For Better or Hearse (6 page)

“Tell me this isn't the most delicious fabric you've ever seen.” Richard opened the door to Perfect Party Rentals with swaths of shimmery orange and pink organza draped over his shoulders.

“It's like an upscale toga party,” Kate whispered to me.

“Be glad it's not.” I leaned into her ear. “Those are see-through overlays.”

We followed him into the English basement showroom, which had been chosen precisely for its lack of windows and abundance of wall space for displays. Racks of cloths and glass shelves packed with china and crystal lined the walls of the compact space, and small tables were set up throughout the two open rooms, showing possible table vignettes. One table was designed entirely in blue with a hand-beaded turquoise cloth, blue glass base plates, and pale aqua water goblets. Next to it, celadon twill covered a table and pooled to the floor, covered with a Battenberg lace
overlay and topped with white leaf plates and green and pink tulip glasses. I ran my finger over the fine gauge cotton of the Battenberg lace and sighed. I always felt decoratively challenged after visiting the rental showroom then returning to my own sparse apartment.

“Well?” Richard spun around, letting the sheer cloths flutter near his legs. “If this doesn't make a statement, I don't know what does.”

“I don't think that's the statement Pam is going for.” I pulled out a white chivari chair with a turquoise cushion and sat down at the blue table. The bamboo ladder-backed chivaris were my first choice for weddings for their delicate appearance, but they weren't the world's most comfortable chairs. But, as I told my clients, you don't want your guests to be so comfortable that they sit all night.

“If she wants a dull garden party, then fine.” Richard rested a hand on his hip. “But at least let me give her the option of being fabulous.” Richard made it sound like being fabulous was a God-given right that should be emblazoned alongside life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

“Have at it. I won't stand in your way.” I leveled a finger at Richard. “But no camels. If you want camels, you have to clean up after them.”

Richard's mouth gaped open, then he glared at me. “Fine. We'll do without the camels.” He lowered his voice. “Although they would have been perfect.”

Kate joined me at the blue table. “Can I watch? I feel a nap coming on.”

“You shouldn't have had lunch.” Richard wagged a finger at her. “I never eat during the day. Slows me down. A Red Bull is the perfect liquid lunch.”

“We only had salads at the Fairmont.” Kate put her head on the table. “I think it's the wine that's making me sleepy.”

Richard raised an eyebrow at us. “Aren't we fancy?”

“Don't look at me,” I said. “If I had a glass of wine with lunch, I'd be asleep under the table already.”

“Speaking of drinking during the day, how is Miss Rhodes?” Richard asked. “And Miss Connell?”

“O'Connell,” I corrected him. “They're fine.”

“Right.” He smirked. “The girl with the Irish name who looks about as Irish as I do.” Richard's dark hair and skin favored his Italian side of the family, though he preferred to claim only his French lineage.

“You know, Richard, not all Irish have red hair. Haven't you heard the phrase ‘Black Irish'?”

Kate looked up. “That's what that means?”

Before I could make an attempt at an explanation, we heard a rap on the door behind us. Pam Monroe stuck her head inside the room and waved.

A petite girl who wore her ash blond hair swept back in a French twist, Pam taught elementary school in Georgetown and looked the part. She fell on the easygoing end of the bride spectrum, and didn't seem to have an image of the perfect wedding seared in her mind like most girls. Her fiancé, on the other hand, had made partner at one of D.C.'s largest law firms and had a clear idea of the way he wanted things. But since he was too busy to attend most of the wedding appointments, we were left to interpret his wishes. I hoped he'd be happy with our guesswork.

“Sorry I'm late.” Pam came into the showroom swinging her oversized, quilted bag filled with rows of tabbed folders. I was grateful these were for her fourth grade class and not her wedding plans, although I'd
had brides with wedding binders so complex that they'd required a separate index.

I stood up to greet her. “No problem. We were looking at some of the newest linens. Should we wait a few more minutes for Bill?”

Pam flushed and shook her head. “He can't make it. An important meeting came up at the last minute. You know how that goes.”

We knew. An important meeting had come up when we'd gone on site visits, met with caterers, and interviewed photographers. He'd stayed at the invitation appointment long enough to veto the gorgeous letter-press invitation on handmade paper that Pam liked and to insist on traditional Crane's cards with black engraving. I, for one, wouldn't miss him.

Richard cleared his throat. “Annabelle and Kate told me that you want to have a classic garden party.”

“Evermay is such a perfect place for our wedding reception,” Pam explained. “The mansion is beautiful, of course, but we fell in love with the tiered gardens and the fountains. Since it should still be nice weather in October, Bill and I thought it would be fun to have a jazz ensemble playing as guests wandered around. We want it to be simple and elegant.”

Simple and elegant. These were words almost every bride uttered, and each meant an entirely different thing by it. I'd learned early on that what was simple and elegant to one bride was simply awful to another.

Richard clapped his hands together. “Fun you say? I'm getting a vision of something truly fun and fabulous. Envision canopies with huge lounging cushions tucked around the gardens. I'm picturing using hot pink, mango, and yellow as a modern twist on the autumn palette.” He unfurled the shimmery pink and or
ange cloths from his arms. “Tell me this isn't to die for.”

Pam rubbed the organza between her fingers. “I never thought of using bright colors. Bill usually likes white for everything. It's simpler, you know.”

Kate rolled her eyes at me then turned to Pam. “I'm sure Bill will love whatever you choose. Why not have a little fun with your wedding?”

Pam smiled tentatively and eyed the fabric again. “It's a possibility.”

“Or we could go with something totally different.” Richard tossed the organza overlays to the side and ran to the racks of linens. He pawed through brocades until he reached a matte gold cloth. “What about an evening in Tuscany? We do lots of rich brocade cloths and use the existing stone tables in the gardens as bars. We can have lemon topiaries and use rustic pottery for serving platters.”

“That sounds nice, too. We are going to Italy on our honeymoon.”

“Perfect.” Richard pulled the gold brocade down and threw it over a bare table. He rushed to the other side of the room and plucked a chunky wine goblet and gold glass base plate from the wall display. “Wouldn't this be divine?”

Pam tilted her head and examined the table. “That's another possibility.”

I interpreted her hesitant look. “Maybe something a bit more streamlined, Richard?”

He frowned at me then pulled a green toile cloth from the racks. “Do you have a stopover in Provence on your honeymoon, perhaps?”

“No, but that's pretty.” Pam reached out and touched the linen. “It's very gardeny.”

Richard threw the toile over the brocade and placed a white grape leaf plate and green glass on top. “You can't get more gardeny that green and white toile. We could use these on all the outside tables.”

“Maybe, but the fabric is a little busy. There are shepherds and sheep on it.”

Richard's mouth fell open. “That's the whole point of toile—”

I cut him off as I walked over to the linen racks and pulled down a pink and green plaid cloth. “Plaid is simpler, but still has a garden feel to it. Where would you put this, Richard?”

“Right back on the shelf where you found it.” Richard made a face as he reached around me for a cloth embroidered with tiny palm trees. “I've got it! We do a British Colonial theme with everything in beige and whites. We bring in tall palms to put in the tent, or better yet, we serve the dinner entirely outside on long narrow tables.”

Pam nodded. “That does sound simpler. I think Bill would like beige and white.”

“We could still do some canopies outside for the cocktail hour.” Richard threw the embroidered cloth over the toile and then hurried to the other side of the room for a woven rattan base plate. He placed it on the table and dabbed his forehead with a white hemstitched napkin. “Instead of colored organza, though, we could do white panels of sheer fabric. They would flutter in the breeze and be divine.”

Pam beamed at Richard. “I love the idea of dinner outside. But what about doing the tables in white, as well?”

Richard's face fell a bit, but he pulled a white crinkled fabric down and draped it on the growing stack of table linens. “Like that?”

“Possibly, but what about this?” Pam made a bee-line for the cotton cloths at the far end of the wall and produced a white one. She removed the rattan plate and spread the new linen over the crinkled fabric. She pulled a white base plate and a standard issue wineglass from the display shelves to go on top.

“White twill?” A bead of sweat crept down Richard's forehead. “You want a plain cotton tablecloth at Evermay?”

“I think it's perfect,” Kate said. “It's simple yet elegant.”

Richard shot daggers at her. “Are we still doing the canopies draped in fabric at least?”

“Possibly.” Pam slung her tote bag on her shoulder again. “I'll have to see if Bill thinks it's too much, though. He likes things simple, you know.”

Richard patted his brow. “I'm beginning to get the picture. So we're going with long tables of white twill with white plates and all-purpose glassware.”

Kate fluttered her eyes at Richard. “Should I write that down for you?”

He looked at her and tapped his temple. “It's all in here.”

“This was easy.” Pam let out a breath, walking to the door. “Now all we have to do is pick a florist who can do simple arrangements to go with our look.”

“Not a problem,” I said. I already had a minimalist designer in mind.

Pam called over her shoulder. “We were thinking of all white flowers.”

White flowers. Why wasn't I surprised? And how much more could we discuss about all white flowers?

Once the door shut, Richard moaned. “White, white,
white, white. Remind me to wear sunglasses to this wedding.”

“Come on Richard.” I patted him on the shoulder. “It sounds very classic and pretty.”

“I know.” He pulled the crystal off the table and put it roughly back on the display shelf. “But the hot pink and mango tents were going to be stunning. Too bad ‘Possibly Pam' is too timid to choose anything but white. I'll have to find another client to use my genius on.”

“I don't think that would have fit at Evermay, anyway,” Kate said. “Call me crazy, but I don't see camels at a stately Georgetown mansion.”

“You have no grand vision,” Richard snapped and began pulling the used linens off the display table.

My cell phone chirped, and I dug it out of my purse. “Wedding Belles. This is Annabelle.” I heard muffled sobs on the other end of the phone. “Hello? Who is this?”

“It's Darcy from the Fairmont.” A loud sniffle. “They took Georgia away.”

“What do you mean? They fired her?” Kate and Richard stopped their bickering and looked at me.

“No,” Darcy choked on a sob. “They arrested her for Henri's murder.”

“They can't really believe that Georgia would murder someone.” Richard braced his arm against the dashboard as Kate jerked her car to a stop in front of the District Two police station. He'd whined so much about the empty Starbucks cups littering the back that I'd relinquished the front seat to him for the short ride across town. “She would never risk breaking a nail.”

I eyed the low brick building that was hidden away in a quiet neighborhood near the National Cathedral. “I don't think they took her manicure into consideration.”

“And they call themselves detectives.” Richard stepped out of the car and smoothed his suit jacket.

“Try to be nice, Richard.” I slammed the car door behind me. “And inconspicuous.”

“Maybe he should wait in the car,” Kate suggested, grinning at Richard.

Richard looked pointedly at Kate's translucent blouse. “Maybe we both should.”

Who needed children when I had these two? “Lis
ten. We're here because Georgia asked us to come. Both of you behave in there, understand?”

They grumbled as they followed me up the sidewalk. I pushed through the glass double doors and approached the faux wood counter where a uniformed officer flipped through a stack of papers. A few officers sat behind him at desks that were jammed together with barely enough space between them to walk.

The officer glanced up at me from under thick black eyebrows and reached for the No Parking signs and logbook. “How many do you need this time?” His gravelly voice barely rose above the chatter of the officers behind him.

I usually came in here about once a month to get reserved parking signs to put in front of downtown churches. That way we made sure to have at least a space or two for the bride's limousine if parking was tight. And in D.C. parking was always tight.

“I don't need any signs today, but thanks.” I'd started stockpiling them in my car trunk to cut down on trips to the station. “I'm actually here to see someone you've arrested.”

One of his bushy brows rose up at the corner. “Name?”

“I'm Annabelle Archer.” I turned to motion behind me. “This is my assistant, Kate—”

The officer cleared his throat to interrupt me. “Not your name. The name of the person you're here to see.”

“Georgia Rhodes.” My face flushed with embarrassment as the officers behind him looked up and snickered. I hoped I had plenty of signs in my car because I wouldn't be coming back here for a while.

“Are you family?”

This wasn't going well. Kate stepped forward and leaned on the desk. “Can't you tell that they're sisters?”

The officer pulled his gaze away from Kate's blouse and studied me for a second. “Not really.”

“Her sister dyes her hair,” Kate confided to the cop. “She's not really blond.”

“I thought she looked like a bottle job.” The officer returned Kate's smile. I crossed my fingers that Georgia wasn't within earshot. “Let me check and see if she's allowed to have visitors.” He left the desk and disappeared into the back offices.

“Nice going, Kate,” I whispered. “What if they figure out I'm not related to Georgia?”

“Impossible. How could they prove that? You could be her half sister or her stepsister. There are lots of reasons you wouldn't have the same last name.”

“Or look even remotely alike?”

Kate shrugged. “Recessive genes.”

“What if Georgia tells them she doesn't have a sister?” Richard tapped his foot on the worn linoleum floor behind us.

I narrowed my eyes at Kate. “Well?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I never thought of that. I guess then you'd have some explaining to do.”

Richard took a step toward the door. “Maybe we should leave before they find out that Annabelle lied about being Georgia's sister. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies, anyway.”

“I'm with Richard.” Kate backed away from the counter, her face now a bright pink. “Annabelle could get in big trouble for messing with an investigation.”

“Might I remind you that you lied to the officer?” I managed to say even though my mouth had gone completely dry. I wondered if the officer would chase us if
we made a run for it. Too late. He was approaching the counter.

“It's okay for you to see her.” He pointed a finger at me. “But only you. Your friends will have to wait here.”

I turned to say something to Kate and Richard, but they were already at the glass entrance doors.

“We'll wait in the car.” Kate waved with her keys as Richard held the door open. “Take your time.”

I mouthed the word “cowards” to them as I followed the stocky cop behind the counter. He led me to a room with several brown chairs clustered around a wooden table. Georgia sat in one of the chairs with her legs tightly crossed. The officer held the door as I went inside, then closed it behind me.

Georgia looked up and a smile broke across her face. “Thank God you're here.”

I leaned in for an air kiss. “How are you doing?”

“I'm sitting in a pleather chair in a police station. How do you think I'm doing?”

“Don't worry, Georgia.” I eyed the fake leather chairs with strips of duct tape patching the edges as I took a seat across from her. “This has to be a mistake. They can't really believe that you would kill Henri. What evidence do they have aside from the fact that you hated him and don't have an alibi?”

She shook her head. “There can't be any evidence. I was nowhere near the murder scene. Like I told you, I was in my office doing those damn reports all day.”

“But no one saw you?”

“Everyone else was working the wedding. Since Darcy had to do my job of coordinating the setup, I didn't even see her for hours.” She tapped a pink, perfectly polished nail on the table. “I'm sure they won't waste any time giving her my position now.”

“First of all, I don't think Darcy wants your job. She doesn't like dealing with clients, remember?”

“It doesn't matter. The general manager would love to toss me out and put in someone who won't outshine him.” Her eyes glimmered with tears. “What am I going to do?”

I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Everything will be fine. The police can't have any evidence to prosecute you with, and the GM can't fire you just because everyone likes you more than him.”

Georgia put a hand over her eyes. “You don't understand. The hotel is my life. I've worked almost every weekend for eight years so other people can have amazing parties. I can't remember the last time I had a steady boyfriend. And I'm going to lose it all.”

“You're not going to lose everything. Anyway, there are lots of other jobs.”

She gaped at me. “Start over? Do you know how hard it would be to get hired in another luxury hotel after being fired, not to mention arrested for murder?” A tear snaked down her cheek. “Do you know how many weddings I've done at the hotel? How many brides I've watched go down the aisle? I've given up a normal life for this career, and I have absolutely nothing to show for it. No wedding of my own, no kids, no house in the burbs, nothing.” Her shoulders began to shake, and she buried her face in her hands.

My jaw hit the floor. Georgia's life seemed so glamorous to me. Beautiful clothes, perfect hair, a chic downtown apartment. Even in college she'd been the golden girl with the cute boyfriend and even cuter clothes. I'd always aspired to what I'd thought was Georgia's life of champagne and caviar. Who would've
guessed that she wanted 2.5 kids and a house with a picket fence? “I had no idea….”

“Be careful, Annabelle,” she said through sobs. “In this business, you snap your fingers and a decade has gone by.”

Tears pricked the back of my eyes as I watched her cry. I swallowed hard and tried to sound upbeat. “It's not the end of the world. This will all blow over and you'll be back at the hotel in no time.”

She looked up at me. Tears had muddied the smoky shadow on her eyes, and she wiped dark streaks with the back of her hand. “Will you help me, Annabelle? I can't trust anyone at the hotel anymore, and you've been such a good friend. You remind me of myself when I first started in this industry.”

I wasn't sure that was such a compliment now that I had a firsthand look at where years of planning events got you, but I owed it to Georgia after all she'd done for me. “Of course. What do you want me to do?”

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “No one at the hotel will tell the police anything, but they might talk to you. People there know you. They like you. Could you ask around? Try to find out any gossip that might help clear me. The real killer must be someone in the hotel, and someone has to have seen or heard something.”

That sounded simple enough. No danger in eavesdropping. “Don't worry. We'll find out who really killed Henri and get you out of here.” I looked at Georgia's swollen, red-rimmed eyes and took both of her hands firmly in mine. I tried to sound more confident than I felt. “I promise.”

“Time's up, ma'am.” The stout officer stood at the door.

I gave Georgia's hands one more squeeze before I
followed the cop back out to the entrance. Three men stood talking in front of the glass doors, and I recognized the man in a snug-fitting blue polo shirt. Detective Reese. Great. I put my head down and tried to scoot around the group so he wouldn't notice me and accuse me of meddling in another investigation.

“Miss Archer?”

Crap. He noticed me. I looked up and flashed him a quick grin but didn't stop walking.

“Hold up a second.”

I pivoted around and tried not to let the panic I felt creep into my voice. “Hi, Detective.”

He took a step to close the distance between us. “What are you doing here?”

I blurted out the first thing I could think of. “I'm picking up some No Parking signs for a wedding.”

He looked at my empty hands and raised an eyebrow. “Really? Where are they?”

I dropped my eyes to my hands. No signs. Nice going, Annabelle. I opened my mouth to explain, and then thought better of making up another lie. I wished I had Kate's ability to flirt her way out of any situation, even though she credited the Wonder Bra for a great deal of her success. It would take the mother of all Wonder Bras to get me out of this one.

Reese took me by the arm and leaned close to me. “Does this have anything to do with the arrest we made in the chef's murder? I would have thought you'd steer clear of the case now that you're no longer a suspect.”

I tried to pull away, but he held my arm tight against him. “You were mistaken when you suspected me, and you're mistaken about Georgia, too.”

“Please tell me this woman isn't a friend of yours.” Reese rolled his eyes as he released me.

“I've known her for years, and I can tell you for a fact that she could never murder anyone,” I insisted. “Even Henri.”

Reese grinned at me, his hazel eyes deepening to green. “You sure know how to pick 'em, sweetheart. She's as guilty as they come.”

My cheeks burned. Now I remembered how cocky he was. “Just because she doesn't have an alibi? You're pinning it on her because you haven't found the real killer.”

Reese's smile vanished. “We have evidence that links her to the crime scene. The fact that she doesn't have an alibi is icing on the cake.”

“What evidence? I was at the crime scene, remember?”

“How could I forget?” He gave me an exasperated sigh. “We found an item belonging to Miss Rhodes with traces of the chef's blood on it. Unfortunately the media got wind of it, too, so you can read all about it in tomorrow's paper.”

“What item?” This sounded suspicious. I'd heard about police planting evidence. “How can you be sure it belongs to her?”

“Apparently Miss Rhodes has a scarf that she wears frequently. It's been called her ‘signature' scarf by several coworkers. We found it wedged in the back of her desk drawer with drops of dried blood on it.”

Georgia's Jackie O Hermès scarf? My heart sank. She idolized Jackie almost as much as she did Marilyn, and the scarf was one of her prized possessions.

“I'm afraid it doesn't look good for your friend.” Reese shook his head.

I was afraid he was right.