The mason jars. Shea had been searching for them for weeks. She was being married in the backyard, wearing her grandma’s—Dru’s mother’s—bridal gown. Rather than a formal affair, Shea wanted a simple garden ceremony near sundown with dancing afterward that would begin at twilight. Dru wasn’t a constant gardener, but the mostly messy riot of flowers and vine-covered cedar arbors had cottage charm. The roses, irises, and clematis were just coming into their first flush of blooms, enough to fill any number of mason jars. Shea wanted sunflowers, too, which they didn’t have on hand and so far hadn’t found a source for. But they had finally located an antiques shop near Fredericksburg that had a supply of old mason jars, and the girls—Shea and her bridal attendants, Kate Kincaid, who was her best friend and her maid of honor, and bridesmaids, Leigh Martindale and Vanessa Lacy—had gone to pick them up yesterday; they’d had lunch at one of the local wineries, made an occasion out of it.
This was the first Dru had heard that Becca hadn’t gone along.
“She told us she’d been up vomiting all night long,” Shea said. “We all talked about how we hoped we wouldn’t get whatever bug she had.” Her voice broke now and grief came, crumpling her features. Tears slid down her cheeks.
Dru found a tissue. “You were over there, then? You saw her?”
“No, she called. I was on my way there. I’d already picked up everyone else.” Shea blew her nose. “Do the police know who did it? Did Amy say?”
“No,” Dru answered.
Shea left the kitchen to call AJ.
Dru cut the lemon bars, wrapped them, and stowed them in the freezer. She was slicing red cabbage for the Asian pasta salad for the teachers’ luncheon when Shea reappeared. Dru looked questioningly over her shoulder.
“He didn’t answer. He’s probably still with his dad. They were getting their final tux fittings this morning.”
Dru rinsed the cutting board. She wondered if there might be enough of the pasta salad to take to the Westins. She could roast a chicken, make another pan of lemon bars. For a moment, thinking of them—Joy and Gene—her throat closed. What would she do if she were to lose Shea, especially this way, through an act of wanton violence?
“I tried calling Erik; he didn’t pick up, either.”
“Well, he must be with AJ, right?” Dru said. Erik was AJ’s best man. He’d need his tux fitted, too.
“I don’t think so. He just started his new job and couldn’t get off. He’s going up later this week, I think.”
“Where’s he working again?”
“Greeley.” Shea named the Madrone County seat north of Wyatt. “He’s a salesman at the Ford dealership there.”
“As charming as he is, he should be good at that,” Dru said. She thought Erik Ayala, with his dark Latino good looks and his white, white teeth, could probably sell glasses to a blind man. She liked Erik better than AJ, really. His heart was lighter, and he kept it in plain view.
But he was dating Kate. In fact, they’d recently become engaged, and Kate’s mother, Charla, couldn’t shut up about how much it thrilled her.
“Should we postpone the wedding?” Shea asked.
Dru turned off the tap, dried her hands. “It’s only two and a half weeks away.”
“How can we cancel it?” Shea turned up her hands.
“How can we go ahead when Becca’s—there’ll be a funeral in a few days.”
“Oh, Mama.” Shea’s troubled gaze locked with Dru’s.
“It’s possible your uncle Kevin is already on his way.” Dru’s younger brother, the only family she had left, was coming from North Dakota, where he lived with his wife, Mary, and their two daughters, twelve-year-old Kara and fourteen-year-old Lacey.
“They’re driving their RV, right? Making a vacation out of it?”
Dru nodded. “We’re going to need to make a decision quickly.”
“AJ’s parents have way more people coming than we do.”
“The bigwigs,” Dru said. The politicos and socialites, Paul Isley’s wheeler-dealer business associates. There was no telling what those ritzy, yacht-owning folks would make of the outdoor vintage-style wedding Shea and AJ planned. Not that she or Shea, or even AJ, cared. But Dru had wondered if she ought to say something to Lily about the meadow where the reception would be held, that it could be the ruin of the oh-so-fashionable stiletto heels some of those women seemed to favor wearing.
“I talked to Kate,” Shea said. “Leigh and Vanessa, too. None of them knew Becca had gone to Dallas. They’re as shocked as we are. They’re coming over when they get off work.” Kate was an ER nurse at Wyatt Regional. Dru thought Leigh and Vanessa worked for local businesses as administrative assistants.
Shea sat at the breakfast table.
“How about a latte?” Dru asked.
“I’ll have one if you’re making one for yourself.”
Dru whipped milk by hand, and while it heated in the microwave, she poured the last of the breakfast coffee into each of two mugs, then capped them with the white froth. They weren’t lattes, exactly; they were knockoffs. The poor man’s latte. She and Shea loved them.
Dru brought the mugs to the table and sat down.
“We weren’t really close anymore, you know?” Shea said. “I mean, I loved Becca like a sister; she’s a big part of my past.”
“You were friends from seventh grade; you, Becca, and Kate were like the Three Musketeers.”
“I know, but I’ve told you, she changed in high school. We didn’t have anything in common anymore.”
Dru sipped her latte. You and Kate changed. That’s what she could have said, but she wouldn’t stir that pot again. Shea, and Kate, too, had finally outgrown that unsettled time. They weren’t the rebelle fleurs now that they’d been when they’d run off from Kate’s church camp in Abilene at age fifteen and, after lying about their ages, gotten the French phrase tattooed in lovely but alarming script on their necks à la Rihanna, their latest idol at the time. The tattoo artist had embellished his work, adding a long-stemmed pink rose beneath the words—a rose with thorns. Of course there were thorns.
And, of course, when the girls returned, camp officials had been forced to expel them. Dru and Charla had gone together to pick them up, both of them furious but for different reasons. While Charla had fretted over nonsense like what her church friends would think, Dru had worried about regret. Until then, there had only been face paint, dyed hair, and body piercings to contend with, damage that could be easily repaired. Neither Kate nor Shea had ever said whether they regretted their tattoos, but their hair nowadays was untreated. Kate was a streaky blonde like her mom, but Shea took after her dad. She had Rob’s brown hair, a shade so dark it was almost black. Her body piercings were limited to her ears and navel and the tiny fleck of a diamond she wore on one side of her nose. Dru didn’t mind it. She didn’t even mind the tattoo so much anymore.
Shea said, “This is going to sound awful, but I only asked Becca to be a bridesmaid because she introduced me to AJ. I knew who he was at school, but she’s how we actually met. Asking her to be a bridesmaid was a way to thank her.”
“Well, I think you felt some loyalty to her, too. I remember you saying—to me, anyway—that it was as much for old times’ sake.”
“Yes, there was that,” Shea admitted. “I feel bad, though, and so does Kate. We really wanted to be close with her, the way we were as kids. But Becca’s—Becca was so quiet.” Shea sat forward, nudging her untasted latte to one side. “I just don’t get it. What was she doing in Dallas? Why did she go? Who was she with? She didn’t have friends there, really, and it’s not like she was putting herself out there, taking chances, hanging with losers.”
“She wasn’t dating anyone?”