Better Off Wed (3 page)

“Do you see that cute uniformed officer?”

Richard stared over my shoulder. “Mr. Biceps?”

“Wait.” I held up my hands. “Let me guess where this story is going.”

“We were having a nice little chat until another officer pulled him away.” Kate kept her voice low. “I overheard them talking about an odd rash that the doctors who tried to revive her found. The ME will most likely do a tox screening.”

“The ME?”

“Medical examiner, Annabelle,” Kate sounded exasperated. “The guy with the body now. Get with the program.”

“They think a rash killed her?” Richard made a face. “What a horrible way to go.”

I groaned. Kate wasn't always the most reliable source of information. Especially if it came from a man.

“She didn't die from a rash.” Kate looked at us as if
we were idiots. “You guys aren't the brightest balls in the box, are you?”

“Does she mean brightest bulbs?” Richard asked me out of the corner of his mouth.

Kate ignored him. “The rash apparently would've been caused by a medication overdose.”

“So she overdosed on Valium or something.” Richard shrugged his shoulders. “Not surprising in this crowd.”

“That's not what the police are saying.” Kate shifted her gaze from Richard to me. “They're saying this might have been intentional.”

“Murder?” Richard went completely white and leaned back against the wall, his hand clasped against his heart.

“Murder.” Kate nodded vigorously. “Poison.”

Richard gave a tiny gasp before going limp and sliding down to the floor.

“I'm absolutely mortified,” Richard spoke into my answering machine as it began to record. I fumbled to pick up the cordless phone next to my bed.

“I told you a hundred times last night, it's no big deal,” I said into the receiver, my voice still scratchy. “I felt like fainting myself.”

“Do you know how bad it makes me look?”

“Hardly anyone saw you.”

“Annabelle, I'm not talking about what I looked like slumped against the wall. It makes me look like the prime suspect.”

“You're just being paranoid.” I sat up in bed and saw the suit I'd left crumpled on the floor after stepping out of it the night before. “Why would your fainting spell have anything to do with being a suspect?”

“Oh, God, Annabelle. Don't call it a ‘fainting spell.' You make me sound like one of those Southern belles who wore their corsets too tight.”

“Good thinking. You can explain to the police that your corset was too tight.”

“You're an absolute joy in the morning.” The sarcasm dripped from his voice.

“It's not morning anymore.” I picked up my alarm clock and groaned. Daylight poured into the dark room as I opened the blinds next to my bed. “Why are you so obsessed about this, anyway?”

“Do you know why I had to close my restaurant?”

“That happened before I knew you,” I reminded him.

“Food poisoning.” Richard let out a long breath. “Imagine what it felt like to hear the word ‘poison' bandied about again.”

“That's why you fainted? Well, food poisoning is totally different from murder. Nobody's going to blame you for this one.”

“Hearing anything associated with poison is never good for a caterer.” Richard's voice became shrill. “You know how people in this industry talk, Annabelle. They're going to have a field day with this.”

“You're right about that.” I walked from my bedroom to my office and flipped on the light. Small Tiffany-blue favor boxes for my next wedding covered the floor, so I leaned into the room as far as I could and craned to see the phone on my desk. I moved a mound of pastel file folders out of the way and could see the business line's answering-machine display blinking red. “I have seventeen new messages since yesterday, and it's barely two o'clock.”

“No doubt all concerned colleagues,” Richard muttered.

“Concerned with getting the dirt, you mean.” I pulled the door shut and continued down the hall to the
kitchen, promising myself that I would spend some quality time cleaning my office. Soon.

Richard gave a deep sigh. “I'm sure all the other caterers are celebrating my demise as we speak.”

“What are you talking about? You weren't the one murdered.” I turned on the fluorescent kitchen lights and opened the refrigerator door. A package of fat-free cheese slices, a browning head of lettuce, and a nearly empty plastic bottle of Diet Dr Pepper. I added grocery shopping to my mental to-do list.

“Might as well have been,” Richard moaned. “Once the word is out that a guest died at one of my events, the clients won't be lining up.”

“Stop being so melodramatic. The detective said that they'd know more about the cause of death in a day or two. They'll find out that your food had nothing to do with it, and you'll be totally cleared.”

“A day or two! I won't have any clients left in a day or two.”

“Listen.” I rolled my eyes and poured the remaining soda into a glass. I took a big swallow. Completely flat. I made a face and took another drink. “There's nothing we can do except wait until the police have finished their investigation.”

“Aren't you the least bit curious about who murdered that horror of a woman?”

“It would be nice to know who to thank.”

“Annabelle,” he scolded me. “You have no respect for the dead.”

“Come off it. I'm not going to pretend that I liked the woman. Okay, I'm sorry someone killed her. Not a nice thing to do, but if anyone had it coming…”

“I wouldn't go around saying that since you were the last person to argue with her before she died.”

“Whose side are you on, Richard?” My old-fashioned doorbell rang loudly. I put the glass down on the counter and hurried down the hall to my bedroom.

“Is that your door? Probably the press wanting an interview. I told you this wedding would put you in the spotlight.”

“It's probably someone trying to sell something.” I grabbed my suit pants from the floor of my room and pulled them on, then threw on the jacket and buttoned it up. No one would ever guess I didn't have anything on underneath.

“Whoever it is, they really want to talk to you if they climbed four flights of stairs. You'd think they'd have more elevators in an area like Georgetown.”

“That's why it's called a walk-up, Richard, and it's supposed to be charming.” I walked down the hall to the front door.

“Exhausting, is what it is.”

“I've gotta go. Try not to poison anyone today.” I clicked off the phone as I swung open the door. “Detective Reese!”

I fumbled to put the phone down on the bookshelf next to me. My first-floor neighbor, Leatrice Butters, stood next to him smiling. A tiny woman in her late seventies, she never left her apartment without a heavy dose of bright coral lipstick and her unnaturally dark hair curled up in a Mary Tyler Moore flip. She wore a multicolored striped blouse and matching hand-painted sneakers, which I recognized as one of her gardening outfits.

“I went outside to check on the tulip beds, and found this nice young man on his way to see you.” Leatrice took Reese's hand and squeezed past me into the apartment.

Leatrice noticed the mounds of papers on the dining room table and the books in towering piles on the floor. She shook her head. “She's a busy career woman. No time for anything but work.”

“Thank you, Leatrice.” I tried to keep my voice pleasant as I closed the door.

“I'll make us all some coffee while you entertain your guest.” Leatrice ignored my protests and hurried to the kitchen. “Happy to do it, dear. Happy to do it.”

“Nice place.” Reese sat down on my yellow, over-stuffed couch. I pulled back the front drapes and light flooded the sparsely furnished room. I moaned inwardly as I noticed the herds of dust bunnies on my hardwood floors.

“Thanks, but it's a mess.” I straightened a pile of wedding magazines on the coffee table. “As my very helpful neighbor told you, I've been swamped with work.”

Detective Reese leaned forward and picked up one of the pink candy hearts that were piled in a bowl next to the magazines. “I thought these were only around at Valentine's Day.”

“Those are special ones we got with the bride's and groom's names printed on them. We had a lot left over that they didn't want.” I didn't add that I snacked on them constantly and had seriously considered ordering a private batch when I ran out.

He popped it into his mouth. “Pretty creative. So you plan weddings full time?”

“Full time and then some.” I swept my hair out of my face and let it fall down my back. “Brides are pretty demanding clients.”

“Mrs. Pierce more than most, I take it?”

“You asked me these questions last night, Detective. Why are you questioning me a second time?” I suddenly noticed that my suit was covered in beige lint from the area rug in my bedroom, and I felt my face flush. Fabulous. It looked as though I'd been rolling around on the floor.

“I thought you might be able to help me out.” He smiled as his eyes traveled down my crumpled outfit. I hadn't remembered that he had dimples, too.

“Sure.” I sat down across from him in the yellow twill chair that matched the couch, trying to brush off some of the lint on my suit without being obvious. Still grinning, he took a notebook out of his blazer pocket.

“We made a list of the guests in the Corcoran last night, but I wondered if you might have an original guest list.”

“I have the list of names and addresses we gave to the calligrapher.” I went over to the dining room table and shuffled through the folders to find it. I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually eaten at that table. “What are you hoping to find?”

“There's a name in the victim's notepad we can't match up with any of the guests or staff at the reception.”

I located the thick list of names and handed it to Reese. “She didn't limit her infractions to the wedding.”

“I'm guessing that some of her guests declined the invitation and got themselves written up.” He gave me a quick wink, and then began studying the list.

“It sounds like you're catching on to Mrs. Pierce's style, Detective.”

“Thanks.” He held my gaze for a second before returning to the papers. I hadn't remembered his eyes having so much green in them. Not that it mattered.

“Coffee's ready.” Leatrice walked into the room carrying a wicker tray with three mismatched mugs and set it on my glass coffee table. “You don't have a thing to eat in there, Annabelle.”

“I'm never here to eat,” I said, more to Reese than to her. Why did I feel that I needed to explain myself?

“So how did you two meet?” Leatrice handed us both a mug and perched on the couch. She leaned closer to Reese as he started to take a drink. “I already added some sugar and there isn't any milk to be found.”

“We met last night when one of my clients died at the wedding.” I watched Leatrice's face drop. “Detective Reese is in charge of the case.”

“I'm here to get some more information from Ms. Archer.”

“Heavens!” Leatrice put her hand over her mouth and shook her head back and forth. Then her eyes lit up. “A murder case?”

“We're exploring all the possibilities.” Reese flipped through the guest list, his eyes darting from the paper to Leatrice. “It's not as exciting as it sounds, ma'am.”

“I read mystery novels all the time.” Leatrice took a sip of her coffee. “I'm always on the lookout for suspicious people. Isn't that right, Annabelle?”

“Any luck with the name?” I tried to steer the conversation back to Reese's investigation before Leatrice could launch into a lengthy chat about her methods of neighborhood surveillance.

He shook his head. “Does the name Phillips mean anything to you?”

“Not really.” I picked up a stray rubber band on the coffee table and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. “Aside from the Phillips Collection.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The art gallery?”

“Right. But I don't think Mrs. Pierce had any connections to it.”

“It's worth checking out.” He stood up to leave.

Leatrice jumped up after him. “You should check out all leads, Detective. You never know what might turn up.”

“Yes, ma'am, you're absolutely right.” Reese turned to me. “Do you mind if I keep this list? I'll return it to you once we're done.”

“No need to return it to me.”

“Thanks, but I may have to return to ask you more questions, anyway.” Reese walked toward the door.

“Come back any time.” Leatrice followed him.

“Thanks for the coffee.” He handed his mug to Leatrice, who blushed as she held open the door. She didn't close it until he'd walked halfway down the stairs.

“Isn't he charming?” Leatrice headed for the kitchen with Reese's mug. “And so handsome.”

“Don't even try, Leatrice.” I warned her. “He's not my type.”

“I didn't know you had a type, dear.”

“Well if I did have a type, it wouldn't be a cop.” I rubbed my clammy palms on the legs of my pantsuit.

“Not fancy enough for you?” Leatrice returned to the living room.

“That's not it.” I grabbed a handful of sugar hearts and tossed one in my mouth.

“Well, he's better than those young hotshots you bring around every so often. All those boys care about is their careers.”

“How do you know?” I'd never let her know how right she was. I hadn't had the best luck with Washington men.

“I told you, I'm very observant. Comes from reading those detective novels.”

The phone's high-pitched ring made me jump. I grabbed it from the bookshelf.

“Annabelle.” Richard's voice crackled on the other end. He was on his cell phone.

“Where are you? I can barely hear you.”

“I'm in the closet.”

“What are you talking about?” I pressed the phone closer to my ear.

“I'm hiding in here so no one can hear me,” Richard whispered.

“Who's going to hear you?”

“You've got to help me.” Richard's voice faded in and out. “It's a matter of life or death.”