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    The chapel was perhaps one of three rooms on the bottom floor of the casino that had a window.

    In fact, its window was stained glass, featuring a giant ruby red heart encircled in clear glass, which was itself encircled in red ornamentation, the kind often found in old medieval texts.

    What little light there was, peeking out from under the storm outside, filtered in through the stained glass and turned everything in the chapel blood red.

    I stood at the front next to Daphne as Logan ran through the lines of what we were going to do during our actual wedding.

    This was just the rehearsal.

    Still, I could feel butterflies. I was so nervous. Not anxious, nervous. Excited, even. It had been a long time since I felt the positive side of that emotion, and it didn’t even belong to me; it belonged to whoever the original groom was, back when this story was more than a story.

    He was in love, completely head over heels. And if his bride-to-be was anything like Daphne, I could see why.

    “And then I say, ‘You may kiss the bride,'” Logan said.

    “And then I kiss her, right?”

    “You’re getting it,” he said.

    “Finally, I get permission,” I said.

    Daphne laughed, and we leaned in and kissed.

    “And then I introduce the room to Mr. and Missus….” Logan started to say, but then wasn’t sure.

    “Lawrence,” Daphne said. “I’ve never had any problem with changing my name.” She smiled at me, and I smiled back at her.

    “Introduce the room to Mr. and Mrs. Riley Lawrence,” Logan said.

    Those few people who were in the chapel all clapped.

    Outside, thunder roared, and the rain rolling down the stained glass window turned the blood-colored room into a surreal kaleidoscope.

    We turned hand in hand and walked back down toward the exit. Kimberly, Antoine, and Andrew were there to greet us.

    We were at the very beginning of the Party Phase, so gathering information was key. We still weren’t sure what the nature of this murder mystery would be, other than its isolation.

    “The hotel upgraded you to the penthouse,” Kimberly said, “because it looks like you may not get to leave.”

    “That’s wonderful,” Daphne said.

    “This water gets any higher, we may have to join you up there,” Andrew said. “Even from my room, all I can see all around is water. I can’t even see the parking lot.”

    “Andrew,” Daphne said, “we are fine. You need to stop worrying. This place was built to last. There’s no need to plan for the worst. Management has assured us the storm will pass soon. And if we do all have to squeeze into the penthouse, so be it.”

    “It’ll be an awkward wedding night,” Antoine said.

    “Maybe for all of you,” I said with a smile.

    That got some laughs, but they were just humoring me for the camera.

    “But maybe we should go up and take a look,” I said. “Get a bird’s-eye view of this storm.”

    “We are not going into the honeymoon suite until after the wedding,” Daphne said, putting her hand on my chest, “There are some traditions that are worth keeping.”

    “Even in the storm of the century?” I asked.

    Especially in the storm of the century,” she said.

    We continued to banter like that, keeping things light and joking, trying to will an upbeat atmosphere into this drowned environment, and doing an alright job at it.

    This wasn’t the type of story that had to be upbeat. There was something comical about all scenario-based murder mysteries like this, but it was possible we were in for a very dangerous and wet final act.

    “As I live and breathe,” someone said behind me, “if it isn’t little Rachel Hutchins.”

    Kimberly, Antoine, and Andrew excused themselves.

    I turned to see a smiling man with long, dark gray hair and a thin goatee to match. He had piercing dark eyes and a lopsided smile.

    On the red wallpaper, his name was Emmett Hutchins. He was an ordinary NPC.

    Standing next to him, wrapped arm in arm, was a woman named Desiree Hutchins. She had big, blonde hair with brunette roots, bright lipstick, and a smile that was both sincere and infectious. She was dressed like we were in Vegas, with a flashy strapless number.

    The way that they held on to each other was endearing. Even without the red wallpaper telling me their shared last name, it would be easy to say that they were in love.

    Daphne and I turned to greet them. She was very polite and extended her hand, but she obviously didn’t know who they were, although their last name was a fairly big clue.

    She stared at the man and then the woman, and then she acted as if she might remember them.

    “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Don’t tell me… okay, you’ll have to tell me. It’s obviously been a while.”

    Desiree and Emmett looked at each other and laughed.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    “We hadn’t seen you since you were a chubby little girl,” Emmett said, “and now you’re a grown woman. It’s me, your cousin Emmett.”

    “Cousin Emmett,” Daphne said. “It must have been a while if you still remember me as chubby.”

    She held my hand tightly.

    “Cousin Emmett,” I said, holding out my other hand for him to shake.

    He shook back and said, “The lucky groom. Now, no offense, but you must have some real dirt on this woman if you got her to go to the altar with you.”

    “If I did, I would never tell,” I said with a laugh.

    Did everyone have to point out how out of my league Daphne was?

    Everyone laughed, and then Emmett said, “This is my bride, Desiree. You wouldn’t remember her.”

    “Well, maybe not, but I certainly will in the future,” Daphne said. She turned to Desiree. “You look breathtaking.”

    Desiree wrapped herself in that compliment like it was a warm blanket.

    “Oh, you,” she said. She turned to Emmett and said, “I like her.”

    We exchanged some small talk as we transitioned from the greeting to a deeper conversation, so that we might figure out what information these NPCs had for us.

    “When did we last see each other?” Daphne asked. “I can’t place your face.”

    “You would have last seen me at a family get-together, back when my father was still alive. That would be your great-uncle. It must have been fifteen years ago.”

    “Wow,” Daphne said. “It has been a while. I don’t feel as bad about not remembering you now.”

    “You never had to feel bad,” Emmett said, “especially with your memory problems and all. It was a long shot.”

    Memory problems?

    “Well, thank you,” Daphne said. “That’s very kind.”

    “I’ll tell you, we never thought we’d get to see little Rachel get married, not after you-know-what happened. And when we found out you were having it here in Carousel, we knew we had to come to your wedding. How often do you get to watch a happy ending like that?”

    “I never thought I would,” Daphne said. “Well, thank you for coming out, and I’m so sorry about the weather. This storm came out of nowhere.”

    “You don’t have to apologize for the weather,” Emmett said. “The weathermen don’t know anything anyway. No way you could have known. I’m just glad you’re having it at a casino, so we have something to do this weekend, when we’re not celebrating, that is.”

    “That was the idea,” I said. “I can’t believe I talked her into it.”

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