Celia reached the altar. David Bateman placed his daughter's hand in Trevor's with a formal nod, then stepped back to take his seat beside his wife, who was already dabbing her eyes with a tissue. The officiant began to speak, his voice carrying across the garden with practiced projection.
Ben was half listening to the standard wedding preamble when he noticed Kelly's chin dip slightly. She blinked twice, rapidly, and then a tear slid down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away. She just stood there, her hands still clasped, letting it fall.
Without looking at her directly, Ben reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He held it out at his side, low and quiet, the way you'd pass a note in class without the teacher seeing.
For a moment, their hands overlapped. Her fingertips were cool against his, and the contact lasted just long enough to mean something before she took the handkerchief and pressed it to her cheek.
She gave him a small smile. Not the bright, social smile she'd been deploying all afternoon for relatives and strangers. A real one.
The vows were traditional. Love, honor, cherish. Sickness and health. Richer and poorer. The words were familiar enough to wash over the crowd like warm water, and Ben found himself thinking not about the couple at the altar but about the woman beside him.
They'd known each other for less than a month. They'd already fought and reconciled, investigated a murder, faced down a difficult family, and spent two nights together. It was, by any reasonable measure, too much too fast. The old Ben would have been concerned about the pace, would have wanted to slow down, assess the risks, and create a spreadsheet.
He didn’t do spontaneity. He wasn’t in the least impetuous.
But the current Ben was holding Kelly’s hand, and he didn't want to let go.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Kelly had survived the ceremony,the photographs, and two full conversations with one of her aunts about the state of Bergen's downtown revitalization project. She considered this a personal best.
The reception was in full swing now. The string lights had come alive overhead as dusk settled across the garden, casting everything in a warm amber glow that made even the polyester tablecloths look expensive. The quartet had given way to a DJ who was working his way through a playlist that seemed designed to offend no one, while couples swayed on the small dance floor.
Kelly stood near the edge of the reception, nursing a glass of white wine and smiling at anyone who walked past. The smile was mechanical but effective. She'd deployed it so many times this afternoon that her cheeks ached, but the alternative was not smiling, which in the Bateman family was treated as a declaration of war.
Ben was across the garden, deep in conversation with one of Trevor's cousins near the dessert table. He'd been making the rounds for the last hour, shaking hands and nodding along tostories from people he'd never met and would probably never see again. He was good at this. Better than she was, honestly. He had the kind of steady, attentive manner that made people feel heard without requiring him to actually say much.
She was watching him select a miniature cheesecake when her phone vibrated inside her clutch.
The number on the screen wasn't one she recognized, but the area code was. Southern Illinois. Her stomach tightened.
Kelly glanced around the reception. Her mother was occupied with the caterer. Celia and Trevor were on the dance floor. Rob was holding court at a table of Trevor's groomsmen, explaining something with both hands.
She moved quickly toward the far corner of the garden, past the lattice screen and the potted ferns, to a spot where the music faded to a tolerable background hum. A single string of lights illuminated a wrought-iron bench that no one had claimed.
She answered on the fourth ring.
"Ms. Bateman? Kelly? This is Patricia Givens. You left a message for me about Lori."
Relief washed through her body, hoping against hope that Aunt Patricia might have information that could help them.
"Mrs. Givens, thank you so much for calling me back," Kelly said, pressing her free hand against her thigh to keep it steady. "I know it's been a while since we last saw one another.”
“It has been a long time, hasn’t it? I hope you’ve been well. I’m sorry about the delay in getting back to you. Harold and I were visiting our son in Memphis. I only just got your message yesterday." A pause. "You said you had some questions about the summer Lori stayed with us?"
"Yes. The summer before her senior year. She spent about ten weeks with you and your husband, is that right?"
"That's right. She came to help after my husband had surgery. She worked in our ice cream shop on Main Street,the one with the green awning. Scooped cones and made milkshakes. She loved it."
Kelly pressed the phone closer to her ear. A burst of laughter erupted from the reception behind her. She turned her back to it.
"How was she when she first arrived?" Kelly asked.
"Oh, lonely," Patricia said without hesitation. "Homesick. She missed her friends, missed her boyfriend. She moped around the house for the first week or so. Harold and I didn't know what to do with her. We're not exactly exciting company for a seventeen-year-old girl."
“Did that change?”
