First Page: Dead Grooms Tell No Tales – cozy mysteries
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When Brian stood me up at the altar I swore I would kill him.
Well it was more like I screamed that I would kill him. Then I stormed down the aisle–alone and very much unmarried–and out the church doors to the gravel drive where I commandeered Brian and my wedding limo which I then drove to his home only to discover that someone had killed him for me.
I’d like to send that person a thank you card, except I don’t know who did it. Which is a bit of a problem, because it turns out if you swear to kill someone in front of five-hundred wedding guests and then that person ends up dead–and you happen to be the one to find his body–you become the police’s number one suspect.
My name is May Berry (yes, really) and today is my wedding day.
As far as wedding days go, it’s not a good one. Oh, it started out fine. I woke up around eight in my hotel suite; my five best friends-come-bridesmaids were slowly stirring. The night before, we celebrated my upcoming nuptials by revisiting every club we use to frequent when we were at Penn, from which we graduated last year. It turns out we use to frequent many clubs and we felt the effects this morning, but after a breakfast of fruit, coffee, and bread we were approaching human again.
The ceremony wasn’t until six in the evening, so there was no need for us to rush. We lazed around the suite until checkout time, then drove to my parent’s home in Rivercrest, which is a town in the Main Line. The Main Line is a collection of affluent suburbs northwest of Philadelphia. It’s called the Main Line because the towns were once connected by the main line of the Philadelphia Railroad. Like all the suburbs in the area, Rivercrest is a picturesque town with quaint shops, pretty parks, and massive country estates. Once there, we enjoyed several hours of serious pampering as a team of hairstylists, make-up artists, and manicurists got us ready for my big day.
My wedding day was perfectly lovely right up until Brian Lockwood jilted me. Then, just to make my special day worse, he went and got himself murdered.
So if Brian was dead when I found him, then how do I know for sure that he jilted me? Before getting himself murdered, he had the bad taste to text his best friend to say he wasn’t coming.
Here is how the events occurred:
It was a few minutes before six when the girls and I arrived at the church. The idea was that my father would meet me on the gravel drive, two ushers would open the church’s double doors, and the bridal party would proceed down the aisle. We were meant to be backlit by the setting sun streaming through the open church doors. It was going to be beautiful. Instead, we were met by one usher who said Brian wasn’t there yet, then my bridesmaids and I were taken around to the church’s back entrance and ushered into a little room to wait for my groom’s arrival.
It was almost six-thirty and the girls and I were still in the backroom. My texts and phone calls to Brian were going unanswered and I was agitated, verging on hyperventilating. Brian is one of those annoying people who is never late and I couldn’t believe he was picking today of all days to not be punctual. The preacher had been in more than once and although he smiled and told me not to worry, and said Brian wasn’t the first groom to be late, I could tell he was getting worried.
“He got stuck in traffic,” said Heather, our group’s designated voice of calm and reason.
“He lives right around the corner. He could walk here in ten minutes,” I said.
“Not if he’s wearing new shoes,” said Bree. “If he bought new shoes, he wouldn’t want to get them dirty.”
“That’s true,” said Simone. She nodded matter-of-factly. “A man can’t get married in dirty shoes.”