Funk-N-Fiction

In what has become a theme for this year’s Halloween Flash Fiction event — Libby Tanner is also stepping outstide of her usual (upbeat, rom-com) fare to bring us something totally different. I think she pulls off a “creepy/thriller” vibe juuuuuuuuuust fine — and in perfect timing for our collection.

Red Flags

Spanish moss hung from the trees and fallen leaves carpeted the road, crunching under the
wheels of Sloane Carter’s rental car. She sucked in a breath as she drove through the gates of
Whitmore estate.

A stone mansion, adorned in red ivy, sat on a hill, Lake Channing glittering behind it like a
diamond ring.

Leaving her car with the valet she stepped onto the manicured lawn, high heels sinking into the
grass. A cool Vermont breeze rustled her dark hair.

Dozens of well-dressed guests mingled under a pavilion by the shore, but Sloane headed directly
to the house, eyes sweeping the grounds for her best friend.

She and Lily had met in a scuba class at UC San Diego and been inseparable for four years. But
after graduation Sloane had gone to work as a reporter at the L.A. Times and Lily had started
med school in Vermont. They talked every week, but hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year.

And today Lily was getting married. To Bradford Whitmore III, a man Sloane had never met.

Just as Sloane reached the grand steps of the house, two women in absurdly outdated maids’
uniforms slipped out a side door, dropping black garbage bags behind an ornate stone wall.

“That’s a full bottle of Macallan, downed before noon,” one woman said.

Sloane drifted closer, letting a large topiary shield her from view.

“You sound surprised,” her friend replied.

“It’s his wedding day. You’d think he’d show some restraint.”

“Yes, because Bradford Whitmore is known for restraint.” The woman rolled her eyes, and
slipped back inside.

Sloane frowned.

Was Lily marrying a drinker? After what happened to her sister?

Sloane had Googled Bradford Whitmore and found nothing but benign articles about his family’s
charitable giving. But as a reporter, she knew how wealthy families influenced the media.

The large double doors of the home opened and Lily emerged, looking like a woodland goddess
in a sheer lace dress and crown of peonies.

“Happy wedding day!” Sloane yelled, racing up the steps and pulling her into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Lily said, squeezing her tight.

A silence passed between them and Sloane knew Lily was thinking of Page, who should have
been here, but wasn’t.

“This place is amazing,” Sloane said. “How did-”

“There she is,” Bradford boomed, stepping out of the house. Amber liquid sloshed in the crystal
glass in his hand. “The famous best friend.”

He looked taller in person and breathtakingly-handsome, all sharp cheekbones and thick hair.

“Sloane, this is Bradford Whitmore, my fiance. Brad, this is Sloane Carter, my best friend.”

Bradford shook Sloane’s hand, smiling in the self-assured way of rich people.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He wrapped an arm around Lily’s waist and pulled her close. The move
struck Sloane as possessive, but it was their wedding day.

“Likewise,” Sloane said.

“The ceremony will start shortly,” Bradford said. “If you head to the pavilion an usher will escort
you to your seat.”

“Oh, I’ll just hang out with you guys,” Sloane replied.

Bradford smiled charmingly. “We actually have some things to attend to.”

Lily gave an apologetic smile and Sloane examined her face. She looked nervous, which was not
uncommon among brides. But did she look happy?

Her skin was paler than the last time she’s seen her. Likely from living in Vermont for a year.
Sloane still didn’t understand why anyone would move from San Diego to Vermont.

“I’ll see you down there,” Lily said, accepting Bradford’s hand as he led her back inside.

Sloane watched the couple until the front door closed. Something felt off.

A side effect of being a reporter was nosiness, and instead of heading toward the pavilion Sloane
walked around the side of the house.

Tall pines cast dappled shadows on the grass and a squirrel scuttled from branch to branch.
Trailing one hand along the stone, Sloane tiptoed through the grass until she came to a picture
window facing the forest.

Peering in, she saw Lily and Bradford standing in a dim study. Bradford’s face was red with rage
and Lily looked as pale as skim milk. Bradford grabbed Lily’s wrist, squeezing hard enough to
leave bruises, and Sloane’s stomach dropped.

No.

Blood pumped hot in her veins as she watched Bradford storm from the room. What had she just
seen?

Racing back to the front of the house she charged up the stairs and finding the door locked,
banged on the mahogany wood until her fist ached. After an eternity a butler opened the door and
glared at her.

“Yes?”

“I need to see Lily.”

“I’m sorry, the bride has asked not to be disturbed.”

“I’m her best friend. She’ll want to see me.”

“All guests are asked to congregate at the pavilion for the ceremony.”

Sloane’s fists clenched. “I’m not congregating anywhere until I know Lily’s safe.”

The butler tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t Lily be safe?”

Doubt crept in. What had she seen really? Yes, he’d grabbed her, but maybe it hadn’t been as
rough as it looked.

At that moment Sloane caught a glimpse of Lily walking across the balcony of the foyer. She
looked perfectly fine.

“The ceremony will begin momentarily,” the butler said and closed the door in her face.

Sloane walked to the pavilion, brain buzzing with questions.

What had they been fighting about? That had been a fight, right? Maybe the weird lighting from
the forest made it look more ominous than it was.

All her reporter instincts were screaming for more information.

An usher escorted her to a seat next to an older couple. Each held a cocktail, and their rosy faces
and loud laughter told Sloane it wasn’t their first.

The seats around them hadn’t been filled yet, and Sloane introduced herself, and discovered she
was sitting next to Bradford’s aunt and uncle. She complimented the woman’s dress, laughed at
the uncle’s joke, and then she began her questioning. She’d learned at the Times people were
more willing to talk if they thought you already knew the story.

“Lily’s a brave woman,” Sloane whispered like they were old private school chums. “Do you
think she knows about…”

Sloane let the sentence trail off. The couple exchanged a glance, clearly wondering what family
secret Sloane knew.

“Listen, I know it got covered up.” In Sloane’s experience the scandalous things rich families did
always got covered up. “And we shouldn’t even be talking about it, but…”

There were few things people liked more than talking about things they shouldn’t, and the couple
leaned toward Sloane.

“…I just wonder if she knows.”

The aunt took a generous drink of her cocktail. “There’s not a woman on this green marble that
would marry Bradford if she knew. No matter how much he’s worth.”

Sloane’s heart squeezed.

“Do you think-” Sloan began but was interrupted by a melodic chiming.

“The ceremony will now begin,” intoned the butler.

Sloane watched Bradford, handsome and smiling, stand under an arch of greenery at the end of
the aisle. Fear and anxiety twisted in her stomach.

Who was this man?

The bridal march began and all heads turned to watch Lily walk down the aisle. Her flower
crown was slightly askew and the bouquet trembled in her hands.

This is not just nerves. Something is going on here. And if Page were still alive there’s no way
she’d let Lily go through with this.

Before she knew what she was doing Sloane leaped from her chair and intercepted Lily.

“Don’t marry Bradford,” Sloane whispered urgently.

Lily startled. “Why not?”

“Becuase he’s a drinker. Because he yells. Because he grabbed you.”

Lily’s eyes dropped to the ground.

“Does he hurt you like that often?” Sloane pressed.

“It’s complicated,” Lily whispered, not meeting Sloane’s eyes.

“It’s simple,” Sloane said. “You get in my car and we leave Bradford to his scotch.”

Lily shook her head. “I’ve been planning this for a long time.”

“A gorgeous wedding isn’t a reason to marry a man who hurts people.”

Lily flinched at the words and Sloane pulled her into a hug.

“Don’t do this,” Sloane whispered.

Lily tensed and for a moment Sloane thought she had her, but then Lily pulled away.

“I have to,” she said, voice determined.

Sloane considered picking her up and carrying her out by force, but the look in Lily’s eyes
begged her not to ruin this. Begged her to understand.

Sloane understood that some women put up with a lot of terrible things because of money. But
that wasn’t Lily.

At least it didn’t used to be.

Sloane stepped back, waved a hand of apology to the guests, and took her seat. Then, as tears
streamed down her face and puddled in her collarbone, Sloane watched Lily and Bradford
exchange vows.

Sloane plastered a smile on her face, but when the crowd parted and she made her way to Lily
she couldn’t bear to congratulate her. The lump in her throat and the devastation flooding
through her made her mute. Instead she pulled her into a hug.

“I know, Sloane,” Lily said, reading her emotions. “I know.”

Sloane squeezed her tight, then pulled away and looked at Bradford.

“Take care of her,” she said.

His only reply was a smirk.

---

A week later Slaone was sitting in the newsroom when the story broke.

A news anchor with a somber face announced, “Honeymoon ends in tragedy for the Whitmore
family.”

Sloane dropped her head into her hands.

I knew he was going to hurt her. I should have carried her out of there.

“Bradford Whitmore, sole heir to the Whitmore fortune,” the anchor continued, “ was killed in a
scuba diving accident in Tahiti.”

Sloane’s head snapped up.

Images of Bradford filled the screen- a grinning toddler on a pony, a smiling teenager at the
beach.

Sloane looked closer. She recognized that beach. That was the Santa Monica pier.

Her thoughts jumped to Lily’s sister. Page had been hit and killed by a drunk driver not far from
the pier, a week after high school graduation.

The anchor extolled the virtues of the Whitmore family and Sloane stared at Bradford’s photo,
ideas leaping wildly in her brain.

It couldn’t be…

And yet Sloane’s instincts were screaming. With trembling fingers she logged into the
newspaper’s database and pulled up the story that had run after Page’s accident. The driver of the
car was male, eighteen years-old, and had a blood alcohol level triple the legal limit.

He was never charged, and despite trying, Lily’s family had never been able to learn the identity
of the man who’d taken Page from them.

The article contained one photo, a grainy shot of three girls standing near the mangled cars.
Their matching blue t-shirts said Eagles, Class of 2018.

Within minutes Sloane found Bradford Whitmore’s private high school, the Burlington Eagles.
The yearbook from 2018 had a two-page spread about the Senior Class trip to Southern
California the last week of June. The week Page was killed.

This can’t be a coincidence.

“It appears Bradford’s scuba gear malfunctioned,” the news anchor said. “Local authorities have
ruled it neglect on the part of the tour company. When asked about pressing charges, Bradford’s
widow, Lily Whitmore, declined to comment.”

Then there was a shot of Lily looking tragically beautiful in a black dress.

But she didn’t have the shocked look Sloane had seen on people who lost loved ones
unexpectedly.

Sloane thought back to Lily’s wedding day a week ago, parsing each word Lily said.

I’ve been planning this for a long time. I know, Sloane. I know.

A startled laugh burst out of Sloane.

Of course Bradford wouldn’t realize Lily was Page’s sister. He’d never seen Page, and probably
hadn’t bothered to learn the last name of the woman he’d killed.

But Lily had known exactly what she was doing.

After all of these years, she had found him.

And, at long last, she’d gotten her justice.

CONTEST: If you’d like to get a taste of Libby’s USUAL storytelling style, she’s offering one reader an ebook of her debut, Better Than Gelato, the first book in her Ciao Bella series.
To enter – let us know your favorite kind of story to read this time of year? Are you a fan of creepy & suspenseful, or seasonally sweet & romantic?
** Entry for this contest will ALSO count as your entry for the overall HFF event contest. **