I sigh over at the tiny furry ball of energy. I certainly hope that wedding cake tastes better with sand in it because at this point, it’s sort of a given.
“Anyway.” I continue, “We have five solid suspects, all with excellent motives, and absolutely no way to narrow it down beforeCharlotte saysI doto a man who’s probably planning to divorce her as soon as he gains access to the trust fund that doesn’t exist.”
“Maybe that’s our killer’s plan,” Leo suggests. “Wait until after the wedding, let Piers discover there’s no money, and then watch him implode naturally.”
“That’s very patient for a murderer,” Emmie points out. “Most killers aren’t known for their long-term strategic planning.”
“Most killers also don’t attend bachelorette parties at Western-themed strip clubs,” I counter. “Maybe we’re dealing with someone who thinks outside the box?”
“Speaking of thinking outside the box,” Jasper says, “how exactly did your interrogation of Bea go? Because based on Charlotte’s Insta Pictures stories, it looked like you spent most of the evening being carried around by cowboys.”
“I got excellent information before the cowboy abduction,” I defend. “Bea revealed that she’s financially ruined, Piers is mistaken about how her family made their money, and she had multiple heated arguments with Tessa about inflated billing.”
“Heated arguments about money with the murder victim.” Leo nods. “That’s a solid motive.”
“Plus, she has access to the kitchen through wedding planning, which means access to knives,” I add. “And she just might be desperate enough to murder someone who’s bleeding her dry financially.”
“But is she desperate enough to commit murder in front of her daughter’s wedding guests?” Emmie asks.
“Desperate people do desperate things,” Jasper says with the voice of experience. “And Bea Van Buren strikes me as someone who’s been pushed to her limit.”
“Great,” I sigh. “So tomorrow I get to watch a broke mother-of-the-bride, a vindictive ex-girlfriend, a predatory best man, and a gold-digging groom all pretend to celebrate love and commitment while secretly plotting each other’s downfall.”
“Don’t forget about Charlotte,” Leo points out. “She’s the only one who seems genuinely happy about this wedding.”
“Which makes her either the most innocent person involved or the most dangerous,” I muse. “And what if she’s not as naive as everyone thinks? What if she knows exactly what’s going on and she’s playing a much deeper game?”
“Now you’re just being paranoid,” Emmie says.
“In this town,” I reply, “paranoia is a survival skill.”
The question isn’t whether something will go wrong at tomorrow’s wedding, but rather how many somethings will go wrong and whether any of them will involve additional dead bodies.
CHAPTER 19
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about hosting weddings, it’s that no amount of planning can prepare you for the moment when your peaceful inn gets transformed into what appears to be the love child of a Pinterest board and a circus.
“Fish, stop trying to eat your bow,” I say sweetly as I sprint across the cove at a little after twelve in the afternoon, the salt air already thick with the competing scents of blooming beach roses, industrial-strength sunscreen, and enough hairspray that could probably deflect aliens from space.
The morning sun glints off white silk draping that’s been hung between every available palm tree—and most of those palm trees have arrived on the scene just for the wedding—creating what Georgie insists is ethereal romantic ambiance, but looks more like someone gift-wrapped the beach.
This pink monstrosity is an insult to my dignity,Fish informs me, pawing at the elaborate bow Charlotte insisted all pets wear for the ceremony.It’s taking away from my natural beauty. Not only that, but it’s giving me tunnel vision.
I think I look festive,Sherlock says cheerfully, his bow already askew and decorated with sand.Very wedding-y.
Truffle belts out a few spastic yips and trots in a circle.I can’t see properly, and it’s slipping and sliding all over my head and tickling my ears, and OH MY GOSH, what if I miss something important because of this bow situation? What if there’s a squirrel or a dropped snack or a SUSPICIOUS PERSON and I can’t see them because of this pink thing covering my eyeballs? This is definitely a safety hazard, and also, it’s really itchy, and why do hoomans think we need accessories, anyway?she chatters frantically.
“Because you all look adorable,” I say, giving her a quick scratch between the ears.
Macy distributed the bows this morning and said they were mandatory for any pet that wanted to be admitted to the wedding. The only thing she seemed to have overlooked was that each bow was the exact same size—about the size of Truffle, to be exact.
But Macy isn’t the only member of the Bridal Rescue Squad running amok. The beach itself has been transformed by what can only be described as Georgie’s interpretation of an elegant seaside wedding. She’s bedazzled the aisle runner with actual rhinestones that sparkle in the morning light, hung twinkle lights from driftwood arches, and somehow managed to incorporate enough tropical flowers to make the entire setup look like a luau designed by someone who confused tropical elegance with a Vegas showroom.
“Bizzy!” Georgie calls out from where she’s adjusting what appears to be a glittery starfish attached to the altar. “Do you think we need more sparkle on the unity candle setup?”
I glance over at the glowing tabletop that glitters in every shade of the rainbow.
“Georgie, the unity candle setup can double as a lighthouse,” I tell her, tugging at my emerald green dress that seemed elegant this morning but now feels completely inadequate for the level of glamour currently overtaking my beach. “I think we’re good.”
