Page 149 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“Noneof it makes sense,” Fred says with his arm around Emma’s shoulders. They make a striking pair, even now. Emma in her white sheath dress and Fred in his tux. “This is ourwedding. It’ssupposed to be a time of celebration. Not a place to air out old hurts.”

Fred’s quoting from something again, I’m not sure what. But he might also be onto something.

“What do you mean, Fred?”

“As just established before the fracas, someone is trying to kill Connor, notme.Yourstalker is here. You’ve been acting as if this is all about me, or me and Emma. But it’s clearly aboutyou.”

Harper gasps, and the room turns to me as a sinking feeling fills my heart.

Is he right? Have we been looking in the wrong direction all along?

Am I the main character in this story after all?85,86

The lights flicker again and the French doors open, bringing in a swirl of rain and a very wet Officer Anderson hauling Cathy in front of her. Her hands are cuffed with a zip tie, her hair is matted down, and there’s a streak of dirt on her cheek.

“Let me go!” she says as she struggles against Officer Anderson’s grip.

“Stop moving or I’ll tighten the restraints.”

Cathy settles as Officer Anderson leads her to a chair in our circle and pushes her down into it. “Sit here. Do. Not. Move. I will be back in a moment.” She looks at Oliver. “Please guard that door.”

Oliver moves to the door, blocking the exit with his arms crossed over his chest.

Officer Anderson walks toward the other door, with her radio up to her ear, which is squawking with a disembodied voice.

I guess she’s calling in yet another crime, but what can dispatch do about it?

Nothing until the storm clears.

Which I assume will last conveniently long enough for us to figure out what’s going on.

Or until we’re all killed.

“Cathy,” Harper says, “what are you doing here?”

Cathy looks at her through her dripping bleached-blond hair. “El was in trouble.”

“What?” I say.

Cathy looks around the room, her eyes unfocused until she gets to Mr. and Mrs. Winter.

“I didn’t knowyouwere here,” Cathy says. “I’m a big fan! I’ve seen every episode ofTrial by Night!”87

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Winter says. “Perhaps I could sign something for you later?”

“I’d love that. But I left my autograph book at home. But maybe—”

“Um, Cathy?” I say. “This isnotthe time.”

She turns her eyes to me, and they soften, like eyes do when they look at something they love.

I shiver, but I don’t look away. “Why did you come here?”

“I read the stories online. I heard someone died. I came to save you.”

“You came here in the storm?”

“I took a boat.”

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