For Better or Hearse (3 page)

“That's impossible!” Leatrice Butters, my elderly neighbor who took an overeager interest in my personal life, had been waiting for me at the door of our narrow Georgetown apartment building when I got home from hours of police questioning. She wore a navy sweatsuit with green puffy frogs that seemed to squeak each time she pressed against one. Leatrice had a fondness for “action” clothing. “Who could ever suspect you of murder?”

Richard had insisted on making sure I got home safely and had walked ahead of me up the stairs to open my door. I'm sure it had nothing to do with getting out of earshot of Leatrice and her squeaking frogs.

“Apparently some overeager cook saw me right after I found the body and assumed I did it.” I already felt weary explaining the night's events and dreaded having to do it a hundred more times. “Once the police pinned him down, he admitted that he didn't see me doing anything but standing next to the body.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Leatrice looked relieved as she followed me closely up the stairs to my fourth floor walk-up. The building was only four stories high, with two apartments on each floor. Small enough for neighbors to actually know each other, which was rare in D.C. Sometimes I considered it more of a mixed blessing, though.

“How did you know about the murder before we got here?” I turned to Leatrice as we reached my floor. “It hasn't been on the news, has it?” My brides would be less than thrilled to see me on the news involved in a murder. The fact that the murder took place at a wedding would send some of them into comas.

Leatrice shook her head and beamed. “My police scanner. I keep it on all the time.”

I felt my stomach drop. So much for keeping this incident hushed up. “You heard my name on a police scanner?”

“No, dearie.” Leatrice patted my arm. “I heard that the report came from the Fairmont and remembered that you mentioned the hotel when I saw you leave this morning. To be honest, the scanner doesn't give as much information as I'd hoped.”

“Really?” Knowing Leatrice, she'd been expecting color commentary of the crimes. I needed to lie down. Richard held the door open for me and visibly restrained himself from shutting it on Leatrice. According to Richard, Leatrice meddled in my life too much. I don't think he liked the competition.

I dropped my purse on the floor and collapsed onto my slightly worn yellow twill couch. Nudging a pile of wedding magazines out of the way, I propped both feet up on my coffee table. Leatrice sat down next to me while Richard headed off to the kitchen.

“So who do they think did it?” Leatrice's eyes danced with excitement. Sometimes it worried me how much she liked mysteries.

“I have no idea.” I let out a deep sigh. “Considering how many people hated the murdered chef, it could have been anyone. Apparently I had the least motive of anyone in the hotel.”

“I told you, Annabelle.” Richard emerged from the kitchen with a miniwheel of brie and a box of crackers. “Anyone who ever worked with Henri wanted to kill him. He was the most notorious chef in town. And one of the most talented.”

Leatrice put a hand on my arm. “Is that cute detective working the case?”

Richard snickered, and I glared at him. “Yes, Leatrice, but I've told you a thousand times that there's nothing going on there.”

“I know.” Leatrice's face fell. “It's such a shame.”

“Isn't it, though?” Richard gave me a sugary smile as he sat down across from us in the matching yellow armchair. Richard loved seeing me squirm when Leatrice started trying to play matchmaker. I'm sure it was the only reason he tolerated her. He put the box of crackers on the table and started to open the brie.

“I don't know if I would eat that cheese.” I cringed as Richard opened the round wooden box. “I think I've had it for a while.”

Richard unwrapped the white paper covering and made a face. “Now you do understand that the refrigeration process does not stop time, don't you?”

“Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “I just forgot about it.”

Richard stood up, holding the offending cheese in front of him at arm's length. “I will never understand
how you can be so detailed and precise with your weddings, yet your own life is a mess.”

“It is not a mess,” I protested. “Anyway, if I spent all my time shopping and cleaning, I'd never be able to put in the hours to plan all those perfect weddings.”

“One word for you, darling.” Richard disappeared into the kitchen then poked his head up over the counter that separated the living room and kitchen. “Balance.”

“I have balance,” I shouted over my shoulder as I sunk into the couch. “I'm even taking a yoga class. If that isn't balance, I don't know what is.”

Richard walked back into the living room and planted his hands on his hips. “You're taking yoga? Miss Type A, if-I'm-not-doing-ten-things-at-once-I'm not-busy? Now this I have to see.”

“Fine.” I folded my arms across my chest.

“Now, now.” Leatrice waved her arms. “You kids stop your bickering. You're just like me and my Jimmy used to be.”

Jimmy?
Richard mouthed to me.

“Her late husband,” I said under my breath.

Richard's eyebrows shot up and he opened his mouth to say something, but I grabbed him by the sleeve. I stood and began tugging him into the kitchen.

“Come on; let's go find something to eat.” I turned to Leatrice. “We'll be right back.”

Once we got into the kitchen, Richard pulled my hand away and started unwrinkling his sleeve. “What was that all about? Doesn't she know by now that the chances of us getting together are slim to nil? Heavy on the nil?”

“I think she forgets things sometimes. I'm not going to be the one who explains things to her again. You do it.”

Richard wagged a finger at me. “I have a strict ‘don't ask, don't tell' policy.”

“People have to ask? I mean, aside from Leatrice?”

“Very funny, Annabelle.” Richard narrowed his eyes and looked over the counter at Leatrice, who was happily pressing the frogs on her shirt to make them squeak. “I think the nut-ball has a selective memory.”

“Be nice, Richard.”

He pressed a hand over his heart and let his mouth gape open. “You wound me, darling. When am I not nice?”

“Well…” I began.

Richard cut me off with a raised palm. “That was a hypothetical.” He opened the refrigerator as the doorbell rang. We both jumped at the loud noise.

“Could you get that Leatrice?” I called out as I turned to examine our food options.

“Of course, dearie.” She shuffled to the door. “Are you expecting anyone?”

Leatrice opened the door and gave a small scream. Richard and I both froze.

“Good heavens,” Leatrice gasped. “We're being robbed!”

I rushed into the living room and saw Leatrice with her hands in the air and Ian standing in the doorway with a puzzled expression on his face. I didn't see a weapon in sight.

“Leatrice, what are you talking about?” I went up and pulled her arms down. I heard Richard's muffled laughter behind me. “Ian isn't robbing us.”

“You know him?” Leatrice flushed. “I guess I got startled by the tattoos.”

“Sorry about that.” I waved Ian into the room. He'd traded in his kilt and Captain America boots for a pair of broken-in jeans and Doc Martens, but he'd kept the black tank top. If it weren't for the tattoos covering both well-muscled biceps, he'd be practically mainstream.

“Are those real?” Leatrice had overcome her embarrassment and stood inches away from Ian's arms.

He nodded. “Do you like them?”

Leatrice cocked her head to one side. “They're in
teresting. This woman certainly isn't dressed to be riding a dragon like that, though.”

“Tattoos are very fashionable now.” Richard sank onto the couch, barely taking note of the body art. “Everyone has them.”

“Do you think I should get one?” Leatrice brightened.

“No,” I said forcefully. I noticed Richard's disappointment that I wouldn't let him egg her on and glared at him. I turned my attention to Ian. “What are you doing here, by the way?”

He produced my boxy, metal wedding emergency kit from behind his back and set it on the floor. “The lads accidentally loaded this in with our equipment. Your address is on the business card you taped to the inside, so I figured I'd return it to you.”

“Thanks.” I wondered if that was the only reason he'd returned it personally, but I didn't want to take a bit of harmless flirting too seriously. He seemed like the type who did lots of flirting anyway.

Ian took a few steps away from Leatrice and gave my apartment the once-over. “Is this just an office or do you live here?”

“I live here,” I explained. “My office is down the hall with the bedroom.” My apartment was shaped like a baby rattle with two clusters of rooms separated by a long hallway. I loved the fact that nothing in Georgetown was a standard size or shape.

He strode over to the windows that lined the front of the living room and pulled back the curtains. He peered three stories down to the street. “Great location.”

“It's a very safe building.” Leatrice followed him across the room. “I'm president of the neighborhood
watch.” Actually, Leatrice
was
the neighborhood watch.

“How did you get in, anyway?” I asked. The front door was controlled by a keypad. You either had to know the code or have a resident buzz you in.

He gave me a lopsided grin and shrugged.

“On second thought, I don't want to know.” I looked at my watch. “Did you just leave the hotel?”

“The police made our load-out a bit longer than usual. At least they didn't make us wait until they'd questioned everyone or I'd still be there.”

Leatrice raised herself up on her tiptoes, which still only brought her chest level to Ian. “You were at the murder scene, too?”

“Bit of bad luck, eh?” He flashed her a smile. I could tell that Leatrice didn't think it was bad luck at all.

Leatrice moved in close. “Did you see anything important? Any clues?”

“Lots of people coming and going all day, but nothing sinister.” He placed his hands on the back of an oversized armchair and leaned forward. “I don't see how they're going to sort this mess out with everyone looking the same.”

“What do you mean?” Leatrice asked.

“Except for me and the lads, everyone at that place is dressed alike. All those waiters are in tuxedos and the cooks are in those white jackets. Who can tell them apart?”

“I never thought of it that way,” I said. “But not everyone is a suspect, are they?”

“The police spent a lot of time with the kitchen staff,” Ian said.

“That makes sense.” Richard picked at a tiny blob of
something on my couch. I needed to stop using my couch as a dining table. “They did work with Henri the most and had the easiest access to him.”

“But who would benefit the most from his death?” Leatrice tapped her chin. “The killer has to have a strong motive.”

“Trust me, Leatrice.” I patted her on the arm. “Anyone who knew the victim had a strong motive.”

“The only time I saw the chef that day, he was dead.” Ian sidestepped around the chair he'd been leaning on and sat down. He propped his feet on my coffee table, then noticed Richard shooting daggers at him and dropped them back to the floor. “So I guess that leaves me out.”

Leatrice folded her arms across her chest and her frogs let out a chorus of squeaks. “Not necessarily. You could have a secret motive.”

“Oh, please,” Richard mumbled, then pointed to the unidentifiable spot on my sofa and whispered to me, “What on earth have you been doing on here?”

“Nothing.” I could feel my face warm. “I probably spilled something.”

“A secret motive would make you the perfect killer.” Leatrice raised her voice to talk over us.

“You do have a dining table, you know.” Richard looked behind him at the wooden table covered in paperwork then let out a long breath. “Forget I said anything.”

I glanced at Ian and he caught my eyes, then winked at me and grinned. Richard cleared his throat and I looked away.

Don't even think about it, darling,
Richard mouthed to me. I didn't have to be an expert lip reader to understand his meaning.

“What if you had a connection to the victim that no one knew about?” Leatrice ignored us and continued. “If no one knows your motive, then you wouldn't even be a suspect.”

“I suppose that's true.” Ian shifted in his chair, clearly humoring Leatrice. “But the chef was dead when I saw him.”

“Ah ha!” Leatrice pointed a finger at Ian. “You knew he was a chef, though.”

Ian gave me a panicked look. “He wore a chef's hat and a jacket that said ‘Chef Henri' on it.”

“Oh.” Leatrice sounded deflated.

Richard stood up and brushed trace amounts of lint off his pants. “I'm going to excuse myself before you get out the stretching racks and make this a proper inquisition. I've had quite enough questioning for one day, thank you.”

“Do you really have to go?” I motioned to Leatrice and Ian with a jerk of my head as I followed him to the door and gave him a desperate look. Leatrice could continue like this for hours.

“It's nothing you can't handle, darling,” he assured me, visibly stifling a laugh. “Anyway, I have to prepare for the bridal open house tomorrow afternoon.”

I smacked my forehead. “That's tomorrow?”

“You and Kate told me you were coming a week ago, so don't even think of backing out.” Richard wagged a finger at me.

“Why are you doing this again?” The thought of a roomful of prospective brides and their mothers sent a chill down my spine.

“Simple. The brides come to the showroom, they taste the food, ooh and aah over the stunning linens
I've chosen, and then realize they absolutely must have me to cater their wedding.”

I sighed. “It's in the afternoon, right? I have yoga in the morning.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “I already see problems with this new Zen quest of yours.”

“We'll be there,” I promised, making a mental note to call Kate as soon as he left. “It slipped my mind with all of this murder business. It's not every day I'm a suspect in a police investigation.”

“Welcome to my world,” Richard grumbled, picking up his briefcase from beside the door.

“Oh, please,” I groaned. “You were a suspect for about half a second and that was months ago.”

Richard pressed his hand to his chest. “I may not seem wounded to you, but the scars run deep.”

“This isn't the first time you've been involved with the police?” Ian called from across the room. He must have been desperate to get away from his conversation with Leatrice. “You've got more of a past than I imagined.”

“Not really.” I shook my head and felt my face flush. I could feel Richard's disapproving look. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he was jealous. “One of our clients was murdered at a wedding a few months ago and Richard was a suspect for a few days.”

Richard shot me a look. “For those of us who've been wrongly accused, a few days can feel like eternity. Now, as much as I'd love to stay and exchange criminal records, I've got to run.” Richard gave Ian a slight nod, looked at Leatrice and sighed, then leveled a finger at me. “I'll see you tomorrow. And wear something nice. There'll be lots of brides attending.”

“Of course.” I started to close the door behind him.

Richard stuck his head back in. “Make sure Kate wears something modest. It's an all-ladies tea, so tell her not to waste the cleavage on us.”

“Okay, okay.” I pushed him out the door and sighed. Just what I wanted to do. Spend a Sunday afternoon chatting up brides. As if I didn't do enough of that already.