“Whoa,” I said (still channeling Bill & Ted). “I mean, is that what you want? To get married spontaneously in Las Vegas? While we’re on a work trip? In the wake of a suicide that maybe wasn’t a suicide and has suspicious similarities to the death of a woman who was romantically linked to the very same man?”
“When you put it like that…” Nick’s voice trailed off. He cupped my chin and looked at me. “Marc and Lydia were supposed to get married today. They had The Left Bank chapel reserved. It seems like maybe we should go to the chapel ourselves and see if we can find the person who officiated their wedding. Maybe ask him or her a couple of questions. Together.”
I blinked a couple of times. “That’s not bad,” I said. “Did you just come up with that?”
“No.” He let go of my chin. “I got the idea earlier today. I’d be there right now except Marc showed up, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to tell him where I wanted to go.”
“Do you think the same chaplain who performed their ceremony is there? If not, maybe we can somehow find the couple he paid off. That could establish a timeline, people who saw Lydia alive, her state of mind—” I headed toward the door.
Nick caught me by the arm and spun me around. “You do remember our cover story, right?”
I put my hands on both sides of his face and forced him to stare directly at me. “You just encouraged me to use our engagement as a cover story.” I kissed him. “You’re such a romantic.”
The Left Bank’s wedding chapel was on the Mezzanine. We took a few wrong turns on our way to find it, but when we arrived, it was impossible to ignore where we were and what we could do if we wanted. Large urns of lilies filled the vestibule. Wreaths with banners that said “Congratulations!” and “Happily Ever After!” stood on easels by elaborately-carved wooden doors. A row of matching bouquets sat, ready for use, on a narrow bench along the far wall.
I wasn’t yet ready to examine my knee-jerk reaction when Nick suggested this course of action. I said yes to his proposal of marriage because I knew I wanted a future with him, but I still wasn’t sure how to handle the whole wedding thing.
Should I invite my family to come back to Pennsylvania from California, where they’d moved when they abandoned (listed) the house where I now lived? Convince my sister to come home too? What about friends? Neighbors? Murder suspects who’d turned out to be innocent? I mean honestly, where does one draw the line when it comes to planning the guest list?
A Las Vegas wedding chapel presented an easy answer to those complicated questions.
But was I a Vegas wedding sort of woman? I’d never thought about it. And here I was, in the lobby of the wedding chapel. Where a woman, dressed in a floral dress and a matching flower pot hat, who introduced herself as Irene, just told Nick she could expedite our marriage license if we upgraded to the Gold package and for an extra hundred dollars get Elvis to stand in as a witness.
See? They don’t make these decisions easy.
Even if the stars aligned and they waived the Elvis fee, I knew I couldn’t do it for two reasons that I would think about later:
“What do you think, honey?” Nick asked, with his arm around my waist.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “The last place we looked had those nice flower packages, and the one before that offered complimentary champagne and a discount on the honeymoon suite. It’s a difficult choice.”
“I’m afraid we can’t offer discounts,” Irene said, “but we can see if Ann-Margret is available to be your flower girl. Would that make a difference?”
This woman played hardball. “It might, but what I’d really love is some guidance.” I took a deep breath, looked her straight in the eye, and asked, “Would it be possible for us to speak to the chaplain?”
Turns out, it was. Irene asked us to sit outside the chapel while Chaplain Rick finished his current ceremony.
“What do you think?” Nick whispered.
“I don’t know if I’m a Vegas Wedding person.”
“Neither do I. What I meant was, now that we’re here, do you have any ideas about how to get information?”
“Aside from the meet-with-the-chaplain plan? Because that was good. You didn’t think of that.”
He grinned. “Proud of that, aren’t you? Do you know what you’re going to ask when he comes out?”
“You wanted to be a team. Do you expect me to do all the work?”
Nick slowly unbuttoned his jacket and held the left side open. The guestbook was nestled into the waistband of his trousers. “Is that—” I started.
“—Shhh.”
“When did you—”
“—Shhh.” He rebuttoned his jacket. “I’m going to look at it in the restroom. If Chaplain Rick comes out, start without me.” He walked (awkwardly) to the door marked Men and left me alone in the vestibule.
The doors to the chapel opened and a post-middle-aged couple came out. The woman had her hand tucked under the crook of the man’s arm, and they smiled at each other in a way that could only be defined as pure happiness.
“Congratulations,” I called out to them.
A solemn man in a dove gray suit came out next. Irene introduced us. “Chaplain Rick, this nice young lady and her gentleman friend are considering getting married here and they have a few questions for you.” She looked around. “Your man is still here, isn’t he?”
“He went to the restroom,” I said. “He’ll be back in a moment.”
Irene said something to the chaplain in a low voice, and they both looked at me. “Would you like to wait for him or get started?” Irene asked.
“We can start without him,” I said. I followed Chaplain Rick into the chapel and sat next to him in a wooden pew.
“I understand you have questions about our ceremonies,” he said. “I can assure you that I take my responsibilities here very seriously. To me, this is a job where I have the privilege of joining two people in holy matrimony. I witness the love they share. It’s not often a job can bring you daily joy, and that makes me a lucky man.”
“It sounds like you enjoy your work,” I said. “I guess you see all kinds of couples. People renewing their vows, people who’ve dreamed of coming here to get married, and maybe even people who had a good night in the casino and get a little carried away?”
The chaplain was noticeably offended by the thought. He sat a little straighter and focused his bright blue eyes on me in a way that suggested I was out of line. Just when I thought he was about to propose ten Hail Marys, he asked, “What are you implying?”
“Nothing! I’m sure everybody who comes in here truly believes their marriage is going to work.”
I hadn’t intended to insult the chaplain, but it seemed he did only see the best in each couple’s intentions. In a way, it was sweet. But sweet wasn’t going to tell me anything about Lydia and Marc, and while I was super proud of Nick for lifting the chapel guestbook, I was also slightly competitive, and this being the first time we’d collaborated on an investigation (my words), I had a rep to protect. In short, it was time for me to bring home the bacon.
“My fiancé’s friend, Marc Rico, recommended the chapel to us. He said he was here last night and you conducted the ceremony. Do you remember?”
Chaplain Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I remember.”
“Then they were here? Lydia and Marc?” I held my breath. It seemed the chaplain could back up Marc’s story.
The chaplain appeared noticeably disturbed. “I have a sixth sense about these things, and that union was troubled from the start.”