Engaged in Death (A Wedding Planner Mystery) (17 page)

“I’m working on our business plan,” Rachel gushed. “We can feature turn-of-the-century recipes for the breakfasts and wedding menus.”

My heart began to beat faster. It was the same idea I’d had. I was itching to look through the cookbooks, but a wave of doubt crashed over me.

“Rach, there needs to be a business for your business plan. And it won’t be here.”

My sister didn’t even blink. “Maybe not for you, but I have two orders for wedding cakes.”

“Make that a third.” Mixed feelings made my voice low. “I gave away my wedding reception at the country club.” I wanted Rachel to succeed, but I didn’t want to be tethered to this house forever if we couldn’t turn it into a B and B and wedding venue.

Rachel tossed down her knife and whirled around with a squeal.

“Careful!” I cried as the knife ricocheted off the counter. I picked it up just as Soda the kitten raced into the kitchen to inspect the noise.

“Who’d you give the wedding to?”

“Kayla, the woman who admired your cake so much. It’s super short notice, but the reception is paid for. Nothing else, like a DJ or a photographer—”

Rachel almost knocked me over with the force of her hug.

“That is so sweet.” She held me at arm’s length. “It’s great that you’re able to move on. And Kayla’s wedding will be a good test run to launch our business venture.”

I pulled away from her and tried to change the subject.

“First off, I don’t know if I could channel my inner Martha Stewart and hold weddings here, even if we could renovate. It would be a business launched with Sylvia’s murder.” I raised my eyebrows. “I have strong feelings about this.”

“Sylvia died in her sleep. But if she
was
murdered?” She chopped walnuts into smaller and smaller pieces, her knife flashing in a blur. “I could see Helene killing her mother-in-law.”

“It would be hard to prove.” I sipped some lemonade. Rachel had made it with real mint leaves again and plenty of sugar. “Since she was ninety-nine, no one’s going to challenge the conclusion that she died of a heart attack during her afternoon nap.”

I closed my eyes and thought of work. This morning, I’d searched the thousands of Lonestar Energy documents on the internal system, specifically for the contract Naomi Powell’s mole had seen in Lonestar’s office. I wanted proof Helene and Keith were making hinky contracts.

The little hourglass symbol spun as my work PC churned, then spit back a surprising result:
0 documents available
. I squinted at the screen in disbelief. The firm had had thousands of Lonestar documents just the other day. But below the first figure was a different one. The search results revealed over three thousand documents mentioning Lonestar Energy, and now they were all password-protected. I swallowed and quickly exited out of the document system.

Someone had encrypted every single firm document mentioning Shane Hartley’s company. Perhaps because the system had alerted them to my prior searches. And now I’d done it again. Some algorithm would inform the powers that be at the firm that I was snooping where I didn’t belong.

The next day, I arrived at work before the sun rose and finally pulled back into the driveway at seven, ready to forgo dinner and move straight to my sinking brass bed. But I had a visitor sitting on the front porch who stood to meet me before I could even extricate myself from the station wagon. I shielded my eyes against the low sun with my hand and realized it was Truman. I stifled a groan. “How can I help you, Chief?”

“Cut the Nancy Drew bull crap.” Truman’s hands were on his hips, his face twisted into a scowl. “You’re messing up my investigation.” His eyes were cold, his mouth set in a hard line, like the first day I’d met him when he thought I’d bludgeoned Shane Hartley.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I breezed past him and entered the front hall. Sheesh. Where was the solicitous, caring man who carried me into this house just a few days ago? I continued down the hallway, Truman dogging my heels.

Rachel met us in the breakfast room.

“I made spaghetti.” She glanced nervously at Truman. “Would you like some, Chief?”

“No thanks. I won’t be here long. Just wanted to tell your sister I don’t appreciate her asking people questions, trying to solve Shane Hartley’s murder.”

Rachel glanced mutely at me and headed to the kitchen.

She returned with a small salad, some fresh bread, and two steaming plates of spaghetti. I speared some lettuce with unnecessary roughness, and the fork squeaked across the plate.

“Look, Truman, I’m just trying to stay alive. We don’t exactly feel safe here, and there’s nowhere else to go. Have
you
made any headway on who killed Shane Hartley?” He must have figured out by now I’d talked to Naomi Powell, and that’s what this little talking-to was about.

“We have some leads.” Truman jutted out his chin. He was bluffing.

“Good luck with that.” If Truman couldn’t figure out who had killed Hartley and cut my brakes, I would do it for him.

“We already interviewed everyone you talked to. We know how to do our job. Leave the detective work to us.”

I took a bite of bread instead of responding.

“There’s something else. I actually stopped by to tell you about the fingerprints we lifted from those photographs of Mr. Pierce and Ms. Cunningham.”

I abandoned the bread, no longer hungry. It took all my self-possession to finish chewing and to swallow the lump in my mouth, instead of spitting it out.

“They were Sylvia’s prints.”

“
Sylvia
sent them?” I dropped my fork with a clatter.

“She probably thought it was important you knew the truth about her grandson.”

Sylvia’s words the last time I saw her echoed in my head.
It’s good to listen to your instincts, Mallory.

“She tried to warn me, without resorting to the actual evidence.” I shook my head. “I admitted I was having some misgivings about the wedding, and she told me maybe it was cold feet. That I should trust myself. But I was going to go through with it.” I shivered. “Until she sent those photos.”

“How do you have Sylvia’s fingerprints?” Rachel set down her water.

Truman chuckled. “We had to book her once. Back in two thousand two. She threw her pocketbook at Helene and broke her nose. It was a heavy thing, and Sylvia had pretty good aim, even though she was in her eighties. Helene pressed charges, and we charged Sylvia with assault.”

“Good for her!” I howled with laughter.

“My son represented Sylvia and convinced the DA to drop the charges.”

“So that’s how Garrett started as Sylvia’s attorney?”

Truman nodded. “They became friends, and she had Garrett handle her legal matters, including her will. Made the Pierces furious, because Helene wanted Keith to draw up the will to their liking. In fact, they did just that, until my son straightened things out.”

We chatted a bit more, Truman’s gruff admonition to stay out of his investigation nearly forgotten. He stood to go. “You don’t want those pictures back, do you, Mallory?”

My face heated.

“I don’t need them anymore.”

“Promise me one thing. No more amateur detective stuff. I’ll find out who threatened you and who killed Shane Hartley. But you have to stay out of my investigation.”

“I promise.” I hid my crossed fingers under the table.

* * *

As soon as Rachel and I finished dinner, I changed from my pantsuit into a more expansive pair of PJs. I’d crawled into my sinking bed at half past eight for some much needed sleep, when Rachel knocked on my door.

“You have another visitor.” Her eyes lowered with concern. “I can tell him to go away if you want.”

“Who is it?” I asked groggily.

“Keith.” Her face fell.

I swung my legs out of bed and marched from the room.

“I can tell him to buzz off,” Rachel said as I traipsed down the stairs, threw open the front door, and was greeted to the sight of Keith pulling the rest of my belongings out of his trunk. My eyes slid to the backseat of his BMW, and I pictured him there with Becca all over again.
Thank you, Sylvia
.

“See, I’m not breaking and entering this time.” He made his way over to the porch. He carried a thick envelope.

“Only because you’ve figured out I changed the locks.” My eyes adjusted to the dimming light. I glanced back at Rachel. The sun was setting behind the house, rimming it in gold against a melon-colored sky, but before me it was darkening to a deep, cobalt blue. Whiskey the cat came out of the house and began to growl.

“Good guard kitty.” I bent to scratch her chin. Keith rolled his eyes and set the envelope on the porch. He returned to his car and hoisted the final item from his trunk, attempting to balance it atop a high pile of boxes and bags spilling out all the clothes, books, wedding favors, and knickknacks I’d left behind at his apartment. I was thankful that at least now I’d have some decorations to use for Kayla’s wedding. The heavy garment bag kept slithering off the pile and onto the grass.

I realized in horror he was trying to put my would-be wedding gown on top of the boxes.

“I won’t be needing that.” My voice was thin and high. Keith gave up and let the ball gown slump onto the grass, where it sat like a white chocolate Hershey’s kiss, the hanger peeking out of the top like a slip of paper.

“Let’s at least be civil, Mallory.” He joined me on the porch and took a step toward me, and I took one back. Whiskey paced before me.

“I can’t believe you were in an accident. I was so worried when I heard.” He took another step, closing the gap.

I began to laugh. “Were you worried about me when you were boinking Becca Cunningham on that backseat and planning to walk down the aisle and pledge your undying fidelity?”

“I’m sorry.” Keith addressed his shoes. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Just keep your psycho mother away from me.” I paused and really looked at him for the first time.

Something was off. The stress from these past few weeks had deepened the bags under his eyes and made his cheeks sag. His hand flew to his chin, which he stroked self-consciously.

“Becca made me shave it.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, his sentence trailing off in a mumble.

I stared at him as if he’d gone mad. Keith had had a beard since the day I met him. I’d never seen his face naked. His chin was small, with a little cleft, and made him appear to have an overbite. No wonder he’d never shaved it.

I also couldn’t believe he had been obtuse enough to mention Becca’s name in my presence. I peered more closely at his car, half expecting her to pop out of it like an evil blond jack-in-the-box.

“Here’s a tip.” I tried to keep my voice from becoming a shrewish shriek but failed miserably. “Don’t
ever
say her name in front of me. You need to leave, right now.”

“I want to apologize properly. Since you haven’t let me. I didn’t get a chance to explain to you what happened.”

“I saw, remember? Some guardian angel showed me what happened, right there on your front seat.” I jabbed my finger toward his car.

Shame momentarily clouded Keith’s face, but he didn’t retreat. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him his grandma Sylvia had sent the incriminating photos.

“Things changed between us.” Keith stumbled on. “The wedding was too big to cancel. I was going to deal with this in a few months. I need someone who will take care of me. Someone willing to work less. I know it was bad timing, and I should have told you earlier. With Becca, it’s different—”

I’d had enough of listening to Keith describe our wedding as a too-big-to-fail pageant. I’d turned to retreat into the house when Rachel cleared her throat and announced, “The third gentleman caller of the evening.”

I was happy she had listened in on my conversation with Keith. It saved me the trouble of recounting it to her later.

“Ha, ha.” I thought she was joking. “Just leave the stuff on the lawn. I’ll deal with it when Keith leaves.”

“No, I’m serious.”

I turned to see Garrett Davies advance around the side of the house, smiling, a skip in his lanky step. He carried an accordion folder under his arm. When he saw Keith and the precarious pile of boxes and bags, his face clouded over.

“Behave, boys,” I said under my breath.

“Keith.” Garrett climbed the stairs and positioned himself between me and the scoundrel.

“Garrett. Funny, I hear you keep popping up around here.”

“Just being neighborly.” Garrett took a step toward Keith. Their noses were almost touching. “Making Mallory and Rachel feel welcome in Port Quincy.”

Keith snorted and looked Garrett up and down. “I’ll bet you are.” He tried to pull in his paunchy stomach and square his jaw. I could practically see the air crackling between them.

“Um, Garrett?” I wanted to diffuse the situation before they broke into fisticuffs. “Do you want to come in? Keith was just leaving.”

“You heard the lady.” Garrett inched even closer to Keith. “She asked you to leave.”

“You’re making a giant mistake, Mall.” Keith’s voice was quavering.

“Excuse me?” Garrett took a step closer still and stared at him with absolute malice. “You cheated on your fiancé.” Tiny flecks of spit landed on Keith’s now-alarmed face. “Three weeks before your wedding. Let’s not talk about mistakes.”

“It’d been going on for at least five months.” My voice was flat. Both men turned, their stare-down broken. “There was snow on the hood of the car in those pictures.”

Keith began to sputter a response, but I wearily held up my left hand, finally free from its sling. “You’re not wanted here, by me or by Sylvia.” I paused to collect my courage. Might as well tell him if it got him out of here. “Truman Davies just told me. Your grandma sent those pictures. She wanted to make sure I didn’t marry you. She helped me avoid what would have been the biggest mistake of my life.”

Keith’s knees sagged, as if I had delivered a swift kick to his diaphragm. It was like Sylvia had freshly chastised him from beyond the grave. The blood drained from his face, then came rushing back, making his newly shorn red face look like a cherry tomato. He stalked off to his car.

“And I know about the contract you and your mom made with Lonestar.”

Keith froze, his hand on the door handle.

“You helped Sylvia along, didn’t you?” My voice cracked. For the millionth time, I regretted not having tea with Sylvia the day she died. Maybe I could have attended to her. Or stopped her from being murdered, since that was what I now suspected.

Keith whirled around. “What are you saying? I killed my own
grandma
? How could you?” His eyes filled with disgust. “Besides, I was with you when she died. We were looking at the plot of land my mother bought us.”

“You and Helene would never stoop to killing her yourself. It would be too messy. You probably hired it out. You’ve been cheating on me for who knows how long, and you were going to marry me. I have no idea what you’re capable of.” My voice caught on the last word, and Rachel placed her hand on my arm.

Keith just shook his head, got into his BMW, and reversed hard down the drive. A woman’s voice yelped. Becca extricated herself from the floor of the backseat. She peeked over the seat as he sped off, like a scared prairie dog emerging from its subterranean hole. Bits of gravel pinged the undercarriage of his car, and he turned out in a cloud of dust. She’d been in the backseat this whole time. I felt extra-humiliated, if that was possible.

I sank to the porch stairs.

“You were right,” I said to my sister. “We should have sent him away. He had nothing important to say.”

* * *

“Helene is trying to get an injunction against you.” Garrett pushed a sheaf of papers across the breakfast room table. We’d retreated to the house after we brought in my belongings strewn about the front yard.

I skimmed the papers and burst out laughing.

“An injunction? That’s the dumbest legal move I’ve ever heard of.” Injunctions were for emergency, time-sensitive situations, like barring demolition of a building or stopping a protest. Not for anything Helene could claim I was doing. I continued to read the document.

“What? She’s claiming not only do I know where three valuable paintings are in this house, but I’m going to destroy them out of spite, and that this is a crime against humanity!”

“It would be comical if it weren’t so psychotic.” Garrett shook his head with disgust.

“I don’t know where the damn paintings are, I swear. They might not even exist. And if they do, and I find them, I certainly won’t destroy them!”

“Helene’s just trying to intimidate you and get your attention. If she had any real claims, she’d wait and sue you properly. I’m sure she and her attorney have thought of everything possible. Thanks to Sylvia, she doesn’t have anything. I can’t believe her attorney went for this. It’s embarrassing.”