The Bride of Lottawatah

By Evelyn David

Here comes the bride...unless murder, explosions, and incredibly bad hair days stop Brianna Sullivan from walking down the aisle.

In The Bride of Lottawatah, the thirteenth volume of the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries series, all of Lottawatah eagerly anticipates the nuptials of reluctant psychic Brianna Sullivan and her hunky Police Chief fiancé Cooper Jackson. But the week before the couple can say their "I do's," the local Senior Center becomes embroiled in an illegal drug scandal and a series of mysterious deaths strike the small Oklahoma town. Despite her best efforts to stay out of the investigation, Brianna finds herself juggling wedding planning, spending quality time with her mother, and following a trail of convoluted clues to find who is behind the deadly scheme.

Join the festivities and the intrigue as Brianna and Leon, her adorable bulldog with the wonky digestive tract, try to figure out whodunnit in time for the wedding of the year.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evelyn David
• Release date: May 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311944733

Evelyn David

The author of Murder Off the Books and Murder Takes the Cake, Evelyn David is the pseudonym for Marian Edelman Borden and Rhonda Dossett. Marian lives in New York and is the author of ten nonfiction books on a wide variety of topics ranging from veterans benefits to playgroups for toddlers! Rhonda lives in Muskogee, Oklahoma, is the director of the coal program for the state, and in her spare time enjoys imagining and writing funny, scary mysteries. Marian and Rhonda write their mystery series via the internet. While many fans who attend mystery conventions have now chatted with both halves of Evelyn David, Marian and Rhonda have yet to meet in person.

Book preview

THE BRIDE OF LOTTAWATAH

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries

Vol. 13

EVELYN DAVID

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Evelyn David

Discover other titles by Evelyn David at http://www.evelyndavid.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you.

cover photo © Mrorange002 | Dreamstime.com

Chapter 1

One glance confirmed it. I'd died and gone to Dollywood or maybe Bollywood.

I couldn't even begin to fathom what Candy Dalton, owner of Shear Artistry, the hairdresser charged with taming my shoulder-length, untamable tresses, was thinking. And the grin on her face told me that she thought she was brilliant.

An elderly face appeared behind me in the salon mirror. Well, as Dolly Parton always says, 'It takes a lot of money to look that cheap'.

I could always count on Great-Aunt Ida to zero in on the truth.

Candy had been working on my hair for hours, muttering under her breath like she needed some incantation to work her magic. All this wedding planning is making you go grey faster. I had to double the number of blonde highlights to cover it up. You'd better marry Cooper before he notices your hair color isn't natural.

Right, like Cooper would notice my hair color. If someone blindfolded him, he probably couldn't even identify with any certainty my eye color. He tended to pay more attention to my other assets. Just this morning he'd noticed I'd lost weight. He watched me zip myself into my skinny jeans and remarked, You've never looked better, sweetheart. You're going to be the most beautiful bride Lottawatah has ever seen. Okay, that's a lie. He really said, Babe, you got into those jeans without lying down and holding your breath! Did you finally buy a larger size?

The point is I don't think he even notices my hair unless I'm having one of those Chia pet days. But looking at the five inches of braided height that Candy had given me, even Cooper couldn't miss that. Wow.

Today was Saturday and the trial run of the hairdo for my big day, which is what Candy and every other woman in Lottawatah, Oklahoma called my wedding. I'd sat patiently as she washed, blew dry, gelled, teased, then sprayed my hair with the equivalent of cement. She'd turned around the chair so I couldn't see the rest of what was happening. Instead, I'd chatted with Aunt Ida who was in the adjoining chair, getting her semi-annual perm, and next to her, Mrs. Fulsom, the elderly grandmother of my old boss, Jack Fulsom. Mrs. Fulsom, edging close to 90, was still a pale blonde, thanks to Miss Clairol and the ministrations of beautician Angela Evans. I'd answered most of the two elderly ladies questions about my honeymoon plans, although I was saved from responding about when Cooper and I were planning on having kids, by Candy's Ta Da.

She whirled me around and I stared at my hair.

How did you.... I raised a hand and touched the top of my head. That's not all my hair, is it?

Extensions! I special ordered them through the beauty supply store in Muskogee. All the celebrities are wearing them. Don't worry, these babies may look like real hair, but they are lots cheaper.

I tugged one of about fifty braids that were wrapped into some kind of elaborate design on the top of my head. It didn't move.

Real staying power, Brianna, I glued those babies in good. They are 100 percent honeymoon proof. You can shower in them. Swim. Snorkel. You'll get a good three months wear out of them.

Three months? Oh, my...I was stuck with this mess? The wedding was in a week.

Candy fiddled with a few strands. You can wear them up or down. I can add beads or pearls. What do you think?

I couldn't think. I wasn't even sure I was breathing.

She pursed her lips, squinted her eyes, and then asked, Are you planning on wearing a veil? What's the headpiece look like? You should have brought it in today so we could work around it.

The headpiece, which I didn't have yet, was the least of the problems. I kept looking in the mirror trying to put a name to the image staring back at me. Medusa? Wasn't that the name of that Greek woman with the snakes coming out of her head?

***

Someone knocked on the door.

Brianna? Are you going to be much longer, dear? My bladder isn't what it used to be.

The voice was Adele Fulsom's.

The ladies room at Shear Artistry had three stalls, but I'd locked the outer door when I'd made the mad dash to the bathroom. I'd lost my breakfast along with my dignity. It was going to be awhile before I could look at another strawberry pop tart.

Are you alone, Adele? I really needed some time to figure out what I was going to do before I had to face anyone. I didn't want to hurt Candy's feelings, but there was no way I could get married with my hair like this. The only solution that came to mind was canceling the wedding.

Yes, dear, Adele said. Please let me in.

I unlocked the door and opened it a few inches only to find Adele, Aunt Ida with her perm rollers still in place, and my best friend Beverly, who was supposed to be working as the dispatcher at the Lottawatah Police Department. Aunt Ida must have called for reinforcements. I'm sure my future mother-in-law Sassy Jackson was on her way too.

Really, Adele? I was having serious trust issues, and not without cause.

Adele pushed past me before I could change my mind about opening the door. She headed to the handicap stall at a brisk pace considering her walker. Sorry, hon, they made me say that. But I did need to powder my nose.

Aunt Ida and Beverly crowded in and shut the door in time to keep out Candy and the crowd that had gathered. News in Lottawatah moved fast.

Beverly laughed and pointed towards my head. You gave Candy free rein with your hair? I can't believe you were so reckless.

Speaking of reckless, who's answering the emergency calls while you're over here tormenting me?

It's really.... Aunt Ida adjusted her glasses and took a closer look. It's interesting. If I was 60 years younger and drunk as a skunk, I might try something like that. Do you think they come in different colors?

Beverly, what am I going to do?

It's not that bad. Maybe if they just hang down more. She pulled on one of the braids.

Ouch! Careful, I think Candy attached them to my scalp. She said something about glue.

Beverly managed to let down a couple of the braids. They hung almost to my waist. There! See that's better.

I looked in the mirror. It wasn't better. Someone needs to tell Sassy to cancel the church and....

Don't panic, Brianna, Aunt Ida said. We'll make Candy undo your do! Or we'll drive to Muskogee or Tulsa. Someone will be able to fix this.

Before I could respond there was a groan and a bang from the handicapped stall.

Adele's feet were sticking out from under the door, the toes of her Easy Spirits pointing upwards.

And just that fast, all thoughts of my hair were forgotten. The bathroom exploded into action. Aunt Ida yelled for someone to call 9-1-1. Beverly dashed over to the bathroom stall, which was locked. She crawled under the door and unlocked it. I could see her feel for a pulse, then shake her head.

Brianna, can you do the chest compressions while I start mouth-to-mouth?

I froze. I just stared at Mrs. Fulsom. Her face was as white as fresh snow, but the skin on her arms was bluish purple. Blood trickled down the side of her face, an open gash where she had hit her head when she fell.

I couldn't move. The spirit of Mrs. Fulsom hovered over the toilet. She looked so confused. I guess death had caught her by surprise.

Brianna. Beverly's voice was sharp. I need help.

I didn't bother to tell her that it didn't matter how much she blew air into Mrs. Fulsom's lungs or how many chest compressions were made on the bony little body, the days on earth of this elderly woman were over.

I knelt down beside the body. Beverly positioned my hands. I'll give two breaths, then I need you to do 30 compressions. Got it?

I nodded.

Beverly tilted Mrs. Fulsom's chin up to open the airway, then pinched the elderly woman's nose shut. She leaned down and gave two full breaths, each one lasting about a second.

I could see Mrs. Fulsom's chest rise with each rescue breath.

Beverly's eyes caught mine. Now Brianna! I'll count for you.

I pressed downward, my arms straight. I could hear Beverly keeping a rapid pace, counting as I pressed hard and fast. When she hit 30. I sat back.

Beverly repeated the breathing maneuver to get air into the old lady's lungs. I glanced up. Mrs. Fulsom's spirit was still hovering over the toilet, but was fading. Maybe moving toward the light? She touched her hair. Was she worried that she wouldn't look blonde in heaven? At least I assumed that was where she was going.

Your hair looks fine. I whispered.

Beverly had just finished her rescue breaths. She fingered her own hair, then nodded to me.

She began counting again, as I resumed the chest compressions.

I'd done 15 of them when the Fire Department rescue squad raced into the small bathroom. Chip Erickson, an EMT and good friend of Cooper's, pushed me aside. He took over the compressions. Beverly quickly climbed over the body to make room for Jenny Mahler, another EMT, who took over the rescue breathing.

Give the EMTs room, Beverly said to the crowd pushing into the bathroom. Candy, did you call Jack Fulsom? Tell him to meet the rescue squad at Muskogee Regional Medical Center.

I looked for Aunt Ida. She wasn't in the bathroom. I found her sitting in one of the chairs in the salon, pink perm curlers still in her hair, her head bowed in prayer.

You doing okay, Aunt Ida? Can I get you some water?

I heard a whispered Amen.

I'm okay, child. Just wanted to send off my old friend on the wings of the Lord's Prayer.

They're still working on Mrs. Fulsom. Maybe… I knew better but I wanted to delay the bad news for as long as possible.

Aunt Ida shook her head. She didn't need to see the ghost to know that her old friend had moved toward the light.

In a few minutes, the EMTs carried Mrs. Fulsom on a stretcher through the salon to the waiting ambulance. Beverly gave steady compressions to the bag-mask-valve ventilation system that the EMTs had placed on the elderly lady.

They loaded Mrs. Fulsom into the back of the ambulance and took off, sirens screaming.

Aunt Ida looked at me. I guess you don't have to worry about your hairdo. It's coming apart.

I glanced in the mirror. Most of the hair extensions had fallen down, hanging like limp spaghetti around my face and down my back.

Brianna. Candy called my name. I could hear the irritation in her voice.

She pointed to the far side of the room where Belle Anderson, the shampoo girl, was standing beside a sink. We'll wash it. And then I'll break out my scissors and do some trimming. We'll start again tomorrow.

Over my dead body. Or rather Adele Fulsom's. I hadn't known Adele that well, but her departure from this life had provided me an excellent opportunity to escape the salon.

I double-timed it to the nearest exit, my new braids helicoptering around me as I opened the door and whirled to face my stylist. Sorry, Candy. I've got to go the station and make a statement. Plus Doc is going to need me at the funeral home. I'll be sure to give you a call for my next wedding.

I didn't have to be a psychic to know that quip was going to get me in trouble as it made the rounds, but at the moment I didn't much care. I'm Brianna Sullivan and I warned Cooper we should have eloped.

Chapter 2

I could feel his eyes on me.

Again.

I glanced up from my computer screen and caught my fiancé Cooper Jackson staring.

Stop looking at me. I'd gathered my real hair and the fake hair braids into one thick ponytail. I knew how ridiculous I appeared, but for the moment I just wanted to forget I resembled one of those little troll dolls that had been popular when I was a child. I wanted to forget that I was probably going to have to be photo-shopped into my wedding photos... if there was a wedding.

I'm not looking at you, he said, denying the obvious.

I sniffed. My hair was wrecked and a woman I really liked was dead. Plus my fiancé couldn't even be bothered to sympathize with my plight. He seemed to think it was funny.

Yes, you are looking. Just stop it.

Hey, I don’t need to look at you. I got a photo of your hair an hour ago from my old landlady whose cousin’s next-door-neighbor was getting a pedicure at the salon while you were there. He pointed at his cell phone. I'm reading a slew of concerned emails from the citizens of Lottawatah. Most are folks asking about Adele. A bunch of them are comments about your hair. Some of them are crossovers. There is a growing consensus that Adele had a heart attack when she saw a bunch of synthetic snakes hanging off your head.

She wasn't upset about my hair. I could have added that if Adele was upset about anything, it was the news she'd gotten about Cooper's sister Katie, a divorced woman, dating her grandson Jack. But I didn't say anything. I didn't see any up side in introducing that sore subject. I'd heard all I wanted to on the Katie-Jack topic from Cooper. My fiancé had gone to school with Jack and, despite asking him to be his best man, didn't approve of the "womanizing, has-been messing with his innocent, little sister." I could have told him that Jack wasn't that much of a womanizer and that Katie wasn't that innocent. But, like I said, I didn't see any benefit in getting into that discussion.

Mom said that maybe you could wear a hat with a veil if those things don't fall off. He sighed. Seriously, we can't postpone the wedding. We'd lose all our deposits. My mother thinks–

Is she texting you right now? You tell Sassy she doesn't get a vote about my hair and I'm not wearing a veil!

I printed out the death certificate for Doc to sign and placed it in the file I'd started. Don't you have police business to attend to at the...you know...police station?

We were in my office at Myers Funeral Home. I was there filling out the paperwork on Adele Fulsom. Cooper had given me a ride in his truck from the hair salon. Which I was grateful for since the top on my Mustang was currently stuck in the down position and I didn't want everyone in town staring and pointing at my hair. But that was then and this was now and I would have really liked for him to go away so I could get my work done and maybe have a few minutes to settle my nerves.

My boss, Doctor Joseph Myers, in addition to owning the funeral home, was the local coroner. I could hear him down the hallway, talking on the phone to Adele's regular doctor. Other than Doc Myers who had given up his practice when he inherited the funeral home, Lottawatah didn't have a medical doctor. Two vets and a dentist, but no medical doctor. Adele had made the 30-some odd mile trip to Muskogee once every three months. The word on the street was that Adele had arthritis in her knees and hips, moderate lower back pain, and some beginning signs of congestive heart failure, but otherwise everyone thought she was in fairly good health for her age. Doc would get a complete set of her medical records just to be sure the gossip matched the facts.

Would it make you feel better if I went and picked us up some supper? Tiny has a two-for-one on rib dinners. Comes with corn-on-the-cob, fried okra, a yeast roll, and blackberry cobbler.

No, it would not. You know I'm dieting so I can wear your Great Aunt's wedding dress. Why would you even suggest I eat all that? There's probably 2000 calories in Tiny’s rib dinners.

I'm sure I could get Tiny to substitute a salad for the okra, if you insist.

I glared at him. You're not helping.

He chuckled and got to his feet. "What? You're already