“Just what you thought. That it was probably stretched across the stairs and then removed. It doesn't give him any leads on who the perp was, but it'll come in handy when he knows that and it goes to court. It indicates planning, rather than sudden passion."
“ 'Sudden passion' doesn't seem a phrase that has much to do with Mrs. Crossthwait. So who was the ghost last night?"
“Uncle Joe. In a gray blanket. He was being the ghost of a monk for the benefit of his half-sisters.”
“Benefit?"
“His benefit, actually. They'd apparently been talking about staying on for a while. He remembered them as girls, getting themselves all in a twit over ghosts of monks, and thought it might scare them off."
“He told you this?"
“Not very willingly. And he was pissed as hell that it was you and Shelley who came out of your rooms instead of them. Silly old man."
“Have you run into Iva this morning?" Jane asked.
“With the shiner?"
“Right. What happened to her?"
“That was later. She was prowling around doing God knows what and saw a light in the pantry. She'd gotten on her knees to try to peer through the keyhole. Joe was in there, heard scuffling, and opened the door. Got her in the eye with the doorknob. They both confirmed that story."
“Have you been up all night long trailing around after them?" Jane asked.
“Most of the night."
“Why? Why not let them just barge around running into each other?”
Mel put his arm around her shoulders and said, "Because one of them could very well be a killer and you don't have a lock on your door."
“You stayed up all night to protect me? Oh, Mel—"
“Don't go sappy and get any ideas about my making a habit of it," he said. "We're all out of here this evening. And the next time I miss another night's sleep for your sake, it's going to be for much more enjoyable reasons.”
Eighteen
Luncheon was a hasty, eat-on-the-run affair, complicated by the fact that several of the out-of-town guests, bored senseless at their cheap little motel which didn't even have cable television, as they kept saying to each other with wonder, came early and got underfoot. The two musicians, a married couple from Novelties, whom Jane had nearly forgotten about, turned up with a flute and violin. They were attired in black and looked like they'd come for a funeral.
Jane went down the hallway to the little rooms to check that everyone was getting along all right. Everybody was trying to get cleaned up at once and since all were on the same water supply along the hallway, there were occasional yelps and shouts as toilets were flushed in some rooms at the same time showers were going on in others.
In spite of everything bad that had happened, Jane sensed a genuine air of festivity now. Layla and Eden kept running up and down the hall in their bathrobes like schoolgirls in a dorm, borrowing toothpaste, hair spray, and makeup. Kitty in particular seemed obsessed with looking as good as possible. "I think this hem is uneven," she wailed at Jane.
“Nobody will notice and it's too late to fix it," Jane said mildly, even though Kitty was nearly in tears. She had lost patience with Kitty. It was the bride who was supposed to be hysterical, not the bridesmaids.
Mel popped out of his room asking if he could help her with anything.
“No, thanks. I'm just looking for brushfires to put out. And not, thank God, finding any yet.”
Jane went through the main room. Early guests sat in the chairs and sofas around the sides of the room, keeping the wedding chairs inviolate. Jane went upstairs to the master bedroom to see if she could help Livvy. "Is there anything you need before you get dressed? Hairpins? Perfume?" Jane asked.
Livvy was sitting at the window, gazing out as if bored. "What? Oh, no. But thanks anyway.”
“Are you okay, Livvy?”
The young woman smiled weakly. "I'm fine. Just fine. I'll just need help getting into the dress when it's time."
“Have you had lunch?"
“I think so. Yes, yes. A sandwich. I've heard
some cars arriving. Should I be greeting guests?"
Jane laughed. "No, it's like a play, Livvy. The lead actress isn't seen until the curtain goes up. She doesn't hang around in the lobby.”
Livvy's smile was genuine this time.
She's just nervous, Jane told herself, going back down the wide steps Livvy would descend in an hour. Brides were supposed to be nervous. Livvy was about to commit herself in the most important ceremony in her life. Baptisms, recitals, even hard-won graduations were nothing compared to wedding ceremonies for making everyone nervous. Marriages often failed later. Jane's own marriage had failed without her even realizing it until it was too late. But going into marriage, saying vows, and observing the ancient rites still had the power to seem a "forever" decision.
For the first time in a long, long while, Jane found herself thinking about her own wedding, a few weeks short of twenty years ago now. Her mother had wept. Jane thought it was from happiness, but it might not have been. Her father had treated her like a porcelain doll and told her that she'd always be his daughter, no matter whose wife or mother she became. Her sister Marty had worn a red dress she knew Jane hated. Typical of Marty. Her mother-in-law Thelma had worn a gray dress, but obviously longed to wear black. It had been an even smaller wedding than Livvy's because Steve's family lived in Chicago and Jane's only family were her parents, sister, grandmother, and honorary uncle Jim. And it had been held in the Jeffry family's church without all the elaborate flowers and catering. But Jane still re‑ membered every moment of it with fondness. She'd even liked Marty and Thelma that day.
She'd married Steve Jeffry because he was handsome, ambitious, polite, and because he asked her at the exact right moment of her life. She'd been too young and stupid, really, to make such an important decision, but after having grown up all over the world — beloved by her parents, but forever homeless, rootless — she was desperately longing to be a wife. To have a husband, a home, and have lots of plump, pretty babies who grew up in a neighborhood with lifelong friends and schoolmates, not a gigantic circle of slight acquaintances like she'd had.
Livvy's situation was quite different. She was a much older bride, for starters. She'd sensibly dedicated herself to preparing for a career and been a successful businesswoman for a number of years. She'd have her babies, too, with any luck, but because it was demanded of her. Jane wasn't sure that would make for a better marriage.
“You look very thoughtful," Shelley said, startling her.
Jane had sat down on the bottom step of the staircase. Shelley joined her.
“I was thinking about weddings," Jane said. "Livvy's and my own."
“I don't dare think about mine," Shelley said. "My mother organized it as if it were the second D Day invasion. Tried to make the bridesmaids all look like clones of me. Even expected my cousin Zoe to dye her hair.”
“No!”
Shelley shook her head and laughed. "No, I made it up to get you out of your funk. I think this is going to go well. Have you seen Dwayne?"
“Not since breakfast."
“He's already in his tux and I must admit he looks very spiffy and groomish."
“And the girls? Are they ready?"
“Yes. Kitty spilled some soda on the sleeve of her jacket and went to pieces. I gave her some home truths about just who was the center of attention here and was meant to be noticed, and who wasn't, and left Layla cleaning her up."
“Why's she so het up?"
“I think this is the only wedding she's ever been in," Shelley said. "And I suspect she fears it will be the last. She's really not very attractive and hasn't the personality to overcome that drawback. You and I know a number of women who aren't very good-looking, but knock the socks off every man they meet by sheer charm. Kitty isn't one of them.”