White Wedding. Jean Barrett
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Lane returned to the lodge and made her determined way up the massive staircase. The house was quiet, no one around. She assumed people were settling themselves in their rooms. And Jack? Well, he’d been placed in guest quarters semidetached from the main lodge. She wondered about that arrangement, too.
Allison’s bedroom was the first on the left at the top of the stairs. The door was ajar when she reached it. She had lifted her hand to rap on the frame when a gruff male voice close on the other side forestalled her intention.
“Where do you want these?”
“I don’t care about the luggage!” It was Allison’s voice, and there was a frantic quality to it. “Just tell me what I want to know. Why are you here, Chris?”
There was a sound of suitcases being bumped on the floor. “Why do you think? I’m working.”
“But it was your brother who was hired to—”
“Mike couldn’t make it. He got sick last night. Something he ate, I guess. Frankly, he needs the money, and Dorothy and Nils couldn’t manage the weekend on their own. There was no one else available, so I agreed to replace Mike. You didn’t think I was eager to see you get married.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Chris,” Allison pleaded.
“Let’s not start in on that again. We both know it does have to be this way. Look, don’t worry about it. I plan to make myself as scarce as possible. All I’m here for is to do Mike’s job.”
“I hate it when you’re like this.”
Lane, conscious that she was overhearing something intensely emotional, realized she had no business standing here listening to any of this startling conversation. She started to back away, but before she could manage a safe retreat, the door was flung open. The brawny Chris Beaver, his face stiff with pride, stormed past her without a glance and disappeared down the stairs.
Lane was afraid to guess what that little scene meant. She turned her head and discovered Allison standing in the doorway. The anguished expression on her friend’s face said it all. Hale’s dark mood in the garden suddenly began to make sense.
Lane had been embarrassed. Now she was simply worried. “Are you all right?”
Allison recovered herself. “I have to be. I’m the radiant bride, remember.” She seemed to realize then that Lane must have witnessed her exchange with Chris, and she quickly changed the subject. “Were you looking for me?”
“Uh, nothing that can’t wait.” This was definitely the wrong moment to press for an explanation about Jack. Dear Lord, was there anyone in this house, herself included, who wasn’t struggling with an unpleasant secret?
Lane started to leave, but Allison stopped her. “Come out to the chapel with me. I’m going to check on Teddy’s flower arrangements.”
“Now? Are you sure that—”
“I can’t wait to see how they’ve turned out. It’s going to be fun. The whole thing tomorrow is going to be fun. A wedding we’ll all remember.” There was a fierce determination in her promise, as though nothing else must be allowed to matter.
Lane was beginning to have the uneasy conviction that Allison had no business at all getting married tomorrow. And certainly not to Hale McGuire.
“Allison, do you think maybe—”
“Please, I’d like to go.” Refusing to discuss anything but the flower arrangements, she insisted that Lane accompany her.
They paused on the lower floor to admire the florist’s efforts in the house. There was a replica of a Viking hall off the foyer, a cavernous place where the wedding luncheon would be held following the ceremony in the chapel. The table was already set for the celebration. The flowers were impressive—masses of scarlet poinsettias and tall candles in keeping with the wedding’s Christmas theme.
Allison, restless and overeager, snatching at conversation, inspected the arrangements. “Wonderful, aren’t they? I loved that holly bouquet with the gilded angel back in the foyer. Teddy really has a special touch. The flowers in the chapel should be spectacular.”
They left the house, Allison hurrying them toward the rustic chapel at the far end of the garden. Lane had been told the wooden structure was a tiny version of a Norwegian stavkirke. As they approached it, she found herself charmed by the pointed gables, the small belfry, the half-enclosed porch.
The interior, which they reached through a stout oak door, was a delight with its wealth of native carvings on the raised pulpit, baptismal font and high-backed pews. The primitive stained-glass windows and delicate wall frescoes glowed like jewels.
“Allison, it’s marvelous!” Lane pronounced. “I can see why you want your wedding here. And when the candles are lit tomorrow in all those iron wall holders it will be...well, pure magic.”
Her friend had no response. Lane glanced at her where she stood by the door, her hand still on the light switch. Allison was frowning, and for a second Lane feared her mind had returned to Chris Beaver.
“They’re missing,” she finally murmured.
“What are?”
“The flowers. There aren’t any.”
Lane had been so busy picturing the beauty of a wedding ceremony in the serene setting that she hadn’t noticed. But Allison was right. There wasn’t a single ar- rangement in sight.
“Maybe Teddy was afraid they would freeze out here and left them somewhere in the house.”
Allison, annoyed, shook her head. “Nils put the heat on in here for him early yesterday before he went back to the mainland. It was all prearranged.”
“Then there must be an explanation.”
Allison nodded. “I’ll have to find out.”
She started to douse the lights, as if intending to return immediately to the lodge. Lane put a hand on her arm to delay her. They were alone out here, and the thought occurred to her there might not be another opportunity for privacy.
“Could we talk for a minute first?”
She could feel Allison stiffening under her hand. She thinks I’m going to ask her about Chris.
The tall blonde gazed at her, asking warily, “Is this a subject I’m going to like?”
“Probably not.” Lane’s answer was dry. “It’s about Jack.”
Allison relaxed slightly. “Oh. Yes, I expected that to come up. All right, let’s sit for a second.”
They settled side by side in one of the back pews. Lane turned to her, seeking an explanation. “How did Jack wind up as Hale’s best man? Hale told me he barely knows him.”
“It just sort of happened,” her friend confessed with a note of evasiveness. “Jack called me to offer his best wishes. He’d seen the announcement of my engagement in one of the Chicago papers. I got to telling him about my wedding plans and how you were going to be my attendant but that nothing had been settled yet about the best man. We talked for a long while and...well, one thing led to another.”
“Uh-huh. And just whose idea was it for him to play best man this weekend? Or was it a joint conspiracy?”
“I don’t remember. Jack’s, maybe.”
Lane might have known. Jack Donovan could charm his way in or out of just about anything he put his considerable talents to, which was exactly why she hadn’t trusted herself to go directly to him for this explanation. And this time he’d talked himself into a weekend on a secluded island where his ex-wife would be virtually trapped. The question was...
“Why?” she demanded of Allison. “You’ve told me how he came to be here. Now tell me why he wants to be here.”