by Laura Durham
6
"Are you sure about this?" I asked from the kitchen doorway as I watched Richard bustle around my narrow kitchen, moving effortlessly from the refrigerator to the stove as he assembled ingredients on the countertop.
Richard looked up at me, a white apron tied around his neck. "You know cooking calms me, darling."
The scent of coffee from the morning had been replaced by the smell of caramelizing onions sizzling in a sauté pan. It was rare my kitchen smelled like anything other than coffee or toast, although I'd been telling myself I should learn to cook since Reese had moved in. Not that he complained. Since he'd been living on take-out for years, my meager skills in the kitchen were not a sticking point.
"Only if you're sure," I said. "I don't want you to feel like you have to sing for your supper."
Richard waved a wooden spoon at me. "Nonsense. Hermes and I can't exactly ask for asylum without doing something to contribute."
My efforts to convince Richard he was safe from the media hadn't been completely successful, and he'd claimed to be too wrung out to trudge home with Hermes in tow. I wasn't sure what Reese would think about all this when he came home from work.
"And you don't need my help?" I asked.
"Annabelle, please." Richard handed me a glass of white wine. "You know I adore you, but you're a bit of a disaster in the kitchen."
I thought disaster was a strong word, but I took the glass of wine and let him shoo me out of the room. I sat next to Hermes on the couch, tucking my feet up under me and feeling glad I'd changed back into leggings and a sweater. I set my wine on the coffee table and checked my phone. Nothing from Reese--not a surprise since he was busy with a case--and a short message from Kate saying she'd see me in the morning. I texted her back a "thumbs-up" emoji and felt pleased with myself for learning the language of the millennial generation.
Hermes sniffed my wine when I lifted the glass to take a sip, shook his head as if disgusted by the smell, and curled up in a silky ball beside me. I knew the wine in my fridge was only a baby step up from "Two Buck Chuck" wine from Trader Joe's, and I suspected Richard had trained the little dog to be as much of a snob as he was. "Good thing you're both cute," I whispered to him, petting his head.
I looked at the screen of my phone. I should give Reese some warning about what he was walking into.
Coming home soon? I typed and watched the question appear in a green talk bubble.
The blinking dots at the bottom of the screen told me he was typing a reply. On my way.
How close?
A pause before the blinking dots appeared. Why?
Drat. He was on to me. One of the problems with dating a detective--it was hard to slip things by him. I hope you're in the mood for a gourmet dinner.
A long pause while he typed. I hope you're kidding.
I left my phone on the couch as I ducked into the kitchen to grab one of Reese's favorite microbrews, twisting the cap off and heading back for the front door as I heard the keys jingling in the lock. I met him in the doorway and handed him the beer.
He looked at me, then the bottle, and peered over my head to Richard in the kitchen. He dropped his worn leather satchel on the floor and took a long swig.
"I can explain," I said.
He put a finger to my lips and pulled me close to him with his other arm and bent down to kiss me. Not a quick peck, either. I felt the kiss all the way to my toes and was dazed when he finally released me. His hazel eyes had deepened to green, and one errant dark curl dipped down onto his forehead. Now I wished Richard was anywhere but in my kitchen.
"Honey, I'm home," Reese called out when he released me and took a few more steps into our apartment.
Richard's head appeared over the divider between the kitchen and living room. "Dinner will be ready shortly, Detective." He pointed his spoon at me. "Annabelle, would you be a doll and clear the dining table?"
I glanced over at the table I used as a catchall for papers, client files, and magazines. I knew Richard would not go for balancing plates on knees since Reese was here.
"Let me help," my boyfriend said as he came up behind me.
I started to protest. "You don't know which papers go--"
He slid everything off the table and into his arms, then walked it over to the overstuffed chair and deposited it.
"Thanks." I tried not to cringe thinking of all the papers mixed up together. Served me right for leaving it out for so long.
Richard pushed me aside as he set three neatly folded napkins and the accompanying silverware around the table, and hurried back to the kitchen.
I eyed the yellow chevron patterned cloth napkins. "Where did you find these?"
"I brought them here months ago, of course," Richard called back. "I knew you relied on that absurd stash of paper take-out napkins, and as you are fully aware, I don't do paper."
"Oh, I'm aware." Before I could wonder what other things Richard had hidden around the apartment, he returned with three plates stacked waiter style up one arm and set them on the table.
"It smells great." Reese pulled out a chair and sat down.
Richard gave a quick smile. "As you can imagine, I had very little to work with and no time to go shopping, so it's a simple pasta dish with a light cream sauce and strips of prosciutto."
I stared at the pretty swirls of angel hair pasta dotted with the paper-thin Italian ham. "I've never bought prosciutto, or is that another thing you stashed here without my knowledge?"
Richard fluttered a hand at me. "Only a few essentials, darling. The real crime is that you’ve never bought prosciutto."
Richard was probably the only person I knew who considered gourmet ham to be an essential, I thought as I sat down next to Reese and unfurled the napkin over my lap.
My boyfriend took a bite, closing his eyes for a moment as he chewed and swallowed. He turned to Richard. "When do you move in?"
Richard flushed from the compliment and twirled his own forkful of pasta. "I'm only here because I was chased out of my place by the paparazzi. Well, one paparazzi. Is that called a paparazzo?"
"There was a photographer outside your building?" Reese asked.
"He thinks," I said. "He can't be sure, and I told him there was no way a cop leaked any information about the case."
I took a bite and marveled at what Richard had done with so few ingredients. The sauce was light with just enough rich prosciutto flavor, and the pasta was perfectly cooked. I did miss Richard's kitchen invasions, which had been few and far between since I'd "shacked up with another man," as he liked to put it.
Reese picked up his bottle of pale ale. "There's not much to leak, and I can't see why someone would since it isn't a high-profile case."
Richard pulled himself to his full height. “’Caterer to the rich and powerful offs enemy with poisoned chocolate right before Valentine's Day?’ The headline writes itself, Detective."
"Never be your own lawyer," Reese said and took a long drink.
"I don't know how you can even be sure the murder weapon was the poisoned chocolate," I said. "We're only assuming that because the person who called 9-1-1 said he died after eating it. Marcus could have ingested the poison earlier, and the murder could have nothing to do with Richard's chocolates."
"He could have been poisoned by something else, but he wasn't." Reese took another bite and swallowed. "I shouldn't tell you this, but since Richard saved me from pizza delivery, I will. The ME was able to pump the victim's stomach. There was nothing in there but chocolate, although a larger amount than you'd expect from one truffle. I suspect he ate more than one and the witnesses didn't notice or forgot. Eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable."
Richard's fork clattered to the table, his expression stricken.
I put a hand over his and turned to Reese. "For your information, I was not going to order pizza."
He grinned at me. "I like pizza, babe. I like this more, but you know I don't mind takeout."
"Could we please focu
s?" Richard said. "On me? You two will have plenty of time to complain about Annabelle's lack of cooking skills after I'm carted off to prison."
I took my hand off his. "If I were you, I wouldn't alienate my friends. Who else do think is going to bake a nail file into a cake for you?"
Richard gave a strangled cry and put a hand to his cheek. "I'm doomed. Do you even know how to bake a cake?"
"This Marcus fellow may have been your arch enemy, but as I mentioned earlier, it doesn't seem like he was the target." Reese looked unconcerned as he ate another forkful of pasta. "Did you have a motive to kill Marcie?"
"Not really," Richard said. "She was the editor of the magazine that had knocked me off its list, but with that logic any vendor in DC who didn't make the list or was kicked off could have done it. I wasn't the only person to be removed this year, you know."
I hadn't known. I'd been so focused on Richard not making the list, and on Wedding Belles getting the 'top vote getter' star, I hadn't paid much attention to the other names. "Who else got kicked off?"
"Petals and Petunias for one." Richard held up his fingers and began counting them off. "That cheesy band agent Ron Twinkle, I think his real last name is Tinker, and Skyfall Video. There may be more I'm not thinking about. Not to mention all the people who try to get on the list by wooing the editor with gifts and lunches and are still denied." Richard made a face. "It's shameless really."
"Gifts like a box of chocolates?" Reese asked.
Richard raised an eyebrow at him. "Touché, Detective."
"But this is great," I said. "Now we have a whole list of people who had just as much of a motive to kill Marcie as Richard. Maybe more if they'd been trying to get on the list for years. Killing someone is a desperate act, not the act of someone who merely got miffed. We should be looking for someone who'd reached the end of their tether with Marcie. Someone desperate."
"We?" Reese leveled his gaze at me.
"I mean you," I said, trying out Kate's method of eyelash fluttering. "Of course you. I'm a wedding planner, not a cop."
"Do you have something in your eye, darling?" Richard asked.
Reese grinned as I stopped batting my lashes. "Oh, how I wish you actually believed that."
"I do know you're going to need our help to figure out the most likely suspects." I took a bite of my pasta, feeling better I could do something to help clear Richard, especially since I'd been the one to suggest he give Marcie a box of chocolates. Before my boyfriend could give me his usual warning, I continued. "But aside from that, I promise not to meddle in your case."
Richard stood and picked up Reese's empty plate. "But really, Detective, don't you think calling the victim my arch enemy is a bit dramatic?"
"Leave the dramatics to the professionals," I whispered once Richard was out of earshot.
7
"So Reese thinks it was one of the other people who were kicked off the list who tried to kill Marcie?" Kate asked, stepping out of the passenger side of my CRV once I'd pulled to a stop in front of the Intercontinental Hotel at The Wharf. Since it was not quite ten in the morning, the area had not yet come alive, although I knew the waterfront restaurants and shops on the boardwalk would get busy by midday.
I opened my car door and handed my keys to the valet attendant. "We have a walk-through with a bride and the catering director," I told him and joined Kate on the other side of the car, barely glancing at the docked sailboats at the pier. Even though The Wharf DC, as we called it, was one of the newer luxury hotels built at the now-upscale Washington Harbor, I'd been to enough meetings and walk-throughs for Amelia’s wedding that I felt like it had been there forever.
"I'm not sure if Reese thinks that yet," I said, walking through the glass doors one of the doormen held open for us, "but I tried to nudge him in that direction last night over dinner."
We crossed the high-ceilinged, ivory-marble lobby and headed for the double staircases leading up to the ballroom level. As we walked up the stairs, our shoes tapping with each step and the chunky heel of Kate's knee-high black boots adding an additional loud slap, I glanced at the oversized pendant lights dangling at different heights above our heads. The hotel used lots of gold in the decor, so it felt modern without being stark.
"Isn't that called tampering with a police investigation," Kate asked, "and haven't you gotten in trouble for that before?"
"Suggesting other suspects is hardly tampering." We reached the top of the stairs, and I headed for the ballroom. "Anyway, we know Richard didn't have anything to do with Marcus's death."
"Do we?" Kate hurried along behind me. "He seemed pretty livid with the guy the one time we saw them together."
"It's Richard," I reminded her, stopping in front of the ballroom doors so she could catch up. "He threatens murder if he sees someone with a poorly knotted Windsor."
"Good point." Kate tugged the jacket of her snug-fitting black suit. "And I can't see him wanting to kill Marcie if he was attempting to get in her good graces."
I opened the large door and peeked my head inside the room. Empty. "We're the first ones here." I held the door for Kate and stepped inside. The ballroom had tall ceilings and equally tall windows taking up two walls overlooking the waterfront and the Potomac River. Since most hotel ballrooms were relegated to the basement, the natural light and breathtaking views made this one of my favorite new venues in the city. Plus, it faced west and got beautiful sunsets.
"Remind me again, who's coming to this walk-through?" Kate asked. "And while you're doing that, remind me why we're having another walk-through only days before the wedding."
"Since the final guest count is due to the hotel today, Amelia wanted to give it in person."
"What kind of bride wants to give the final guest count in person?" Kate shook her head. "That's an over the phone or quick email type of thing."
I dropped my voice so it wouldn't echo in the large empty room. "The same kind of bride who makes her flower girls wear cupid wings and her ring bearers carry bows and arrows."
Kate shuddered. "I do not look forward to wrangling children who are armed."
"I can't imagine the arrows are real," I said, hoping very much I was right and the wedding wouldn't include multiple lacerations.
"So we aren’t the first ones." Buster's deep voice made me turn toward the door as he and his business partner, Mack, joined us.
"What are you two doing here?" Kate asked. "I know you don't allow changes to the floral order this close in."
Our favorite floral designers were strict about two things. One, final floral orders had to be in ten days before the event and two, no cursing in front of them. The first rule was practical and the second was because they were members of a born-again Christian biker gang.
The chains on Buster's black leather pants jingled as he walked, and his bulk blocked my view of his almost equally sizable partner, Mack, no doubt also decked out in their customary head-to-toe leather.
"Amelia wanted to discuss how the giant X and O tables will be arranged throughout the room. We figured it would be easier to have her show us than to rely on a diagram. You know we have to have the floor plan exact since the centerpieces for the O tables hang from the ceiling." Buster stroked his dark goatee as he looked up. "It's a shame she wants to add so much frill. The room is beautiful as it is."
I held up a finger. "But it's not pink and red."
"It will be on Saturday," Mack said in a singsong voice, stepping out from behind Buster and revealing a black front-facing baby carrier complete with a front-facing baby.
"Merry!" Kate clapped her hands when she saw the baby girl smiling and waving her fat fists. "She's gotten so big since the last time I saw her."
Mack pivoted to face me, and Merry swung along with him. "I know what you're thinking, Annabelle, and I know it's not professional to bring a baby to a meeting with a bride, but her mother is in class, and we didn't have anyone else to leave her with."
I took one of Merry's little feet and jigg
led it. "You know I don't care one way or the other, but brides aren't excited to share the spotlight with anything cuter than them."
"That's what I said." Buster gave his partner a look. "If Amelia thinks we're anything less than 100 percent focused on her and her wedding, she might have a breakdown."
"Or worse," Kate said. "Write you a bad review."
"Can Buster handle the meeting?" I asked. "It's not like you both need to be here, do you?"
Mack raised an eyebrow.
"Never mind. Of course Amelia will ask where you are." I sized up the baby in her pink hat with tiny bear ears as she gave me a toothless grin. "Any chance you can flip the carrier around to your back and have her face the wall the entire time?"
"You don't think the bride will notice a giggling lump on Mack's back?" Kate asked. "I doubt we can get Amelia that drunk that fast."
Mack snapped his fingers. "I've got it. We'll switch off holding Merry. One person will stay in another room with her and after a few minutes, someone will tag them out."
"So there will always be three people in the meeting but never all of us at the same time?" Buster asked.
"I feel like this never works on sitcoms," I said.
"It's worth a try." Mack bounced the baby in front of him. "I'll duck out with her. Annabelle, you tag me out once the meeting gets started, and I'll run in and apologize for being late."
He hurried toward the ballroom doors and slipped out before I could argue.
Buster wiped a hand across his bald head. "Just the idea of being deceitful is making me sweat. The Bible says 'No one who practices deceit will dwell in my house.'"
"It's not deceit," Kate said. "It's more of an omission. Mack will be sorry to be late. By the time it's my turn, I'm sure I'll legitimately need to go to the ladies' room. As long as no one lies outright, we shouldn't have any house dwelling issues."
"Why am I the first one tagging him out?" My palms felt sweaty. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea."
"Did someone have a new idea about my wedding?" Amelia's high-pitched voice reverberated through the room and made us all jump.