A Wedding To Die For

leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. And I knew why.

A woman was crying, sounding like a calf calling his mama—a piercing, loud, insistent noise that would have had me wearing headphones, too.

I walked up to Henderson’s desk and poked his shoulder.

He started and nearly fell backward, then hastily took off the headset and said, “What do you want?”

“I need to see her. Now.”

“You sure? Because she is in one foul mood.” He nodded in the direction of the noise. “Ever since that Beadford girl got here last night we’ve been subjected to Roxanne’s special brand of torture. You’d think she’d get tired.”

“Roxanne is making all that racket?” I looked toward the hall where the noise was coming from.

“We’re thinking about calling the county mental health officers to cart her off.”

“All the more reason for me to talk to Fielder.”

“She’s pretty busy. Between rounds with Beadford, she keeps looking at pictures and video from the wedding. I told her she needs to leave it alone for a while, but ever since the preliminary autopsy and forensic reports came in this morning she’s been working nonstop. She’s majorly stressed out.”

“Did you see those reports?” I asked.

“Are you kidding? She doesn’t trust anyone with this case.” Henderson stood. “Come on. Let me take you back there.”

Once we reached Fielder’s office, he rapped on the door. The crying was obviously coming from inside.

He called, “Miss Rose is here to see you, Chief.”

“I’m busy,” came the curt reply.

But then Roxanne spoke. “Abby’s here? My Abby?”

Oh brother. Now I belonged to her.

Fielder said something indecipherable, and then Roxanne shrieked, “I need to talk to her!”

The click of shoes on the wood floor told me Roxanne might just get her wish.

Fielder yanked open the door and stepped aside for me to enter. “If you think you can make her quit crying, you are more than welcome to try.”

Roxanne had been sitting in the chair opposite the desk, but when she saw me, she jumped to her feet and rushed over.

Hugging me so tightly I felt like I was dancing with a grizzly. Roxanne said, “Why doesn’t she put me in jail where I belong? Why, Abby? Why?”

I gripped Roxanne’s forearms, pushed her away, and held her at arm’s length. “Can the three of us talk?”

“I have been talking, but she doesn’t listen,” cried Roxanne.

Sad, but true, I thought. I turned to Fielder, who looked run over, run down, and wrung out.

She said, “Can I release Miss Beadford to you? Otherwise, we might have to commit her. She refuses to leave the premises even though I have told her I have her statement and she’s free to leave.”

“I’ll be glad to take her home if we can discuss her confession first.” This was a bribe, pure and simple, but one I was betting Fielder might accept.

“And why should I do that?” she said wearily. But she turned, walked to her desk, and sat down. She was definitely ready to negotiate.

“I’ve learned a few things about this case in the last few days, things that might interest you,” I said.

Roxanne and I had followed her, and we sat in the two chairs facing Fielder. Roxanne wore Dallas Cowboys sweats and her stringy hair looked like she’d combed it with a dead fish.

“What have you told the chief?” I asked her.

She sniffed and her lower lip trembled. “The truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. And now I’m going to rot in hell!” She let loose with one of those calf calls, and it was loud enough to rupture my eardrum.

Fielder looked like she might jump across the desk and strangle her.

I gripped Roxanne’s knee and squeezed. “Shut up. No wonder she doesn’t listen. Who could stand that noise?”

Roxanne stopped in midwail, snapped her mouth closed, and stared at me for a second. Then, in absolute control, she said, “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior, but this has been an extremely emotional time for myself and my family.”

“Right. So what’s with this confession? Did you kill them to protect your sister?”

Fielder offered one of those frustrated and disgusted sighs she was so good at. “Protecting Courtney? All I’ve heard is some cock-and-bull story about a fiddler boyfriend her uncle and her father sent out of town.”

Roxanne jerked in Fielder’s direction. “Violinist. And I loved him. Uncle James and Father conspired against us. Just like Romeo and Juliet, we were doomed. So I made them both pay with their lives.”

“Okay,” said Fielder. “And why don’t you tell your beloved Abby how you killed your uncle.”

“I hit him over the head with a vase.”

“And what color was the vase?” Fielder said.

“You’ve asked me a dozen times. Why do I have to keep answering the same questions over and over?”

“Because you give me a different response every time,” said Fielder.

“I was too overwrought to remember much about that afternoon. People in homicidal rages do not remember details. But Megan received several vases as wedding gifts and I know it was one of them. I think it was the blue and white Wedgwood.”

“Right.” Fielder looked my way. “You see what I’m dealing with here?”

I did. If you hit someone over the head hard enough to knock them senseless, wouldn’t you remember what you used? Maybe Roxanne needed a good shock to refresh her memory. “I don’t think Roxanne killed anyone, Chief. She’s protecting Courtney because she knows her sister was blackmailing her father.”

My words had an immediate effect. Roxanne leaped to her feet and stared down at me. “How dare you come here as my friend and then betray my sister and myself in this manner?”

“Courtney is willing to come clean,” I said. “I suggest you follow her lead.”

Roxanne slowly reclaimed her seat. Her frown reminded me of a kid whose gerbil had just died. I hoped she wouldn’t start crying again.

“She admitted she killed them?” Roxanne said.

“Huh?” I said.

Fielder echoed my surprise with a “What?”

“It was most certainly the drugs,” Roxanne said quickly, her eyes darting between Fielder and me. “She wasn’t herself... but she’s getting better. She wasn’t responsible. You can’t send her to jail for something she probably doesn’t even remember doing.”

“She didn’t kill them, Courtney,” said Fielder. “Despite what some people think”—I received a pointed stare —“I have been doing my job. Your sister is one of the few people with an alibi for both murders. The easiest part of this whole case was finding out who was selling her drugs and when. She met with her dealer outside the Beadford house during the reception and in the funeral home parking lot right about the time her father died.”

Roxanne turned to me. “Is this some sort of ruse, Abby? Because I am more than willing to go to the big house—that’s vernacular for prison—because I am guilty.”

“From what you’ve told me,” Fielder said, “you’re merely guilty of telling your father that Megan Beadford was looking for her birth mother. That’s not a crime, Roxanne.”

“It is to me,” she said quietly. “Because that’s what started everything.”

I had to agree with her there, but I didn’t say this out loud. I wanted no more calf calls in my immediate future.

Fielder said, “Could you please recant this confession now?”

She crossed her arms and looked downright defiant. “I’m not recanting if it means Courtney goes to jail for her drug problem.”

Man, Roxanne had more grit in her craw than I ever gave her credit for.

Fielder pointed a finger at her. “You are wasting my time. Courtney is not going to jail—at least for