“Kharnegie, you are not hurt?”
“I am not hurt, and you are my hero.”
I tried to deliver a kiss on the cheek, but Boris strong-armed me into something far more emphatic as Wallace Waggoner looked on openmouthed. No doubt Valerie Cox behaved with more decorum. I waved the two of them away, laughing, and stayed behind to wash up.
I took my time, and when I emerged the hallway was empty and the upper floor was quiet above the distant clamor rising from the veranda. It seemed like a good time to change into my red dress, so I headed for the master bedroom.
But as I passed one half-open doorway, a surreptitious murmur of voices stopped me cold. What were Todd Gibson and Pari Taichert doing up here away from the party?
“You promised you’d never say anything.” Todd sounded angry, desperate. “You promised me.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have,” said the Tyke. “But it’s going to come out anyway. Dr. Nothstine’s not going to let this alone, and now Danny’s been asking me about it. He’s creeping me out. You’ll just have to—”
“You up here, Red?” The voices fell silent as Sam came clumping up the stairs and into view at the end of the hall. “Oh, there y’are. Bob wants to know if he can start bringing up his paraphernalia.”
“Which Bob?” I said blankly.
He chuckled. “The photographer, of course. For the pictures of Tracy gettin’ dressed and all.”
“Of course, I knew that.” I walked right past the half-open door, trying to sound casual. “Tell him to give me a minute to get changed myself, and then I’ll round up the bridesmaids for him.”
As Sam descended I went into the master bedroom and shut the door firmly behind me, to let the conspirators make their getaway. But conspiring about what? I had thought that Domaso’s presence at the murder scene let the smoke jumpers off the hook, but did it really?
And did Todd and the Tyke know that I’d overheard part of their exchange—or more important, that I’d heard only part and not the whole? If the rest of their exchange had been incriminating, and if they assumed I’d heard all of it...
Normally I love helping the bride and her attendants to dress, but with a TV star for a bride I was superfluous. Hair and Makeup attended to all the ladies under Ilsa’s vigilant eye, and I was reduced to holding hangers and handing out handkerchiefs.
Which was just as well, because paranoia is very distracting.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY OF TRACY MARIE KANE AND JOHN Holland Packard III went flawlessly. Almost.
The event began as planned, with the string quartet pouring the joyful strains of Mozart into the summer air. As the first of the two hundred guests arrived to take their ribboned and garlanded seats, the groom and his best woman had already taken their places up front. Standing beside them, with the three ponderosa pines as backdrop, stood the presiding minister, a stout older gentleman who was a longtime family friend.
The Tyke had dropped her tuxedo idea—surely meant just to tease Tracy—and was looking smart in a navy-blue jacket and skirt with her hair combed loose on her shoulders. You’d never know she’d been brawling the night before. Or that she might have murdered one of her colleagues.
As the groom, Jack Packard wore a lightweight suit, a stephanotis boutonniere, and an unwontedly solemn expression. Could the Knack be nervous? In the Victorian language of flowers, a fragrant white stephanotis blossom is the emblem of marital happiness.
It might even come true for him,
I thought.
Stranger things have happened.
But I couldn’t spare more than a thought for Jack, because I was feeling pretty solemn myself. It had been easy enough to avoid being alone with the Tyke, but I wasn’t sure where Todd was, and I jumped every time someone came up behind me. I’d feel a lot less anxious once Chief Larabee arrived, and I could turn my suspicions over to him.
Seeing B.J. was a nice diversion. She came across the grass holding Matt’s hand, her dark curls bouncing and a wicked gleam in her eye. Once again, the silver necklace sparkled at her throat.
“I heard about the big battle last night,” she teased. “You sure you haven’t hooked up with Napoleon?”
“Oh, shut up and sit down, would you?”
She snickered and led Matt through the elaborate archway of roses, grapes, and aspen branches that marked the rear of the congregation. No telling what Valerie Cox had intended here, but Boris had worked wonders.
As more guests arrived, Beau stood languidly beneath the arch and beckoned one of the several photographers to get a picture. Theoretically he was stationed there to cue the bride and her attendants for their procession down the rose-petaled aisle, but he was also perfectly placed to lap up compliments. Some of the guests—ladies, of course—even asked for his autograph.
Meanwhile he sent me off to shuttle along the path through the trees between the meadow and the parking area, giving directions to the ushers and watching for last-minute glitches. I also watched for Aaron, but when he showed up at last, bruised but presentable, he was in the middle of a group of smoke jumpers. Al Soriano and the others greeted me with smiles, but Aaron looked the other way and took a drag on his cigarette.
As they walked off, one of the jumpers asked Aaron something that I didn’t catch. They must have thought they were out of earshot, but I have excellent hearing. In a lull in the voices around me I heard Aaron say, “Nah, we’re just dating. Nothing serious.”
His next words were lost in the chattering approach of the two philanthropic ladies I’d met at the chocolate shop—and in the mortified pounding of my own pulse.
Just dating?
Was that why Aaron had been so sullen this morning? Because he’d come all this way and gotten all roughed up for the sake of someone he was “just dating”?
Breathing hard and blinking back tears, I hurried along the path to the parking area, to keep an eye out for Chief Larabee. Between making my case to him and keeping the wedding on track, I couldn’t spare the energy to worry about Aaron. Or so I told myself.
Larabee arrived by squad car, in uniform and armed, his heavy black belt laden with holster and radio and various leather pouches—not your typical wedding-guest attire. With his razor-creased shirt and his fixed pinched features and his tightly kinked gray hair, he looked like a caricature of the no-nonsense cop. The kind whose face would break if he smiled.
“Sorry about the get-up,” he said, unsmiling, and slammed the car door. He had an instant camera in his hand, and I wondered how well he took pictures, given his twitchy eye. “Didn’t expect to be on duty today, so I’ll have to leave right after the I-Do’s. How’s my boy sounding?”
“Great. Listen, Chief, I only have a minute—”
I could see the bride and her attendants emerging from the inn. Hair and Makeup, having done their best, lingered behind in the doorway, while a squadron of photographers and videographers formed around Tracy and documented her every step. Beau would be walking up the path to meet them, so I hurried to say my piece before he arrived.
“Chief, please don’t leave before I get a chance to talk with you. It’s about Brian Thiel.”
Larabee scowled. I could read his mind—something about hysterical females talking nonsense.
“Now look here,” he said sourly, “I told that Nothstine woman, accidents happen, and this one’s officially an accident. I know you’re upset, miss, but—”
“Shoot it!” Beau must have sprinted from the meadow. His exquisite silk tie was crooked, and his face glistened with sweat. “Shoot it now!”
“Calm down there, mister,” said Larabee. “Shoot what?”
“Come, hurry!”
In his agitation, Beau grabbed roughly at Larabee’s arm. Bad move. The chief responded to this lapse in judgment by stubbornly planting his feet and demanding that Beau identify himself, but I didn’t stay to hear the rest. Instead I did some sprinting myself, back to the meadow.
The proceedings had reached that pleased-and-eager hush before the bride’s appearance, and a few guests peered over their shoulders at the sound of my coming. But everything seemed in order, and I couldn’t imagine why Beau was so alarmed...until I looked down.
In the grass at my feet, a long sinuous form undulated forward, barely disturbing the scattered rose petals. It was slithering right for the archway and the unsuspecting congregation beyond.
Damn.
Time slowed to a silent, surrealistic crawl as I took in every detail of the snake’s appearance. Its four-foot length was dull yellow, with reddish brown blotches down the back and a band of bold dark rings around the tail.
Damn, damn,
damn.
Ilse the Stylist was sitting right at the back, ready to primp Tracy one more time before her big entrance. She spotted the snake and leapt to her feet, knocking over her chair, and the wicked little head reared up and back as if to strike. Ilse opened her mouth to scream.
I broke out of my trance and darted forward, snatching the snake at the base of its head and hauling it up off the ground. The tail whipped back and forth, rattling furiously, as I turned around and marched into the nearby trees.
Behind me I heard a babble of consternation, and then Sam’s foghorn voice raised in reassurance. Through it all, the quartet kept playing and I kept marching, through the crackling-dry underbrush to the edge of a rocky gully. I heaved the snake into the gully and dusted off my hands with an exasperated sigh.
Never a dull moment.
As I turned back to rejoin my wedding, Aaron came crashing through the bushes with Chief Larabee following at a brisk but less panicky pace.
“Carnegie!” Aaron grabbed my shoulders and shook me, his voice sliding up to a shout. “Are you insane? What did you think you were doing? You could have been bitten, poisoned—”
“No, she couldn’t.” Larabee’s left eye winked and fluttered as he gave me a curt nod of approval. “That was a bull snake. Harmless. Looks like a rattler, though, don’t it? Nice work there, miss.”
“Thank you. Aaron, this is Chief Larabee. We’ll be talking about Brian after the ceremony. Won’t we, Chief?”
“Well, now,” he said, considering the utterly nonhysterical female before him. “Well, now, I guess we will.”
Bewildered and then embarrassed by his show of concern for my safety, Aaron wordlessly threw up his hands and returned to the meadow.
The rest of the ceremony really was flawless. Boris had worked his usual magic with body flowers, from the circlet of baby rosebuds in the flower girl’s hair to the regal sweep of orchids and stephanotis vines that Tracy carried with her coral gown.
My makeshift lacing and Watteau train provoked nothing but gasps of admiration from the stylish Californians, and when at last the minister directed Jack to kiss his bride, the gasps were lost in a roaring, stamping ovation from the smoke jumpers.
The sight of the bride and groom’s embrace is usually one of my favorite moments, but the longer I was single, the more wistfully I watched it. I was always happy for the new couple, of course, and basically happy myself. But still... I glanced around, hoping to catch Aaron’s eye.
Instead I spotted my mother and Owen Winter, lost in a private moment among the crowd. He murmured to her, she dropped her eyes, he touched her cheek and kissed her gently. I looked away, feeling like an intruder, and went back to work.
My next task was to shepherd the guests over to the inn. There they could dip up chilly spoonfuls of lobster gazpacho, or nibble on scallop and jalapeno ceviche, as they contemplated the heartier fare of Food Bob’s grilling buffet. I could smell the distinctive smoke of the grills already, which meant Bob was ahead of schedule, so I tried to move people along.
But some of them wouldn’t be moved. They lingered to chat with one another, or even to compliment me if Beau was busy with someone else. Much to my amusement, Beau was now pretending to be quite blasé about the snake.
Beyond him, I noticed a pair of men standing out among the parked cars. They were too distant for me to hear, but judging by their contorted faces, Domaso Duarte and Danny Kane were arguing furiously. Danny kept pointing to the back of a pickup, which I assumed was his, while Domaso raised his shoulders and his upturned hands as if to say “What am I supposed to do about it?”
Then I caught a glimpse of the culprit who’d caused their conflict: Gorka, up to his usual tricks. Unseen by either man, the dog was galumphing away from the parking lot with something clamped in his jaws.
I shook my head ruefully. Whatever his trophy was, I just hoped Gorka wouldn’t bestow it on me in the middle of the reception. Maybe I could persuade Larabee to escort Domaso away for questioning, and take the dog with him.
But meanwhile the mother of the bride, resplendent in her shell-pink ensemble, was making a citizen’s arrest. Cissy must have come looking for her stepson, but she paused to watch Gorka disappear into the woods. She took a step as if to follow the dog, then made a beeline for the men, who were still arguing obliviously. Cissy wagged a playful finger to scold them, then took each one by the hand and tugged them away to the party, chattering nonstop the whole time.
You go, girl,
I thought.
No more fistfights, please.
Once the stragglers had gone off to the inn, I checked in with Joan and her crew about setting up the dance floor. A big wedding is like a Broadway show. It takes hardworking stagehands and scrupulous timing to create a seamless experience for the audience.
In this case, Act One was the ceremony and Act Two was dinner on the veranda. For the big finish in Act Three, Tracy’s guests would be led back to the meadow. There they’d behold a fairy-tale pavilion, strung with lights and banked with flowers, where they could dance the night away to Sebastian’s big-name rock band. If all went well, the wedding of the season would get five-star reviews.
With the setup in progress, I looked around for Larabee. He was with his son’s quartet, but they’d already packed up their instruments and were eagerly heading for the front of the inn and Bob’s grill stations. Each station had its own gaily decorated sun umbrella and its own special menu item: tandoori chicken, pork satay, cilantro shrimp, and so forth. The Quartetto Polizia was charging us peanuts, compared to the Ladislaus, so I’d told them to eat all they wanted.
But the grills were only now being lit, so the hungry kids would have to wait. Bob wasn’t ahead of schedule after all. That was fine with me, though, because I was determined to pin down the chief before he got away again. Having Aaron in on this might have bolstered my case, but I figured he’d be touchy after the snake incident. So I went ahead on my own.
“There’s appetizers on the veranda,” I told the students, and they perked up and left us in a hurry.
Alone at last.
I drew Larabee away from the food crew, to be as private as possible. He stood there, skeptical but patient, as I plunged in.
“Here’s the thing, Chief. Did you know that Al Soriano saw a tent on the ground near the Boot Creek fire?”
“Wait,” he ordered, and pulled a pencil and a spiral pad from his pocket. “Al who?”
I was beginning to spell it when the Tyke came striding toward us across the grass, her hair tied back in its usual ponytail and a determined set to her jaw.
“I’ll tell him myself, Kincaid,” she said. “I know you overheard us, but you don’t know everything.”
“But that’s not—”
Larabee held up a hand to stop me and looked at her woodenly. “Everything about what, Miss... Taichert, isn’t it?”
She nodded and licked her lips nervously. “About what happened with Thiel. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have covered for Toddy, but I was trying to help him out. If we could keep this quiet—”
“It was Todd after all?” I exclaimed. “But—”
Larabee glared me to silence. “Miss Taichert, you want an attorney present for this?”
“I just want to tell you what really happened,” said the Tyke, also glaring at me, “before you get it secondhand from some eavesdropping bitch.”
Maybe I should have left then, but Larabee didn’t order me away and the Tyke didn’t stop talking. The words came rattling out of her, and fascinating words they were, too.
“Todd Gibson’s just a Ned, a rookie. He knows his stuff, but he was all keyed up for his first fire, and when he found Brian dead under the tree there he just lost it. He freaked.” She rubbed the back of her neck and frowned, remembering. “When I got to him he still hadn’t radioed in, he was just kneeling there bawling. He’d puked all over, and some of it got on Brian’s PG bag.”