White Wedding - Jean Barrett

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cautiously to his feet.

      There was another trail in the opposite direction along the edge of the bluff. It passed behind the chapel. It was a longer, indirect route to the beach. His stalker wouldn’t expect him to go that way.

      If he could just reach the snowmobile...

      His mind in a frenzy, loose coat flapping around him, Teddy loped out of the garden, heading toward the thick woods massed behind the chapel. The woods would offer a cover for his escape.

      He was nearing the path that rounded the tiny, dark chapel when his dreaded enemy moved out of the thick shadows of the porch where he had been lurking, cutting off his flight. Mewing his alarm like a trapped animal, Teddy came to a petrified halt.

      His stalker chuckled. “Gotcha,” he whispered triumphantly.

      There was a compound bow in his gloved hands. Powerful and accurate, an efficient killing machine. He raised the weapon slowly, directing it at his target. Teddy could see the aluminum shaft of a lethal arrow glinting in the moonlight. Understanding gripped him in an agony of icy fear.

      I’m going to die! I can’t die!

      “Please,” he begged, his plea a humiliating squeal for mercy. “Please—let me live.”

      “You’ll tell.”

      “I won’t...oh, I won’t.”

      “Promise?”

      “I swear.”

      “Liar.”

      There was a soft hissing sound. Nothing else. Teddy never realized the arrow had left the bow. He felt a strange burning sensation, and when he looked down the arrow was protruding from his chest. He clutched at it, struggling with it in a ghastly disbelief. Too late. He was already sinking to his knees, already choking on his own blood.

      The pale moon wheeled overhead, then went dark.

      Chapter One

      Lane knew that the setting was something she was supposed to be enjoying, not fearing. It had all the elements of a perfect Christmas card: a dazzling blue sky on a late-December afternoon. Snowy, wooded bluffs hugging the shores of Wisconsin’s Door Peninsula. And tucked between those bluffs the village of Ephraim, as charming as any traditional New England village.

      But Lane was unable to appreciate the appealing scene as she stood at the foot of the dock gazing out over the vast, frozen expanse of Green Bay. The prospect of crossing all that ice in an open sleigh was making her increasingly anxious.

      The five other members of the holiday party gathered with her at the dock apparently didn’t share her concern. They were busy exchanging a lively dialogue as they waited for the arrival of the sleighs. But then, she thought, they weren’t struggling with her painful memory.

      You don’t have a choice, Lane reminded herself sternly. This whole weekend is necessary, and that means enduring the ice.

      Among the company was an individual who threatened the happiness of someone she loved. She had promised that, if it was possible, she would find a way this weekend to ease the critical situation. The promise worried her, however. After all, this was not her prime reason for being here.

      “There,” said an affable male voice close behind her. “Can you make it out?”

      An arm extended over Lane’s shoulder. Its hand, wearing a distinctive silver-and-onyx ring, pointed helpfully toward a smudge far out on the horizon.

      “Thunder Island,” he said.

      He had misunderstood her preoccupation with the view, regarding it as anticipation for their destination. He didn’t know about her fear of the ice. She wanted to keep it that way.

      Lane turned her head, summoning a smile for the man at her elbow. He had a kind but unremarkable face, except for a pair of alert gray eyes and a quiet humor that seemed to perpetually hover around the corners of his mouth. Judge Dan Whitney was the bride’s cousin.

      “Looks pretty far out,” Lane observed, hoping her casualness masked her worry.

      “About six miles,” he indicated. “Wouldn’t you say, Allison?”

      The bride, to whom Thunder Island belonged, joined them. The presence of Allison Whitney, a striking, elegant blonde, reminded Lane of her main purpose for being here. She was to be her friend’s attendant at tomorrow’s ceremony.

      “At least,” Allison agreed. “But don’t let all that remoteness fool you, Lane. The lodge has every modern comfort, including a phone.”

      Lane considered Allison and decided she wasn’t mistaken. There was a definite quality of overbrightness in her quicksilver smile. Of course, every bride was entitled to a degree of nervousness on the eve of her wedding, but this seemed to be something more. She could swear, too, that Allison had been sneaking anxious glances at her ever since their arrival at the dock.

      Something was up, but Lane had no chance to question it. Allison captured their attention by declaring enthusiastically, “Oh, look, my caterer!”

      A young couple had emerged from a rambling old inn directly across the highway and was headed toward them.

      “Dick and Nancy Arnold,” Allison explained as the couple approached the dock. “He opened the place last summer. Cooks like a dream. We’ll eat royally this weekend.”

      She performed quick introductions all around as the Arnolds reached the group.

      Nancy Arnold greeted them and said, “Just came to extend our best wishes to the bride and groom.”

      “And,” Dick added, “to assure you, Allison, that all of the meals you ordered were picked up by your help this morning before they drove out to the island.”

      “The wedding cake is to die for,” Nancy promised, obviously proud of her husband’s accomplishment. “Dick outdid himself.”

      “Don’t oversell me, sweetheart,” he cautioned, grinning as he slid an arm around his wife.

      It was then that Lane noticed Nancy Arnold was radiantly pregnant. She had never seen a happier couple. Allison must have been equally aware of their joy in each other. She hooked an arm through her fiancé’s arm and drew him close, as though to prove her own happiness.

      Her small action troubled Lane. She eyed the groom standing silently beside Allison. Hale McGuire was tall and classically handsome, but there was something about him that lacked substance. What bothered Lane, however, was Allison’s determination about him. It struck her as missing a natural conviction. She hoped she was wrong.

      Allison thanked the Arnolds, then asked, “Do you know if Teddy Brewster finished the flowers on the island?”

      “The florist?” Nancy nodded. “Must have. He rented a snowmobile from us for the crossing, and it was back in place this morning and his car gone.”

      Dick frowned. “The funny thing is, though, he never stopped in to collect his deposit. Made me wonder.”

      “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Allison assured him. “Teddy is unpredictable, definitely an eccentric, but his arrangements are award winners.”

      An impatient Hale interrupted the exchange. “Here comes our transportation,” he said, indicating a pair of horse-drawn sleighs cutting along the edge of the ice in the direction of the dock.

      “Bells and all,” Nancy observed with an expression of envy. “A Christmas wedding in a marvelous old lodge on a winter-wonderland island, and with horse-drawn sleighs to get you there. Now, you can’t get much more romantic than that.”

      Dan Whitney chuckled. “Not to mention slightly impractical, considering the place was meant chiefly as a summer retreat, but our Allison here has been stubbornly insistent about this weekend.”

      Rather

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