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Just as I’m about to walk to him, voices are raised, and I turn around to see the sheriff I’d seen earlier that morning shouldering past a couple of the hotel’s security guards.
“Coming through,” he says pompously. “Sheriff coming through.” When he gets near me, he places a meaty hand on my shoulder, even though the path is wide enough for the two of us, and pushes me aside like I’m a shopping cart in his way. “Stepaside, ma’am, sheriff coming through,” he says in that self-important voice that makes me want to punch him. Instead, I watch wordlessly as he swaggers down the aisle toward Nathan.
I step closer, not close enough that they’d tell me to go away, but just close enough to hear what they’re saying. It’s not hard to hear the sheriff; even over the howl of the wind, he’s practically bellowing every word.
“Knew something bad was gonna happen,” he says by way of greeting. “You fancy folk think you can just turn up on my island and build your giant resorts—ha! I’ve been waiting for this to happen, boy.”
Nathan places his hands in his pockets, maybe to stop himself from punching the sheriff too.
“And now one of my little birdies tells me you got a dead body—oh, hello, what do we got here? A dead body.”
To my shock, the sheriff actually sticks one of his feet out and nudges Ah Guan’s arm with the tip of his shoe. That does not strike me as correct crime scene protocol, but then again, who am I to judge what’s correct protocol? All I have to go on are episodes ofCSIandLaw and Order. For all I know, maybe all sheriffs use the tips of their shoes to—okay, who am I kidding? This guy is a nut.
“Sheriff McConnell,” Nathan says, “so glad to have you here again.”
The sheriff snorts, and it’s amazing how much he reminds me of a seal. “Hah, yeah, I bet you’re glad. What a mess. But no worries, you’ve all got someone who knows what he’s doing here,” he calls out to the small audience. He looks around and frowns. “Where’s everyone?”
“We thought it best to have as few people here as possible, so we sent all the guests back to their rooms.”
“Oh ho! Don’t want any witnesses, is that it?” the sheriffscratches his jaw with conscious effort, as if it’s something he’s seen some TV detective do and decided he’d do it too.
A crease forms between Nathan’s eyebrows. “Well, no, everyone’s witnessed the body—”
“Why’s he wearing that silly outfit, then? Is he one of these New Age performers? Baton twirling or whatever?”
“Baton twirling?” Nathan looks so confused I want to hug him and apologize for everything. “Er, no, he was a groomsman.”
“A groomsman, eh?” the sheriff walks around the body and, again, nudges it with the tip of his shoe. This time, though, he pushes harder, until Ah Guan flops over onto his back. I get a glimpse of his slack face before I look away, bile lurching up into my throat. With a superhuman effort, I swallow it back down. “I need to talk to the other groomsmen.”
“Sure, they should all be back in their rooms; would you like to follow me—”
“No, bring them here.”
“They’re—uh, I don’t know how mobile they are.”
The sheriff narrows his eyes. “Bring. Them. Here. Don’t make me charge you with obstruction of justice, boy.”
My hands tighten into fists. Could this man possibly be any more odious? Nathan activates his walkie-talkie and asks someone to escort the groomsmen back to the altar. When he’s done, he looks at the boiling gray clouds and says, “Should we take the body indoors? It looks like it’s about to start pouring.”
The sheriff gives what he probably thinks is a really sly side-eye glance. “I see. So you want to move the victim from the crime scene, eh?”
“Er... no? Do whatever you think is best,” Nathan says. He takes out his phone and types something. A moment later, my phone buzzes.
Nathan [4:25PM]: I really hate this guy. He’s such a hack.
Meddy [4:26PM]: Seriously. How did he become a sheriff??
Nathan [4:26PM]: Nooo idea. My guess is he killed off the competition. Or maybe there was none to begin with. It’s a small island.
Meddy [4:27PM]: True. I hope this gets resolved quickly.
Nathan glances in my direction and sends me a small smile that melts all of my muscles. Muscles that almost immediately tighten up at the sight of two security guards escorting a couple of groomsmen down the aisle. I step aside to let them pass. The groomsmen are still clearly out of it, their eyes wild, their heads lolling.
“These are the most sober ones, sir,” one of the guards says to Nathan apologetically.
“That’s fine. I’m sorry for making you guys come out here again,” Nathan says to the groomsmen.
In reply, one of them smiles dopily and says something like, “Shokay,” and the other one just stares blearily at Nathan. I cringe. Ma and Fourth Aunt have really done a number on these poor guys.