Groomed for Murder

by Laura Durham

  “I owe you one,” he said.

  I laughed. “For convincing Fern not to open a salon inside your precinct? Yes, you do. He’d convinced himself fixing your fellow officers’ bad hair was a calling akin to Mother Teresa attending to the lepers.”

  Reese’s deep chuckle made my heart beat a little faster.

  “I was about to order Chinese if you’re interested.”

  “Tempting,” he said. “You more than the Chinese, but I still have a mound of paperwork, and I finally got the security footage from Meridian House.”

  “They have cameras?” I’d never noticed them and wondered if they were hidden behind tapestries or in the eyes of portraits.

  “Some strategically placed ones. I’m hoping one of them will give us a glimpse of the killer either coming or going.”

  “Good luck,” I said.

  “How about dinner tomorrow night?” Reese asked.

  “Should I order extra takeout tonight?” I asked.

  “I won’t subject you to two nights of Chinese takeout,” he said. “Dinner out. Think of someplace you’d like to go.”

  I smiled. A real date. “Sounds good.”

  “See you tomorrow, babe,” he said before disconnecting.

  I couldn’t stop grinning as I pulled up my speed dial takeout option again. Now I was really hungry. I was about to speed dial Kitchen Number 1 when there was a sharp rap on my door.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” I got up to answer the door, cracking it a bit to reveal Leatrice in a beige trench coat belted over flannel cow-print pajamas.

  “I’m so glad you’re home.” She looked behind her as if she was being followed. “Can I come in?”

  I let her in and looked out in the empty hallway once more before closing the door. “Is everything okay? Did you see someone suspicious?”

  She shook her head. “I’m keeping an eye out for the pizza guy. He still has five minutes to get it here before it’s late.”

  “Don’t let me keep you.” I started to open the door again. “You might miss him if you’re up here.”

  She waved a hand to dismiss my concern. “I gave them your address.”

  Of course she did. Why hadn’t I guessed in the first place? I closed the door and put my phone on the coffee table, giving up the idea of eating Chinese takeout. “What kind of pizza?”

  “Hawaiian,” Leatrice said. “I’m trying to eat more exotic foods.”

  I flopped down on the couch. “I don’t know if I’ll be good company. It’s been a long day.”

  “I know what you mean. Making a citizen’s arrest yesterday really took it out of me.” She bit the edge of her pink bottom lip, getting lipstick on her teeth. “How is Fern anyway?”

  “He’s fine. He’s decided to forgive you for tackling him.”

  “That’s good news.” Leatrice touched a hand to her platinum blond hairdo. “I was hoping he’d help me with my roots.”

  “Since he’s the one who took you blond, it’s probably fair he helps you maintain it.” As I looked at Leatrice, I couldn’t help thinking this is what it would look like if Mary Tyler Moore and Marilyn Monroe had morphed then spent a few days in a food dehydrator.

  “I do like being a blonde.” Leatrice giggled. “It’s true what they say about having more fun. You should try it, Annabelle.”

  I shook my head. “I can barely maintain the beauty regimen I have now. No way I could do touch-ups every six weeks. I’d look like a skunk in no time flat.”

  “I’m surprised not to see the detective here.” Leatrice scanned my living room. “Unless he’s hiding in the back.”

  “Nope,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t notice the color I could feel creeping up my neck. “No detective.”

  “Was he upset I did his job for him?” Leatrice asked. “I didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

  “He still had plenty of leads to follow,” I said. “I don’t think he was upset.”

  I didn’t tell her Reese had almost burst out laughing and had to leave the room to compose himself when she’d dragged Fern upstairs in plastic handcuffs and announced she’d made a citizen’s arrest.

  “Do they have any suspects aside from Fern?”

  “Fern isn’t actually a suspect,” I said. “He was a witness and had information about the case.”

  Leatrice’s face fell. “So I probably won’t be receiving a reward from the police department for apprehending a suspect?”

  “Doubtful,” I told her as Richard’s number popped up on the screen, and I answered.

  “Am I to understand you turned one of my waiters in to the police?” His voice registered somewhere between shrill and hysterical.

  “That’s not what happened.” I sat down on the couch, resigned to the fact I wouldn’t be eating for a while.

  “Really? Because I got a call from your boy toy asking me to confirm the whereabouts of David on the wedding day. He said you told him I’d sent David home early and his connection to Cher.”

  “Did I lie?” I asked, ignoring his use of the phrase “boy toy.”

  “No,” Richard spluttered, “but that’s hardly the point, is it?”

  “Isn’t it? If David is innocent, won’t you telling Reese what happened on the wedding day clear him faster? His connection to Cher would have come out eventually.” I propped up my bare feet on the glass coffee table. “I thought you wanted the police to find who murdered Cher.”

  Leatrice perched on the chair across from me, making no secret of listening in on my conversation.

  “Of course I do.” Richard’s voice softened. “But do you have to decimate my business to do it?”

  “One waiter being questioned is hardly decimating your business.”

  “David isn’t the only waiter who knew Cher,” Richard said, the words coming out in a rush.

  I sat up and dropped my feet to the floor. “What? How many more knew her, and how many were working the wedding?”

  Leatrice’s garishly pink mouth made a perfect O.

  Richard sighed. “I don’t know for sure, but Cher was well-known in the drag world, and David isn’t our only cater waiter who moonlights in a dress.”

  “I had no idea DC had such a big drag community,” I said.

  “With this many uptight people in pinstripe suits?” Richard laughed. “Darling, it’s a given.”

  I trusted Richard to know the ins and outs of the city better than I did. He was a native of the capital, while I’d only been here for seven years.

  “You need to give this information to the police,” I said. “I’m sure Reese will handle it discreetly.”

  Richard gave a snort on the other end of the line. “Do I need to remind you of the time he shut my business down and made me his number one suspect in a poisoning? It took my business months to recover.”

  “You mean the time you operated your business illegally out of my kitchen and almost got me in trouble with the cops as well?”

  Richard remained silent for a moment. “A long memory is less attractive on you than it is on me, Annabelle.”

  “As are most things,” I said.

  “Well aren’t you sweet?” Richard said. “I have to admit your fashion sense has improved tremendously under my tutelage.”

  Richard’s “tutelage” consisted of horrified looks, gasps of disapproval, and refusals to be seen with me until I changed clothes.

  “So are you going to tell Reese or should I?” I asked over a loud rapping on my door.

  Leatrice leapt up and answered it, taking the pizza and handing the money to the delivery guy in less than a minute.

  “Depends. Is he at your door?”

  “No. It was the pizza guy. The only person in my apartment is Leatrice.”

  “Really? I would offer to come over, but I feel like I’ve had my Leatrice quotient for the day.”

  “Haven’t we all?” I said as Leatrice dropped the pizza box on the coffee table and hopped onto the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. The smell of che
ese and grease filled the air and made my stomach growl.

  “I suppose I’m going to call your boyfriend and give him even more reasons to come after me,” Richard said. “If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, you might want to check the city jail.”

  Always the drama queen. I was surprised Richard didn’t have an alter ego like Cher Noble or Blanche Davidian. The thought made me wonder.

  “You don’t have a drag persona, do you?” I asked.

  The phone disconnected, and Richard was gone. Had he heard me, or had he already hung up before I asked my question? I shook my head. If Richard dressed in drag I would know, wouldn’t I? I was his best friend after all.

  “Richard in drag?” Leatrice wrinkled her already-wrinkled nose. “I wonder what he’d look like as a blonde.”

  I shook the disturbing thought of Richard in a platinum wig out of my head and took a bite of Hawaiian pizza.

  Chapter 13

  I stood on Columbia Road and looked across the street at the two-level cream-colored building. It was fronted with tall round-top windows and a black awning extending from the door on the right. I tilted my head back and noticed the railing around the rooftop patio and the string lights draped from a center pole to create a canopy. Since it was daytime, the string lights weren’t on, and the patio was empty except for the tall ficus trees positioned at the corners.

  “Are you sure it’s open?” I locked my car with a click of the remote after Kate and Fern joined me on the sidewalk. I took a final sip of my now lukewarm mocha, cringing as I swallowed the dregs of the drink, and glanced around for a trash can.

  I’d only been to Perry’s, the restaurant famous for its drag queen brunch on Sunday and its rooftop sushi happy hour, once before. When Kate and I had come with our grooms, the lines had been out the door, and you could hear the pulsating music down the block. This quiet, almost somber, building seemed like an entirely different place.

  “It’s not open to the public.” Fern smoothed the front of his black suit, his enormous blue topaz ring catching the sun. “This is a friends-only memorial reception for Cher Noble.”

  “So why are we here?” I asked Kate.

  My assistant had chosen her most modest dress, a black V-neck sheath, but it still didn’t come close to her knees. Luckily, I’d been able to find one black dress in my closet not in need of dry cleaning. Unfortunately, it was the dress I rarely wore because I felt it was too short, so, for once, my hemline wasn’t much longer than Kate’s.

  “To support Fern.” Kate patted his arm.

  “Then why am I here?” Richard asked, walking up from where he’d parked a few cars down from us. “Can’t two people do as good a job as three?”

  I linked my arm through Richard’s, glad he wasn’t wearing linen today, although the fabric of his beige suit felt expensive per usual. “You know you wouldn’t miss this.”

  Richard shifted his crossbody leather bag, and Hermes poked his tiny black-and-brown head out from under the flap. He yipped when he saw us, and I gave Richard a look.

  “What? I couldn’t leave him at home. I’m going to be gone all day. Anyway, Hermes is a supremely well-behaved dog. More well-behaved than most people I know.” Richard closed the flap, and Hermes wedged his head so only his nose and eyes were visible. “No one will even notice.”

  Fern rubbed Hermes’s nose. “Maybe he can help us sniff out the killer. Dogs are intuitive.”

  “He’s a Yorkie, not a hunting dog,” Richard said. “Unless the killer is covered in treats, I’m not sure Hermes will be much help. And are you still going on about us solving the murder?”

  “You all promised to find out who killed Cher,” Fern said, adjusting the white silk flower he’d pinned to his lapel. “This will be the perfect place to talk to people who knew her and gather information.”

  “Did I promise?” Richard asked, shaking his head. “As the voice of reason in this group, I’m sure I made no such promise.”

  There was no point in telling Fern I had also not promised to solve Cher’s murder and had actually promised Reese I wouldn’t get involved—a promise I intended to keep. I also decided not to mention how much Fern’s silk flower boutonniere made him look like an undertaker. For all I knew, it was the look he was going for.

  Fern threw his hand up to stop traffic as he barreled across the intersection toward the restaurant, and the rest of us hurried behind him. When we reached the other side, I dropped my empty paper coffee cup in a black steel trash can and rushed to catch up as Fern disappeared inside the double doors under the black awning.

  I sighed as I stepped through the door, hearing the sounds of jazz from above and eyeing the tall staircase leading to the second-floor restaurant.

  “This had better be worth it,” Richard muttered behind me.

  When we reached the top, I looked across the open floor plan with its pumpkin-colored walls and sleek black curtains framing the long windows overlooking the street. A bar ran along one wall, and a collection of shiny blue tiles covered another. Most of the tables had been pushed to the side, but the blue-and-orange couches by the windows remained. An antique fireplace, painted black and inset with a mirror, was tucked into a corner, its mantle crowded with framed photographs of Cher Noble. I did a double take when I realized the area in front of the blue-tile wall usually reserved for the buffet table now featured a hot-pink casket with an arrangement of brightly colored flowers perched on faux marble columns on each side. A wall of gold velvet fabric had been erected in front of the casket but was pulled back and tied with tassels.

  “Who knew caskets came in pink?” I whispered to Kate as a husky woman in a flapper-style red dress passed us.

  “You don’t think Cher’s body is in there, do you?” Kate whispered back as she led the way through the crowd of garishly dressed mourners, their hands filled with equally colorful cocktails.

  I shook my head. “The last I heard the coroner hadn’t released it yet.”

  “It’s ceremonial.” Fern paused as we drew close to the casket and dabbed his eyes with an eyelet lace handkerchief. “But it makes quite the centerpiece for the party, don’t you think?”

  I, for one, had never thought about using a casket as a focal point for an event, but Wedding Belles didn’t dabble in funerals or wakes. Although, with our current track record, it might not be such a bad marketing plan.

  “It’s a little too much.” Richard made a face. “Especially setting it out where the buffet usually is. I’m afraid at any second they’re going to plop some platters of food on top.”

  Fern recognized one of the drag queens in attendance and stepped away to talk to her. Hermes extended his head further out of Richard’s bag and sniffed the air. I didn’t blame him. The air was thick with the smell of food—not surprising for a restaurant—but I couldn’t see any stations or waiters. Although it was still morning, the plain toast I’d had earlier left me eager for lunch.

  “I’m going to hunt down the food,” Richard said. As a caterer, he couldn’t help assessing the cuisine at any party.

  “Try not to be too judgmental,” I said. “This is a reception for the deceased.”

  Richard smoothed his pastel-pink tie. “Annabelle, you wound me. When have I ever been critical of someone else’s event?”

  I fought the urge not to remind him of the last party we’d attended where a competing caterer had wrapped the ends of their baby lamb chops in tinfoil, and Richard had gotten so lightheaded he’d had to breathe into a paper bag for ten minutes. “Fine. But don’t try to slip out without us.”

  “Right back at you,” he said as he moved off through the crowd with Hermes bobbing in the bag beside him and sniffing at guests as they went.

  A strolling jazz singer in a floor-length gray sequined dress held a purple microphone close to her lips as she belted out “Funny Valentine” in a warbling baritone. The rest of her band—tuxedoed men playing keyboard, bass, and drums—were set up by the windows. I ducked as the singer flung her ar
ms wide at the end of the song.

  “I see lots of cocktails.” Kate indicated the colorful drinks everyone seemed to be holding. “But where are they coming from? It doesn’t look like the regular bar is open.”

  “It’s not even noon,” I said. “Do you think the drinks are alcoholic?”

  Kate cocked one eyebrow as a drag queen with a lemon yellow beehive and a five o’clock shadow passed by. “God, I hope so.”

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” a tall blonde in a sparkly silver fringed dress said as she walked up to me.

  I looked around. “Are you talking to me?”

  The blonde leaned down, and her Farrah Fawcett hair spilled over her shoulders. “It’s me. Blanche Davidian.”

  I reached for Kate, who had drifted a few feet away in her search for booze, and pulled her over. “This is the waiter I told you about. David, I mean Blanche Davidian.”

  Blanche took Kate’s hand and kissed it. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

  Kate giggled, and I rolled my eyes. Even a man dressed in platform heels and a push-up bra could turn Kate into a marshmallow.

  “I thought you and Cher were rivals,” I said, studying Blanche’s elaborately made-up face for any homicidal maniac tells. “So why come to a party celebrating her?”

  “Guilt, I suppose,” Blanche said.

  My ears perked up. Were we about to hear a murder confession?

  “Not in the way you might think,” Blanche said when she looked at my expression. “I feel bad I made such a big deal about a stupid race. Cher was a legend in our world, and she didn’t deserve to be murdered. I’m here to pay my respects like everyone else.”

  Kate rubbed Blanche’s arm as the blonde sniffled into her spangled sleeve. I stood on my tiptoes to glimpse over the crowd. We’d lost Fern in the sea of people, and since most guests were taller than us and wore huge heels, it was impossible to spot him. I thought a man passing in a dark suit might be Fern, but I realized I was mistaken when I saw the man’s hand. Fern would rather be the one in the casket than be seen in public wearing a pinky ring.