By Mary Daheim
Unholy Matrimony Ask no longer for whom the marriage bell tolls, it tolls for Judith McMonigle Flynn's son Mike--and the Hillside Manor b&b is packed to the rafters with family members. even if, Mama Judith's unrestrained pleasure is just a little dampened whilst, throughout the practice session dinner downtown, she spies a tuxedo-clad gent tossing a bridal-gowned attractiveness off the roof of a close-by inn. constantly one to eagerly exclaim "I do!" while provided the chance to enquire nefarious deeds, Judith's decision to unveil a killer may perhaps positioned undo pressure on her personal marital bliss with policeman-hubby Joe. yet she is still wedded to her mission--and she's now not approximately to take a honeymoon from novice sleuthing until eventually she's gotten to the ground of the homicidal hanky-panky surrounding a fit made in hell.
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Unholy Matrimony Ask now not for whom the marriage bell tolls, it tolls for Judith McMonigle Flynn's son Mike--and the Hillside Manor b&b is packed to the rafters with family. besides the fact that, Mama Judith's unrestrained pleasure is a bit dampened while, throughout the practice session dinner downtown, she spies a tuxedo-clad gent tossing a bridal-gowned good looks off the roof of a close-by lodge.
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Extra resources for Wed and Buried
The two men acknowledged each other in the monosyllabic manner that passed for male greetings. Judith retrieved her gin and tonic. Like Judith, Joe was a native Pacific Northwestern who despised hot weather. Furthermore, his rubicund complexion lent itself to sunburn. He had arrived home in a bad mood. ” he demanded, making only a desultory attempt to brush Judith’s cheek with his lips. “Quiche,” Judith gulped. Joe recoiled. “Quiche? That’s ladies’ luncheon food. ” Judith sucked at the ice cubes in her glass.
The workmen had been dispersed, and the path to the ambulance was clear. Judith grabbed her shoes and ran, heedless of the havoc she was wreaking on her good pantyhose. ” Judith cried, no longer able to conceal her presence. “Is it her? ” Startled, Joe stared at Judith from behind dark glasses. “What the…? ” He didn’t sound pleased to see his wife. Woody, however, nodded pleasantly. Joe’s partner was in his mid-thirties, with brown skin the color of polished mahogany, a walrus mustache, and deep brown eyes that could convey both heart-wrenching melancholy and an 46 / Mary Daheim unexpected puckish humor.
Morris Mitchell, the flamboyant photographer who had been hired to film all the wedding events, was slipping in and out, clicking his camera and making hissing noises. No one paid much attention, which, Judith reflected, was the sign of a good photographer. Yes, the guests were definitely oblivious to everything but food and drink. Away from a church atmosphere, they were unwinding in a strange and wondrous way. More than unwinding, Judith noted, as Kristin’s brother Norm put a cluster of white and yellow roses on his head and began to dance the hula.
Wed and Buried by Mary Daheim