Ultraviolet. Nancy Bush

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      I paused a beat before saying, “Okay.”

      I hung up, my momentary excitement at finally breaking through the Hatchmere wall taking a nosedive. The idea of starting anything at midnight made me inwardly groan. I’d been a bartender for a number of years, but I’d lived a different lifestyle then, becoming by necessity a “night person” and sleeping during the day. I’d effectively switched fully to the daylight hours in the time since, so I knew I would struggle to stay awake tonight. Napping always sounds like a good alternative, but, except for that bartending era when my days and nights were completely flipped, I’ve never been able to master it.

      But Sean Hatchmere had given me a gift.

      As I squeezed my way to the dock, I was just in time to hear Violet say, “What is it with you and those binoculars?” in a peeved voice.

      I smiled inwardly, seeing Dwayne’s obsession in a positive light for the first time. Especially when he answered, “Darlin’, you have no idea what you can learn. See that house over there? The one under construction? Do Not Enter’s got some serious teen parties happening every weekend.”

      “Teenagers,” Violet responded derisively.

      “Can’t decide whether to report ’em to our local law enforcement, or head over there myself and score whatever they’re sharin’ amongst their secretive little selves.” Dwayne grinned up at Violet from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

      Violet threw a look my way. “I can’t get him to take me seriously.”

      “Jane’s your lead investigator.”

      “I know, I know.” Violet sighed.

      I broke in. “I just got a call from Sean Hatchmere. I’m meeting him at the Crock tonight.”

      “Good,” Violet said with feeling. “That’s what I’m paying for! Still no luck with Gigi?” I shook my head. “Well, maybe Sean can help you there. He doesn’t like his sister much, though. Nobody does—did—except Roland.”

      Violet and I left Dwayne on the dock as we headed through his cabana and out to our cars. A brisk breeze whipped past, running like a ribbon through the tree boughs. I paused to look around me, waiting for Violet to get into her car, a white Mercedes convertible, which she did after searching in her purse for her cell phone. I watched her unlock the vehicle by remote while she connected to her housekeeper, outlining what she wanted done with the red wine stains on the carpet. As she drove away I had a mental picture of her alone in her mansion, drinking wine, worrying about whether she would be indicted for murder.

      She’d married a series of husbands and never improved her financial situation with each divorce. She’d married for love, I guess. Or the hope of love and companionship.

      It was ironic that the wealth had come to her from her own family, a group of relatives she’d been separated from for years. She might be facing a murder trial in her future, but at least she could pay for it with Purcell funds.

      I climbed into my Volvo wagon and headed home. Another blast of hail came at me like a round of artillery. It made me wonder what I was going to wear to my midnight rendezvous with Sean at the Crock. I found myself beginning to look forward to the event, now that I’d mentally conditioned myself.

      And there was always the chance that I might see Megan Adair, one of the Crock’s bartenders and the woman who’d dropped The Binkster, my newly adopted pug, on my doorstep.

      Who knew? If I wasn’t careful, I might learn something.

      CHAPTER TWO

      I arrived back at my cottage around four o’clock, realizing I had a full eight-hour shift of waiting time till midnight and my rendezvous with Sean. There’s a lot of waiting in this job, and I’m not all that good at it. Maybe I should take up a hobby. Like crossword puzzles or that Sudoku rage. Currently my pastimes appear to be coffee and wine consumption. I’m going for the gold in both pursuits, and I think I could actually get a medal. For exercise I jog from my cottage to the Coffee Nook.

      Binkster, my adopted pug, met me at the door, wriggling wildly. I picked her up and we sat down on the couch together, where I petted her and she flopped across my lap as if to say, “Mine.” This pleased me to no end. Unconditional love. Who knew it could be so good? I’ve only had the dog a few months, but she’s become this integral part of my life in a way that still stuns me. I suspect this must be what motherhood’s like—a new addition to your family/life that wasn’t there before, and suddenly is too important to even quantify. She tangled with a car recently and still has the shaved hind leg to prove it. It looks a little like she’s wearing stockings. Well…stocking. I feel gut-wrenchingly bad about the accident, both because Binks was hurt and it was partially my fault. The great thing about Binks, though, is she neither holds it against me, nor probably even remembers. Except when she sees the grill of a vehicle. Then she tends to shy away and who can blame her? She feels the same way about grates over storm drains. She always eyes them warily and gives them a wide berth. I don’t know what that’s from, though I suspect there may be some buried trauma there from puppyhood.

      After a few minutes I dislodged the pug who heaved a disappointed sigh and pressed right against my leg as I reached for my laptop. I decided I might as well edit my notes. I’d made a timeline of the events that read:

      FRIDAY

      6:00 p.m.—Rehearsal dinner at Castellina, forty people invited, Roland was there. Everyone invited is in attendance except Sean (the bride’s brother), who has previous plans of unknown origin. Violet is not invited to any wedding event.

      SATURDAY

      10:00 a.m.—Gigi (the bride) and Melinda (the bride’s stepmother) at Castellina early for hair and makeup. Various bridesmaids arrive. Female bonding all around. Emmett Popparockskill stays at apartment he and Gigi shared before the wedding day. (Roland is apparently at his house. Never made it to the winery/ceremony.)

      1:00 p.m.—Gigi and bridesmaids head by limo to Cahill Winery for pictures, wedding and reception.

      2:00 p.m.—Pictures scheduled at Cahill Winery. Emmett drives himself to winery for pictures. His parents arrive, David and Goldy Popparockskill. Various groomsmen arrive. Concern grows when Roland neither shows nor answers his home or cell phone.

      3:00 p.m.—More guests arrive. Wedding is slated for four, but by now the atmosphere’s tense with worry. People leave in search of Roland. Gigi stays, breaks down. Emmett heads to Roland’s house. The bridesmaids and groomsmen hit the bar early.

      3:30 p.m.—Emmett discovers Roland’s body. There are items scattered around, wedding presents dropped in the front yard. Suspicion grows that the Wedding Bandits were interrupted by Roland and killed him. Violet’s prints are the only ones on the tray.

      My timeline didn’t offer much more than a listing of the events as they occurred. I’d grilled Violet about her own timeline for that morning, and Violet was forthcoming about the fact that she and Roland had gotten in an argument and she’d hit him with the silver tray. But that information was documented fact from the police report, something she couldn’t deny. Obviously, there was a hell of a lot left unsaid. She’d been pretty cagey about her relationship with her third ex, acting as if they were just reunited friends, but we’re talking about Violet here. She’s not known for platonic relationships with men.

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