Angie was the whole package: beautiful, funny, smart, kind. And she’d found the same thing in Tate. They were two of the lucky ones.
Mel wondered what sort of person Elise had gotten involved with if they were stalking her. And why were they stalking her? Love? Friendship? Fame? A cut of the book profit?
“You look very serious all of a sudden,” Angie said. “What are you thinking?”
“A stalker is usually someone who wants a relationship with a person who doesn’t want one with them, right?” Mel asked.
“Yes, it’s like unrequited love gone really, really bad,” Christine said.
“What if the murderer isn’t someone who’s angry with Elise and her book, but rather this stalker who wanted a piece of Elise’s newfound fame and fortune?” Mel asked.
“That’s a big what-if,” Samantha said. “But it might explain why they killed anyone they perceived being closer to Elise and her book than they were, like the driver, the caterer, and the photographer. So, perhaps the stalker was someone who wanted a closer professional relationship with Elise.”
“Which disproves my theory on who killed Elise Penworthy,” Christine said.
“Finally going to share, are you?” Mel asked. She leaned forward in her seat, crowding Angie and the others, getting her a frown from Samantha.
“Yes, but it’s what everyone is saying,” Christine said. “I was sure the killer was Mallory Cavendish.”
“No, she has an alibi,” Mel said. She was so disappointed. She’d been hoping for so much more from Christine.
“What?” Christine cried. “What alibi?”
Mel hesitated, then figured she had nothing to lose if she didn’t name names. “She was with her ‘tennis pro.’” She used air quotes so that everyone understood the relationship.
“Well, shoot, then it has to be Cassie Leighton,” Christine said.
“No, I refuse to believe that,” Mel argued.
“Ask yourself this: Who had the most to gain by Elise’s death?” Christine asked. “As the publisher of her book and her lone heir, it has to be Cassie.”
“How do you know she’s her lone heir?” Mel asked.
“Everyone knows that,” Samantha said. “Elise didn’t keep it a secret.”
“I hate to say it,” Angie said. She gave Mel an uncomfortable look. “But I think Christine may have a point.”
“Of course I do. And I think you need to get out of my salon and go get married,” Christine said. She put her hands on Angie’s shoulders and leaned down so that she could meet Angie’s gaze in the mirror. “You’re ready, Angie.”
• • •
“I am so not ready,” Angie said as they arrived back at her parents’ house to find it full to bursting with DeLauras.
Joe was there, and he grinned when he caught sight of Mel. “You look amazing, but then, you always do.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Is it wrong that I’m counting the minutes until I can wash my face?”
He grinned. Then he very carefully kissed her, being sure not to smudge her lipstick.
“I’m off to Tate’s to make sure he doesn’t pull a runner,” he said.
Mel laughed. “As if he would. Hey, have you been in touch with Uncle Stan today?”
“No.” Joe tipped his head to the side as he studied her with a concerned look. “Any reason I should be?”
“Nope. Just wondering about the case.”
“Cupcake, our best friends are getting married,” he said. He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in so that they were almost forehead to forehead. “Maybe we could shelve the murder and mayhem for a day.”
Mel shook her head as if trying to dislodge the thoughts that were bubbling up in there. “You’re right. You’re totally right. It’s just that we were all talking at the salon and Angie said the murder talk helped her to not think about the wedding, which made her nervous.”
“You two are so weird,” he said.
“So we’ve been told.”
“Tell me, on the day we get married, are you going to be thinking about murder?”
Mel laughed. She looped her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. “Only if someone actually stands up when they ask if anyone knows of a reason why these two cannot be joined. Then, oh yeah, I won’t be thinking it, I’ll be doing it.”
Joe grinned. “And I’d help you.”
He hugged her tight and planted a solid kiss on her. Mel wiped the lipstick off of his mouth with her thumb.
“See you at the church, cupcake,” he said.
“I’ll be there,” Mel said. She stood in the door and waved until he drove away. She was going to marry that boy.
“Mel!” Angie cried her name from the second floor and Mel turned and raced to the stairs. It was showtime.
Eighteen
Getting dressed while not mussing her hair and makeup proved more of a challenge than Mel was prepared for. How she wished for the simplicity of her chef’s hat and coat right about now.
Angie’s colors from the start had been aqua and pewter. Her bridesmaids wore varying shades of pewter in all different styles, so there were one-shouldered dresses with elaborate beading, strapless dresses with a flared skirt, and dresses with a sweetheart neckline with cap sleeves and beading along the hem. All together, they looked stunning.
As maid of honor, Mel was the lone aqua-colored dress in the bunch. To Mel, it looked like a light shade of blue, but Kim, the dressmaker, had insisted it was in fact aqua, and Mel knew that Kim had a bride-shaped pincushion in her office that looked remarkably like a voodoo doll, so she didn’t argue.
The dress was beautiful whether it was called aqua or blue or green. The bodice was snug and the skirt flared. Aqua- and pewter-colored beads were embroidered along the short cap sleeves and the hem, making Mel feel very feminine, especially since she lived in jeans and T-shirts most of the time.
All of the bridesmaids wore matching low-heeled pewter-colored sandals, and as they gathered one by one in the DeLauras’ master bedroom, where Angie was getting dressed, Mel felt her tension ratchet up.
