Chapter 1

 

The first Saturday in December was going to be the happiest day of my brother’s life. Ron and my husband, Drake, were all tuxedoed up and presumably picking up the flowers on their way to the chapel. My matron-of-honor dress hung on a hook on the closet door, all snug and clean in its garment bag. Victoria had helped me choose it but had not jammed her own opinions down my throat. I’ve seen so many disastrous, puff-sleeved, low-waisted bridesmaid dresses in every color from baby pink to violent purple that I truly appreciated it when she let me pick one that might serve double duty for the upcoming holiday season—in case we actually got invited to a dressy soirée. My deep burgundy, knee length dress was demure enough for a wedding and low-cut enough for a party. I picked up the accessory bag containing my shoes, jewelry and makeup, mentally running through my to-do list as I called Freckles in from the backyard, hustled her into her doggy crate and headed for the front door.

Pick up Victoria at her house, arrange both of our dresses in as unwrinkled condition as possible in the back seat of my Jeep Cherokee and get us to the chapel with time to spare for putting them on and applying finishing touches to hair and makeup. In my case, that last part would consist of an extra swipe of lipstick and hair-spraying any errant strands from the complicated up-do that my local hairdresser had been kind enough to create at eight o’clock this morning. Believe me, I felt decidedly overdressed walking out of there.

The noon ceremony with approximately fifty guests would be followed by a very classy luncheon at the country club, an afternoon of champagne and dancing, and a quick exit by the bride and groom in time to catch their plane to the east coast. Ron had confided that he’d told Victoria only to pack for warm weather. Their destination was a surprise for her, but I knew he’d booked them a room at a very chichi hotel in Miami with a side excursion to Disney World because he truly did believe the ads that promised it’s way more fun without the kids. Besides, his three boys are already beyond the kiddie-ride phase and well into the blasé, you-can’t-impress-me stage.

I stashed my things in the back of the Jeep and gave a final stare at the house. Had I locked the back door? Yes. The front door? Fairly sure I did. No sense worrying about the iron—I don’t do ironing. The toaster had long since been put away and the coffee maker emptied when I got back from my hair appointment. Ron had been a nervous wreck for two days but Drake—bless him—was a model of organization. It’s what makes him an extraordinary pilot and the logical choice as Ron’s best man. Our brother Paul, his wife Lorraine and their two kids had stayed the night next door at Elsa Higgins’s house, and they would give our elderly neighbor a ride to the ceremony. With a houseful of disorganized house guests, I had a feeling my surrogate grandmother would be the happiest of all of us to see this weekend to its completion.

The Jeep cranked to life with a little reluctance and I wondered if she was going to make it through another winter. The night temperatures were already dipping below freezing and the old girl was getting a little testy about that. I pulled my wool dress coat more tightly around me as I waited for the heater to thaw my toes.

Victoria’s house sits less than two miles away, a cute little three-bedroom bungalow on the fringes of downtown. Convenient to Ron’s work, it’s one of the reasons they’ve decided to move into her place rather than his—that, and the fact that he’s been in a dumpy, depressing bachelor apartment in the northeast heights ever since his divorce from Bernadette, I don’t know how many years ago. My brother is hardworking, loyal, and kind; he is not a homemaker. The dreary apartment doesn’t look a whole lot different from the day he moved in.

Victoria, on the other hand, has put all her professional interior decorator skills to work on her place, so even though it’s an older home she has added all the modern conveniences without sacrificing the original ambiance. Last I heard, Ron had moved quite a bit of his stuff over there and was ready to vacate his apartment by the end of the month. Pretty much everyone thought he couldn’t leave the old dump a moment too soon.

I drove up Lomas, noting that the Saturday morning drivers all seemed to be moving sluggishly along the frosty streets. This was our first real cold snap of the season and I supposed none of us were really ready to say goodbye to the gorgeous autumnal blue skies and Indian summer temperatures we’d experienced all the way through Thanksgiving. I turned off Lomas and took a couple more turns into Vic’s 1950s neighborhood where, thanks to a recent revival of interest in Albuquerque’s downtown area, the homes had undergone a wave of renovation and renewal. Tired facades had been updated, withered landscaping replaced and updated for greater curb appeal. All in all, it was a charming little area where anyone would want to live.

Stopping in front of her mushroom-brown house with its dark chocolate trim, I started to tap my horn before realizing how rude that would be. Besides having a lot to carry, she most certainly had a zillion things on her mind and would appreciate a hand with some of the tasks. I braced myself against the chilly breeze and climbed out of the Jeep.

Boxwood hedges lined the flagstone path that meandered with a charming curve to the front door. The drapes appeared closed, but beyond the transom window the entryway light was on. Victoria had probably been up since before dawn putting the final touches on whatever it was that perfectionist brides put touches on. I’m not a fusser and my own wedding had been thrown together very last-minute, so I have no clue about a lot of this stuff. I pressed the doorbell.

Not a sound came from inside. She must be back in her bedroom. With a shiver against the breeze, I buttoned my coat up to the throat and hit the bell again. This time I distinctly heard it echo off the hardwood floors and through the spacious living room. I let a full two minutes go by. Maybe she was in the shower. After awhile, though, I began to wonder. She knew I was coming. She’d been very specific about the schedule, allowing time to get to the chapel and dress for the ceremony. I was not a minute late, but I wasn’t early either. I began to feel slightly irritated as I reached for the doorknob.

The solid wood door swung inward without a sound.

“Vic? It’s Charlie. You ready?”

From the basement I could hear the furnace running but a chill breeze skimmed my ankles. I closed the door and took a few steps into the entry hall, reminding myself that I’d left my Jeep running out on the street.

“Vic? Hurry up, time to get going,” I called out. My voice ricocheted back at me.

With one ear tuned to the idling Jeep and the other to the sounds within the house, I walked into the living room. A puddle of white silk caught my attention first. Victoria’s wedding dress, lying in a heap on the floor. Something was very wrong.