by Laura Durham
Richard rolled his eyes at me, but I continued to eat. By this point, I'd been involved with enough murder investigations to know we might be a while, and it was rare I got to eat the hotel's famous oatmeal soufflé. "Just because I'm chewing doesn't mean I'm not strategizing. I can multitask, you know."
"Then multitask us out of here." Richard dodged a giant playing card hanging from the ceiling. "I'm starting to feel like I really have fallen through a rabbit hole."
"I'm sure Reese will be back soon," I said. "Despite what she said, Marcie is the one they came here to talk to. I'm sure holding us is just a formality so they can eliminate us as suspects. They're probably talking to other planners too."
Richard gave me a look that told me he didn't believe a word I'd said. After the initial hysteria--mostly from Richard--we'd been separated from Marcie and the rest of the guests. The three of us had been shuffled off to the cocktail area, while Marcie had been taken to a meeting room where she could be questioned. It hadn't escaped me that Brianna had been the person comforting Marcie, and I wondered how well they knew each other.
Fern crossed his legs as he perched on a brightly colored toadstool. "Isn't Marcus the guy you fired?"
"Yes," Richard said. "But that was ages ago."
"But didn't you blame him for getting you kicked off the 'Best Of' list?" Fern asked, pumping his leg up and down.
"Not so loud," I whispered to Fern. "We don't need to gift wrap Richard's motives."
Richard narrowed his eyes at Fern. "Since when did you have a memory like a steel trap?"
"I've been doing online brain exercises," Fern told him. "They help me in the salon when I need to tell one blond socialite from the other. After a while all those bleached heads start to run together."
“The free-flowing champagne at the salon may have something to do with that,” I muttered into my soufflé.
Richard rested one arm on a gigantic frame and draped the other over his forehead. "You don't think Reese will consider those actual motives, do you? I mean, this is all circumstantial. It's a wild coincidence."
I set my empty soufflé bowl down onto the nearest cocktail table draped in a black-and-white-checkerboard cloth. The themed cocktail room didn't seem as festive without people milling about, and I wished there were more of the fruity but deadly drinks at the now-empty bar to take the edge off Richard's escalating panic. I joined Fern on his toadstool and tugged at my hemline. It felt like my dress had drunk a 'shrink me' potion.
I ignored Richard's questions and his increasingly hysterical tone of voice. "I'm sure he'll weigh everything carefully. We don't know any details about Marcus's death yet."
"Poisoning," Kate said as she walked up and sat on the other side of Fern, crossing her ankles out in front of her and showing lots of bare leg.
I did a double take when I realized Kate had emerged from a cluster of uniformed cops in the hall. "I thought you went to the ladies' room."
She winked at me and then at one of the cops. "I took a little detour."
I decided not to take the time to lecture Kate on the number of detours currently in her life. Sometimes Kate's shameless flirting came in handy.
Richard looked out from under his arm. "Who said it was poison?"
Kate leaned back. "The police got a 9-1-1 call from Capital Weddings magazine earlier this morning reporting that someone had eaten a chocolate and dropped dead. When they got there, Marcus was DOA."
"So they're just assuming it's poison because the caller said he ate a chocolate and then died," I said. "They can't know for sure until they do a tox screening."
"Oo-hoo-hoo." Fern slapped my leg. "Look who knows all the lingo now that she's living with a detective. All that pillow talk really is paying off, sweetie."
Richard groaned. "Sleeping with the enemy, you mean."
"You know you like Reese," I said. "And he's not the enemy. He's actually the best chance you have of not being a suspect."
"Is that so?" Reese's voice startled me from behind. "Are you already handing out prison pardons on my behalf?"
"Prison?" I could barely hear Richard's wisp of a whimper.
"Don't tease him," I said as I stood. "You know he doesn't take things like this lightly."
"None of you should be taking this lightly," Reese said. "One of your colleagues was killed, potentially poisoned, and the most obvious method of poison seems to be the chocolates Richard delivered yesterday."
"I wouldn't call him a colleague," Kate said. "The only person here who met him more than once was Richard."
Richard shot her a look, but she didn't notice because she was making eyes at one of the cops.
"Is that true?" Reese glanced around our group of four. "You didn't regularly interact with the victim?"
"Capital Weddings may be a wedding magazine, but the people who work there don't usually socialize with our industry. I only recently met Marcie, the head editor, and I'll probably never lay eyes on all the assistants and interns who work there." I came around my chair to stand next to Reese. "I doubt anyone else at Love Brunch knew Marcus."
Reese pulled a small notepad out of his pocket and flipped a few pages. "So if Marcus wasn't really a part of your wedding planner crowd, why was he given a box of chocolates by Richard?"
"The chocolates weren't for him,” Richard said. “They were a gift for Marcie. I can't believe she regifted them to her assistant. What is this world coming to?"
"So you gave Marcie a box of chocolates for Valentine's Day?" Reese looked up, a confused look on his face. "Were you two . . . close?"
Richard rolled his eyes. "I gave everyone chocolates. It was a marketing ploy to drum up business since Richard Gerard Catering had been cruelly left off the Capital Weddings 'Best Of' list. I had Fleurir put together an assortment in their red heart-shaped boxes, and I added a custom tag." He gave Reese a pointed look. "Fleurir is a high-end chocolatier for those of you not in the culinary loop."
"How many did you give out?" Reese asked.
Richard drummed his fingers on the handle of the supersized teacup. "At least twenty-five. I ordered thirty boxes to be sure I had extras in case I thought of someone last minute or had forgotten a venue."
"I'll need to get a list of everyone you gave them to," Reese said. "To make sure no other box was tainted."
"Of course." Richard fanned himself with one hand, no doubt feeling faint at the thought of other people dying at the hands of his gift. "Marcie won't be on the original list, though. She was actually one of the extras."
"You didn't initially plan to give one to her?"
"Not at all," Richard told him. "I was still miffed about the list, but Annabelle convinced me I should take the high road and give her one."
Reese closed his eyes for a second. "So giving the chocolates to Marcie was Annabelle's idea?"
"Yes," I said, "but I stand behind the decision. Richard was trying to get back on the list, and a gift is the perfect way to get noticed."
"So let me see if I understand," Fern said, waving his hands in the air and leveling a finger at Richard. "You gave the chocolates to Marcie who gave them to her assistant, who you despise, who ate one and died."
If looks could have killed, Richard’s gaze would have struck down Fern instantly.
"Well, that seems like an awfully roundabout way to kill someone," Fern continued. "How could Richard have known any of that would happen?"
"That's a good point." Kate pulled her eyes away from the uniformed officers. "It doesn't make any sense."
"No it doesn't," Reese said, "which is why we're assuming Marcie was the intended victim all along. She already told us the chocolates were meant for her."
I put a hand to my mouth. "So someone managed to poison the chocolates in an attempt to kill Marcie, but she inadvertently saved herself by giving them away?"
"Talk about a good regift," Fern muttered.
Reese rocked back on his heels. "And as far as we can tell, they only poisoned the one chocolate Marcus
ate, because he shared the box with the other assistants and no one else died or even got sick. Everyone we spoke to at the magazine confirmed he just ate the one truffle, and he'd complained earlier about not eating breakfast."
"What about coffee?" I suggested. "I'm sure he had coffee."
Reese shook his head. "An intern had gone over to Starbucks for everyone but returned after Marcus collapsed."
Kate grimaced. "So the guy is starving, and the first thing he eats kills him?"
"Talk about an efficient killer," I said. "They really knew what they were doing."
"Let's hope not," Reese reminded me, "because Marcie's still alive, and the killer is still out there."
5
I ducked inside the door to my stone-fronted apartment building, eager to escape the chill and pleased I'd snagged street parking only a block away. Parking in my fashionable Georgetown neighborhood was impossible to find, and it seemed like I spent a decent portion of my life searching for a space.
"Just the lady I was hoping to see." My elderly neighbor, Leatrice, leaned out of her first-floor apartment. Even though she must have been eighty--and didn't look a day over ninety--she hadn't lost a bit of her hearing. In fact, I usually crept upstairs barefoot to avoid being waylaid by her and her high-powered ears.
I put a hand to my heart. "I didn't see you there. Were you waiting in the doorway?"
Leatrice had a fondness for true crime and had even gone so far as to get her own police scanner, so I braced myself for a barrage of questions about the murder. Even though she wouldn’t know the connection to Richard, she’d know my boyfriend was involved.
She laughed and touched a hand to her unnaturally dark flipped-up hair. "Don't be silly, dear. I was decorating my door when you came in."
Apparently, she'd missed the report of the homicide in the midst of decorating. Her wooden door was indeed covered with red paper hearts embellished with paper doilies, and I noticed her pink sweatpants had "Hot Stuff" written down one leg in red. "You're getting in the Valentine's Day spirit."
"It's the first Valentine's Day in decades where I've actually had a sweetheart." A wide smile spread across her wrinkled face. "Sidney Allen and I are going all out."
I stifled a groan. Leatrice had met the excitable entertainment designer at one of my weddings, and the two had been inseparable ever since. It wasn't that I disliked Sidney Allen with his double name--woe to the person who dared to use only one--and his insistence on wearing a headset and his pants hiked up around his armpits; he was just a lot to handle. Combine that with Leatrice’s non-stop energy and creative clothing, and it could drive the most devoted teetotaler to drink.
"What are you and the adorable detective doing for Valentine’s Day?" she asked.
This again. I gave what I hoped sounded like a breezy laugh. "I'm not sure yet. I haven't given it too much thought since Kate and I have a big wedding coming up on Saturday."
"You wouldn't be interested in joining us, would you?"
I knew from previous discussions that Reese would rather go on a double date with Richard and his dog than with Leatrice and Sidney Allen. "That's so sweet, but we wouldn't want to intrude."
"A wedding the day before Valentine's Day." Leatrice clapped her hands together. "How romantic. I'm assuming the bride is using the holiday as her theme?"
"And then some," I said. "It's her favorite holiday, and she's gone a little overboard with the pink and red."
"Well, I hope you and your beau get to do something special on Sunday, even if you will be exhausted. It's your first Valentine's Day together, too, isn't it?"
I started up the stairs, hoping to escape what felt like the third degree. If anyone else asked me about my Valentine's Day plans, I was going to break out in hives. "I'm sure we'll think of something."
Leatrice began to follow me, so I turned and thrust a round box at her. "Why don't you enjoy these? They're heart-shaped cookies from the brunch I came from."
"Don't you want them?"
I touched a hand to my stomach. "I've had too much sugar already, but I'd hate for them to go to waste."
"Wait," Leatrice said. "I almost forgot. I accepted a delivery for you while you were out." She dashed back into her apartment and returned with a dark-brown box tied with a pink ribbon. "The delivery man said they were from a caterer."
I peered at the box and the logo on the top of the card. A rival catering company must be trying to woo my business away from Richard with a Valentine's Day gift. "Thanks for holding them for me."
"Aren't you going to open it?"
I hurried up the next few steps until I reached the first landing. "I'm sure it's cookies or some other Valentine's Day treats. A lot of wedding vendors send out treats this week."
Leatrice pressed her hands together. "Of course. Weddings, love, Valentine's Day."
"Something like that," I said. More like marketing, leads, bookings, but I didn't want to burst her bubble. "I have to go return a bunch of phone calls, but I'll see you later."
I gave a backward wave as I continued up the stairs, not stopping until I'd reached my fourth-floor apartment. After pushing open the door, I dropped my keys into the bowl on the nearby bookshelf and flopped down onto my couch. Between rushing out the door in the morning and the shock of the murder, I was worn out. Even though I enjoyed living with Reese, I was glad to have the place to myself. I didn't even mind that Kate had gone off on a coffee date with one of the uniformed officers instead of coming back with me to the office.
I tossed the brown box onto the cushion next to me and let my head drop back as I closed my eyes and soaked in the quiet. I didn't even hear street sounds since I was on the top floor and kept my windows closed. A hard pounding made me jerk up.
"Annabelle, you have to let me in!"
I answered the door, and Richard rushed inside.
"Are they behind me?" he asked from the other side of the room, clutching his brown-and-black Yorkie, Hermes, under his arm.
I peeked into the hall. It was empty. "Is who behind you?"
"The paparazzi," he said, setting Hermes onto the couch. "I'm sure they were following me when I left my place."
I watched Hermes run back and forth on the couch, his tiny pink nose sniffing the surface and then inspecting the round box. He looked almost as nervous as his owner. "Back up a second. Why would paparazzi be following you? Wait. Do we even have paparazzi in DC?"
"Of course we do." Richard cut his eyes to me. "I think they have to have second jobs, but we have them."
I closed the door and headed for the kitchen. "And they would be chasing you because . . .?"
Richard let out a deep sigh. "Really, Annabelle. I'd think it would be obvious. Someone leaked to the press that I was implicated in a murder."
I took two bottles of water from the fridge and walked back into the living room, handing Richard one and reclaiming my spot on the couch as he paced in front of my windows. "Impossible. The murder just happened. I don't think the police have even filed all their reports yet."
"Then it must have been an inside job." He spun around to face me. "How much do you really know about this Reese fellow?"
"Enough to know he wants to deal with a hysterical version of you about as much as I do."
Richard paused for a moment. "You may be right. He doesn't seem the type to leak to the press." He sucked in a quick breath. "I'll bet it's that loon downstairs."
"Leatrice?" I shook my head while Hermes yipped at the name. "First of all, she's not a loon. She just likes unique clothing and spying on her neighbors. If she's so crazy, why do you let her babysit your dog all the time?"
Richard glanced at his dog. "To be honest, he's a bit of a N-U-T himself."
"Did you just spell in front of the dog?" I asked.
"You'd be surprised how much he understands, darling. Thankfully I know kitchen Spanish from my cooks; otherwise I wouldn't be able to talk about menus at all in front of him. He doesn't understand 'pollo' yet but say the
word C-H-I-C-K-E-N and he goes crazy. "
I looked down at Hermes, who was splayed out next to me, his silky ears tilted up like he was listening. "Are you telling me I need to learn Spanish to have a normal conversation in front of your dog?"
He shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt. How fast can you spell out loud?"
I ignored his question. "Leatrice couldn't have told anyone about the murder because she doesn't know. I saw her a few minutes ago and she didn't say a word. You know she would have mentioned it if she'd heard on her scanner. Are you sure the paparazzi were following you?"
Richard walked over to the window facing the street and pulled back the yellow twill curtain. "I could have sworn I saw someone suspicious looking when I drove up to my building." He scanned from left to right. "Okay, I might have been wrong about the paparazzi, but this is still a catastrophe."
"Might I remind you we've been here before? We've both been a suspect in a murder case and we survived."
Richard dug into the leather bag he wore over one shoulder and produced the box of cookies from the brunch. "This is different."
"You're right. The other times we had more motive and opportunity." I watched with some concern as Richard opened the box and bit into an iced, heart-shaped cookie. "Since when do you eat sugar in the middle of the day?"
"Since it doesn't matter if I'm bloated from carbs," he said, crumbs spilling from his mouth. "Who cares what I look like if I'm ruined?"
I stood and took the box of cookies from Richard. "You aren't ruined. This is all a big mistake. Like the others."
"The other times I was at the top of my game. I was on 'the list' as one of DC's top caterers. I was in demand." His voice cracked. "This is different. I've fallen off the list, and business is already down. Those chocolates were supposed to remind people that Richard Gerard Catering stands for innovation and excellence. Instead, they turned out to be the instrument of my demise."
As he collapsed onto a chair with a wail, I wondered if--although overly dramatic, per usual--he might also be right. No one would forget a caterer who gave out poisoned chocolates for Valentine's Day.