Til
Death Do Us Party
A
Liv and Di in Dixie Mystery #4
by
Vickie Fee
Genre:
Cozy Mystery
Las
Vegas knows how to party, and for once, event planner Liv McKay won’t
be entirely behind the scenes. The Dixie gang is in Sin City to
celebrate Mama and Earl’s rockin’ Elvis-themed wedding. And
between juggling the botched bachelorette party and a problem-plagued
soirée back home, Liv’s ready to double down on some fun.
Mama
& Earl’s happily-ever-after seems like a sure thing, but all
bets (and nuptials) are off when they get to the Burning Love Wedding
Chapel. Their Elvis-impersonating minister has left the building . .
. permanently. And even worse, Liv’s cousin, Little Junior, is
suspected of his murder.
With
Mama’s happy ending on the table and Little Junior about to lose it
all, the stakes are higher than ever. Liv and her best friend, Di,
must hit the Strip to find the real killer before he finally plays
his ace...
“High
energy, dead bodies and exposed lies. . . . A must read."
—RT
Book Reviews,
4 Stars, on Death
Crashes the Party
“A
wonderful cozy mystery.”
—Suspense
Magazine on It’s
Your Party, Die If You Want To
“Readers
should welcome this look at a very Southern lifestyle, complete with
appended party plans.”
—Kirkus
Reviews on One
Fete in the Grave
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“Dearly
beloved, I want to thank you all, thank ya very much for gathering
here today. Earl couldn’t
help
falling in love with Virginia and wants to be her forever teddy
bear.”
The
minister’s intro elicited smiles and chuckles from our little
congregation, but his voice was a bit shaky. Looking more closely, I
could see his face was bathed in sweat.
“And
the two of them have decided it’s now or never for them to be
joined in the noble estate of matrimony,” Steve said, looking
unsteady on his feet and gently swaying from side to side. He
suddenly stopped and gasped. His face took on a bluish tinge and I
thought he might be having a heart attack.
His
body seemed to spasm. With another gasp, he fell to the floor.
Dave
rushed to the front and knelt down beside Steve. After checking for a
pulse, he began to perform CPR and called out for someone to dial
911, and for someone else to check with the desk to see if they had a
defibrillator on the premises. Di dialed 911. Larry Joe rushed out of
the chapel. And Mama crumpled onto the chair next to me, sobbing.
Taylor
rushed into the chapel after Larry Joe had asked her about the
defibrillator. She looked down at Steve as Dave valiantly continued
with CPR.
She
began to sob, her shoulders shuddering, when it seemed apparent he
was beyond reviving. Dave continued CPR until the EMTs arrived. He
stepped away to let them take charge, then he turned to us and shook
his head. I had given my seat to Earl, who had his arm around Mama
with her head on his shoulder. Obviously, having the minister drop
dead during the ceremony had put a damper on the wedding.
The
police had arrived just after the paramedics and had taken a
statement from each of us, not that there was much we could tell
them. As the cops were taking statements I couldn’t help noticing
Crystal, who had previously dated Steve, was shedding no tears.
Little Junior, who wasn’t a fan, was surveying his surroundings as
if he was studying the sparse decor. I imagined he was thinking there
might be an opening for him now as a minister at the Burning Love
Chapel. Looking around, I noted that the photographer had apparently
slipped out of the chapel at some point during all the hubbub.
The
police officer took our contact information and said that an autopsy
would have to be performed. But all indications were that Steve had
suffered a heart attack.
The
paramedics had rolled the deceased out on a gurney and the cop was
standing in the doorway to the chapel chatting with Dave.
Taylor
may have broken down in tears when she saw Steve lying on the floor,
but she composed herself enough to talk business.
She
apologized to Mama and Earl and asked if they would like to
reschedule.
“I’m
sure this has been upsetting, but I know you’re only in town for a
limited time. If you want to go ahead with a wedding today, we do
have an opening at eleven p.m. tonight in one of the other chapels.
Of course, there would be no additional charge for the larger space.”
Mama
and Earl looked at Taylor in disbelief. For once my mother was
speechless. Earl spoke up.
“Thank
you, but I don’t think Virginia and I are in any frame of mind to
continue with the wedding tonight.”
“Of
course. Just give me a call when you’re ready.”
Taylor
started to walk away, but stopped and turned back to face the nearly
wedded couple. “Oh, by the way, take the rose arrangements with
you, if you like, since you’ve already paid for them.”
I
wanted to get up and smack Taylor for her appalling lack of
sensitivity. But Little Junior rushed over to Mama and offered to
carry the flowers out to the car if she wanted them.
“Sure,
hon, if you want to,” Mama said blankly.
I
assumed my cousin was just eager to do something nice for Mama and
toting flower pots was the best he could come up with. He and Crystal
walked to the front to retrieve the floral arrangements. When Little
Junior picked up the vase from one of the two pedestals, something
shiny tumbled to the floor with a metallic thud.
The
cop stopped his droning conversation with Dave midsentence and walked
to the front of the chapel to have a look. He pulled a handkerchief
out of his pocket and picked up a silver-colored flask. He held it
up, examining it more closely, then left the chapel without a word.
We
assumed we were free to go.
My
in-laws got into the Winnebago with Mama and Earl. The rest of us
piled into the vintage pink Cadillac. Little Junior got behind the
wheel and Crystal sidled up to him. Di climbed in the front seat next
to Crystal and Dave got into the backseat.
Larry
Joe and I exchanged a puzzled look before sliding onto the backseat,
with me in the middle.
The
ride back to the hotel felt like a funeral procession.
Vickie
Fee is a past president of the Malice in Memphis chapter of
Sisters in Crime and current member of the Wisconsin Sisters in
Crime. She has a degree in journalism and spent many years as a
newspaper reporter, covering small Southern towns populated with
colorful characters, much like those in the fictional town of Dixie.
She now lives in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with her husband, John.
She grew up in the South on a steady diet of Nancy Drew and iced tea,
and when she’s not writing, Vickie enjoys reading mysteries and
watching B movies from the 1930s and ‘40s.
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