A Wedding To Die For

your advice. Would you excuse us?” She arched those perfectly penciled eyebrows at me. She had eyes the color of cane syrup, but there was nothing sugary residing there.

“Certainly.” I left the room feeling both their stares on my back. If I’d had my own car, I would have driven home with the radio blaring so I wouldn’t have to think about all this. But I had to wait for a ride.

I paced in the marbled foyer, trying to deal with the green-eyed monster in a rational fashion. Fielder had a job to do. She needed all the information she could get and I had seen quite a bit. But though she had asked me plenty of questions about the crime scene, she’d asked me nothing about what I had seen or heard at the reception before Beadford’s death. I smiled. Serious oversight, baby.

Of course, the exchange I’d witnessed between Travis and his father-in-law may not have been an argument over anything more important than what time the bride and groom would leave the reception. I had no way of knowing what transpired between those two.

I walked in circles, my dress pumps torturing my feet and my head throbbing from the day’s stress. I was trying not to think about Jeff and his extended consultation with Fielder—it’s damn hard not to think about something—when Megan came down the right-hand staircase.

She had changed from the stained dress into blue jeans and a coral sweater. When she saw me, she ran over and embraced me. “I’m being punished,” she said into my shoulder. “That’s why this happened.”

I moved back, held her at arm’s length. Fresh from the shower, I assumed, what with the wet hair and scrubbed face, she looked like the child I’d thought she was when we first met.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I went behind my father’s back and hired you. And now I’m being punished. I never meant to hurt him.”

“Hold on. Did you tell him the truth today? Did you two argue about that?” I didn’t want to believe Megan could have struck her father, but she was the one sitting there with his battered head in her lap.

“No. But I wasn’t truthful, either. And that’s as good as a lie.”

“Still, you and your father were fine today, right? No problems?”

“The last time I saw him alive was when we d-danced. And... and he said he wanted me to be happy and... and...” Her eyes filled.

I hugged her again, rubbed circles on her back all the while thinking about my own adoptive daddy. He, too, had claimed to want only my happiness. But he’d made more than one mistake in that department, and mistakes born of love still hurt just the same. “I’m here for you, Megan. Call me for anything. Anytime. And I again apologize for not finishing the job.”

This time she drew back on her own. “You sound like you’re quitting. You’re not quitting, are you?”

“I didn’t plan on it, but if you want to take this up later, I’ll give you every cent of your retainer back.”

“Please don’t quit, because even though I feel guilty about keeping the truth from my dad, I still want to know my birth mother. Now more than ever.”

I was wondering if that need to know had anything to do with what had appeared to be her rather distant relationship with Sylvia, but didn’t think this was the right time to ask. Then Jeff emerged from his little conference, and while he was offering his condolences to Megan, I went after my coat, which I found in the kitchen where I’d left it. My pockets were turned out, either from the cops checking them out or Kate searching for my keys. My small handbag had been tucked in one sleeve but the clasp was open and my phone/computer nearly slipped out when I grabbed the purse. The low battery warning was beeping so I powered the phone off, then put on the coat.

After I gave Megan another reassuring hug and a whispered promise to follow through on her request, Jeff and I walked out into the bitter cold evening. Normally I would have huddled up to him, but not now. After all, Fielder might be watching us out the window and I wouldn’t want to upset her.

On our way to his truck, he exchanged high-fives with two other cops manning the scene and then introduced me. One guy had worked HPD vice with Jeff way back when and the other was a former Harris County Sheriff’s Deputy who had testified at a vehicular homicide case Jeff worked a few years ago. Seems Quinn Fielder wasn’t the only city cop who wanted to escape to the bay.

We walked down the hill and I stepped up into his nonpolice-issue white Chevy truck after he opened the door for me. He then got in and revved the engine. Before we pulled away, he shoved several sticks of Big Red in his mouth. Neither of us said a word until we passed Space Center Houston and were closing in on the freeway.

“What did she tell you?” I asked.

“What did who tell me about what?”

Typical man. If the conversation doesn’t flow continuously you better have that CNN ticker tape running across your forehead for frequent updates. “What did your friend Quinn need you for so badly? Can’t she do her job alone?”

“I can’t tell you what we discussed.”

“This isn’t your case, so why keep secrets?” My voice was hard. The green-eyed monster didn’t want to be contained.

“Any information I have concerning an ongoing investigation is off-limits. This is no exception.”

“Fine. Be that way.” I folded my arms.

He took out another stick of gum while I turned my face to the window. This might be an extra-long ride home.

3

Lying in bed the next morning, I thought about what happened between Jeff and me last night—our first fight since he and I started getting serious a few months ago. Problem was, he didn’t seem to realize we were having an argument. When we reached my house and I suggested he go on to his own place, he looked at me as if we’d been playing a friendly game of poker and I’d pulled a fifth ace. Then his beeper went off and a double homicide on the southeast side took him away with hardly a good-bye.

So I spent the night with my calico cat, Diva, in the chilly house. She had climbed beneath the quilt at some point and now purred at my feet. I’d recently bought this place, a three bedroom brick-and-stone bungalow near Rice University. It was built in the fifties and needed a new furnace among other things. The steps creaked and the wallpaper looked like something from Archie Bunker’s house, but I loved my new home, loved its smallness compared to the mansion I’d grown up in. Aside from a college dorm room, this was the first time I’d truly been on my own, despite more than thirty years on earth. My late daddy had decided that living in the lap of luxury with him was how he was supposed to take care of his girls. But Daddy had been wrong. He’d been wrong about a lot of things. In the months since I’d learned exactly how wrong, I’d almost forgiven him for his lies.

I laced my fingers behind my neck and thought about Megan, wondered how she was doing and if the loss of her father would mimic mine—a wound that never quite heals. I’d seen a profound sadness in her eyes when I left her house yesterday. It was probably the same look I wore the day Daddy died.

The phone rang and I saw from the Caller ID that it was Kate.

“Traitor,” I said when I picked up.

“I’m sorry I had to leave you there, Abby, but one of my teenage patients attempted suicide, so—”

“Okay. The guilt ball is back in my court. I was just kidding, anyway. Is the kid okay?”

“She’s fine. Her parents are transferring her to a private facility this morning. By the way, Terry and I dropped off your car late last night.”

“Thanks. Might need that today. So Terry helped you with your patient?” Terry Armstrong, also a psychologist, is Kate’s significant other.

“Yes. He met me at the emergency room.”

“You two should go into practice together,” I said.

“Living in the same house is more than enough time spent in each other’s company. Not that I don’t adore him, but there’s such a thing as too much togetherness. So what happened after I left last evening?”

I filled her in, excluding my own issues with one snarly police chief.

“So Megan still wants you to find the birth mother?” she asked, sounding surprised.