by Laura Durham
Mack patted Buster’s shoulder. “Remember what Pastor Bruiser said about praying through the anger.”
Buster nodded but his lips remained pressed together. I assumed to keep himself from saying what he really felt about the two awful planners.
“Well, I don’t have to pray through the anger,” Kate said. “I hope their fake blond hair turns green and falls out.”
Mack giggled. “I would pray for that.”
“Yoo hoo!” The warbly voice of Darla carried from the front door. “We’re here.”
I could smell the familiar scent of expensive perfume and top-shelf spirits heralding Debbie and Darla’s arrival. Richard sprang from the couch and rushed to meet her, as Buster folded the stepladder with a snap and tucked it behind the fabric draped over the walls. I joined Richard in the hall to greet the mother-daughter duo and tried not to act surprised when I saw our formerly bubbly bride Debbie in a somber gray maternity dress with a protruding baby bump. Her mother, Darla, was as smiling and gushy as ever, but Debbie looked like she’d had all the wind let out of her sails and all the blush scrubbed off her cheeks.
The mother-daughter duo still both wore their hair in headbands, but for the first time ever, I could see Debbie’s dark roots. I suspected she couldn’t color her hair because of the pregnancy and wondered if this was one of the reasons for her dour expression.
Debbie clutched my hand when she saw me. “Turner won’t let me touch a drop of alcohol.”
That explained her mood. Debbie, along with her boozy mother, had drunk her way through the wedding planning process. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her sober before, although it was clear her mother was not.
“I’m having to drink for both of us,” Darla said, throwing her head back in a loud laugh.
Debbie squeezed my hand tighter. “I think I might have to kill her.”
“You don’t mean that.” I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding choked.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be the only person not drinking all the time?” Debbie asked.
Actually, I knew exactly how it felt since Kate and I were often the only people not hammered, along with the rest of the staff, at the end of a wedding. It wasn’t always fun being sober when everyone else was three sheets to the wind.
“You don’t have long to go, do you?” I asked, looking down at her belly.
She let out a sigh. “Three months. But if this baby is even one day late, I’m inducing.”
“Why don’t we take a look at the decor ideas?” Kate asked as Darla leaned on her arm for support and, I suspected, to keep from falling over. Even from here I could smell bourbon on her breath.
Richard led the way into the tasting room, and both women gasped when they entered.
“It’s perfect,” Darla said. “Even prettier than I imagined.”
Debbie beamed. “The gold carousel horse is the perfect touch of bling.” She twisted to face Buster and Mack. “I love it.”
Buster and Mack both visibly relaxed at the praise.
“Should we tell them the idea we had on the way here?” Darla asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.
“It was your idea,” Debbie said, rolling her eyes. “You should tell them.”
Darla either ignored her daughter’s disdain or was too soused to notice. “Do you remember how we wanted to have decorative miniature ponies at the cocktail hour for Debbie’s wedding?”
“I remember we couldn’t because livestock regulations in DC museums prohibit it,” Richard said.
We also nixed the idea of the ponies because tiny ponies were notorious ankle nippers, and the last thing we’d wanted at the wedding was a Bactine station for injured guests. Not to mention the inevitable pony poop on the museum’s marble floors. I may have had to do a lot of odd things as a wedding planner, but I drew the line at scooping pony poo.
“Well, we don’t have to worry about that since the shower is at my home,” Darla continued. “I thought we could dress the ponies up like carousel horses and have them circulate throughout the house with hors d’oeuvres displayed on their saddles.”
I watched the varying emotions as they crossed Richard’s face. I couldn’t identify all of them, but I knew horror and disgust were two of the major ones.
Kate stifled a laugh behind her hand, and I nudged her hard.
“Although I do adore the idea,” I said, reaching out and pinching Richard on the arm before he could interrupt. “We need to have waiters serve the food in case guests ask about allergies. It’s a safety issue.”
Darla formed her mouth into a pout. “What about having the ponies without the food on their backs?”
“Why don’t we have them on your lawn as people arrive?” Kate suggested.
It wasn’t the worst idea, but I knew who was getting pony poop duty on the day of the shower.
“Like the swans in Father of the Bride.” Darla clapped her hands. “But how can we make the cocktail area festive without the ponies?”
“Buster and I will create a massive floral carousel horse for your foyer,” Mack said, throwing his arms open wide and jingling as he did so.
“Only one horse?” Darla said. “Our foyer is pretty large.”
The entry hall of their Potomac McMansion was large enough to hold my entire apartment inside.
“We could do a pair of horses,” Buster said.
“Or an entire carousel,” Mack said, drawing a sharp look from Buster.
Debbie’s face lit up. “An entire carousel made of flowers would be incredible. Can you really do it?”
Mack said yes, but I could see the crease between Buster’s eyes as he thought about how exactly they would pull it off.
I felt my phone vibrate in the pocket of my dress and pulled it out as Richard showed Debbie and Darla to their seats to begin the tasting. I glanced at the text message on the screen.
“That can’t be right,” I muttered, looking at the message again.
“What’s up?” Kate asked when she noticed me hanging back.
“I got a message from Reese.” I touched my hand to my now-twitching eyelid. “Apparently, Fern turned himself in to the police.”
Chapter 11
“I would ask if you could drive any faster but I’m afraid I might throw up.” I pressed my palms to the roof of Kate’s car as we took a turn onto Massachusetts Avenue without slowing.
“The only way I could get us there faster would be to ignore all the lights,” Kate said. “Of course, if we had portable sirens to use on our cars, this wouldn’t be a problem.”
Kate and I had often thought wedding planners should be allowed to use detachable sirens we could slap on the top of our cars in case of wedding day emergencies.
“I wish the tasting hadn’t taken so long,” I said. “Meetings with Debbie and Darla used to go much quicker.”
Kate honked her horn as a car braked in front of us. “Now that Debbie’s sober, she’s actually paying attention and asking questions. It really slows things down.”
“Plus, Richard was so pleased with all his carousel-themed food he insisted on giving each item a royal introduction.” I slammed my own foot on a nonexistent brake as Kate swerved around a car making a left turn.
“I half expected herald trumpeters to come out instead of waiters.”
I cut my eyes to her. “Don’t you dare give him that idea.”
She laughed as she hooked a right onto a more residential street. “I could have done without the quinoa corn dogs. No corn dog should be that healthy. I could have eaten a dozen of the caramel apple pie pops, though.”
I recognized the District Two police station ahead on our left and let out a breath, relieved we’d made it in one piece and without me being sick all over her car. I did not want to experience the quinoa corn dogs a second time. Kate angled her car into a street space, and I had the car door open before she’d turned off the engine.
The District Two station, headquarters for the officers who co
vered a section of northwest DC including Georgetown and reaching up past the National Cathedral to the border with Maryland, was a brown two-level building with a dated boxy design and dark windows. Mature trees shaded the lawn, the grass green and brown in patches.
“So how are we going to play this?” Kate asked as I walked around the car to join her.
“I’m hoping we don’t have to play anything.” I hiked my black purse onto my shoulder. “We’re here to pick up Fern. It should be cut and dry.”
Kate fluffed her hair. “You know what they say about the best played plans of mice and men.”
I rolled the expression over in my head for a moment. “You mean the best laid plans?”
Kate frowned. “That doesn’t sound right.”
I sighed and led the way up the paved walk toward the glass double doors, with Kate hurrying behind me in her heels. I pushed open one side and held it for Kate as she entered, her shoes clip-clopping on the tile floor. We approached the front desk to our right but it was unmanned.
“Is that Fern?” Kate asked, pointing behind the desk and beyond a glass divider to where a group of officers gathered, some sitting on the edges of wooden desks and others standing.
I observed Fern, wearing a pale-blue seersucker suit, wrap a black tie around an officer’s neck.
“There are so many more stylish ways to knot a tie,” he said. “Personally, I like the look of the Eldridge, but I don’t think it works with the severe cut of your uniform, so I’m going to show you how to do a full Windsor.”
“Is he giving them fashion advice?” Kate whispered to me.
“It looks like it, but there’s always the possibility we’ve passed into a different dimension.” I took out my phone and sent off a quick text to Reese telling him I was at the station.
Kate snapped her fingers. “That actually makes more sense.”
Reese appeared from the back of the group of officers and walked over to us, his eyes wide. “You’ve got to get him out of here.”
I put one hand on my hip. “I thought you were the one who insisted he come down to the station for questioning.”
He pulled me to the side so the other officers couldn’t see us as easily. He put one hand on my waist and leaned close, brushing his lips across my cheek. “Babe, you’ve got to help me out here.”
I felt my pulse quicken and my cheeks warm. I cleared my throat and pointed to Kate who still stood only a few feet away from us.
“Don’t mind me,” she said when Reese glanced at her. “I’m learning how to make a Windsor knot.”
“We’ll take him with us,” I said. “But I thought you needed to know his connection to Cher Noble and any clues he might have.”
Reese stole a glance at his watch. “He’s been here for two hours. He told me everything he knew in the first ten minutes, and since then he’s turned the Metropolitan Police into the Fashion Police.”
“So tie knotting is not his first tutorial?” I heard a round of applause as Fern finished his Windsor knot and watched as he took a series of bows.
Reese crossed his arms. “He’s already taught my female officers how to jazz up their uniform with scarves and explained why our department-issued slacks add fifteen pounds. Half the department is about to go on a diet, and the other half is on the verge of some serious comfort eating.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” Reese warned, his own mouth twitching at the sides.
“Was Fern’s information helpful at least?” I asked once I’d gotten myself under control. “He knew Cher better than any of us.”
“He told us about Cher’s concerns about being stalked and about the tire slashing, but since Cher never told him why or who she thought could be behind it, we don’t have much to go on.”
“I actually found out something useful,” I said. “One of Richard’s waiters had an ongoing feud with the victim.”
Reese gave me a stern look. “What did we say about you getting involved in the case?”
I held up my hands in mock surrender. “I promised I wouldn’t meddle in any more criminal investigations, and I meant it. This bit of information happened to fall into my lap. The waiter was at the tasting I came from, and he told me he held a grudge against Cher for beating him at the Halloween drag races. He claims Cher cheated him out of the trophy.”
“Back up. You think another drag queen strangled our victim over a foot race trophy?”
When he put it like that, it didn’t sound like such a great lead. “I didn’t say I thought he did it, but he did know Cher, had a problem with her, and was at the wedding.”
“He was at the scene of the crime?” Reese took his notebook out of his blazer pocket. “That changes things. What’s this waiter’s name?”
“David. I don’t know his real last name. Richard does. I know his drag name is Blanche Davidian.”
Reese raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.
“He claims he left the wedding before Cher was killed or even arrived,” I said. “He’s adamant Richard sent him home and a dozen people witnessed it.”
Reese tapped his pen against his notebook. “That doesn’t mean he actually left. Unless he can prove otherwise, it’s possible he could have returned to Meridian House after pretending to leave. There are lots of places to hide outside the house.”
“So you’re going to follow up on my lead?” I asked, rocking back on my heels.
He grinned at me. “I hate to admit it, but it’s the best one we have so far. The crime scene had about a thousand fingerprints since so many people were in and out of the house. None of the tests for fibers found on the body have come back. The autopsy showed what we knew at the site. The victim was garroted and the feather boa wrapped around her neck. There were no prints on the victim except her own and no skin under her fingernails, so the killer probably wore gloves.”
I shivered a little as I thought about Cher Noble lying dead on the floor. “Why would there be skin under her fingernails?”
“If someone was choking you from behind, wouldn’t you reach around and claw at them?” Reese raised his hands behind his neck to demonstrate. “If the killer had bare hands or bare arms, chances are good the victim would have scratched them and had skin under her nails.”
“Cher Noble was a big girl,” I said. “Whoever killed her also had to be pretty tall and strong.”
Reese nodded. “I doubt a woman could have done this. Or most men.”
“Then I’m not sure Blanche Davidian is your guy. He isn’t as tall or broad as Cher.”
“It’s still the best lead we’ve got,” Reese said. “And this Blanche could know more about Cher’s possible enemies.”
“I’m glad I could help, and I’m glad you can admit I helped.”
Reese tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll admit you single-handedly solved the case if you promise to take Fern out of here.”
I looked over to Fern as he unfurled a black smock over an officer’s beefy shoulders. Did he keep a stylists’ smock on himself at all times?
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Fern said to the visibly nervous officer. “We’re going to have this comb-over taken care of in no time flat.”
“Kate,” I said. “It’s time for us to go and take Fern with us.”
“Before he fixes the comb-over?” she asked, gesturing at the candy floss hair the man had styled up and over his bald head. “I feel like Fern is doing a public service with this one.”
I looked at Reese. “Before or after the comb-over?”
Reese paused. “After. That comb-over has driven me crazy for years.”
Fern looked up, spotted us, and beamed. “Annabelle! Kate! I’m thinking about opening a satellite salon right here in the station. Go where there’s the most need. What do you think?”
Reese groaned. “I think I need to put in for a transfer.”
Chapter 12
“Finally,” I said as I dropped my p
urse on the floor of my apartment and sank onto the couch, kicking my shoes off and crinkling my toes into the area carpet.
The fading sunlight cast a warm glow from the windows, and I followed the light as it moved across the floor, illuminating the dust bunnies and reminding me I needed to clean. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes so I could soak in the silence. After a long day including a dramatic tasting with Debbie and Darla and dragging Fern out of the police station while he was mid-makeover, I was glad for the solace. I hadn’t had a moment alone since the murder, and I needed it more than I’d known. Now the only thing I wanted was to get out of my clothes and into bed.
I sat up, scooped up my shoes, and headed for my bedroom, removing the elastic and shaking out my hair as I walked. Since I’d slept on my couch the night before, my bed was still made and topped with a stack of ecru embroidered pillows I usually tossed to the floor. I put my shoes on the floor of my closet and slipped out of my dress, tossing it into my bright-yellow dry-cleaning bag. The bag bulged at the sides, and I made a mental note to drop it off before I found myself without a little black dress to wear to the next wedding. I pulled on yoga pants and a Wedding Belles T-shirt and smoothed my hair up into another high ponytail. Now this was more like it. Even though I had to spend most of my time in dresses or suits, wash-and-wear clothes with a healthy amount of Lycra were more my style.
Despite the multi-course tasting I’d sat through at lunchtime, I felt the first twinges of hunger. I reminded myself the courses had been bite-sized, and it was now dark outside as I went to my kitchen to assess my options. I sighed as I looked in the fridge. A few cans of soda, some aging Thai takeout, condiments, and a bottle of unopened bubbly courtesy of Richard, who always kept me stocked up with what he considered the essentials.
“Pathetic,” I mumbled to no one as I made a beeline for my purse and the phone tucked inside. I paused for a moment, staring at my speed dial options and debating between pizza and Chinese. Before I could dial, the phone began trilling. I saw Reese’s name on the screen and answered.