“Thanks for coming,” Conor said to Joe.
“You’re welcome,” Joe said. “And you’ll thank me more once we get to the car and you find out what I was doing. Come on.”
10
Saturday, July 3; 5:00 p.m.
It was 5:00 p.m., the hour that Kate and Conor should have been married, and Kate still hadn’t been able to speak to Conor. She thought of the lovely Watch Hill Chapel just across the street from the Ocean House and the wedding tent. She and Conor had loved it the minute they had walked inside last August. Cozy yet airy, over a century and a half old, with warm natural wood walls and a tall ceiling with beams that curved like the ribs of a ship.
The curtain behind the altar was deep blue, and so were the organ panels with chapel mottos done in gold lettering. Kate was particularly moved by one: “In Essentials, Unity: In Non-Essentials, Liberty: In All Things, Charity.” She felt that nothing between her and Conor was more essential than unity.
The chapel was seasonal; Kate and Conor had thought of all the summer weddings that had been held there, all the couples who had said their vows and walked out the door, believing they were united forever.
“We’ll be just like them,” Conor had said, holding her hand.
“Together forever,” Kate had said.
“Well, we already are,” Conor said. “We don’t need vows or a paper to prove it.”
“No, but is it okay that I want all that? That I want it to be official?”
Conor lifted her left hand to his lips and kissed it. “I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I didn’t want it too.”
After visiting the chapel, they had crossed Bluff Avenue and returned to the Ocean House. They remembered the night they had gotten engaged: Christmas Eve, when the railings and columns were wrapped in evergreen laurels and twinkling white lights. The blizzard had passed, and the sky was so clear it had seemed as if every star was close enough to touch.
Kate remembered that August day last year, how they had sat at a table on the verandah, talking about how wonderful their wedding would be. They had gazed across the street at the chapel and at the wide lawn where the tent for their reception would be, and they talked about who they would invite, all the people they loved most. And they confirmed the date with the Ocean House: July 3. Someone else’s misfortune was their good luck: A couple had reserved that date over two years earlier, but they broke up, and that first Saturday in July had suddenly become available.
Now July 3 was here—the date Kate and Conor had come to consider the luckiest in the calendar—and Kate felt the luck and happiness draining away. She still loved Conor—that could never end. The hour of her wedding had passed; her hurt and confusion had cut her to shreds, just like her veil.
She had informed Frances, the wonderful director of events who had helped her every step of the way, that the wedding was off. She didn’t give a reason, but she didn’t have to. Everyone on the property had heard about the rehearsal dinner disaster, and details about the murder were spreading fast. Kate was touched by the staff’s kindness. It bolstered her and made her feel cared for.
Right now, Conor should be standing at the altar, waiting for her. Sam had asked if she could give her away, and Kate had said yes. Kate would be walking down the aisle toward Conor. She would see the look on his face and know he was feeling what she was too. Nothingbut the love they had both yearned for their whole lives and found in each other.
She would be wearing the dress she had adored from the moment she saw it—a simple white column, no lace, no embroidery—just a crystal neckline that glinted like the snow and stars the winter night of their engagement.
But now—nothing. It had all been a dream. Her hopes, the words she and Conor had spoken, were dissolving. They were receding like the tide, nothing more than spindrift being blown off the wave tops, disappearing into the salt air.
When the time on her iPhone clicked to 5:01 p.m., she felt a stab of grief—followed by relief.
At least the wait was over—she didn’t have to dread the hour anymore. The time had passed, and she had somehow survived. Most of their guests had rooms reserved until Monday. Kate and Conor had planned a three-day weekend celebration, starting with the rehearsal dinner, then the wedding and reception, and, on the third night—the Fourth of July—fireworks and the annual Ocean House Independence Day Beach Ball.
The whole weekend was Kate and Conor’s treat. Kate had been the sole heir of her grandmother, Mathilda Harkness. Mathilda had been her role model in most things. She had served as a WASP in World WarIiand had taught Kate to fly a plane, run an art gallery, and wait until she found the right person to love. She had helped Kate find the bravery in herself. And she had left Kate a fortune—a true fortune, going back generations.
So treating their guests to a wedding weekend at the Ocean House, the most romantic place in New England and beyond, had filled Kate with joy. Mathilda had not found Ruth, her true love, until later in life, but once she had, that was it. She would approve of Kate and Conor throwing the best party possible to celebrate what they had.
Her grandmother had been tough, generous, and romantic. She had lived long enough to meet Conor but not know that he had proposed.Kate had been sad about that, but now she was glad Mathilda wasn’t here to see what had happened.
The guests felt so bad for her and didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to say to them either. She just let them enjoy the beautiful day and evening at the Ocean House; she had something less pleasant to do.
Conor was the detective, but Kate had a mystery she needed to solve on her own. Belinda had swept into her life last night, Maleficent spoiling the celebration, turning it into a dark fairy tale. She had stolen Kate’s wedding gown and been brutally murdered while wearing it.
Kate steeled herself to walk through the lobby; she felt as if everyone knew her connection to the crime and was staring at her. The front desk staff smiled when they saw her, as warm and friendly as ever, and without any hint that they knew what had happened. She appreciated that.
But then Christina, one of the managers, leaned forward, holding out an envelope.
“Miss Woodward, this was left for you,” she said.
“Thank you,” Kate said. She opened it right away.
