Just Murdered

She poured Helen more wine. “You’re going to need courage. I gather your marriage wasn’t the best. It gets harder to love as you get older. Your new man has to live with the mistakes of the old—and he doesn’t even know it. Don’t make Phil pay for something your ex-husband did.”

Helen wanted to believe her. But she saw herself slut naked in front of Kendra.

Her heart shriveled with shame.

Chapter 18

The bride was a young Grace Kelly in a simple white strapless gown.

“She’s beautiful!” Millicent said.

Molly was touchingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. The pale blonde was alight with love. Molly’s mother was as handsome as Chanel and a good salon could make her, but she’d never been as lovely as her daughter. Now maternal pride made her beautiful, too.

While Helen buttoned the bride into the gown and Millicent pinned the hem, Molly talked about Eric, the accountant she was marrying in four months.

“Last night, Eric brought me a rose and teddy bear for our anniversary,” she said.

“Which anniversary is this?” Helen asked.

“We’d been engaged exactly one hundred eighteen days, six hours, and seven minutes. Eric doesn’t like to celebrate conventional dates. Eric says . . .”

Molly’s mother interrupted the Eric ecstasies. “Put on the veil, please, so I can see the full effect.”

Millicent dusted off her knees, stood up, and pinned the gossamer veil to the bride’s chignon. It floated around her, a silken aura. Molly did a dramatic twirl that ended in a happy little skip.

Two tears ran down her mother’s cheeks. “My baby is really getting married,” she said. “It wasn’t a wedding dress until you put on the veil.”

Millicent wiped her own eyes with a red-lacquered nail. This tender scene seemed to erase all the hysteria, fights, and harsh words heard in her salon. “This is why I sell bridal gowns,” she said.

Helen felt tears forming, too, but hers were bitter. She ran for the small dressing room, locked herself in, and wept silently. She cried for Kiki, who could only compete with her daughter. She cried for Desiree, who had oceans of money and not a drop of her mother’s love. She cried for Molly and the inevitable loss of her young love. She hoped it would change into something strong and mature.

Finally, Helen cried for the woman she used to be, the one who wanted to love Rob forever and fled when that love failed. The woman whose life was shattered again last night.

Then she shook herself like a wet dog, blew her nose, and decided she’d had enough dramatics.

Helen could not believe that Millicent, who wept for her beautiful brides, was a murderer. It didn’t make sense. Helen’s brain had been infected by her dinner with Desiree.

I have Mad Bride Disease, she thought. The craziness that affects weddings has seeped into my head. Helen had seen perfectly normal women have fits because their bridesmaid dresses were the wrong shade of cranberry. I’m the wackiest of all, if I think Millicent is a killer. The only cure was to prove Millicent was innocent. Maybe her appointment book would say where she was the night of the rehearsal dinner.

Millicent was still working with Molly and her mother. Helen slipped into the back office and checked the appointment book. It was blank for that Friday.

Then Helen opened the filing cabinet and pulled out Kiki’s folder. The bills were staggering: almost seventy thousand dollars, including the special-order dresses, express delivery, and seamstress overtime. She found a copy of Kiki’s check for half the amount, but no other record of payment.

Then she found one other thing: an application for a home-equity credit line on Millicent’s home. She’d mortgaged her house to front this order. Helen had Millicent’s motive for murder.

She put the file back, then pulled it out again and wiped it with a clean cloth. If the cops arrested Millicent for murder, she didn’t want her prints on the papers. Next she wiped down the file cabinet. She hoped Windex killed fingerprints.

“Good!” Millicent was standing in the doorway. “This office needs dusting. I’m glad you’re doing it.”

“I’ll stay back here for a bit,” Helen said. Her heart was beating so fast she was afraid she’d slide onto the floor. “Yell if you need me out front.”

As soon as Millicent went back to work, Helen called Jeff. There was nothing odd about that. Bridal salons and wedding planners talked constantly. Besides, Jeff was so soothing and sensitive.

“Oh, my God, Helen, are you all right? Did you survive that horrible, horrible day?”

“I’m fine, Jeff,” Helen said. But she couldn’t keep the weariness from her voice. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“That poor family.” Helen could see Jeff’s boyish face.

Even his freckles would seem sympathetic. “I feel so bad for them. When I came home, I told my partner, Andy, don’t expect me to cook for you tonight, because I am wiped out. Andy called for Chinese takeout and then he rubbed my feet. I hope your honey did something special for you.”

“Very special,” Helen said. “He made sure I went out and had a few drinks.”

I’m not lying, she thought. After I met up with Phil’s almost ex-wife, I ran out and got plastered.

“Aren’t we lucky? Both of us?”

“Yeah, Jeff, real lucky. I’ve been wondering about something ever since the police questioned me.”

“How long did they keep you there, Helen? The police let me leave about two.”

“Till five o’clock.”

“That’s terrible. I made the calls about the reception and then I gave that cute Detective McIntyre my name and phone number. Don’t get me wrong, Andy’s a keeper, but the cop was a hunk-a- rama. His mustache is like a little pet.”

Jeff’s voice became confiding. “You do know the family canceled the reception?”

“That must have cost a fortune,” Helen said.

“One-ninety a plate for four hundred people. The family will have to eat all of it.”

Helen saw Desiree, Luke, and Brendan stuffing down hundreds of dinners.

“I mean the cost, not the food,” Jeff said. “They wanted to donate the food to a homeless shelter, but the hotel insurance and the health department regulations wouldn’t allow it.

“Still, canceling that reception was the right thing to do. They couldn’t be dining and dancing with that poor woman murdered.”

“One-ninety a person,” Helen said. “You must be some planner. What were you serving for a dollar ninety— peanut butter? My wedding buffet was fifteen a person almost twenty years ago.”

“You’re such a kidder,” Jeff said. “You know it’s a hundred and ninety dollars a person.”

Helen did the math. The reception dinner would come to almost eighty thousand dollars with taxes and tips. That would buy a nice condo.

“I know some people think that’s a lot of money,” Jeff said.

Like me, Helen thought. Nearly six years’ salary for one dinner.

“But they don’t understand. Desiree is a princess and a royal wedding must have a feast. It’s expected in their position.”

Poor Desiree. A princess could not have a private life.

A few notes of the Wedding March chimed in the background. “Oops,” Jeff said. “Here comes another bride. Gotta go.”

“Wait! Jeff! Do you know who locked the church Friday night and opened it Saturday morning?”

“I know Kiki had the key. She paid some huge deposit for it. She said she had to go back there for a little something after the rehearsal dinner.”