The Case Of The Vainshed Groom. Sheryl Lynn
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The last thing I remember is drinking a glass of champagne. I slept in my wedding dress!”
Ross made an effort to ignore the implication that Dawn and Quent hadn’t consummated their wedding vows. Knowing Quent hadn’t made love to her pleased him too much. But seeing Dawn upset and near panic didn’t please him in the least, so he lifted the champagne bottle to the light, searching for clues.
A knock on the door startled him. He nearly dropped the bottle. Dawn leapt to her feet, shifting her gaze wildly between him and the bed. He recalled vividly the sight of her small, perfect body hovering over him and the feel of her silky skin. Despite his grogginess, he’d been ready and willing to make love to her, and would have if she hadn’t turned on the light.
“Be cool,” he said.
She patted her head. Her hair was damp. “What am I going to say?”
The knocking turned insistent.
“It’s Janine.” He hoped. At the moment he wouldn’t be surprised if Quent, playing a sick game of outraged husband, burst into the cabin.
Before he could suggest she get dressed, Dawn answered the door. Clutching an armload of clothing, his sister stood on the porch. Barely acknowledging Dawn, Janine swept inside and deposited the clothes on the bed. Ross recognized his jeans, a T-shirt and his tuxedo.
Janine turned on him. “What the heck are you pulling now, Ross? What are you doing here? Why was your tux in the bushes? You’ve pulled some bonehead stunts before, but this beats all. Do you have any idea what the Colonel is going to say? And what about Mom?”
Ross backed away from the finger Janine shook in his face. Even though she was two years younger than he, Janine had always acted older. Strong-willed, ambitious, and outspoken, she was their father’s daughter. He wished they were twelve and ten years old again so he could sit on her and make her shut up.
“Pardon me, Janine,” Dawn said. She stood rigidly, holding the neck closed on her robe. “Janine!”
His sister tossed her mane of thick brown hair and gave a start as if just now noticing Dawn.
“Quentin is missing. Ross and I are the victims of a crime.”
“Crime? What kind of crime?”
Ross grabbed his clothing and made a hasty escape into the bathroom. While he dressed in the jeans and T-shirt, he frowned at his tuxedo. Pine straw and bits of bark clung to the black fabric. He frowned, too, at Dawn’s rumpled wedding dress, which hung on a hook on the bathroom door. Someone knocking him out, stripping him naked, tossing his clothing into the bushes then putting him in bed with the bride was too twisted for one of Dawn’s hoped-for reasonable explanations. An explanation existed, but he doubted if it would be reasonable or pleasant.
When he emerged from the bathroom Janine had calmed down considerably. She gave him a suspicious glance, but continued listening to Dawn explain what had happened.
Dawn passed a hand wearily over her eyes. “I want to deny it, but I can’t. Quentin has been kidnapped.”
Janine twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. “You claim you saw a prowler, Ross. Why didn’t you call the Colonel?”
Stung by her skepticism, he said, “I didn’t have a phone.”
“Don’t be a smart aleck.”
“I didn’t have time to call in the SWAT team. It was after one o’clock in the morning when I saw someone headed for the Honeymoon Hideaway. I thought I saw him peeking in the windows. For all I knew it was a pervert checking out the newlyweds. Should I have left him there while I ran back to the lodge?”
Janine reversed the twisting of her hair. “Let me see your head. Dawn says you’re injured.”
He sat so she could examine the back of his skull. Her ministrations weren’t nearly as gentle as Dawn’s had been. “Ow! Watch it.” He pushed her hand away.
“That’s not much of a bump.” Janine grasped his chin, forcing his face up. She peered critically into his eyes. “You look okay to me.”
“Ever consider nursing, Ninny? You’d be a natural.”
“Don’t call me Ninny,” she murmured absently, twisting her hair again.
“Ross was knocked unconscious. I can vouch for that much,” Dawn said. “You haven’t seen Quentin at the lodge?”
Dawn’s hopeful note tugged at him. If Janine hadn’t been here, he’d give in to his urge to offer Dawn a shoulder to cry on.
“I haven’t seen him.” Janine glanced at her wristwatch. “The dining room isn’t open yet. He wasn’t in the lobby drinking coffee, either. I just can’t believe he’s been kidnapped. Is there a ransom note?”
Dawn hung her head. Her shoulders hitched.
Ross stepped between them and gave his sister a pointed look. “Dawn, get dressed. We’ll figure this out.”
As if her joints were made of wood, Dawn gathered clothing from the closet and dresser drawers. When she entered the bathroom and closed the door, Ross turned on his sister.
“Ease up. Can’t you see how upset she is?”
Her blue-gray eyes flashed. “I’m starting to catch on to why.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play stupid.” She poked the center of his chest with a rigid finger. “Everybody saw how lovey-dovey the pair of you were last week. Did Quentin catch you playing patty-cake with his blushing bride?”
“Keep your voice down.”
She lowered her voice, but her temper seemed to increase. “Maybe it’s a big joke to you hitting on every woman you meet, but she was engaged. Quentin found out you’d been having an affair with his fiancée, didn’t he?”
Only Janine, who generally spoke first and did damage control later, would have had the guts to say that. But if she said it, then others would be thinking it. His pride was stung. Sister or not, she had no right to accuse him of acting like a creep. “You’re lucky you’re a girl. I’d deck you—”
“Go ahead!” She put up her fists.
Sisters! Not doubting for a moment she’d love a chance to pop him on the nose, Ross clamped his hands on his hips. “Dawn and I aren’t having an affair.”
“Then why did Quentin leave?”
He glanced at the bathroom door. Grasping Janine by the shoulder, he lowered his head until their faces were only inches apart. “Think what you want about me, but don’t you dare say a single word about Dawn. I’m not taking that from you or anybody. Got it?”
“What am I supposed to think? I know what I—”
“Shut up and listen to me. Quent lied to me. He—”
“Lied about what?”
“About her. He told me their marriage was a business deal. Merging two households for tax purposes. A marriage-of-convenience kind of thing. He made her sound like a dried-up old lady, always keeping a sharp eye on the bottom line.”
She began twisting her hair again. “Why would he say that? Every time I spoke to Dawn about the wedding arrangements I got the impression she was madly in love with him.”
He shrugged, growing irritable with confusion. “It was none of my business why they got married. She never said much about Quent, and I didn’t have anything to say about him, either. We never discussed their relationship.”
Janine took a step backward. Her eyes widened. “You actually care about her.”
“I care about a lot of people.” As a dyed-in-the-wool feminist, his sister delighted in ragging him about his Neanderthal attitudes toward women. Usually he delighted