Dolled Up to Die (10 page)

That afternoon Cate and Mitch went over to work on the Helping Hands cleanup job at Mr. Harriman’s place. Along the way, skillfully weaving through busy traffic, Mitch told her what he’d so far learned on the internet.

“Ed Kieferson was over his head in debt and in so much financial trouble that he was going down like the
Titanic
. The house is almost into foreclosure. The wedding business and vineyard are headed that way. Mr. K’s restaurant has been losing money like a tide going out.”

“But how could that be? It’s the most expensive restaurant in town. The most prestigious place to take guests or celebrate.”

“Poor management, it looks like. Maybe Jo-Jo Kieferson was the brains in the money department, and, without her, ol’ Eddie pretty much ran things into the ground. I’m guessing here, but I doubt Kim knew anything about the financial problems. She’s been spending a boatload of money on the house. I did, by the way, pick up the name of a former employee at the Mystic Mirage, if that interests you.”

“Yes!”

Cate’s surfing on the internet usually wandered along cyberspace rabbit trails that fell into black holes, or sites she backed out of with horrified haste, or computer freeze-ups. But Mitch could extract amazing nuggets of information.

“So Kim is the big loser here,” she mused thoughtfully. “Jo-Jo gets Eddie’s life insurance and Kim loses everything to foreclosure.”

“Not necessarily. There may be mortgage insurance on the property loans. Which would mean, with his death, they’d be paid off.”

So even if Mama Bear had been mistaken about Kim getting a big insurance payoff, she might still be a well-fixed widow. Still plenty of motive for Celeste to murder Ed, if she was looking out for her daughter’s financial interests.

Kim could have murdered Ed herself, but Cate’s PI intuition was on Celeste, the brains and CEO of the pair, as Donna had said. Did the authorities know all these details of the financial picture? she wondered as they pulled into Mr. Harriman’s driveway, which was lined with a clutter of broken flowerpots, a cracked sink, and two old birdcages.

Mr. Harriman was a sweet older man. He seemed vaguely baffled by the accumulation of
stuff
in his home and yard. “Things never piled up like this when Emma was alive,” he said. Cate and Mitch spent all afternoon on the cleanup, hauling loads to the landfill, the recycling center, and Goodwill. Hard, dirty work, but satisfying. It also prompted Cate to go home and fill two boxes with stuff to get rid of.

After church on Sunday, Cate talked Mitch into driving to Lodge Hill, which was several miles out of town, but a locked metal gate barred the driveway. Had the wedding business and vineyard already succumbed to financial difficulties? But the gate stood open when Cate drove out there by herself on Monday afternoon.

The building, an impressive, oversized home in its heyday, loomed as large and imposing as it had looked in the website photo. The old logs, weathered to a silvery elegance, held an aura of dignity, family history, and old wealth, a wordless assurance that any marriage entered into here would surely
age and endure as gracefully as these solid old logs. A hedged enclosure with double wooden doors extended out from one end of the building, and evergreens in huge urns lined the covered walkway that stretched the length of the building. A paved trail led across the expansive lawn and down to a boat dock on the McKenzie River. There was room for several boats to dock, but only a small rowboat was tied there now.

A single car and a motorcycle stood in the huge parking area. Cate rolled her Honda into the wide space between them. A gold-flecked black helmet sat on the motorcycle seat. The hedge, she noted as she walked toward the main entrance, could use trimming. Perhaps maintenance had been skimped on because of those financial problems?

A sign on the main door, which apparently was not used except for weddings, directed visitors to the office farther down the covered walkway. A guy came out of the office door just before she reached it. Cate wasn’t paying any attention to him until he spoke to her.

“Another one. Taken,” he said, his tone mournful. He placed a hand over his heart and looked at her with soulful brown eyes.

“Wh-what?” Cate asked, bewildered.

“Good-looking women never come here unless they’re getting married to some guy that isn’t me.” His grin was roguish, his dark eyes flirty, and he was definitely good-looking himself. “Story of my life.”

Then he stepped on by her and headed for the motorcycle. Cate stared after him. A big guy, dark-haired, lean and long-legged in jeans, muscular in his denim Levi jacket. He gave her a grin and wave as he threw a leg over the motorcycle, as if he knew she’d turn to watch him.

Inside, no one was at the counter, but it was a room designed to make clients feel comfortable. White leather sofas faced each other across a myrtle-wood coffee table piled with brochures,
and a coffeemaker stood on a table in a corner. A sign identified a door on the far side as a private conference room.

A woman who’d apparently been bending down to do something under the counter stood up. “Hi. May I help you?” She was blonde, fortyish, plump but stylish in a burgundy suit.

“Hi. I’m scheduled to be a bridesmaid in a wedding here, and I was wondering about, oh, the facilities and everything?”

“I’d be glad to give you a tour.” The woman smiled and held a hand over the counter. “I’m LeAnne Morrison, manager here at Lodge Hill.”

Cate shook the extended hand. “Cate Kinkaid. It’s Robyn Doherty and Lance McPherson’s wedding.”

“Oh yes. They have an incredible event planned, don’t they? She’s an amazing woman, so focused and creative.”

Amazing, focused, and creative were perhaps the complimentary terms for a big spender in the wedding world? Cate didn’t voice that thought however. She just murmured, “Yes, isn’t she?”

LeAnne led the way upstairs, chattering all the way about the facilities, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floors. She took Cate through the dressing rooms and the wedding area, once a ballroom, now called the Chapel Room. It had folding room dividers that could be closed to create an intimate area for a few guests, or left open to accommodate ever larger crowds. LeAnne showed her the one room Mr. Kieferson had completed as a display in his plan to turn the closed-off area into luxury rooms and suites. Before going back downstairs, Cate interrupted to ask a question.

“A guy left the office just before I came in. I was wondering who he is?” Suddenly aware that might sound as if she were some desperate bridesmaid hungry to snap up any stray man, she added, “I thought he looked familiar, but I can’t quite place him.”

Which was true, she realized. There was something vaguely familiar about the big, dark-haired guy.

“Rolf Wildrider.” LeAnne wrinkled her nose as if the name put a bad taste in her mouth. “The vineyard manager. He lives in a cottage out back. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women, if you know what I mean.” She softened the snarky comment with a laugh.

A “gift” Rolf Wildrider probably used with considerable success, Cate suspected. Was that his real name? Somehow it had an invented sound about it. He wouldn’t earn any points for a sophisticated approach, but a certain bold charm and rugged good looks perhaps made up for that.

“Another reason I’m here,” Cate went on, “is that we understand the owner, Mr. Kieferson, passed away a few days ago. We’re wondering if that will mean any changes or complications with the scheduled weddings.”

“Oh no, I’m certain everything will transition quite smoothly.” LeAnne paused. “Of course, there are always a few complications when there’s a death.” Another hesitation. “But I’m sure everything will be straightened out soon. Within a few days at most. Not that there are any problems; it’s just . . . well, everyone is very upset by Mr. K’s death.”

What had begun as a reassuring statement had progressed into something closer to an admission of rising panic. LeAnne blinked as if she might be squeezing back tears.

“There doesn’t seem to be much going on in the vineyard,” Cate suggested. “Are there any problems there?”

“I don’t pay much attention to what goes on out in the vineyard. We operate independently.”

“Has Rolf Wildrider been working at the vineyard long?”

“Just a few months. I never could understand why Mr. K even hired Rolf. Except that he—”

Cate thought the woman was going to say something more
derogative about the vineyard manager, but then she broke off and gave a kind of strangled sob. “I still have a hard time believing he’s . . . gone. He was such a generous man. So sweet and softhearted and compassionate and caring.”

For a moment Cate spotted definite signs of a crush on her boss, but LeAnne’s voice hardened when she added, “At least he was until . . .”

Cate waited, hoping the “until” was going somewhere, but LeAnne briskly started down the stairs. “Mr. K was planning a complete kitchen staff here eventually, but right now everything but drinks come from the restaurant. The chef at Mr. K’s is fantastic, and so the reception dinners here are fantastic too.”

“You’ve worked here at Lodge Hill for a long time?”

“I was a hostess at the restaurant, and Mr. K was generous enough to give me a try as manager here. It’s worked out great. This was just a big old building going to ruin until he bought and restored it. He had such far-reaching, creative imagination.” By now they’d reached the bottom of the stairs. “Mrs. Kieferson—Jo-Jo, not Kim, the current Mrs. Kieferson—was managing the wedding business here at Lodge Hill then, and she was a wonderful help to me.”

LeAnne’s words about Ed Kieferson were approving, but Cate heard a past tense in them that wasn’t necessarily connected with his death.

“Did Mr. Kieferson exhibit some, oh, recent changes?” Cate asked cautiously. “Something that might have a connection with his death?”

“His dumping Jo-Jo and latching on to the blonde bimbo was certainly a change!” LeAnne clapped a hand over her mouth and looked around as if she hoped some mouth other than her own had spoken those words. She cleared her throat and tapped her chest. “You must excuse me. I’m just so upset that I hardly know what I’m saying.”

Yes, LeAnne definitely had some ambivalent feelings about her recently deceased boss.

“Will you be staying on?” Cate asked.

LeAnne jerked, as if the question startled her. Because she was thinking about leaving, and she was surprised someone might suspect that? Or was she thinking a mother-daughter conspiracy between Kim and Celeste might have her on a to-be-fired list?

“I assume I’ll be staying,” LeAnne finally said. “I love dealing with excited brides and helping them make memories for a lifetime.”

They finished the tour by going through the kitchen, for which there was a separate entrance, and then the downstairs Reception Room.

Back in the office, LeAnne handed her a brochure. “Maybe you’ll want to use our services yourself sometime soon.” Before Cate could say there was no wedding in her foreseeable future, LeAnne jumped into an enthusiastic spiel. “You can, like Robyn, handle everything yourself, although we have marvelous packages in all price ranges. Personal attention and service are our specialty here at Lodge Hill. I’m personally present at every wedding.”

Cate assumed you had to provide the bridegroom yourself, although maybe briskly capable LeAnne could do that too. But what she said was, “Mr. Kieferson’s death . . . It’s just so puzzling, don’t you think? Who would want to kill such a wonderful man?”

“Yes, very puzzling.”

No information there. “Did the police talk to you?”

“Oh yes. They asked about everything from the last time I’d seen Mr. K to financial records and what I knew about Rolf Wildrider.”

“Did they talk to him too?”

“I would assume so, though I don’t really know. He was in here today only because he wanted to know about Mr. K’s services.”

Cate wanted to know more about Rolf, but the earlier words “financial records” jumped out at her. She repeated them. “Financial records?”

“I couldn’t help the authorities there, of course. I turn everything over to the accountant who handles all Mr. K’s business affairs.” LeAnne dismissed finances with a wave of hand. “I just hope they don’t pin Mr. K’s murder on Jo-Jo. She’s such a sweet woman. But it was odd, his death happening there at her house.”

A thought about LeAnne’s quick detour from the subject of finances occurred to Cate. Could LeAnne have a lucrative side business as an embezzler? If Mr. K had found out, maybe she’d had to get rid of him before her crime was exposed? Or maybe the accountant was embezzling money and he had to get rid of Mr. K to avoid exposure?

Uncle Joe always said you had to be suspicious of everyone, but it was confusing when ever-more suspects seemed to be popping out of the woodwork here.

Cate jumped back to an earlier trail LeAnne had opened up about Ed Kieferson dumping Jo-Jo for his current wife. She lowered her voice to a confidential level. “I understand the divorce was a rather messy situation.”

“Yes, very messy. Actually, I thought Mr. K might eventually come to his senses and go back to Jo-Jo.” A frown line cut between LeAnne’s nicely groomed brows. “Not that I’d have gone back to him if I were her.”