Murder of a Wedding Belle (9 page)

“Really.” Wally’s lips brushed hers as he spoke. “The second smartest thing I ever did was to hire you as a police consultant.”

Although she remembered him using that line before, she went along with him and asked, “What was the first smartest thing you ever did?”

He tightened his arms around her. “Propose to you.”

Skye stiffened. His previous answer had been “I’ll tell you later,” which had led to a night of pleasure. Now she was afraid he would demand an answer to his proposal.

To distract him, she traced a hand down his chest; when she reached the waistband of his jeans, she popped open the button and said, “Let’s forget about the murder until morning.”

“Well, okay. But only if you can you think of something for us to do to keep from getting bored until then.”

She slowly pulled down the zipper on his fly. “Does this give you any ideas?”

Two Birds with One Stone

S
kye struggled to wake up. She patted the mattress next to her. It was empty, and she felt a twinge of disappointment. Then the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee soothed her and she managed to pry open her eyes.

Sunlight poured through the gap in the drapes, and she checked the clock on the nightstand.
Crap!
It was ten after nine. Had Wally already left for work? And if so, how in the heck would she get to her car? She really didn’t relish the idea of a walking half a mile to the motor court in high heels.

As tempting as it was to lie back down and go to sleep, visions of the wedding’s to-do list danced in her head, and she reluctantly swung her legs over the side of the bed. After a shower, she dressed in yesterday’s outfit, wrinkling her nose at the stale odor. Wally was right. It was definitely time to bring over a change of clothes and fresh underwear, not to mention a pair of tennis shoes.

In the kitchen, she found a note and a set of keys on the table.

Skye appreciated the heads-up that her mother was on duty. May, a police dispatcher, usually took the afternoon shift. Skye loved her mom, but it was best to be prepared when dealing with her. Especially since she’d be ticked off that Skye hadn’t called her yesterday to fill her in on all the gory details of the murder.

At least Skye’s best friend, Trixie Frayne, was out of town, escorting a group of high school students through Europe for the month. If Trixie had been home, she’d also have wanted a full update.

Skye thought of the postcard she’d received Saturday from Trixie—a picture of the Eiffel Tower. Maybe Skye and Wally could go to Paris on their honeymoon. Except she still wasn’t sure she should marry him. There were so many aspects to consider. Did he want kids? Did she? And what about his father’s wealth? If Wally was his heir, that kind of money could change everything. What if he decided to take over the family business? Was she willing to move to Texas with him?

Then there was May’s disapproval of Wally, which was why calling for a ride after spending the night with him would be a bad idea on so many levels. Not that Skye’s mother wasn’t fully aware she and Wally were sleeping together. But May practiced the theory of better living through denial, and Skye wasn’t ready to challenge her mother’s version of reality.

Skye shook her head; she didn’t have time to deal with making a major life decision right now. Instead, after a quick stop at home to change clothes and feed Bingo, she hurried to the PD.

As Skye went inside, she braced herself for her mom’s recriminations, but May greeted her at the door and enveloped her in a bear hug. “You’re such a good girl.”

“I am?” Skye waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Of course.” May kissed her cheek and stepped back. “To volunteer to help your cousin like that. I know it’ll be a lot of work, but the whole family will lend a hand.”

Oh, boy!
Skye wasn’t sure she wanted the family’s assistance, but no way was she telling her mother that. “Uh, that’s swell.” Something about May’s mood made Skye talk as if she were the star of a nineteen-fifties sitcom. “I’ll let you know what I need once I figure things out.” She certainly wasn’t about to burn any bridges. Not when she might need them for a fast getaway.

“What are you doing here?” May asked as she went back to her place behind the counter.

“Wally and I are going to talk to the wedding vendors together since we both need to speak to them.”

A crease formed between May’s eyes, and she said, “I hope you won’t let the investigation get in the way of what’s really important.”

“The murder isn’t important?”

“That woman was a stranger,” May snapped. “A Californian.” She dismissed Belle as if she were a guest who had worn out her welcome.

“So is the bride and most of the wedding party.”

“This is your cousin’s big day.” As usual, May disregarded any facts that didn’t fit her view of the world. “Riley’s counting on you. You can’t let her down.”

Skye understood her brief visit to the land of Good Daughter was over, and she chose her words carefully. “Of course, the wedding is my first priority, but I also have a commitment to the police department. I can’t ignore that obligation.”

“You’re sleeping with the chief,” May said in a voice that could have flash frozen ice cream. “I doubt he’ll sue you for breach of contract.”

“Uh, sure.” Skye nodded. The blinders regarding Skye and Wally’s relationship came off when it was convenient for May, but Skye was not about to point that out. “Right.” Edging past her mother, she said, “Gotta go.”

Without waiting for a response, Skye hurried up the stairs to Wally’s office. She found him on the phone and kissed him on the cheek before settling into the visitor’s chair.

She listened as he finished up his conversation. “So the ME can’t pinpoint time of death either? Damn! Did he find anything we can use? Really? He can? Great. Okay. Let me know if there’s anything else. Bye.”

“I take it that was Simon?” Skye asked when Wally hung up the receiver.

“Yeah. As you heard, no TOD. But if we find the weapon used to knock Belle out, the ME thinks he can match it to the bruise on her temple.”

“So, all we need to do is locate the weapon. Any idea what it might be?”

“No. All Reid could tell me is that it was round, with some kind of embellishment on the surface. Maybe shaped like one of those oversize waffle cones.”

“Hmm.” Skye tried to think if she had seen anything like that. “A wine bottle? But the glass would be smooth, not patterned.”

“Just keep an eye out when you go through the supplies. The crime techs searched the area, but it would be easy to miss something with all that wedding stuff piled everywhere.” Wally pulled a legal pad and a pen out of his top drawer. “And speaking of supplies, run down the list of vendors for me.”

“There are other minor vendors involved, not to mention the owners of the venues the various events are being held at, but”—Skye flipped open Belle’s binder and read—“the principle ones are ...” She ran through the list, ending with, “mixologist, ice sculptor, DJ, band, string ensemble, trumpeter, theatrical company, hairstylist, makeup artist, pyrotechnician, butterfly wrangler, cigar roller, linen consultant, engravers, table décor specialist, light tech, lounge furniture rental company, transportation specialist, and photo booth operator.”

“You’re kidding.” Wally whistled. “No three-ring circus or herd of unicorns?”

“Shh!” Skye held a finger to her lips. “Don’t give them any ideas.”

“When you said million-dollar wedding, I thought you were exaggerating.”

“I’m not sure of the exact price. I doubt anyone knows at this point, but I’m betting it will be close to seven figures.” Skye shook her head. “Can you imagine spending that kind of money on one day?”

“Is it mostly Riley’s idea?”

Skye nodded. “But Nick’s picking up the tab.”

“Then I understand.” Wally leaned toward her. “If that’s the kind of wedding you wanted, I’d sure as heck try and get it for you.”

Skye felt her throat close. “Thank you.” Why was she hesitating? She’d never find anyone as wonderful as Wally. “Uh. That’s really sweet of you.” Not knowing what else to say, she changed the subject. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“I had no idea there were so many vendors involved.” Wally laced his fingers behind his head and gazed at the ceiling. “I guess we’ll have to prioritize. Besides the floral designer, were any of them in Scumble River Saturday?”

“Yes.” Skye scrunched her face, trying to remember. “Belle was meeting with the tent-and-rental guy to show him the venue, and with the linen consultant, and the photographer and the DJ were driving in from Chicago to firm up the picture and song lists.”

“Are any of these people local?”

“No.” Skye snickered. “Belle thought any business south of I-355 was run by yokels. Most of the vendors she hired are from Chicago or the burbs, and several were flying in from California.” Skye consulted the binder, flipping to the contact information page. “Of the ones Belle met with yesterday, the tent-and-rental company is located in LaGrange; the rest are in the city.”

“This is going to take a lot longer than I thought.” Wally sounded resigned. “What was on Belle’s agenda for today?”

“The groom and his men have an appointment in Chicago at noon to try on their tuxedos, and in the afternoon they have reservations to play golf at Cog Hill in Lemont. The women’s fitting is at four, also in the city. Prior to that, they are shopping at Water Tower Place.” Skye bit her thumbnail. “Belle was scheduled to be at both fittings, but I can skip the guys and meet the girls at the dress shop.”

“I’m surprised that someone as wealthy as Nick doesn’t have his own tux.” Wally teased, “A rental tux—how uncouth.”

“He does have his own, as do all his groomsmen, but, sadly, they don’t match.”

“What’s not to match on a black tux?” Wally’s eyebrows drew together.

“They all have different buttons.” Skye smirked. “And who said anything about renting? Nick is buying them for his men.”

“Well, damn.” Wally shook his head. “And I thought my father’s Texas friends were into excess. Obviously, California takes that prize.”

Skye was silent. She’d quit trying to wrap her mind around the amount being spent on the wedding. If she thought too long about what that money could do for people struggling to put food on the table, she’d be forced to smack someone.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do.” Wally interrupted her thoughts. “You call all the vendors who were in Scumble River on Saturday and explain you’re the new wedding planner and I’m your assistant. Say we have to talk to them today.”

Skye nodded.

“Don’t tell them Belle’s dead, just that you’re taking over,” Wally instructed. “Later, I’ll have Quirk formally interview them and inform them that Belle was murdered.”

“So that we can see how their stories differ and how they react, right?” Skye guessed.

“Right.” Wally nodded. “Schedule the first appointment with that company in LaGrange, then the ones in the city.”

“Okay.” Skye was scribbling notes as he talked.

“If you can’t fit them all in before you’re supposed to try on your dress, I’ll drop you off and interview the rest while you’re at the store. I’ll get my officers to start questioning the other vendors to see if any of them can account for their time from ten Saturday night until eight Sunday morning.”

“Sounds good.” Skye reached for the phone. “Just let me call Riley first and let her know that I’m meeting the group at the shop.”

 

It was nearly noon by the time Skye and Wally pulled into the tent-and-rental company’s parking lot, and the showroom was empty when they walked through the double glass doors. A few seconds later a huge man with acne-scarred skin and a crew cut lumbered out of an office. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved denim shirt with the company name and logo stitched on the pocket. His muscular arms were decorated with tattoos.

As he crossed the showroom Skye clutched Wally’s biceps and whispered, “Do you think he was the guy with Belle at the Brown Bag Saturday night?”

Before Wally could answer, the man joined them. He held out his hand. “You must be Ms. Denison; I’m Brian Cowden, the crew leader in charge of your event.”

Skye nodded and introduced Wally as her assistant. Although she knew that the police were allowed to lie to suspects, she felt a tiny niggle of guilt.

Brian gestured for them to be seated at a table surrounded by four chairs. “What can I do for you, Ms. Denison?”

“As I said on the phone, I’ve just taken over as the new coordinator for the Erickson-Jordan wedding.” Skye took out her pad. “Since my predecessor left unexpectedly, I need to get up to speed on what’s been ordered and the timeline for the job.”

“Sure thing.” The crew leader turned one of the empty chairs around, straddled it, and rested his beefy forearms on the back. “Too bad Ms. Canfield didn’t quit before Saturday. I spent three hours down in Scumble River going over every detail with her.”

“That is a shame.” Skye cheered inwardly; he had given her the perfect opening. “But at least she took you for drinks at the Brown Bag afterward.”

“Where did you get that idea?” The crew leader scowled. “We were at the country club the whole time. It was strictly business between us.”

“Of course it was, Mr. Cowden,” Skye agreed, forcing a sincere tone. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. It’s just that three hours is a long time, and I thought you might have wanted some refreshment before your long drive home. But then, Belle wasn’t exactly concerned with her employees’ well-being, was she?”