You May Now Kill the Bride (Return to Fear Street Book 1)

The white flowers on the arch ruffled in a light breeze. The sun floated directly above the mesa, hovering in a robin’s-egg-blue sky.

Ruth-Ann took a deep breath. The air up here smelled so cool and sweet. She sat in the fourth row of seats, to the left of the aisle, pulling her silk violet hat over her hair, arranging her long skirt, the ground soft beneath her shoes.

A buzz of voices surrounded her. Peter’s family had already taken their seats at the front on the other side of the aisle. Ruth-Ann admired the dresses worn by a group of cousins edging their way into the row in front of her. Everyone in their most colorful finery. The men in such dark, serious suits and the women in their fanciest plumage, colorful as birds.

She craned her neck to survey the guests behind her. A solitary figure caught her eye. She shielded her eyes from the sunlight and squinted.

Nelson Swift?

Yes. Nelson in a pinstripe suit, a black necktie pinching his starched white collar. Nelson, his light hair blowing in the wind, his face locked in a blank stare at the altar.

Why was Nelson here? Why did he travel all the way to Colorado? Ruth-Ann knew for a fact that he hadn’t been invited. His name hadn’t been mentioned in her house since the day he threatened Randolph Fear and lost his job.

Ruth-Ann had an impulse to go back to his row, to walk up to him and just demand, “Nelson, what are you doing here?” But she was settled in her seat, and she would have to disturb four or five others to get to the aisle.

Instead of getting up, she stared hard at him, hoping her mind waves would draw his attention. But Nelson kept his gaze on the altar, his expression blank, mysteriously vacant.

Ruth-Ann heard oohs and aahs. She turned, thinking the wedding ceremony had started. But the guests were reacting to a large red hawk that soared low over the mesa, floating with raised wings, then vanishing below them.

The voices all stilled as the organist, a young man in a black tuxedo, began to play. How did they get an organ up here? Ruth-Ann wondered. They must have brought it in a horse cart.

Ruth-Ann raised her face to the sun. The warmth felt soothing, almost calming. She settled back in the chair, thinking about how happy she was not to be in the wedding party.

I can enjoy the spectacle, she thought.

But when Peter appeared, doing his slow walk up the aisle between his two parents, she suddenly felt cold, as if the sunlight had disappeared.

Will all my old feelings come rushing back to me?

Will my anger, my feelings of betrayal, my dismay at being cheated of the boy I cared about—will they all come sweeping in now and send me back into dark despair?

Ruth-Ann held her breath and watched Peter walk up the aisle with his parents, watched and waited for the powerful feelings to return.

No. She was fine. A single shudder shook her body. She was fine.

I can make it through this. I’m going to be okay.

Peter’s mother wore a satiny blue dress, the skirt short, the back cut out, and had a bell-shaped cloche hat pulled down over her straight gray hair.

That outfit is much too young for her, Ruth-Ann thought. Does she think she’s the bride?

Ruth-Ann was amused by how much Peter resembled his father. They both had owlish round faces and wore circular, black-framed eyeglasses.

Peter had his dark hair parted in the middle and so slicked down with hair oil, his head reflected the sunlight. He wore a stephanotis corsage on his lapel and had a bright purple handkerchief in the pocket of his suit jacket.

Not his usual style, Ruth-Ann sneered. He looks so nervous. Why doesn’t he at least force a smile?

Jonny Penderman followed. He was Peter’s best man. In contrast to the groom, Jonny had a wide, goofy grin on his face, as if he thought the whole thing was a hoot.

Ruth-Ann’s parents walked arm in arm toward the altar. Her mother already had tears in her eyes. She dabbed at her face with a white lace handkerchief. Randolph Fear winked at Ruth-Ann as they passed.

Lily followed them, looking lovely in her simple cream-colored maid of honor dress, a satiny sash tied in a graceful bow at her waist. Ruth-Ann watched the five bridesmaids march in and form a line facing the altar.

Then all eyes turned to the back as the bride approached the altar. Beautiful Rebecca. A tense smile frozen on her face. A bouquet gripped tightly between her hands. Her normally pale face slightly flushed from her excitement. Her eyes on Peter as she walked slowly, gracefully along the white carpet.

The parents took their seats. The minister appeared behind the podium. Ruth-Ann squirmed, trying to see him better. But the bride and groom blocked her view. She saw that he was tall and thin and tanned with a shock of white hair over his forehead. “Welcome, everyone!” he exclaimed. “Welcome. Welcome, everyone.”

He had to shout. Ruth-Ann knew that her father had wanted to try one of those newfangled loudspeakers he had read about. He had contacted the Edison Company to see if they had one that would work. But he was disappointed to learn that no loudspeaker could work since there was no electricity on the mesa.

“We are gathered here today to join Rebecca Ellen Fear and Peter Arthur Goodman in holy matrimony.” The minister lowered his eyes to the podium as he began the ceremony.

His voice drifted in and out of Ruth-Ann’s hearing. A burst of wind brought his words loud and clear. When the wind reversed, he sounded muffled and far away.

Peter and Rebecca held hands as the minister spoke.

The sight of them there. The perfect wedding tableau. Everyone so good-looking and well dressed and happy. The lucky couple with their hands clasped, already united even before the ceremony was over.

How could Ruth-Ann not feel bitter?

She gritted her teeth, her whole body suddenly tense. She tried to slow her pounding heartbeats. She shifted in her seat, the minister’s words flowing past her, not really hearing them, only hearing a steady drone of voice and wind.

And then she heard the words clearly as the minister gestured to Peter, raising both hands. “And now . . . you may kiss the bride.”

Ruth-Ann saw people arching forward, twisting in their seats, to get a better view. The big, happy conclusion. The kiss that everyone anticipated.

Peter turned to Rebecca. He didn’t smile. Squinting, Ruth-Ann was surprised to see a blank, emotionless look on his face.

And then people gasped as he bent and lifted Rebecca off her feet. He picked her up and held her in front of him.

And whispered voices rang out all around Ruth-Ann . . .

“How romantic.”

“Look. He picked her up to kiss her.”

“So adorable. The most romantic thing I ever saw.”

Holding Rebecca like a baby, Peter lowered his face to hers and kissed her lips. And as they kissed, he walked to the edge of the mesa. He held the kiss for another few seconds. Then he raised her in his arms and tossed her over the side of the cliff.

Rebecca’s shrill scream would linger in everyone’s ears for weeks, even though it lasted for only a few seconds.