Jen wailed, “Daisy’s bleeding and someone stole her crown.”
I saw it a second later. Blood marred the white socks on Daisy’s front paws.
Jen and I rushed toward her. I fell to my knees and picked up one of her paws but couldn’t find the source of the blood.
“She doesn’t have it on her anywhere else,” said Jen. “But her crown is gone.”
I lifted the other paw and searched for a cut but found nothing. The tops of her paws were bloody but the bottoms seemed muddy. Reaching up, I cupped her head in my hands and examined her. She appeared to be fine.
Mars dashed over to us. “Is something wrong with Daisy?” He ran his hands over her back. She wagged her tail and when Mars kneeled by me, she licked his nose.
Despite my assurances that I couldn’t find any cuts on her paws, he checked them himself. When he was done, Daisy had had enough poking and prodding and romped merrily off toward Mordecai. She snuffled at Emmaline, who finally broke Mordecai’s death grip on her and sprang to the ground, and the two dogs ran for the potting shed.
Mordecai’s empty arms flew into the air and he loped after them, crying, “Emmaline! Come back.”
It was awful of me to find the scene amusing, but I did. In the interest of maintaining some semblance of dignity, I hurried toward Mordecai. “She’ll be fine. Let her play with Daisy a little bit.”
He rasped, “Look what your monstrous beast has done to my Emmaline.”
Their rumps in the air, the dogs scratched at the doors to the shed and dug in the grass. Emmaline’s fur bore dark spatters. But they weren’t fighting. Whatever was on her fur hadn’t come from a bite.
Mars grabbed Daisy’s collar and pulled her away from the shed at the same time that Mordecai snatched up Emmaline.
A stream of red trickled out underneath the doors, and I flung them wide open.
Craig’s Uncle Stan sprawled on the painted brick floor. His tuxedo jacket had fallen open, and a strawberry stain saturated the front of his white shirt. A handgun touched the fingers of his right hand as though he’d reluctantly released it.
I held my breath as I stared at him. How could this possibly have happened? I should have checked for a pulse, but I had a bad feeling it was too late for Stan.
Dad, Mars, and Bernie crowded behind me. A chill ran through me in spite of the warm evening air. “I’ll call Wolf. Keep everyone out of here.”
But precisely as I said that, Robert ran to the doorway. “Stan!” He launched himself at his brother and started CPR.
It was the right thing to do, so I didn’t stop him. Darby kneeled on the other side of Stan to help. I brushed past Craig and ran up the lawn toward my house.
Breathless, I flew into the kitchen, pushed past the catering crew, grabbed the phone, and dialed 911. I spewed information at the woman who answered. Unless I missed my guess, Wolf would arrive in a matter of minutes. Still short of breath, I hung up the phone and took ten seconds to calm down in the foyer, out of the way of the noisy kitchen. As I took deep breaths, Tucker emerged from my powder room, wiping his trousers with a towel.
“Will you look at this? Some oaf spilled his mojito on me.” His brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”
“Uncle Stan’s dead.”
“What?”
“I have to get back.” I flew through the sunroom and out the door but slowed down and walked to the shed so I wouldn’t create a bigger scene than we already had. Guests milled about but spoke in hushed tones and stared at the shed as though something dramatic might happen. Stepping inside, I said to no one in particular, “The rescue squad should be here shortly.”
Humphrey squatted beside Stan’s lifeless body. “I’m afraid he’s past needing rescue.”
Robert hovered above his brother, looking even smaller and more wizened. Darby made a cross over her chest, and Craig wrapped a tentative arm around Robert.
“What do you suppose happened?” asked Dad.
Humphrey stood up. “From the looks of things, I’d say he was either stabbed or shot in the abdomen.”
“Anyone hear a gunshot?” asked Mars.
We shook our heads.
“Surely someone saw Stan enter the shed. He wasn’t in here earlier this afternoon.” I wished I knew exactly what time Natasha and I had left the shed.
My heart thudded a little harder when I heard Wolf’s voice. “Step back, please. Sophie, I’ll need a list of names of the people who entered the shed.” But despite my thudding heart, Wolf was all business. There was not so much as a shared glance or a brush of my arm.
Unfortunately, Detective Kenner accompanied him. We’d had an unpleasant encounter before, so I was none too happy to see him. Behind his back, locals called the sly-eyed cop Defective Kenner, and I had to agree with their assessment. He turned beet red at the sight of me.
Fortunately we didn’t have to put up with each other for long because Wolf and Kenner shooed us out of the shed and guests on the lawn stepped aside to open a path for the rescue squad jogging toward us. Standing next to me, Mordecai kissed the top of his little dog’s head and held her so tightly I thought he might squash her.
“For goodness’ sake, Mordecai,” said Natasha, “we’ll just hose her off and she’ll be fine.”
He acted as though she’d suggested roasting the dog on a spit.
“Did I say
hose
? I meant
bathe
. Maybe a day at the doggy spa?” Behind his back she made a face at me. “Come up to the house and we’ll bathe her sweet little feet.”
I watched her escort Mordecai past Hannah and my mother, who looked like they might need the rescue squad. Jen wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I hoped she wasn’t in the shed watching the cops.
“Where’s Jen?” I asked Mom.
“Nina took her up to the house. Jen protested, as you can imagine, but she’s too impressionable to be here right now.”
I nodded with relief and realized that a crimson stain smudged the hem of Hannah’s beautiful wedding dress. She must have been inside the shed.
Wanda drifted over and shook her head somberly. “Married in pink, your spirit will sink.”
“Oh, please, Wanda. This isn’t the time for your ridiculous superstitions.” The last few days had worn Mom’s nerves thin.
“Really, Inga, you of all people know that I had the most awful marriage. My husband walked out on us. I only want Hannah and Natasha to benefit from my misery. Natasha is the only good that ever came of my wedding.”
Hannah ran trembling fingers over the bodice of her dress, flattening out imaginary wrinkles. “This is my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wanted so badly to be married to Craig that nothing would stand in my way. And now we’re married and it’s a nightmare. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t insisted on going ahead with the wedding. I just didn’t want to imagine that anyone I knew had killed Emily.” She screwed up her face and her breath came erratically, but no tears fell.
“Hannah,” I said, “no one could possibly have foreseen something like this. Stan isn’t dead through any fault of yours.”
Mom nudged her. “You’re married now, don’t you think you should comfort your husband?”
“I thought he needed some time alone with his dad and cousin. Imagine what they must feel. They came here for a reunion with Craig and now . . .” Her face stiffened as she watched Darby hurry to the house.
Her shoulders hunched, Darby held a tissue to her nose and avoided making eye contact with anyone. Craig followed behind her and motioned to Hannah. I searched for Robert and found him slumped in a chair. His rounded shoulders and sagging head said everything.
Mom murmured, “Why would anyone kill Stan? He seemed like a fine man.”
Wolf cut through the crowd and joined us. “This is a logistical nightmare. The guests are trampling a crime scene, but there’s nowhere to put them.”
“Maybe we can fit in the house.” In the sixties Faye had built a substantial addition onto the house, expanding the dining and living rooms to accommodate large gatherings. Mars and I had thrown our share of parties for his business, but I hadn’t prepared for this crowd to be inside. Still, a lot of people went home yesterday. I didn’t think we had anywhere near the hundred-plus guests who were originally invited.
“Sophie, would it be unseemly if we served dinner?” asked Mom.
I shouldn’t have been a bit surprised. Poor Stan. Not ten minutes had passed since we discovered his body, and the talk had turned to food.
Wolf shot me a questioning look. “It would keep the guests busy while we collect names and find out if anyone saw anything suspicious.”
Serving dinner at a murder—we would be the talk of the town. But it was the only reasonable thing to do. “Give me fifteen minutes to set up.”
In a murmur, Wolf continued, “You have a guest list in case anyone takes off before we can talk to them, right?”
“No. There was a guest list once, but we have some guests who weren’t on it and a lot of others aren’t here.”
Wolf moaned. “Detain everyone as long as you can.”
I headed straight to Dad and Bernie. After explaining that we needed to move inside, I left them to mobilize the bridal party, and I ran into the house and shoved living room furniture against walls and out of the way. With one last glance at the backyard, I swung the floor-length saffron curtains closed. Walking as fast as I could, I intercepted the waiters with hors d’oeuvres and asked them to serve inside the house.
“Can we set up dinner buffet style?” I asked.
After a short discussion, we agreed to arrange it something like an omelet bar. Each guest would have to retrieve his or her own food, but the plate would be prepared by a cook who would hand it to the guest—sauce, side dishes, and all. That would distract the guests a little bit and keep them busy. We would offer tea and coffee with dinner instead of the wine we’d planned to serve. Once the police finished their questioning, we could offer wine to all.
Amid the clanking of pots and pans, I skirted through the family room, intending to return to the yard by way of the sunroom, but the sound of Craig’s voice stopped me.
“Your parents and Sophie can take care of everything. You know Wolf. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be stuck here for days.”
What a cold man. His own uncle had been killed, and he was willing to run off and enjoy himself. Or maybe he was willing to run away from a second murder he’d committed.
I waited for Hannah’s response. If I interfered, she’d go with him for sure, just to spite me.
“We can’t leave now. Don’t you see, Craig? We’ve tried . . .” Her voice cracked. “We’ve tried so hard to have a beautiful wedding, but nothing has gone right. This isn’t the same as having it rain on a wedding day. Two people have been killed. My ring is lost. The hotel is drenched. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
I sagged against the wall. Hannah was finally coming to her senses. She might not believe that Craig could be a killer, but at least she wasn’t willing to run away.
Hannah let out a little sob. “Oh no. There’s blood on my dress. That does it. We never should have pushed to be married. Wanda was right. It wasn’t our destiny. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll change into something less . . . bloody.”
I could hear her crossing the sunroom, and I scooted forward just enough to peer at Craig. With his back to me, he looked out over the yard, his hands in his pants pockets. I wished I knew what he was thinking.
I didn’t want him to know I’d been eavesdropping, though. Luckily the clatter from the kitchen covered creaking floorboards as I sneaked through the kitchen to the foyer. But at that moment the front door opened and Darby entered, looking surprised to see me.
“I’m so sorry, Darby,” I muttered, at a loss for comforting words. “I didn’t know your uncle well, but he seemed like a nice man.”
She spoke wearily. “Just before the wedding I asked if anyone had seen Stan, but then the music started and I forgot about him. If I’d only said something, maybe we could have found him. Maybe it wouldn’t have been too late.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
She wiped her eyes with trembling fingers. “We shouldn’t have come. We never should have come here.”
It finally dawned on me that half of the four uninvited people who had come to see Craig had been killed. “Are you afraid?”
She swallowed hard. “I guess I can say it now. I thought Stan killed Emily. I was so certain. But this changes everything.”
Her revelation shocked me because she knew Craig and his family far better than anyone else. “You have to tell the police. Why did you think that?”
But Bernie and Mars interrupted our little talk by carrying in the first of the long tables. Darby fled to the den, and I was stuck directing. We lined the tables up in the living room with little space between them. Although the sunroom overlooked the backyard, we decided we would have to place a couple of tables there as well. Half an hour later, with the magic of so many helping hands, everything from chairs to flowers had been moved indoors.