Better Off Wed (4 page)

“For your information, a cocktail party for twenty does not constitute a life or death situation.” I stood in the kitchen of one of Richard's clients, breathing hard from running the five blocks from my apartment. Richard barely glanced at me as he placed cookie sheets along the counter.

“It does for a caterer who's on the brink of extinction. This is the only client who hasn't fired me, and I'm not about to let her down.”

“So where do I come into all this? I hope you didn't make me run all the way here just to have someone to complain to.”

“Why didn't you drive?” Richard sounded impatient.

“And try to find a new parking space in Georgetown on the weekend? The closest spot would have been more than five blocks away.”

“Did you bring a black skirt and white blouse?”

I nodded and pulled the items out of my red nylon
bag—a designer knockoff I'd bought from a street vendor. “I followed your orders precisely, Commander. What's this about, anyway?”

“As you're fully aware, I couldn't hire any staff for tonight. I'm technically supposed to be shut down until this murder business is cleared up.”

“You don't think I'm going to play cocktail waitress for your illicit party, do you?”

“Fine, you don't have to be a cocktail waitress.” Richard placed miniature beef Wellingtons on cookie sheets in perfectly spaced rows. “We'll call you the food-and-beverage distribution engineer.”

“Hilarious.” I took the white apron he handed me and tied it around my waist. “You owe me one.”

“We'll consider it payback for your client who had me place garden gnomes on the buffets at her wedding.”

“That happened three years ago.” I put my hands on my hips. “I can't believe you're still upset about that.”

Richard narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you forgetting that I had to dress the gnomes to match the wedding party?”

“Okay, but after tonight we're even.”

Richard nodded. “I've been doing parties for this client for years. They like to keep things simple, which is lucky for us.”

“So what's the timing?”

“Since it's a pretheater cocktail reception, guests will start arriving at six-thirty and they'll all leave by eight to make it to the Kennedy Center.”

“Then we've got plenty of time.” I relaxed and hopped up onto a kitchen stool.

“Not quite.” Richard motioned me off the stool with
a jerk of his head. “Dr. and Mrs. Henderson like to make surprise inspections of the setup.”

“Henderson…that name sounds familiar. Have you mentioned them to me before?”

“Maybe I did because they live so close to you.”

“I've always wondered who lives in this house.” I pushed the swinging door to the dining room open and peeked out. “I can see the front room lit up at night when I walk by. The artwork is gorgeous.”

“They spent a fortune renovating the place.” Richard lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The moldings alone took three months to get right.”

“Is it okay if I take a peek around?” I gave Richard puppy-dog eyes, and he groaned.

“Only if you make it snappy. We've got four dozen wild mushroom chopsticks to wrap, fifty Brie tartlets to fill…”

I let the kitchen door swing closed before Richard could recite the entire menu. The noise of my heels on the hardwood floors sounded deafening, so I slipped out of my shoes and padded in my bare feet from the dining room into the front parlor. A polished black grand piano covered with framed photographs stood in front of the expansive bay window. Dr. and Mrs. Henderson at a black tie party, Dr. and Mrs. Henderson on a sailboat with a group of friends, Dr. and Mrs. Henderson with a pretty blonde in a graduation cap. I looked at the photo on the boat again, then picked it up and walked back to the kitchen.

“You didn't tell me that the Hendersons are friends with the Pierces.” I waved the silver frame in front of Richard.

“Dr. Henderson is in the same practice as Dr. Pierce. Isn't the groom in with them, as well?”

“No, he joined Clara's ex-husband's practice right after we were hired, remember?”

Richard nodded. “Now I do. Our MOB wasn't too thrilled.”

“Were the Hendersons at the wedding?”

“Most definitely. Mrs. Henderson wore that silver backless dress that Kate drooled over all night.”

I put the picture down and rubbed my temples. “This can't be good.”

“What's the problem, Annabelle?”

“Catering a party against police orders the day after one of our clients gets killed is one thing, but doing it for a group of witnesses and friends of the victim is another.”

“Relax.” Richard handed me a mound of dough and a rolling pin. “Rolling out some dough for the mushroom chopsticks will help you take your mind off things.”

“Nice try. Let me put this picture back before someone misses it.” I tiptoed to the parlor and replaced the frame. Before I could turn around, I heard a series of fast, clicking footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Of course we're still having the party.” I assumed this low, cultured voice belonged to Mrs. Henderson. “Why on earth would we cancel just because of last night?”

I searched the room to find a place to hide. In a few seconds she'd be standing in front of me and I'd have to explain why I was wandering around her house barefoot. Not a good first impression. My eyes rested on the billowy blue curtains that pooled on the floor.
Thank God sheers are out this season,
I thought as I slipped behind the heavy drapes.

Mrs. Henderson came into the room. I could hear pacing. “Yes, it's the same caterer and no, you have nothing to worry about.”

She must be talking on the phone to one of her guests for tonight's party.
I shifted my weight so I didn't lean against the window. I could imagine crashing through the glass and landing outside in the bushes.

“Of course I'm sure Richard Gerard didn't have anything to do with her death.”

I heard some voices outside. I pivoted my body toward the window and realized that everyone who walked by on the sidewalk could see me cowering behind the curtains that covered the bay window. Like most houses in Georgetown, this one sat so close to the sidewalk that people could almost touch it as they passed.
Please let no one I know see me.

“Because I know who did kill her, that's why.”

My heart started pounding. I couldn't believe Mrs. Henderson was talking about the murderer.

“I didn't see anything, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out who wanted her dead,” Mrs. Henderson said in an authoritative voice.

I felt a drop of sweat trickle down my neck as a man outside stopped to stare at me. I pretended to be wiping a spot on the glass and smiled at him. Perfectly natural to be cleaning the windows hunched over behind the curtains.

“I've got to go, hon.” Mrs. Henderson's footsteps sounded as though they were in the foyer now. “Donald is running the water for my preparty bubble bath.”

I waited until I heard her walk upstairs, then I
dashed back to the kitchen, scooping up my shoes as I went.

“Where have you been?” Flour covered Richard's apron and most of the floor.

I waved his question away. “I just overheard your hostess talking about Mrs. Pierce's murderer.”

“How did you overhear that?”

“I hid behind the living room curtains when she came downstairs,” I mumbled.

Richard opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head.

I held up my hand. “Don't start with me.”

“Okay, so did Mrs. Henderson say who killed the wicked witch?”

“No.” I took the pile of linen napkins that Richard pushed toward me and started folding them. “She didn't mention a name.”

“That doesn't do us much good, Watson.”

“Why do I have to be Watson?” I sat on a stool and swung my bare feet in front of me.

“Elementary, my dear.” Richard wagged an oven-mitted finger. “Holmes never cowered behind curtains to solve a crime.”

“I'm not trying to solve anything, but it doesn't hurt for us to keep our ears open tonight,” I insisted.

“As long as your investigation doesn't interfere with your ability to pass hors d'oeuvres.”

“Just think, Richard,” I finished folding the stack of napkins into neat squares and stepped into my black slingbacks as I stood up, “maybe one of the guests tonight will reveal the murderer.”

“Maybe one of tonight's guests
is
the murderer.”

I gulped hard as someone began rapping on the door.

“The guests, or should I say suspects, are starting to arrive.” I stuck my head in the kitchen door and Richard glared at me. “How do I look in my uniform?”

“Stunning. You've got to hold them off for a few minutes. I still need to garnish.” He shooed me away with a handful of parsley. “Take that tray of white wine with you.”

I balanced the silver tray of filled wine glasses on my arm. “Perfect. The more they drink, the more they'll talk.”

“I hardly think you're going to wiggle a confession out of someone with a precocious Pinot Grigio.”

“I'll use what I've got.” I winked at Richard.

“God help us.”

When I walked back to the living room several more couples had arrived. The sound of big band came from the piped-in stereo system, but the high-pitched chatter of women greeting each other masked the music. A
group of men clustered around the display of antipasto I'd put out earlier. Mrs. Henderson held court in the center of the room in a sleek black dress, her dark hair piled on top of her head. She motioned me over with a flick of her fingers, and I hurried over to proffer my tray.

“You can imagine my shock.” Mrs. Henderson turned back to her friends after taking a glass of wine. I stepped away from the group and hovered nearby, pretending to wipe a nonexistent spill from an end table.

One of the ladies leaned close and lowered her voice. “Did you actually see the body?”

“No,” Mrs. Henderson said with some measure of disappointment. “But I saw a few things the police didn't.”

“What do you mean?”

I held my breath and took a step closer.

Mrs. Henderson turned to face me. “How much longer until hors d'oeuvres are passed?”

“I'll go check.” I hurried back into the kitchen.

“Good,” Richard held out two glass trays edged in parsley and brightly colored edible flowers. “Let me explain what's on each one.”

“No time to waste.” I took the trays out of his hands and dashed out of the kitchen.

“Annabelle, get back here.” Richard called after me. “You don't know what you're serving!”

I went back up to Mrs. Henderson with the trays in hand, trying not to breathe hard.

“Where was he when they found her?” One of the women asked Mrs. Henderson.

“Who knows? Probably with Bev Tripton. Try the Brie tarts.”

“Her best friend? Do they have nuts in them?”

“Well?” Mrs. Henderson looked pointedly at me. “Do the Brie tarts have nuts in them?”

I glanced at the tray and tried to remember if I'd seen any nuts in the kitchen. I swallowed hard as the women stared at me, and my mouth went dry.

“No nuts.”

“Good.” The No-Nut lady popped the tart in her mouth. “If I so much as touch a nut, I have to go to the hospital.”

Oh, God. I rushed back to the kitchen and slumped against the counter near Richard. I felt faint. “Please tell me the Brie things don't have nuts.”

“I will not have my hors d'oeuvres referred to as things. They're Brie tartlets and, no, I left the nuts out this time. They do have a hint of saffron, though.” Richard pulled off his oven mitts and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

I motioned toward the party. “Nut allergy.”

“I told you to wait for me to explain the food to you.” Richard's face began to flush, and he threw the oven mitts down. “But, no. You had to run off and try to kill more of my clients.”

“No harm done.” I reached for one of the crab puffs that Richard had arranged on a hand-painted ceramic plate and he smacked my hand away. I jerked back and ducked out of the range of his swinging dish towel. “I think I overheard something important. Apparently someone had a liaison with Mrs. Pierce's best friend last night when the murder happened.”

Richard barely concealed his disdain. “You call that a clue?”

“It has to be someone important. Someone who shouldn't have been with her.”

“Like who, her husband?” Richard started to laugh, and then stopped. “It could have been her husband. Now things are getting interesting.”

“So far it's just a theory.”

“Well you're not going to find out by sitting in here.” Richard handed the plate of crab puffs to me.

“You just want me to get back to work,” I grumbled.

“I've always admired your keen perception, Annabelle.” Richard pushed me out the door. “Now go!”

I made my way through the ever-growing crowd, spotting Mrs. Henderson and her friends in the far corner, huddled together. By the gleeful looks on their faces, I'd missed a color commentary of the murder. I tried to push my way through a group of men, holding the plate above my head.

“Of course he did it.” A man with wide sideburns stared at the plate of hors d'oeuvres as it moved past him. “Wouldn't you have killed that woman?”

I spun on my heel and swung the tray down. “Crab puff?”

“No doubt he had a motive.” A man wearing a plaid tie popped a puff into his mouth.

“Motive? She didn't give him a motive, she gave him a mandate.”

“They're excellent with the remoulade sauce, sir.”

“Trying to ruin his career just asked for trouble.” Plaid Tie shifted his eyes to me. “I don't like spicy food, thank you.”

“It's very mild,” I assured him.

“He wouldn't have been foolish enough to actually kill her, though. She's right, Glen. The sauce is delicious.”

“Maybe he didn't do it, but he should have.” Side
burns jumped in the conversation. “I prefer old-fashioned tartar sauce myself.”

“We'll probably never know if he did do it. He's much too smart to get caught. Do you have any tartar sauce, young lady?”

“I'm sure I can find some for you.” I turned and raced to the kitchen.

Richard had arranged the remaining hors d'oeuvres on trays. “How did the crab puffs go over?”

“We've had a request for tartar sauce.”

“Tartar sauce?” Richard shrieked. “Why don't I just slap a bunch of fish sticks on a plate and they can eat all the tartar sauce they want?”

“I thought you'd feel this way.” I tried not to laugh as Richard threw open the refrigerator door and began rummaging through the contents.

Richard shook a fist in the air. “These are the same people that ask for A-1 with their filet mignon.”

“What have you heard about Mrs. Pierce trying to ruin her husband's career?”

“Nothing.” He slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Why would she do that?”

I tapped my fingers on the counter. “I'm not sure, but that's what the tartar-sauce guys were talking about.”

“Are you sure they were talking about her husband?”

“I just assumed they were,” I admitted. “But they never mentioned him by name.”

“Knowing what we do of Clara Pierce, it's possible that more than one man had a reason to kill her. Pretty likely, as a matter of fact.” Richard grimaced as he shook the contents of a plastic bottle. “Squeezable tartar sauce. What's this world coming to?”

Before I could respond, a crash of glass came from the living room. Richard jumped and squeezed the plastic bottle at the same time, sending an uneven stream of tartar sauce into the air.

Richard had bits of chunky sauce splattered on his face. Globs of white dotted the shiny copper pots hanging above him and dripped onto his head. I put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. “Well, now the only thing we need to make this party perfect is a dead body.”

Richard narrowed his eyes. “The night's young, Annabelle.”