As the tiki torches flicker in the ocean breeze and the wedding music continues to pump in the distance—because apparently, robot dancers wait for no murder confession—I realize that sometimes the most beautiful celebrations hide the ugliest truths. Underneath all the sparkle and champagne, a killer was hiding in plain sight, and tonight, justice had finally crashed this party with handcuffs.
CHAPTER 22
Nothing says successful wedding reception like watching your groom get dragged away in handcuffs while a nine-foot LED robot continues pumping up the crowd and the guests post every moment to their social media accounts.
The salt air carries the scent of melting ice sculptures and abandoned shrimp cocktail as red and blue lights from the patrol cars strobe across the dance floor, creating the most surreal arrest scene in Maine wedding history. Crystal chandeliers sway in the ocean breeze as confused wedding guests stand around clutching champagne flutes and looking like they can’t decide whether this is the best wedding ever or the worst nightmare possible.
“Well,” Charlotte announces, appearing beside me with zero traces of distress and a phone already in her hand, “this evening just got a whole lot more interesting.” She’s traded her glowing LED gown for a little black dress, but her makeup remains flawless despite the fact that her husband of less than twenty-four hours just confessed to murder.
I stare at her. “Your husband was just arrested for killing your wedding planner.”
“I know! Poor Tessa.” She snaps a selfie with the police cars in the background. “I mean, murder at your own wedding? Talk about ruining the vibe.”
Jasper appears at my elbow, looking like a man who’s just wrestled a knife away from a killer and somehow managed to keep his shirt tucked in. “Charlotte, I know this must be overwhelming?—”
“Oh, honey, no,” she interrupts, waving him off. “I mean, I’m devastated, obviously. But honestly? I’m mostly shocked that someone actually died over this whole mess. Piers always was dramatic, but murder? That seems like a lot of effort to get rid of a wedding planner.”
The woman has the emotional depth of a puddle in August, but at least she’s consistent.
She’s taking this remarkably well,Fish mewls from a nearby cocktail table that’s still decorated with rose petals and what appears to be glow-in-the-dark glitter.Almost suspiciously well.
I agree.
Maybe she’s in shock,Sherlock suggests, though he sounds doubtful.Hoomans react weird to trauma. Mostly, they stuff their faces with muffins and cookies whenever they can. And I wholeheartedly approve of that method of coping.
You would,Fish mewls.
OR maybe she’s just REALLY happy to be rid of him because he was probably a terrible husband anyway, and now she can do whatever she wants, and OH MY GOSH, she smells like expensive perfume and happiness and also maybe cake!Truffle yips excitedly, bouncing on her tiny paws near Charlotte’s feet like she’s auditioning for a new family.
The wedding reception continues around us in the most bizarre fashion possible. Servers weave between deputies, guests take selfies with the crime scene tape, and the DJ provides the background music as Leo coordinates with the coroner. Tiki torches flicker along the expanded deck, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear waves crashing against the rocks that havewitnessed more drama tonight than a Shakespearean tragedy with a body count.
“Hey,” Charlotte continues, crouching down to scoop up Truffle, “what about this little angel? Who’s taking her in? She’s absolutely precious, and her previous owner is dead, and her previous owner’s killer is my now-ex-husband. It’s like one of those complicated custody situations, except with more murder.”
Oddly enough, Charlotte just managed to sound a lot like Truffle just now.
I realize I haven’t given Truffle’s future much thought beyond making sure she’s fed and safe. “I haven’t contacted anyone about her yet. No one has inquired either.”
Charlotte’s eyes light up like someone just offered her a brand endorsement deal. “Can I keep her? Please? Look at this sweet face!” She holds Truffle up, and the little Chihuahua licks her nose with obvious approval. “She needs a good home, and I need a fresh start. We could be perfect together, couldn’t we, baby?”
Truffle wags her entire body in response, which I’m taking as enthusiastic consent.
“Plus,” Charlotte adds, kissing Truffle’s tiny head, “she’s the perfect size for travel. Much more portable than Piers ever was.”
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a new home, Truffle,” I tell the little dog. “Try not to let the paparazzi go to your head.”
Conrad chooses this moment to materialize, looking remarkably composed for a man whose best friend just got arrested at his wedding reception. His tie is loosened and there’s sand on his dress shoes, but otherwise he appears unfazed by the evening’s dramatic turn of events.
“Bizzy, Jasper, I wanted to thank you both for finding Tessa’s killer. Justice needed to be served.”Tessa was incredible in bed. What a complete waste of talent.
I nearly choke on my words just hearing his thoughts, but manage to keep my expression neutral, nonetheless. “Well, you certainly sound like a good citizen.”
“It’s a tragedy, really,” Conrad continues with what sounds like genuine sympathy but feels about as real as a plastic Christmas tree. “She was so young, with so much ahead of her.”
“Well, the party must go on!” Charlotte says, bouncing Truffle in her arms as she winks at Conrad with all the subtlety of a fireworks display. “No reason to waste a perfectly good dance floor and an even better DJ.”
Without warning, she grabs Conrad by the tie and plants a kiss on him that would make a romance novel cover blush. Right there in front of the swarm of deputies, the remaining wedding guests, and anyone with a functioning cell phone camera.
The nine-foot robot dancer chooses this moment to pulse his lights in what I can only interpret as electronic approval, while guests gasp and fumble for their phones.
