The Wedding Project 💍

The Epilogue

The police boat from Haiti finally arrived in the night. Reginald and the rest of the hotel staff had taken care of everything, including the official payment for the two detectives. There was also another very generous paycheck, and Harris got it from Mr. Gilmour - who was still grief stricken, but seemed to at least have a hold of himself for the moment.

Harris and Gordon made sure that all the evidence was in order, that everything was documented, and left their collected work with Reginald to hand over to the police. Then they got onto a speedboat that had been arranged for them. Gordon was a bit baffled that they would not wait for the police to arrive and speak to them in person, but Harris explained that their work had been done. There was no more reason for them to stay.

However, that was not the only reason, as Harris admitted while they were at sea. While the lights of the island hotel glimmered in the distance and started to fade away in the darkness, the detectives finally had the opportunity to speak openly about the case. "It's tragic, really," Harris commented with a sad undertone. "One person dead... and two families utterly destroyed. They might never recover from this again."

"Well... that's murder for you," Gordon responded dryly. He didn't seem to be even remotely affected by it. "Though that thing about a miserable marriage..."

"I know," Harris cut him off impatiently. "You don't need to go through this with me again."

He felt the long stare of his colleague in his back. "You were in quite a hurry to get away from this island when we were done. Any particular reason?"

"I don't know..." Harris hesitated to speak it out, but as they were the only two passengers on the boat... "It's just a feeling. That we should rather not be there for the aftermath."

"Aftermath?" Gordon understood perfectly well. "You think Gilmour will do something stupid?"

Harris shrugged. "Donald Gilmour is a man who is used to get what he wants - I think his daughter got this attitude from him. And if he doesn't get it, he takes it himself. Even when it's revenge." For a second he pictured this big, intimidating business man in his luxury hotel suite and remembered how he not only had urged them to find the murderer of his little girl, but to also bring them to what he considered justice. But then he shook his head. "The man is no fool. He will not risk his entire business and his life for revenge."

Gordon frowned. "If someone killed one of my daughters, I absolutely would."

They left it at that. Harris looked out the back of the boat, watching the last of the lights from Gundersson Island fade into the night of the Caribbean. They had solved the case, as they had been hired to do. Anything that happened now was none of their business.

"If Anna Gilmour wasn't driving when that accident with Molly Wallace happened..." He brushed his beardless chin in his thoughts. "Then who do you think did it?"

"Should I care?" Gordon asked, putting his legs up on the bench he was sitting on. "Were we hired to solve this puzzle, too?"

"No, but I still wonder what you think about it," Harris answered, looking at his partner.

Gordon gave it a moment of consideration, followed by a shrug of himself. "I guess we'll never know for sure. But if you want to hear a crazy theory of mine: I noticed that the vicar who conducted the ceremony seemed to be very much acquainted with one of the bridesmaids. Maybe one of them borrowed Anna Gilmour's car, just to keep their relationship a secret."

"That is a crazy theory, alright." Harris shook his head. "You're right, we will never know for sure."

Reginald and Charles led two of the police officers to the hotel room. It was on the top floor, one of the cheapest they had, and it lacked a balcony and any other means of access apart from the front door. It still was comfortable, especially when compared to a simple holding cell, but Reginald felt queasy about using this room for such a purpose.

The security guard in front of that door was not as vigilant as he had hoped. He was sitting in a chair, a book in his lap, the head sunken down onto his chest. And he was snoring. Charles stood right above him and cleared his throat expressively. Immediately the guard jumped up. "Uh... oh... Mr. St. Claire! Mr. Oubeya! Everything is in order."

"I can see that," Charles responded, his Nigerian accent sounding through as a certain sign of disapproval. "The officers are here for the culprit."

"Ah, yes, of course!" In a hurry the guard pulled out the keys from his uniform pocket and put the right one into the lock. ""It'll just be a moment."

The lock clicked, the door swung open. The light from the corridor illuminated the otherwise dark hotel room, as inside all lights were turned off. Reginald felt a slight cool breeze on his face and noticed that the white curtains at the single window were blowing in it. That window should not be open...

Then he noticed the other crucial detail in this room.

"Oh my God!"

The others saw it, too. The police officers switched on the lights and hurried inside. But there was nothing they could do. One quick examination, and one of them shook their head with a grim face. "Too late," he said.

The lifeless body of the woman was dangling from a piece of rope that was attached to a hook in the ceiling. Her legs swung in the light breeze like the curtains did, just right above a chair that had been tipped over. Her arms were limp and hung down her body like they didn't really belong there. As the lights went on, Reginald could see her face - a mask of agony and desperation, frozen in death.

"Oh no!" The guard cried out. "I... I am so sorry. I had no idea... I didn't notice..."

The police took a close look at the chair, the rope which was actually a tightly knotted bedsheet and the body. "Suicide," they concluded - and Reginald did not dare challenge that.

Yet he failed to imagine anything more horrible than this.

Luna Prescott was one of the last people to leave the hotel and the island. While the other guests were in a big hurry to leave it all behind, she calmly packed up her equipment and left her hotel room which was practically spotless. The hydrofoil that took her back to more civilized parts of the world was not very crowded. She had a seat for herself where she could lean back, enjoy the Caribbean sun on the glittering water and feel the wind in her face and her hair. After all that happened, this new day was off to a very good start.

The check was safely in her pocket. Despite their agreement, Gilmour had insisted on paying her full. Luna did not fight him on this one.

As soon as there was any chance of a network connection, she went onto her phone and gave the Southsea Hotel on Gundersson Island a five star rating. After all, that was the least she could do for those poor people. She even felt cheeky enough to leave a comment on her own - anonymous, but surely Harris McNeill would know who wrote it if he ever saw it.

It was a really interesting experience. I am looking forward to my next stay.