CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Iwatched through the window across from the second-floor landing as the uniformed state troopers escorted the guests up the great lawn on the opposite side from the dining pavilion. It wasn't the usual route, and I was sure it caused commentary. Several people looked across toward the place where Kendall Clarkson had fallen off his picnic bench. The police had removed the crime-scene tape, but still . . .

Below us, Pete and Dan handed programs to guests as they entered the foyer and found places to stand. The noise of voices grew, welling up to where we stood on the landing above. With final good-luck hugs for Zoey, Livvie and I slipped down the back stairs from my mother's apartment into the kitchen.

Jamie, Pete, and Dan stood at the front of the foyer under the flowered swag. Livvie and I slid in through the swinging door and took our places opposite. Bill Lascelle played an old folk tune softly on his guitar. Despite whatever they may have seen or thought when they walked past the dining pavilion, the crowd was happy and chatty, full of anticipation.

The music changed, and everyone looked up. Conversation stopped immediately. Zoey started down the grand staircase in her beautiful white dress, just as she'd dreamed. All eyes were on her.

Jamie met her at the bottom of the stairs and escorted her to the front.

Constance began the ceremony. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here . . ." She was a former teacher, and I was sure she could be heard in the back row.

The kitchen had quieted for the ceremony. The caterers and waitstaff stood respectfully on the outer perimeter of the oval-shaped room. I picked out Jordan and the woman who had to be his mother, Mel.

The photographer was discreet, as Zoey had instructed. The click of the camera was the only sign she was present.

My mother was in the first row of guests, holding hands with Captain George. Her smile was so wide I thought it must hurt. I could tell she was proud of her daughters, and I stood up even straighter. "My beautiful girls," she mouthed and then returned her attention to Zoey and Jamie. She was happy for them, especially for Jamie, the little boy she'd watched grow up. More than anything, she was happy herself for the first time in years.

There is something about a wedding that makes couples think of their own weddings and partnerships. Jamie's parents, married more than fifty years, let their tears fall freely, their arms entwined. Sonny, the old softy, stared at my sister with googly eyes. Even Gus suffered to let Mrs. Gus hold his arm and lean on him in public.

My eyes sought Tom, standing at the back of the room by the front door. He noticed me looking, grinned back, and mouthed, "I love you." I couldn't say it back without distracting from the bride and groom, so I smiled and sent the thought back silently.

Jamie and Zoey had written their own vows. I'd been skeptical, though I didn't say anything. Zoey was a visual person, a hands-on person. Anything to do with writing, even developing our product descriptions, was part of the job I had taken from her because she disliked it. Jamie was the same, a restless guy who wanted to be out of police headquarters, on the street. He regarded the paperwork as the worst part of the job.

But I'd been wrong. Each of them had taken the time to know what the other most needed to hear.

"James, I give you my life, for life," Zoey said. "We will make a home and be safe there in our love. When times are hard, we will prop each other up to give each other the strength to face them. When there is joy, we will multiply it, and spread it to all we love and all who love us." When she finished, she smiled at him, a little uncertainly, and nodded for him to speak.

"Zoey, my love." Jamie's voice was thick with emotion, "all my life, I've felt like a part of me was missing, until you came and filled the empty places, even those I didn't know were there. I give you my family, the one I was born to and the one we will create. I give you a home where you will always be safe. Whatever the future holds, I will be at your side, cheering you on, loving and supporting you. Your success is my success; your challenges are my challenges. We are one team, held together by respect and love, now and forever."

There wasn't a dry eye in the house when they finished. I worked hard to suppress my tears, but salty liquid backed up in my throat, and I watched in horror as a large drip exited my nose and landed on one of the two bouquets I held, mine and Zoey's. I looked around, checking to see if anyone had noticed, but all eyes were on the bride and groom, as if they were the only people in the room.

Constance led them through the exchange of rings. Pete played it straight, handing them over with appropriate solemnity. Zoey and Jamie promised to honor and cherish but not obey. Even tradition had its limits. And then he kissed her with an exuberance that nearly knocked a flower from her hair.

A great cheer went up and a round of applause. Jamie blushed appealingly, and Zoey laughed, a joyful sound that carried above the rest of the noise. The guitar started up, and everyone began to talk at once.

As people moved into the main salon, Tom came across the room as if propelled by a rocket and took me in his arms. "Success," he said. "Your first wedding in Windsholme, and it was beautiful."

"Thank you." I kissed him. "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

"I love you," he said, out loud this time.

"I love you, too." I said it out loud, too.

* * *

In the main salon, we formed a receiving line, another of Zoey's bows to tradition. "I want to see the face of every person at my wedding," she had said. "I want to thank them for coming and remember them forever." Jamie, Livvie, Pete, and I were in the room at the time, and not one of us was in a position to argue. None of us were married except Livvie, who'd had six people at her wedding, none of whom she was ever likely to forget.

"I'm sorry to hear that the cow died. I'm sorry to hear that the cow died. I'm sorry to hear that the cow died," Gus muttered as he came along the receiving line, shaking hands. I held on to his, not letting him go. "It's what I always say at these things," he grumped. "Proves no one ever listens. "

Perhaps he had a point. He'd made it past Pete, Dan, Constance, and Livvie without any of them noticing.

"And I say," Mrs. Gus was right behind Gus, "so lovely to see you. What a wonderful ceremony. Isn't the bride beautiful?" She looked pointedly at her husband. "There, that was easy." She looked back at me. "You look beautiful, too." She kissed me on the cheek.

After they passed through the receiving line, the wedding guests found their tables, and the decibel level fell as people talked with those nearer at hand. There were introductions and handshakes at the mixed tables of artists and Dawes family, as Zoey and Jamie had intended.

I took a moment to check on the kitchen, where Carol Trevett firmly turned me around and sent me back to my seat. It did appear everything was in hand. I made it back to the head table barely in time for my toast.

Pete had discharged his duty the night before. There was no father of the bride to do the honors. Or if there was, he was currently in the medical examiner's office in Augusta. It was on me. I was the one to say what needed to be said.

I stood, raised my glass, and called out until the room quieted. "Welcome to Windsholme and the wedding of Jamie and Zoey," I began. "I have known Jamie for my entire life. He has grown into a loyal, loving, kind, and patient man. He is generous. Many of you here will know how quick he is to lend a hand. He serves honorably in a difficult profession. I love him, and I couldn't wish for a more perfect mate for my friend." I paused to give Jamie his due. A bright beet color rose charmingly from his neck to his hairline.

"Zoey," I pointed my glass in her direction, "is Jamie's perfect match. She is a survivor, but the tough outer shell can't disguise her gooey center. She's a woman who follows her passions and who never, ever gives up on anything, but most especially on the lucky people she loves.

"Join me in wishing them every happiness this life has to offer. I cannot think of two people more deserving." I raised my glass and said, "Here, here." The room echoed it back, even the detectives at the back.

I sat down, grateful to have my last official duty discharged just as the waitstaff arrived with the salad.

Like the rest of the meal, it had been lovingly specified by the bride and groom. Listed on the dinner menu, it was a fennel and blood-orange salad, a favorite of Jamie's. It was served on a plate the color of deep green sea glass. Zoey had made all the dishes for the wedding to complement the food. For this course, she'd also made two little ramekins for each salad. Though the orange, dried cranberries, and dressing were already mixed in, the slivered almonds and blue cheese were served on the side. "Because people can be allergic to nuts," Zoey explained. "And some people don't like blue cheese."

"Some people don't like fennel," Jamie had pointed out. To which Zoey had replied, "Tough."

I was surprised to discover I was starving. I'd picked a little as I'd cleaned up at breakfast but hadn't had a proper meal. I dug into the salad, after emptying the almonds and blue cheese over the top. It was tangly and crispy, crunchy from the nuts and fennel, a perfect blend of flavors. My stomach quieted, though whether that was from at last being filled or from relief that the meal was going so well, I didn't know.

"I love it," Zoey said from beside me. I loved that she loved it.

I liked sitting at the head table, where I could look out across the room. Binder and the detectives were at a hastily added table toward the back. As he'd promised, they ate their salads as any guest would have done. But every time I looked at him, his face and body seemed to be on alert, and his eyes roved around the room.

Tom was at the table with my mom and Captain George, Fee and Vee Snugg, Mr. and Mrs. Gus, and Sonny. He was far more relaxed than his boss, talking and laughing with the others. I felt a warm glow as I watched him, so easy with my family and friends. I never would have believed it when I first met him. He'd been stiff and formal, professional to a fault. And wildly skeptical about my contributions to his investigations. That wasn't the man I watched now. Zoey wasn't the only one with a tough exterior that hid something wonderful inside.

I was momentarily surprised to see that Zoey had put Bill, Constance, Derek, and Amelia at the same table in the middle of the room. Then I realized she'd had no idea about their conflicts back when she'd first arranged the seating chart, or even now. I'd told her about Constance and Kendall Clarkson, but I hadn't said anything about Derek and Bill's unhappy history with him. And I'd persuaded Amelia to remain silent at least for now. Bill and Constance seemed to be talking normally, but Derek glowered, shoveling forks full of salad into his mouth in a mechanical motion. Amelia looked completely miserable, though she managed a tentative smile when she saw me looking. I felt sorry for the four members of Jamie's extended family who had been assigned to fill out the table.

I realized that, while I'd had him, I should have whispered to Tom a quick summary of what I'd learned from Amelia. But, riding the emotions of the day, I couldn't feel bad about the words we'd said instead.

There was a brief interlude when people stretched their legs, headed toward the public restrooms or the bar, or went through the French doors out onto the porch. Despite the fury of the storm the night before, it was sunny, the kind of day, with temps in the mid-seventies, that caused Mainers to brag we didn't need air-conditioning. Which was a lie. Jamie and Zoey went to visit with people at the tables. I curbed a sudden intense desire to check on things in the kitchen. Carol had already dismissed me once.

The waitstaff appeared in the room, banquet trays laden with the main course. We had offered a choice of baked, stuffed lobster tail or beef, or a vegan entrée. I'd been astonished, given the meal the night before, at how many people had ordered lobster again. But some tourists ate lobster every day they were in Maine. I'd often listened as our customers cheerfully described every lobster roll, salad, BLT, bisque, and stew they'd had since they crossed the state line. I had ordered the lobster tail for my own dinner, too. I'd anticipated—correctly, as it turned out—that I wouldn't get any lobster, or food of any kind, at the rehearsal dinner, though I would never in a million years have guessed the reason why.

The tail arrived with the meat standing up like a sail. It sat on a bed of asparagus-mushroom risotto. The plates were a navy-blue color that set off the red of the lobster. "It's beautiful," I said to Zoey. Against the highest odds I could have imagined, her dream wedding was turning out to be just that.

The food was as good as it looked. The lobster, so fresh it had been in cages under our dock that morning, was buttery, luscious, and decadent. I loved the hints of lemon and garlic. The risotto anchored the dish, both physically and on the palate, balancing the briny lobster with the flavor of the spring woods.

I marveled at the amount of work that had gone into the preparation and presentation. The point was to make the lobster easy for guests in fancy clothing to eat, so I laughed as I looked around at the tables and watched first the Mainers, and then the diners seated with them, say "the heck with it" and go after the meat remaining in the tails with their utensils and, in some cases, their hands.

The dinner plates were scattered with the remnants of the lobster tails when I finally pushed back my chair, no longer hungry. People were moving around again. The detectives had spread out across the room, discreetly drawing guests who'd been at the rehearsal dinner into conversations. Binder had promised they wouldn't bring up the whole man-dying thing during the wedding. Instead, they asked people how they'd liked the party, where they'd sat, who they'd talked with, and so on, making conversation.

My eyes were drawn to the middle of the room, where Constance, Bill, Amelia, and Derek seemed to be having a disagreement. The other three were clearly arguing with Derek, who looked sullen and stubborn. Jordan hovered nearby with drinks on a tray, looking uncertain about whether to interrupt. Drinks were the last thing that table needed.

Outside the room, the DJ cranked up a tune. Jamie and Zoey leapt from their seats, whooped, and ran to the dance floor, and the guests followed.