Beyond a Doubt, Page 9

  She managed a smile and went to embrace her sister-in-law. “I’m so happy for you, Hilary,” she said. “You’ve been trying for so long. God is good, isn’t he?”

  Hilary nodded, her eyes misty. “Mason is just giddy. I ran a home test two days ago, then visited the doctor this morning.”

  Davy went up to his aunt. “Where’s my baby cousin? I want a boy cousin.”

  Hilary picked him up. “I’ll see what I can do. The baby is in my tummy right now, and it will be a long time before it’s ready to come play with you.”

  Davy smiled and patted Hilary’s face. He seemed to have no trouble with his aunt’s affection. Bree swallowed the lump in her throat. She just had to be patient. God had miraculously saved Davy. She could only trust he would work things out in this area too.

  Looking at her watch, Bree gasped at the time. “I’ve got to go! The wedding is in two hours.”

  “Can I stay with Grammy?” Davy asked. Hilary put him down and he went to stand by Anu.

  Bree’s gaze went to Anu, and her mother-in-law nodded. “Go along, kulta,” Anu said. “I will bring him to the church at the proper time.”

  “His clothes are in the Jeep. I’ll get them.”

  Her son preened. “I have a new suit,” he confided to his grandmother.

  “And I’m sure you will look very handsome today,” Anu said. “Give your mommy a kiss before she goes.”

  Bree knelt. He kissed her quickly, and she managed to keep from pulling him into her arms. She had to give him space.

  Rock Harbor Community Church overlooked the town from its perch on Quincy Street. Festive streamers flew from the portico, and the sign out front announced the upcoming nuptials. What could be seen of the sign above the still-melting snowdrifts, that is. Inside the church, chaos reigned. Men were bringing in extra chairs to line the aisles for overflow seating, the florist was arranging altar and pew flowers, and the caterer was bringing in equipment for the final food preparation.

  Bree walked through the church back to the nursery where Naomi said she would be getting ready. It was the handiest place since it had a rest room with mirrors as well. She entered the room and found just as much activity in the nursery. Clad only in her slip and pantyhose, Naomi sat in a chair while hairdresser Sally Wilson worked on her. Sally was trying to pile the brown tresses on Naomi’s head, but the straight, fine locks refused to cooperate and strands hung in Naomi’s eyes.

  Martha Heinonen was going through a box of corsages and boutonnieres at a child’s table. She and her best friend, Sheila McDonald, looked ridiculous perched on stools meant for three-year-olds.

  “Bree, there you are!” Martha said. “Naomi was fretting that you’d been called away.”

  “I would have to be tied up or knocked out to miss this wedding,” Bree said.

  “My hair is just not working.” Naomi sounded near tears. “Maybe I should just wear it down like I always do.”

  “I like your hair down,” Bree said. “Besides, if you don’t even look like yourself, you may hate your wedding pictures.”

  Naomi brightened. “Oh, you’re right.”

  “All brides wear their hair up,” Martha said.

  “I didn’t,” Bree said.

  “You have short hair,” Martha said.

  “I didn’t then.” It was going to be hard to keep from thinking about her own wedding day.

  “Bree’s right, Mom,” Naomi said. “I want to look like myself.” She raked her fingers through her hair, and hairpins flew like confetti.

  Sally put her hands on her hips. “I just spent an hour putting those in!”

  “Why don’t you see what you can do with Martha, and I’ll help Naomi,” Bree suggested.

  Sally huffed but went to poke her fingers in Martha’s smooth hair.

  Naomi gave her a grateful smile. “What about my makeup? My hands are shaking too much to do it myself.”

  “Makeup’s not my forte, but I think I can make you look presentable.” Bree put her handbag down.

  “Just presentable, huh? Maybe I should do it myself anyway.” Naomi smiled then got up from her chair and swept her hair back from her face. “I brought some pretty hair things too in case we needed them.”

  She was sounding more cheerful, and Bree knew she’d arrived just in time. Her friend could face down any danger except her own mother.

  Bree moved to take the hairdresser’s place. She hugged Naomi tightly, and her friend clung to her for a long moment. “You nervous?” she whispered against Naomi’s hair. An almost imperceptible nod confirmed Bree’s suspicions.

  “It’s going to be fine.” She pulled away and took Naomi by the shoulders. “Donovan and the kids are lucky to have you. Relax and enjoy today.”

  Naomi managed a smile. “It’s a deal. Now can you do something about this hair?” She sat back on the chair.

  Bree grabbed a brush and began to arrange Naomi’s hair. As she worked, Bree told her what she’d learned about Peter Thorrington.

  “His wife murdered him, you mark my words,” Sheila McDonald said, sticking a pin in a corsage as if she wanted to stick it in Beulah Thorrington. “I’ve always believed that. She acted like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but I could see straight through her. I told Sheriff Mackey to check into her, but he eventually swallowed her sweet act like everyone else. You’ll see—they’re going to find out she killed him and buried him in the wall.”

  “But why would she do that?” Bree didn’t want to accept the obvious. She’d already learned that rarely led to the truth. Besides, Sheila was the town gossip. Married to Judge McDonald, she claimed to know when anyone in the town so much as sneezed.

  Sheila sniffed. “He ran with anything in a skirt.” She turned to Martha. “Wasn’t it just the week before he disappeared that Beulah caught him out at Shady Lanes Motel with a waitress from the Copper Club? Or maybe it was two. Anyway, the time doesn’t matter. My cousin’s wife heard Beulah say she wished he was dead and that she’d like to be the one to rid the world of his presence.”

  “Lots of people say things they don’t mean when they’re mad,” Martha said.

  Bree had never been able to figure out why Martha and Sheila were such good friends. Martha hated gossip, and Sheila freely dispensed it to all who would listen.

  She put down the brush. “You look beautiful. Now for some makeup.” She applied blush to Naomi’s cheeks. “What happened to the waitress?”

  Sheila waved her plump, bejeweled fingers in the air. “I’m not sure.”

  “I heard she got married,” Sally put in.

  “What was her name?”

  Sheila thought for a moment. “Odetta something,” she said. “Her brother still lives out on Veda Street, I think. He works at the paper mill in town. I heard she moved over toward Houghton.”

  “Syers,” Sally said. “Odetta Syers. I used to cut her hair.”

  Bree’s mind continued to whirl as she finished Naomi’s makeup. “Any other family?”

  “Peter has a stepbrother,” Martha said. “Ted Kemppa, but he didn’t get along with Peter much.”

  “He was one of the ones most vocal about Beulah’s guilt!” Sheila said in an indignant voice.

  “Is he still around?” Bree asked.

  Sheila nodded. “He’s a supervisor at the paper mill.”

  The mill was the main place of employment in Rock Harbor. There were several leads there. She’d have to follow up.

  Bree smiled. “Hey, you guys, this is Naomi’s wedding, not a courtroom. Let’s forget stuff like murder and mayhem and concentrate on love, sweet love.” She put her hands together in a pious attitude and segued into a Princess Bride persona. “Mawwiage . . . mawwiage is what bwings us togevah today . . . mawwiage and twue wuv.”

  The two women looked at one another and burst into laughter. Then in unison they quoted one of their favorite lines from the movie. “Then wuv, twue wuv, will follow you fowever. . . .”

  “This is your perfect day,” Bree
said, hugging Naomi.

  Naomi’s smile faded. “I’m freaking out!”

  Her mother hurried to her side. “Now, Naomi, take some deep breaths. It’s going to be fine.”

  “It’s nearly time,” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. Eini Kantola stuck her head in the room. “It’s almost time,” she chirped.

  Naomi moaned and buried her face in her hands.

  “Stop it—you’ll ruin your makeup,” Bree commanded. She grabbed Naomi’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “We’ve got to get you in your dress.” She carefully freed the beautiful white dress from the hanger, then slipped it over her friend’s head. Once the zipper was up and the buttons were fastened, she arranged the veil and stepped back. Naomi’s shoulders were bare, and the dress clung in all the right places, then flared out into a long train.

  Bree tried to speak, but the words lodged in her throat. “You . . . you look beautiful.” Behind the veil, Naomi’s eyes were blue pools.

  Bree swallowed, then turned away to change into her dress. She held up the offending garment with disdain. Pink was the worst color a redhead could wear, and she was getting stuck in it all day. The satin dress slipped over her head, and Naomi zipped her up.

  “Do I look as hideous as I feel?” Bree muttered.

  Naomi hugged her. “You look lovely as always.”

  Bree wrinkled her nose, then turned Naomi toward the door. “Let’s get you married.”

  Martha dabbed at her eyes. “My baby girl is getting married,” she whispered. She hugged her daughter and didn’t seem to want to let go.

  Bree let Martha have a moment with her daughter, then cleared her throat. “We’d better go. Donovan may think you’re backing out.”

  “Never,” Naomi said. “I’ve waited for this moment my whole life.”

  Bree picked up Naomi’s train, and they went out the door. The music was already echoing in the hallway. Canon in D. The last wedding Bree had attended had been her own, and the familiar tune brought a wave of memories washing over her.

  To keep them at bay, she gazed into the church to see who was in attendance, but there were so many people it was a blur. Then she saw Hilary, Mason, and Anu. They were smiling. Davy was craning his neck and waving to his best friend, Donovan’s son, Timmy, as he stood at the back of the church with the rings on a pillow.

  Bree took a deep breath and began to walk down the aisle behind Emily, who was scattering rose petals, and Timmy, who was bearing the rings as though they were the most precious thing in the world. Bree’s gaze met Kade’s where he waited as Donovan’s best man. The love she saw in his eyes made her steps falter; then she raised her head and smiled back at him. Somehow she and the children found themselves at the front of the church. Emily slipped her hand into Bree’s.

  The stirring sound of the Wedding March pounded out, and the guests stood to watch Naomi come down the aisle. Everyone gasped and stared. There was never a lovelier bride than Naomi. The beauty of her soul just enhanced her outward loveliness. Tears sprang to Bree’s eyes. Her gaze met Steve Asters’s, and she knew he was thinking about his own lost bride just as Bree was remembering her lost groom.

  The ceremony passed in a blur, but the rock Bree found herself clinging to was Kade’s steady gaze as the bride and groom exchanged vows. Would she and Kade ever say those vows to each other? She knew she wasn’t ready for that yet, but her heart yearned to belong to someone again, yearned for that camaraderie that is found only when two people are joined like Donovan and Naomi. And Bree found herself wanting that with a desperation that surprised her.

  11

  The church parking lot was packed with people. Darkness was fast approaching, and the festivities had been going on for hours. Quentin Siller sat shivering in his car. Even with the heater going full blast, the broken window let the cold wind in to blow down his back. If it weren’t for the Nicholls women, he’d be in the fellowship hall with his wife and daughter. The rest of the town was welcome, but if he dared show his face, the sheriff would throw him in jail.

  The injustice of it twisted in his gut, and he clenched his fists. At least he had a new job waiting for him, a new life in Florida. But first there was unfinished business here. The Nicholls women would pay for what they had done. Then he’d take his daughter—and keep her this time—and disappear. He had a week to accomplish his goals—plenty of time for what he planned. This town wouldn’t soon forget Quentin Siller.

  Glancing across the street, he saw someone else watching the festivities. An older man with stark black hair combed straight back from a high forehead had arrived in a nondescript blue Plymouth, a rental from the look of it. Some out-of-towner likely rubbernecking.

  He directed his gaze back to the church. Anu Nicholls moved in front of the window. She was laughing, her head thrown back. She wouldn’t be laughing when he got done with her. He thought he still had the rifle in the trunk. Maybe he should give the newlyweds a send-off they wouldn’t soon forget.

  Lauri wandered around the reception with a glass of punch in her hand. She felt invisible, a ghost that flitted through people’s lives without being noticed. No one smiled or said hello. The attention was focused on Naomi and Donovan. As it should be, she knew. She saw some empty seats in the corner and made her way there.

  She caught a glimpse of Ruth and Dinah, her best friends since kindergarten. At least they used to be. They were talking and laughing together, and Lauri looked away. That part of her life was over, Brian had told her. She was part of his group now, the cheerleaders and jocks. But she’d seen the hurt on her friends’ faces when she started eating with other friends at lunch.

  “Whew, I need a breather.” Naomi fanned her flushed face and collapsed on a chair beside Lauri. “Where’d you get that punch? I’m dying of thirst.”

  “Here, you can have mine if you want. I haven’t touched it.”

  Naomi took the cup and drained it with a long gulp. “I needed that,” she said.

  “You have cake in your hair.”

  Naomi laughed. “I wonder how it got there? I warned Donovan to be careful when he fed me the cake. He was a good boy and didn’t smash it in my face.”

  “I saw. That was no fun!”

  “It was a lot more fun than having to wash it out of my hair tonight.” Naomi’s gaze lingered on Lauri’s face. “Is something wrong, sweetie? You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. Where’s Brian?”

  “He’s around here somewhere.” Probably chasing after Sarah Cappo. Lauri was beginning to wonder if it might be good riddance.

  “There he is. Looks like he’s heading this way.” Naomi squeezed Lauri’s hand. “Before he gets here, I just want to offer a little advice. I know it’s none of my business, but I hate to see you tie yourself down to a boy at your age. You’ve got lots of time to get serious. Look at me. I’m thirty-two and just now getting married. The world won’t end if you don’t have a boy’s class ring on your hand every minute. Get some other interests; keep up with the search-and-rescue training. There’s so much good you could do.”

  She stood. “Just think about it.”

  “Sure.” Lauri quit listening. What did Naomi know about the need for approval that drove her? She barely noticed the new bride wander off to mingle with other guests. Her gaze was too intent on Brian. She wondered fleetingly how much trouble he was really in.

  “Hey, this is boring. Want to get out of here for a while?” Brian grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Kade will kill me if I leave.”

  “With all these people, who’s to know? Come on.” He tugged her toward the door.

  As they exited the church and stood on the steps, Brian stopped. “Hey, wonder what Neville is doing here?”

  “Who?” Lauri squinted through the twilight but could make out nothing beyond a shape in a car.

  “Neville. Remember, Miss Snoop, at the cabin? He’s in that car across the street. Looks like he’s watching us.” Brian started down the steps. “
You wait here. I’ll go see what he wants.”

  The reception hall boomed with laughter and celebratory music. Bree held a glass of punch in one hand and Davy’s hand in the other. With so much racket and so many people, he was perfectly content to stay close to his mother.

  Martha and her friends had been cooking for days, and appetizing aromas piqued Bree’s appetite. Bree had attempted to make some meatballs from Julia Child’s recipe book, but they hadn’t turned out very well, so she’d left the cooking to Martha.

  There were many people she didn’t know here. Were any of them responsible for Peter Thorrington’s death? Naomi had said most of the town would be here, probably even Peter’s brother and wife. Maybe she could find Ted Kemppa and find out what he remembered.

  She reined in her thoughts. This was a wedding, not a time to be eying people with suspicion. Naomi’s laugh rang out above the hubbub, and Bree glanced over at the cake table.

  “Hi, Bree!” Gretchen Siller grabbed Bree’s hand. Her mother was right behind her, a slight frown between her eyes.

  Bree squeezed Gretchen’s fingers. “I wondered if the two of you were here.”

  “We were a little late,” Karen said. “Quentin called just as we were walking out the door.” She turned to her daughter. “Why don’t you go get us some punch and cake? Take Davy with you.” As soon as the children bounced away, she turned back to Bree. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Bree. He says if I don’t lift the restraining order, he’s going to take Gretchen and disappear. I’m scared.”

  She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.

  “Have you told Mason?”

  Karen nodded. “But what can he do? He can’t seem to find Quentin. Maybe I should take him back.”

  “Not until he agrees to get some help! You know what will happen, Karen. What if you’re not around and he decides it’s Gretchen’s turn to feel his wrath? Neither one of you should be in that position. You want to come stay with me?” Bree wasn’t sure that would help much since Quentin was likely already watching her place, but at least they’d be together.