Killer Bridal Party Read online

  Killer Bridal Party

  Firefly Junction #2

  London Lovett

  Wild Fox Press

  Killer Bridal Party

  Copyright © 2018 by London Lovett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  More Cozy Mystery

  Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Ursula's arms were crossed tightly as she tapped her foot impatiently at Henry. Her short, spiky hair vibrated angrily in the breeze coming down off the mountains. Henry stopped to tie his long ponytail into a knot before continuing on his task of loading his tools into the back of the truck.

  I rested my feet on the porch railing and returned to my book. A tennis ball shot past my head. Newman bolted to his feet and entered one of those cartoon moments where his paws couldn't get traction. He ran in place for a second before vaulting off the porch and after the ball.

  I didn't look up from my book. I wasn't sure what had me more stunned, the fact that a ghost was hanging around the house or that a hard core skeptic like myself had so easily learned to accept it.

  "One day, someone is going to see that ball shoot out of nowhere and your secret will be out." I flipped to the next page.

  "My secret? I have no secrets." Edward scoffed, something he was exceptionally good at. He drifted to the front edge of the porch, his boundary in the human world. He could never again walk over grass or through trees but then it wasn't like he would enjoy the feel of cool blades between his toes anyways. My overly curious mind went right into question mode. There were still so many things I needed to learn about my incorporeal house guest. (I suppose, technically, I was his house guest.) Did he even have toes? He was stuck eternally in a striking pair of black Hessian boots, so it was hard to verify. Although, he had fingers, vaporous as they were. He could grip a tennis ball with them but did he feel the ball?

  The bed of the truck slammed shut, startling a cluster of mourning doves out of their afternoon food search. "I told you not to slam the truck bed like that," Ursula yelled at Henry. He ignored her, his usual response, and climbed into the truck.

  "An insufferable pair of halfwits," Edward drawled as he watched the truck leave in a spray of dust. "And why does that man allow her constant crowing? And his hair, so long he has to knot it up like a nanny's bun."

  "Interesting observation from a man sporting a ponytail of hair tied up with blue ribbon."

  "It's called a queue and it's a timeless hairstyle for men."

  I laughed. "Timeless for you maybe, but I assure you, if you were to step off this porch, you could walk from one end of town to the other and not find one man wearing a blue ribbon in his hair." I closed the book and stood next to Edward on the porch. "Ursula and Henry are entertaining, and perhaps slightly annoying. But they do good work."

  "Your opinion," Edward huffed.

  Newman returned and dropped the ball at the bottom of the steps.

  "And you're a halfwit too, animal. I've told you to bring it up to the porch or learn to throw that blasted ball yourself."

  "You are grumpy. Did you get up on the wrong side of the ghost bed? Wait. Do you have a bed?"

  "Perhaps that absurd line of questioning should have started with, 'do you sleep?' Would have saved you the time of thinking up the last two."

  "So you don't sleep?" I stared up at his profile. I noticed that when his emotions were strong, like now, then his image was clearer, more vibrant. His straight nose and strong chin showed a man who had been quite the vision in human form. It wasn't hard to see how Bonnie Ross, the young bride of Cleveland Ross, had fallen for him.

  "Why would I need sleep? I've been at eternal rest for two centuries."

  "Nope. I don't think they call your situation eternal rest. It's eternal hovering. What happens when you try and step off the porch?" I asked.

  "Nothing. Nothing at all because I can't step off of it."

  "So, if you do this—" I hopped down to the bottom step and turned back to him. He was watching me with that wry amused expression he wore so well. "Then you can't do this?" I crouched down for a standing broad jump and flew into the grass with a solid landing. I quickly assessed the distance I'd jumped. "Hmm, that's about nine feet. Not bad considering I haven't been on a track team since high school."

  His brow arched. "That was two meters at best. Then, as a young girl you raced and jumped and, as I've noticed more than once, exercised? Hardly ladylike endeavors."

  "I suppose not, but then ladylike endeavors," I said it with a snooty mimic of his posh British accent, "are not really a thing in the twenty-first century." I picked up the ball and threw it for Newman. Redford, apparently bored with the conversation on the porch, loped after him.

  I climbed back up the steps and stopped to give Edward a once over. "Your grumpiness this afternoon has made your image much sharper. I have to admit, although I'll probably regret it, you must have been quite stunning in flesh and blood form."

  "Naturally. Good breeding and all that. I was told that I was related to distant royalty."

  "Oh really? Bonnie Prince Charlie?"

  He hesitated and his face faded away for a second, something I'd seen him do on occasion when he wasn't anxious to answer one of my million questions. I'd noticed it mostly when I brought up uncomfortable topics. "Richard the third," he said quickly, apparently hoping the answer would float away on a breeze.

  I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. "Wasn't he terribly unpopular? And wasn't he the guy whose spine was curved so badly—"

  "Yes," he snapped to end my question. "He had a few character and physical flaws, it's true. But the point is, are you related to royalty?"

  "Actually, that's not really the point at all, but if we're going to be technical, my mom won the title of Homecoming Queen at her school dance. So there's that."

  Edward, of course, had no idea what a homecoming queen was and I was just as glad not to tell him since it would only earn me an eye roll and follow-up lecture about the quaint, mundane traditions of modern American life.

  "There's Emily." I waved to my sister as she came across the pasture that stretched between the Cider Ridge Inn and her adorable farm several acres away. Emily was the only member of the family blessed with my Great Aunt Rhonda's naturally golden hair and blue eyes. I'd managed to get the blue eyes but my hair was a dark brown, a color that I found irritatingly non-descript. It
wasn't a rich coffee color or a tawny-toffee tan. It was just brown.

  A basket filled with Emily's organic eggs, spinach and tomatoes swung at her side as she hiked through the grass in her white cut-off shorts and green tank top. The mid summer sun had brought a day filled with a nice dose of heat and a little too much humidity. But Emily always looked cool and collected, no matter how sweltering the temperature.

  "More spinach," Edward noted. "You eat as many greens as a—"

  "Watch how you end that analogy," I advised.

  "Rabbit," he said confidently.

  "Good choice." I peered up at him. It was strange to think that I was standing next to him, conversing with him, even exchanging barbs, only no one else could see him but me. More than once, the terrifying thought had occurred to me that he wasn't there at all and that Edward Beckett was a figment of my off-the-charts, crazy imagination. But then he'd do something sneaky, like move Ursula's tape measure for amusement and I'd know he was actually there. Or was he there? I couldn't really find a word to describe his presence.

  Edward was staring out at the pasture.

  "If you have complete control over who can see and hear you, why did you reveal yourself to me?" It was such an obvious question, yet I had never thought to ask it.

  "I thought I made that clear."

  I crossed my arms and turned to him. "No, not really."

  He turned and the way he stood, with one boot crossed over the other made it look as if he was leaning casually against some invisible post. "Have you forgotten that you attempted to paint the sitting room—what was that ridiculous color—yes, Cupid Pink?"

  "I'll admit the gray you helped me choose was much more elegant. But that can't be the only reason you decided to introduce yourself."

  "Like you've so aptly put it, I need to find out what's been keeping me in-between worlds, and I thought you seemed smart."

  "Did you?"

  "Well, relatively so. Except the pink fiasco."

  Emily reached the yard. "My youngest sister is the beauty of the family," I said without moving my lips, so Emily wouldn't notice me talking.

  "I think you're wrong on that assessment too. Just like the pink." It was hard to read exactly what he meant, but I had no time to decipher it.

  I smiled probably just a little too enthusiastically at my sister.

  Emily looked around the porch and took a soft, deep breath. She even managed to look pretty while out of breath. "Who were you talking to, sis?"

  "Huh? Oh, Redford and Newman."

  Naturally, my dogs came bounding across the field at the sound of their names and the sight of their favorite person, Emily.

  "There you boys are." She reached for the treats in her pocket. "Your mommy was talking to herself and trying to put the blame on you, but we'll keep her little secret." She tossed them her homemade peanut butter dog cookies, and they trotted off to a shady spot to eat them. "Are you ready to walk to Lana's?"

  "I am." I looked briefly back. Edward was no longer standing on the porch. Maybe he was just a figment of my imagination after all.

  Chapter 2

  Emily's husband had gone into town to meet some friends for a beer so Emily, Lana, Raine and I planned a girls' night in Lana's kitchen. We decided to make Spanish omelets with fresh goodies from Emily's farm. Raine's old Volkswagen was parked in front of the barn, which meant Lana and Raine were still working on something for the party business. There was a silver sedan parked next to Raine's car. Lana had mentioned that a bride-to-be was stopping by to help with shower party treat bags and to pick a place setting for her wedding.

  Redford and Newman loped ahead to let them know we'd arrived.

  "How are Tinkerbell and Cuddlebug? Have they been asking about Aunt Sunni?" At the start of summer, Emily had adopted two baby goats. I'd been going out of my way to show up at bottle feeding time just so I could sit and watch their cute little muzzles tug at the rubber nipple. I had multiple photos of both goats with milk moustaches from feeding time. Whenever I needed a smile or laugh, I pulled up the pictures.

  "As a matter of fact, Tink was asking just this morning 'where's the crazy lady who can't stop hugging me and who keeps taking my picture?'"

  "Guilty as charged."

  Up ahead, Lana appeared at the wide entrance to her party barn to give the dogs a treat. The late afternoon sun glinted off the white oak siding. For parties and weddings, Lana transformed the clean, well-kept barn into a showpiece, inside and out.

  "Between the two of you giving out treats so freely, Redford and Newman are going to look like hippos instead of Border Collies."

  Emily motioned toward the sedan. "I guess the bride is still making her selections. Lana said she was putting together the bridal shower for her too. It sounds fun. It's a camping trip in the mountain park. I guess it's called glamping, still outdoors but with some indoor comforts."

  "Lana mentioned that to me too. I found it interesting that the bride was able to get all her guests on board for a night out in the mountains. Especially old aunts and grandmothers who might have left their outdoorsy days behind."

  "From what Lana told me, they had a special shower for the people who weren't interested in a night under the stars. This one will be just for her adventurous friends."

  We reached the barn. Raine looked up from the work table where she was filling red bandanas with small bottles of hand lotion, sparkly little flashlights, trail mix and other goodies for an overnight satchel. A dozen or so finished 'bandana gift bags' were tied to the ends of sticks like a hobo's knapsack.

  "Hey, guys, we're almost done here." Raine pushed her black-rimmed glasses higher on her nose and eyed the basket in Emily's hand. "Can't wait for dinner. My tyrannical boss hasn't given me a break all afternoon." She pointed out the tray of mason jars at the end of the table. Each jar contained marshmallows, chocolate squares and graham crackers for S'mores. Lana and Raine had hand-painted pale blue polka dots on the silver lids and a name was neatly painted along the side of each jar.

  Lana winked at us over the heads of her client and friends as the three women surveyed the table settings my sister had laid out.

  My talented older sister had arranged three styles of place settings, ranging from elegant to rustic. The first option was made up of a clear glass charger beneath two ivory plates both rimmed with gold. The utensils were gold plated and a thin band of gold lined the rim of the stemmed glassware. The stack of plates was bound by a pale blue satin bow. It seemed pale blue was the primary wedding color because each place setting had some splash of the pastel color. The second setting, my favorite, consisted of a pale blue dinner plate topped by a scroll edged gold and white salad plate. They were stacked atop an ornate silver charger with matching silver utensils. A pink rose and white linen napkin bound by a pearl band finished off the look. The third setting would have been Emily's choice, a mahogany wood charger with a white and black plate and pale blue linen napkins. The napkin rings were sprigs of laurel.

  Lana, who was always the supreme hostess, had placed out a snack tray of chips, veggies and dip for the women to snack on while they made their extremely important decision.

  Emily set down her basket of produce and eggs, and we both got to work helping Raine fill the bandana knapsacks. It was easy to spot which of the women was the bride because she was the center of everyone's attention. Lana included. She was a feathery thin woman whose head was slightly too big for her body. I knew women tended to lose weight for their 'big day', but this particular bride might have taken things too far. Although, her cheeks were a rosy pink and not sallow like one might expect from a crash diet and she wasn't shy with the chips and dip that Lana had set out. It was more than possible that she had just been one of those waifish thin people her entire life. She, like many future brides, seemed to revel in the idea of being the center of the world. She nearly bit through her lip, trying to pick the right place setting, which was partly my sister's fault. Each of the example settings would look lavish a
nd breathtaking on the reception tables. It was a hard choice to make.

  "Brooke Lewis, the bride, is the bone thin woman who keeps chewing on her lip," Raine whispered.

  I leaned closer and spoke quickly. "Is the maid of honor the fast moving woman who seems to be making all the suggestions and comments and who looks to be taking this all quite seriously?"

  Emily poked me with her elbow for being so judgmental.

  Raine glanced back to make sure they were out of earshot. "Yes," she said in a loud whisper. "That's Tory Jansen and you've probably already noticed that she has no love for the other bridesmaid, Cindy Hargrove."

  I looked past Raine but kept my bold stare hidden. The second friend had shiny dark hair that was cut stylishly short. She had large, expressive eyes and a turned up nose that looked better from the side than from the front. She also seemed to be a nervous laugher, someone who giggled spontaneously at everything the bride said. It seemed nothing was too trite or mundane for her mirth. Either that, or she was badly trying to make herself the favorite bridesmaid. And Raine was exactly right. As much as she smiled and laughed at everything Brooke said, she produced a scowl for her bridesmaid partner's remarks.

  "I see it too." Emily had relented and joined in on the gossip session. Something she rarely did. "The two bridesmaids seem totally at odds with each other. Maybe it's because Tory is maid of honor."