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

“Huh? I’m home,” she said. “How was the wedding? Was it perfect? How did Marissa look?”

Robby hesitated. “Well . . . there wasn’t a wedding, Nikki. It didn’t happen.”

“Are you joking? You’re not serious.”

“I’m serious,” Robby said. “Marissa left. She . . . disappeared.”

“Ohmigod,” we heard Nikki cry. “Ohmigod. That’s horrible.” A long silence. “Robby, is everyone okay?”

“We’re trying to deal with it,” Robby said. “I think we’re all in shock.”

“Ohmigod,” Nikki repeated. “I don’t believe it. She just left? She didn’t tell anyone?”

“We don’t know what to think,” Robby said. “Dad called the police. But we don’t have a clue.”

“How horrible.”

“Listen, Nikki, are you really at home?”

“Of course I’m at home,” she snapped. “Why do you keep asking me that question? Actually, my mom is calling me now. From the kitchen. I’d better go. But call me when you know anything, okay? Call me when you find her.”

“Okay, I will,” Robby said. But Nikki had already clicked off.

Robby pocketed the phone and turned to Dad. “You heard. She’s at home.”

Dad raised the envelope with the note inside. “Where are the police?” he said. “I have to show this to them.”

And as he said that, two words flashed into my head. Aiden Murray.

It was like my brain had been put in a deep freeze. Only one thought thawed at a time. I should have remembered Aiden immediately.

What was wrong with me?

I realized I wasn’t thinking clearly because I was more upset than I was allowing myself to show. Marissa and I aren’t the closest sisters in the world, but I care about her. I love her. And her disappearing without a trace, without a word, was too upsetting for me to deal with.

But now I was thinking clearly. Aiden Murray.

He acted so weird last night. So mysterious and cold. He had to have something to do with Marissa’s disappearance.

Aiden was not invited. He had no business being here—except to cause trouble.

I started to the door. “Harmony, where are you going?” Mom called. Her voice sounded deeper, and she spoke slowly. The whiskey was having its effect.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said. “I—I have to find someone.”

I opened the door and bumped into Uncle Kenny.

“Hey,” he murmured. Then he edged past me. “Anything I can do?” he asked my parents. “Anyone you want me to call? Can I bring you some food?”

I didn’t wait to hear their answers. I closed the door behind me, and turned down the hall. One more turn and a short stairway led me to the 200 row of rooms.

My conversation last night with Aiden ran through my mind as I strode toward room 237. It was not a friendly conversation.

This time I wouldn’t let him get away with that. This time I would demand answers.

I took a deep breath and pounded hard on the door to his room. “Aiden, it’s me,” I shouted. “Open up. I need to talk to you.”

I heard muffled voices from inside the room.

“Aiden? I know you can hear me,” I shouted. “Open up, okay?”

The door swung open, and I stared at a man in a shiny blue suit. His hair was parted in the middle and slicked down against his head. He squinted at me with watery brown eyes through thick eyeglasses. “Hello. Can I help you?”

Behind him, I could see a dark-haired woman in a long brown dress watching us.

“I—I thought someone else was in here,” I stammered. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”

“No bother,” the man said. He started to close the door.

“Did you just check in this morning?” I asked.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “No. Doris and I have been here for nearly a week. Since last Monday, actually.”

“In this room?” I demanded.

“Yes. In this room.” He smiled. “Hope you find who you’re looking for.” He closed the door.

I checked the number again. It was stenciled on the front of the door. Room 237. Definitely the room Aiden was in last night. I knew I had it right. I have a really good memory for numbers. And I remembered the round stain on the hall carpet to the right of the door.

But why would the man lie to me? He seemed like a nice guy.

Okay. Okay. There were more ways to figure this out.

Was Aiden’s car still in the lot?

I pictured him climbing out of the car. The black hat tilted over his head. Pictured him striding up to the parking valet.

Yes. The valet. Tall with the red hair. I talked with him after he gave Aiden the ticket for his car. I remembered his name. Walter.

I grabbed the banister and half climbed, half slid down the stairs. Then I trotted to the front lobby. It was crowded with people. Some of them were our wedding guests, who seemed to be wandering around, unsure of what they should do.

I saw six unhappy-looking people carrying keyboards and guitars. The band we had hired. Leaving without performing. I knew Dad would have to pay them anyway. But they definitely looked disappointed.

Most of the guests were in the dining hall, having all the food that Marissa and Doug took weeks to select and taste. My stomach growled. I realized I hadn’t had a bite since breakfast.

A couple of my cousins waved me over. I waved back but I kept going. I was on a mission. I had a strong feeling that if I solved the mystery of why Aiden was here, I’d know how we could find Marissa.

I pushed through the double doors of the entrance, nearly colliding with a baggage cart being pushed into the lodge by a white-uniformed valet. He had reddish hair, but he wasn’t the guy I talked to last night.

I crossed the driveway, making my way toward the parking lot. The cars gleamed under the bright sunlight. The sun was still high above, the sky still cloudless. Perfect day for a wedding. Sigh.

No sign of Aiden’s car.

I saw two attendants leaning against a wall at the valet stand. One of them was an older guy, gray hair under a blue baseball cap, slapping a rolled-up magazine against the leg of his uniform pants. The other appeared to be a teenager, tall and wiry, dark blue sunglasses over his eyes, hair shaved close to his head.

They turned as I ran up to them. “Did a guy in a red sports car leave this morning?” I asked breathlessly.

They exchanged glances. “Red sports car?” the older one said. “I didn’t see one.”

“I just came on,” his partner said. He ran his eyes over the board in front of him. It had all the car keys hanging on it, all of them labeled with ticket stubs.

“Is it still here?” I demanded.

The older guy scratched his head. “I haven’t seen a red sports car. Do you know what make it is?”

I shook my head. “No. But I saw it here last night. I talked to the valet and—”

“You talked to Tony?” the teenager interrupted.

“No. I think his name was Walter,” I said. I raised my hand above my head. “A really tall guy. Kind of a baby face. With wavy red hair?”

They exchanged glances again.

“Nope,” the old guy said, shaking his head. “There’s no Walter. Tony is short and bald. He walks with a little limp.”

“No. I know I talked to a tall red-haired guy,” I insisted. “He took the keys from my friend and gave him a valet ticket.”

The old guy chuckled. “If he did, the guy is a car thief. Probably drove off with it.”

My mouth dropped open. “Because—?”

“There’s no tall red-haired valet who works here,” the teenager said. He picked up some keys and rattled them, just to make some noise, I guess.

“Maybe talk to the manager. He might have hired on extra help. There’s a big wedding here this weekend.”

“Okay. The manager,” I said. I turned and started back to the lodge entrance. I had to fight off a wave of dizziness.

That couple in the room where I knew Aiden had stayed. . . . These two guys claiming there was no tall, redheaded valet. Was I losing my mind? Something was messed up, and it was making me dizzy, making me feel as if I’d stepped into a Twilight Zone episode.

A young woman with short, straight blond hair and wearing bright red lipstick stood behind the front desk. I waited for a couple asking her if she had a map of the area. She pointed them to the concierge desk across the lobby.

Then I stepped up to the counter. The name on the badge on her jacket lapel read: Lisa. She typed something on her computer, then raised her eyes to me with a smile. “Can I help you?”

“I need to see the manager,” I said.

Her smile faded. “Is there a problem?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. “Actually, there are a lot of problems,” I said. “But I just want to ask for some information about a guest.”

She nodded. For some reason, she kept her fingers on the computer keyboard. “Well, I’m the Sunday manager,” she said. “My boss doesn’t come in on weekends.”

“Well, can you help me, Lisa?” I asked. “I’m with the wedding party. Last night, I spoke to a guest here named Aiden Murray. I just want to know if he checked out. You’re allowed to tell me that, right?”

She blinked. I think my intensity surprised her. “Yes, I can help you with that,” she said. She lowered her eyes to the screen and typed for a long while.

Then she frowned. “You said the name was Aiden? Can you spell the last name for me?”

I spelled it. She typed some more. “Hmmm. It’s not coming up.” She typed some more. “Are you sure he checked in under his own name?”

“I know I talked with him. He was in room 237.”

She nodded. “Room 237.” She typed, then squinted at the screen. “No, that’s not the right room, I’m afraid. We’ve had a couple staying in there since Monday. His name isn’t Slocum, is it?”

I gritted my teeth. “Aiden Murray. Murray.”

She brushed a hand through her short hair. She let out a long breath. “Must be some mix-up. I’m so sorry. That name just doesn’t come up on my computer. Aiden Murray has never been a guest at this lodge.”

I had the urge to pound my fists on the computer top, but I controlled myself. “This is crazy,” I murmured. “I was at this desk last night. I saw Aiden’s name on the screen.”

Lisa narrowed her eyes at me. “You saw this screen?”

I nodded. “The guy, Mr. Himuro, he stepped away for a moment to answer a call, and I read the screen while he was away. You know. Just to find Aiden’s room number.”

Lisa pressed a hand on her forehead. “I’m sorry. You’re confusing me. Who did you say stepped away from the desk?”

“Mr. Himuro,” I said. “He told me Aiden was here, but he wasn’t allowed to tell me—”

“The night manager is Phillip Brandt,” Lisa interrupted. “Blond guy, stubble of beard on his face, looks a little like Ryan Gosling?”

“No. Mr. Himuro,” I insisted.

“This is very weird.” She stared at me, as if trying to read my mind, see if I was some kind of nutjob. “The lodge doesn’t have anyone working here named Mr. Himuro.”

“But—” I gripped the countertop. The dizziness swept back, making the room tilt in front of me.

No redheaded valet? No Mr. Himuro? No red sports car? No Aiden in room 237?

But they were all real last night, and I knew I wasn’t dreaming now.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you,” Lisa said. She was still studying me. “I really can’t explain the confusion.”

“Neither can I,” I murmured. I didn’t want to let go of the counter. I felt that my knees would collapse and I would form a puddle on the floor, just melt away and disappear like Mr. Himuro and the valet last night.

Lisa lowered her eyes to her keyboard and began to type. I knew she was just waiting for me to leave.

I let out a long sigh, let go of the countertop, and started to back away. But something on the wall caught my eye.

The wall to the left of the reception desk was covered with framed black-and-white photos, old photos of groups of people. They were all standing out in front of the lodge, all in lodge uniforms, all smiling.

“Lisa, I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes on one of the old photos. “Could I see that photo?”

She stood up, her face knotted in confusion. “A photo? I don’t understand.”

“That one,” I said, pointing. “The third one from the top.” I knew I sounded frantic, like a crazy person. But the face in the photo . . .

Lisa stood on tiptoes to reach the framed photograph. She gripped it in both hands and raised it off its hook. Then she carried it over and set it down in front of me on the counter.

“These are old photographs taken over the years of the workers at this lodge,” she said. “I think my grandmother is in one of them.”

I could barely hear her words. I was squinting hard at a face in the front row of this old photo. I grabbed the frame by its sides and brought it close to my face.

“That’s him!” I shrieked. I stabbed the glass over the face with my finger. “See?” I turned it so Lisa could see.

She followed my pointer finger. “That’s who?”

“Mr. Himuro,” I said. “That’s the man I talked to here last night.”

Lisa gazed at it for a long moment. Then she raised her eyes to me. “But—”

“And look!” I cried. “That guy in the back row. On the end? See him? That’s the parking valet from last night. I’m sure it is. Tall and red-haired. I mean, it’s black and white. But you can see his hair is light. That’s him!”

She took the photograph from me and studied it for a moment. Then she turned it over. “There’s a date on the back,” she said.

“Huh? What does it say?” I demanded.

She squinted at the little rectangular label on the back of the frame. “I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “You must be mistaken. It says this photo is from 1924.”