Page 1 of The Wedding Party

PROLOGUE

ELSA WARD

Franklin, Tennessee—

Six months ago . . .

Moxie sticks her wet, cold nose against my cheek and whines. I grumble and eye the clock that reads 7:00 a.m., groaning at the realization that my miniature poodle and her miniature bladder have saved me from oversleeping. Although her bladder isn’t the real issue here. Moxie likes her breakfast at exactly seven. I throw away the blanket, and my bones moan with protest. Why can’t we retire when our body still loves us as much as we love the freedom to enjoy life?

I grab my robe, and despite Moxie’s barking—she’s a snarky little thing for twelve whole pounds—I head into the bathroom, where I carry out my morning must-dos. That means I pee, brush my teeth, and fret over my wrinkles and gray hair. Maybe I’ll break down and get a face-lift. I am a single woman now that Daniel found himself a younger woman. Bastard.

Once I’m in the kitchen, it’s not long until Moxie is scarfing down a fresh bowl of chicken and rice that I made her yesterday. I’ve barely had time to brew the coffee before the little white devil is yapping and running for the door. “All right, all right, Moxie, but we’re going to discuss the order of things after this. Mommy gets coffee first. Everything else, after.”

Together we shuffle toward the door—well, I shuffle, and Moxie bounces—and I decide I’ll make today’s adventure a hunt for a coffeepot with a timer. Then my coffee will be ready when I wake up. I open the door, the thick air of the morning promising a hot Tennessee day, while Moxie rushes into our yard, protected by an electric fence. I glance down to find a white box with a big red ribbon on it. Whatever. If Daniel thinks gifts will make me forget the thirty-year-old bimbo he was romancing, he has another thing coming. All those years together, all the trust I had for him, wasted, trashed, lost forever.

Moxie zips past me back inside the house, and I grab the box, lock up, and then walk into the kitchen. I set it on the kitchen table, fill my coffee cup, and then ensure it’s well creamed before I sit down in front of the box. I don’t know why I hesitate to open it. Perhaps because no matter how done I am with Daniel, we spent a lifetime together, and the betrayal between us is still ripe only a few months later.

I down a sip of caffeine and just do it. I grab the note card that reads only “Elsa Ward” on the front with nothing else and then rip away the bow. I pull off the lid and stare at what’s inside. Confused by what I find, I pick it up, and the realization of what is inside hits me. I throw down the “gift” that is no gift at all and I stand up.

It’s over.

My life is over.

My God. I don’t even know what to do next.

“Joe, watch the road! Are you trying to kill us? It’s that damn basketball game you’re listening to.”

“I am watching the road, Marianne,” I bite out through clenched teeth, irritated at her nagging. We’ve been married five years that feel like fifty. At least we’re two blocks from home, where I can occupy my man cave and escape her incessant yapping for a few hours. I didn’t even like basketball until about year two, when I needed anything but her constant nagging to occupy my mind. I’d divorce her, but she’d take me to the cleaners.

“Stop!” she shouts. “Stop.”

I curse at her outburst, about to vocalize my disbelief, when a puppy rushes in front of the car. I slam on the brakes. “What the hell?”

The pup sits in front of the car and I shift into park, opening the door. The minute I’m standing the pooch runs toward me and barks a warning.

Marianne is on the other side of the car. “Isn’t that the blonde bimbo’s dog whose packages always end up at our house?”

“Elsa,” I say, grinding my teeth. Elsa is a kind woman, recently divorced and, while older than Marianne by a good ten years, still better on the eyes and ears. “Yes, it’s Elsa’s dog. Take the car and I’ll return the dog.” I scoop the pooch up, and she licks my chin.

“Fine,” she says. “Take the damn dog back to her.”

Marianne rounds the hood and climbs in the car. I watch her drive away and then hold Moxie up. “Good girl. You gave me a chance to see your mommy tonight.” Elsa always invites me in for coffee. Maybe tonight I’ll take her up on it.

I step onto her lawn and frown. The front door is open. This doesn’t feel right. I set the pup down and she darts toward the porch, up the stairs, and then disappears in the door. I pull my phone from my pocket and then follow in Moxie’s footsteps, my heavier body weight causing each step to moan. I enter the house and walk inside.

“Elsa!”

No answer.

I ease into the kitchen and see nothing. Maybe she’s not even home and the door didn’t latch. I don’t know. She parks in the garage, as most of us do here in these parts. It rains too damn much, and that means hail, wind, and tornados. I decide that’s what’s going on, but still there’s a gnawing sensation in my gut.

Unable to just walk out and shut the door until I satisfy the necessity to ensure Elsa is safe, I walk down the hallway calling her name. “Elsa! It’s Joe from next door.”

I grimace as the smell of copper permeates the air. I know that smell a little too well.

Blood.

I step into her bedroom and grab the wall on either side of me. Elsa is lying in the center of the bed, blood spattered all over the walls, pillows, and blankets. Survival instinct has me scanning the room, looking for an attacker, but I see no one, and I can feel the room’s emptiness.