Pretty Little Dead Girls (11 page)

Bryony watched him for a second more before turning back to the minister.

“We are gathered here today,” he said, and as he continued, there was a happy shuffling of feet. Bryony Adams was getting married today. All was right with the world.

A snaky desert vine zipped its way across the sand, heading for her exposed ankle. The town butcher stomped on it with his feet, and the vine lay still. Scorpions and crawlies and all manner of dangerous creatures infested the dunes, but they were effectively stamped out and killed by the townsfolk.

“You simply shan’t have her tonight,” whispered a doddering old woman, a bit too loudly, mind you, but she was a kind and gentle thing, and those around her nodded in agreement. The desert recoiled in disbelief, but pressed on in its advances, only to be stymied at every turn. What a distressing turn of events for the desert at large.

Ah, but what an evening for Bryony!

Her eyes shone, full of Eddie Warshouski and everything he was. Her father stood beside her, and those she loved surrounded him. The moon was bright and large as it can only be in an unbroken sky, and the stars . . . Why, the stars were absolutely spectacular. They erupted in a meteor shower, falling down to the earth around them, coursing across the sky in a sea of white sparks. They were sky confetti, and celebrated the “I do’s” and the “You may kiss the bride” and they were positively dazzling when Eddie picked Bryony up and spun her around under the clear atmosphere. She laughed and the stars answered, and it seemed as though they were in her hair and on her eyelashes, and shining under her long white dress. There was much oohing and aahing and happy tears from all involved, and Stop’s stooped shoulders were petted and patted and his lined face hurt from smiling so hard.

“This is exactly right,” he said. “Exactly right.”

And everybody agreed, except for the desert, who was pouting off by itself in a most unflattering manner.

But the desert had a trick up its sleeve, oh yes it did. For it may be thwarted at the moment, but it will not be thwarted for long, and even now there was a rumbling deep underground that made the desert cease feeling sorry for itself. In fact, it began to smile, a harsh smile, a terrible smile, and anybody who witnessed it certainly would have been frozen in horror, pierced by the chill one feels when they drop something fragile, something that was given to them by somebody very dear who is now dead, and now they have nothing with which to remember them, and shall never be able to recall their features exactly ever again.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Are You Alive? Here Are Some Muffins

Detective Bridger stood outside the door for a second before knocking. He felt rather silly holding a basket of warm muffins, but his wife had insisted. The detective cleared his throat and tried to look extra official.

Rikki-Tikki answered the door. “Yes?”

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you again, Detective Bridger. How’s our homicidal home invader?”

Detective Bridger smiled slightly. “I think that particular man is scared straight for a good long while. He didn’t want to confess to any of the other crimes until we threatened to put him in a locked room with Syrina. Suddenly he had a lot to say.”

“She’ll be pleased to hear that. What can I do for you, detective?”

Detective Bridger straightened. “I was looking for Miss Adams. I was going to . . . my wife . . . these muffins,” he said awkwardly, and held them out to Rikki-Tikki.

“She isn’t home right now.”

“When will she be back?”

“Not for a while.”

Detective Bridger stared at Rikki-Tikki and Rikki-Tikki stared right back. High in the trees a blackbird eyed the muffins greedily, but its sense of self-preservation convinced it to stay away. It flew off with shiny-eyed disappointment.

“Isn’t it unusual for a detective to show up at a young girl’s house with breakfast?” Rikki-Tikki asked.

Detective Bridger straightened. “I don’t appreciate your implication. I’m checking up on her to see how she was doing after finding that body. She seemed to be quite devastated by it.”

“You wanted to reassure yourself that she was still alive.”

Detective Bridger ignored this, although it was precisely that.

Rikki-Tikki held his hand out for the muffins and Detective Bridger passed them over automatically. Rikki-Tikki could see he was busy fitting the pieces of the puzzle together.

“You’re wondering if the attack on Syrina had anything to do with Bryony. It did. You realize that Bryony is somewhat of . . . a target.”

Detective Bridger’s eyes sharpened on Rikki-Tikki’s. “I can’t say it’s something I understand, but I can’t deny what I felt when I saw her. She is followed by sorrow. But are you saying that the rest of you suffer consequences for being so close to her?”

Rikki-Tikki took a bite of muffin. “I wouldn’t call it suffering. We hold our own.” He swallowed. “She’s gone home for a few days. Getting married to Eddie.”

“Who’s Eddie?”

“Ed Warshouski. He’s a musician.”

The detective sighed and Rikki-Tikki thought he didn’t look as severely official as he had before. He looked like somebody who played ball and ate chicken wings and would be fun to hang out with during weekends.

“Eddie Warshouski. I remember his case. They make a pair,” Detective Bridger said. “Good luck to the both of them. I’m afraid they’ll need it.”

He turned to go but Rikki-Tikki put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Detective.”

“Yes?”

Rikki-Tikki leaned against the door. “You’re all right. You genuinely want to help our Bryony.”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

Rikki-Tikki’s grin looked strangely ghostly, and for a second the detective could see a trace of Bryony in that smile. When she was lost (and yes, he would work as diligently as it is humanly possible for a man to work, but the fact of the tragic matter is that she will indeed be lost), Detective Bridger will comfort himself knowing that on sad, rather melancholy days, Rikki-Tikki will smile a rather dismal smile and there will be, at least for a second, a trace of the Star Girl.

“You’d be amazed at all of the predators in the world,” Rikki-Tikki said off-handedly. “But I want to tell you this: If you continue to help her, you’re putting yourself and your family in danger.”

Detective Bridger’s voice was calm. “Is that a threat?”

Rikki-Tikki’s grin brightened, and all of the world was filled with sun. “No, it’s a very friendly warning. I thought you deserved to hear it. Welcome to our team, Detective Bridger.”

He shut the door and the detective stood silently for a minute, piecing everything together in his head. His heart was pounding a bit quicker as he walked briskly back to the car.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Pain and Peace

Today was a beautiful day as far as Mrs. Warshouski was concerned. Her darling Eddie was getting married, and what could possibly be better than that? Why, nothing. Nothing. Soon their house would be full of tiny Edwards and . . . what was her name again? A poisonous flower. Oleander? Baneberry? Goodness, that can’t be it. No mother in her right mind would ever name her daughter Baneberry.

Mrs. Warshouski could just see it now . . .

“Why, hello, new mother. I am your nurse. You have a tiny baby girl.”

“Oh, do I? How utterly delightful. I am ever so happy.”

“As am I. What a pleasure to assist in the labor and delivery. And what, pray tell, are you going to name your little bundle of goodness and light?”

“I shall call her Baneberry.”

“ . . . Shall you? Oh my.”

“Yes. I wish to give my daughter a rather conflicting name, you see, and I felt that being called after a poisonous flower would do just that. First I thought of Elephant Ear, but you can imagine how that would be when she hits twelve or so—”

“Yes, yes, I see your point,” the nurse would whisper ever so faintly.

“And there are so many other names to choose from, really. Gardenia and Foxglove. False Hellebore is just right out, you see, but Baneberry . . . ”

Mrs. Warshouski shook her head to take the image from her mind. What a terrible fate to befall such a sweet girl. Thank goodness her mother had chosen to call her . . . ooh, if only she could remember.

It is quite an unusual name, she consoled herself as she bustled around the house. One day it will roll off her tongue like pearls, and she and her daughter-in-law will laugh and laugh about how Mrs. Warshouski was quite befuddled over the name, and couldn’t remember it to save her life.

“Oh, Mama, you are ever so funny,” the dear girl would say, and kiss Mrs. Warshouski’s cheek. She did hope the child chose to call her Mama, especially after Eddie told her the poor thing didn’t have a mother of her own. Mrs. Warshouski was enough mother to mother them both, and by golly, that was what she was going to do.

She flung open the windows to the upstairs guest room, letting the night freshen the air. Although she was not quite well enough to board one of those horrid airplanes and traverse the country to attend a last minute wedding. Mrs. Warshouski had asked Eddie, without being pushy, if he and his darling new bride would be willing to come and stay with her so they could enjoy each other’s company.

“You just want to scope her out, don’t you, Ma?” Eddie teased. Before she even had a chance to chide him for being cheeky, he said: “Of course we’ll be there. I can’t wait for you to meet her, Ma. You’ll love her. And she’ll be just wild about you, I guarantee it.”

What a nice boy, a sweet boy. A gentle boy who thought about his mother and knew that more than anything she wanted to be liked and accepted by his wife. She wanted to be a part of the family and spend time with the couple, and hold all of their sweet babies. She knew there would be babies, and lots of them, and there would be laughter and joy and frantic phone calls where her charming new daughter would say a bit breathlessly: “Oh, Mama, the little tiger is teething and I have no idea what to do. What is your advice? What do you suggest?” And they would discuss, and she would dispense her sage advice, and the girl would nod on her end of the phone. Then she would say: “Yes, oh yes, that makes so much sense! Thank you. When can you come and visit us?” and they would plan Christmases and Easters and leisurely summer vacations together. It will be splendid.

“My heart . . . is full,” she said aloud, and it sounded exactly right. She chose to say it again. “My heart is full.”

So pleased and full of heady dreams was our precious woman that she didn’t even hear the slight sounds were coming from the ground floor of her home. There was the sound of sliding and something tipping over and being gratefully caught at the last minute, and the sound of somebody breathing through their mouth because they were too panicked to breathe through their nose. There was the sound of feet trying their hardest to sound stealthy and the sound of precious-looking things being slid neatly into a backpack. If Mrs. Warshouski would have been thinking about the weather, perhaps, or the Current State of the Economy, it is quite likely she would have been eagerly brought back to reality by such sounds. But alas, she was thinking Happy Thoughts, and Happy Thoughts have a way of inhabiting your mind and soul the same way joyful music or a parasite does, and she was not aware of the oddly peculiar sounds at all. And the creator of the mysterious downstairs sounds was obviously not that aware, either, because he was most surprised when Mrs. Warshouski burst into the room he was currently robbing.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Warshouski. There was a red headed boy with freckles and frightened green eyes staring at her in surprise. He had a beautiful mouth and her mother’s wedding ring in his hands.

“You weren’t supposed to be home,” he told her. His hand shook, and he slipped the ring into his backpack. He pulled a gun awkwardly out of his waistband.

“Well, I am. I’m sorry; I didn’t realize I was supposed to be somewhere else.”

Mrs. Warshouski is a polite woman, a woman who chooses to always think the best of others, and as an end result, she simply could not believe this freckled young lad was training a gun on her. Why, it simply wouldn’t do. Where is the respect he should be showing her? At the same time, her mind ducked low and wrapped its arms around itself protectively.

“I’m going to have to shoot you, ma’am. I’m sorry of it, I really am, but I can’t have you telling my mother or the police.”

The young man went deathly white under his freckles, and something in this jogged Mrs. Warshouski’s brain.

“Ah, Bryony!” she sighed, and the gun went off, and she clutched at her heart and fell to the ground quite heavily. Something snapped underneath her, and there was so much pain and redness and the terrified face of the young wild boy, but there was also peace.

Bryony. Bryony. That was her name. Ah, yes. What joy. What happiness.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

If You Had Never Met Me

The phone was ringing back at Stop’s home. It rang for several minutes, silenced itself long enough to take a breath, and then rang again. Stop hobbled into the house, cheeks still glowing from the wedding. Bryony and Eddie were close behind.

“Hello?” Stop said into the phone. His voice was merry and young, and it reminded Bryony of when she was a child. Stop used to rollerskate with her. He taught her how to climb trees. “Yes, he’s right here. Hold on a second.”

He handed the phone to Eddie. Eddie grinned at him.

“Yeah?” he said.

He didn’t speak for a long time after that, just listened. His face went paler and paler until he rivaled Bryony herself. She pulled a chair over to him and he sat down.

That’s when she knew.

Stop must have realized it, too, because he put his arms around his daughter, smoothing her hair. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.” His newfound youthfulness was a lie, a dreadful deceit, for he was an old man, and old men cannot always hold back their tears. They ran down his face, and Bryony hugged him with all her strength before she went to stand behind her new husband of less than fifteen minutes.

“Thank you,” he said faintly into the phone, and Bryony took it from him and hung it up gently. She knelt in front of him and put her hand on his cheeks.