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“I’ve never met a woman quite like her,” Daryl said.
Since the words echoed his own thoughts, it took Cam a beat to realize that Daryl was talking about Vi.
Turning, Cam studied his friend’s face. Daryl was looking at Vi as if he simply couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
“She was the last thing I was expecting when I came up here,” Daryl said. “But she’s it for me. She’s everything I want.”
Cam shifted his gaze back to Adair. She was it for him, too. Hadn’t he know that seven years ago when he stood with her under the stones? He turned back to Daryl. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Daryl met his eyes. “I’m going to adjust my plans to include Viola MacPherson. I’m going to ask her to marry me. But first, we have a fake wedding to pull off and an arrest to make.”
As if on cue, Cam’s cell phone rang. It was Sheriff Skinner. “The bride’s side of the wedding party and a photographer have arrived.”
“This is where the fun starts,” Daryl said.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, Adair took the stairs two at a time and ran full tilt into Cam on the landing.
“Whoa,” he said. “Stop. Take a breath. Everything’s fine in the bride’s suite.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know?”
“I edged the door open and took a peek. Bunny is running the photo session like a little general.”
It would be a waste of time to tell him he wasn’t supposed to be peeking. “I need to check in with them anyway. The groom and the best man are here safe and sound in their room. The father of the bride has joined them for coffee.”
He smiled at her. “Confess. You sneaked a peek in there, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t have to. Daryl has the room pretty well staked out. And Aunt Vi just took a tray of sandwiches and some tea and coffee in. The two hired security people are going to get Banes to the stone arch in a wheelchair. The doctor hasn’t okayed the crutches yet.”
“What did I tell you? Everything is proceeding like clockwork,” Cam said. “And I have some good news for you.”
“What?”
“After our talk last night, I called my brother Duncan and sent him on what you might call a little fishing expedition.”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “And that is good news because?”
“He’s in Montana. He paid a visit to the Carlson Horse Farm, and he caught quite a big fish.”
She grabbed his arms. “Will you stop talking in CIA code and tell me? What did he find out?”
“Your theory about blocked messages and conspiracy were right. And your hunch that the mothers were engineering that part was spot-on. After Barry went home for the funeral, Bunny and Barry’s mother became very friendly. Bunny evidently explained in great detail just how unhappy Barry was in the practice on Long Island and convinced the other woman to help her thwart communication between the two kids. Mrs. Carlson came up with a few creative ideas of her own. Barry wasn’t even aware he’d sent Rexie a letter asking for a divorce, nor that he’d signed the divorce agreement. His mother admitted to Duncan that she got his signature both times in a flurry of paperwork she handed him.”
“Duncan found all this out since we talked last night?”
“He’s a damned good agent. An even better brother. He’s bringing the doctor here even as we speak. Barry wants to talk to Rexie. I thought maybe it might help to tell her that when Lawrence gets arrested and hauled away.”
Adair grabbed him and kissed him long enough and hard enough to make her head spin. “Thanks.” She had to blink to clear her vision. “I’ll thank you better later. But I have to get to the bridal suite.”
“Everything’s going like clockwork,” he repeated before he released her.
Adair hurried up the rest of the stairs. The problem was that everything was going like clockwork. But that didn’t mean squat. Because so far no one had spotted Nathan MacDonald. The only drama that had occurred so far was when Alba started barking her head off at the limo that delivered the bride and her attendants to the front door. After that, Aunt Vi had banished Alba to the kitchen.
She knocked once and then stepped into the suite she’d assigned to Rexie and her bridal party. The photo shoot was in full swing. Bunny had hired a team of photographers. One was assigned to Lawrence Banes, another was taking candids of the arriving guests. And yet another had arrived with Rexie, her attendants and her mother in the limo.
There were flowers here, too, along with the remains of the champagne and sandwich tray she’d sent up right after she’d originally escorted them to the room. She’d had no time to speak privately with Rexie, but the young woman wasn’t nearly as nervous as she’d been at the rehearsal.
Not that she looked terribly happy. More determined. But even if she was a tad short of glowing, she made a beautiful bride. The photographer, a woman with straight, chin-length black hair and seriously framed glasses, had Rexie posing in front of a full-length mirror. The maid of honor and the flower girl stood to one side while Bunny peered over the photographer’s shoulder.
“Stand up straight, Rexie honey,” Bunny directed. Then, stepping to the side of the photographer, she showed the woman a photo. “Make sure you capture the full length of the train in the mirror. Rexie’s dress is a copy of the one I wore for my wedding, and I want the picture to look exactly like this one.”
“No problem, Mrs. Maitland.” The photographer took several shots.
If Rexie was less than glowing, her mother more than made up for it. Adair thought of Rexie’s first wedding—an elopement that Bunny had missed. In spite of herself, she felt a tug of sympathy for the woman. And she couldn’t deny the amount of work that Bunny was putting in to make sure that this day was perfect—for both of them.
Then Bunny waved the maid of honor and the flower girl into the photo frame. The camera began clicking again.
“Smile, Rexie,” Bunny encouraged. “This is the happiest day of your life.”
Adair felt her stomach tighten, then ruthlessly ignored the feeling. However bad today was for the poor bride, there were going to be happier days ahead. And one day—soon, she hoped—Rexie would be very grateful that she hadn’t actually married Lawrence Banes.
When the photographer paused for a moment, Rexie sent Adair a smile and a wave. Bunny turned around and hurried toward her.
“What’s wrong?” she spoke in a low voice as she reached Adair. “Is it Lawrence? Has something happened?”
“No. He’s here. The photographer is taking pictures as we speak. The guests are being directed to parking areas. Everything’s moving along right on schedule.”
Bunny glanced back at the photo shoot. The glow on her face had faded. “We don’t have any shots with the flowers yet. Can you handle that? I have a list of the poses I want.”
“Of course.”
Bunny handed her the paper. “I need to see Lawrence. I need to know that nothing else unexpected is going to happen.”
Adair felt another pang of empathy for the woman. A groom in a leg cast and wheelchair was probably not the way that Bunny had envisioned her daughter’s wedding pictures.
And there were worse disappointments to come. She put a hand on Bunny’s arm. “It’s going to work out.” She had to believe that.
“I just want my daughter to be happy. From the time she was a little girl, I’ve wanted to give her the perfect wedding day.”
Adair’s heart sank. But she managed to say, “Lawrence wants that, too. And he’s here. You have to give him kudos for that.”
“Yes. Okay.” Bunny drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I still have to check on him. The bouquets are in the adjoining room.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Adair glanced at her watch. Less than a half hour to wedding march time. “When the photographer’s finished, I’ll bring them all down.”
The second she closed the door to the suite behind Bunny, Adair leaned against it and allowed herself one deep breath. The photographer gestured the maid of honor and the flower girl to the side, then shifted to take shots of the bride from a different angle.
“Jennie and I will help you get the bouquets,” the maid of honor said.
As Adair followed them, she passed the full-length mirror and she as she did, something in the reflection tugged at her memory. In the doorway of the adjoining room, she glanced back to identify what might have caught her attention.
Nothing.
The photographer had moved to take a different shot. She was a woman in her forties, with a sturdy build and one of those enviably straight, black bobs that no doubt required regular appointments in an expensive salon. And she was good with Rexie, talking softly to her as she raised the camera to take the next shot, then shifting position and lifting the camera again.
