Authors: Susan Conant

Bride & Groom (17 page)

The person at my front door, however, was Elspeth Jantzen, whose existence I had managed to forget. She was delivering the manuscript of her book for me to read and blurb. As soon as I opened the door, took in her usual violent redness of hair, face, and clothing, and invited her in, I warned her about the mess in the kitchen. Incredibly, she waited until she actually saw it to ask, “Is this a bad time for you?”

Without actually answering the question, I said, “Everything’s hectic these days. Why don’t you drag a chair away from the ink, and I’ll clean up and make some coffee.” Indeed, my mother raised me right. In other words, she taught me to be a fool.

Had Elspeth’s mother raised her right, she’d have dropped off the damned manuscript and departed. As it was, she accepted my invitation and sat patiently as I scrubbed, rinsed, and dried Rowdy’s foot, crated him, mopped the floor, and made coffee. As I did so, Elspeth took an inventory of my kitchen and narrated her observations. “Wedding presents! Well, I suppose a food processor is the last thing you need. I hope it’s returnable. The leashes must be for the wedding. Aren’t you going to get special collars?”

“Yes,” I said. “Flowered collars. Or we’re going to try. Rowdy and Sammy may eat theirs.”

“I love the pictures!” She’d noticed the ones on the refrigerator, large photos taken with Steve’s digital camera that I’d printed out on my computer. They showed Rita, Leah, and me having the hems of our dresses taken up. I’d seen no need to tinker with my perfect dress, but Mrs. Dennehy, Kevin’s mother, had offered to do alterations, and Rita had insisted that my dress was an inch too long. “Are you going to wear a veil?”

"Flowers,” I said. “Some sort of small headpiece.”

“To match your dogs. That’s beautiful. If I ever get married, my dogs are going to be part of the wedding, too. An essential part.” Elspeth had two Irish terriers. Very nice dogs. Not pests. “And look at all your lists! You’re so organized!”

“Steve is. He put up that bulletin board. He’s much neater than I am.” Tacked on the bulletin boards were drafts of the menu and various checklists, including one for presents received and thank-you notes written. Also displayed Was a favorable review of my book that had just appeared in a major dog magazine. My kitchen could’ve been set up to announce that I was a published author who was about to be married.

“Is Mac coming to your wedding?” Elspeth asked.

“Yes.” I resisted both her implicit plea for an invitation and my impulse to extend one.

“And his wife?”

“We wouldn’t ask Mac and not Judith.”

I served the coffee. Loading hers with four teaspoonfuls of sugar and a big slug of milk, Elspeth said, “Well, Mac does a lot of things without his wife. A lot of
interesting
things.”

I said nothing.

“Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m just... what I am, actually, is pissed off at him. Not that Mac and I made any promises to each other or anything like that, except that honest to God, would it be too much to expect him to remember my name? To show the slightest little bitty sign that he remembered me at all?”

If I’d wanted to give a truthful yes-or-no answer, I wouldn’t have known what to say. As it was, I didn’t want to participate in the conversation at all.

Continuing it without my help, Elspeth fortified herself with a sip of coffee before saying, “Misspelling my name would be one thing. That I could understand. Or getting it wrong.
Elsbeth
with a
b.
I get that all the time. And no one ever spells
Jantzen
right. Or hardly anyone does. But he totally forgot
me!"
Although Elspeth’s face was redder than ever, she looked far more sad than angry. “Like we’d never been close! And Mac and I
were
close. We were about as close as two people can be. And not all that long ago. I mean, eight years ago? It’s not like it was in some other lifetime.”

I reminded myself that I hadn’t invited this unwelcome... admission? No. And it certainly wasn’t a confession. On the contrary, Elspeth was bragging about her affair with Mac.

“It was at a conference,” she went on. “We hung out together. And then we met in the bar that night. Admittedly, he’d had a fair amount to drink. I mean, so had I, for that fact. But Jesus Christ! Is that any excuse?”

An
affair?
A drunken one-night stand. “Mac did say he’d blurb your book.”

“He does that for anyone who asks.” She drained her coffee mug as if she were tossing down scotch. With an ugly smile, she said, “Let me tell you something I haven’t mentioned to anyone else.”

Don’t!
I wanted to beg. But I remained silent.

“Mac knew Victoria Trotter.” Elspeth’s voice was low. She chuckled softly. “She donated one of her mother’s paintings to his vet school. He had something to do with accepting it. And you know, I’ve been wondering who else he knew.” The smile and the chuckle made me wonder whether Elspeth was making a malicious joke, as I thought she was. Then she suddenly became serious. With no sense of absurdity, she said, “Mac’s wife really doesn’t understand him.” As if voicing a fresh, original thought, she added, “Or appreciate him. He’s a very unusual man.”

I felt almost sorry for Elspeth. But I felt far more sorry for Judith. Elspeth eventually left. I did not, of course, invite her to the wedding.

CHAPTER 22

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Subj: No time at all!

Dearest Holly,

Here it is, the fourteenth of September, with the twenty-ninth no time away! I find myself becoming more excited as each hour passes. Your father and I thank you profusely for the beautiful photographs of your gown and Leah's and Rita's dresses. Your gown is as perfect to my eye as it is to yours. Your father regarded your photograph solemnly and then asked whether the dress had pockets for dog treats! Doesn't Buck have a wonderfully dry sense of humor? The shade of pale apricot you have chosen for the dresses of your attendants is lovely, and I thoroughly approve of your plan for collars adorned with roses in the same hue, especially because your favorite flower, the delphinium, is so very toxic to dogs, more's the pity. Besides, there are no apricot delphiniums, are there? And pale pink or baby blue wouldn't suit Leah and Rita, somehow.

Buck asks me to convey his opinion that the task of carrying a floral basket be assigned exclusively to India. He understands your desire to have your very own dogs take an active role in the ceremony and heartily applauds the loyalty that this desire reflects, but he nonetheless maintains that absolute reliability is of the utmost importance for the occasion and that the German Shepherd Dog is far more trustworthy than is the Alaskan Malamute when it comes to toting floral arrangements in the vicinity of preparations for catered dinners.

Speaking of Malamutes, the acceptances are coming in, including one with a delightful letter from your friend Twila Baker from Washington, who will be in New Hampshire with her dog, North, for a mushing boot camp the following weekend and will arrange to arrive in New England a week early in order to attend the wedding. What a dreadful drive for her! Three thousand miles, isn't it? We did include North in the invitation, didn't we? Not that it matters. One more will add to the merriment.

Buck, I must warn you, got his hands on Twila's letter and, once having read of the boot camp, is facetiously promoting the notion that you and Steve should cancel your plans for Paris in favor of the mushing event, which he proposes that he and I attend with you, Steve, and all the dogs. When Buck first made this proposal, he had me entirely fooled! I assumed that he was serious. He takes pleasure in putting forth the notion in extraordinary detail and with a remarkably straight face. Whatever my little Molly and I would do with all those sled dogs is more than I can begin to imagine, the sport of mushing not being one of the traditional pursuits of the Bichon Frise or, indeed, one of the traditional pursuits of yours truly! My pretend horror provokes your father to yet greater teasing. We have been having such fun!

I am ever so much looking forward to your bridal shower, which is practically here! How lovely of Ceci to host this event as well as your wedding. Rita is a dear to join Ceci in feting you, as the local paper always phrases it. Rita is such a devoted friend, as well as a person of excellent taste who will see that everything is just so.

With great love,

Gabrielle

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Subj: Re: No time at all!

Hi Gabrielle,

Ceci and Rita are planning what they promise will be a simple and small shower, but I am delighted that you will be here for it. I am also delighted that Twila and North have accepted the wedding invitation. He is a remarkable dog—a successful show dog and a great working dog. Buck will enjoy meeting both North and Twila—in that order! But Twila is crazy about North and won't mind.

We are spending our honeymoon in Paris, and that's that.

The atmosphere generated by the murders is in jarring contrast to what seems, by comparison, our frivolous preoccupation with the festivities. Ordinary shops, including my local pharmacy and the neighborhood convenience stores, are suddenly stocking personal alarm devices, flashlights, noxious sprays, outside floodlights, and even baseball bats. After dusk, it's rare to see a woman outdoors alone. I wish I could report that Kevin Dennehy offered the hope of a rapid end to this grim period of fearfulness, but he does not, in part, I suspect, because the investigation is in the manicured hands of the District Attorney, the state police, and so forth instead of in his capable, beefy paws. Please remember not to tell Buck that I knew Bonny Carr.

I can hardly wait to see you!

Love,

Holly

P.S. Tell Buck that my wedding gown does have pockets.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Subj: Dinner?

Hi Holly,

Mac and I wonder whether you and Steve would care to join us for dinner a week from today, on Saturday, the twenty-first. Olivia and her husband, John, will be with us, as will Ian and perhaps a few others. Ian will probably be persuaded to treat us to some live music. How fearfully Jane Austen we are! But we will be quite informal. If you are free, would seven suit you?

Best,

Judith

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subj: Re: Dinner?

Hi Judith,

Steve and I would be delighted to have dinner on the twenty-first. Many thanks for thinking of us. We'll be there at seven. What would you like us to contribute? Salad? Dessert? Wine?