Engaged in Death (A Wedding Planner Mystery) (25 page)

Rachel brought the chair down.

I jumped off Summer and kicked the gun away as my sister sat on the chair, trapping Yvette. She flailed and tried to bite Rachel’s hands.

“Are you all right, Summer?”

She was slumped on the floor.

“I’m okay.”

We were all fine, but the refrigerator hadn’t been so lucky. Yvette had shot clean through the door.

“Get my purse,” Rachel commanded. She rifled through and removed a pair of small silver handcuffs, adorned with pink marabou feathers.

“Where did you get those?” I was stunned into inaction.

“Never mind. Just help me with this!”

We worked together to roll Yvette over and cuff her hands behind her back. Then we untied Grandma Lorraine and used the rope to bind Yvette’s legs.

Lorraine coughed and sputtered after I yanked the kitchen towel out of her mouth. Summer flew into her grandmother’s arms once she was free. I opened the basement door and Jeeves appeared, swishing his tiny black tail in annoyance.

“You must be Mallory.” Lorraine gave me a shaky smile over Summer’s head. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s terrible that we’re meeting under these circumstances.” She eyed Yvette, who thrashed against the ropes that now bound her to a kitchen chair, the towel stuffed in her mouth.

Truman burst into the kitchen, Garrett behind him. Garrett swooped down to envelop his daughter and his mother, and Truman replaced Rachel’s handcuffs with real ones as he read Yvette her rights.

Garrett turned and embraced me. “You’re all fine, right?”

“Thanks to Mallory talking to that nut and buying us time.” Lorraine gave me an embrace as well. “And to you, too, for knocking Yvette over.” She reached out and patted Rachel’s shoulder.

“I’m Rachel, Mallory’s sister. She was supposed to be back half an hour ago to give me the car, so I took a walk over here since I knew she was with Summer.”

Faith carted Yvette away, wrangling her as she kicked and tried to spit out her gag.

“Bart Tannenbaum made a very large withdrawal from his joint account with Yvette this morning,” Truman explained, “and we discovered he’d bought a plane ticket for himself and Deanna Hartley for Houston, for one week from now, since she’s given birth to Bart, Jr. He was going to leave his wife.”

“Yvette found a letter saying as much.”

“We figured Bart had the motive and the opportunity to kill Shane, but Deanna vouched for him, said she was with him that night. It was Bart who clued us in that it was Yvette. She was the one who’d directed her father to repaint their car.”

Summer looked at me sheepishly, and I gave her a final hug. “I’ll tell your grandpa about what you saw that night. Don’t worry about it.”

Rachel drove us home. We sat slumped over chamomile tea, spent from our adrenaline crash.

“All’s well that ends well.” She clinked her cup with mine. I wasn’t too sure.

* * *

The next day dawned cloudy and gray. Rachel and I were somewhat recovered. My mom was not. She was freaking out in Florida, her anxiety so palpable it oozed out of the phone.

“I’m not sure about Port Quincy. You girls will be safer in Pittsburgh.”

“We’re all right, Mom.” I was warmed by her concern. “Besides, you’ll be seeing a lot more of Port Quincy, so you can judge for yourself. I’m going to keep Sylvia’s house and turn it into a B and B. It’ll be the most beautiful wedding venue in Western Pennsylvania.”

“That’s wonderful! What changed your mind? I thought you were going to sell it.”

“I guess our near-death experience. It will be really hard, and expensive, but I think I can cash in my retirement money and get a loan to fix up the bottom two floors.”

“My daughter, a B and B purveyor. And if you fail, you can go back to practicing law.”

“Um, thanks, Mom.”

I got off the phone and sat with Rachel in the parlor while we waited for a FedEx delivery. The van finally rolled down our driveway around noon, and we ran out to greet it.

The driver chuckled and handed me a tube of cardboard. “Mighty anxious, aren’t you.”

“You have no idea.” We raced back into the house.

Tabitha had performed a miracle and found a second copy of the architectural plans. I’d paid triple to have them copied and overnighted to us.

“Let’s see, let’s see!” Rachel skipped as I brought the plans into the dining room and unfurled them on the table.

We peered closely at the intricate map of the house and scanned for places where someone could hide paintings. Now that Yvette was behind bars, we didn’t need to worry about people breaking in to find them. And if they did exist, they’d more than pay for Thistle Park’s renovations.

“I want to start looking before I get ready for tonight.” I glanced at the grandfather clock.

“You’re still going on your date with Garrett?”

“Just to dinner.” I wasn’t up for much more but was looking forward to seeing him.

“Zach will be by in a few hours too.”

We tried to match what we were seeing on the architectural plans with what was actually in the house.

“The dining room is slightly different.” Rachel trailed her finger over the drawing.

“The chimney’s changed. It could be where the fire started in the dining room.”

“And the original kitchen was in the basement. The current kitchen was originally a conservatory. They must have changed it after the fire.”

“Whoa, check this out.” I pointed to a wall in the dining room, then at the architectural plans. Inside the wall, where we couldn’t see, was a dumbwaiter. The wall appeared smooth, covered in the same damask rose wallpaper as the rest of the room.

“I’ll go get a hammer.”

The newly repaired doorbell chimed, clear and crisp.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

“Maybe it’s Truman.” The chief and I had spent a long time on the phone yesterday discussing what Summer had seen the night of Shane’s murder. He had been nearly apoplectic, knowing his granddaughter had been so close to a murder, and I wasn’t looking forward to hearing how upset Garrett would be, either. Hopefully they’d cut her some slack, since Yvette had tried to kill us.

“Nope, it’s Zach.” I peered out the keyhole before I swung the front door open. He jumped back in surprise, a key in his hand.

“You gave him a key?” I stared at Rachel. I hadn’t formally put Sylvia’s house on the market, and Rachel had been here to let Zach in the few times prospective buyers stopped by. I hadn’t thought to give him a key.

“Our relationship is progressing.” She beamed as Zach leaned in to brush her cheek with a kiss. “You’re early, sweet pea.”

“I have good news.” He held up a bottle. “Champagne.”

I accepted the bottle, chilled and dewy. It was the very same vintage as the glass I’d had at the wedding tasting with Keith and Helene. It had only been a few weeks ago, but so much had changed.

“What are we celebrating?”

“I’ve found you a family.” He was triumphant.

“Pardon?”

“A family for the house. They have four children, and they won’t allow any fracking on the property. They’ve made a great offer. I’m certain you’ll accept.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to me.

“Whoa.” The number was substantial. “This is more than fair.”

“They know it’ll need a lot of work, but they really want to live here. Even with all that’s happened.”

Rachel glanced at me with trepidation. “Tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Zach’s face fell a fraction.

“I appreciate all of your hard work, and, of course, I’ll compensate you for your time, but I’ve decided not to sell. We’re going to open a B and B and hold weddings here.”

A brief flash of anger clouded Zach’s face, then dissipated. If I’d been looking elsewhere, I would have missed it. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s hard to run your own business.”

His doubt was beginning to annoy me, but I looked fondly at my sister.

“We’re a team. I think after this month, we can do anything.”

“That’s great. I know the two of you will be successful, and I wish you the best of luck.”

I smiled at his gracious goodwill for us.

“We still have something to celebrate.” He gestured to the champagne. “To your new business venture.”

“I know just the glasses to use.” Rachel opened a cabinet and pulled out three very dusty, but beautifully cut glass goblets. Large letter Ms were etched into the sides, and vines and daisies curved around the monogram. Rachel blew off the dust and held them up to the light. “The McGavitt Glass Company’s best.”

“What’s this?” Zach was transfixed by the architectural plans spread out on the dining room table. I resisted the urge to shoo him away.

“It’s our last-ditch effort to find the paintings, if they’re in this house. The money would pay for the renovations.”

Zach shrugged and plucked the stemware from us and set them on a silver tray on the sideboard.

“I’ll get our toast ready.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

Rachel let out a sigh of relief. “He seemed to take it well.”

I gave my sister an incredulous look. “You were worried my decision to keep the house would hurt your relationship?”

“Not exactly.” Rachel fiddled with the edge of the architectural plans. “I’m just glad he’s not too upset.”

Zach returned with three goblets of pale gold liquid, bubbles racing up the sides of the etched glass.

“To the Thistle Park Bed and Breakfast.” He raised his glass aloft. It sparkled in the light from the chandelier and seemed to wink at us.

“To the bed and breakfast.” We clinked and drank.

“Yummy.” Rachel drained hers.

“Drink up.” Zach nudged my glass.

“Why not.” I downed the fizzy champagne. My eyes strayed to the architectural plans on the table. “This is really thoughtful. I hate to cut this celebration short, but I want to get a head start on looking for the paintings. I don’t mean to hustle you two along on your date but . . .”

Zach smiled, but his eyes were strange and hollow. “I’m not going anywhere, Mallory.”

“What do you mean?” I stepped back.

Rachel giggled and sat down. “This stuff is
strong
.” She stopped laughing and steadied herself at the table. “Honey? What’s with this drink?”

He ignored my sister and looked around the room.

“Where are your cell phones?”

“The parlor.” My voice grew slurry. I was so tired, I just wanted to sleep. Little alarm bells were ringing, far away.

“Did you drug us?” I could barely understand my own words.

Zach nodded. “I had to. I need the paintings. It has to look like an accident.”

“Oh, my God.” I was shutting down, growing so tired, but thoughts from the past few weeks flickered through my mind. I fought sleepiness and tried to brush it aside, like a heavy velvet curtain layered on top of my consciousness.

“It was you.”

“Don’t strain yourself.” Zach leaned over me with a concerned frown.

I had sunk into a chair and leaned my head against the table.

Zach disappeared for a moment. The front door opened and closed.

“Roooossssies . . .” Rachel slurred.

What?
Ah, roofies.

“He’s going to kill us.” My sister stared at me mutely, a tear running down her face.

“Yes, I am going to kill you,” Zach affirmed. “But it’ll look like an accident. Your car will be found in the Monongahela, and by the time they get to you two, you’ll have drowned.”

“But why?”

“I’ve got to find the paintings. I have some hefty gambling debts, and certain private collectors are eager to take the paintings off my hands for an amazing price. Too bad you ladies couldn’t move out, or just let me sell the damn house. Now, let’s see.” He glanced at the architectural plans on the dining room table and smiled. “It’s convenient that you have a second set here. I had to leave my copy at home.”

“You took them from the Frick.”

“I did. And it’s a shame I had to kill Will Prentiss. I realize now he was leading me to the correct location.”

He jostled the breakfront away from the wall opposite the fireplace.

“I’ve been so fortunate,” he mused, winded from moving the heavy piece of furniture. “Crazy-ass Yvette Tannenbaum snapped and killed Shane Hartley. She took the focus from me.”

“What are you doing?” Could he understand my slurred speech?

“She hid the paintings in the dumbwaiter.” He validated our hunch.

Who was
she?
Evelyn, Sylvia’s mother?

He left us for a minute and returned with a large duffel bag, the kind hockey players carried. He removed a small pickax and began hacking through the wallpaper, each thwack punctuated with a grunt. The metal tore jagged spaces in the jungle of faded wallpaper, raining down plaster and eventually brick. The chandelier above our heads rattled, the crystals tinkling.

“This is probably chock full of asbestos. They made these dumbwaiters fireproof, thank goodness for the paintings. But you won’t live long enough to worry about that.”

The last layer of plaster and brick gave way, and underneath was a wooden door, now scarred by the pickax. Zach opened it, revealing a worn rope.

I saw this all sideways, as my head was too tired to lift from the table.

“You killed Sylvia.” I would be sick, if I could ever sit up again.

Zach shrugged. “She wouldn’t tell me where the paintings were. She could’ve let me sell the house, and then I would’ve found them on my own. I do know this house like the back of my hand. I used to tag along while my grandmother cleaned.”

“How did you kill her?” I hoped I could stay awake long enough to stall him. It had worked with Yvette, but would I get lucky again?