To Love and To Perish (9 page)

“I get why Carolyn's husband would want her out of the way, but why would he kill Eleanor, too?” Kate asked. “Did he even know her?”

“Good point.” I frowned. “It's not like Carolyn brought him to industry parties. We never even knew he existed.”

“I knew he existed,” Fern said. “She used to bring him around years ago when she first started out. Way before your time, darlings.”

“What was he like?” I asked, curious about who the queen bee of wedding planning would pick for a husband.

Fern made a face. “Not very memorable. I think he was an accountant or he worked for the government. Something with numbers and a desk. Once Carolyn started becoming more successful, we never saw him again.”

“It probably made it easier to have her fling with Maxwell without a husband lurking around,” Kate said.

I made a face. “Stop bringing that up. It gives me the creeps to think about Carolyn and Maxwell.”

Kate laughed. “Don't forget Maxwell and Eleanor.”

I gave Kate a dirty look. “That still doesn't explain why Carolyn's husband would want to kill Eleanor as well as his wife.”

Fern polished his huge square-cut topaz ring with the French cuff of his shirt. “Maybe the deaths aren't related.”

Kate and I both looked at Fern in disbelief.

“Okay, okay.” He looked up from his ring. “I'll admit the chances are slim.”

“Wait a second,” I said. “Maybe Carolyn's husband did know Eleanor. She and Carolyn were business partners at one point, remember?”

Kate rapped her fingers on the table. “And his motive for killing Eleanor would be?”

I thought for a moment. “I have no idea.”

“Back to square run,” Kate said.

Fern looked confused.

“My life is constant torture,” Richard moaned as he joined us.

“What now?” I asked.

“The waiters mixed up the serving pieces in the back. They're serving the wild mushroom soup sips in the glass shooters.”

“The horror.” Fern rolled his eyes as he patted Richard on the shoulder.

Richard glared at him, and Fern slowly removed his hand. “The lobster and sake shooters were supposed to go in glass and the soup sips in the white demitasse cups. The mushroom soup
looks awful in glass. It's like Baby's First Summer in a cup.”

Fern made a face. “So much for eating mushroom soup again.”

Richard put his head in his hands. “I can't believe they sent me the third string waiters. I'd have better luck getting staff from an insane asylum.”

“They would probably be more entertaining, too,” Fern said. “Nothing like crazy people to liven up a party.”

Richard peeked out from behind his fingers long enough to give Fern a withering look. “I'm ruined. Of all the parties to mess up, they had to do it at the one with all the party planners.”

“I'm sure it was an honest mistake,” Kate said.

“This is a conspiracy.” He took his hands down and glared at a passing waiter. “I'll teach them to mess with me. I'll have them working on children's birthday parties for the rest of their lives.” He waved a finger at the waiter. “You, my friend, will be leading pony rides for the rest of your catering career.”

I put a hand on his arm. “Take it easy, Richard. No one is conspiring against you.”

Fern patted Richard. “You'd better calm down before you pull something.”

“The important thing is that you're not over-reacting,” Kate said.

Richard straightened his shoulders. “I never overreact. You know I hate dramatics.”

“Ten bucks he makes another waiter cry,” Kate whispered to Fern behind her hand.

“Cry and run out wailing or just cry?” Fern asked her.

Richard ignored them and took a deep breath. “The staff isn't my only problem. Who are the high maintenance girls who refuse to eat cute animals? They made a huge scene when we passed out duck quesadillas.”

“What?” I asked.

Richard pointed to two twenty-something women sitting with Lucille and Margery. They both had blond hair that had been blown straight, and they looked bored with life. “Apparently they aren't strict vegetarians. They just don't eat any animal that used to frolic. Their words, not mine. Luckily, they don't consider crabs or shrimp cute so they wolfed down the crab wontons with blackberry sauce and the Hawaiian barbecue shrimp with papaya.”

My stomach growled and I looked around for a waiter with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. “Where is the food anyway?”

“Are you sure they aren't brides?” Kate said. “That sounds like bridal dementia to me.”

“Those are the former sales girls from the Wedding Shoppe,” Fern said. “They came with Lucille and Margery.”

“The ones that Carolyn fired last week?” I asked.

“I guess so,” Fern shrugged. “Not a cheery bunch, are they?”

“I don't really blame them,” Kate said. “They did lose their jobs right before the holidays.”

“I'm sure they'll be able to find a job in no time after working for Carolyn,” I said. “Maybe that's why they came to the party. To find a job with another party planner.”

“Do you think they'd consider being waiters?” Richard asked.

“Annabelle. Kate.” Gail Gordan appeared at my shoulder but didn't look directly at us when she spoke. She wore a black dress cut deep enough to show off a huge emerald pendant around her neck. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” I said. “What did you want to tell me about Byron?”

She gave a curt shake of her head. “Not here. Meet me in the kitchen in a few minutes.”

“She's a little secretive, isn't she?” Kate watched her walk away. “The dirt on Byron had better be worth it.”

“Gail is full of surprises.” I watched her pause in front of Maxwell and lean in close to talk with him. “She seems to know our host pretty well.”

Richard nudged us. “They used to be very friendly with each other, if you know what I mean.”

I watched as Gail pulled back from Maxwell and stalked off. “Is there anyone here who hasn't been his victim?”

“Speaking of victims, what happened to Stephanie?” Kate looked around for the perky young planner.

“Maybe she wised up,” I said, and then turned to Kate. “Let's go meet Gail and get this over with.”

Fern grabbed us by the sleeves. “Promise you'll come right back and tell us every word.”

“We promise,” I said.

I led Kate through the crowd, trying to avoid making eye contact with people. No time for
chitchat. Luckily, Alexandra was so involved with the handsome, dark-haired photographer that she didn't even notice us pass by. Most of the guests seemed pretty drunk and more than a few people were getting very friendly with each other. I knew this party would provide enough gossip for the wedding industry to thrive on for months.

I pushed through the metal swinging door that led to the kitchen. The countertops and appliances were gleaming stainless steel and the cabinets were dark wood with metal knobs. The decor was minimalist and sleek without a hint of color. You could hardly get a more masculine kitchen without putting a grill or wide screen TV in the center.

A few waiters scuttled around refilling white ceramic platters from the pair of tall metal warmers in the corner. I saw a black lacquered tray of shot glasses filled with a milky gray liquid and shuddered. Richard was right. Glass and mushroom soup did not mix.

“Where is she?” Kate walked over to a platter of mini duck quesadillas and popped one in her mouth.

I glanced at my watch. It was past eight-thirty. “I need to go in a few minutes. I have a date.”

Kate dropped a quesadilla on the black tile floor. “You have a date after this?” She put her hands on her hips. “What I am I supposed to tell Richard? He's going to be hysterical.”

Before Kate could interrogate me, the swinging door hit me on the back and sent me forward a few steps.

“Hi, Gail.” Kate looked up from scraping the quesadilla off the floor.

Gail stepped in the kitchen. “Sorry about that.” I rubbed my back where the door had smacked me. She didn't seem too broken up about it. “I have to talk fast. I just saw Byron arrive.”

“What's so important that we have to meet in secret?” Kate dropped the quesadilla in the trash and took a golden puffed samosa off a nearby platter. “And I thought you and Byron were friends.”

Gail's cheeks reddened. “We were, I mean, we are. But I can't keep his secrets anymore. The lies are eating me up inside.”

“What lies?” This coming from the most cutthroat, back-stabbing planner around.

“I lied to you the other day when I said that Byron joined me at St. Matthew's. He never showed up. I waited for him to help me with the processional but finally had to do it on my own. When I asked him what happened later, he gave me a weak excuse about the bride asking him to clean up the suite for her.”

Kate took another samosa. “I don't know Byron very well, but cleaning doesn't sound like something he would do.”

“Exactly. He would never risk breaking a sweat,” Gail said. “He would have called housekeeping before he lifted a finger to clean the room.”

“But why lie? What reason did he have to stay behind?” I asked.

“I don't know what happened,” Gail said. “But Byron had plenty of reason to want Carolyn dead.”

“Because he used to work for her?” Kate asked.

Gail shook her head. “Because Carolyn and Eleanor fired him.”

I looked at Kate. “Eleanor?”

Gail nodded. “Eleanor was also Byron's boss. He blamed both of them for not making him a partner in the company. If there's one thing Byron is good at, it's holding a grudge.”

“I heard that you still hold a grudge against Carolyn, too,” Kate said. “Surely holding a grudge doesn't make someone a murderer, does it?”

Gail's eyes flashed with anger, but she kept her voice steady. “Whoever told you that I held a grudge against Carolyn is trying to make me look bad. That was ancient history.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “But what happened to Byron almost twenty years ago wasn't?”

“You don't know him like I do,” Gail snapped. “He may seem charming on the surface but you don't want to witness his temper.”

“It seems like lots of people around here act nice on the surface but have nasty tempers,” Kate said. “Maybe it's a character trait of wedding planners in general.”

Gail reddened. “I don't care if you believe me or not.”

“Why not tell the police?” I asked. “Why tell us instead?”

“The police won't take me seriously since I have a history with Carolyn. The police seem to listen to you, though.”

I looked at my watch. Almost nine o'clock. “What do you mean?”

Gail lowered her voice. “Everyone knows that you're trying to help out the cops by getting information on the victims.”

“That's not true,” Kate said. “The cops didn't ask us to poke around. We're doing it on our own.”

That sounded even worse. I shot Kate a look. “We're not investigating anything, Gail.”

She didn't look convinced. I wondered how many other people thought the same thing. As much as I wanted to stay and see what else Gail knew, I had to make it back to Georgetown to meet Ian. “Thanks for telling us about Byron. I have to run, but I'll pass the information on to the police.”

I waved at Kate, who tried to protest through a mouthful of samosa, and I pushed the swinging door open. The door bumped into someone on the other side.

“I'm so sorry,” I said.

“Don't worry about it, Annabelle.” Byron stood on the other side of the door smiling at me. His white teeth were blinding against his bottle tan. “No harm done, right?”

I swallowed hard. This was not good.

“Then you left?” Ian asked as he relaxed into my pale yellow overstuffed couch. He wore a form-fitting blue sweater that showed off his flat stomach and the hard curves of his biceps. It also brought out the blue in his eyes, but I had a hard time keeping my gaze from wandering to the rest of him.

The butterflies in my stomach had only gotten worse since he'd arrived just minutes after I'd hopped out of the taxi and run up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I'd barely had enough time to spray some lemon furniture polish in the air so the place would smell clean and throw some cheese and crackers on a tray before he'd rung the doorbell.

I set two glasses of the merlot he'd brought on my glass coffee table and took a seat next to him on the couch. “I probably should have warned Gail that Byron had been standing on the other
side of the door, but it would have looked suspicious if I went back into the kitchen.”

“Do you think he heard?”

“Maybe not,” I said hopefully. “He'd just arrived at the party so he might have walked up to the door as I was leaving.”

“He didn't say anything to you?”

I replayed my encounter with Byron in my head. “Not really, but the way he looked at me gave me the creeps.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Was he hitting on you?”

“No. He only flirts with the party planners he thinks are the most important. That usually means the old guard. I haven't been around long enough for Byron Wolfe to start kissing up to me.”

Ian's expression got serious. “Do you think he's dangerous?”

“Well, he's a male wedding planner, if that answers your question,” I said. “I think he's a vicious gossip, but I can't imagine him getting his hands dirty with murder. Any man who knows as many different napkin folds as he does isn't the most testosterone-driven person around.”

“You never know about people.” Ian gave me a wicked grin. “They can surprise you.”

I wasn't sure if he meant me or himself or was still talking about Byron. I barreled on. “I hope Gail and Kate aren't in danger.”

“Do you believe what Gail told you about Byron?”

I thought for a second. “I'm not sure. She seemed genuinely nervous to be telling us, but she could be a good actress.”

Ian took a sip of wine. “You said that she had a motive to kill Carolyn, too?”

“Pretty much the same as Byron. Carolyn fired her, but she claimed not to be upset about it anymore. The main difference between her and Byron is that he was fired by both victims, Carolyn and Eleanor.”

“So he had motive for both murders?”

“Exactly,” I said. “And according to Gail, he stayed behind at the hotel when Carolyn was killed, so he had opportunity.”

“That does sound incriminating,” Ian agreed. “He may be more capable of murder than he seems.”

I chewed the edge of my lip. “I hope for Kate's sake that he's not.”

“Your assistant stayed at the party?”

I nodded. “I tried to call her on her cell to tell her about Byron possibly overhearing us but she didn't pick up. It's probably so noisy she can't hear the ring.”

Ian reached over and took my hand. “Don't give it a second thought, love. I'm sure you're worrying for nothing.”

“You're right. The murders have made me a little high-strung.”

Ian scooted closer to me. “Why don't I help you relieve some of that stress?”

My mouth fell open and I could swear that my heart actually stopped. I reached for my wine and took a gulp. I wasn't normally a big believer in self-medicating with alcohol, but in this case it seemed justified.

He took me by the shoulders and turned me around so I faced away from him. “Now close your eyes.”

I gulped. Richard was right. He was into the kinky stuff. My hand began to shake so hard that I had to concentrate not to spill my wine all over the couch.

He started to rub my shoulders rhythmically, and I almost laughed with relief. He wanted to give me a back rub. Of course! I felt like kicking myself for thinking the worst.

“Is this better?” he said, leaning close to my ear.

I tried to speak but only managed a soft moan. I could feel the stress of multiple Bridezillas and monsters-in-law melting away as he massaged.

“I'm glad we finally have a chance to be alone.” Ian pulled out my elastic hair band and my hair spilled down over my shoulders. “You've been on my mind since the moment we met, but I guess you hear that from a lot of guys.”

“I'm a wedding planner,” I managed to say. “The only men I meet are engaged or gay.”

He laughed and ran both hands through my hair. “Well, I'm neither.”

“Thank God,” I muttered, my eyes still closed. Just as I felt myself completely melting, my cell phone began ringing.

“Ignore it,” I said, not moving a muscle. It continued to ring, then stopped and started again.

“Someone really wants to find you,” Ian said. “Are you sure you don't want to answer it?”

I sighed impatiently and reached for my purse on the floor. “If it's a bride, I'm going to put itching powder in her crinolines.”

Ian took his hands out of my hair and leaned back against the couch. He grinned at me. “You do have a wicked side.”

I found the phone and saw Richard's number on the caller ID. This had better be good. “Hi, Richard, what's up?”

“Annabelle, where are you?” He sounded hysterical, but what was new?

“Sorry I had to leave without saying good-bye, but I'm kind of busy right now. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Don't hang up! I have to talk to you.”

I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece. “I'm in the middle of something. Can't this wait?”

The doorbell rang and I groaned. Was this a joke?

I'll get it
, Ian mouthed as he went to the door.

“If it's Leatrice, don't let her in,” I whispered.

Ian smiled at me. “Don't worry.”

“Okay, Richard.” I turned from the door. “You have two seconds.”

I heard the door open behind me and a voice that sounded much too deep to be Leatrice.

“Um, Annabelle,” Ian said.

I spun around and saw Detectives Reese and Hobbes standing in the doorway, flashing their badges to Ian.

“That's what I've been trying to tell you, Annabelle,” Richard said. “The killer struck again.”