Keeper of the Bride. Tess Gerritsen
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lap. Not at him. “Okay, Miss Cormier,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?”
SHE WANTED TO GO HOME. She had been sitting in this patrol car for an hour and a half now, had talked to three different cops, had answered all their questions. Her wedding was a shambles, she’d barely escaped with her life, and those people out there on the street kept staring at her as though she were some sort of sideshow freak.
And this man, this cop with all the warmth of a codfish, expected her to go through it again?
“Miss Cormier,” he sighed. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can leave. What, exactly, happened?”
“It blew up,” she said. “Can I go home?”
“What do you mean by blew up?”
“There was a loud boom. Lots of smoke and broken windows. I’d say it was your typical exploding building.”
“You mentioned smoke. What color was the smoke?”
“What?”
“Was it black? White?”
“Does it matter?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “It was white, I think.”
“You think?”
“All right. I’m sure.” She turned to look at him. For the first time she really focused on his face. If he’d been smiling, if there’d been even a trace of warmth, it would have been a pleasant enough face to look at. He was in his late thirties. He had dark brown hair that was about two weeks overdue for a trim. His face was thin, his teeth were perfect, and his deep set green eyes had the penetrating gaze one expected of a romantic lead movie cop. Only this was no movie cop. This was an honest-to-goodness cop with a badge, and he wasn’t in the least bit charming. He was studying her with a completely detached air, as though sizing up her reliability as a witness.
She gazed back at him, thinking, Here I am, the rejected bride. He’s probably wondering what’s wrong with me. What terrible flaws I possess that led to my being stood up at the altar.
She buried her fists in the white satin mounded on her lap. “I’m sure the smoke was white,” she said tightly. “For whatever difference that makes.”
“It makes a difference. It indicates a relative absence of carbon.”
“Oh. I see.” Whatever that told him.
“Were there any flames?”
“No. No flames.”
“Did you smell anything?”
“You mean like gas?”
“Anything at all?”
She frowned. “Not that I remember. But I was outside the building.”
“Where, exactly?”
“Reverend Sullivan and I were sitting in his car. In the parking lot around the side. So I wouldn’t have smelled the gas. Anyway, natural gas is odorless. Isn’t it?”
“It can be difficult to detect.”
“So it doesn’t mean anything. That I didn’t smell it.”
“Did you see anyone near the building prior to the explosion?”
“There was Reverend Sullivan. And some of my family. But they all left earlier.”
“What about strangers? Anyone you don’t know?”
“No one was inside when it happened.”
“I’m referring to the time prior to the explosion, Miss Cormier.”
“Prior?”
“Did you see anyone who shouldn’t have been there?”
She stared at him. He gazed back at her, green eyes absolutely steady. “You mean—are you thinking—”
He didn’t say anything.
“It wasn’t a gas leak?” she said softly.
“No,” he said. “It was a bomb.”
She sank back, her breath escaping in a single shocked rush. Not an accident, she thought. Not an accident at all…
“Miss Cormier?”
Wordlessly she looked at him. Something about the way he was watching her, that flat, emotionless gaze of his, made her frightened.
“I’m sorry to have to ask you this next question,” he said. “But you understand, it’s something I have to pursue.”
She swallowed. “What…what question?”
“Do you know of anyone who might want you dead?”
Chapter Two
“THIS IS CRAZY,” she said. “This is absolutely nuts.”
“I have to explore the possibility.”
“What possibility? That the bomb was meant for me?”
“Your wedding was scheduled for two o’clock. The bomb went off at 2:40. It exploded near the front row of pews. Near the altar. There’s no doubt in my mind, judging by the obvious force of the blast, that you and your entire wedding party would have been killed. Or, at the very least, seriously maimed. This is a bomb we’re talking about, Miss Cormier. Not a gas leak. Not an accident. A bomb. It was meant to kill someone. What I have to find out is, who was the target?”
She didn’t answer. The possibilities were too horrible to even contemplate.
“Who was in your wedding party?” he asked.
She swallowed. “There was…there was…”
“You and Reverend Sullivan. Who else?”
“Robert—my fiancé. And my sister Wendy. And Jeremy Wall, the best man…”
“Anyone else?”
“My father was going to give me away. And there was a flower girl and a ring bearer…”
“I’m only interested in the adults. Let’s start with you.”
Numbly she shook her head. “It—it wasn’t me. It couldn’t be me.”
“Why couldn’t it?”
“It’s impossible.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because no one would want me dead!”
Her sharp cry seemed to take him by surprise. For a moment he was silent. Outside, on the street, a uniformed cop turned and glanced at them. Sam responded with an everything’s fine wave of the hand, and the cop turned away again.
Nina sat clutching the rumpled hem of her gown. This man was horrid. Sam Spade without a trace of human warmth. Though it was getting hot in the car, she found herself shivering, chilled by the lack of obvious emotion displayed by the man sitting beside her.
“Can we explore this a little more?” he said.
She said nothing.
“Do you have any ex-boyfriends, Miss Cormier? Anyone who might be unhappy about your marriage?”
“No,” she whispered.
“No ex-boyfriends at all?”
“Not—not in the last year.”
“Is that how long you’ve been with your fiancé? A year?”
“Yes.”
“His full name and address, please.”