Death on the Coast by M Comley (best book recommendations TXT) 📗

soft turf and, once, she nearly fell headlong, and probably would have had it not been for Brendon, who happened to be sitting at the end of that row of chairs, leaping up to catch her. There was a murmuring through the crowd, and Lucy had a pretty good idea what was going on in their sordid minds.

The Rev. Cunningham, continually inserting his index finger behind the stiff collar, appeared to have a bit of a cold as his voice was hoarse and lacked its usual power. Those seated in the back didn’t care. They knew all the words. It was a day of celebration—a spectacle the village seldom witnessed. When the vows had been exchanged, Scott bent to kiss Tina passionately. She turned and faced the guests, a proud and very pleased expression lighting up her glowing face. There was no recessional as the villagers, anxious to begin the frivolities, pushed their chairs out of the way and clustered around the bride and groom to extend their congratulations.

Tina raised her bouquet of flowers high above her head, apparently keen to get on with the usual ritual. The men were shooed away as the women clustered they made sure the younger, unmarried girls remained at the forefront. Tina, who had been a pretty good softball player in high school, summoned all her strength and whipped the bouquet over her head with the speed of a well-thrown pitch.

Lucy was embarrassed and surprised when the bouquet landed against her chest. She had no option but to hold on to it or the beautiful flowers would have been trampled in the crush. She looked up, and Brendon was watching, his gaze locked with hers. She managed a half smile before handing the bouquet to Jenny Carter who was seated right next to where she stood. Everyone applauded, and Lucy stepped out of the limelight and into the shrubbery nearby, silently happy for her sister.

“Lucy!”

“Oh, hi, Sal. Hey, the cake turned out beautifully. It was the perfect…”

“Never mind that. Did you see him?”

“Him? Who?”

“Mark!”

“What? Mark’s here? Where?”

“I know it was him, Lucy. He was standing just about where you are now, watching the processional with an odd look on his face. I was on the other side of the aisle, so I couldn’t run over and grab on to him. By the time things broke up, so I could, he was gone. I’m so sorry…”

Lucy’s mind whirled. “Uh, Sal, no, it wasn’t your fault. Did you see which way he went? Was he alone? Was he dressed up or… well, can you tell me anything?”

“Oh, hon, no, not really. I was so surprised; for a minute, I wasn’t even sure it was him. He seemed different. He’s grown a beard. But I’d know Mark anywhere, and it was definitely him.”

“Did you see a car or any vehicle?”

“Sorry. That’s all I know.”

Lucy nodded and laid her hand on Sal’s arm. “Thank you. I appreciate you letting me know. At least I know he’s not dead.”

Sal gave her a quick hug and then rejoined the festivities as Tina and Scott got ready to cut the wedding cake. Sal wouldn’t miss the compliments for anything in the world.

Lucy caught Brendon’s eye and jerked her head slightly to motion him over.

“You look beautiful today,” he said, his voice soft and appreciative.

She could hardly bring herself to explain why she’d summoned him. She knew it would be a letdown. “Mark was here.”

She was right. His warm smile slipped and was replaced by a blank look of disappointment. After a few seconds, his professionalism kicked in. “How do you know?”

“Sal saw him during the processional. By the time she got over here, he was gone. She says he’s got a beard.”

He peered over her shoulder, his eyes combing the street, but with all the vehicles from the wedding, it was useless.

“He’s long gone, Brendon.”

“Was he supposed to be part of the wedding?” he asked casually. There was a note of hope in his voice that Mark had only shown up to do his duty.

She shook her head. “No. Not really, although he was supposed to be my escort, and of course, to help set up and take down…like any husband should.” Her last words felt bitter in her mouth.

Brendon looked saddened by her words. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

“Don’t be. I’d say Mark and I are quits.”

He quickly turned his back to her, and she wondered what his expression was like.

“Well, that’s that. I need to get back to Tina. I am the matron of honor, after all.”

“Sure, sure,” he agreed and stepped back so she could make her way to the center of the group.

She idly straightened things at the banquet table, stirring the potato salad, combining bowls into one where possible, brushing off crumbs, and making sure the punch bowl was filled. The band set up at the side and played some older, well-loved songs. Here and there, couples joined hands and danced in the dampening grass.

The sun was going down, and Lucy was glad they’d thought ahead and set up some tiki torches for light and to keep the bugs away. She was about to light the first one when a hand came up behind her.

“Here, let me do that for you,” Brendon said.

She let him. “Why thank you, kind sir.”

“Sure thing. I was sort of hoping I might have a dance with the matron of honor?”

Lucy smiled and pulled at the soft fabric of the vintage dress. “I’d like that.”

Brendon finished and then blew out the lighter, laying it on a nearby table. He came toward her and took her hand as she laid hers on his shoulder. It was a slow, romantic song and, although they kept a respectable distance apart, anyone watching could see that they were leaning toward one another. Lucy knew she was being reckless—it was a small village, and people talked, but somehow, she didn’t care.

19

The Sunday morning sunshine awakened Lucy, along with its rainbow of problems and mysteries. She lay