Startled that Detective Cold Fish had spoken, she looked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’re taking this very calmly. Calmer than most.”
“I don’t know how else to take it.”
“After a bombing, hysteria would not be out of line.”
“I’m an ER nurse, Detective. I don’t do hysteria.”
“Still, this had to be a shock for you. There could well be an emotional aftermath.”
“You’re saying this is the calm before the storm?”
“Something like that.” He glanced at her, his gaze meeting hers. Just as quickly, he looked back at the road and the connection was gone. “Why wasn’t your family with you at the church?”
“I sent them all home.”
“I would think you’d want them around for support, at least.”
She looked out the window. “My family’s not exactly the supportive type. And I guess I just…needed to be alone. When an animal gets hurt, Detective, it goes off by itself to lick its wounds. That’s what I needed to do….” She blinked away an unexpected film of tears and fell silent.
“I know you don’t feel much like talking right now,” he said. “But maybe you can answer this question for me. Can you think of anyone else who might’ve been a target? Reverend Sullivan, for instance?”
She shook her head. “He’s the last person anyone would hurt.”
“It was his church building. He would’ve been near the blast center.”
“Reverend Sullivan’s the sweetest man in the world! Every winter, he’s handing out blankets on the street. Or scrounging up beds at the shelter. In the ER, when we see patients who have no home to go to, he’s the one we call.”
“I’m not questioning his character. I’m just asking about enemies.”
“He has no enemies,” she said flatly.
“What about the rest of the wedding party? Could any of them have been targets?”
“I can’t imagine—”
“The best man, Jeremy Wall. Tell me about him.”
“Jeremy? There’s not much to say. He went to medical school with Robert. He’s a doctor at Maine Med. A radiologist.”
“Married?”
“Single. A confirmed bachelor.”
“What about your sister, Wendy? She was your maid of honor?”
“Matron of honor. She’s a happy homemaker.”
“Any enemies?”
“Not unless there’s someone out there who resents perfection.”
“Meaning?”
“Let’s just say she’s the dream daughter every parent hopes for.”
“As opposed to you?”
Nina gave a shrug. “How’d you guess?”
“All right, so that leaves one major player. The one who, coincidentally, decided not to show up at all.”
Nina stared straight ahead.
To her relief, he didn’t pursue that line of questioning. Perhaps he’d realized how far he’d pushed her. How close to the emotional edge she was already tottering. As they drove the winding road into Cape Elizabeth, she felt her calm facade at last begin to crumble. Hadn’t he warned her about it? The emotional aftermath. The pain creeping through the numbness. She had held together well, had weathered two devastating shocks with little more than a few spilt tears. Now her hands were beginning to shake, and she found that every breath she took was a struggle not to sob.
When at last they pulled up in front of her mother’s house, Nina was barely holding herself together. She didn’t wait for Sam to circle around and open her door. She pushed it open herself and scrambled out in a sloppy tangle of wedding gown. By the time he walked up the front steps, she was already leaning desperately on the doorbell, silently begging her mother to let her in before she fell apart completely.
The door swung open. Lydia, still elegantly coiffed and gowned, stood staring at her dishevelled daughter. “Nina? Oh, my poor Nina.” She opened her arms.
Automatically Nina fell into her mother’s embrace. So hungry was she for a hug, she didn’t immediately register the fact that Lydia had drawn back to avoid wrinkling her green silk dress. But she did register her mother’s first question.
“Have you heard from Robert yet?”
Nina stiffened.
“I’m sure this can all be worked out,” said Lydia. “If you’d just sit down with Robert and have an honest discussion about what’s bothering him—”
Nina pulled away. “I’m not going to sit down with Robert,” she said. “And as for an honest discussion, I’m not sure we ever had one.”
“Now, darling, it’s natural to be angry—”
“But aren’t you angry, Mother? Can’t you be angry
“Well, yes. But I can’t see tossing Robert aside just because—”
The sudden clearing of a male throat made Lydia glance up at Sam, who was standing outside the doorway.
“I’m Detective Navarro, Portland Police,” he said.
“You’re Mrs. Cormier?”
“The name’s now Warrenton.” Lydia frowned at him.
“What is this all about? What do the police have to do with this?”
“There was an incident at the church, ma’am. We’re investigating.
“An incident?”
“The church was bombed.”
Lydia stared at him. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m very serious. It went off at 2:40 this afternoon. Luckily no one was hurt. But if the wedding had been held…”
Lydia paled to a sickly white. She took a step back, her voice failing her.
“Mrs. Warrenton,” said Sam, “I need to ask you a few questions.”
Nina didn’t stay to listen. She had heard too many questions already. She climbed upstairs to the spare bedroom, where she had left her suitcase — the suitcase she’d packed for St. John Island. Inside were her bathing suits and sundresses and tanning lotion. Everything she’d thought she needed for a week in paradise.
She took off the wedding dress and carefully draped it over an armchair where it lay white and lifeless. Useless. She looked at the contents of her suitcase, at the broken dreams packed neatly between layers of tissue paper. That’s when the last vestiges of control failed her. Dressed only in her underwear, she sat down on the bed. Alone, in silence, she finally allowed the grief to sweep over her.
And she wept.
LYDIA WARRENTON was nothing like her daughter. Sam had seen it the moment the older woman opened the front door. Flawlessly made up, elegantly coiffed, her slender frame shown to full advantage by the green gown, Lydia looked like no mother of the bride he’d ever seen. There was a physical resemblance, of course. Both Lydia and Nina had the same black hair, the same dark, thickly lashed eyes. But while Nina had a softness about her, a vulnerability, Lydia was standoffish, as though surrounded by some protective force field that would zap anyone who ventured too close. She was definitely a looker, not only thin but also rich, judging by the room he was now standing in.
The house was a veritable museum of antiques. He had noticed a Mercedes parked in the driveway. And the living room, into which he’d just been ushered, had a spectacular ocean view. A million-dollar view. Lydia sat down primly on a brocade sofa and motioned him toward a wing chair. The needlepoint fabric was so pristine-looking he
