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blood, forming a bright red halo around her head.

 
     
    CHAPTER 3
     
     
    I STARED AT Ashley’s body in horror and then slowly trained my eyes upward. From what I could see, the staircase rose the entire height of the silo, past several landings where I assumed art was going to be displayed. Because of Ashley’s position and her oddly angled leg, it seemed likely that she had tumbled down the stairs—or over the railing of one of the landings.
    “Is she dead?” Peyton wailed beside me. Her voice echoed upward through the silo.
    “Yes,” I said softly.
    But I wanted to be absolutely sure, so I knelt by the body, picked up Ashley’s right hand, and pressed down my fingers in search of a pulse. Nothing.
    I stood up and glanced around the space. There were some boxes and paint cans by the wall and two gallery-style benches, one with a swatch of fabric draped over it. The bags Ashley had carried into the silo with her were nowhere in sight, and I guessed that she had taken them to one of the higher levels—from where she’d fallen. Or been
pushed
. Had someone done this to her? I wondered, my legs feeling limp with fear.
    Once more I looked upward, this time listening for any sign of movement. It was totally silent on the floors above.
    Behind me, though, I suddenly heard a gagging sound. I spun around to see Peyton hurl the lemon tart she’d eaten earlier against the cream-colored wall of the silo.
    “Don’t look anymore,” I said, trying to steady her. “We need to go—and call for help.”
    She moaned and grabbed her mouth with her right hand. I led her toward the door, and as Peyton reached for the handle, I turned and looked at the room and the body once more, capturing it in my mind.
    No sooner had we stepped outside than Peyton launched the rest of her lemon tart into a snowbank. While she wiped ineffectively at a ribbon of vomit on her mouth, I found a napkin in my coat pocket. I thrust it into her hand, where it flapped in the wind.
    Taking Peyton’s arm, I guided her along the path. Through gusts of snow I searched the property with my eyes, but the only sign of life was the smoke curling from the chimney on top of the larger of the two barns. If someone
had
pushed Ashley, he or she either worked at the farm or had followed Ashley here earlier. But it all seemed so improbable. Why would someone want to pick off a bunch of bridesmaids? And even if someone
had
murdered Jamie and Robin because of a secret they shared about the wedding, why kill Ashley? She didn’t know anything. Yet I couldn’t get past the fact that one day after she came to me, fearing for her life, she was dead—from the same sort of freak accident that claimed the lives of Robin and Jamie.
    There were four girls in the kitchen when we stepped inside, including Phillipa, who had obviously licked her wounds and returned. Peyton yelled for one of them to bring her a phone. A girl with a tartan skirt beneath her apron rushed over with a cordless phone. Peyton glanced at me momentarily, her eyes asking for clear directions.
    “Call 911,” I told her.
    The four workers all froze in their places, their kitchen utensils poised, like orchestra members waiting for their cue. When they heard Peyton say that a woman was lying dead in the silo, they all gasped in shock and then let go with a torrent of questions. Half listening to Peyton’s discussion with the operator, I hurried over to the group, urging them to be quiet for now. I told them all I knew: that Ashley was dead.
    “Do you know where Mary is?” I asked urgently. Since she was the executive director, Peyton was going to have to rely on her for help today.
    “I’m right here,” she said, suddenly appearing in a doorway on the far side of the room. “What’s going on?”
    I met her halfway across the room and quickly explained that we had found Ashley’s body on the floor of the silo.
    “And she’s
dead
?” she asked.
    “Yes,” I said, though I had just told her