graham entered carrying a case of beer. “Saw you were running low and—” He stopped, nodded my way. “Nice to see you again.”

“I’m not sure we need more beer.” Sylvia backed away from Graham like he’d brought in a keg of dynamite.

“We may not, but I do,” he answered. “They charge five dollars for one beer at the damn hotel, and I bought this whole case for ten bucks.”

He carried his treasure chest over to the refrigerator.

“Will you excuse me, Abby?” Sylvia said. “I have to see if Megan is ready to head for Galveston.”

She hurried out of the kitchen and down the hall, leaving me to deal with her brother-in-law.

After Graham stacked as many beers as he could in the already overloaded refrigerator, he grabbed two sausage kolaches and joined me at the table. Somewhere upstairs, a radio or stereo blared, heavy metal music now our muted background noise.

Graham looked up at the ceiling. “Christ, I’m glad Courtney’s staying here and not with me.” The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and his breath smelled like the beer he’d probably had on his way here.

“Um, Sylvia tells me you’re from Dallas. Very different than Houston, huh?” I was hoping to move on to a safe, nonfamily related topic. Where the heck was Megan when I needed her?

“Both places are damn hot in the summer and damn ugly in the winter. But with your money, you probably take plenty of vacations when the weather turns nasty.” He chomped into a kolache.

I had no intention of talking to him about my private life, so I changed the subject. “You sure did come to the rescue the other day after your brother died,” I said. “I know Megan and Sylvia are grateful for your help.”

He cocked his head, squinted as if considering this. “My brother. Funny to hear you refer to him as my brother. He would have liked to forget, that’s for sure.” The little hitch in his voice added enough sadness to cancel out his attempt at sounding smug. He stood abruptly and walked over to the refrigerator, but rather than choose a beer as I would have expected, he started rummaging around for something else.

Thanks to our conversation at the reception, I’d already assumed Graham and his brother weren’t best buddies. If the bankruptcy had created bitterness between them, if they’d hardly spoken over the years, I could understand why Graham was staying in a hotel rather than here, even though this house could have handled plenty of guests. Chief Fielder would be wise to take a good long look at brother Graham.

I heard a small rustling sound and turned in the direction of the family room, where the string quartet had played during the reception. Megan held up a sheet of paper with the words Meet me at the Kroger parking lot in fifteen minutes printed in black marker. She disappeared an instant before her uncle turned around holding a carton of orange juice.