“Good grief,” Sheriff McConnell mutters.
“Yeah,” I cut in. “So he went into the groom’s suite, and when the search party went through the suite, he panicked and hid in a cooler. See, one of the baker’s coolers went missing earlier in the day, and I think Ah Guan was planning on using that to stash the stolen jewelry. We found the cooler in the groomsmen’s suite. It got locked by mistake, and he suffocated in it and died.”
Sheriff McConnell’s eyes are so wide right now they look like they’re about to pop out. But, as much as I brave myself for the inevitable cry of, “This is horseshit!” it doesn’t come. Instead, what he says is, “And then what happened?”
“Then the groomsmen must’ve found him at some point, and by then they were all drugged out of their minds, they were tripping hard, so hard they didn’t even realize he was dead. They must’ve thought it was a joke. They hauled him out and carried him cheerfully down to the altar. You can question them; we did, and they remember bits and pieces. Some of them remember finding Ah Guan and carrying him to the altar. They thought he was just passed out.”
“I don’t—wha . . .” Sheriff McConnell leans back, looking dazed. I can’t blame him. It’s a hell of a story we’ve all cooked up. But it’s the best we could come up with. I hold my breath as he rubs his forehead. “How did you all figure out all these details? You weren’t there, were you?”
“No, we pieced it together based on information we gathered from witnesses,” I say, my voice a lot more confident than how I actually feel. “You could talk to the groomsmen if you want. They’re right outside the office.”
He nods silently, still looking dazed.
Jacqueline hurries to the door and opens it. As promised, the groomsmen are all waiting outside, and they look terrible. Their clothes are bedraggled, their hair is all messed up, and a handful of them have what look like vomit stains down their fronts. Sheriff McConnell wrinkles his nose and grimaces. Can’t blame him; they smell so bad I can practically see the stink fumes radiating from them. It’s a stench of sweat, vomit, and other bodily fluids I don’t care to think of. They stumble inside and blink owlishly at us.
“So,” Sheriff McConnell says, getting up from Nathan’s chair. “You boys are the groomsmen.”
They squint against the bright lights in the office and shrug. A couple of them mutter, “Worst job ever.”
“Which of you boys are sober enough to tell me what the heck happened?”
A couple of hands are raised, hesitantly. Sheriff McConnell picks one. “You go first. State your name and occupation.”
A short, friendly-looking guy steps forward. His hair is sticking out in every direction and his shirt is torn, but his eyes are the least bloodshot out of all the men. “Um, my name’s Henry, and I’m an actor.”
“And you know the groom . . . how?”
“I don’t. Not really. I’ve only met him once before today. We were all hired to play his groomsmen.”
“Millennials,” Sheriff McConnell grumbles.
“Um, Tom hired most of us separately. I don’t know about these other guys, I think a couple of them are from agencies, but most of us are independent actors.”
Jacqueline shakes her head sadly, and Maureen hugs her close and kisses her cheek. Despite everything, the sight of them makes my heart melt, just a little.
“He paid us for like, a whole wedding experience, so that included a bachelor’s night, which took place last night. We partied hard; I guess none of us wanted to let him down. God, I remember drinking and seeing the sky lighten and I was like, ‘Shit, is it morning already?’ It was wild, man. And the morning was just a blur, like—I don’t know, people kept coming in and telling us to get ready or whatever, so we peeled ourselves off the floor and tried to get dressed, but it was a mess. The suite was a dump by the time we got through last night, everyone’s clothes were all mixed up and shit, I think one of the guys lost his tux, another lost his pants, and people kept coming in and out of the room. It was horrible. Oh, and a lot of us were puking from the party.” Henry sags into the chair and grabs his head. “My head’s killing me. Is that all you wanted to know?”
“No!” Sheriff McConnell snaps. “No, you idiot, I want to know about the body.”
“Oh, right, yeah of course. Yeah . . . man, I have no idea how that happened.”
Sheriff McConnell looks as if he’s about ready to explode. When he does talk, his voice comes out slow and deliberate, like he’s talking to a particularly slow child. “Well, let’s start with when you first realized there was a dead body.”