White Wedding. Jean Barrett
White Wedding
Jean Barrett
To Ginny and Paul for their friendship and support
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Lane Eastman—She had planned to be a bridesmaid, not a target for a killer.
Jack Donovan—He wanted a reconciliation with the woman he’d never forgotten.
Allison Whitney—The wealthy heiress loved one man and was marrying another.
Chris Beaver—The Native American had a volatile temper, especially when it came to Allison Whitney.
Judge Dan Whitney—The bride’s cousin was concerned about an increasingly dangerous situation.
Hale McGuire—The groom was not a happy man.
Ronnie Bauer—She would do anything to get Jack Donovan in her bed.
Stuart Bauer—The teenager had a hostile attitude and a fondness for lethal weapons.
Dorothy Asker—What secret was the housekeeper protecting?
Nils Asker—The caretaker was more than the uncomplicated man he seemed.
Teddy Brewster—What did the eccentric florist learn that cost him his life?
Contents
Prologue
The door crashed open with a sound like gunfire, violating the stillness of the winter night. A panicked Teddy Brewster, as skeletal and awkward as a scarecrow, exploded from the lodge. His lungs were on fire from his wild flight through the sprawling house, but he didn’t dare to rest. Death was stalking him.
Teddy charged across the flagged terrace and down over the snowy landscape. Shapes loomed around him as he ran, dark and fantastic, their grotesque heads rearing on all sides. He welcomed their existence, permitted himself to be swallowed by their numerous ranks.
He was in the topiary garden, where cedars had been tortured into the forms of every mythical beast imaginable. He had been charmed by them during the light of day. They’d appealed to both the eccentric and the artistic in him. Now they were vital allies, providing a living labyrinth in which to lose himself.
But the moon was his enemy, Teddy realized with a whimper of fear as he dodged from shadow to shadow. Cold and silver, mercilessly revealing his presence. And his tracks... He was leaving tracks in the snow. Maybe they didn’t matter. He had already left a maze of confusing footprints, crossing and recrossing each other, when he’d thoroughly toured the garden this afternoon.
His appearance, however, was a definite handicap. He had taken pleasure in his outrageous flowered, flowing overcoat. One of a kind. Now this vanity, along with his long, flaming hair, marked him as a clear target.
Desperation clawed at his insides. He could sense his relentless pursuer not far behind him. He couldn’t hope to outrun him, and it was useless to confront him. Teddy wasn’t in the least athletic, and he was certainly no fighter. He was a creator of beauty. That’s all he knew, all he cared about. He didn’t deserve this senseless horror.
Rest. He had to rest for a moment. Had to think. His lungs were raw, burning. Gulping great mouthfuls of air, he huddled behind a winged dragon. He stood there trembling, his breath smoking on the frigid air. He tried to plan, but his mind was in a useless disorder.
Carefully he peered around the side of the dragon. The lodge crouched there, massive and forbidding. A black form glided across the terrace and melted into the topiary garden. He was coming for him. It wasn’t a game. It was real. Murderously real.
Where should I go? Where can I hide?
Sick with terror, he shrank away from the dragon, backing into another shape just paces behind him. He whirled and faced a leering troll perched on a low mushroom. The spreading mushroom cleared the ground by a foot or so. Urgency inspired Teddy.
Without hesitation he dived under the dense evergreen, wriggling on his stomach toward its stem. He reached the trunk of the cedar and curled around it in a fetal position.
It was dry under the mushroom. Dry and soft with an accumulation of needles. The odor of cedar was strong and pungent. Teddy pressed his gangling body into the bed of needles and prayed. He prayed to get off the island, to survive this gruesome nightmare. Prayed to understand.
None of it made sense. He had overheard one end of a conversation he wasn’t supposed to overhear. He had glimpsed a collection he wasn’t supposed to see. But he didn’t comprehend their importance or why his life should be at risk because of them. It wasn’t fair.
There! The crunch of a boot in the snow close by! The hunter was coming this way, searching the garden for him. Teddy kept very still, tried not to shiver, tried not to make any betraying sound.
The voice of his stalker, low and silky, taunted him. “It won’t do you any good, Teddy. You can’t get away. I’ll find you.”
The heavy boots approached, came to a stop just beside the mushroom. Teddy stuffed a fist to his mouth to prevent himself from sobbing aloud.
“Where are you hiding, Teddy? I know you’re here somewhere. Come out and talk to me. We’ll work it out,” he promised. “We’ll make a deal.”
Teddy didn’t believe him. He waited. An eternity of waiting. The boots moved on, faded through the garden in the direction of the path toward the shore. His pursuer was on his way to the dock. He must be thinking Teddy was headed for the ice, making every effort to cross to