Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,80

rough push. My feet went out from under me and though there wasn’t anything for me to grab onto, my arms (and the garment bag with my wedding dress in it) flailed.

I tried, but it was impossible for me to keep my balance. With a yelp of surprise, I stumbled into the street.

And the only thing I saw when I did was that bus. It was coming straight at me.

IT ALL HAPPENED IN SLOW MOTION AND WITH THE combined cacophony of Eve’s screams and the grinding gears of the bus as a sort of soundtrack to the scene.

The bus got nearer. I saw the driver’s mouth drop open and his hands tighten around the wheel. I watched as a woman who’d just boarded the bus dropped her purse and put her hands over her eyes. That big ol’ bus grille got closer and closer, so close I could see the spots of road dirt splattered over it, and one big bug who’d made a wrong turn midflight and ended up flatter than a pancake.

Just like I was about to do.

My brain froze the way people’s do when they’re suddenly in dire straits and they find themselves acting on instinct and instinct alone. It wasn’t like I thought it would stop the bus or somehow ward off the thump I was about to feel when it hit me head-on, but I held up my hands.

The bus got closer.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Then somebody grabbed my T-shirt and tugged me hard back onto the sidewalk.

I felt the hot breeze as the bus whizzed past, shook myself, and looked around. I was back up on the curb where I belonged, and Eve still had her hands bunched into the back of my T-shirt. The bus—

“Oh, no!” I screamed because it wasn’t until the bus had already gone by that I realized that in the excitement, I’d dropped the garment bag and it had gotten caught under the wheels of the bus. Even as I watched, horrified, the garment bag containing my wedding dress got dragged down the street. My instincts took over again, and I took off after the bus. I never got very far. See above: Eve was hanging on for dear life, and there was no way she was going to let me get away.

“It’s too late, Annie,” she said. “There’s too much traffic. And a dress isn’t worth getting run over for.”

This? From Eve, the woman who would have gladly jumped in front of a bus—no matter how big—to save a vital fashion accessory?

The fact that she was talking so much sense told me exactly how upset she was.

Side by side, we stood and watched. At the next intersection, the garment bag pulled loose. Three cars ran over it. The bag ripped open, and I saw a brief flutter of fabric like a peachy surrender flag—right before a pickup truck whizzed past. When the truck turned the corner in front of us, there was a scrap of oil-stained, tire-marked, tattered satin hanging from his bumper.

“My poor dress!” Tears sprang to my eyes, and I was buffeted by the crowds of people who, now that the excitement was over, hurried to get by us and get across the street. Had one of them pushed me? I looked around, anxious to see if there was a familiar face in the crowd, but by that time, it was already too late. If there was a person in the crowd with murderous intent, he—or she—was long gone.

“Oh, my dress!” At my side, Eve wailed and I put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

“It’s nice of you to take this so personally.” I patted her arm. “But really, Eve, it was my dress and—”

“No! Really!” She grabbed me and swung me all around so that I could look to our right, to our left, up and down the street. “Now it’s my dress, too. I put my garment bag down to help you,” she wailed.

And there was no sign of it. Not anywhere.

I honestly can’t say what upset me more, my wedding dress getting run over, Eve’s bridesmaid’s dress getting stolen, or somebody trying to push me in front of a bus.

OK, maybe I can. I guess in the great scheme of things, getting smashed to smithereens pretty much takes the cake.

Fifteen

IT WAS THE WHOLE BEST-FRIEND THING THAT GOT me thinking, and I had Eve to thank for that. After all, who else but a best friend would have been game enough to