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

“N-no,” I stammered. I stumbled back. I lowered my gaze. His stare was burning me. “No, I didn’t, Grandpa Bud. I didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t move. He shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand and continued to lock his gaze on me. “Harmony—”

“I swear,” I insisted. “Yes, I did those tricks last night. But I never—would never do anything to stop Marissa’s wedding.”

He still didn’t move.

“I’m telling the truth,” I said. “I had nothing to do with this, Grandpa. I . . . I don’t know what happened to Marissa. But . . . we’re all very frightened.”

For the first time, I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. My throat tightened. I had to force back the sobs that threatened to erupt.

Grandpa Bud seemed satisfied. He took a step back, too. “Walk with me to the lodge?”

I took his arm. We started to walk. The tears felt hot on my cheeks. I held my breath to keep from crying.

He patted my hand. “Marissa will be okay,” he said. “She’s a Fear. Like you and me. We’re not easy people, but we’re resilient.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I walked my grandfather to the lodge. Everyone seemed to be gathering in the dining hall. I could see that the staff had begun to serve lunch.

That food was for the reception, I thought. And more tears began to slide down my face.

I wiped them off before I entered my parents’ room. Mom was still in the armchair beside the couch. She had let her hair down and had a glass of brown liquid raised in one hand, probably scotch.

Robby sat hunched in a stiff-backed chair by the coffee table. He had his phone in his hands, but he wasn’t using it. He kept his head down and didn’t even look up when I walked in.

Dad and Doug stood behind the couch. They seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion. Dad was gesturing with both hands. Doug had removed his tux’s bow tie, and his shirt was open.

“Can you deny it?” Dad boomed. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me something wasn’t going on between you two when you arrived?” His voice cracked on the last word. He swatted a fly off one cheek.

Doug shrugged his broad shoulders. He looked like he was ready to burst out of his tux, just explode from it. “What do you want me to say?”

Mom took a long sip of her drink. I stepped up beside her chair and squeezed her hand.

Dad hesitated. “I . . . I just want you to tell us if you know anything. If you can help explain—”

“Look,” Doug said. “We weren’t getting along, okay? But it was no big deal. Marissa always doubted everything. She was always thinking and rethinking. You know.”

Dad nodded but didn’t reply.

“So she said she was having second thoughts,” Doug continued.

“And you didn’t feel you should tell us?” Dad’s voice rose to a shrill high note.

Doug shook his head. “Everyone knows that brides get the jitters. Maybe have their doubts. But . . . they always go through with the wedding.” He swallowed and lowered his gaze.

Dad shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped. He wiped a tear from one eye.

And for the first time since Marissa disappeared, I thought of that wedding at this lodge all those years ago, and the sisters who went over the cliff.

This is a cursed place, Grandpa Bud had said.

No. No way. Marissa did not go over the cliff. Marissa drove away. Or walked. Or flew. But Marissa did not go over the cliff.

Dad gripped the back of the couch with both hands. “Doug, are you sure you didn’t say something to Marissa to make her run away?”

Doug rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I told her I loved her. I told her I’d do everything to make sure our marriage worked. I made her believe me. I did.”

Dad made a choking sound. “If you made her believe you, why is she gone?”

Doug shut his eyes. “I can’t answer that. She . . . she was talking about our honeymoon. . . . You know. Our trip this fall. She . . . seemed really excited about it. I thought . . . I thought . . .”

His voice caught in his throat. He covered his face with both hands. His shoulders heaved up and down. I could tell he was crying.

Dad stepped forward and patted Doug on the shoulder. He turned to me with a helpless expression on his face. Dad isn’t good around people who are crying.

Mom raised her glass, and he hurried to the bar to fill it. “We called the local police,” she said to me. “They should be here soon.”

And something about those words made me remember the note.

How could I have forgotten it all this time?

I guess all the emotion, all the shock and tension just froze my brain. I had stuffed it into the little bag I planned to carry at the wedding. I pulled it out and unfolded it.

“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry. I found this. I meant to show it to you.”

Doug had dropped onto the couch. He still had his head in his hands. He didn’t move, but Dad and Robby walked over to me.

I held up the envelope. “I . . . I found this on the floor in Marissa’s room as I was leaving.”

Dad took it from me. He and Robby studied my scribbled name on the back, in red ballpoint ink. Dad’s hand trembled as he pulled out the note, also in red ink.

DON’T LOOK FOR ME

“That’s not Marissa’s handwriting,” Dad said. He squinted at it, brought it closer to his face. I could see his eyes move as he read the words again and again.

“Whoa. Wait a minute,” Robby said. He took the note from Dad’s hand. “Weird.”

“What’s weird?” I asked.

Robby studied it. “Nikki always writes in red ballpoint. It’s sort of her thing. And the writing . . . Sometimes she prints like that.”

“So?” I shook my head. “Nikki writes in red ink? So what? It couldn’t be Nikki. Nikki isn’t here, remember? And why would Nikki write a note for Marissa and address it to me?”

“Good question,” Robby said. He handed the note back to me. “I’m just saying.”

Dad rubbed his chin. “Save it for the police,” he told me. “I guess it’s too late for fingerprints. We’ve all handled it.”

I was watching Robby. He was thinking so hard, I swear his face was turning red with the effort.

I poked him. “You don’t think that Nikki—”

“No. But let’s find out.” He raised the phone. “I’ll call her. It’s crazy. But I just want to call and make sure.”

He punched in the number. “I’ll put it on speaker,” he said.

The number started to ring.

We all froze in place. Mom set down her drink. Doug raised his head and watched.

The phone rang again. Again.

Four rings. Five. Six rings.

Robby lowered the phone. “She isn’t answering,” he murmured.

The phone rang one more time. Then we heard a click. And Nikki’s voice: “Hey.”

“Nikki?” Robby raised the phone. “Where are you?”