The Glass Coffin by Gail Bowen Page B

digits. My fantasy that Gabe Leventhal was going to rescue the situation was looking more and more like the plotline for a B movie. In all likelihood, the cold light of day had brought Gabe fresh perspective and he’d decided he didn’t want any part of the wedding or of me and hit the road.
    When Gaia called me over to join Jill for the traditional photos of the bride and her matron of honour, my legs were leaden. As I smoothed an indiscernible wrinkle in one of the panels that formed Jill’s sculptured bodice, I tried a smile.
    Gaia shook her curls impatiently. “Come on, Joanne, your friend is getting married, not drawn and quartered.”
    I took another crack at it, but Gaia’s grimace made it clear I was still short of the mark. “AA’ s got a great expression,” she said. “ ‘Fake it until you make it.’ How about a nice fake smile, Joanne?”
    Jill raised her hand in a halt gesture. “Maybe just give us a moment, Gaia,” she said. “Why don’t you get some pictures of the kids with the dog?”
    “You’re paying the bill,” Gaia said, and she wandered off with her camera.
    As soon as we were alone, Jill turned to me. “Jo, I need you to help me get through this. I know this isn’t a great romance. I even know that Bryn has certain …,” she averted her eyes, “certain gaps in her emotional makeup. But you’re the one who told me that in every relationship there has to be a gardener and a flower. I’m prepared to be the gardener here. Bryn hasn’t had an easy life. She deserves a chance to be hopeful and young.”
    “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy,” I said.
    “Then let me help Bryn,” Jill said. She slid her arms around me, and a flash exploded.
    Gaia cheered. “That’s the shot I was going for,” she said. “Only three more Very Special Moments, and we’re out of here.”
    We drove to the gallery under a dark and threatening sky. As we passed through the familiar streets, I stared out the window, feeling thoroughly miserable. Jill didn’t seem to be doing much better. Surrounded by the soft folds of her dark green hood, her face appeared pale and tense. “Hey,” I said, “remember ‘Fake it until you make it’?”
    “Easier said than done,” Jill said, continuing to stare straight ahead.
    Tracy had insisted that Bryn ride with her and Claudia. In Bryn’s absence, Angus reverted to his usual raucous self, and he was amusing his sister by devising a series of inventive and excruciating tortures for Danny Jacobs. It was hard not to be drawn into their fun, but Jill’s smile was remote, like that of someone suffering from an illness. I patted her hand and turned away, relieved the drive to the gallery was a short one.
    Felix Schiff was waiting for us under the portico. He was holding an umbrella, and as soon as he spotted our limo, he sprinted towards us. When the limo driver opened the passenger door, Felix positioned the umbrella carefully. “I thought this might keep the snow off your hair,” he said.
    “You’re a good soul,” Jill said.
    Felix’s expression was wistful. “Maybe once upon a time,” he said. Then he offered Jill his hand. “Time to go,” he said.
    Dizzy with the adventure of it all, Taylor raced ahead into the building and Angus plodded after her. I stayed in the limo, wondering and delaying the inevitable. When Felix came back for me, I motioned him inside. He closed the umbrella, slid in, and crouched on one of the jump seats.
    “Is there a problem?” he asked.
    “I think there may be,” I said. “Have you heard from Gabe?”
    Felix gazed out the window of the limo. “Why would he call me?”
    “Because you two go way back. Gabe and I watched the ending of Black Spikes and Slow Waves together last night. I saw you in your flaming youth.”
    “That particular time in my life is nothing to joke about,” Felix said stiffly.
    “Then fill me in,” I said. “Felix, you’re the only person I trust who has a link to Gabe. This