Bodice of Evidence (2 page)

“I can't eat,” Felicity said. “And we're going to be late for the appointment at Bridal Dreams.”

“You both need a break. In fact, I need a break. Let's go to the coffee shop and concentrate on pie and warm foamy drinks. Things will look better once you've stopped and rested.”

“I never thought it would be this hard to find the perfect dress,” Felicity said as I pulled them down the street.

“A few minutes and some coffee will help that,” I said. “Right, Mom?”

“Yes, that's right,” Mom said, and fanned her face. “I do need a break. That ticket got me all worked up.”

We walked into the crowded coffee and pie shop. It was teeming with Chicago urbanites. You could tell most of the clientele were local. Their clothes were casual but put together and the women all looked as if they came straight from a salon blowout.

I tugged at my flyaway red hair in a poor attempt to stop the riot of curls. “There's a park across the street. Why don't you two go and find us a seat while I get the beverages.”

“Good idea,” Mom said, and walked Felicity out the door. “I hate long lines. Ridiculous. They need to hire more people to prevent the lines from being longer than three deep.”

Being a small-business owner, Mom had very distinct opinions on how to treat customers. I watched as Felicity
and Mom moved across the street. Then I faced forward and shuffled in line. Even though it was autumn, there were so many bodies in the small coffee shop that it was warm enough to need air-conditioning, or at the very least a fan. I perspired as I took tiny steps forward toward the goal of coffee and pastries. I fanned my face and decided it wouldn't hurt anyone if I got three iced coffees and a half-dozen mini blueberry scones.

The scent of fresh-ground coffee and warm berry pie filled the air. People talked, chatting and laughing while we inched closer to the counter. After what might have been a twenty-minute wait in line, I got what I needed. I headed toward the park across the street with a paper cup holder in one hand and a wax paper baggie full of scones in the other.

Mom and Felicity sat talking on a bench next to a small fountain as I crossed the street toward them.

“I know you want the fairy-tale dress,” Mom said. “But you really need to be more realistic. Think about the venue and the weather on your date.”

“I haven't picked a venue yet.” Felicity was near tears. “I know you are supposed to have that first, but it takes so much work to decide on a venue. Is it big enough? Is it inside or outside? If it's outside, what happens if it rains or snows or we have severe weather?”

“What kind of severe weather are you worried about?” I asked as I handed out ice coffees.

“I don't know.” Felicity wrapped her hands around the cool cup. “Freak blizzards, the odd hailstorm, or a hurricane. It can all happen.”

“Then just plan to have an indoor wedding.” Mom took a scone with her coffee. “St. Agnes has a nice reception hall.”

Felicity actually shuddered at the thought. “No.” She was firm. “I don't want streamers and a tile floor. My wedding should be elegant, not like a bad school prom.”

“Fine. I have terrible taste. Heaven help the poor girl who gets married in a church like her mother.”

“Mom . . .” Felicity said. “You know I appreciate you trying to help.”

“Sure you do.” Mom took the coffee from me. “That's why you've pooh-poohed all of my suggestions.”

“Mom,” I said, and opened the wax paper baggie. “Why don't you have a scone? They're blueberry, your favorite.”

“I don't need a scone,” she said as she reached in and pulled out the top one. “Let Pepper find you the perfect venue if the place where your mother had her wedding reception isn't good enough,” Mom said, and saluted me with her drink. “She's your maid of honor. Plus she has an event-planning business.”

“Not event planning, Mom,” I corrected her, and sat down on the bench next to Felicity. “I plan wedding proposals and engagement parties.”

“See, no matter what I say, I'm wrong,” she grumbled. “You two realize that I have learned a thing or two in my old age.”

“Mom.” I patted her knee. “We do appreciate you. But right now this is about Felicity.”

“Exactly,” Mom said. “There's no reason you can't get your sister the perfect venue for her big day.”

“Of course, I could do whatever Felicity wants,” I said. “I have connections.” Okay, so I had one connection. The brother of the last guy whose proposal I planned had a friend who worked in the Ritz-Carlton hotel in downtown Chicago. Then there was the cousin of the sister of another guy who worked at the Doubletree in Deerfield.

“Oh, would you?” Felicity turned her big blue gaze on me. “I didn't want to ask because proposal planning is your business and I think it's awful to ask someone to do something for you for free when it's their profession. It's like asking a lawyer to look at contracts pro bono.”

“Felicity, you're my only sister,” I said. “I don't mind helping you. Later tonight we can schedule a time to discuss what kind of venue you're looking for.”

“Oh, my gosh, that would be perfect.” Felicity seemed to come back to life. “If you're sure.”

“I'm sure.” I pulled out my cell phone and noted the time. A quick double check told me we were fifteen minutes late to the final appointment. “I'm going to make a quick phone call and let them know we're running a bit late, but we'll be there. I'm certain this happens all the time.”

Felicity bit her bottom lip and started to look worried again.

“It's okay,” I said. “Seriously, you're the customer and the customer is always right. Besides, they want you in a shopping frame of mind, not a frustrated state of mind.”

“Okay,” Felicity relaxed.

The phone picked up but went to voice mail. I figured they were on the phone so I left a short message explaining
we were on the way. Task done, I hung up the phone. “Okay, how are you feeling? Are you up to making the last dress appointment?”

“Yes.” Felicity finished off her coffee and finally smiled. “I'm much better now.”

“Good,” I said, and stuffed the remaining scones in Mom's big red tote. It was satchel shaped with three zippered pockets to hold just about anything anyone needed to carry, including food, a water bottle, and a selection of first-aid sundries, sunglasses, and an SPF 50 sunscreen. Mom should have been a Boy Scout. She was always prepared as long as someone else carried the tote.

“Let's walk,” Mom said. “I've already gotten a ticket and paid for three more hours of parking.”

We agreed that the weather was perfect and chatted as we walked the few blocks to the shop. The boutique was a tiny place tucked in between two tall brownstone buildings in an area of Chicago that was in the midst of gentrification. About three quarters of a mile off Michigan Avenue, the shop sat between slummy areas and high-end boutiques.

“Let me go in first and do the talking,” I said as I pulled the glass door open and the bells fastened to it announced our arrival.

“Wait, I thought you said it wouldn't matter if I was late,” Felicity said with some alarm in her voice.

“You're just fine.” Mom patted Felicity's shoulder. “Let your sister do the talking. She's had more practice at arriving late.”

Thanks, Mom.

I put on my best event-planner face and stepped into the cool quiet of the salon. If nothing else, I would use my professional calm to soothe any ruffled feathers about our being late. The door slammed behind us as we entered.

“Weird, they must have a window open or something,” I muttered, surprised by the wind tunnel effect. “Hello?”

Soft music piped in the space along with the scent of rose and a hint of cinnamon. The waiting room was empty. I went up to the elegant mahogany desk that sat in the far corner. Two gorgeous portraits of brides flanked the wall behind it. A quick peek around the desk told me that the person who usually sat there liked elegant things. The desk had an inkblot pad and sterling silver accessories. A bouquet of fall blooms filled a rose glass vase.

“Hello?” I called again and reached for the silver bell that rested on the desk beside the flowers. I rang the bell. Its tinkling sound echoed through the quiet. “Eva? Hello?”

Eva was the woman we had the appointment with. Most of these salons had two to four consultants working. I figured it must be their break time because the place seemed to be deserted.

“Do you think they gave up and went home?” Felicity asked. She and Mom had taken seats on the twin fainting couches upholstered in pale pink and white stripes.

“Of course not, the door was unlocked and look.” Mom turned and pointed at the entrance. “The Open sign is still facing the street.”

“The front door slammed. Maybe they're in the back taking a break with the door open and don't realize we're
here,” I said. “Sit tight. I'll go check it out.” I walked down the adjacent hallway. “Hello? Eva? It's the Pomeroy party. We're sorry we're late.”

My words echoed strangely down the silk-papered hall walls. There were four doors. The first door on my right was open and showed a large styling room with a three-way mirror, racks for dresses, and carefully placed seats for the bride's entourage. “Hello?”

The room was empty. I walked down to the next door. This one was on the left and closed. I knocked as I reached for the doorknob. “Eva?”

I opened the door and it was a mirror image of the first room. Two sample gowns hung on the rack near the mirror but it too was empty.

Frowning, I continued down the hall. The next room on the right was also empty. “Hello? Anyone? It's Pepper Pomeroy. I'm here with my sister and my mother. We're sorry we're a little late.” I frowned when the hall emptied into a final room with some cabinets, a refrigerator, a sink, a microwave, and a table and chair set.

“Where is everyone?”

Startled I jumped and glanced over my shoulder to see that my mother had come down the hall behind me, Felicity behind her. My heart raced and I put my hand on my chest. “Goodness, Mom, you scared me.”

“Well, I certainly didn't mean to scare you.” Mom put her hands on her hips. “What is going on here? Where is everyone?”

“I hope they didn't leave because we're late.” Felicity hugged her pale blue sweater closer around her waist.

“Ridiculous,” Mom said with a shake of her head. “What kind of business is this that no one is here and they have customers with appointment times.” She went over to the cabinets and opened them.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“Evidence,” Mom griped.

“What kind of evidence?”

“That they are irresponsible owners.”

“Mom, stop,” Felicity said, and tugged on Mom's arm. “What if they come back here and find you going through their cabinets?”

“Well, then they'll know they shouldn't abandon the shop, now won't they?”

It was about that time that I noticed the back door was ajar. “Maybe the receptionist has stepped outside for a smoke.” I pushed the door open and scanned the back alley for anyone who might look like they worked in a bridal shop. At first glance I didn't see anyone—only a typical big metal Dumpster. “Hello?”

I stepped out to see if maybe they were hiding on the opposite side of the Dumpster. After all, there was a law about smoking within fifteen feet of an entrance. “Eva?”

That's when I saw her.

Felicity screamed behind me.

“Oh, poor thing,” Mom said.

An older woman in a white blouse and black skirt—the
typical uniform of a bridal shop employee—sat with her back against the side of the Dumpster. She had one shoe on and one shoe off. Her legs were splayed wide. Her head was tilted to one side and the ends of her champagne blond hair swayed in the slight breeze. Her mouth hung open and her lips were tinged blue.

There was a large knife handle sticking out of her chest.

“Call 911,” I said, and took a final look up and down the alley, but it was empty. I stepped toward the woman.

“Pepper, don't!” Felicity insisted.

“Don't touch anything,” Mom ordered with her cell phone near her ear. “Yes, hello, I need to report a murder. At least I'm pretty sure it's a murder.”

I forced myself to pick up the woman's wrist and feel for a pulse. The heat of her skin startled me. Maybe she was still alive, although how I didn't know. Her eyes were vacant. As best I could tell, she didn't have a pulse. I reached into my purse and pulled out a small mirror compact and held the mirror close to her nose and mouth. Nothing.

“She's dead,” I said, and sent my mom a troubled look as she relayed the news to the operator.

Felicity stumbled back against the brick wall of the building. Her delicate hands covered her mouth and her eyes were wide. I got up and made a beeline to my sister.

I managed to catch her as she passed out.

“What happened?” asked a young officer in a blue uniform with the square-shaped chest of a man wearing a bulletproof vest. He had a gun on his hip and a notebook in his hands.

“We had an appointment—” I said.

“There was no one in the shop,” Mom interrupted. “Who leaves a store without any employees in this neighborhood? I mean, seriously, who does that?”

“We're going to find out, ma'am,” the police officer said. I noticed he had nice strong hands, broad shoulders, and short dark blond hair. He turned his bright blue eyes on me. “When did you arrive?”

“Our appointment was at four, but we were running about fifteen minutes late,” I told him.

“So, four fifteen
P.M.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “When we got here, there was no one inside.”

“Did you find that odd?”

“Of course, it's odd,” Mom interjected again. “What kind of question is that?”

“It's just a question,” the officer said, and turned back to me. I admired how calm he was in comparison to my mother, who hugged Felicity and gave him the squint eye. “You arrived at four fifteen for a four o'clock appointment. Then what happened?”

“Mom and Felicity sat down on the couches while I rang the desk bell to let the store owners know we were there.”

A commotion from inside the shop caught my attention. A small, thin woman who couldn't have been much older than me pushed through the police. Her brown eyes glittered with concern, and in her hands was a forgotten paper tray with three cups of coffee from the coffee shop. “What is going on? Where's my mom? Why are the police here?”

“There's been an incident,” Detective Murphy's voice answered. I turned and spotted my favorite homicide detective coming down the alley toward us.

“An incident?” The girl clutched the tray in front of her. “What kind of incident? I was only gone for a few minutes.” We all knew the moment she spotted the feet sticking out from the side of the Dumpster. Her face went as white as a sheet and she dropped the tray. The coffee
cups hit the concrete alley, causing the lids to pop off and coffee to splatter everywhere.

I took a quick step back to avoid the splash.

She took off toward the body. “No!”

A policeman stepped between her and the Dumpster.

“No, no, no . . . Mom?” she screamed as he pulled her away.

“Get her inside,” Detective Murphy ordered. The young, burly cop nodded and tugged the frantic woman into the building.

An ambulance pulled up to the mouth of the alley. Two medics got out, opened the back of the vehicle, and pulled out a stretcher.

“Pepper.” Detective Murphy drew my attention. “Take your family inside.”

“Yes, of course.” I nodded, comforted by his sincere brown gaze. Detective Murphy was about ten years younger than my father, and he wasn't unattractive. He had that older Humphrey Bogart kind of look. You know, the kind of man that you knew instinctively stood between you and the bad guys. He wore a black, slightly rumpled suit with a blue dress shirt. A navy and white tie finished the look.

I put my hand on Mom's back and walked with her and Felicity into the kitchen area of the shop. The young shop woman sat at the break table; tears flowed from her eyes and her shoulders shook. Someone had gotten her a glass of water, but she ignored it. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

“Is she going to be all right?” I asked the policeman who stood beside her with his hand on her shoulder.

“I've called her husband,” he said.

“Why don't you move into the fitting room on your right.” The uniformed officer we were talking to in the alley ushered us through the kitchen and into a waiting room. “Do you ladies need anything?” he asked.

“Water, please,” I said and ensured Felicity and Mom sat down before they fell down.

“No problem,” he said and stepped out of the room. The sound of people talking and the general foot traffic a crime scene caused filtered in through the open doorway.

“What time is it?” Mom asked as she patted Felicity's hand. “Your father is going to get worried.”

I took my phone out of my purse. “It's five fifteen. Do you want me to call Dad?”

“That might not be a bad idea,” Detective Murphy said from the doorway. “You ladies shouldn't be driving home.”

“Oh, the car.” Mom's eyes grew wide, then narrowed. “I swear, if I get another parking ticket . . .”

“A parking ticket?” Detective Murphy tilted his head slightly.

“Mom got a ticket before we walked over here,” I said, and pulled the ticket out of my purse. “I guess that's a good thing now, right?”

Detective Murphy took the paper out of my hand. “Yes, it gives a time and date stamp that proves where you were when the crime was being committed.” He looked at the
ticket. “Officer Toole will vouch for you. Were you all present when the ticket was written?”

“Yes,” we all said at the same time.

“Good,” Detective Murphy said, and handed me back the ticket. “Keep that close.”

“Your water.” The uniformed officer handed glasses to my mother and Felicity.

“Who found the body?” Detective Murphy asked.

“We all did,” I said. “I was first out in the alley, but we sort of all saw her at the same time.”

“Poor girl,” Mom said as she sipped the water. “Who would do such a thing? I mean, this is a bridal salon. Who would want to commit murder at a place like this?”

“That's what we're here to find out,” Detective Murphy said. “Pepper, step out with me a moment.”

I followed the detective out of the room. The younger uniformed officer stood with my family. He had his hands behind his back and his gun prominent. I knew instantly he was there to reassure my mom and sister that they were safe.

“Tell me what happened,” Detective Murphy said. “How did you manage to get involved in yet another murder?”

“Good to see you, too,” I said, and tried not to roll my eyes.

“Pepper, this is serious.”

“I know it's serious.” I paced the hallway. “I'm the one who found her.” A shiver ran down my back. “She was still warm when I touched her.” I glanced at Detective
Murphy. “That means she hadn't been dead very long. Right?”

“Her core temperature was ninety-seven degrees,” Detective Murphy said. “The med tech said she'd been dead less than an hour before we arrived on scene.”

“Oh, goodness.” I sat down hard on one of the fainting couches in the main room. “We could have been here when the killer stabbed her.”

“Try to remember everything you saw.”

I shook my head at the thought that my mother or my sister could have been in the path of a murderer. “We were late.” I studied his calm, brown hound-dog eyes. “We were supposed to be here at four. We had an appointment, but Felicity was growing distraught at not finding the perfect wedding dress.”

“Ah.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Ah, as in wedding dress shopping. My sister was ready to stab a fork in her eye before her daughter finally found the perfect wedding dress. They must have looked at hundreds of dresses.”

“Well, Felicity is only at seventy-five dresses so far.” I hugged myself and rubbed my forearms. “My mom wants to decide for her already.”

He sent me a small fleeting smile. “Wait until you go over the guest list.”

“I can only imagine,” I muttered.

“So, you were late because . . .”

“I talked my sister and my mom into stopping in the
park and having a coffee. It was only fifteen minutes. It should not have been a problem.”

“Okay, you were late, so you opened the door . . .”

“We opened the door and the front room here was empty.”

“Did you hear anything? See anyone?”

“No. Wait. Yes, the door slammed closed behind us. I think I said something about there being a door open somewhere. It's the only way you can get that kind of crazy suction.”

“Then what happened?”

“Mom and Felicity sat down here and there.” I pointed to the couches. “I walked over to the desk to see if there was a note or something.”

“Was there?”

“No, I saw the bell so I rang it. We were pretty noisy. If someone had been in the building, they should not have been surprised by the ringing of the bell.”

“Okay.” He nodded and wrote something in his book.

“When no one answered the bell, I told Mom and Felicity to stay put while I went to check out the place.”

“But you said they were with you when you found the body.”

“Yes, they were. It seems that not listening runs in the family.” I sent him a weak smile. “Anyway, I went down the hall and opened all the doors to the dressing rooms, but there wasn't anyone in them.”

“Do you think that's unusual?”

“I don't know.” I shrugged. “We were the last appointment of the day, so I didn't think it was that big of a deal.”

“How did you know you were the last appointment?”

“The appointment calendar was open on the desk.” I got up and went over to the desk. “See, right here it says ‘Pomeroy party, four
P.M.
' Then nothing until tomorrow.”

“The rooms were all empty,” Detective Murphy prompted as he nodded at a crime-scene tech to let him know he needed to check out the appointment book.

“When we didn't find anyone, we went to the back room. It looks like a break room and there are bathrooms back there. But the bathroom doors were open.”

“What made you think to check out the alley?”

“Well, with the way the front door slammed, I wondered if, maybe since we were late, our salesgirl might have stepped out for a smoke. Then I remembered the state law that people can't smoke within fifteen feet of an entrance. That's when I went around the Dumpster and found her on the ground.”

“What happened when you found her?”

“Mom and Felicity saw her at the same time. My sister turned a little green. Thankfully my mom whipped out her cell phone and dialed 911.”

“Did you touch anything?”

“Yeah, well, I saw the knife and the blood, but I didn't know for sure she was dead. I bent down and checked for a pulse.”

“Did you find one?”

“No.” I shook my head and rubbed my arms to ward off the chill that wouldn't leave. “But she was warm. I knew that if she was warm, she might still be breathing. I took
out my compact mirror and put it under her nose and mouth. But there wasn't any condensation at all.”

“You assumed she was dead.”

“Yes.” I paced the length of the pink and white front room. “We stayed with the body until the first police officer arrived. I think he introduced himself as Officer Parrack. He also checked for her pulse, but there wasn't any.”

“Did you start CPR?”

“Oh,” I covered my mouth with my hand. “Should I have? Do you think I could have saved her?” Fear and guilt crept through me. “There was so much blood. I didn't think about CPR.”

“There wasn't anything you could have done.” A tall, thin man in a black coat marked Med Tech strode out of the hall and into our conversation. He had a black leather bag in his right hand. I assumed it was his CSU kit. “We won't know for sure until the autopsy, but it looks like the knife cut straight through her heart. She bled out.” He sent me a sincere look. “Nothing can save a person when they lose that much blood.”

“Oh, dear.” I sat down hard. The room spun a little.

“I meant to comfort you, not upset you.” The man in the med tech coat was beside me in a flash. “Put your head between your knees and breathe in and out.”

I did as I was told and things stopped spinning so much. “I know you were trying to help,” I muttered to my knees. “But the idea that all that blood could have come from my sister or my mom if we'd gotten here a few minutes earlier is a little hard to take.”

“Here.” Detective Murphy squatted down beside me and handed me a glass of water. “Sip this.”

I sat up slowly and sipped the cool water. “So there's really nothing I could have done?”

“Not a thing,” the man said. His gray eyes were solemn. “Now if you don't mind, I need to swab your hands.”

“Why?” I glanced at my palms. “You can't be looking for gunshot residue. The murder weapon was a knife.”

“It's standard procedure,” he said, and opened the kit on the floor next to him. I watched in fascination as he pulled out a tall paper-covered swab, cracked it open, and took my hand in his. “I'm going to hold your hand for just a second.”

“Her boyfriend might not like the sight of you down on your knees holding her hand.” Detective Murphy winked at me.

“I'm Blaine Wilson, by the way,” He introduced himself as he carefully ran the swab over my palms and between my fingers. “CSU.”