Chapter 9
NINE
I left Lacy and Anton talking in hushed tones and made my way into the darkness of the hall. Within a few seconds I heard a crash coming from a room at the very end of the corridor, one that I was pretty certain I’d never set foot inside up until now.
I’d memorized the layout of the mansion by this point, so I knew that straight ahead was the Salon, a room specifically designed for cultural conversations, although I would be very surprised if Mr. Finch had ever participated in one himself.
From what I understood, the room—like so many others—was rarely used, though Savilla, with her artistic leanings, hoped to change that.
For this weekend, it would serve as the bridal suite, where Lacy could change into her dress and take photographs on her big day.
With the shadowy figure that had flitted past still in mind, I was hesitant to barge into the room; instead, I ever so carefully opened the door, peeking my head inside.
Darkness was all that greeted me.
The soft tap of footsteps sounded in the room, and I tried to size up the person that I might encounter. A lighter frame, I thought at first, but when a loud sound of shattering glass came from a corner of the room, I wasn’t so sure. This person was like a bull in a china shop.
I felt around the wall for a light and, thankfully, I found a switch quickly.
My eyes had to readjust momentarily to the yellow light from the chandelier, but I quickly saw where the sound had originated: On the ground was an overturned Christmas tree that must’ve been ten feet tall, glass ornaments broken and scattered across the floor.
Savilla had told me she was going to decorate every room of the house, but I hadn’t believed that she actually meant every single room, even ones that were barely used. I shouldn’t have doubted her.
I heard a sound coming from behind a low couch—where visitors were encouraged to sit and talk and, I assumed, admire the art that was all over the walls.
Moving toward it—ready to leap out of the way depending on who it was—there was Bella Rivera, in a crouched position and with both eyes closed, as if she was hoping I couldn’t actually see her.
She was the shadowy figure from the hall, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, relieved to see that it wasn’t someone larger or fiercer. If push came to shove, I stood a chance against this woman.
“What are you doing down there?” I asked, as much for something to say as anything else. I’d not yet spoken directly to this woman, and I hadn’t planned to start, but there we were.
Bella pursed her lips, looked up at me and didn’t speak for several seconds. When she did finally say something, her voice was quiet but each word was crisp. “I was looking for something.”
“In here?” I narrowed my eyes as if to communicate that I wouldn’t tolerate nonsense.
Bella blinked several times, but I couldn’t tell if it was an effort to stall while she came up with some kind of lie or if she was merely trying to get her bearings and decide how much to share.
“I’m trying to get into the art world,” she said, as if this should be the answer to what exactly she was looking for.
“I see.” I frowned at the pieces all around us.
The Christmas ornaments left on the tree seemed to match the décor—or at least the ornate gold frames around the room: All the pictures were portraits, ranging from Mr. Finch’s abstract paintings of former beauty pageant queens and deceased, dour-faced members of the Finch family, to a regal but nameless horse and rider. My favorite was certainly the horse.
“What do you think?”
Bella lifted her head as if she was just noticing the selection around us.
Then she dropped the facade and let out a long sigh.
“I was hoping to have the chance to talk to Anthony, so I trailed Lacy.” She said the name as if it was bitter on her tongue.
“I was hoping to find him and maybe speak with him as soon as you two were finished with whatever it was you needed to say to him.”
The words raised the red flags I’d already been mentally holding, largely because she was confirming what I’d been fearing all along. Bella was still in love with Anton, and she’d come uninvited to this wedding for God knew what reason. Speculating would only make me angrier.
“Look,” Bella said, standing to her full height, which wasn’t that impressive, and brushing tiny shards of glass from the ornaments off her dress.
For the first time I noticed that a cylinder tube was tucked under her arm, and there was something in the angle of her lifted chin and the piercing look from her eyes that exuded a confidence I didn’t appreciate.
“I know nothing about your friend, so I couldn’t possibly have anything against her. ”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” I said, growing more defensive of Lacy with every breath.
“It’s true. She could be Joan of Arc’s cousin or St. Theresa’s niece, but I still know one thing.”
“Which is?”
Bella stared straight at me as if I should know the answer already. “Regardless of how I feel, Lacy is not the one who should be marrying Anthony this weekend.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, my voice rising. “Lacy wouldn’t settle for just any man. She’s stubborn and strong-willed in the best way, and she wants Anton. And he, he…” I tried to find the words. “Every day, he looks at Lacy like she hung the moon.”
While I yammered on, Bella’s eyes trailed from me to the floor, and she suddenly started up on her tiptoes as if she was afraid she might step on something she’d dropped. Then, she was on her knees, feeling underneath the couch where she’d been hiding when I arrived. She’d obviously lost something.
“What are you looking for?”
Bella’s head popped above the back of the couch, and she frowned at me, her voice distracted. “A bag—or a purse. I had it when I came up here, I’m sure.”
I glanced around but didn’t see anything. Lacy had tried to explain to me years ago some women’s relationships to their purses, but Bella’s frantic reaction was a bit much. I rolled my eyes, realizing that I wasn’t going to be able to reason with her until she found her stupid bag.
I retraced my steps while skirting the broken glass at the base of the felled tree, lifting branches.
There at the base of the tree was a bright pink bag, not easy to miss.
I picked it up and then watched Bella, who was almost manically overturning the couch cushions.
Surely she wouldn’t notice if I took a quick peek inside just to see what all the fuss was about?
I debated for all of two seconds before turning my back to Bella and crouching down as if I was still searching. With my right hand I opened the bag, expecting to see a wallet, lipstick, maybe a breath mint or two. I tried not to gasp at what I saw instead.
Inside Bella’s purse was a mini arsenal, complete with a box cutter knife, pepper spray, a steel nail file, a long circular object, and the most compact gun I’d ever seen—not that I’d seen many.
Aunt DeeDee had kept one in a safe in the loft—for emergencies that might arise with a woman living alone—but even though I’d heard it existed, I’d never set eyes on it.
“That’s not mine,” I heard Bella say from behind me, her breath coming fast as she extended a hand. “But I need it.” She paused and took a deep breath in an attempt to keep calm. “Please. Give it back.”
Somehow she made each word sound like a threat, but I could hear something under her words as well: A shakiness, a fear of discovery.
Bella was denying that the bag was hers, but she’d brought it—and the deadly contents—with her to meet Anton…
and presumably Lacy. What was Bella planning to do this weekend, with her fashionable assault toolbox?
“I said give it back. Now.” Bella spoke with a venomous tone that also reeked of desperation. Just then, something fell from the purse, and I reached down to pick it up. It was a tiny button, covered in ivory fabric. It only took me a second to place it.
“I didn’t… I mean…” Bella stammered, even though I already knew where it belonged.
I watched her turn toward the back of the room, my eyes following hers to where the button must’ve come from. Bella was lying to me about something—perhaps many things—that much was clear.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” she finally finished.
Lacy’s wedding dress was hanging from a bar along the back wall.
Since I’d been in New York when Lacy had gone dress shopping with her mom, I’d only seen it in pictures, but those dozens of photos had been taken from every possible angle.
The design was timeless—long and flowing—and Lacy had particularly loved the seed pearls hand-stitched into the train, and the long row of buttons running down the back.
I stepped forward quickly, knocking into Bella with my shoulder as I passed her. Something wasn’t right, and as I neared the dress, I could see what was bothering me. There were torn buttons and a slash along the back of the gown.
Someone had ruined the dress.
I swallowed hard and clenched my fist, my nails sinking into my palms in an effort to contain the explosion inside of me, but when I turned back to accuse Bella of destroying my best friend’s dress, she was gone.
With a deep sigh, I turned back to the dress.
Perhaps it could be fixed in time? It was only then that I noticed three additional buttons on the ground, below it.
Instinctively, I stooped to pick them up.
As I bent down, I also noticed a swatch of fabric on the ground.
I picked it up too, and although at first I’d assumed it was from the dress, as soon as I touched its coarse threads I knew that wasn’t right.
I ran a finger across the fabric, noticing for the first time a speckle of off-white paint around one edge. This was canvas torn from a painting. But when I quickly scanned the room, all of the art seemed perfect and in place; no random, torn edges gaping from the frames.
I had no idea what the fabric meant, so I folded it and tucked it into my pocket, along with the buttons.
I’d deal with Bella Rivera later.