Chapter 2 - The Uninvited Ghost
The chapel doors were opened ten minutes before the ceremony. Guests were taking their seats on polished mahogany chiavari chairs, admiring the cascading floral installations hanging from the vaulted ceiling.
Near the front row sat Colleen Parker. She was wearing an emerald-green silk gown, her diamond necklace sparkling under the chandeliers, her silver hair styled in an elaborate updo. She was smiling, chatting warmly with Jonathan Sterling and his wife, playing the part of the refined, aristocratic mother of the groom to absolute perfection.
Beside the altar stood Adrian.
He looked impeccable. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, his lapels were tailored to perfection, and his silver cuff links—the ones I had bought him for his thirtieth birthday—glinted in the warm light.
He was laughing softly with his best man, leaning in to whisper a joke, looking completely relaxed, utterly untouched by guilt or sorrow.
I walked down the central aisle carrying two large brass urns filled with blood-red roses. My leather tool belt clicked softly against my hip with every step.
Colleen was the first to notice me.
As I approached the front row, her eyes drifted away from Jonathan Sterling and landed on my face. The smile froze on her lips. Her glass of sparkling water wobbled in her manicured hand, spilling cold drops onto her emerald silk dress.
"Meredith..." she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.
Adrian turned around at the sound of his mother's voice.
Our eyes met across three feet of space.
The color drained from Adrian's face so fast it was as if every drop of blood in his body had been sucked out by an invisible vacuum. His knees buckled slightly, his hand reaching out out of pure instinct to grab the alter rail to keep from falling.
"M... Meredith?" he gasped, his lips trembling, his throat working frantically to construct words that wouldn't come.
"Good afternoon, Adrian," I said, my voice echoing through the front three rows of seated guests. I set the heavy brass urns down on the altar pedestal with a loud, resounding THUD. "Or should I call you by whatever new legal name you purchased after your closed-casket funeral three months ago?"
The guests in the front rows froze.
Jonathan Sterling frowned, stepping forward from his seat. "Excuse me? Who is this woman? Is she part of the venue staff?"
Colleen jumped up from her chair, her eyes wide with hysterical panic. She rushed toward me, trying to grab my arm to pull me toward the side door. "Meredith! Please! Not here! Step outside with me right now! I can explain everything!"
I shook her hand off my arm with one swift, contemptuous movement.
"Don't touch me, Colleen," I said, turning my eyes back onto Adrian, who was standing behind the altar like a condemned man waiting for the trapdoor to open beneath his feet. "You stood beside me at the cemetery. You held my hand while they lowered a pine box full of sandbags into the ground. You watched me drop a white lily onto his grave while I wept so hard I nearly fainted."
A collective, audible gasp swept through the chapel.
"What is she talking about?!" Genevieve’s mother shrieked from the second row, standing up to glare at Colleen. "Jonathan! Who is this woman?!"
Adrian took a trembling step toward me, reaching out a hand. "Meredith... please... you don't understand... the debt... the firm was going to ruin my family... I didn't have a choice!"
"You had every choice in the world, Adrian," I said, pulling my phone from my apron pocket and opening my camera app. "You chose to murder your own life so you didn't have to face your responsibilities. And you let the woman who loved you carry the grief of your death while you bought a new suit for your new bride."
Before Adrian could answer, the rear doors of the chapel swung open wider, and Genevieve Sterling—dressed in a magnificent $30,000 lace gown—stepped into the foyer on the arm of her eldest brother, ready to walk down the aisle.
She took three steps into the chapel, paused, and looked at the commotion at the altar.
"What's going on?" Genevieve asked, her delicate voice cutting through the tense silence. "Why isn't the music playing?"
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I walked straight past Colleen, straight past Adrian, and stood at the head of the aisle, looking down at the young bride.
"Genevieve," I said, my voice calm, clear, and ringing across the high ceiling. "My name is Meredith Vance. I am the florist for your wedding today. And three months ago, I was the grieving widow of the man standing at your altar."
