Free Murder on the Bride's Side by Tracy Kiely

Dad. She treats Megan like crap and you know it. Since nobody
else
thinks to stand up for the girl,” he said pointedly, “I thought maybe I should. But apparently it’s more important to you that Roni not be upset.” Harry, too, threw his napkin down and left.
    An awkward silence followed his departure. We all stared at our plates, studiously pretending not to have heard the exchange. All except Elsie. With her eyes still on the newspaper spread out in front of her, she said matter-of-factly, “The boy’s got a point, Avery.”
    “I don’t recall asking your opinion, Mother,” Avery snapped, backing his chair out from the table and wheeling it toward the door.
    Elsie sighed heavily, her eyes trained on Avery’s retreating form. Graham watched his mother warily. He must have seen something alarming in her expression for he suddenly tensed and said sharply, “Let it go, Mother.”
    “Let what go?” she responded, her eyes wide with a practiced look of innocence. No one was fooled.
    “Whatever it is that you’re planning,” said Graham. “Let them sort out their own troubles.”
    Elsie sniffed and got to her feet. “I can’t imagine what would give you the absurd notion that I could ever involve myself in other people’s affairs,” she said loftily. “And now, to announce my departure, I will also throw down my napkin in a fit of pique.”
    After matching her words to action, Elsie marched out. Anna, who had been happily receiving scraps from almost everyone in the room, reluctantly followed. At Elsie’s exit, Bridget laid her head down on the table and put her hands on top of her head. “Great. This is just great,” she moaned. “I’m getting married in eight hours and most of the members of my family aren’t speaking to each other.”
    Blythe walked over to her daughter and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Never mind, dear. I’m sure they’ll all have sorted everything out by then. In the meantime, I need to go over a few last-minute details with you.” Noticing Bridget’s hands, Blythe leaned in and suspiciously peered at her fingernails. “Bridget! You’ve painted your nails purple! No! Absolutely not! What happened to the pink shade I bought you?”
    Bridget popped her head back up. “You were serious about that? It looked like overdone cotton candy. I thought you were kidding.”
    Blythe took a deep breath, while Bridget gazed appraisingly at her nails. “I think they look nice,” she said stubbornly.
    “We’ll talk about it later,” said Blythe firmly. As she propelled Bridget out of the room, she launched into a rapid recitation of the two dozen or more things that needed immediate attention.
    Graham watched his wife and daughter leave, his black eyes sparkling with laughter. “In about five minutes, I expect Bridget will wish her mother was one of the nonspeaking family members,” he predicted. “But speaking of last-minute details. Peter, could I borrow you for a few seconds? Since you are in the hotelbusiness, I want to ask your opinion on the setup for the reception tonight.”
    Peter stood up. “Sure. I’ll be glad to help.”
    “Thanks. This way,” said Graham, as he exited through the French doors at the back of the room.
    Peter squeezed my shoulder lightly. “See you later,” he said, following Graham.
    I waved good-bye, took another sip of coffee, and finished my bagel. Claire sat with me for a few more minutes before excusing herself as well. The dining room was now empty save for me, and I settled into my chair and enjoyed the quiet. Resting my head against the top rung of the high-backed chair, I idly studied the long room. Icy lime green walls were topped with intricately carved crown molding. To me, it had always looked like thick icing on a wedding cake. A long mahogany sideboard ran along the left wall. Along the right stood two enormous hutches, each displaying several patterns of china and crystal. At the far end of the room was a set of tall