Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Somewhere overhead, a clock clanged midnight, and Kate couldn’t stop screaming. She couldn’t stop as she dug her heels in and shoved away from Kennedy’s body; she couldn’t stop as she bumped into a rack of wine bottles and they gave a perilous rattle; she couldn’t even stop as voices called down from the kitchen in alarm. She couldn’t stop because, despite writing several mysteries with heaps of dead bodies in them, Kate had never personally encountered one.
Until now.
Loretta. Loretta would know what to do. Loretta always knew what to do in situations like these. And Kate needed Loretta now, more than ever.
Loretta stalked the perimeter of the body, her boots clacking heavily against the old stone as she took in the bride’s lifeless body. She still wore the lovely crystalline dress from the rehearsal dinner, the hem twisted up around her thighs. Her feet were bare, the heels nowhere to be found, and her glossy curls were spread haphazardly over her neck. Her face was relaxed, as if she’d just laid down for a second in a most inopportune location, but her color was all wrong, her white skin closer to gray.
“Her lipstick is smudged,” Loretta said, pointing with the metal swizzle stick she always carried in her back pocket. “See? Just there.”
“You think it was the killer?” asked Blake, his eyebrows creeping up. He was always happy to play second to Loretta’s detective, knowing that she was the only reason he was working the island wedding this weekend instead of wasting away in jail. “Maybe she was assaulted.”
Loretta shook her head, pointing to a twin smudge on the opposite side of her lip. “I’d guess it’s from her glass, the champagne toast. I don’t see the glass anywhere around now. Which can only mean—”
“The Spice Girls preserve us, is that the bride ?” came a sharp, dramatic voice that wasn’t nearly as seductive or understanding as Blake’s. Kate looked up, startled, at Abraham the wedding coordinator as he stood at the bottom of the wine cave stairs, mouth dropped open.
“Wha… what?” Kate asked, still caught in the fog of Loretta’s murder scene investigation. But there was no Loretta, no fictional bride. Kennedy Hempstead was really lying on the floor, and she was really dead, and Kate had really tripped over her. “Oh, god.”
“Help!” cried Abraham, pressing a hand to his chest and swooning against the wall. He waved that same hand toward the top of the stairs, as if he could magic someone there. “Please, we need help down here immediately!”
“What’s going on?” called a strident, authoritative voice. Juliette Winters appeared moments later, Veeta trailing behind her, eyes as wide as saucers and just as unblinking. Kate didn’t want to imagine what the company chat would look like come Monday, but she didn’t figure she would feature positively in it.
“Is that Kennedy?” Veeta asked in a hushed tone. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I was told this one was spotted trying to steal the good champagne, and I come down and find… this!” Abraham crumpled toward the wall again as if he were the one who’d face-planted into a dead body.
“What did you do?” Juliette demanded to Kate. “Did you push her?”
“Wait, what?” she said, snapping her head up and making the room spin. Whoops, still drunk. “I didn’t… What are you saying? I would never… I didn’t!”
“Oh, so you conveniently found her lying at the bottom of the stairs?” Juliette said, voice dripping with sarcasm as she checked Kennedy over. “Did you even check for a pulse before screaming your head off like an idiot? Or did you already know there wouldn’t be one?”
“Oh my god, Ken!” someone screamed from the stairs, and then Cassidy came hurtling across the room and cast herself across Kennedy’s body with a sob. “Kennedy! Kennedy, are you okay? Oh my god, say something, Ken, please!!”
“Abraham, we need medical help,” Juliette said.
“Jean-Pierre!” Abraham gasped. “He is certified in CPR, among his many other talents. I’ll alert him immediately. Oh, it’s the Greek heiress’s sweet sixteen all over again, isn’t it?”
“What did you do to her?” Cassidy sobbed at Kate.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Kate cried.
“Here!” chirped the French assistant a moment later, stopping short with a stage gasp. “The bride? Non!”
“Yes,” Abraham said with relish, pointing at Kate. “This one found the body. Suspiciously.”
“Suspiciously!” Jean-Pierre echoed. “Is she…”
Abraham drew a line across his neck, making his eyes wide and dramatic as he mouthed dead . If he was aiming for discretion, he shot too wide, because Cassidy gave up a wail the Greek chorus would envy, throwing herself dramatically across Kennedy’s body again.
“I can’t find a pulse,” Juliette said in a low voice to Abraham.
“Murder!” Abraham gasped. “We’ll have to inform Rebecca Hempstead right away. Death at a wedding! She’ll want this handled quietly. Shall we detain the killer?”
He looked at Kate expectantly, the rest of the room following suit.
“Hang on, wait, that’s not…” Kate held her head as if that would stop the spinning, and then she held on to her stomach as if that would stop the nausea. “I didn’t touch her! I mean, I touched her, when I tripped over her—”
“You tripped over her?” Cassidy said in horror, once again looking like a raccoon. If the woman was going to go around crying all the time, she really ought to invest in a waterproof mascara. “You stepped on Kennedy?”
“No!” Kate said.
“We all saw you shove her into the present table,” Juliette said.
“And you made a scene when the groom gave his speech,” said Jean-Pierre. “ Such a scene. So embarrassing.”
“No, that didn’t… You’re not… You don’t understand!” Kate protested, the room spinning faster and her stomach twisting up tighter.
Someone took Kate’s arm in a hard grip, making her cry out in pain.
“She killed the bride,” Abraham said with a little too much delight. “She’s a criminal, we must detain her!”
“Nobody’s detaining anybody,” came Jake’s stern voice. Kate had never heard him speak like that, not even when he was on a tear about his dad. He sounded so protective, so fierce. She wasn’t proud of it, but it extremely turned her on. And then he was touching her gently. Kate gave a half sob.
“Kate, are you all right?” Jake asked, just as gentle as his touch.
She wanted to curl up in that voice and block out everything else. The blues of his eyes were stormy but his expression was calm and completely focused on her. Marla hovered just over his shoulder, close enough that it was clear she’d arrived at the same time as Jake. Or had she arrived with Jake? Marla had said she’d be down in a minute, but surely she would have come running when she heard Kate screaming? Unless she’d found someone more interesting to entertain her for the evening. Someone like Jake. A spear of territorial jealousy lanced through Kate’s insides, stirring up her guts and wrapping her stomach around its handle until it felt like it was a part of her.
Kate gave a little shake, just enough that she could feel her brain hitting the inside of her skull. “I didn’t… Jake, I didn’t.”
“I know, Katey cakes,” he said, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Sit right here. I’m going to check on Kennedy.”
“I’m gonna go find someone actually qualified to deal with this,” Marla murmured, backing away.
“Marla, no!” Kate gasped, lurching forward and gripping her hand. “Stay, please. I need you.”
“Valentine, chill,” Marla said. “I’m just going to get some help.”
But Kate couldn’t loosen her grip even as Marla tugged on her arm. She needed her friend now more than ever, with everyone watching her so suspiciously, judging her. Jake moved his hands along the slim line of Kennedy’s neck. He tilted her head back, checking her airway. He frowned, plucking something from her tongue.
“What is it?” Kate asked, leaning in.
“I don’t know, something she ate maybe,” Jake said, handing it off. It looked like a sliver of something hard, like a seed. Kate couldn’t remember what they’d had at the rehearsal dinner that might have had seeds in it. “Her airway looks clear. I’m starting compressions.”
“Give it to Abraham,” Marla suggested. “Maybe it will help us know what happened to Kennedy. What if the rest of us ate it?”
But Kate was too distracted to do anything except clutch the sliver in her hand as Jake started his CPR compressions. They were so much harder and more violent than Kate expected, Kennedy’s chest whooshing in with each push. These were not theatrical TV imitations; they were the real thing. Kennedy’s ribs creaked as Jake finished his first round, leaning over and performing mouth-to-mouth. Kate knew it was hopeless—Juliette said she hadn’t found a pulse, after all—but still she hoped. She had complicated feelings about Kennedy, but she certainly didn’t want her dead. And she definitely didn’t want to be accused of being the one who’d done it.
Jake went through another round of compressions, another round of mouth-to-mouth, the tension in the room tightening until Kate felt like everyone would snap. They were all looking at her, all thinking it, she was sure of it. They’d already made up their minds, and Kate was their patsy. And poor Kennedy was just… dead.
“Jake,” Kate said, reaching for his arm. She might be doomed, but she could spare Kennedy any more indignities.
But then the strangest thing happened. Kennedy’s body convulsed, like she was trying to cough but couldn’t get it out. She flung out a hand, nearly smacking Jake in the face, and he quickly rolled her over on her side as she vomited up what looked like the soup course. A sharp, acrid tang filled the air, like vinegar and something rotten. She sucked in a jagged breath before blinking open those luminous brown eyes.
“Mother Mary Tyler Moore,” Kate whispered. “She’s alive.”