Understanding is love’s other name. If you don’t understand, you can’t love.
—THICH NHAT HANH
Elvis growled again.
The man pointed his gun at the dog.
“Elvis, down.” The shepherd was none too happy about the command, but he did comply.
The man swung his weapon back at Patience.
“Do I know you?” Patience squinted at him through the gloom.
Mercy wasn’t sure who he was, but her grandmother was right—there was something familiar about him.
Elvis growled again.
“Quiet, Elvis.”
He waved the gun at Patience, indicating that she should stand up.
She looked at Mercy, who nodded. “Together.”
“Okay.”
She took her grandmother’s hand and they rose to their feet and walked slowly away from the bar. Elvis moved alongside the two of them, a guttural whine in his throat. Mercy knew he didn’t like this guy or his orders.
This was not the way Patience was supposed to walk down the aisle today. As they approached the stage, the string quartet must have caught sight of the bride. They started playing Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” again.
Here comes the bride, all right, even as the rain and thunder and lightning continued to rage outside the Wedding Ballroom. Mercy realized that with the power out, the rest of the wedding party and indeed all of the guests might not understand what was happening. They might not see the gun in in the perp’s hand or hear the anxious whine so uncharacteristic of Elvis. The only thing they might notice was that the gunman was very underdressed for such an occasion.
There was a rustling in the room as people scrambled from their seats to line up once again for the bride as she made her way down the aisle. They shone their cell phone lights to get a better look at Patience, but the effect was alternately murky and blinding. They looked up at toward the stage for the missing groom.
The gunman was behind Mercy as she and Elvis accompanied her grandmother.
Somewhere along the route to the stage, she heard him say, “I’ll be watching,” in a voice so low that she might have imagined it. And then he blended into the fold of guests and disappeared from view. As slippery a special ops guy as she’d ever seen.
He was still here somewhere, watching. Waiting for something or someone. Mercy wasn’t sure what, but she needed to figure it out, fast.
Mercy spotted Susie Bear as the friendly Newfie parted the crowd as easily as Moses parted the Red Sea. In the shaggy dog’s congenial wake came Troy and Florian, Philippe, Claude, the colonel, and Thrasher. None looked happy.
Elvis was still whining, that low strangled sound somewhere between a growl and a yowl. His way of telling her that he wanted to go after the gunman, bad. So did she. But now was not the time, not with all these people here and a bull’s-eye on her grandmother’s back.
She had to figure out who he was and what he wanted. Fazio and Crouse were both in custody. So who was this guy? One of Philippe’s mobsters, determined to take over the family firm by hook or by crook? One of Bodhi’s old enemies, out for vengeance? Or even one of the cousins from Cousins Camp, tired of waiting in the wings?
The latter possibility being particularly worrisome, thought Mercy, but also the most unlikely, now that Fazio and Crouse had been apprehended. Fazio claimed he didn’t kill Adler or Kinney. Maybe all this pointed to a special ops connection after all.
Mercy drew the men together and told them about the gunman. “If there’s anything you need to tell us about your criminal activities, now’s the time.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Florian.
“Me either,” said Philippe.
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s your problem.”
“I’m calling backup,” said Thrasher.
“SWAT,” said the colonel.
“Only as a last resort,” Mercy said. “Patience has to be our first priority.”
“Always,” said Troy.
“If we can buy some time, we should. We bluff.”
“Bluffing will get your grandmother killed,” said Florian.
“If anything happens to my grandmother,” said Mercy, “you’ll wish you were never born.”
“What’s going on here?” Harrington said as he joined them, champagne glass in hand. Feinberg was with him.
Thrasher explained the situation precisely and concisely.
“Proceed with SWAT,” said Harrington. “Daniel, we should move you to a safe space.”
Mercy didn’t know what worried her more—that Harrington was here to muck up the works or that he was now on a first-name basis with Feinberg. The billionaire gave Mercy a wink as he allowed the detective to lead him away from the fracas. Thanks, she mouthed, and he smiled. The man was nothing if not perceptive.
A sudden rush of power and the lights came on. A cheer went up and all the wedding guests hustled back to their seats. As far as they were concerned, it was time to get this wedding party started. Mercy scanned the crowd for the gunman, but she didn’t see him. If he was smart—and she suspected he was—he would have changed clothes in the dark. Who knew what he looked like now. Especially if he was anything like Bodhi, the man of many names and disguises and passports.
Prudence stepped back up onto the raised stage. “Thank you for your cooperation. Our generator is back up and running and should keep us going for the duration. Let’s take a five-minute break and then come back to resume the celebration of the official union of Patience Fleury O’Sullivan and Claude Renault.”
All the guests whooped and hollered. Mercy surveilled the crowd, trying to find the gunman. No such luck. There was a man in the back who reminded her of Bodhi. She blinked and he was gone. Maybe the afternoon’s unsteady lighting was playing tricks on her.
“Where’s Marcel?” she asked Claude when they were all back together at the end of the aisle in front of the head table. “He should be here.”
“I haven’t seen him since the lights went out.” Claude raised his voice. “Why do you keep accusing my sons?”
“Don’t waste our time defending them,” said Thrasher. “We need to keep Patience and everyone here safe.” He gave the older man a stern look. “I’d think you’d be more concerned about your bride-to-be’s welfare.”
The captain took Mercy, Troy, and the colonel aside. “SWAT is on the way.”
“Until then, we should split up and look for the gunman while we still have power,” said Mercy. The lights were on again but the storm was still going strong outside. Who knew how long that generator fix would last. “I’ll take Elvis on the bride’s side of the room. Troy can take Susie Bear on the groom’s side.”
“I’ll keep an eye on Florian and Philippe,” said Uncle Hugo.
Thrasher raised his eyebrows at the octogenarian.
“I’m armed,” said the colonel, patting his jacket.
They all stared at him.
“I’m always armed,” he said.
“That’s two of us,” said Thrasher.
The two men looked at Troy.
“Good to go,” he said.
Mercy was surprised. Troy didn’t usually carry off-duty. Although given the events of the past few days, she probably shouldn’t have been surprised. “My Beretta is at home. But I’ve got Elvis.”
“And me,” said Troy.
“We can’t risk a shoot-out with all these people here. Unless we have no other choice,” said Thrasher. “You go with Mercy, Troy. I’ll cover the other side.”
“Sir.”
“Troy needs to cover Patience, Captain,” said Mercy. “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like it,” said Thrasher. “But I guess it’s the best we can do until Purdie and SWAT get here.”
Mercy snapped her fingers and Elvis leapt up, ready to go. “Patrol.”
Together she and the shepherd weaved their way through the guests milling around on the bride’s side of the aisle. She knew many of these people, family and friends of the bride, as did Elvis. Her cousin Ed. The Cat Ladies. Lillian’s grandson Henry and his father Ethan.
She smiled and murmured pleasantries to one and all as she and Elvis continued to make their way through the crowd. She kept one eye on the people around her and the other on her grandmother up on the raised stage. She didn’t like the exposure there but at least Patience was surrounded by Aunt Pru and Lillian and the rest of the wedding party.
No sign of the hooded assailant. Mercy looked over at the other side of the ballroom. She nodded at Troy, who shook his head. No sign of him over there either.
She was near the far edge of the ballroom when Elvis alerted. The shepherd stopped in his tracks, his sleek back tense, his ears perked, his head edging forward as if he were about to pounce. Mercy followed his nose, which pointed right to one of the servers, dressed in the black pants, white shirt, black jacket uniform worn by all the staff here at the Lady’s Slipper Inn. His face was obscured by the huge tray he was carrying. The tray was laden with a silver-domed platter and at least a dozen coffee cups, which was odd since coffee was not on the menu until it was time to cut the cake. After the ceremony, after the dinner, after the toasts.
“Stop,” she said.
But he kept on going, maneuvering quickly through the tables. Heading right for the raised stage and the head table where the wedding party had congregated.
“Go,” she told Elvis, and the shepherd blazed after the man. Some of the guests were confused by Elvis’s presence, and hindered rather than helped his progress. Whenever someone got in his way, Elvis simply sailed by, taking out more than a few tables as he chased after the server. Mercy struggled to keep up.
Troy must have spotted the commotion on her side of the aisle, because in her peripheral vision she caught sight of him and the Newfie bounding toward her.
The man was running now, straight up the aisle, headed for Patience. Elvis raced after him. Mercy was running now too, and she could hear Troy and Susie Bear behind her.
The server was within five feet of the stage when he suddenly veered left into a huddle of guests. The Malinois soared after him, hurtling himself against the man and clamping onto to his sleeved wrist. Pulling the man down to the ground in a clatter of broken plates and screaming guests and one very loud barking Newfoundland.
Mercy yelled at people to move out of the way as she charged over to Elvis. She couldn’t tell if it was the gunman or not. But she thought not, because a mercenary would not come this unglued over a dog attack. A mercenary would have killed Elvis without thinking twice about it. Or killed her, for that matter.
The server was practically sobbing with fear, covering his face with his free hand. Elvis still had his other wrist between his powerful jaws.
“Don’t move,” she told the man, “and you’ll be fine. No sudden movements.”
“Everything okay over here?” Troy looked down at the guy on the ground. “We’ll call off the dog when we know for sure you’re going to stay put. Understood?”
The man nodded his head. His hand slipped away from his face.
“Marcel.” She shook her head. “Marcel Renault.”
Troy shot her an incredulous glance. “Are you armed, Marcel?”
“No.”
She believed him. “Release,” she told Elvis.
The dog dropped the man’s arm. Mercy slapped her thigh, and the shepherd returned to her side while Troy yanked Claude’s son to his feet. He patted him down. “No weapon.”
A crowd was gathering around Mercy and Troy and the dogs and Marcel. Claude barreled through them, Philippe and Florian on his heels. “Marcel?”
“I need a doctor, Dad,” said Marcel, having somewhat regained his composure. “And a lawyer.”
“You really don’t want your father to marry Patience, do you?” said Mercy.
“What is happening here?” demanded Claude.
“Your son threatened Patience.” Mercy stared at him. “Anything to stop this wedding.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“If you marry my grandmother, you move to Vermont and put your veterinary practice up for sale. Buyers will scrutinize your books—and the fact that your son Marcel has been skimming off the top will come out.”
“That’s not true,” said Marcel.
Florian laughed. “You might want to get a forensics accountant to take a look at your accounts.”
“What is she talking about, Marcel?”
“All that Renault money.” Marcel glared at this father. “And you wouldn’t touch it. You never once thought about me.”
“That’s not true.”
“You can’t blame Dad for your gambling problem.”
“Shut up, Florian.” Marcel turned to his father. “You bailed out Florian a million times, but the one time I ask you for help, you tell me to choose my wives more wisely.”
“I pay you well.”
“Not well enough!” Marcel lunged at his father.
Troy pulled him back. “Easy.”
All Mercy could think about was her grandmother and how she must be taking all this. She glanced up at the raised stage, but the bride was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Patience?” She grabbed Claude by the lapel of his jacket with her good hand. “You were supposed to be with Patience.” She couldn’t believe he’d left her grandmother so vulnerable.
“Thrasher and the colonel must have taken her to safety,” said Troy.
“I don’t see them.” She looked at Troy. “If Marcel isn’t the gunman, then who is? And where is he?”
“Don’t move,” Troy told Marcel, and Mercy watched him text the captain. “No response.”
“Bad sign.” Mercy jumped up onto the raised stage. Another streak of lightning brightened the ballroom and another boom of thunder rumbled before they were once again plunged into darkness. This time, given the later hour and the burning down of the candles, the darkness was more complete.
She fished her cell out of her pocket and flipped on the flashlight. People all around her also flipped on their lights. The strobe lighting effect made it difficult to recognize who was who and what was what. She thought she saw Troy and Susie Bear tackling Marcel. Again.
She heard a gunshot—or was it a thunderclap?—and yelled, “Down! Active shooter!” Elvis dropped to his belly, as did she. Everyone around her did the same. The cell lights clicked off one by one and the uproar of the room fell to a rustle.
“Patience,” she whispered to Elvis. The dark didn’t slow the shepherd down; he could sniff out his favorite veterinarian anywhere, anytime. Slowly he crawled along the stage. Growling as he guided her to the far end of the stage beyond the string quartet to the darkest corner of the ballroom. A deep voice ordered her to stop. A voice she recognized. The real threat.
“We’re going back to the stage. Now.”
“Where’s my grandmother?”
“I’m here, Mercy.” The sound of her grandmother’s voice was enough to bring her to tears.
“Back to the stage,” repeated the gunman.
“My grandmother first.”
She felt more than saw a human form stumble toward her.
“Patience!” Mercy hugged her grandmother with her good arm. And her bad arm. With both arms.
“Move.”
Mercy could feel the muzzle of the gun pressed meanly against her back, the satin of her dress keeping the pain manageable. She kept her good hand on her grandmother and her bad hand on Elvis, who was ready to take this guy down. But she just couldn’t risk it in this crowd.
“Why are you doing this?” She needed to get him talking, to buy as much time as she could until Purdie and SWAT could get there.
He didn’t answer. They shuffled along together back past the musicians, who were huddled together on the floor clutching their instruments. They went up the stairs at the back of the stage as instructed and made their way to the head table.
Troy was there with Marcel and Susie Bear and the rest of the wedding party. All the Renault men were here now, too: Father Bernard and Claude, Florian, Philippe.
The gunman would be pleased.
Unless he cared that Bodhi was not here. The missing Renault. Who could be anywhere.
“Okay, here we all are,” said Mercy. “What do you want?”
“I want the Renault boys.”
“Fine by me,” said Mercy. “Not my family.”
“Mercy,” said Patience.
“Let the rest of these people go,” said Troy.
“You don’t want to hurt any innocent people,” said Mercy.
“Okay, fish cop. Get them all out of here.” He pushed the pistol harder against Mercy’s spine as he told her, “You and the bride stay.”
Troy looked at Mercy. “I’m not leaving you.”
She smiled at him. “Go.”
“Clock is ticking,” warned the gunman. “Tell the boss lady with the big mouth to tell them to leave.”
“Prudence,” said Mercy.
Aunt Pru hesitated. Mercy could tell that she, too, recognized his voice. And that she, too, was confused.
It was Leo’s voice.
“Go ahead,” Mercy prompted her aunt.
Prudence stepped forward, her strong voice ringing out over the sounds of the storm and the desperate murmuring of the frightened guests. “Everyone, please evacuate the ballroom. For your own safety. Quickly and orderly, please.”
People started to move, slowly at first, helped up by servers, then faster, until they were practically running out of the room.
“You, too,” Mercy said to the rest of her family and friends. Her parents, her aunts, Nick and Paige and Toby, Wyetta, Amy and Brodie and Helena. “Please. Go with Troy. He’ll keep you safe.”
She looked at him and willed him to go. He nodded. Together he and Susie Bear escorted the people she loved all from the room.
Mercy’s mind raced. This wasn’t terrorists or mobsters or mercenaries. This wasn’t about money. This was personal. This was Brittany Simon. This was Cabin 5.
This was vengeance.
When the room was empty, Mercy turned to the gunman. “Now what, Leo? You know SWAT’s on the way.”
“Leo?” said Father Bernard.
Leo ignored the priest. “Over there.” He pushed Mercy away, putting the gun to Patience’s head. “Now we confess our sins.”
“You’ve been killing off the boys in Cabin 5,” said Mercy. “First Josh Adler and then Klaus Kinney. Florian and Marcel and Philippe were next. You were worried that Bodhi would figure out who you were and you’d miss your chance. You figured the wedding would be the perfect opportunity to finish them all off.”
“I don’t understand,” said Claude.
“Brittany Simon,” said Mercy.
“Who?”
“The camp counselor who went missing in 2001. The girl whose bones were found by the tree house.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Ask your sons. Ask your nephew.”
“What do you mean?”
“A twenty-four-year-old maintenance worker named Denny Walters of Yarmouth, Massachusetts, was the prime suspect.” She looked at Leo. “A terrible time for your family. You must have been, what, ten years old at the time?”
“The boys in Cabin 5 killed Brittany Simon.” Leo waved his gun at Claude. “And then you all stood by and said nothing when they accused my brother.”
“Your brother was never charged,” said Mercy.
“You think that mattered? You think that kept people from treating us like dirt? The shame killed my mother, and Denny drank himself to death.”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” said Claude.
“It doesn’t matter which of you actually did it. You were all in it together. You’re all the same. With your money and your Cousins Camp and your stupid signet rings. My brother told me all about it. Over and over again. Every night before he passed out.”
“What are you talking about?” Philippe stepped forward, but stepped back again when he saw Patience’s bridal veil slip under the pressure of the pistol.
“You were sleeping with Brittany. You gave her your signet ring.”
“No I didn’t.”
Leo cocked the pistol. Patience closed her eyes.
“Okay, yes, I slept with her,” said Philippe. “But I never gave her my ring. It’s at home in my safe. I only wear it at board meetings. I would never give it to a girl like … any girl.”
Mercy believed him. She hoped the gunman did, too.
“The police found a ring on a charm necklace with Brittany’s bones,” she said.
“That’s not possible,” said Claude.
Leo turned to Marcel and Florian. “What about you?”
“We don’t have signet rings,” said Marcel, a little too quickly. “We don’t get them until we inherit our share of the company. From our father.”
Way to throw Dad under the bus, thought Mercy. But maybe Claude deserved it. She looked at him. Everyone looked at him.
“I lost my ring years ago.”
“And I gave my ring to the family trust when I joined the priesthood,” said Father Bernard.
“I can’t believe you lost your ring,” said Philippe.
“I never told anyone because I was so ashamed,” said Claude. “It was the one thing my father gave me that meant something to me.”
Philippe snorted. “Oh please. If that were true, you’d sell.”
“Let me guess,” said Mercy. “You lost your ring in the summer of 2001.”
Claude stared at her. “That’s right.”
Mercy turned to his sons. “Which one of you stole your father’s ring to give to Brittany?”
“It wasn’t me,” said Florian. “Marcel was the one with the crush on her.”
Marcel pointed at Philippe. “You bullied me into stealing it.”
“Enough.” Leo shook his head. “You destroyed Brittany and her family. You destroyed my brother and our family. But none of that matters to you. All you care about is your rings and your money and your bullshit.”
“What did your brother tell you about Cabin 5, Leo?” asked Mercy in an effort to distract him until the SWAT team showed up.
“He said they stuck together. They all lied about what happened. Said they never went to the tree house, even though my brother saw Philippe and Brittany there all the time. And the rest of them sneaking over to watch, wishing it was them. He said they all liked her, they all wanted her; even the youngest of them was always doing dumb stuff to get her attention. Frogs in her bed, stupid crap like that. When she told them to get lost, she was going to Europe to meet her new boyfriend, they freaked out. My brother said that if Brittany never made it to Amsterdam, Cabin 5 was the reason why.”
“Your brother was right.”
Mercy recognized Bodhi’s voice. So she was ready. Surreptitiously she slipped her hand from Elvis’s head to his collar, so he’d be ready, too.
Leo whipped around, gun now aimed in the direction of the voice.
“Attack!” said Mercy, and Elvis lunged. He clamped on to Leo’s wrist, and there was a terrible crack as bone shattered and blood splattered. The pistol clattered to the floor.
Mercy shoved her grandmother down and out of Leo’s reach. She kicked away the gun. Elvis kept tugging on Leo, pulling him toward the floor. Mercy lashed out at Leo with her good arm, landing a solid punch on his jaw.
Leo went down.
Bodhi stepped out of the dark, Glock in hand. “Don’t move, Leo.”
Leo stayed down.
SWAT rushed in.
And the lights came back on.