In the end, the chief had no choice but to keep Moriarty, Armstrong, Finn, and me on staff. Once Jimmy was out of the hospital, the chief hired him, too, as his new personal assistant, though he’d be working one-armed for a while, at least until the cast was off.
We all signed the thick white plaster, even the chief.
Jimmy, and Milo Griffith, had been lucky. The slanted eaves of the Montgomery mansion, the same eaves I’d carefully shimmied down in the bright light of day, had slowed their fall. In addition to Jimmy’s broken right arm, he had bruises and scratches all over his face and neck. Griffith had broken both his legs and his collarbone, and nearly lost his vision from Jimmy’s brutal self-defense move.
We’d let Lucas Armstrong do the honors that night. He’d read Griffith his rights and then arrested him as Griffith lay on the ground, moaning and writhing in pain. Armstrong skipped the handcuffs and instead sat with the killer, softly humming Amazing Grace in an incredibly off-key performance. Griffith’s moans increased in volume until it was too hard to take, and I left, moving inside.
My team had it under control.
My team. In a night that had seen incredible highs and lows, the words felt good to say out loud. Armstrong, Moriarty, Finn … even Jimmy. We had each other’s backs. The fact that their belief in me was strong enough to risk discipline, even dismissal, to get our man nearly brought me to my knees.
Griffith eventually went on to confess to most everything. He’d worn a padded suit the night he stole the dynamite from the Bishop Mine, knowing if there was video surveillance the costume would throw us off track. He did not admit to killing the rabbit at the mine, though it was clear his cruelty knew no bounds. The chase and escape down the alley the night of Caleb’s murder; the subsequent bank robbery and killing of Esposito; the drugging and beating of Maggie Armstrong: Griffith copped to all of it. He even admitted that leaving the Nambu pistol behind at the scene of the Esposito murder was theatrics, pure staging. Both a red herring, and not. A prop, Griffith called it; a prop, and a weapon.
At the end, as we interviewed him at the hospital, he was proud of his mission, as he called it. I’m convinced he truly did want to get caught; after all, his background in the military had provided him with all of the necessary training and tools to avoid detection.
But all of that, the confessions, came later.
That night, I got Edith down from the third floor and into an easy chair in the living room. Her cut had stopped bleeding but her confusion remained. Telling her that Caleb’s killer had been caught would have to wait until a time and place when she could understand that tonight, at least, justice had been served.
I next saw Edith three weeks after the night at the Montgomery mansion, on the morning of my wedding. In a sweet and sentimental nod to tradition, Brody had spent the night in a bachelor’s suite at the Tate, and so Grace and I were alone at the house when Edith stopped by.
“You look good,” I whispered in her ear as I hugged her. There was a softness in her eyes, a sense of peace. She smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, without a whiff of cigarette smoke. “Did you quit smoking?”
“Yes. It’s been eleven days. I think it will stick this time. I want to thank you, Gemma. It means the world to me to know that Caleb’s killer will spend the rest of his years in prison.”
We moved into the kitchen, where I poured Edith a cup of tea. She continued, “But it also breaks my heart. Milo Griffith, like his grandfather, was the product of circumstances beyond his control. War does terrible things to people.” Edith smiled sadly. “That must sound trite, coming from me. I’ve lived a privileged life.”
At our feet, Grace tugged the hem of Edith’s pants. Edith bent down, lifted the baby, and kissed her cheek. She went on, “Anyway, I’m putting the house up for sale. I can’t possibly live there, not after everything that has happened. I’m selling it all, the house, the land, all the furnishings. Even the art. And I’m using the proceeds to start a new business, here, in Cedar Valley. It will be a center for veterans, a clearinghouse of services. Job help, mental health, that sort of thing. I think I’ll name it after Caleb. ‘Cal’s Place.’”
“He’d love that.”
Edith smiled, this time a broad, toothsome grin. “Yes, I think he would.”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Those strange noises and lights that you saw and heard, in the forest, have they stopped?”
Edith thought a moment, then nodded slowly. “You know … they have … Isn’t that strange? Was it Mr. Griffith? Did he cause them?”
“No, he denied any knowledge of them. And it wouldn’t make sense that they would have originated with him; his entire being is about stealth, surprise, not revealing who or where he really is.”
Edith gave the smallest of shrugs. “It’s a mystery, then. Maybe the Old Cabin Woods truly are haunted.”
She glanced around the kitchen, at the dozens of programs and short vases, most already filled with white roses, and set Grace down on the floor. “Are you ready?”
“I think so. Clementine stayed late last night and did a few last-minute things, then picked up and dropped off the flowers this morning. She’ll be back in an hour to help me get it all down to the Tate.”
Edith leaned forward and sniffed one of the bouquets. “I’ve always loved roses. What I meant was, are you ready?”
“Oh. Well … yes. Yes, I’m ready. Of course I’m ready.”
Edith glanced at me, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. “Well, I’ll be there about five. Let me know if you need anything. There’s always all sorts of last-minute crises that pop up come ceremony time.”
“Thanks, but this is one wedding that will go off without a hitch. Brody’s been waiting a long time. He deserves a flawless night.”
“And you? What do you deserve, Gemma?”
I bit my lip, surprised at the question and the fact that I didn’t have a ready answer.
After a long moment of silence, Edith nodded gently. “I’ll see myself out. Try to relax today.”
The next few hours passed in a blur. Grace went down for a nap while Clementine, who’d arrived just after Edith left, finished up with the flower arrangements. The Tate was taking care of catering, decorations, and drinks, but I wanted to line the aisle in their grand room with the small vases of white roses. While Clem worked on the flowers, I soaked in the tub, doing my nails, shaving my legs, and letting my hair set in the hard plastic curlers I’d found tucked behind a roll of toilet paper under my sink. I think they’d last been used in the late 1990s, but what the hell, they worked and were free.
After the tub, I quickly steamed my dress and then put it back in its plastic shroud. Grace woke and I got her a snack, a fresh diaper, and a traveling outfit. She’d wear an adorable white flower-girl dress I’d picked up, with tiny rosettes across the bodice, but there was no way I was putting her in it until about thirty seconds before the ceremony started.
Clementine and I caravanned down the canyon, she with the programs and flowers, me with my dress, my baby, and an overnight bag. Brody and I would stay the night at the Tate, while Clementine skipped the reception and instead brought Grace back to the house and stayed with her, and Seamus, overnight. An official honeymoon would have to wait; Brody was due to spend much of December in Tanzania, on-site for a client. He’d be back by Christmas, but it would be a long, lonely month.
At the hotel, we settled ourselves in the small suite attached to the great room. Clementine, with her pink-frosted hair and champagne-colored minidress, looked like a cupcake. I wouldn’t have traded a thing about her for all the money in the world.
Julia and Laura arrived. My grandmother was having a good day and the women played with Grace while I did my hair and makeup. The curlers had worked, and by the time I was finished, I had to admit I didn’t look half bad. My dark hair was pulled up and back into a tight and elegant chignon, a few loose curls framing my face. My eye makeup was smoky and dramatic, so I skipped the lipstick in favor of a light balm.
Finally, I stepped into the tiny bathroom and slipped into my dress. As I zipped it up, I stared into the full-length mirror, surprised at the sudden tears that threatened to fall. The gown was beautiful, all lace and pearls, with a high neck and long sleeves. I turned to the side, taking in the low scooped back that went down nearly to my tailbone.
I was a bride, no doubt about it.
The tears that I desperately tried to choke back, knowing they would smudge my makeup, came from the knowledge that my parents should have been here. They should have been the ones walking me down the aisle or playing with Grace, their granddaughter.
But they weren’t here, and marrying Brody was something that I’d have to do alone. It was my decision; there was no one to give me away or ask permission of.
I would stand on my own two feet as we exchanged vows, as I suddenly realized I’d done every day since my mother and father had died.
“You have it in you, kid. You always have,” I whispered to the mirror. Then I stepped out of the narrow changing room and spun around. “What do you think?”
Laura, Julia, Clementine, and even Grace clapped. Clem, perhaps most shocked of all to see me dolled up in a gown, yelped, “You look stunning! Beautiful!”
“Thank you.” I blushed, already eager to slip out of the heavy gown and into the lighter, silky dress I’d brought for the reception.
I checked my watch as the lodge’s wedding coordinator poked her head in the room.
“Everyone’s ready, Gemma. They’re all seated, with a glass of champagne per your request. A bit unusual, most people wait until cocktail hour, but we aim to please.” Her smile was tight; it was clear I had been a less-than-typical bride.
At least I hadn’t been a bridezilla.
“Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.”
We gathered outside the great room. The doors were cracked open a few inches and as I peeked through them, tears once again welled in my eyes. Nearly a hundred people sat in wooden chairs on either side of an aisle lined with white roses. Friends, family members, Brody’s four sisters, work colleagues … The room was filled with people who loved and supported us. From where I stood, I couldn’t see Bull, or Finn, or even Chief Chavez, but I knew they were in there, somewhere.
It was as though I were about to step into one long, big embrace.
And on the far side of all of it, standing next to the officiant, a roaring fire behind him, was Brody. His wavy hair was combed back, his beard neatly shorn. He wore a black tuxedo with a red bow tie and a white rose in the lapel of his jacket.
Intense emotions had already flooded his face. This moment was as much his as it was mine, and for perhaps the first time in my life, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. For all our ups and downs, all our doubts and struggles, all our fights and betrayals, we were family. We were in it for the long haul. I knew with every fiber of my being that when the end of my life came, no matter what else the future held, I would never regret the walk I was about to take.
Fighting for our love, for our family … it meant something.
It was something I could be proud of, for the rest of my days.
In that moment, I chose Brody.