Better Off Wed (6 page)

“So we're all secured.” Richard swung the milk crate onto the kitchen counter. “I pushed a table in front of the back door and made a pyramid of those little silver bells on top. If anyone tries to get in tonight, we'll hear them for sure.”

My mouth fell open in surprise. “You used the silver-plated bells for Saturday's wedding as a booby trap?”

“Relax. They're not breakable.” Richard bumped into me as he opened a cabinet. Definitely a kitchen designed for one. “The pyramid is fabulous. I think you should arrange them that way for the wedding.”

“How many did you use?”

“All of them.”

I felt a huge headache coming on. “Are you telling me that at this moment two hundred bells are stacked up against my back door?”

“You don't sound grateful, Annabelle.” Richard
pawed through the contents of the plastic crate and produced an aluminum tray covered in cling wrap.

I pressed my hands to my cheeks and tried to look sincere. “Oh, I'm sorry.”

“Don't mention it, darling.”

Richard missed my sarcasm.

“I wouldn't have dreamed of letting you stay here by yourself after what happened.” Richard patted my arm.

Great, now I felt guilty. “I told you that I'd be fine.”

“Just because you're an independent business woman doesn't mean you have to do everything on your own.”

“I know. I'm just used to it.” I squeezed his hand. “Thanks for staying with me.”

Richard batted his eyelashes at me. “I only hope Leatrice doesn't consider it inappropriate that you're having a man stay over.”

I groaned. “She's like a chaperone and a match-maker all rolled into one.”

“I must admit that I'm enjoying watching her try to set you up with our detective friend.”

“Don't you dare encourage her.” I wagged a finger in his face.

“Encourage her?” Richard unwrapped the foil tray and tossed the wadded-up plastic wrap in the metal trash can in the corner. “She doesn't need any encouragement.”

“That's the problem.” I rubbed my temples.

“This will make you feel better.” Richard began unloading the contents of the disposable tray onto a plate. “I saved some hors d'oeuvres from the party.”

“Good. I'm starving.” I watched Richard arrange a handful of crab puffs and Brie tartlets on a dinner plate
and place it in the microwave. “Someone didn't let me eat anything all night.”

“You're breaking my heart, Annabelle.” Richard opened my refrigerator. “There's not a drop to drink in this house, is there?”

“Not unless you want coffee.”

Richard closed the door with his hip. “That would calm my nerves and help me sleep better.”

“I might have some decaf.”

“Never mind. I think I have a bottle of leftover champagne.” Richard emptied the rest of the milk crate and held up a bottle with a white label and heavy gold lettering. He made a face. “It's warm.”

“That's okay. I've got ice.”

“Normally I'd be horrified.” Richard peeled off the foil and popped the cork into a yellow-striped dishtowel. “But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

I pulled two fat mugs down from the cabinet and filled them with ice.

Richard eyed the mugs. “You must be joking. This is champagne, Annabelle, not Ovaltine.”

“Sorry. I don't have much occasion to use fancy champagne flutes.”

“Pity.” Richard poured the champagne into the mugs and took them into the living room. I followed him with the microwaved plate of hors d'oeuvres, holding it by the edges with paper napkins so I wouldn't burn my fingers.

“You can put it here.” Richard motioned to a space he'd cleared on the coffee table. He pulled one of the paper napkins from under the plate. “Who are Martha and Matt?”

“One of my couples who got married last year.” I grabbed a cushion from the couch.

“And why do you have their cocktail napkins?” Richard held up a white napkin with shiny silver script.

“I called the clients for months but they never picked them up.” I shrugged my shoulders. “One day I needed a napkin, so I started using them.”

Richard dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “Remind me not to leave anything behind.”

“Let's see how good these famous Brie tartlets are when they're reheated.” I took a bite of one and the crispy sugar topping crackled in my mouth. “Not bad. Kind of like a pungent crème brûlée.”

“Be careful.” Richard scowled as I dribbled some of the hot Brie onto the couch.

“It's okay.” I dismissed his concern and scraped at the small spot of Brie with my finger. “This cotton twill is easy to clean.”

“That's all well and good, but you're not the one who has to sleep on it.”

“Richard, I said you can take the bed and I'll take the couch.” I took a drink of watery champagne to cool my mouth from the hot cheese. “I know how your neck gets if you don't sleep on a proper mattress.”

Richard nibbled on the edge of a crab puff. “I wouldn't hear of it. Besides, I should be near the front door in case the burglars come back.”

“They broke in the back door, remember? The door near my bedroom.”

“Which is all the more reason they'd try a different door.” Richard's eyes disappeared behind his mug as he took a drink. “To surprise us.”

“Very funny,” I gave Richard a saccharine smile, then got serious. “You don't think they'll try to break in again, do you?”

“No,” Richard assured me. “I think we're safe for now.”

I snatched the last crab puff off the plate. “What do you mean, for now? You don't agree with Detective Reese that it was a random break-in?”

“It seems too coincidental to me.” Richard pulled his legs up onto the couch and folded them Indian-style. “How many times have you found a dead body? Once. How many times has your apartment been broken into? Once.”

“Okay, so it's a bit odd that they both happened within a couple of days. I'll give you that.”

“And why did the burglar take nothing?”

“I think Leatrice did a pretty thorough job of scaring the burglars off before they were able to get anything.” I finished the last of my champagne and stood up, stacking my mug on top of the empty plate. I continued talking as I headed for the kitchen. “I'm thinking of buying a safety horn myself.”

“Maybe she scared the burglars away, but why did they bother to throw things around? Not that you can tell the difference.”

“Hey! I heard that.” I refilled my mug with champagne and brought the bottle with me to the living room. “So what's your theory, then?”

Richard held out his mug for me to fill. “I think they were after something.”

“If they didn't want valuables, then what could I have that any thief would want?”

“Good question.” Richard let out a deep breath as he
scanned my apartment. “Maybe this particular thief obsessively collects scrap paper and old magazines.”

“Have I told you how hilarious you are?” I arched a brow at Richard.

He blew me a kiss, and then sat up straight. “If we're going with the theory that the murder and the break-in are connected, then they had to be searching for something to do with the Pierce wedding.”

“Let me see if the file is gone. I left it on the table earlier today.” I went to the dining table and began sifting through the mess of papers. I held up a purple accordion folder. “Here it is.”

Richard hopped up and craned his neck over my shoulder as I flipped through the papers inside the file. “Is there anything missing?”

“I don't think so. Except for the guest list that Reese took with him.”

“Maybe that's what they were after.” Richard began pacing up and down the length of the room. He stopped at my large front window and began fussing with the curtain ties. “Someone could look right in here if you're not careful.”

“I don't think they could see much. We're on the fourth floor, after all.”

“You never know. People are so nosy these days.” Richard pulled the curtains together tightly, and then peeked back out through a tiny gap. “Why, I can see right into the house across the street from here.”

“They always keep their curtains open.”

“Do you ever see anything good happen?” Richard pulled his head out of the crack in the curtains and glanced over his shoulder at me.

I shook a finger at him, and he stepped away from
the window, mumbling something I couldn't quite hear. Knowing Richard, I wasn't sorry I missed the comment.

I tossed the Pierce file on the table and sank back onto the couch. “Maybe we're going about this all the wrong way. What if Mrs. Pierce's ghost came back to haunt me and ransacked the place?”

“It would be just like her to be high-maintenance even when she's dead.”

“Putting the poltergeist idea aside, is the missing guest list our only motive? That wasn't a big secret, so why go to all the trouble to break into my apartment for it?”

“I don't know what they were after, but since nothing is missing, I think we can assume that they didn't find it. And if it has something to do with Mrs. Pierce's death, you can believe they'll be back.”

“What are we going to do?” I felt a little light-headed and doubted that the champagne had anything to do with it. Even if we had finished the bottle.

“We'll just have to figure out who's behind this little break-in before they can try again.” Richard sounded more confident than I felt.

I swallowed hard and felt my mouth go dry. “If the killer and the burglar are the same person, we have to find them before they
kill
again.”

“Do you really think Mrs. Pierce's death and the break-in are connected?” Kate handed me a white paper bag as I got in her car. “Your favorite chocolate croissants from Patisserie Poupon.”

Chocolate for breakfast. I'd have to start my diet the next day.

“Remind me to give you a raise.” I pulled a croissant out of the bag and a shower of buttery flakes fell onto my lap.

“I figure you deserve indulging after what happened last night.” Kate jerked the car into traffic, and I heard the cacophony of car horns that usually accompanied her driving. “Weren't you frightened to stay at your apartment after someone broke in?”

“With Richard to protect me? Why would I be afraid?”

Kate laughed. “If I were you, I'd want to spend the whole day in bed recovering from the shock.” Kate
gave me a sideways glance as she swerved around a van double-parked in the street. “Do you mind if I ask what those marks on the side of your face are?”

I pulled down the window visor and examined myself in the tiny mirror. “Oh, great. I've got marks from the sisal area rug. I got ready so fast I didn't even check myself in the mirror.”

“You slept on the floor?”

“Not on purpose.” I flipped the visor back up. “We ended up staying awake pretty late and just fell asleep in the living room with all the lights on.”

“The illustrious Richard Gerard sleeping on the floor? Now that's a sight I'd love to see.”

“Well, you missed your big chance.” I folded up the empty bag and tucked it in the glove compartment. “He's off to the Phillips Collection to see if Mrs. Pierce had any connection there, then to the police station to try to clear his name.”

Kate sighed. “I wish we had a reason to stop by the police station and see all those cute cops again.”

“Sorry to deprive you, but we have to pay condolences and see if we turn up any clues.”

“After our cake appointment with Meredith Murphy, right?”

I slapped my hand to my forehead. “I almost forgot we had a meeting this morning. Good thing you reminded me.”

“I'm sure Meredith's mother would have understood if we missed the meeting. She's so easygoing.” Kate winked at me and we both burst into laughter. Meredith Murphy's mother had a facial twitch that I attributed to her being as high-strung as a Chihuahua. Kate insisted it must be a result of multiple face-lifts.

We burned a yellow light as we turned onto a residential street behind the Georgetown cemetery. Kate rolled through a stop sign and angled her car into a space on the street. I hopped out of the car and scanned the fronts of the nearly identical row houses until I found the one with the Christmas lights still wrapped around the top of the porch. Our favorite cake baker, Alexandra, had her cake studio in the basement of her fashionable Upper Georgetown house.

“With five minutes to spare,” Kate sounded out of breath as we climbed the stone stairs to the house.

I leaned on the doorbell, then brushed the last croissant crumbs off my skirt. “Are the marks on my face gone?”

She glanced at me. “Pretty much.”

The front door opened and Alexandra waved us in. I'd always thought that bakers should be round, jolly people, but Alexandra had changed my preconceived idea. Thin and sophisticated, she spoke with a slight accent that I could place vaguely in Eastern Europe. She never claimed any one country.
Just a little bit of everywhere,
she said.

Today Alexandra had thrown her long brown hair into a loose bun fastened with chopsticks and wore a body-hugging turquoise dress with matching strappy sandals. Her talent for making clothes look perfect came second only to her ability to create stunning wedding cakes. If she weren't so nice, I'd hate her.

She motioned downstairs and rolled her eyes. “They arrived early.”

“How's it going?” Kate whispered.

Alexandra picked up a glass of wine from the entry-way table. “Do you want some?”

“That bad, huh?” I groaned.

“Well, they got better after my first glass.” She nudged me and giggled. “Come see for yourself.”

We followed her down the narrow staircase to the studio. Shelves lining the back wall of the room displayed sample cakes decorated in elaborate sugar flowers and swags of edible ribbon. A whitewashed wooden table dominated most of the room and held stacks of photo albums.

Meredith Murphy and her mother were sitting at the table flipping through pictures of wedding cakes. You'd never guess that the mother had the highlighted ponytail and too-tight top and the daughter wore a mousy brown bob and linen blazer. I always felt as if I'd stepped into a real-life
Freaky Friday
when I saw the two together.

Mrs. Murphy glanced up at us as we sat down across from them. “I'm glad you're here. Which is fancier, Annabelle, buttercream icing or fondant?”

I tried not to cringe as I imagined Mrs. Murphy's concept of fancy. I should consider myself lucky that she didn't want a Chippendale's dancer jumping out of the cake.

“For your July wedding, I'd go with fondant. Since it has an elastic texture, as opposed to the softness of the buttercream, fondant will hold up to the heat much better.”

Mrs. Murphy nodded. “We like the big bows on the top with the ribbons coming down the sides.” She held up a laminated photo of a five-tiered cake dominated by a cascade of bows and ribbons.

“I like the cakes with just a few sugar roses, Mother.” The bride's voice hardly rose above a whisper.

“Don't be silly, Meredith,” her mother snapped. “The bow on the cake will match the bow on your invitation.”

“We haven't made a final decision on invitations yet, and I don't like the one with the bow.”

This could get ugly. I'd seen fistfights break out over bows before. “Perhaps you could select two different cake designs and wait until later to decide which one fits the design of the wedding.”

“I'd be happy to sketch out two options for you,” Alexandra said. Her expression said she would do anything to get them out of there. A glass of wine was starting to sound good.

“Thank you.” The bride's voice sounded louder, and she almost smiled.

“Whatever you want, Meredith.” Her mother pressed her lips together and tossed her ponytail off her shoulder. “After all, it is your wedding.”

Kate kicked me under the table. We always said that if we had a dollar for every time we heard that phrase, we'd be millionaires. If we had a dollar for each time it was sincere, we'd barely be able to split a latte.

We followed the bride and her mother up the stairs and said good-bye to them at the door so we could debrief with Alexandra. I marveled at how the mother could walk down the steep stairs to the sidewalk in her high-heeled mules. I'd never seen the woman wearing age-appropriate clothing and shuddered to think of her interpretation of a proper mother-of-the-bride dress. I hoped there wasn't a line of eveningwear tube tops.

Kate let out a long breath after the door closed. “What is it with these mothers?”

“They aren't all bad, Kate. Remember the one last year who baked us cookies?”

Kate counted off a finger. “That's one.”

“I heard you got rid of our worst one the other
night.” Alexandra crossed her arms over her chest. “Don't forget I had to do four tastings for Mrs. Pierce to make sure the crème brûlée filling for her cake had enough crackle for her.”

In all the chaos, it had slipped my mind that Alexandra had done the wedding cake for the Pierce wedding. By the time we found the body, the cake had been set up for hours and she had been long gone.

“You make it sound like we killed her,” I said.

Alexandra winked. “I just wish I could have helped whoever did.”

I shuddered. “Don't joke about it. I think we're still on the suspect list. I know Richard is.”

Alexandra's mouth fell open. “They think he had something to do with the death?” She knew Richard well since she created the cakes for almost all his parties. “Have they met Richard?”

“The only reason he's a suspect is because of the poison,” I explained.

Alexandra shook her head. “Richard would never ruin his food, even to murder someone he despised.”

“Did the police question you?” Kate sounded hesitant. “After all, you did bake the wedding cake.”

Alexandra's face lit up. “Actually a cute detective came by yesterday. Since my cake wasn't cut or served, he said questioning me was just a formality.”

“That must have been a short interview.” I couldn't help hoping that Reese hadn't spent long with the city's sexiest baker.

“I did tell him about the fight I witnessed between Mr. and Mrs. Pierce.”

I exchanged a look with Kate. “When did you see them fighting?”

Alexandra paused as if trying to remember. “I left the museum as the bridal party arrived to take photos. I remember seeing the Pierces in the entrance foyer as I went out the front door. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were definitely arguing.”

“Did the detective seem interested in what you saw?” Kate asked.

Alexandra shrugged. “He didn't seem too surprised. I guess investigating all of Mrs. Pierce's fights is a big job. He seemed to be pretty focused on the food angle. Bad luck for Richard, I'm afraid.”

“I'm sure he'll be cleared soon,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “He planned to go talk to someone this morning.”

Alexandra gave us a mischievous grin. “Tell him if he ends up in jail, I'll bake him a cake with a nail file in it.”

“I don't think that would do any good,” I sighed. “Knowing Richard, he'd just give himself a pedicure.”

“I want to hear more about the wedding and the murder.” Alexandra looked positively giddy. “Can you stay for lunch?”

“I wish we could.” Boy, I meant it. Alexandra could cook as expertly as she baked, and my stomach growled at the thought of her curried chicken salad. “We have a full day of appointments.”

“I should get to work on those two sketches, anyway.” Alexandra gave us air kisses. “I promise to make the drawing of the cake with bows hideous.”

I smiled all the way to the car imagining Mrs. Murphy's face when she got the sketches.

“Are you sure you still want to go ‘pay condolences'?” Kate made air quotes with her fingers.

“It's the least we can do, Kate. Who knows what we'll find out?”

“I think this is an exercise in fertility, but okay.”

I shook my head as I stepped into the car. “Just drive.”