The Glass Coffin by Gail Bowen Page A

words were intended as reassurance or warning. In her champagne silk jacket and skirt, Claudia was a figure of head-turning elegance, but there was steel in her manner. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine her pinning her Rottweiler puppies on the ground, showing them that the sooner they recognized she was dominant, the better it would be for everyone.
    By the time Gaia Powell, the photographer, arrived, we had our masks in place. Inwardly, the members of Jill’s wedding party might be racked by panic, uncertainty, fury, jealousy, hatred, or terror, but outwardly we were picture perfect. Gaia, a lanky young woman in overalls, gave us the once over and announced that this shoot was going to be a breeze. Jill was clearly not a Bridezilla who obsessed about every detail, and we had a seriously edgy look going for us.
    It was the year of the strapless dress, and Jill’s was an exquisite, classic cream satin that brought out the warmth of her skin and the highlights in her sleeked-back auburn hair. The blood had left a faint pink stain on the camellias, but Rapti had tucked the flowers behind Jill’s ear so skilfully that the imperfect petals were hidden. The dresses for Jill’s attendants were black, Bryn’s choice. I’d been dubious about a colour I’d always associated with funerals, but the gowns were stunning. Bryn’s and mine were strapless sheaths with matching stoles lined in cream; Taylor’s dress had a simple cream top and a full black satin skirt. Urban chic.
    For the first ten minutes, Gaia praised the practised ease with which we moved in and out of our poses, but when Tracy Lowell came through the front door, our poise shattered. Bryn and Taylor were oblivious, but the rest of us suddenly became as tentative as people who had been blindfolded and told to walk over a floor littered with razor blades.
    From the outset, Tracy’s behaviour was bizarre. She was wearing an outfit that could only be described as bridal: a simple white silk shift, matching pumps, pearls, and, in case anyone had missed the intent, a white-lace mantilla draped artfully over her dark hair. Claudia took one look at her sister-in-law and growled, “What the hell are you doing? Get back to the hotel and change. I mean it.”
    Tracy dimpled innocently. “I thought I’d bring the happy couple luck by wearing something old.”
    “You must be insane,” Claudia said.
    I tried to lower the emotional thermostat. “It’s a lovely dress,” I said, “but the mantilla might be prettier draped around your shoulders.”
    Claudia glared at me. “She could drape it around her ass, and she’d still be wearing the dress Annie wore when she married Evan.”
    My heart sank. Tracy must be crazy. I shot a quick glance at Jill to see her reaction. Predictably, she had rushed to Bryn, who was standing in front of the pier glass between the long windows in the hall, wholly absorbed in her mirror image.
    “I’m sure Tracy would change if you asked her to,” Jill said gently.
    “It’s just a dress,” Bryn said tonelessly to her reflection. Her gaze shifted to her aunt. “But, Tracy, I wish you’d let me have those pearls. I like having things that belong to people. Not just material things – secrets too.”
    Without hesitation, Tracy undid the clasp of her necklace and handed the pearls to her niece.
    Bryn held the necklace against her throat. “Perfect,” she said. Jill moved behind her stepdaughter-to-be and fastened the pearls. As she checked the mirror to make sure that the effect was indeed perfect, Jill’s hands dropped to Bryn’s shoulders. The gesture was one of such unaffected tenderness that Gaia Powell was beaming as she snapped the shot. Mother Love.
    I turned away. I’d spent a lifetime watching Jill squander her emotional capital. Now she was turning her life inside out for a girl who didn’t give a rat’s ass for her. Suddenly, I was sick of the whole thing. The hours before the ceremony were now down to single