"She told you she was there?" he confirmed.
I nodded. "She said she left Freddie alive, but I didn't totally believe her then." I glanced back to the sad lump under the sheet, wondering if the outcome would have been different if I had.
"I'm going to need the names of these friends she was with."
I bit my lip. "I don't know last names. But Purple Spandex's name was Kaitlyn. And Catwoman was maybe Ellen…or Erin?"
"Catwoman?" Grant frowned at me.
"She was dressed in a black bodysuit that reminded me of Michelle Pfeiffer…" I trailed off. "Anyway, I didn't really get their names, but I know they were at the Red Duck yesterday. Maybe there are credit card receipts there or something."
Grant nodded. "I'll look into it."
I paused, remembering the tail end of my conversation with Bridget. "There was something else Bridget said."
"Oh?"
I licked my lips. "Well, she was pretty drunk at the time, and upset about Freddie, so I didn't put a lot of stock into it."
"Go on," he prompted.
"She said she knew all their secrets."
"Whose secrets?"
I glanced over at the wedding party, still standing in awkward somberness around the yellow crime scene tape. "Them. Freddie's friends and family."
Grant frowned. "What sort of secrets?"
I shook my head. "She wouldn't say. Just that Freddie had told her everything. Only, at the time I didn't really take her that seriously." I paused. "I wish I had."
"It's not your fault," Grant said.
I glanced up at him and, despite the chill in the air, felt warmth at the concerned look in his eyes. "Thanks." I glanced at the body under the sheet again. "But that doesn't help her."
Grant let out a deep sigh. "It looks like I'm going to be tied up here for awhile."
"I'll call Ava," I offered. "She's not far." And I knew she'd want to know what was going on anyway.
Grant nodded and surprised me by stepping forward and catching me in a hug before backtracking to the scene.
I sent Ava a quick text, telling her what had happened and asking her to meet me at the B&B. She shot back the appropriately freaked out response, promising she'd be there ASAP.
I glanced over at the wedding party as I waited, Bridget's gloating about secrets ringing in the back of my mind. Had she seen something at the wedding? Had Bridget come to the B&B to confront one of them about these secrets? Maybe even to cash in on her knowledge of them? She hadn't struck me as the type to be above a little blackmail. And she certainly hadn't seemed fond of any of them. The question was, whose secret was worth killing over?
I watched Edward Somersby, standing staunchly beside his wife. Any sign of their previous argument over "missing money" had vanished, his arm wrapped firmly around his wife's shoulders in a show of support. Meredith's face was pale and stoic, though I could well imagine the state of shock she was in if she'd been the one to find the body. I knew only too well how jarring that could be.
Andrew was murmuring comforting words to Juliet, and if one didn't know better, the two almost looked like a couple themselves. I wondered again at David's thought that Andrew might have been even more protective of Juliet than her father. Could their friendship run so deep that Andrew would have killed to protect Juliet—not just from marrying a con man but also from a mistress coming to the B&B to make trouble for the grieving bride?
My gaze shot to the edge of the crowd, where someone else had just arrived on the scene. Natalie's short black hair shone in the moonlight, her eyes riveted to what was happening behind the fluttering yellow tape. I wondered if Bridget had known about Freddie's past wives…was that one of the secrets?
I darted a glance toward Grant. He was bent over the corpse, speaking in low tones to one of the uniformed officers.
I took the opportunity to skirt the edge of the growing crowd toward Natalie. Her back was to me as I approached, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, and as I got closer, I noticed she was trembling.
"Natalie," I said, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder.
She jumped at my touch and whirled to face me, her eyes wide. Her pale face was a shade lighter than usual, and she let out a sharp exhale when she saw me. "You startled me."
"Sorry," I told her. "Did you just get here?"
Natalie licked her lips and nodded. "I spent the afternoon downtown. What happened?" she asked, gesturing to the body.
"Someone strangled a woman to death."
Natalie winced at my words, though I couldn't tell if she was acting or actually properly horrified. "Who is it?"
"A friend of Freddie's."
Natalie's skin paled further. "Wh-what do you mean, a friend?"
"I mean a close friend. Bridget McAllister."
"Ohmigod…" Natalie swayed on her feet and might have collapsed on the spot had I not reached a hand out to steady her.
"So you knew her?" I surmised.
Natalie licked her lips, eyes darting to the side, almost as if instinctually looking for an escape route. "Sort of. I mean, I knew of her. I found out about her when Freddie and I—" She stopped herself abruptly, seemingly realizing what she was saying.
"It's okay," I told her softly. "I know the truth about you and Freddie."
She gave me a dubious look.
"I know you're not his cousin."
That did it. Any resolve she had crumbled, and she stumbled backward until her legs came up against a stone ledge, where she sat with an unceremonious thud. She leaned her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. "It wasn't supposed to end like this," she said on a sob.
I sat beside her, not sure if I should comfort her or interrogate a confession out of her. I glanced back toward the crime scene, where Grant was chatting with another detective in plainclothes now. "How was it supposed to go?" I asked her.
Natalie sniffed, lifting her head. "I was supposed to get revenge," she shot out, the venom in her voice clear even through her tears.
"Freddie's dead. I'd say that's pretty good revenge."
But she shook her head. "No, you don't understand. He took everything I had. Everything. And the whole time he was sleeping with her!" She pointed toward the corpse. "It wasn't enough that he took all my money. He had to take my dignity too?" She sobbed, anger and grief mixing together.
"Did you know about Bridget before Freddie left you?" I asked softly.
She shook her head. "No. Not really. I mean, there were signs, but it wasn't until he left and I started looking for him that I found out about her." She sneered in the direction of the dead woman.
"When did you finally find Freddie?"
"A couple months ago," Natalie admitted. "I saw his picture in a society column with his new fiancée." She shot her eyes toward Juliet. "Different name, but it was close enough. And it was definitely him."
"And you confronted him?" I guessed.
She nodded. "He didn't even try to deny it. That he'd used me." She shook her head, eyes still on Juliet. "I don't know what was worse—thinking about him with that trashy McAllister or seeing him with Princess Juliet."
"So why subject yourself to that?" I asked. "Why play his cousin and come to the wedding?"
Her eyes went to the Somersbys, narrowing. "I was going to get what I was owed." She turned to face me. "At first I just wanted to tell Juliet everything, you know? Just out that lying, cheating, sonofa—"
"But you didn't?" I interrupted before her language got more colorful.
She shook her head. "No. You have to understand, Freddie was charming when he wanted to be. He told me he was sorry. That he still loved me."
"And you believed him?" I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
She sighed. "Part of me wanted to. Freddie said if I kept my mouth shut, he'd pay back everything he took from me. And then some."
"When he married Juliet," I finished for her.
She nodded. "He said that family was loaded. That as soon as he married
her, he'd have access to everything. So, I made him a deal—I got to be 'cousin' Natalie so I could stick close until I got my money, and he got to marry his pampered princess. We'd both win."
"At least until he disappeared again," I said.
Natalie's eyes shot to mine. "He wouldn't have dared."
"He'd done it once," I said, watching her reaction. "What made you think he'd really stick around to pay you back?"
"H-he said he was sorry. That he loved me," she repeated, though it held less conviction this time. I saw warring emotions behind her eyes and wondered if this was the first time she'd considered that possibility, or if it was one that Freddie had already confirmed—and she'd killed him for it.
Finally she just sniffled loudly again and stood. "It doesn't matter now though, does it?" Her eyes went to the mound under the sheet. "Freddie's dead, and so is his trashy sidepiece. And Princess Juliet gets to mourn him as the perfect little fiancée left behind." She paused, her eyes going dark, her features hard. "And I'm left with nothing again."
Before I could ask more, she turned and practically ran back into the B&B, her shoulders hunched as she brushed past the uniformed officers.
I was tempted to follow, but I spotted Ava pushing through the crowd, eyes darting around until she spotted me. I waved, rising from the stone wall and meeting her near the entrance to the building.
"Wow, looks like I missed out on quite an eventful evening," she said, glancing to the fluttering yellow tape.
"You don't even know the half of it," I told her.
She frowned, eyes going to the left side of my head. "What happened to you? Are you okay?"
I nodded. "I'll explain in the car."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It actually ended up taking me the entire car ride back to Oak Valley plus two more hours and two pints of ice cream to retell all that had happened since Ava and David had left me at the B&B earlier that day. By the time I had Ava all caught up, we were both exhausted and fell asleep on the sofa.
I awoke the next morning with a crick in my neck, sugar breath, and a pounding headache. Though after ingesting a painkiller and a cup of coffee, I was almost starting to feel human again.
Ava and I took turns in the shower, and I let her borrow a long-sleeve, emerald green wrap dress that I had to admit looked even better on her than it did me. I went for a simple pair of jeans, a black sweater with a trendy asymmetrical hem, and my favorite pair of knee-length black boots that made me feel like a superhero when I wore them. With the way my headache had only subsided to a dull roar with the pain pill, I needed to channel all the superhero I could get that day.
Once Ava and I had done the hair and makeup thing, we followed the scents of maple and bacon to the kitchen, where Eddie was going over the day's itinerary with Conchita.
"…we have the tourist bus pulling up at four, and I was thinking you could whip up one of your famous charcuterie boards for the—" Eddie stopped midsentence, eyes cutting to me as I entered the room. "Oh my word, what happened to you, girlfriend?" he said, rushing toward me and staring at the fresh bandage on the side of my head.
Conchita dropped the sheet pan of bacon onto the counter with a clang and was a step behind him. "Ay, mija, what have you done now?"
"I didn't do anything," I protested, trying to wave off their clucking. "I…fell."
"She was attacked," Ava jumped in.
I shot her a look. Apparently she had never been the object of Mother Hen and her little Cluckette.
"Attacked!" Conchita gasped and made the sign of the cross.
"Girl, I hope the other guy looks worse," Eddie said, making a tsking sound between his teeth.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I didn't get a good look at him."
"Or her," Ava amended.
"Was it a mugging?" Conchita asked. "I tell you, this area is getting too dangerous."
"This was no random mugging. It was Freddie's killer!" Ava said.
I shot her a much more strongly worded look as Conchita gasped again and Eddie's eyes went wide with the promise of dramatic gossip. "A killer! And you got away? You are amazing!"
Actually I'd been out cold, but I took the compliment where I could.
"We don't know for sure it was Freddie's killer," I said, quickly filling them in with the CliffsNotes version of the evening before Ava could add any more dramatic flair. Conchita served us all Maple Bacon Pancakes as I told them everything, and the mixture of salty, sweet, syrupy goodness actually had me feeling a little more fortified to face the day.
However, when I finished my narrative, Conchita didn't look any more calm, and Eddie was practically dancing on his toes, the bright pink flowers on his dress shirt making me dizzy.
"What if the same person who hit you on the head went from the studio to the B&B and killed this Bridget?" Eddie asked.
"I-I hadn't thought about it." And now that I did, the pancakes suddenly weren't sitting so well in my stomach.
"It would be too coincidental not to be the same person," Conchita said, nodding sagely at me.
"From what you said, it sounds like Natalie could easily have wanted Bridget dead," Ava said, licking some syrup from her finger. "But what would she have been doing at Justin Hall's studio to catch you there?"
"Good point," I told her.
"Unless she just happened to see you there," Eddie piped up. "She was supposedly window shopping, right? Maybe she happened to be in the area."
"It's possible," I hedged. "But why attack me? Unless she has some connection to Justin Hall, why would she care if I was looking in his windows?"
Eddie frowned. "I guess she wouldn't."
"What I want to know," Ava jumped in, "is why Edward Somersby was there. Didn't both his wife and Justin say Edward hated him?"
I nodded. "I know. I thought that was weird too. And Edward went there to 'handle' some missing money."
Ava pursed her lips together, pushing her fork around in the last of the maple syrup on her plate. "Okay, going with the theory that Freddie had Justin paint the Miscetti in an effort to defraud someone at the upcoming auction, maybe Freddie had to steal some money from Juliet to commission it?"
I nodded. "I could see that."
"Then Edward somehow finds out the money is missing and confronts Justin to get the money back?" Conchita asked.
Ava shrugged and turned to me. "You said the painting was gone when you looked in the windows yesterday?"
"I didn't see it anywhere," I told her.
"I wonder if Justin has swapped it out already."
"You mean, the reason it's not in his studio could be that it's hanging on the wall of the auction house in a gilded frame right now?" Eddie asked.
"If he was forging the painting to be auctioned at all," I said. "This is all just a theory. We don't even know for sure that Justin was doing anything other than branching out into a new style of painting."
Three faces turned to look at me, the exact same expression on all of them—that I was possibly the most naive person they'd ever met.
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, fine. Let's assume forgery."
"Well, I think if we're going to prove forgery, we need to know if the painting at the auction house right now is the real deal or the one from Justin's studio," Ava reasoned.
"And how are we going to do that" I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Ava grinned at me. "Feel like a drive into The City?"
* * *
San Francisco Bay Auctions was located in the financial district, which was over an hour's drive away on a good day. On a morning where commuters were jamming the freeways, you could easily double that. On a morning like the current one, where the freeways were jammed with traffic and there was a three car pileup, it was over two and half hours later that we finally parked in the lot beside the large, glass fronted building on Montgomery.
I curled my cramped legs out from behind the passenger side of Ava's GTO, and we both took a moment to shake feeling back into our limbs b
efore walking through the entrance.
A woman with short gray hair and small, tasteful diamond earrings greeted us from behind the front counter. "Are you here for today's furniture auction?" she asked, peering up at us from a pair of bifocals. "If so, you can pick up your bidder number here. The auction will begin in an hour in room 3A."
I shook my head and gave her a smile. "I was actually hoping to have a closer look at a piece that is being offered in next week's artwork auction."
The woman nodded. "All of the larger items are on display in the canary room." She lifted one hand to gesture behind her. "Straight down there and to the right. Gladys should be out on the floor if you have any questions."
We thanked her and stepped around the front counter. Though the outside of the building was clean and sophisticated, I was surprised to find the interior a bit cramped and cluttered. Nearly every square inch of the walls was lined with old framed photos and paintings, and a large showroom featured a sprawl of furnishings and tables covered in knickknacks and various items that were up for bid. It reminded me of an antique flea market.
I slowly made my way through the large room, scanning the walls for any sight of the Pablo Miscetti landscape.
"There," Ava whispered beside me.
I followed her pointed finger and spotted it near the back-left corner, hanging between a painting of a bouquet of white lilies and a portrait of a young, rosy-cheeked girl with brown curls. I quickened my pace, sidestepping around a plush red velvet sofa with ornate, carved wooden arms, Ava a beat behind me.
I came to a stop in front of the painting and stared up at the work.
"So how do we tell if it's the original or the fake?" I whispered to Ava.
My friend bit her lip, squinting her eyes at the canvas. Finally she shrugged. "Beats me."
"We should have brought David Allen." Words I never thought I'd utter, but in hindsight his expertise could have come in handy right about then.
"I don't know," Ava whispered back. "If Justin is really this good, you think even David could tell the two canvases apart?"
I had no idea. I just knew that I felt like this trip was starting to veer into wild-goose-chase territory.
Marriage, Merlot & Murder (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 4) Page 17