12
Sam sat at a table on the Ocean House verandah, drinking lemonade and listening to distant thunder. The sky that had been blazingly blue all day began to darken until it was the color of a ripe plum. The bright-blue sea had turned a shade of deep gray green, and white caps began to kick up.
Kate had told her that she had found a receipt in Belinda’s room.
Written in Suzanne’s distinctive handwriting, it listed the address of a marina on a small island.
Kate was flying out there with Conor, Tom, and Joe.
Sam had no idea what they hoped to find.
She could imagine the tension in the plane, given the fact that two of the occupants had just canceled their wedding, but she was guardedly glad to think of Kate with Conor for any reason.
She just hoped that he had told her about the envelope he had stuffed into the desk at home.
Sam gazed across the croquet lawn, past the tent and bowers of hydrangeas, at Bluff Avenue.
Two police cars and a forensics van were still parked there.
Crime scene personnel had been in the house for hours.
They had searched the yard and the street in both directions.
It looked as if they were wrapping up—loading up the van, closing the door to the house.
And, considering all that, what was Suzanne doing with a Ford truck?
Sam spotted Maeve and Lincoln approaching the shingled house where Belinda’s body had been found.
They spoke to one of the last police officers on the scene, and Maeve seemed upset.
At first Sam assumed it was because of finding the body, but then Maeve raised her voice and began gesturing, pointing at the front door.
Lincoln put his arm around her shoulders, as if trying to calm her down.
The police officer shook his head vehemently, and Maeve and Lincoln walked away.
They came into the hotel’s circular drive and up the wide, curving stairs. Sam caught Maeve’s eye and waved. Maeve waved back, and then she and Lincoln joined her at the table.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked.
“I can’t believe this,” Maeve said.
“Maeve left her purse in the house this morning,” Lincoln said. “And she needs to get it back.”
“It has everything in it,” Maeve said. “My wallet, credit cards, the notebook I use for the gallery, even my passport.”
“The house is a crime scene,” Sam said, thinking that should be obvious, considering the yellow tape around the perimeter. “They’re not going to let anyone in.”
“It’s not in the house anymore. The cops took it for evidence,” Lincoln said.
“It’s crazy,” Maeve said. “I had nothing to do with the murder. My address book is in there! All my family’s numbers!”
“Don’t you have them in your phone?” Sam asked. What person our age has an address book?
“Some are,” Maeve said. “But it’s a special book that means a lot to me. It was my mother’s. It reminds me of her.”
At that, Sam nodded solemnly. It sounded as if Maeve’s mother was dead, and if there was one thing Sam considered sacred, it was a dead mother and the feeling of missing her.
“I hope you get it back soon,” she said.
“She will,” Lincoln said, taking Maeve’s hand.
Sam liked his attitude, the way he was being so supportive. Miranda, Bernard’s girlfriend, waved and started toward them.
“I wish I’d never met Suzanne,” Maeve said, staring at the house, oblivious to Miranda. That must have given her the vibe that she’d be intruding, because she turned and walked away.
“How did you meet Suzanne?” Sam asked.
“Through me, playing at weddings,” Lincoln said. “It’s a small world of Rhode Island wedding vendors, and we share contacts.”
“So you told Suzanne that Maeve needed a calligrapher?” Sam asked.
“It’s much weirder than that,” Maeve said.
“Actually,” Lincoln said, “she completely tricked me. She’d heard about a big Ocean House wedding, and she asked if my band was playing it.”
“And he said no, but he’s dating the bride’s assistant,” Maeve said. “And she jumped on that. I swear she knew all along. She got to me through Lincoln.”
“And to Kate through you,” Sam said.
“Yes, and I feel horrible for hiring her.”
“Where is she from?” Sam asked.
“Not sure,” Maeve said. “Do you know, Lincoln?”
Lincoln paused for a few beats. He blinked fast and looked down.
That one motion triggered something in Sam.
After her mother was killed, Sam had developed a strange fascination.
You’d think that the daughter of a homicide victim would do anything to avoid watching shows about violent crime, but she had gotten obsessed with profiling and behavior analysis.
She had read a ton of books and watched YouTube videos of experts breaking down the behavior of criminals.
She thought that if she had known such things, she would have been able to recognize her mother’s killer in time to warn her.
Lincoln’s blink rate was through the roof, and the left side of his mouth was twitching up a storm. Something was clearly bothering him, and Sam had the feeling he was carefully constructing his answer, weighing whether to lie or not.
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “She mentioned it one time . . . I’m trying to remember.”
Sam stared at him and thought he did remember but just didn’t want to say. Is that why he was being furtive? Maybe he’d known Suzanne all along. But then he sighed and put up his hands.
“I’ve got to tell you something,” he said. He paused, looked toward the ocean, at a sailboat heeled over in a still breeze. “Suzanne didn’t just want to work a big wedding—she specifically wanted to be at Kate and Conor’s wedding, and it had to do with Belinda.”
“How do you know that?” Maeve asked, sounding shocked.
“Yesterday I saw her going into Belinda’s room, before the rehearsal dinner. They hugged, and they were laughing and talking,” Lincoln said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Maeve asked.
“Because I’m the one who introduced Suzanne! You would never have hired her if I hadn’t. It’s my fault,” Lincoln said.
“How could you have known she had other motives?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know it. But looking back to when she first asked me, it was as if she was leading me. She could have easily found out that my dad is tight with Kate’s gallery and that I’m dating Kate’s assistant. It was as if she already knew the wedding details and needed to find a way in.”
“Why?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know. But, looking back, she was so secretive,” Lincoln said. “The fact she knew Belinda and kept it hidden is dark.”
“Very,” Maeve said. She closed her eyes, as if trying to summon a memory. “When I went looking for Kate last night and found her veil sliced to pieces, I was really scared. It was so creepy, it made me think that someone had hurt Kate.”
“You didn’t think Kate might have cut it up herself?” Lincoln asked.
“Of course not!” Maeve said.
“She’s right,” Sam said. “You don’t know Kate at all if you’d think that was possible. Someone else did it.”
“I want to talk to Suzanne,” Maeve said. “Where is she now?”
“I don’t keep track of her, Maeve,” Lincoln said sharply. “We’re not close friends or anything.”
“Maybe she’s still here,” Sam said. “She definitely didn’t leave in her truck, because I saw the police take it away.”
“They must suspect her of something,” he said.
“What does 1740 mean?” Sam asked, picturing the number painted on the side of the blue pickup.
“No idea,” Lincoln said.
“If it’s true that Suzanne knew Belinda,” Sam said to Lincoln, “and if she really did angle to get the job, maybe ruining the wedding was her goal all along.”
“Like they were in it together?” Maeve asked. “Belinda and Suzanne?”
“Could be,” Sam said. “Destroying the veil was vicious. Symbolic. I keep thinking this could be a fairy tale. Belinda showing up the night before the wedding with tales of a secret baby. Then someone—Suzanne—slashing the veil.”
“Cursing the wedding,” Maeve said.
“You left out the part about murder,” Lincoln said. “How someone murdered Belinda.”
The ultimate curse of all, Sam thought.