Engaged in Murder (Perfect Proposals Mystery) (9 page)

“That sounds about right.” I clenched my hands together.

“Evans’s jet was cleared to takeoff at six fifteen
P.M.
How do you account for the difference?”

“I went out to watch them take off and see if Cesar was in place to take the appropriate footage.”

“I see.”

“I could not have killed him between six fifteen and six thirty,” I said. “He was too cold.”

“He was killed earlier.” Detective Murphy didn’t look up from his notes. “But you could have hid evidence or tried to clean up.” This time he glanced up and pinned me with his brown cop’s gaze.

“I didn’t,” I said, pulling back my emotions. “I called 911 and was advised to call airport security. I looked up the number and gave Jeb Donaldson a call. It was when Jeb got there that we determined the guy was actually dead.”

“Where was Evans during all this?” he asked, his gaze going back to the notes in front of him.

“In the plane, flying to a romantic destination with my sister.”

“Where was Evans when you were decorating the plane?” He said it slowly as if I were a small child.

“I don’t know.” I unclenched my hands and leaned forward. “Is that when the janitor was killed? Does Warren not have an alibi?”

He closed his eyelids for a moment and then opened them. “Do you have an alibi?”

“Yes, I was in the plane decorating it.” I sat back.

“Was there anyone else with you at the time?”

“Well, Laura was there for a while . . .” I pursed my lips and frowned. “She must have left because I didn’t see her when I went looking for Cesar. Maybe she was outside supervising the luggage guy. I don’t know. I found Cesar and pulled him into the plane.” I leaned forward. “We put him in the airplane toilet with a view of the cabin so that he could film in secret. Ingenious, wasn’t it?”

“Brilliant.” He said it with a flat tone as he wrote on his note pad. “Did you see Evans at all during this time?”

“No . . . I imagine he was in his office finishing up business things.”

“Business things?” Detective Murphy asked.

“I don’t know, maybe e-mails and stuff like that. What does an executive do while he waits for his girlfriend to show up so he can propose?”

“I doubt he checks his e-mail,” Detective Murphy muttered.

I pursed my lips and raised the right corner. This wasn’t going very well at all. I made it sound even more likely that Warren could have done it. My gaze landed on a framed picture of a woman around my age on Detective Murphy’s desk. I reached over and picked it up. “Is this your wife?” I tilted my head and tried not to sound judgmental. I mean May-December marriages happened all the time. Then again, maybe I had her age wrong. Maybe she was older than me.

“That’s my daughter, Emily.” He took the frame from my hand. “She’s about your age.”

“How do you know my age?” I asked.

“It’s in Vandall’s report.”

“Oh, right.” I looked around and tried to breathe through the uncomfortable silence.

“You kind of remind me of her.” Detective Murphy leaned back in his chair.

“I do?”

“Yes, you do.” He crossed his arms. “Too curious for your own good.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a nurse anesthetist, like her mother.” There was a glint of pride in his eye.

“Wow, she must be very smart.”

“And lovely.” He straightened the picture.

“And lovely.” I had to give him that because she was. “Does she live at home?”

“No.” He shook his head. “She lives in California with her boyfriend.”

“Wow, that has to be hard for you and your wife.”

“Her mom died a few years back,” he said gruffly. “Cancer.”

I put my hand to my mouth and felt a rush of heat from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was years ago.” He picked up his pen and concentrated on his notes.

I knew when a subject was politely closed. So I reached down and picked up my purse. “What about the videotapes around the hangar?”

“What about them?” That caught his attention.

“Do they show that I was on the plane doing the decorating?”

“There are no security tapes inside the hangars,” he said. “You do not have an alibi.”

I frowned. “Neither does Daniel or Laura.”

“Daniel claims to have been going over his preflight checklist. Since it has time slots, the lists should verify where he was and when. Laura was speaking to Jeb Donaldson. They alibied each other. That leaves you and Warren Evans.”

“And Daniel,” I stated. “He could have forged his lists. He’s a more likely suspect than I am.”

Detective Murphy folded his big calloused hands on the top of his notes. “I can’t discuss details of the investigation. I think you know that, Ms. Pomeroy.”

I nodded. “But you want me to tell you everything I know.”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “It’s my job to investigate a crime. Not yours. I don’t know what you do for a living, Ms. Pomeroy—”

“I’m an event planner.” I raised my chin. “I’m opening my own business to plan proposals for men who want to do something special for their ladies. I’m calling it Personal . . . no Perfect Proposals.”

“Sounds like you have it all planned out.”

“I do.” I stepped away from the plastic chair. “I plan on doing engagement parties as well as the proposals. If you ever know someone who wants to propose, send him my way. I promise to put together something perfect for his soon-to-be bride.”

“And if she says no?”

“Then I’ll be there with a sad sports movie and a case of beer. I know how to plan things, Detective Murphy.”

“I see that. Let’s hope you didn’t turn that talent to murder . . .”

“What about the dozens of people at the airport?” Felicity asked me. “Why are they concentrating on you and Warren? There were so many people there that day.”

I fiddled with the brochures of venues I’d brought with me to the coffee shop. “I think they’ve spoken to everyone they can find. Jimmy tells me that several of the people who were at the airport are away on business. It’s an airport after all. Now, which venue would you prefer?” I pushed the brochures toward her.

“I can’t stop thinking of that poor man and his family. Are you certain that he will be buried before we have this party?”

My sister wrinkled her small forehead in concern. Her blond hair hung in long, soft curls today. She wore a work outfit of a navy pencil skirt and cream-colored sweater set. Her heels were gorgeous three-inch spectator pumps in navy and cream.

She always did know how to dress. Meanwhile, I had been scouring prop houses and flea markets for props for the party. That meant I was currently dressed in dark jeans and a tucked-in cobalt blue blouse with dust smudges on the collar. My hair had a few cobwebs stuck in it. Next time I went looking for props, I had to remember to wear a head scarf to protect my hair.

“Detective Murphy assured me that it would be fine if we have this party. As long as no one goes out of town on business, we’re okay. Now, there is this lovely place in Rosemont.” I pushed the first brochure toward her. “Then this penthouse in downtown Chicago—which may actually be closer to Mom and Dad’s.”

“I like the penthouse.” Felicity surprised me. “Look at that view. It would be as if we brought the families into the plane with us.” She sighed over the brochure that showed the Chicago skyline at night.

“The penthouse it is,” I said. “Mom and Dad want to pay for the party.”

“Oh, no.” Felicity looked at me with horror on her face. Her eyes went wide, her eyebrows rose, and her pink mouth made a little
O
. “They can’t afford this place in Rosemont, let alone the penthouse. Forget it. We can have a small affair in their backyard.”

I leaned my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my palm. “Mom doesn’t know how much these venues cost. I won’t tell her, either. Warren gave me cart blanche for this affair. I will see that Mom and Dad get minimal bills so they can feel as if they paid. The rest will go to Warren.”

“Isn’t that lying to them?” Felicity studied the brochures. “Or is it only a slight omission?” She lifted her gaze and pinned me with it. “In my opinion, not billing Mom and Dad for the entire affair would be as bad as Warren keeping his wealth from me.”

Okay, so she had a point. Maybe Warren had a purpose for his lie. Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy after all. It didn’t mean I didn’t need to solve this case. In fact, it made it worse. If Warren was a bad guy, it would be simple to turn him in and be done. But everything about this was more complicated. Even good guys went to jail sometimes. Felicity might still end up married to a felon. I could not let that happen.

“Okay, yes, I deserved that. I will admit that Warren’s lie was within reason. I think I was mad because I fell for it. I had no idea he was so rich.” I leaned back. “You know I pride myself on being able to read people well. It’s terrible when I fail so miserably.”

“Don’t worry.” Felicity patted my hand. “Warren did an excellent job of hiding his wealth. I’m sure you’ll get back into the swing of things soon.”

“Right. Now, back to the party,” I said. “Rooftop penthouse with a
Great Gatsby
theme? I mean, a 1920s biplane party. What do you think?”

“I think it’s awesome.”

“Good.” I clapped my hands. “Then it’s settled. Now what dress are you going to wear?”

“Mom is taking me shopping.” Felicity rolled her eyes. “I hope she lets me wear something pretty and not anything childish.”

“Oh, you will always be Mom and Dad’s little girl. Remember, you don’t put Baby in a corner?” I smiled.

“You are far from that movie’s weirdo older sister.” Felicity squeezed my hands.

“Because she had black hair, right?” I laughed. Meanwhile my mind raced to figure out how to decorate the venue. There would be so much to do. Next I needed to get some business cards printed up, because if the party went as well as I planned, then I might be able to pick up some business.

Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

*   *   *

“Thank you for meeting me here,” I said to Officer Vandall. “I bought you a large coffee, and these donuts are for you.” I handed him the cup and the box of fresh Krispie Kremes. “I don’t know what you take in your coffee so I have creamer and sugar.” I gave him a small bag filled with accompaniments.

“Thanks.” Officer Vandall put the donuts in the passenger seat across from him. “What can I do for you, Ms. Pomeroy? I know you didn’t ask me out here to bring me donuts.”

Out here was the Walmart parking lot in Wheeling, a village close to the airport. I knew Officer Vandall was on patrol today. I’d called the station and asked for him. It wasn’t that hard to track him down, and I hoped a bribe would work for him as well as it did with Jimmy.

He tugged his sunglasses down and eyed my chest. “I’m not much of a donut guy, but my partner is so these will come in handy.”

I smiled and leaned onto his open car window and twirled the end of my hair. If donuts didn’t work, perhaps flirting would. Although I wasn’t the best at flirting, I’d recently read a book that said twirling your hair was a distinct sign of interest. “I’ve been so worried about that poor man whose body I discovered at the airport. I never did hear—did he die of a heart attack? Was there something I could have done to save him?” I had always been good at fake tears. It was my only talent besides party planning. I squeezed out a fat tear and quivered my bottom lip.

“Hey now, no tears,” Officer Vandall said and put up his hand as if that would stop me. “You could not have saved him.”

“But I know CPR.” I raised the pitch of my voice and let the waterworks fly. “I’m sure I could have saved him. I just . . . I can’t sleep . . . If he had a heart attack, I could have done CPR . . .”

“Stop crying.” Officer Vandall opened the car door. “He did not die of a heart attack.”

“Oh, my God! Was he choking? Because I’m also trained in the Heimlich maneuver. I should have tried to sweep his throat and then put my knee in his back.” I put my hands over my face and let my shoulders shake. “I knew it. I knew his death was all my fault.”

Officer Vandall got out of the car and patted me on the back awkwardly. “No, no, he did not die of choking. Trust me. You could not have saved him.”

“But I didn’t see any wounds like bullet holes or knife marks from stabbing. It means he had to die of something I could have saved him from,” I wailed and threw myself in his arms. I rested my forehead on his shoulder and noted that his gun belt stuck out kind of far. “It’s all my fault that he’s dead, isn’t it?”

“No.” He continued to pat me awkwardly. “No. He was murdered, Ms. Pomeroy.”

“I don’t believe you.” I grabbed his shirt and sobbed into his chest. “There were no murder wounds. It had to be a heart attack.”

“No, no, it didn’t.” He stepped back and held me out at arm’s length. I know my face was red, I sniffled, and my eyes watered like leaky faucets. “Look.” He dug a facial tissue out of his pocket, handed it to me, and then glanced around to see if anyone could hear. “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone I told you.”

I hiccupped and blew my nose into the tissue. “Okay . . .”

“I will deny ever saying anything, do you understand?”

I nodded and for good measure squeezed out a couple more tears. “I feel so guilty.” I swiped at my eyes.

“The guy overdosed,” he said. “Not your fault.”

“But, but I didn’t see any pills or anything . . . if they overdose, shouldn’t they foam at the mouth or something? Oh, my goodness, were there pills in the toilet? Was there something I missed?” I wailed.

“No, no.” He pulled me in and patted me on the back. “No, he was murdered. Someone injected him with a drug that stopped his heart. Trust me, no amount of CPR could have saved him.”

“No?” I said softly and sniffled.

“No. The guy was long gone by the time you found him.”

I stepped back and wiped my nose. “But Detective Murphy made it sound as if he died while I was at the airport. He questioned my timeline and everything.”

“Murphy is doing his job.” Officer Vandall patted my arm. “Timelines are part of any case. Trust me. You are not a person of interest in this investigation. Okay?”

“Oh, okay.” I blew my nose loud.

“Feel better now?”

“Yes,” I said and sent him a watery smile. “Thank you. Maybe I can sleep tonight.”

“Of course you can sleep, jeez.” He put his sunglasses back on and looked around. “Stop crying, okay?”

“Okay.” I dried my eyes with the tissue. “Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze still on the surroundings. I did my best not to look over my shoulder even though I wanted to. I needed him to continue to believe I was thinking only of what I could have done to save the janitor. “Look, I’ve got to get back to my patrol. My partner is waiting for me at the station.” He raised my chin with his gloved finger. “Stop worrying, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

He got in his squad car. “No problem. If you think of anything, you call me. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed and waved as he put his car in reverse and took off.

It never paid to smirk, no matter how badly you wanted to. I got into my own car and touched up my makeup. So Stromer was injected with a drug that stopped his heart. What kind of drug would do that, and more important, who had access to such a drug?

I put on fresh lipstick and glanced at my appearance in my rearview mirror. Having fair skin was a hassle most of the time, but there were days when it worked to your advantage. Today was one of those days. The splotchiness that came with tears helped them look authentic. I was lucky in that the red faded as fast as the fake tears.

I put my car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot in the opposite direction of Officer Vandall. I headed toward Chicago. I had a downtown lunch meeting with Felicity’s venue. It was time to sign a contract and do a tasting. I had mentioned the 1920s airplane theme. The hotel event manager loved the idea. At first she had suggested historic airline food as appetizers. I declined. This was a high-end engagement party, not a place for bags of peanuts, no matter how ironic they may seem.