Murder of a Wedding Belle (17 page)

“That must be hard on you.” Skye studied the event coordinator. “It sounds as if the owner is really depending on you.”

“Yes, he does count on me.” Allison’s cheeks turned red. “And I’d hate to let him down. He’s such a special man, and he’s put every penny he has into this place.” She picked at a flake of dry skin near her thumbnail. “That’s why the contract Ms. Canfield had us sign is so worrisome.”

“Because of the penalties it imposes if anything is late or not to specifications?” Skye guessed.

“Precisely.” Allison gazed into Skye’s eyes. “Ms. Canfield was holding a sword over our heads, since it all came down to whether she signed off at the end. And no matter what I did, she was never happy.”

“I’m certain that’s not the case.” Skye’s tone was encouraging. “Belle was probably just nervous herself. I’m sure she wasn’t really that bad deep down inside.”

“Maybe.” Allison shrugged. “But you’re young, and it sounds as if you still think there’s good in everybody. Trust me—if you believe that, you just haven’t met everybody.”

Razzle-dazzle

O
nce Allison went off to admonish a workman whose pace was lagging, Skye took out her phone and dialed Wally. She’d used her cell more often this past month working on the wedding than she had since she’d gotten it, and she was finally beginning to understand why the device was so popular.

It rang and rang, and she was figuring out what message to leave on voice mail when Wally answered, “Hi, sugar. Sorry it took me so long. I was on the landline with County.”

“Did they figure out if that thing Frannie found was the weapon used to knock Belle out?” Skye couldn’t decide which answer she wanted to hear. If Wally arrested Iris, Skye would be up a floral river without a designer.

“No. They’re still running tests. They probably won’t know until tomorrow.”

“How about fingerprints?”

“There were a slew of them on the box, so it’ll take a while to match them all, but they weren’t able to get any usable prints off the possible weapon because of the raised pattern on the metal.”

“Shoot.”

“At least they know what it is.”

“Is it a Victorian bouquet holder?” Skye had been turning the question over and over in her mind and thought she had come up with the answer.

“Very good.” Wally’s smile was evident in his voice. “One of the crime tech’s parents owns an antique shop and she recognized it. She says she’s pretty sure it’s authentic, not a reproduction.”

“Now that we know what it is, do you want me to casually ask Iris about it?” Skye dug out the floral designer’s list of inventory. “It’s not mentioned on the sheets she gave me, so it would be natural for me to bring it up.”

“It would probably be better not to give her any advance warning that we found it.” Wally’s tone was thoughtful. “Let’s wait and see if the dent matches the vic’s wound.”

“Sure,” Skye agreed. “Then I’ll keep working on wedding stuff, and you can call me if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Wally approved. “I’ve got Martinez watching Ms. Yee, and, up to now, she’s been acting normal and hasn’t left the motor court.”

“Well, that’s a good sign.” Skye was still hoping Iris was innocent. “Anyway, the reason I called is about the owner of the country club.”

“Kent?”

“Do you know him?”

“Slightly. He seems like a good guy. What about him?”

“I don’t think I’ve met him, but the club’s event planner gave me an earful about how much they need the money from this event.” Skye filled him in on the details.

When she finished, he asked, “But wouldn’t that mean that both Kent and the event planner would want the wedding to go on as planned? Which would mean keeping Belle alive.”

“True. Unless Belle threatened to use one of the contract stipulations to stiff them.” Skye explained, “They’re getting paid in three installments. They got twenty-five percent when the venue was booked, another twenty-five at the beginning of May, and they won’t get the remaining fifty percent until Saturday night.”

“Great. More suspects.” Wally sounded discouraged. “Just what we need.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he assured her. “At least I cleared that mother of the bride who went after Belle with the cake knife. She’s divorced and honeymooning in Acapulco with her new husband.”

“Was she ever a viable suspect?”

“No, but it’s good to cross her off the list.”

“At this point any step forward is a good one. Even a baby step.”

After saying good-bye to Wally, Skye opened her binder, trying to decide what she should do or whom she should see next. As she skimmed the list, her heart sank. She’d been blocking the upcoming activity from her mind.

Riley had insisted that the entire bridal party have a dance lesson before the wedding, and it was today at two thirty. Skye shuddered. She had no sense of rhythm whatsoever, and she looked like a squirrel in a clothes dryer when she danced. She knew this for a fact from her two previous experiences in taking dance lessons.

Her first had been in second grade, when her mother had made her take ballet. The other students had been dancing since they could walk, and those sweet little girls were not happy when a newcomer was added to their troupe. They taunted Skye mercilessly, saying she looked like a hippopotamus, and that her tutu was really a “fourfour.”

Those baby ballerinas had terrorized Skye until she finally locked herself in the bathroom. She came out only after her mother promised she wouldn’t have to attend any more sessions.

Although Skye had lost weight in sixth grade, she never forgot that experience, and when she took her second set of dancing lessons five years ago during her engagement to Luc St. Amant, the scion of a wealthy Louisiana family, she still associated dancing with those cruel seven-year-olds.

Mrs. St. Amant had not been pleased with her son’s choice of fiancée and had tried to scare Skye off in various ways, one of which was to enroll her in a debutante dance class. Luc had begged Skye to humor his mother, and she had given in, agreeing to attend.

The fact that Skye was several years older than the other young women, and a damn Yankee who had snagged one of New Orleans’s most eligible bachelors, did not make for a pleasant learning environment. Skye lasted through the twelve-week course but vowed never to put herself in that position again.

And that was before she had had an epiphany and had given up her diet, realizing that rice cakes made better packing material than snack food, sugar-free Jell-O was gummy water, not dessert, and chocolate was God’s way of saying he wanted women to be happy.

Now that she was no longer willing to suffer the deprivation of the eight-hundred-calorie-a-day diet she’d stuck to for more than fifteen years, and had gained weight, Skye wanted to take another dance lesson about as much as she wanted to stick a straight pin in her eye.

Nevertheless, she had no choice. Unlike the other members of the bridal party, who had free will, Skye was on the payroll, and Nick and Riley were shelling out big bucks for her to do what they wanted.

On the bright side, it would give her a chance to chat with the male half of the wedding entourage. The men had only been formally questioned about Belle’s death. Who knew what they might reveal in the heat of a tango? Especially if Skye could manage not to step on their toes.

It was already one thirty. She had only an hour to get back to Scumble River, check with Justin and see if he had found the electronic file, show Frannie what to do next, and go home to change into a skirt and high heels, the mandatory dress code for the afternoon activity.

As Frannie drove them to the motor court, Skye gave her a rundown of what she wanted her to do the rest of the afternoon, then called Justin’s cell.

“Yeah.” Justin’s voice crackled. “I found the order, but you won’t like what it said.” He cleared his throat. “The engraver was right. Ms. Canfield made the mistake, not them.”

“Shoot!” Skye felt a headache starting up. That meant they’d have to pay the engraver for the second order, as well as the rush fee. Good thing Riley and Nick thought money was no object. “Thanks anyway. Are you still in Laurel?”

“No. I’m about ten miles from Scumble River,” Justin reported.

“Great. Meet us at the motor court. We should be there in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

When Skye flipped her phone closed, Frannie asked, “Bad news?”

Skye nodded, searching her purse for an aspirin. She dry swallowed the pill and said, “I’m going to close my eyes and try to get rid of my headache.”

“Sure, Ms. D.” Frannie’s glance was sympathetic. “You rest. Everything will be fine.”

When they were all back at the Up A Lazy River, Skye got the teens started on the place cards. The calligrapher had finished inscribing the guests’ names and had delivered the cards that morning. Now they needed to be assembled and sorted for the reception. Skye instructed Frannie and Justin to call her if they ran into any problems, then hopped into the Bel Air and sped home.

While she changed into a dress and heels, Skye thought about what she had learned about Belle so far. On the one hand, the wedding planner was a greedy witch who made the life of those who worked for her miserable. On the other hand, she seemed intent on producing a perfect event. What was wrong with this picture?

Bent over, one foot halfway inserted into her pump, Skye paused. Why would a rich, society fashionista care so much? It wasn’t as if she needed the money or the job. Was it because she wanted to be famous? Or was Wally right about Belle wanting to prove something to her parents?

Maybe she just enjoyed the power. Even though she had to take orders from the brides, ultimately their weddings were in her hands. Or was the rush of spending hundreds of thousands of dollars nearly every day the attraction? Skye shrugged and finished putting on her shoes, but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that if she could unravel Belle’s motivations, she would be a lot closer to solving her murder.

Several members of the wedding party, including Riley’s mother and grandmother, were already at the banquet hall when Skye arrived. Anita and Dora gestured for Skye to join them.

“You need to go talk to Riley,” Anita said, her color high. “The poor thing is hysterical.”

Skye’s left eye began to twitch. Riley might be the apple of her mother’s eye, but she was the core of nearly all of Skye’s problems.

“That awful woman is messing up things again.” Dora’s thin voice quavered.

“What woman?” Skye asked, afraid she already knew. Only one person wasn’t kowtowing to Riley’s demands.

“Nick’s stepmother.” Anita shook her head. “I just can’t understand why she’s acting this way. It’s almost as if she’s deliberately trying to spoil things.”

“I think Natasha is used to being the center of attention,” Skye explained. “And now a younger, more beautiful woman is stealing all her thunder.”

Before either Dora or Anita could reply, a woman whom Skye assumed was the dance instructor clapped her hands and announced, “We only have two hours, so let’s get to work.” Skye realized the rest of the party had arrived and they were ready to begin.

As Skye took her place on the dance floor, she heard Riley say to Nick, “If she doesn’t show up for the lesson, you have to make sure she doesn’t participate in the family dance at the reception. She’ll ruin everything.”

“But, honey, she was a professional dancer before she married Dad. She’ll be fine.”

Skye held her breath. Nick had not responded in the correct manner, which would have been to agree with his bride-to-be and trash his stepmother. Would Riley explode?

To Skye’s relief, Nick received only a dirty look for his error. Then Riley strode to the front of the hall and announced in a rah-rah voice, “Everyone find your partner. This is going to be so much fun!”

While everyone paired up, Skye kept an eye on the bride. She didn’t believe for a minute that her cousin would let Natasha get away with not falling in line with Riley’s wishes.

The bride continued, “The first dance at the reception, after Nick and I finish our sweetheart dance, will be a waltz.” She pointed to the instructor. “Charisa will show you how it’s done.”

Skye turned toward her partner, groomsman Gus Zeitler, and said, “I need to apologize in advance. I have less rhythm than a penguin.”

“No problem.” Gus wiggled his bushy eyebrows. “I have less rhythm than the stone the penguin stands on.”

“Then we’re the perfect pair.” Skye held out her arms the way Charisa indicated. “Shall we count together?”

“Or we could slip out to the bar and have a drink,” Gus whispered.

“Sorry, but I like my head where it is, and Riley would bite if off if she caught me sneaking away.”

“Yeah, there is that,” Gus agreed. “But after two and a half hours of jewelry shopping, I need a beer.”

As Skye struggled to follow the instructor’s directions, she asked, “What did they end up buying?”

“The bride got a Di Modolo pink and white diamond ten-karat necklace, with matching five-karat bracelet and ten-karat earrings.”

“Wow.”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand big ones.”

“Wow again.” Skye couldn’t even imagine spending that kind of money on something she’d wear only a few times a year.

“Nick bought the groomsmen gold cuff links, and the bridesmaids all got pink pearls to wear with their dresses.”

“Nice.”

Skye and Gus grew silent as Charisa turned on the music and said, “Now we waltz.”

They were doing pretty well—Skye had stepped on Gus’s silver-toed snakeskin cowboy boots only twice, and he’d bumped them into another couple only once—so she thought it was safe to attempt a conversation. “I hear that Belle was pretty hot stuff.”

“Who’s been talking?” Gus grinned. “One of the girls jealous?”