Better Off Wed (9 page)

“So Mrs. Pierce had an affair with a prominent political figure who just happened to hire you. Why didn't you tell me sooner?” Richard had been waiting when Kate dropped me off in front of my building. I'd revealed the latest development in the Pierce soap opera before we even reached the second floor.

“What are you talking about? I just found out about it myself,” I insisted.

“Not about the affair.” Richard led the way up the narrow staircase. “I mean about being hired by the Boyds. Were you trying to keep it a secret so you could use another caterer?”

“Don't be so paranoid. We were both too caught up with the Pierce wedding to think about anything else. To be honest, I intended to set up a tasting with you as soon as we were through.” I stopped at the top of my landing. Nearly a dozen crates and cardboard boxes
were stacked around my doorway. A pile of plastic garment bags slid off one of the boxes and onto the floor. “What in the world is going on?”

Richard shifted from one foot to another. “I had the equipment that I took from police storage delivered here. I figured it would be more practical that way.”

“Why would it be more practical to keep your cooking equipment here? Why not at your catering kitchen?”

“I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea, since I'm still technically closed and can't use the company kitchens.” Richard started pushing one of the boxes forward as I opened the front door.

“When you say that you took the equipment from the police, am I to assume that this is legal?”

“Are you suggesting that I stole my own equipment from the police station?” Richard looked as outraged as he could manage while straining behind the weight of a large brown box. “They gave me everything they no longer needed for the investigation and made me promise not to open my kitchens until the exact cause of death has been determined.”

I picked up a milk crate and placed it inside the door. “Why am I getting an uneasy feeling about this?”

“I can't imagine.” Richard wouldn't meet my eyes. “I do have an idea I wanted to run by you, though.”

“I knew it.” I slid another box inside my apartment with my foot.

“Since I'll be staying here until things are safe again, why not do my catering from your kitchen?” Richard scooped up an armload of plastic garment bags.

“Wait a second.” I shook my finger at him. “I thought you weren't allowed to cater.”

“They asked me not to open
my
catering kitchens.” Richard pushed the last box through the doorway by crouching over and getting a running start of a few feet. He stood up and brushed off his hands. “They didn't say anything about using
your
kitchen.”

I closed the door and threw my keys on the nearest end table. “I won't have to worry about being killed. You're going to get me arrested first.”

“Arrested for what? Illegal flambé? Possession of an unlicensed spatula?” Richard dismissed my concern with a flick of his wrist. “Don't be silly. There's nothing to worry about.”

“What happens when the police return and see your little setup?”

“What reason would the police have to come back here?” Richard pulled out what appeared to be an industrial-strength chrome blender from one of the boxes. He disappeared into the kitchen, and then opened the white, wooden shutters that divided the top half of the two rooms and poked his head out. “This counter would be a perfect breakfast bar if you got rid of all this junk.”

“That's where I put my mail. I haven't gone through it in a while.” I flopped down onto the chair facing the kitchen. “Reese said he'd return the guest list sometime, so I think you can count on him getting a glimpse of your covert operation.”

Richard scooped my piles of junk mail and overdue bills into his arms and vanished behind the counter. “He needs to drop something off, right? We'll make sure he doesn't come in the kitchen. That's simple enough.”

“This plan is destined for disaster,” I moaned.

“I have only a few small parties, anyway. Nothing we can't handle.”

“We?” I gaped at Richard. “I hope you mean you and your invisible friend.”

“You're so heartless, Annabelle.” Richard's voice cracked. Such a faker.

“I'm already harboring a criminal activity, so don't even dream about getting me charged with aiding and abetting, too.”

“They don't send people to jail for cooking, darling.” Richard popped his head out of the kitchen. “Do they still wear stripes in prison? I would look atrocious in horizontal stripes.”

“I think they wear blue now.” I rolled my eyes.

“I look fabulous in blue.” Richard sprayed the counter with cleaner and wiped it away with an exaggerated swipe. “Especially if it's a deep, electric blue. Accentuates my eyes.”

I stared at the pile of garment bags that Richard had dropped on the couch. “Let me guess. You even brought uniforms for us to wear.”

“That's not a bad idea, but no.” Richard stuck his tongue out at me through the space above the counter. “Those are the bridal party tuxedos that you're supposed to return to the shop. I put them in my car the other night and forgot about them until today.”

I glanced at my watch. “Well, it's too late to return them now. The place closes at five.”

“I would've returned them for you, honey, but I wasn't sure which tuxedo place you used.”

I let my hair down. “Don't worry about it.”

“Well, knock me over with a feather boa.” Richard
rushed into the living room and pretended to stagger against the wall. “You finally cut that mop.”

“Thanks, I think,” I said as Richard recovered from his shock and began examining my hair from all angles. The phone rang while he fluffed the back of my hair with his fingers, and I grabbed it from the coffee table.

“Miss Archer, this is Mike Reese. Detective Reese. We've made a copy of the guest list you loaned me, so I thought I'd return it to you tonight.”

“That's fine.” I looked at the boxes of contraband taking up most of my living room. “When should I expect you?”

“I'm already in Georgetown, so it shouldn't take me more than five minutes.”

“Perfect.” I cursed Richard silently. “See you in five minutes.”

I clicked off the phone and tossed it behind me on the chair. Richard held a pocket mirror up so I could see the sides of my hair he had teased straight out. I glared at him. “Detective Reese is on his way and if you don't want me to break down and make a full confession, you'd better do something with all this stuff.”

The doorbell rang, and I glanced over my shoulder into the open kitchen where Richard stood amid his neatly arranged supplies. He wore a plaid apron edged in pleats that we'd found wedged in the back of a drawer. “Are we ready?”

“Absolutely.” Richard waved a metal spoon at me. The smell of sautéed onions filled the apartment. Richard had found a withered onion sprouting roots in the back of one of my refrigerator drawers and cut it into pieces. Hopefully the detective wouldn't get close enough to notice the lack of any other food. “Just making dinner and minding my own business.”

“Good.” I paused before opening the door. “Try not to talk too much.”

Detective Reese wore a pair of jeans that were broken in. He slipped off a brown leather jacket, and I tried not to notice how great his arms looked in the white T-shirt underneath.

“It sure smells good in here.” He walked toward the kitchen. “What are you cooking?”

I opened my mouth, and then went completely blank. Richard and I hadn't planned that far.

“A sweet onion tart with goat cheese.” Richard looked up from the stove. My stomach growled. Leave it to Richard to pull something out of the air and make it sound delicious.

“It's an experimental recipe.” I didn't want the detective to get any ideas about staying for dinner. “We don't know if it'll be any good.”

Reese leaned on the counter separating the living room and the kitchen. “I didn't know that the owners of catering companies actually cooked. I thought you had chefs.”

“We have several chefs.” Richard puffed out his chest. “But you have to know the basics, in case of an emergency.”

“Is making dinner for a friend considered an emergency?”

“This is more of a favor,” Richard explained. “An emergency is when your chef calls in sick.”

“Or when you aren't allowed to use your staff or your kitchens?” Reese leveled his gaze at Richard.

A flush began to creep up Richard's neck. He punched the fan button on the range. “It's getting hot in here.”

“Can I offer you anything to drink?” I stepped between Reese and the kitchen, remembering my empty refrigerator as soon as I'd spoken. Please let him not be thirsty.

“No, thanks.” Reese turned from the kitchen, seemingly satisfied that he'd scared Richard enough. He sat
on the edge of the couch and pulled the folded guest list from his jacket. “We didn't have any luck finding anyone named Phillips on the master list. Chances are that isn't even important, but we're grasping at straws right now.”

“Do you have any suspects?” I sat down across from him and watched as he flipped through the list.

He studied me for a moment. “I shouldn't be discussing this with you.”

“I'm only asking because I might be able to give you some information you don't have.” I cleared my throat. “About some people who aren't upset that Mrs. Pierce is dead.”

“From what we've discovered, that won't narrow down the field much.” Reese grinned and dimples appeared in both cheeks.

I tried to stay serious. “I just found out that her husband and her best friend were having an affair, and Mrs. Pierce knew about it.”

Reese's eyes widened. “Interesting. Are you sure?”

“I saw it with my own eyes.” I blushed, and then shifted my gaze away from him. “You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.” He pulled out a pad of paper and a silver pen. “What's the best friend's name?”

“Bev Tripton. Also write down William Boyd.”

Reese tapped his pen on the table. “That name sounds familiar. What's the connection?”

“He's the president's economic advisor, and Mrs. Pierce was having an affair with him.”

“I won't even ask how you got this information, Miss Archer. You shouldn't be running around playing detective.”

“I have no desire to do your job for you, Detective.” I crossed my arms tightly in front of me. “All I care about is clearing Richard's name.”

“Him?” Reese lowered his voice to a whisper and jerked a thumb behind us where Richard leaned over the counter trying to listen. “We don't consider him a real suspect.”

“Then why the big deal about examining his equipment and testing his food? You know all this bad publicity is ruining his business.”

“We're not trying to put anyone out of business, but we are trying to solve a murder.”

“So now you're sure Mrs. Pierce was murdered?”

“You don't read the papers, do you?” Reese cocked an eyebrow at me. “The article that ran this morning leaked the fact that an overdose of two different kinds of blood pressure medications killed the victim.”

“Two kinds?” I had to start reading the newspaper.

“Mrs. Pierce took one medication for high blood pressure, but we found two drugs in her system. One was her prescription and the other wasn't.”

I winced. “I guess it's what you'd call too much of a good thing.”

“I guess so.” The detective gave me a brief smile. “So now we have to determine how the killer delivered the second medication to her.”

“By slipping it in her food or something?”

“That's what we're hoping to find out by testing the leftover hors d'oeuvres and plates for residue of the drug.” The detective pocketed his notebook, and clicked the silver pen a few times before standing.

“Couldn't she have accidentally taken the wrong
medication?” I followed him to the door. “How can you be sure it's murder?”

“It's unlikely that she would have taken two types of pills within a few hours. We checked her prescription and her pill box. No sign of the second medication.”

“Which means that someone else knew what medication she took and mixed the two on purpose.”

Reese put a hand on my arm. “I appreciate the names, Miss Archer, but let the police do the investigating.”

“I'm not trying to…” I started, but the detective cut me off.

“Stick to wedding planning.” He grinned and gave my arm a small squeeze. “It's less dangerous.” What a condescending jerk!

“That's what you think.” I pulled my arm away and swung open the door, making a point not to meet his eyes.

“Thanks again.” He gave a wave to Richard, and then stepped into the hallway. He caught the door with one hand as I tried to slam it shut and leaned close to me. “By the way, Annabelle, I like your hair.”

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror after my morning shower and studied my haircut. A bad idea. I could never make my hair look as good as Fern did when he cut it. I always spent one day looking great and three months pulling my hair up so I didn't have to attempt to style it. I blew my hair out and attempted to style the smooth layers. Hadn't the ends turned under yesterday?

“Since when do you use a blow-dryer?” Richard poked his head in the bathroom, rubbed his eyes, and then stepped in to stand behind me. He'd slept in the khaki pants and white T-shirt he had on last night.

“Since I got this high-maintenance haircut.” I crimped the ends with my hands. “I'm going to have to quit my job to keep up with it.”

“That's the price of beauty, Annabelle.” Richard yawned and covered his mouth. “Were you planning on using the kitchen this morning?”

“What do you think?”

“Right. Stupid question.” He walked back down the hall.

“What's on the menu for today?” I called out.

Richard had brought in bags of groceries the night before and filled the refrigerator and cabinets. My kitchen must still be in shock.

“Just a couple of drop-off lunches for law firms.” His voice carried down the hall. “Pesto chicken on focaccia, espresso-rubbed steak salad, fruit with a tarragon glaze. That kind of thing.”

I abandoned the bathroom—and any hopes of my hair behaving—and joined Richard in the kitchen. I hoisted myself up on the counter next to the sink and let my feet swing from side to side.

“I just cleaned that, honey.” Richard motioned to the Formica counter. He opened the refrigerator and started to pull out cellophane bags.

“I guess there's no chance of getting breakfast around here?” I pawed through the bags he put next to me. All produce. Not my idea of comfort food.

“Do I look like I'm running a diner?” He slapped a Styrofoam package of meat in the sink, then thrust a paper bag in my direction. “I had a feeling this would happen, so I stopped in the bakery section last night.”

I peeked in the bag and sighed. “Blueberry muffins with a crumb topping. I'm in heaven.”

“I hope this means you'll be staying out of my way?”

“You bet.” I slid down off the counter. “Kate and I agreed to do a little more snooping around, so as soon as she gets here…”

“I forgot.” Richard snapped his fingers. “Kate called
while you were drying your hair to say that she's going to be late.”

“How late?”

“She didn't say. Something about going to visit a former boyfriend who works at the White House and getting more information about Boyd.”

“Very late.” I took a muffin out of the bag and bit into it, sending bits of sugar onto the floor.

“Weren't you just saying last night how you needed to catch up with client calls and paperwork?” Richard ignored my mumbled complaints about Kate as he pushed me out into the hall. “Now is your chance.”

I finished the first muffin before I reached my office. Peering in the bag, I stepped gingerly over the favor boxes on the floor and sat down at my desk. Only two more muffins. I had to make them last. Richard wouldn't be happy if I came back for more food.

I opened my phone log and started dialing clients. Voice mail on the first three calls. I tried to make most of my client calls early in the morning or around lunch time, so I could leave a message and not get stuck in hour-long conversations about bridesmaid shoes. Since it was morning, I hoped everyone had gone for a coffee break.

“One more thing I forgot.” Richard reached an arm around the door frame, without showing his face. He dropped a piece of paper with a phone number on my desk. “Mrs. Boyd called while you were doing your hair.”

That settled it. I would never blow-dry my hair again as long as I lived.

“Anything else you've forgotten to tell me, Richard?” I raised my voice as he scurried back to the kitchen. “Like all my brides have decided to elope?”

I dialed Mrs. Boyd's phone number and counted the rings. After the sixth ring an out-of-breath voice answered.

“Mrs. Boyd?” This didn't sound like the perfectly put-together political wife.

“Yes?” she snapped. “Who is this?”

Oh, no. Not another Mrs. Pierce. I didn't remember her being like this when we met.

“Annabelle Archer from Wedding Belles. I'm returning your call.”

“Of course, Annabelle.” Mrs. Boyd's voice warmed up. “Thank you for returning my call so promptly. It's been a little crazy around here.”

“I understand.” I hoped she couldn't hear my sigh of relief.

“I called you to talk about selecting a caterer.” Mrs. Boyd rustled papers on the other end of the phone. “Now that we've booked the Meridian House for the reception, I hoped we could set up some tastings.”

I glanced down at my calendar. “When would be good for you?”

“I know it's short notice, but anytime this week. Next week my husband goes out of town, so if we don't fit it in soon we'll have to wait until the beginning of next month.”

“I might be able to get a caterer to do a tasting for you this week. That way we can get the process started.”

“Could you?” Mrs. Boyd sounded pleased. “That would be perfect. We want a caterer who does French food well. We want this wedding to have the feel of a garden party in Provence.”

“That won't be a problem. There are some fabulous toile linens that would be lovely for cocktails outside.”

“As long as they're pink. We want everything to be pink.”

I winced. “Everything?”

“Everything,” Mrs. Boyd said. “Even the food needs to match.”

Great. The wedding would look as though it had been hosed down in Pepto-Bismol. I walked with the cordless phone to the kitchen and waved my arms to get Richard's attention.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” I mouthed to Richard.

“Nothing,” he whispered back. “Why?”

I walked back to my office. “I'm certain that Richard Gerard Catering would be willing to do a tasting in your home tomorrow night.”

“He's supposed to be wonderful, isn't he?” Mrs. Boyd said. “Are you sure he'll agree to such a short notice?”

“I'll handle it,” I assured her. “I'll have him put together a menu today and fax it over to you.”

“Don't forget our color scheme, Miss Archer.”

I thought such rigid color schemes had gone the way of color-coordinating the bridesmaids with the punch. I heard Richard coming down the hall as I said goodbye to Mrs. Boyd.

“What are you up to, Annabelle?” He stood outside my office door, hands on his hips.

“Since you're so gung-ho to cater, I figured you wouldn't mind doing a tasting for Mr. and Mrs. Boyd tomorrow night.” I spun all the way around in my office chair. “It'll give us the perfect opportunity to see how much Mrs. Boyd knew about her husband's affair, and if Mr. Boyd had anything to do with the murder.”

Richard drummed his fingers on his hips. “And how do you expect to get this information out of them? Should I plan on putting truth serum in the food?”

“I guess I'll just see how they react when I casually mention Mrs. Pierce. People usually give themselves away when they're lying.”

“I'm going to go to all the hassle of throwing together a last-minute tasting just so you can see if you get a reaction?” As the doorbell rang, Richard turned on his heel and stomped down the hall. “That detective got it right, Annabelle. You should leave the investigating to the police.”

I followed him to the living room. “You might get a catering job out of this, too. It's not a total waste.”

“Maybe you can talk some sense into her,” Richard said to Kate as he let her in. He appraised her acid-green skirt slit up to midthigh. “Maybe not.”

“And wait until you hear what I found out about William Boyd.” Kate tossed her hot pink plaid purse on the couch.

“Wait until you hear what she's gotten us into.” Richard jerked a thumb in my direction.

“You go first, Kate.” I perched on the arm of the couch and let Kate stretch out across the rest. That skirt was too tight to sit up in.

Richard went back into the kitchen where we could watch him through the open shutters. “I hope you don't mind if I listen from in here. Not all of us can spend all day playing private eye.”

“Somebody is in a lovely mood.” Kate kicked off her heels.

“Ignore him,” I said. “Tell us what you found out.”

“So I went to the White House to visit Jack, that guy
I used to date last year. Do you remember me talking about him?”

“The one who laughed like a girl?”

“No.” Kate propped her head up against a cushion. “The one who had a shoe fetish.”

“I think so.” I needed a chart to keep them all straight.

“Anyway, I paid Jack a visit this morning. We had a great time catching up and swapping work stories. We even set a date for dinner tonight.”

“Please tell me this is going somewhere,” Richard said, his voice muffled behind a cabinet door.

“It just so happens that his office is only a few doors down from Boyd's and he filled me in on some pretty interesting fireworks that went on last week.”

“Mrs. Pierce?” I leaned forward.

“You got it.” Kate swung her legs off the couch and inched herself into an upright position. “Jack didn't hear anything specific, but he said Clara did plenty of yelling when she visited Boyd.”

“I wonder what they were fighting about.” I stood up and paced the room.

“The rumor around the office is that she must have threatened to tell his wife about their affair. What else could it be?”

“That would do it.” Richard heaved a chef's knife up and it landed on the cutting board with a thud.

“No one heard exactly what they fought about, but everyone heard what Boyd said after Clara left.” Kate stood up and walked behind the couch to lean over the counter into the kitchen.

I couldn't believe she would tease us like this. “Well, what did he say?”

“Jack said that Boyd fumed all day and stalked around the halls saying that Clara wouldn't get away with it, and that he would shut her up once and for all.”

“Anything else?” Richard eyed Kate.

“Just that he would kill that meddling bitch.” Kate grinned. “That's all.”

“Bingo,” I said. “I think we've found our murderer.”

“Just because he threatened to kill her?” Richard gave a little snort. “If I remember correctly, darlings, you both made similar threats.”

“We weren't serious.” I walked to the counter and grabbed a strawberry when Richard turned away. “But if Clara had been about to ruin our lives by exposing a secret, maybe we would have been.”

“She ruined my life for a while,” Kate said under her breath.

“People make idle threats, then get over it all the time.” Richard returned to the big, glass bowl of fruit salad and pursed his lips. He glared at me. I stopped chewing and tried to swallow the berry whole. How could he miss a single strawberry?

“Water under the ridge,” Kate said.

“Bridge,” Richard and I said simultaneously.

“Most likely a lover's spat.” Richard moved the salad bowl to the other side of the kitchen. “They probably forgot about it long before the murder.”

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and ignored Richard's disapproving glare. “When was the fight?”

“That's just the thing. They wouldn't have had time to forget about it,” Kate said. “It happened the day before the wedding.”

I whooped. “See, I told you the tasting would be a good idea.”

“What tasting?” Kate asked.

“The one I arranged for Richard to do at the Boyds' house tomorrow night. It'll be the perfect opportunity to sniff out more clues.”

“This is getting much too Nancy Drew for my taste,” Richard griped.

“They won't know we're there to find information. Mr. Boyd could never expect us to know that he threatened Mrs. Pierce's life the day before she was killed. I don't think even the police know that.” I winked at Kate. “What were the chances of you dating someone who overheard all this?”

“With Kate, I'd say the odds weren't bad.” Richard blew Kate a kiss.

“Ha, ha.” Kate turned her back to Richard and flounced back to the couch. “I wouldn't mind getting to snoop around inside their house. It looks amazing from the outside. Not that I'm thrilled about the idea of hanging around a murderer. If Boyd did do it.”

“I'd be willing to bet that he had something to do with her death.” I tapped a finger on my chin. “And tomorrow night will be the perfect opportunity to find out.”

Richard glanced up from slicing pieces of focaccia and rolled his eyes. “What could possibly go wrong with this plan?”