Bride & Groom

to it than that.”
    Kevin looked at Rowdy and Kimi, who’d thrown themselves at his big feet. “I gotta ask you guys?”
    “Rowdy’s the one to ask. He went with me to Bonny Carr’s workshop. He acted horrible. Her method had to do with relieving anxiety by touching the dog. Massaging. And you know how Rowdy loves anything like that. And he would not cooperate. She’d say something about applying gentle pressure to the dog’s ears, and Rowdy would bounce up and start yelping. It was humiliating. But what I realized, belatedly, was that Rowdy was right. What he didn’t like was being there at all. And the reason was that he didn’t like Bonny Carr. He spotted something wrong. Something fake.”
    Kevin wrapped his giant hands around Rowdy’s muzzle and moved the big dog’s head back and forth. “You got a nose for a phony, huh?”
    “He did this time. Kevin, something about that woman just didn’t ring true. Supposedly, she was devoted to relieving trauma. But as I thought it over afterward, it seemed to me that what she was actually devoted to was presenting herself as a sort of savior. Her strong emphasis, her real energy, was directed at how she came across. I had the feeling that we were meant to leave there with the image of Saint Bonny. And that the dogs she was talking about didn’t matter much to her at all. Also, she more than suggested that Rowdy was acting wild because I’d abused him!”
    “Any connection between her and Victoria Trotter?”
    “Not that I know of. I don’t see why there should have been. Victoria had no interest in shelter dogs or rescue or anything like that. And what Bonny Carr did had no connection with the tarot or mysticism or anything remotely like that. In the world of dogs, they moved in completely different circles. The only possible connection I could think of was that both of them might’ve belonged to DWAA.” I refilled Kevin’s cup. “The Dog Writers Association of America. But I checked the DWAA directory, and neither of them belonged. You know, though, there’s one thing I’ve wondered. Kevin, do you know whether Laura Skipcliff owned a dog?”
    “No pets,” he said. “Not so much as an ant farm.”
    “Do you have idea what the murder weapon was? Or what the weapons were?”
    What I heard him say was, “Heavy metal.”
    I must’ve looked bewildered.
    “Metal object. Heavy. Probably new. Clean. Probably with a wooden handle. All along, I’ve been guessing a sledge hammer. Like they say, a blunt instrument. Not an ax.”
    “I have to tell you,” I said, “and I’m not the only person who feels this way—I really hope that all the people investigating these murders know a lot more than anyone is saying.”
    “You and me both.”
    “That’s why I was honest with you about Bonny Carr. And Victoria. Maybe my dislike wasn’t just a personal matter. Maybe it’s information. I’d like to say that they were both beautiful human beings, and it’s perfectly possible that lots of people thought so. But I didn’t.”
    “Hey, if it’s any consolation, someone agreed with you.”
    “It’s no consolation,” I said.
     

CHAPTER 20
     
    As promised, Rita arrived home in time for our shopping trip, which was to be no ordinary outing, but a ritual quest for nuptial finery. Consequently, two o’clock on Sunday afternoon found Rita, Leah, and me in Maurice’s Bridal Shop, a vast suburban strip-mall emporium recommended by Olivia Berkowitz. I almost wish that I’d counted the number of white gowns jammed into the miles of extralong racks, but if I’d started the task, I wouldn’t be done with it yet. There were trillions, each more elaborate than the others, or so it seemed to me.
    Yanking a heavy satin, lace, and seed-pearl garment from an overstuffed rack, my cousin Leah said, much too loudly, “Yuck! Holly, is this ever not you! What are we doing in this awful place? This thing looks like a Halloween costume for someone who wants to go as the pope.”
    “Leah, keep your voice down,” I whispered. “You may not care for the dress or the store, but for all you know, some woman in the next aisle just bought that exact dress and is thrilled with it. Or was until you opened your mouth.”
    Thereafter, Leah modulated her volume. Her opinions, however, remained unchanged, and she continued to claim that one dress looked like a mammoth christening gown, another like a First Communion outfit, and another like a nurse’s uniform. Rita, who also