Bodice of Evidence (12 page)

“Yes,” I said, and headed back to the sheet. As I ducked behind and unzipped, I said, “Strange, though, that we were both in the same coffee shop that day. We probably walked right by you. What a coincidence, don't you think?”

“Yes,” she said from the other side of the curtain. “A strange coincidence indeed. We must have missed each other, though I would have remembered a redhead.”

I had gotten out of a meeting with the Music Box Theatre to finalize the details for Mary's proposal when my phone rang with an alert. The cashier's check Toby gave me had cleared. The Perfect Proposals business account was now ten thousand dollars fatter.

It was exciting in a nerve-racking sort of way. There was simply so much that didn't feel right about Toby and his Laura. Parking Old Blue in my apartment slot, I frowned at the bar across the street. I had been so busy with everything that I hadn't put a solid effort into finding a new place to rent.

The first glance at online rental listings had shown me a handful of places with great clubhouses and fitness rooms,
but I wasn't a big fan of the giant complexes. I really preferred the smaller quaint buildings and two- to four-story walk-ups. That meant that if I was going to get serious about finding a new place, I needed to get a Realtor involved. Except I didn't know any Realtors. I got out of my car, locked it, and headed up to my apartment.

First things first, I should make some lunch and sit down at my laptop to do some research. Besides finding a Realtor and looking at apartments, I needed to figure out what I was going to do with Toby.

Half an hour later I had a turkey sandwich and a salad on the little table next to my laptop. I'd given up on Realtors and sent a text to Felicity and Mom asking for any suggestions. My phone rang immediately.

“Perfect Proposals,” I answered.

“What do you need a Realtor for?” Mom asked without even saying hello. “Are you going to get a real office?”

“Hi, Mom,” I said, and leaned back in my desk chair. “How are you?”

“I'm good. Now tell me why you need a Realtor. You're not looking at buying a house, are you? I'm not so certain that's a good idea when you are in a start-up situation with your business.”

“I want a new apartment,” I said, and looked out the window. “Maybe one with a home office.” I wasn't going to tell her it was because I lived too close to Bobby's favorite bar.

“Oh, so you aren't going to get a storefront? Because I think it would be better if you considered a little place
like the dress shop. That way people could walk in off the street if they saw your shop name.”

“I understand, Mom, but I don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment yet. Right now, Perfect Proposals is a lean home-based business. It's more personal that way. But it would be nice to have a dedicated office in my place.”

“Okay.” She seemed to pout over the phone. “How is your business doing? Is there a reason you don't want an outside office?”

“Business is good, Mom.” I rolled my eyes. “I have three clients right now.”

“Good,” she said. “Mrs. Piekanski's daughter Mitzy is a Realtor. She specializes in homes in the suburbs. Let me look up her number, hold on.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, and picked up my pen.

“Mitzy has her own office outside her home,” Mom said. I ignored the jab. Mom was a love, but she was very good at driving a point home. “Her number is 847-555-1234.”

“Got it. Thanks, Mom.”

“How did your client like the idea of the family holding up the ‘Will You Marry Me?' cards as he and his girl parachuted down to earth?”

“He loved it,” I said. “His family was also very excited by the idea.”

“Just his family?”

“No, hers as well,” I was more specific. “Both families, Mom, both families can't wait.”

“Good. Did Felicity tell you that we have an appointment Saturday with all the bridesmaids to look at dresses?”

“Vidalia did, actually,” I said. “I stopped by there to ask another question.”

“You did?”

“There are no new breaks in the case,” I said. “Listen, Mom, thanks for Mitzy's number. I have to go. See you Saturday?”

“At one
P.M.
,” Mom said. “I'll tell your father you said hi.”

“Love you,” I said as she hung up. A quick call to Mitzy's number and I left a voice mail expressing who I was and what I was looking for. Heck, it wouldn't hurt to try one of those basement apartments that so many bungalow owners were creating for extra income. I'd miss my second-floor view, but then there was the fact that Bobby wouldn't be able to watch my window from his seat at the bar. That seemed like a good trade-off.

*   *   *

It turns out Toby Mallard really was a wealthy man. According to my Internet search engine he was a franchise genius specializing in local cable companies and fast-food restaurant investments. An article in the local business trade magazine praised his innate ability to pick the right franchise in the right neighborhood and then hire the right management.

There was a quote from one of his fast-food managers: “Toby Mallard is the perfect hands-off boss. When he hires, he hires the perfect guy for the job and then gets out of his way.”

I suppose I should feel flattered that he picked me and
my business. From what I could tell the Toby I met in the bookstore was the real Toby—throwing around money and expecting results with little action on his own part.

I had the nagging feeling that he considered marriage the same as a franchise. Pick the girl, pick the event planner, and become engaged. I certainly hoped I was wrong. It would have made me much more comfortable to have seen a picture or two with Toby and Laura together.

That made me think of the pictures I took of Gage and me. A smile came to my face as I picked up my phone and scrolled through the gallery to the pictures of us in his office. A warm feeling came over me and I sighed. I had the distinct feeling that I was really falling for Gage, and we hadn't even gone out on that many dates yet. If I could fall so easily for him, I really must have been over Bobby years ago.

Why had I not seen that?

That thought made me remember Detective Murphy's daughter. I wished I could meet her and tell her that she deserved a guy who took care of her instead of her being the one to take care of him.

I shook off my musings and sent a text to Gage to let him know I was thinking of him and looked forward to our getting together at the warehouse tomorrow.

He texted back immediately with a smile emoticon and the words, “Thinking of you, too. Can't wait.”

I forced myself to put the phone down. I was a grown-up now with a business that needed my attention.

Toby's Laura was indeed a prestigious lawyer. I checked
her LinkedIn profile and found only a brief sketch of her professional qualifications. I went to the firm's page and it, too, was a bare-bones listing of the partners' names and some of the many awards they had won.

Next I checked Twitter and Facebook. Laura had accounts on both, but they were extremely private, allowing me to only see that she was indeed a lawyer. Interestingly enough, her Facebook profile was the same picture that Toby had on his cell phone.

It could mean that he was the one who took the picture and he had sent it to her. Or it could mean that Toby had copied it from her Facebook page. Either way I was unable to see a connection between Toby and Laura anywhere.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I searched for Toby on Facebook and Twitter. He didn't have an account on either social media page. I tried a few others: Tumblr, Reddit, Flicker, Myspace, Blogger . . . nothing.

I went back to Laura's LinkedIn profile, scanning her volunteer areas as well as her hobbies. Nothing seemed to match with what I knew about Toby. I couldn't help it. My instincts were warning me that something was off. Ten thousand dollars or not, there was something very wrong here.

I picked up the phone and dialed the law firm's general number.

“Marley and Thomas LLC, this is Heather, how can I help you?”

“Hi, yes, my name is Pepper Pomeroy. I would like to speak to Laura Walsh.”

“I'm sorry. Laura is in a meeting. Can I take a message?”

“I'd rather you send me to her voice mail,” I said. “It's kind of personal.”

“I assure you, our law firm values privacy above all else, Ms. Pomeroy.”

“Voice mail, please,” I stressed.

“Certainly.”

I was transferred without another word. At the beep I started talking. “Hello, Miss Walsh. My name is Pepper Pomeroy with Perfect Proposals. Please call me at this number. It is regarding Toby Mallard. Thank you.”

Hanging up, I wondered if that message would be enough to get a call back from her. If she was as good as I suspected, she would Google me and find my LinkedIn profile. If she was Toby's love, she would figure out what my call was about. If she wasn't, she just might call me to find out what the heck was going on.

It was a big chance to take. If I spoiled Toby's surprise, he could rightly ask for his money back. I was fully prepared to give him the refund. He had left me no other
choice.

On Saturday I arrived five minutes late to the bridal shop. The parking lot was full and I had to park near the coffee shop and walk. Most likely my sister and her friends had each driven their own car. I recognized my mom's car in the lot as well as Felicity's. Parking beside the shop was at a premium to begin with. I should have called and asked for a ride.

I pulled the door open and saw that the lobby area was empty, which meant that my party was already back in a salon room. Darn, my mom was going to kill me. Then I noticed that it wasn't Theresa at the front desk. It was a guy—a big guy.

“Hello?” I said.

He glanced up. “Hello, how can I help you?” The guy
had an accent like Vidalia. He wore a button-down dress shirt in light blue. It accented his blue eyes and strong features. His hair was blond but cut very short.

“I'm here with the Pomeroy party,” I said, and smiled. “I'm a bit late.”

“Ah, they are all back in room three. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes,” I said. Then I stuck my hand out. “I'm Pepper Pomeroy. Are you Vidalia's brother, Vladimir?”

He stood and I noted that he wore pricey jeans and a brown leather belt. He laughed. “No, no, I am Vidalia's husband, Anton. Vidalia was able to book two appointments this afternoon and asked me to help out so that the front desk would not be empty.” He took my hand and gave it a nice shake. “Trust me when I say that Vidalia would never let Vladimir take over the front desk of her mother's bridal shop.”

“No?” I shook my head.

“No. He destroys whatever he touches,” Anton explained. “Vidalia is quick to forgive him, but she needs to learn to protect herself.” He shook his head and sighed. “I do what I can for her but . . .” He let the thought hang.

“Is that why her mother only left Vladimir money and not a portion of the shop?” I bit my bottom lip and tried not to cringe at my own forwardness. The question was probably out of line and he might tell me it was none of my business, but I needed to push if I was to get any answers.

He studied me a moment and I held my breath. “Eva was a smart woman,” Anton said, finally. “She loved her
son, but she, too, knew what he was like.” He shrugged. “It is nice to meet you, Miss Pomeroy. Vidalia has told me a lot about you.”

“She has?”

“Certainly, you are the one who found Eva. I wish to thank you for that. I think every day what would have happened had Vidalia walked in on the killer alone.”

“Oh, well, we had an appointment.”

He walked with me to the end of the hall. “Still, you were here and my wife did not have to see her mother in that state. Number three is the second door on the left.”

“Thanks,” I said. He seemed like a nice guy. I didn't know what I had thought Vidalia's husband would look like, but it was not the big gentle man I just met. I opened the door and walked in to see the girls oohing and aahing over the bridesmaid's gowns Vidalia held up.

“Color choice is up to the bride,” Vidalia was saying.

I gave her a little wave, closed the door, and took a seat next to my mother on the settee.

“Where have you been?” Mom whispered.

“Couldn't find parking,” I whispered back as Vidalia continued with her talk about the best colors to complement the bride.

“I'm not sure,” Felicity said. “I have been so worried about the gown that I hadn't thought through the colors for the wedding. I really don't want a theme wedding. They feel so silly to me—more like a senior prom than a wedding.”

“Good,” Vidalia said. “Let me show you the gown and
color I have chosen for your maid of honor. Miss Pepper, come with me.”

All eyes in the room looked to me. I shrugged and stood and followed Vidalia out of the room. She walked with me to the small room in the back beside the kitchen. I noted that the back door was no longer boarded closed but instead had a single door-width metal bar fixed across the center.

“I see you changed the door.”

“My husband, Anton, did not want to pay the fire marshal's fine.”

“Does the bar work? I asked.

“Yes, the back door swings inward. This will stop any invaders, and Theresa now knows she must go out front to smoke. Also it keeps Thad or anyone else from the back entrance. I feel after what happened to my mother that you can never be too careful.”

“I agree.” I said. She handed me the dress I tried on the other day and pointed to the curtain. I put the dress on and stepped out barefoot. The shoes I wore went well with the skinny jeans I had had on, but looked ridiculous with the gown.

Vidalia fussed over me for a moment. “You need shoes,” she said, and went over to the corner and pulled out a pair of pearl-colored, high-heeled sandals. “Put these on.”

I slipped them on and was suddenly aware of how much I towered over her.

She stepped back and eyed me. “It is too bad we can do nothing with your hair.”

I touched my hair, which I had worn down today. It was humid out and the curls stuck out at least six inches from the sides of my head.

“We will not worry about that detail,” she decided out loud. “Come with me.”

I teetered on the five-inch heels and tried to keep up with her fast pace. She put her hand on the doorknob and sighed at how far from her I still was.

“Come, come,” she said.

I sped up as fast as I could without breaking my ankle. She opened the door and stepped inside.

“Here is the maid of honor.” Vidalia waved toward me and I stepped into the room. She helped me up on the dais. When I felt the room go still and everyone's gaze on me, the heat of a blush rushed up my neck and splotched my face. I had my back to the triple mirror.

“Oh, Pepper, you look perfect!” Felicity gushed and stood. She and Mom came over to view me up close at every angle. “Vidalia, you have done it again. My sister has never looked lovelier.”

“Thanks, I think,” I muttered. Mom gave me the silent stink eye. I bit my inner cheek and sent Mom the “sorry” look. She replied with a narrow-eyed nod.

“It is perfect,” Mom said. “I can see where you are going with the entire party. Now you said something about the other girls having different colors?”

“Now that I see their coloring, I know for sure they will have a lighter version of the maid of honor's color. Then, Felicity, I will provide you swatches of the fabrics
in the girl's dresses and the pearl fabric from your dress. You take them to your florist and they will create contrasting bouquets for your girls. It will be lovely.”

“You are wonderful!” Felicity gave Vidalia a big hug. The saleswoman looked surprised and then delighted as she patted my sister's back.

“Come now,” Vidalia said to me. “We'll take off the dress.”

We walked out to the hall, leaving my sister and her friends gushing over the dress ideas and colors.

“I met your husband, Anton,” I said.

“Yes, I told him that with Mother gone, Theresa needs to step up. Today she is taking her first client in room one. I have learned my lesson. The front desk will never be empty again.”

“Are you hiring?” I asked. We stepped into the back room and she unzipped my dress and pushed me to the changing curtain.

“That is the thing. Anton believes we don't need to waste money on another girl. So I have asked him to step in when needed.”

I pulled the dress over my head and handed it and the hanger out to her. “I know today is Saturday. What do you do about the rest of the week? Is it easy for him to leave his work?”

“Anton works a few doors down,” she said as I got dressed. “He is a cabinetmaker and furniture refinisher, and as co-owner of his shop, he has more freedom. Still, I am certain my plan will work. He will become tired of
answering my door, and soon I will be hiring another worker.”

“I certainly hope so,” I said as I stepped out from behind the curtain. “You are quite good at this, and I think, with our helping you promote the shop, your business will take off.”

“It already has,” she said with a sly smile. “Theresa is helping a bride who said that Warren Evans had given her mother my name.”

“Well, there you go. Another successful small business supported by Warren.” I went to fist bump her, but she gave me the strangest look and I let my hand fall down.

“We will go back now and get the other bridesmaids measurements and dress styles.”

“Right,” I said, and followed her. Checking my phone, I noted that Toby had called. I made a face. I was going to have to talk to him sooner than I had hoped. It was not going to be a fun
conversation.