Murder Has a Sweet Tooth (27 page)

“What do you think?” Eve asked.

I didn’t dare wax too poetic. If I did, she’d go for the sapphire blue in a heartbeat. “You should try it on. It seems a little—”

“Too plain?” Eve wrinkled her nose. She gave the dress another look, then held it up in front of herself. “Does it make my complexion look sallow?”

“Absolutely not!” It was the truth and besides, I was secretly rooting for the peachy dress. It was everything I’d ever dreamed a bridesmaid’s dress should be. “I’ll bet if you try it on, you’ll like it. I mean, it’s that kind of dress, isn’t it? It might not look like much on the hanger, but once you’ve got it on, pow! You know, it might just be one of those dresses that looks spectacular on. Why don’t you—”

“No.” Eve shook her head. Her gaze traveled back to the blue whipped-creamy dress and my spirits plummeted. She looked at the peachy one again and my hopes rose like those perky mounds of whipped cream. “I’m not going to try it on,” she said, and before my hopes had a chance to take another dive, a smile cracked her solemn expression. “That’s because I already did! I stopped in here two weeks ago and saw the dress. I tried it on then and fell in love with it just like that. It’s already been altered and it’s all ready to go. I swore Marie to secrecy about it. I knew you’d love it. I wanted to surprise you!”

Surprise me she did, and I found out for sure that I would be able to move freely while wearing my dress. Since I was standing on the platform in the center of the room, I didn’t even have to reach up—at least not too much, anyway—to fold Eve into a hug. “You’re the best friend in the world,” I told her.

She brushed off the compliment. “It’s easy to be a best friend in the world when you’ve got the best friend in the world to be best friends in the world with.”

Semantics aside, we both knew we’d get all teary if we didn’t change the subject. I carefully slipped out of my wedding dress and back into my jeans and black T-shirt. While Marie herself—beaming a big smile and proud of herself for the part she’d played in Eve’s little deception—took both dresses to get them packaged and set to go, we sat in the dressing room and waited.

“So back to that coaster,” I said, because honestly, I was beginning to feel as if we’d never get any further with the case if we didn’t talk about it every chance we had. “Why wouldn’t Michael mention that he’d been to Swallows? You’d think he’d tell the police.”

“Unless he didn’t want them to know.”

“And he didn’t want them to know because . . .” Here was the sticking point, and stick me, it did. Stuck, I propped my elbows on my knees and braced my head in my hands. “Maybe Edward wasn’t the only one Beth blabbed to. Maybe she told her husband that Vickie was going over to Swallows every week to meet Alex.”

“That doesn’t seem likely, not when Beth was doing the same thing with that Jack guy. She had secrets, too, remember. I don’t think she’d want to give her husband any ideas.”

Eve was right. I acknowledged it with a tip of my head. “Maybe Michael killed Vickie.” It was a bad idea; I knew that the moment the words left my lips. I tossed it out, anyway, for what it was worth and because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“You mean, maybe Michael and Vickie were having an affair?” Eve cocked her head, considering the suggestion. “And he knew Vickie was seeing Alex, too? And he went over there, and in a jealous rage he killed Vickie?”

“And then he picked up a coaster as a souvenir.” My shoulders slumped. I saw where she was going with her argument, but hey, I knew the theory was weak from the moment I mentioned it, so I wasn’t too disappointed to watch it get shot down.

As usual, I didn’t stay glum for long. “So let’s look at it another way. If the coaster didn’t belong to Michael, and it wasn’t Beth’s, maybe someone else left it there. That would be easy enough to do. Each of the friends knows where the others keep their hide-a-keys. And they’re together at least once a week for the wine tastings, and their husbands come, too. Maybe someone left the coaster there as a kind of message to Michael or Beth.”

Eve liked the sound of this. Her eyes sparkled. “That’s brilliant, Annie! It’s a message. I like that. What does the message mean?”

She had me there. Fortunately, I didn’t have a chance to try to explain my brilliant theory. Marie showed up with both our dresses in garment bags and made me promise to show her lots of pictures from the wedding. Of course I agreed, and we left to get back over to Bellywasher’s before the evening dinner crowd started to gather.

Did I mention that the dress shop is in Old Town Alexandria, not far from Bellywasher’s? And that since it was a gorgeous spring day, the sidewalks were packed with tourists and locals out enjoying the sunshine? On our way back to the pub, we barely had a chance to walk next to each other, much less talk. When we stopped at a red light to cross a street, I waited for Eve to worm her way through the crowd to my side. Because I didn’t want to lose her in the press, I’d just missed the last light, and I toed the edge of the curb and tried not to get too annoyed when a lady behind me poked me with the corner of her very large purse.

When Eve finally found her way to me, I picked up right where I’d left off and knew she wouldn’t miss a beat. That’s what being best friends is all about. It was one of the reasons I knew she’d understand when I explained, “All these people . . . Vickie and Celia and Glynis and Beth . . . they were all best friends. And their husband are best friends, too. They’ve known each other forever, some of them work together, their kids all play together. That means Michael probably didn’t kill Vickie. It just doesn’t make sense. And I don’t think Tyler’s right about Beth killing Vickie, either. For one thing, that doesn’t explain what happened to Beth.”

Eve nodded. “So you think the same person killed them both.”

“It makes sense.” It did. It was one of the few aspects of the case that did. “So if we solve one murder, we’ll solve the other. And I’d love to know why Edward fell for Beth’s blackmail if he wasn’t the one who killed Vickie, and if he is, I’d love to know how he did it in the first place when he was at that coaching meeting that night. And then there’s Michael saying that Beth wasn’t supposed to die yet. And Chip. He’s miserable and yeah, a couple of his wife’s friends have died, but that doesn’t explain why he’s so jumpy and—” Over to my left, across a side street from where we waited, a bus pulled away from the curb and, by force of habit, I took a step back.

That was the exact moment somebody put a hand to the small of my back and gave me a rough push. My feet went out from under me and though there wasn’t anything for me to grab onto, my arms (and the garment bag with my wedding dress in it) flailed.

I tried, but it was impossible for me to keep my balance. With a yelp of surprise, I stumbled into the street.

And the only thing I saw when I did was that bus. It was coming straight at me.

IT ALL HAPPENED IN SLOW MOTION AND WITH THE
combined cacophony of Eve’s screams and the grinding gears of the bus as a sort of soundtrack to the scene.

The bus got nearer. I saw the driver’s mouth drop open and his hands tighten around the wheel. I watched as a woman who’d just boarded the bus dropped her purse and put her hands over her eyes. That big ol’ bus grille got closer and closer, so close I could see the spots of road dirt splattered over it, and one big bug who’d made a wrong turn midflight and ended up flatter than a pancake.

Just like I was about to do.

My brain froze the way people’s do when they’re suddenly in dire straits and they find themselves acting on instinct and instinct alone. It wasn’t like I thought it would stop the bus or somehow ward off the thump I was about to feel when it hit me head-on, but I held up my hands.

The bus got closer.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Then somebody grabbed my T-shirt and tugged me hard back onto the sidewalk.

I felt the hot breeze as the bus whizzed past, shook myself, and looked around. I was back up on the curb where I belonged, and Eve still had her hands bunched into the back of my T-shirt. The bus—

“Oh, no!” I screamed because it wasn’t until the bus had already gone by that I realized that in the excitement, I’d dropped the garment bag and it had gotten caught under the wheels of the bus. Even as I watched, horrified, the garment bag containing my wedding dress got dragged down the street. My instincts took over again, and I took off after the bus. I never got very far. See above: Eve was hanging on for dear life, and there was no way she was going to let me get away.

“It’s too late, Annie,” she said. “There’s too much traffic. And a dress isn’t worth getting run over for.”

This? From Eve, the woman who would have gladly jumped in front of a bus—no matter how big—to save a vital fashion accessory?

The fact that she was talking so much sense told me exactly how upset she was.

Side by side, we stood and watched. At the next intersection, the garment bag pulled loose. Three cars ran over it. The bag ripped open, and I saw a brief flutter of fabric like a peachy surrender flag—right before a pickup truck whizzed past. When the truck turned the corner in front of us, there was a scrap of oil-stained, tire-marked, tattered satin hanging from his bumper.

“My poor dress!” Tears sprang to my eyes, and I was buffeted by the crowds of people who, now that the excitement was over, hurried to get by us and get across the street. Had one of them pushed me? I looked around, anxious to see if there was a familiar face in the crowd, but by that time, it was already too late. If there was a person in the crowd with murderous intent, he—or she—was long gone.

“Oh, my dress!” At my side, Eve wailed and I put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

“It’s nice of you to take this so personally.” I patted her arm. “But really, Eve, it was my dress and—”

“No! Really!” She grabbed me and swung me all around so that I could look to our right, to our left, up and down the street. “Now it’s
my
dress, too. I put my garment bag down to help you,” she wailed.

And there was no sign of it. Not anywhere.

I honestly can’t say what upset me more, my wedding dress getting run over, Eve’s bridesmaid’s dress getting stolen, or somebody trying to push me in front of a bus.

OK, maybe I can. I guess in the great scheme of things, getting smashed to smithereens pretty much takes the cake.

IT WAS THE WHOLE BEST-FRIEND THING THAT GOT
me thinking, and I had Eve to thank for that. After all, who else but a best friend would have been game enough to venture out into Old Town Alexandria traffic with me, weaving, bobbing, and dodging to retrieve all that was left of my wedding dress? Who else would have tenderly carried those pieces of fabric to the nearest bus stop bench, then sat down next to me and cried right along with me?

Who else but Eve would have known that my disappointment was bound to morph into self-pity and chosen the exact right moment to vow (fist raised in the air like Scarlett O’Hara, but
sans
root vegetable) that, as God was her witness, she was going to do whatever it took to find me another dress in time for the wedding? And was there anyone else in the whole wide world who would move mountains to make sure it happened? Anyone but Eve? Absolutely not!