The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,26
Dragon Hotel where a meal has been prepared for you.
“So now, I would ask that we leave the church in a quiet, orderly fashion, starting with those in the back rows. The families will leave last.”
The shocked stillness that had settled over the congregation was broken only by the heart-wrenching sound of sobbing coming from the front row. Meg Wynne’s father, unused to performing small gestures of comfort but seeming to recognize that something was expected of him, put a stiff, reluctant arm around his weeping wife’s shoulder.
Eight
At four-thirty, Anne stood up, smoothed the front of her bridesmaid’s dress, and walked slowly and resolutely toward the closet.
“Whatever it is, Jenn, it’s over and I’m getting changed out of this bloody dress.”
“Me, too,” Jennifer replied. “I doubt I’ll be wearing this dress again. Can you think of any reason why you would wear yours?”
Anne shook her head as she stepped lightly out of her frock, leaving a slippery puddle of pale pink silk in the middle of the floor.
Jennifer picked it up, folded it carefully, and set it on the bed. A moment later, hers had joined it.
“We’ll keep them together and take them to a charity shop, yeah?” she said. “They’ll be more use as a set. Maybe they’ll bring someone else better luck, someone who doesn’t know their story. I wonder if we even need to get them dry-cleaned. After all, we never even got to leave the room in them. Pity, that. They were really lovely dresses.”
After a long day of intense pent-up frustration and mounting fear, the tears finally came, suddenly and in abundance. She reached for some tissues, sat on the bed, and wept silently for her lost friend. As Anne started toward her, arms outstretched, the telephone rang.
“Hello? Yes?” Anne said. After a moment of listening silence, while keeping an anxious eye on her distraught friend, she replied firmly, “Yes, David, I see. Right. Well, what else could you do, really? Yes, I’ll tell Jenn and we’ll ring you later. Thanks for letting us know. Bye.”
She replaced the telephone and sat down beside Jennifer.
“That was David. The rector’s made the announcement. He and Emyr have left the church and are on their way to Ty Brith to be with Emyr’s father. Apparently he’s taking all this very hard. Well, he would do, wouldn’t he? So the people from the wedding have been sent over here for their meal, David’s called off the photographer and the deejay, and he’s asking us if we can sort things out here, keep an eye on everything, whatever that means. And oh yes, they’ve finally called the police.
“It’s getting on now for five, so we’ll need to keep all the rooms until tomorrow anyway. Also, the police could arrive at any time, and I expect they’ll want to talk to us, and see what we know, which isn’t much.
“This isn’t nearly over, Jenn. In fact, I think something really bad must have happened, so we’ll have to hang together on this.”
She paused to give her friend time to collect herself, but the tears kept coming.
“Well, you have a good cry, and when you’re feeling a little better, we’ll decide what to do next. Are you hungry? Do you think we should go downstairs and show ourselves at the reception, or whatever it would be called?”
Jennifer started to wail.
“No, probably not,” Anne answered her own question. “There will be too many people asking questions. Why don’t you rest up for a few minutes? Me, I need a proper drink and God knows I deserve it. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”
She closed the door behind her, then opened it again and popped her head back into the room.
“You know, Jenn, I’ve just thought that if the police are going to be arriving here at any minute, we might as well get ready for them. The first thing they’ll ask is, ‘When did you notice she was missing?’ Personally, I think they’ll wonder why they weren’t called in sooner. Right, I’m off. See you later or join me in the bar if you feel like coming downstairs.”
As she made her way down the carpeted stairs to the ground floor, the soft sound of murmured conversation rose to greet her. She wondered if she should look in at the small group of disoriented wedding guests that had gathered for a subdued meal in the hotel’s ground-floor reception room. Deciding against it, she strode purposefully to the lounge and ordered a large vodka