Murder at a Scottish Wedding Read online

  “I dinnae have nerves!” Lydia exclaimed. “I also dinnae have the brooch his stepmother gave me.”

  “Ah!” Eliza raised a finger. She’d picked up enough undertones over the last few months to realize that this was a big deal. She immediately got on her knees to examine beneath the table, then lifted the box of tissues, the flowers, and the little mirror. All places Lydia and Paislee had repeatedly checked.

  “Could you please let Corbin know aboot the brooch?” Lydia asked. “Mibbe I should go see him myself.” She stepped toward the open door.

  “No!” the ladies exclaimed in unison.

  “Talk aboot bad luck,” Rosebud sniffed. “It’s like you’re not even trying, Lydia.”

  Paislee glared at the younger lass, who had the intelligence to look away. Lydia had done so much more than just try.

  Eliza scanned the dressing room once more but finally nodded. “Yes. I’ll tell him what the problem is, but I am quite sure he just wants to marry you.”

  “There’s more tae it than that.” Lydia explained that they had a different pin as camouflage if Corbin was all right with the ruse. Mary would know once she was close enough. She looked at his stepsisters as she said, “I dinnae believe in curses.”

  “Curse? Oh, no.” Eliza clucked her tongue, then admired the pin on the ribbon. “Today is a beautiful day for your wedding. I’ll be right back. Come with me, Harlow. You can alert the guests that we are about to begin.”

  Paislee clasped Lydia’s hand. “You ready, hon?”

  “I am.” Lydia breathed out. One, two, three. “I had tae let him know. I cannae start off my marriage with a lie.”

  “What he doesnae know cannae hurt him,” Senta advised.

  “Corbin will not go through with it,” Rosebud said. “Mum warned him what would happen if he married you withoot everything just so.”

  When this was all over, Paislee was tempted to stop by for a one-on-one visit with Mary Smythe. The woman was a menace.

  Eliza returned with a folded paper that she slipped to Lydia. Her best friend opened the note with a pent-up breath, then her shoulders relaxed, and she burst out laughing.

  Paislee read the note that Lydia handed her. If you aren’t down the aisle in the next five minutes, I’ll run off with you. Scandal, curse, whatever. Your call, Lydia. Corbin.

  “The wedding is on!” Lydia exclaimed with bright eyes.

  “Wonderful.” Eliza hurried out, skirts swinging. “I’ll inform the band.”

  The wedding march sounded, and the bridesmaids left the dressing room to take the arm of the accompanying groomsman. Each man wore a magnificent kilt of red, blue, and black with silver accents. The sporrans were of black leather. The bridesmaids’ ribbons on their bouquets matched the kilts. Drew, the baby, escorted Senta. Duncan, the “spare,” escorted Rosebud, and Reggie, the heir, hooked arms with Hyacinth.

  Paislee watched the others through the partially opened door. “It’s beautiful, Lydia.” She turned to her friend. The harp melded with the bagpipe and the sound echoed harmoniously around the stones of the old church.

  “Really?”

  “Aye.” For the first time in months, Paislee detected true happiness on Lydia’s face. She blinked back tears. “I’d ask if you’re sure he’s the one, but I can see it.”

  “He is,” Lydia said. “And worth a million evil stepmothers. Remind me of this moment, eh?”

  Paislee used her mobile to click a photo of her best friend’s wide grin. “Got it!”

  She tucked her phone into her wristlet—a purse just big enough for her mobile, credit card, and lip gloss—in the bottom drawer of the vanity, grabbed her bouquet, and stepped past Alistair to the lobby. A June breeze wafted in through the slightly open front doors—a must, or else the building would be too stuffy for the two hundred guests.

  Matthew, a blue thistle boutonniere attached to his light gray jacket lapel, held out his arm for Paislee. Joy shone around Corbin from his position near the altar like a halo.

  “Ready?” Matthew asked. “Corbin’s chuffed. Makes me want tae believe in marital bliss when I see him so in love with Lydia.”

  “She’s ecstatic, too,” Paislee assured Corbin’s best friend. They’d become allies over the past few months of wedding preparation in getting their pals married.

  The door of the restroom next to the dressing room banged open and a young woman with ebony hair charged between Alistair, Paislee, and Matthew. The slightly large nose on her pale face seconded her status as a Smythe cousin, confirmed by the red tartan shawl drooping from her shoulders.

  “Excuse me, excuse me,” she said, barreling toward the front entrance of the church. The bathroom door slammed shut.

  “Are you all right, Felice?” Paislee recognized the young woman from the pre-wedding festivities. She often hung out with Rosebud and Hyacinth, giggling.

  “I cannae see!” Felice covered her eyes with her palm, her tone panicked.

  “Where are ye off tae?” Matthew released Paislee’s arm in alarm and followed the young lady. “The wedding’s aboot tae begin.”

  Felice wrestled the closest door all the way open, crying as if in pain. She exited, tripping on the stone threshold. Matthew tried to grab her elbow, but she flailed and knocked him away.

  Alistair joined Paislee with concern. His duty was to his daughter, so he stayed near the dressing room door, but it was clear by his stance that he was torn. His nature was to help.

  “What is it?” Lydia asked from the doorway. She held her bouquet before her and glanced from the commotion with Felice, to the altar in the opposite direction, and the guests inside all standing, waiting for the bride.

  This was not rainbows and sunshine. “Give me a second!” Paislee hurried toward the church entrance to assist Matthew.

  “Felice, stop!” Matthew shouted.

  Paislee accidentally jostled Matthew on the stoop. Two dozen steep stairs descended to the cobble street where cars weren’t allowed to park. Felice’s nose was splotchy, and she blinked rapidly.

  “Help me!” Felice whirled her arms and teetered on the top stone step.

  Matthew reached for her and snagged her Smythe tartan, but it wasn’t enough to stop Felice from tumbling down. She landed at the bottom on her back, her neck at an odd angle. Silent.

  “No!” Paislee’s stomach knotted.

  “What on earth?” Alistair bellowed from the stoop. Lydia, on his heels, stared down at the broken body. Ebony hair spilled to the side. “Go tae the room, love,” he said, urging Lydia backward.

  Lydia shook her head in disbelief. “No. Impossible.”

  Matthew pulled his mobile from a pocket in his vest and dialed for emergency services. “Felice Smythe has fallen down the stairs at Old Nairn Kirk. Come around the front.”

  Paislee dropped her bouquet and climbed down in a rush, slipping on the stone, but catching her balance before hopping over the last two steps to the sidewalk. She leaned next to Felice and took her pulse at her right wrist. Nothing.

  She gasped. Something gold glinted in Felice’s left hand.

  Lydia’s missing Luckenbooth brooch.

  Chapter 2

  Paislee remained on her knees, tempted to retrieve the Luckenbooth brooch from Felice’s open hand and return it to Lydia. Entwined hearts, a red stone. She didn’t, feeling in her bones that something was wrong and that the police might need to be involved. Nothing could be right about a young woman falling to her death at a wedding.

  She stood on shaky legs. Matthew clambered down the stone stairs. “Paislee, is she . . . ?”

  Swallowing hard, Paislee didn’t answer Matthew as she looked up. She recognized Harry, Corbin’s uncle, and more Smythe cousins with ebony hair directly behind Matthew.

  “What? Felice!” Harry shoved Matthew aside to kneel by his daughter, only in his shock, he sprawled on his hip as if to gather her into his arms. He stopped, realizing her neck was at an odd angle. His semi-lined face paled of all color. “Oh, God.”

  “Felice?”

  Matthew hauled a tall young man back from grabbing Felice. “Oliver, mate, ye cannae touch her. The paramedics are on the way. Jocelyn, leave your sister be. I’m so sairy.”

  Poor dears were Felice’s siblings. It was too late for an ambulance though the blare of sirens could be heard.

  “Is that a Luckenbooth pin?” Jocelyn swiped big tears from her cheeks and her teeth chattered as she hovered by her sister, uncertain. “Wasnae Lydia missin’ hers?”

  Oliver’s nose turned red. “Dinnae be daft. Felice wouldnae have taken it.”

  Harry smoothed the hair back from Felice’s forehead. “What’s wrong with her skin?”

  The prickled spots around her eyes reminded Paislee of a heat rash. While it was a warm afternoon, it wasn’t hot enough for that.

  “Don’t know.” Jocelyn lowered herself to the ground and patted her sister’s arm. She sniffed, sad, but also a wee bit put out. “Her and Rosebud were crackin’ up. I asked aboot what, and she told me tae mind me own business.”

  “When was this?” Paislee asked.

  Gaze dull with sorrow, Jocelyn said, “Before you all went oot for pictures with the photographer. Felice was jealous of Senta. She wanted tae be a bridesmaid, too.”

  Harry’s chest heaved with emotion as he stared at Felice in disbelief. “What happened tae my sweet lassie?”

  Felice and Rosebud, laughing over something. Had Felice swiped Lydia’s brooch? Encouraged by Rosebud? A prank, most like, just as Paislee had feared.

  Jocelyn reached for the brooch, but Matthew cleared his throat, glancing at Paislee. “You should probably leave it for the police tae sort.”

  So, he had also sensed more to the story though she wasn’t surprised. Matthew was a solicitor in Ed
inburgh. He and Corbin had met at university and remained friends despite Corbin moving away from law to pursue the tech industry, and work for himself.

  “Police?” Oliver dug his fingers in the back of his dark hair.

  The police car arrived just ahead of the ambulance and parked in the middle of the street. The EMTs jumped out first and brushed by the family surrounding Felice. “Stand back, please,” a medic said.

  Paislee edged away and looked up at the people collected in the foyer of the stone church—both doors were now wide open. Lydia waited on the stoop, peering down. Minister Angela descended the stairs, robes billowing around her thin frame, as she murmured a prayer for the deceased.

  Paislee raced up the steps to Lydia, who clasped Paislee’s hand. “Da went tae check on Mum. What happened?”

  “Felice Smythe fell,” Paislee whispered. “Her neck is twisted. Lydia—she was holding a gold Luckenbooth pin.”

  “What?” Lydia scowled but it was fear-based, not angry. “Was it mine?”

  “It was gold with a red stone. I can’t be sure but what are the chances of yours going missing and her turning up with one not being related somehow?”

  “Oh, lordy, lordy.” Lydia’s lower lip quivered.

  Corbin strode toward them, kilt swinging, followed by Garrison. Father and son joined them with curious yet cautious gazes. Corbin noticed Felice sprawled on the street and his body bowed.

  “I . . . I was worried something had happened tae you.” Corbin slid his arm around Lydia. “Poor Felice.”

  “Damn it,” Garrison blustered. “Did Felice slip?”

  Mary arrived with a screech as she brought her hand to her mouth, then pointed her finger at Lydia. Her dyed platinum hair had been styled in a net with a blue thistle tucked above her ear, her plump body stuffed into a too-small Smythe-tartan skirt, topped with a silk blouse. “Rosebud said ye lost the brooch! I warned you aboot the curse.”

  “There is no bloody curse!” Corbin shouted at his stepmother. “Now is no’ the time for your superstitious nonsense.”

  And yet, his cousin was being hauled away in the ambulance—already dead. Garrison raised a brow at Corbin, then left to join Harry, his brother, his face twisted in grief for the loss of his niece.

  “Felice had my brooch,” Lydia murmured to Corbin. “Paislee said it was in her palm.”

  “How could that be?” Corbin demanded. “My cousin had no reason tae steal it.”

  “I just know what I saw,” Paislee said. She wouldn’t mention Rosebud and Felice being in cahoots until she had more information. “Gold. Two hearts entwined. Red stone.”

  Corbin winced. “It sounds like the one I chose, which was unique, like Lydia. No offense, but I really wish I’d forgone Smythe Luckenbooth tradition and kept the engagement at your diamond and champagne.” He kissed Lydia’s ring finger. “What a mess.”

  Lydia leaned into Corbin, ignoring Mary, who glowered at them.

  Constable Payne’s burly figure had exited the police car, his tablet in hand as he prepared to ask questions. Relief filled Paislee to see his familiar presence. A second female officer, Payne’s opposite from her pale skin to trim figure, took pictures. She put on gloves, pulled out a clear plastic bag, and deposited the brooch Felice had held into it. At last, the constable allowed the medics to load Felice’s body onto the stretcher.

  Harry, Jocelyn, and Oliver crowded the gurney. Jocelyn’s chin quivered. “Can I ride with her, Da? Sis shouldnae be alone.”

  Oliver held his father as Harry’s knees buckled. “Aye.” He straightened. “We’ll meet at the hospital.”

  The medics loaded the gurney into the back and Jocelyn climbed in behind. The sirens weren’t on. There was no need to hurry. Paislee pressed her hand to her knotted stomach. Poor Felice.

  “I have tae tell the constable about the brooch,” Paislee said. “It might be important.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Corbin grimaced with pain as his uncle Harry crumpled to the ground. Garrison, Oliver, and Corbin’s brothers gathered around him.

  Paislee glanced at the church, the stoop and lobby even more crowded, but she didn’t see either Brody or Grandpa.

  “The wedding is off,” Lydia said, her gray eyes stunned. “It has tae be.” She viewed Corbin through a veil of tears. “I’m so sairy for your loss, Corbin. The entire clan will be gutted aboot Felice.”

  Corbin folded Lydia into his arms and caressed her back. “You’re right. We should have—”

  “Don’t you dare say we should have eloped!” Lydia cried, her fist to his chest. She pulled back and exhaled. “I’ll go inside tae our family, Paislee. Find me there?” She left them, silver wedding gown trailing behind her.

  Paislee’s instincts urged her to stay with Lydia, who was hurting no matter the brave face she’d just donned. However, Corbin took Paislee by the elbow and guided her down the stone steps to the cobbled street as the ambulance pulled away.

  “And then we heard Felice cry oot that she couldnae see,” Oliver said to Constable Payne, “from the lobby. Da was worried that she’d been gone so long in the restroom and might miss the wedding. Jocelyn refused tae go check on her.” He shrugged with empathy. “Felice and Rosebud are mean tae her sometimes when they dinnae want her around.”

  Corbin dragged Paislee next to him.

  “Tell me aboot the Luckenbooth pin in Felice’s hand,” the constable said. Deep laugh lines grooved around his mouth, though he wasn’t joking now. He’d told her once that it was better to laugh than cry.

  Paislee sighed. “Lydia’s went missing sometime after the minister brought it tae the room, and we were out getting wedding photos by the tree.” Should she mention what Jocelyn had said about Rosebud and Felice laughing?

  “Why would Felice have it?” Constable Payne tipped back the brim of his black hat.

  “Mibbe,” Oliver suggested, “she found it and was returning it tae Lydia, but then she got confused and fell down the stairs.”

  And maybe, Paislee thought, Santa would arrive any second on this braw June day with his reindeer and a sleigh filled with elves.

  Constable Payne tapped the stylus to his tablet, then phoned the ambulance driver, walking away for privacy.

  Paislee made out “missing brooch,” but that was all.

  “There has tae be a guid reason. Our girl isnae a thief.” Harry stared at Corbin. “You’ve known Felice all yer life. You cousins ran in a pack. Always been family first.”

  “I’m no’ accusing her of anything, Uncle Harry. We’ll sort oot what happened tae Felice.” Corbin hugged Harry and then Oliver as the gruff Scotsmen allowed several tears to escape.

  “Can we go tae the hospital now?” Oliver asked the police officer who was helping Constable Payne. The middle-aged woman’s tag read CONSTABLE SARAH MONROE. Red hair was barely visible beneath her shiny black cap.

  “Aye. Drive safe,” Constable Monroe said. “Speedin’ will only put yourselves in harm.” The tone was warm, like a mum’s might be, as she gave a slight nod.

  Harry pulled keys from the sporran on his kilt and grabbed Oliver’s upper arm, running around the side of the church to the car park.

  “What did you see, Paislee?” Constable Payne asked when he returned.

  She told him, ending with, “Felice was scratching at her eyes, and the skin was red and splotchy.”

  “The coroner will run a toxicology report in case she was on somethin’.” The constable glanced around to make sure Felice’s immediate family was out of earshot. “You never know these days what kids will do for a kick. Now, what else can you tell me aboot the brooch?”

  “It was given tae Lydia today, in a wooden box. Before she could open it, we were called away by the wedding photographer.”

  “Who is that?” Constable Payne asked.

  “Bruce Dundas,” Corbin said. “He’s been recording special events for our family since I was born.”

  “Wedding photos by the alder tree in the courtyard are a social media must, according tae Bruce.” Paislee wrinkled her nose. “Anyway, I saw the box before we left the dressing room, but I’d honestly forgotten about it when we returned. By the time Lydia remembered the pin, we couldn’t find it anywhere.”

  “Did Felice have the box?” Constable Payne jotted notes with his stylus.