Wedding Bel Blues: A Belfast McGrath Mystery (Bel McGrath Mysteries) by Maggie McConnon
Authors: Maggie McConnon
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“Wine’s on the house. If you stick around, don’t be a stranger,” he said over his shoulder.
I’d try. But these days, I wasn’t sure who I was, where I belonged. The past could do that to you, make you a stranger to yourself.
CHAPTER Seven
“I brought you a cheeseburger.”
My mother was waiting for me when I walked in, having mounted the rickety stairs to the apartment over the garage in her high heels and dress before I got back home. She had a key and wasn’t above using it. How did I know that? Well, first, I always lock the door, my life in New York City and some sketchy apartments I’d lived in convincing me that the world wasn’t a completely safe place. Also, I now had a toilet brush and cleaner in the space where I had put a makeshift litter box, hoping that the feral cat would settle down and become mine completely, even though I was still at a loss as to what to call him. Or her. I could never get close enough to find out. My refrigerator was regularly stocked with salads and things made with lentils, otherwise known to me as “lentil crap.” Sometimes, even though I never made my bed, it was all arranged, new throw pillows at the head, when I returned home at the end of the day. Other times, my living room smelled like Febreze.
I made a mental note to change the locks the next day and then remembered that in order to do so I’d need to make money. And ask my Dad’s permission. With Caleigh off on her honeymoon, probably bemoaning how “her day” was ruined by a guy dying and how it “just wasn’t fair,” I couldn’t ask my cousin for a loan, even though, all told, she probably owed me close to a grand from her borrowing money over the years. Talk about “not fair.” Not being fair was the story of our childhoods, her rallying cry when she didn’t get her way. (Which wasn’t often.) I got a new bike while she rode last year’s model? It wasn’t fair. I got an A on the Geometry Regents and she had to repeat the test in August? Not fair. Everyone was paying attention to me because my best friend was missing? Totally unfair. Amy had been Caleigh’s friend, too. Had everyone forgotten how she might feel?
You know what wasn’t fair? Getting fired for something you didn’t do. That was the unfairest thing of them all. Knowing your fiancé had cheated on you repeatedly and lied to your face. Not having the wedding you thought would be the best day of your life.
All not fair.
Mom was sitting on my Ikea sofa, picking disconsolately at the fabric, her makeup still flawless even after the Siege and everything that had happened at the wedding, her thin legs crossed at the ankles. “Hungry?”
I opened the Styrofoam container and inspected its contents. With blood leaking out of the sides of the burger and ketchup covering the fries, all I could see was Declan Morrison’s busted head and not one of the best cheeseburgers the Landing had to offer. I closed it and thanked Mom. “Maybe later,” I said, kicking off my shoes and climbing onto the couch, finding myself curling up into the crook of her left arm, something I was much too old to do. “Did you meet Declan during the wedding?” I asked.
“Declan who?”
“The dead guy.”
“Oh, him,” Mom said. “I guess during the cocktail hour.” She kicked off her pumps, a beautiful pair of black sling-backs that never would have supported my thick ankles. Irish ankles, the kind that you get from taking ten years of Irish-dancing lessons, or that you were just unfortunate to inherit from your father’s side of the family, Aunt Finnoula the likely culprit. Mom had the legs of a Thoroughbred, but even that wasn’t enough to convince me to get me hooked up into one of her Pilates machines for a spell.
“He’s supposedly Caleigh’s third cousin or something?”
“Or something?” Mom murmured, a question mark at the end.
“But Dad knew him.”
“He did?” She shifted slightly, redistributing my weight. “I don’t
I’d try. But these days, I wasn’t sure who I was, where I belonged. The past could do that to you, make you a stranger to yourself.
CHAPTER Seven
“I brought you a cheeseburger.”
My mother was waiting for me when I walked in, having mounted the rickety stairs to the apartment over the garage in her high heels and dress before I got back home. She had a key and wasn’t above using it. How did I know that? Well, first, I always lock the door, my life in New York City and some sketchy apartments I’d lived in convincing me that the world wasn’t a completely safe place. Also, I now had a toilet brush and cleaner in the space where I had put a makeshift litter box, hoping that the feral cat would settle down and become mine completely, even though I was still at a loss as to what to call him. Or her. I could never get close enough to find out. My refrigerator was regularly stocked with salads and things made with lentils, otherwise known to me as “lentil crap.” Sometimes, even though I never made my bed, it was all arranged, new throw pillows at the head, when I returned home at the end of the day. Other times, my living room smelled like Febreze.
I made a mental note to change the locks the next day and then remembered that in order to do so I’d need to make money. And ask my Dad’s permission. With Caleigh off on her honeymoon, probably bemoaning how “her day” was ruined by a guy dying and how it “just wasn’t fair,” I couldn’t ask my cousin for a loan, even though, all told, she probably owed me close to a grand from her borrowing money over the years. Talk about “not fair.” Not being fair was the story of our childhoods, her rallying cry when she didn’t get her way. (Which wasn’t often.) I got a new bike while she rode last year’s model? It wasn’t fair. I got an A on the Geometry Regents and she had to repeat the test in August? Not fair. Everyone was paying attention to me because my best friend was missing? Totally unfair. Amy had been Caleigh’s friend, too. Had everyone forgotten how she might feel?
You know what wasn’t fair? Getting fired for something you didn’t do. That was the unfairest thing of them all. Knowing your fiancé had cheated on you repeatedly and lied to your face. Not having the wedding you thought would be the best day of your life.
All not fair.
Mom was sitting on my Ikea sofa, picking disconsolately at the fabric, her makeup still flawless even after the Siege and everything that had happened at the wedding, her thin legs crossed at the ankles. “Hungry?”
I opened the Styrofoam container and inspected its contents. With blood leaking out of the sides of the burger and ketchup covering the fries, all I could see was Declan Morrison’s busted head and not one of the best cheeseburgers the Landing had to offer. I closed it and thanked Mom. “Maybe later,” I said, kicking off my shoes and climbing onto the couch, finding myself curling up into the crook of her left arm, something I was much too old to do. “Did you meet Declan during the wedding?” I asked.
“Declan who?”
“The dead guy.”
“Oh, him,” Mom said. “I guess during the cocktail hour.” She kicked off her pumps, a beautiful pair of black sling-backs that never would have supported my thick ankles. Irish ankles, the kind that you get from taking ten years of Irish-dancing lessons, or that you were just unfortunate to inherit from your father’s side of the family, Aunt Finnoula the likely culprit. Mom had the legs of a Thoroughbred, but even that wasn’t enough to convince me to get me hooked up into one of her Pilates machines for a spell.
“He’s supposedly Caleigh’s third cousin or something?”
“Or something?” Mom murmured, a question mark at the end.
“But Dad knew him.”
“He did?” She shifted slightly, redistributing my weight. “I don’t
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