Died to match Page 0,98

final niceties before the ceremony. I will never, never double up as consultant and bridesmaid again. Between fielding queries from Rhonda, temporarily losing one of my pink pearl earrings, and retwisting Patty’s French twist, my nerves were in shreds before I set one high-heeled foot out in public.

But still I kept a cool and professional façade, barely registering Aaron’s chilly glance at me—and his double take at my dress—as he entered the theater. I was more concerned with his carefully disguised black eye, and the effect of the tiny calla lily boutonniere on the lapel of his tux. Nice work, Boris. Scott went next, looking far more alert and involved than he had at the rehearsal, and when he joined the men up front, the two brothers winked at each other over Aaron’s head.

Then the music changed, and everyone craned around from the raked rows of seats to watch Corinne come down the aisle. At the first glimpse of her gown and flowers, an appreciative murmur arose from the guests over the jazz trio’s silky sounds. Wait till they get a load of the bride, I thought. This was going to be fascinating, taking in every detail of a Made in Heaven wedding as seen from onstage instead of the wings.

I counted a slow ten, stepped into the aisle, saw all those eyes staring at me… and lost consciousness of the entire ceremony in a blur of stage fright and fatigue. I heard later that everything went beautifully, but the only detail that stayed with me was Tommy Barry’s face. He looked like a man who should still be in bed, yet his expression held such fondness, such pride and triumph as he watched his protégé Paul say “I do,” that the happy tears in my eyes were more for him than for my client.

The next thing I knew, Scott was escorting me back up the aisle, behind Aaron and Corinne. I glimpsed Chloe and Howard, all sunburn and smiles, and Monica Lamott, in a coral-colored number about a quarter-inch inside the line of decency for the mother of the bride.

But for haute couture chutzpah, you couldn’t beat Great-Aunt Enid, who had deliberately worn the one thing that etiquette forbids to the wedding guest: a white lace dress. It was a hollow victory, though, since at her age the effect was less bridal than funereal. She could have been buried in that dress, and maybe she would be. But to judge by the tender looks she was sending Paul, she’d die happy.

Meanwhile, though, Enid was safely whisked away to her hotel by her nurse, and the rest of us were plunged into the biggest, loudest, most over-the-top party of the year.

“This is awesome!” I heard one guest saying half an hour later, and I had to agree. Hundreds of people, all dressed to the nines, had spread out across the pulsating dance floor of the Sky Church, up the stairs to the exhibits, and along the snowy-linened, colorfully laden buffet tables.

One group was clustered in wonder at the base of Roots and Branches, a fabulous, towering sculpture of 600 guitars, all wired together, with a few accordions and banjos thrown in for good measure. The tornado-shaped assemblage rose from the main floor up through an atrium to the Sound Lab mezzanine, where a gleeful melee of guests were having a go at the drum kits and electric guitars. Rising up with it, the rock music from the Sky Church permeated the air and carried everyone along on a current of rhythmic energy. I’ve never seen so many people having such a good time all at once.

But I wasn’t one of them. All I could think about, now that we’d gotten through the ceremony, was Zack. My young, earnest Robin Hood, so eager to help Eddie with his software, so guilt-stricken that he might have accidentally caused Mercedes’ death—could he have been faking all that, every single expression and emotion? Surely not. Surely not. A criminal past was shocking enough, but the idea of Zack as a brutal murderer made me dizzy. Or was it just stubborn denial about my own foolishness, as Aaron claimed?

Of course, I was dizzy anyway. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I stashed my bouquet and purse at a table in a semi-quiet corner of the gift shop, and hit the buffet for a plate of Joe’s crab cakes. A quick protein fix, and then I’d radio the limo drivers and guide the videographer and do everything