Murder Has a Sweet Tooth (15 page)

BETH’S CRYSTAL CHAMPAGNE FLUTE HIT THE COR
NER of the table and from there, the hardwood floor. Champagne rained down on everything, and the glass shattered into a million pieces.

“I’m so sorry.” No, it wasn’t exactly my fault. Or maybe it was since I’d apparently startled Beth with my comment. Whatever the case, to prove how awful I felt, I set down my own glass and went into the kitchen. There were bound to be paper towels in there, and a broom and a dustpan, too.

Of course, finding everything in a kitchen the size of my apartment was no easy thing. I finally took a chance on the walk-in pantry where, earlier, Glynis had gotten the vanilla extract. Success! I found a roll of paper towels.

I was just about to head back into the great room, when a stack of magazines on the kitchen desk caught my eye. They were cooking magazines and—do I need to say it?—cooking magazines usually send chills up my spine. Except the magazine on top had a headline across the front of it that said, “Foods of Scotland
.
” Honestly, all I meant to do was take a peek and get some kind of idea for a wedding dinner surprise that didn’t involve skinning fish or cooking their heads in seawater.

But when I heard someone coming, I suddenly felt guilty for paging through Beth’s magazine. Maybe because I felt guilty about being in her home under false pretenses? Psychology aside, I caught sight of the carry bag I’d brought along with me, and automatically tucked the magazine inside it. By the time Celia walked into the kitchen, I was standing there holding the paper towels and trying not to look like the thief I felt I was.

“Paper towels.” As if she couldn’t see them, I held them up. “I can’t believe what a mess I made in there.”

“You didn’t do a thing. Don’t worry about it. Drinks spill. Glasses break. Besides, Beth’s walking on a cloud. She couldn’t care less about any of it.”

Just as I’m sure Celia intended, this made me feel better. While she gathered up a broom and a dustpan from just inside the laundry room, I took the chance of sticking my nose just a little further into these people’s lives. “Beth’s very proud of Michael, isn’t she?” I asked, as innocent as can be. “And Michael must be thrilled to take on such a prominent position. I wonder why Edward doesn’t look the least bit happy about any of it.”

Celia shook her head and clicked her tongue. “I swear, the man has lost his mind. I guess it’s only natural. I mean, considering what happened to Vickie and all. I just don’t understand—”

“What?”

Her gaze darted to the doorway, and seeing that no one was around, she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “First he lets Jeremy play in the soccer game. Now it’s Michael’s promotion. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Because Jeremy’s a lousy soccer player, and Michael . . . ?” I held my breath and waited for her to say more.

She did. But not until after she’d looked at the doorway again. “A couple weeks ago, Beth called me in tears. There was a rumor going around Macro-Tech and she caught wind of it from Michael’s administrative assistant. Something about Michael screwing up a really big account. Beth was worried sick because there was talk of Michael being let go.”

“And today, he was named CFO.” This was curious, and I chewed over the thought for a moment while I drummed my fingers against my chin. “Maybe,” I suggested, “Edward found out it was all a big mistake. You know, about Michael messing up that account. Maybe he’s trying to make it up to Michael.”

Celia shook her head. “Edward isn’t the type to kiss and make up. Not with anybody. You don’t get that powerful by being a marshmallow.”

“Then maybe he’s just feeling warm and fuzzy. You know, because of Vickie.”

“That’s it. That’s got to be it.” Celia was relieved. She backed off. “I’d better take care of that glass in there before Beth feels she has to. I don’t want to spoil her celebration.”

“I don’t, either.” I clasped the roll of paper towels to my chest. “But there’s one other thing . . .”

If Celia was less polite, she would have ignored me. The way it was, she stopped in midstride, broom in one hand, dustpan in the other, and looked at me over her shoulder.

As casually as I could, I said, “Edward thought Vickie was going to cooking class on Tuesday nights.”

Big points for Celia, her expression never changed. But I couldn’t help but notice that her slender shoulders went rigid.

When she didn’t say a word, I knew I had to. “Vickie’s been hanging around at Swallows on Tuesday nights for a few weeks now. You all go to cooking class on Tuesday nights and Vickie was supposed to be with you. But I bet she had excuses, right? She didn’t feel well. She was busy. Once, I can see, and you’d never question it. Twice, it happens, and you offer to help out if she’s so overwhelmed she can’t take care of things by herself. But I think after three times, her friends would start asking questions.”

“Hurry up with that broom, Celia!” Glynis called from the great room. It was a perfect excuse for Celia to cut and run, and cut and run she did. I was left with unanswered questions.

Of course, I had every intention of finding out more before I left there that night.

With that in mind, I had just stepped out of the kitchen door when I ran smack into Edward Monroe. Good thing I had that roll of paper towels clutched to my chest. It cushioned the blow.

“I’m so sorry.” At the same time that I automatically smoothed the wrinkle the paper towel roll put in his tie, I stepped back into the kitchen. “I didn’t see you come around the corner.”

“No problem.” Edward didn’t say this in a tone of voice any different from the one he’d used when he was praising Michael to the high heavens. “Didn’t want to leave a mess for Beth and Michael.” He held up his glass for me to see. It was empty. “I need to head out.”

“But the kids aren’t done with their movie.” I didn’t need to be a mother to know this would be a major bone of contention.

“They’re staying here tonight but I’ve got to run.” Edward crossed the room and put his glass in the sink. “Beth invited them, and I think it will be good for them to be with their friends for the evening.” He took a step toward the doorway and I had not one doubt that he was going to say his good-byes and leave for home.

I sidestepped my way in front of him. “That’s really nice. Beth and Celia and Glynis, they were good friends to Vickie.”

“Yes, they were.” For the first time, Edward actually took the time to look me over. Apparently, I wasn’t all that interesting, because it didn’t take all that long. “It was nice meeting you, Annie,” he said in the perfunctory way people do when they just want to get something over with. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

My smile was as brief as my pretending to go along with the pretended niceness. “Before you leave . . .” I wormed my way directly into Edward’s path again. “There’s just something I wanted to ask you about. Just something I was wondering.”

I can’t say he was thrilled about being cornered. But he was nothing if not polite. Edward waited semipatiently.

And I wondered how I could ease my way into asking what I needed to ask, and then realized there was no way, and I might as well just get it over with. “I was just wondering . . .” I smiled. Decided I was being too sociable. Wiped my expression clean. “Celia, Glynis, and Beth go to cooking classes every Tuesday evening,” I said.

Edward didn’t so much shrug as twitch his shoulders, as if he could barely be bothered with what was bothering me. “I’m sure they’d let you tag along.” He moved to his left.

I angled myself to my right. “I’m sure they would. Only I don’t want to. And apparently, Vickie didn’t want to, either.”

He went as still as a statue.

I held my breath.

This time when Edward looked me over, he took his time. Maybe he’d decided I wasn’t so easy to dismiss after all. But before I could figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing, he backed up a step, cocked his head, and said, “You didn’t even know Vickie. Why do you care?”

I knew it would come to this. How could it not?

Have I mentioned that in real life I’m a completely honest person, but that when it comes to an investigation, I sometimes have to compromise my honesty and I do it without even a hint of guilt?

I did it right then and there. “It’s so glaring,” I said. “I mean, I can’t believe the cops haven’t asked you. Well, I bet they have!” I laughed because right about then, Edward looked like a volcano that was about to blow, and I knew I needed to defuse the situation—and fast. I morphed from superserious to embarrassed in no time flat.

“It’s none of my business. Of course it’s none of my business,” I stammered. “It’s just that no one’s said a word about it, and I was wondering, that’s all. If Celia, Glynis, and Beth were at cooking class, they obviously would have noticed that Vickie wasn’t at cooking class. I mean, they must have, right? And we know Vickie wasn’t at cooking class because she was over at that restaurant in Arlington with that guy. And the night she was—” I couldn’t take the chance of alienating Edward completely. I carefully avoided the
m
word. Talk of murder tends to make people queasy. Especially when they’re spouses.

Or suspects.

“The night that everything happened, that wasn’t the first night Vickie was in Arlington with that man. At least that’s what I read in the papers. And that means she’d missed more than just a couple cooking classes, and if she missed a couple cooking classes, of course, her friends would have noticed. And they would have asked her about it, of course. I mean, I certainly would ask a friend where she’d been if I thought she was going to be one place and she didn’t show up. And they did, and Vickie always had an excuse. So I was just wondering if any of them mentioned it to you. You know, if they asked you if Vickie was feeling better, or if they mentioned how much they missed having her in class with them on Tuesday nights. I just wondered, that’s all. I can’t help it.” I added this final bit because a streak of red had streamed up Edward’s neck and stained his cheeks and I was afraid he was going to burst a blood vessel. “I guess I’m just too curious for my own good.”

My phony lack of confidence worked! It put Edward at ease. He smiled. In fact, he laughed. He even patted me on the shoulder.

“You’re right,” he said. “You are too curious for your own good.”

And with that, Edward Monroe walked out of the kitchen.

And me?

I stood there clutching that roll of paper towels (they were an expensive brand and plushier than the ones I usually bought, so it was as soothing as hugging a teddy bear) and thinking. And what I thought was pretty jumbled, but what it amounted to was this:

If Edward Monroe was guilty (and Tyler’s professional opinion and my gut reaction said he certainly could be), then he’d possibly just threatened me and I probably should be worried. I would be, too, as soon as I had time.

Right then and there, though, I had bigger things to think about. Like Jeremy playing soccer and Michael, the man who had nearly been sacked just a couple weeks before, being named to a prestigious position in a successful software firm.

See what I’m getting at here?

Even as I walked back into the great room and started sopping up champagne from the tabletop and the floor, I couldn’t help but think that Edward Monroe was guilty.

And that Beth knew it.

As far as I could see, that was the only thing that could explain how she was blackmailing him.

I DIDN’T WANT TO SUSPECT EDWARD MONROE.
Really. So he wasn’t the friendliest guy in the world. So he wasn’t Mr. Charm. So statistics say that most murder victims are killed by someone they know and that often, that someone is their spouse. That didn’t automatically mean Edward killed Vickie. Did it?

Just thinking about it made me queasy, and I wasn’t kidding myself. I knew exactly why. After all, I was getting married in just two short (and getting shorter all the time) weeks, and the life I was planning with Jim was as perfect as my daydreams could make it. Wondering if Vickie and Edward Monroe had once had those kinds of hopes for their marriage and if their love had deteriorated so much that it had exploded into a murderous attack in an alley outside a bar . . .

Well, thinking about it was enough to make this soon-to-be bride wish she wasn’t also a private detective.

But I was. A private detective, that is. And I had promised Jim I would clear Alex’s name.

With that in mind, I knew what I had to do. I had to search for the truth, and follow the clues—and my instincts—wherever they led. If they brought me to the conclusion that some marriages don’t end in happily-ever-after . . . well, I already knew that. After all, I’d once been married to Peter.

But what if my investigation brought me face-to-face with the fact that some not-so-happily-ever-afters also include murder?

Even though I was standing in a pool of sunlight outside the Spring Hill Recreation Center, I shivered. It was the next day, Saturday afternoon, and before I could let my imagination run wild and carry my worries and my common sense away with it, I reminded myself I was there on business. The recreation center was where Edward had his soccer coaches’ meeting the night Vickie was murdered, and that meant it was the place I might start to get to the bottom of what happened outside Swallows. I had to stay objective. I owed it to Jim. I owed it to Alex, because if Tyler suspected I was biased in any way, shape, or form, he wouldn’t believe a thing I said when it came to proving Alex’s innocence. I owed it to Vickie Monroe. Especially to Vickie Monroe, and to her two adorable children, Henry and Antonia, who would grow up without a mother.