by Nancy Bush
“So, Melinda brought the champagne. And…Deenie…was with you?”
“Oh, Deenie’s my maid of honor. We call her Deenie even though her name’s Denise. Everybody does. I’ve known her since third grade. We were having such a good time. I tied my hair up in a chignon but it looked like shit. Had to rip it all out and let it be down. I almost made Shari cry, she was the hairdresser. How was I supposed to know she was so sensitive! God, it was my wedding. Anyway, we got it all straightened out.”
“What about your mom?” I inserted casually. “Was she there?”
“Renee? No way. We don’t get along that great. I mean, she lives in Santa Monica and that’s just fine. I love her. She’s my mom and all, but when Sean and I moved to Portland with Daddy, she just stayed there. I haven’t lived with her since I was a kid.”
“But she came up for the wedding.”
“Yes.” Gigi’s jaw tightened stubbornly. She didn’t like being directed. She wanted to tell the story her way and that was that.
“So, you changed your hair and had mimosas with Deenie and your stepmother.”
“Melinda. Deenie and I had a limo and we were going to meet the other bridesmaids at Cahill for pictures at two. Melinda had her own car, so we all drove off around one o’clock. Deenie and I took a bottle of champagne in the limo. We turned the music up really loud and we were singing. It was so much fun.”
She stopped short, remembering. I could see her face start to squinch up and get blotchy. “So, we got there,” she said, her voice getting small and teary. “And everybody came for pictures but Daddy. It was almost two o’clock. The photographer took some photos of me and Emmett, and then the bridal party, but Daddy wasn’t there!”
“Emmett’s parents were there,” I said, sensing she was about to collapse into sobs.
“Uh-huh.”
“And your mother?”
“Why do you keep saying that! No! She wasn’t invited to the wedding.” Gigi looked like she wanted to throw her glass at me.
“I thought she came up from Santa Monica,” I answered, confused.
“She was disinvited, okay? She was invited. But then she was a bitch at the rehearsal dinner and she was disinvited. Melinda was there and she was being nice so I figured she could be in the pictures. I didn’t care if she and Daddy weren’t living in the same house. They really love each other. In fact, they’d be back together if it weren’t for Violet!”
“Okay,” I said, hoping she’d calm down.
“Want another glass of wine?” she asked, sniffing.
“Sure.”
I handed her my glass and she gave me a refill. It was kind of eerie the way she could throw a fit and then turn around and act like it didn’t happen. Maybe she’d been drinking before I arrived, although it didn’t seem like it.
“So, then…Daddy never showed at all. He wasn’t answering his cell phone, either. Honestly, I was kinda mad. It was my wedding day!”
I shook my head in commiseration, trying to look properly upset for her.
“And then it was three o’clock! Three o’clock! Deenie and I were just crying, holding each other up. It was like…” She shook her head, her nostrils quivering with remembered hurt. “It was like he didn’t care. We didn’t know what was wrong. That’s when we had to call my mother. Just in case she knew something.”
I waited.
Gigi shrugged. “Okay, look, I don’t like talking about my mother that much. It’s no big deal. She just doesn’t know how to act. The rehearsal dinner was a disaster. Big fight between Mom and Daddy, but then what did I expect? They’ve always been that way.”
“They fought at your rehearsal dinner?”
Gigi gestured impatiently. “She brought up Violet in front of Melinda and me and everybody. Asked where Violet was. Why wasn’t Violet there? Wasn’t Daddy seeing Violet? It was all just to bug him. That’s what my mother always does. You’d have to know her to understand. She’s kind of self-involved,” Gigi said with a straight face.
“Ah.”
“We were all at Castellina for the rehearsal dinner. It was a package deal—book the rehearsal dinner and the wedding preprep at Castellina, then go to the wedding and reception at the winery and it was a much better price. You know how expensive weddings are? Daddy got really upset toward the end. I mean, I thought Clarice, our wedding planner, was going to quit. It was awful. I really thought he was going to throw something at her. And Enzo, our florist? I’m not sure he ever got paid.
“Anyway, Mom shows up at the rehearsal dinner. And she brings a date that she didn’t mention. Some guy with dyed hair and a Ferrari. Can you stand it? They drove up from Santa Monica together, but did she tell any of us? We didn’t have a place for him. It was just rude.
“And then she started in about Violet. Melinda tried to intervene. She’s such an idiot sometimes. And Daddy says, ‘Stay away from me, Mel,’ real coldlike. Mom smirked and Melinda looked like she was going to cry. And then Mom says, ‘He gets like this every time he starts up with Violet. I should know.’”
“Did Violet break up your parents’ marriage?” I asked, wondering if Renee still held a grudge.
“Well…no.” Gigi sounded disappointed that she had to tell the truth. “They were split up a long time. But it still upset Mom when Daddy and Violet got together and we all moved away from Los Angeles.”
“Was there any thought of staying with your mother at the time?”
“I don’t know what this has to do with anything,” she muttered, looking away.
I took that as a no. “But it sounds like Renee blamed Violet for a lot of what happened in your family.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I could tell I was losing Gigi, so I said, “So, your father disinvited your mother to the wedding and reception.”
“The Ferrari guy got real upset. Told my dad he was no kind of man. They’d driven all the way here, they’d been invited, well, Mom had, anyway. Who did he think he was? Blah, blah, blah. It was a real scene. If I’d been sober I would have been even more mad, but we were knocked out by those Italian punch drinks they serve there. They got Campari or something in them? Makes them red? We drank tons of them. It was really the only way to get through that night, though Daddy did make a nice toast to me.” Fresh tears filled her eyes. “He said how I was his little girl.”
I smiled encouragingly, thinking that was pretty standard stuff for the dads of brides.
Gigi stabbed a piece of cheese with one of the ruffled toothpicks, then twirled it thoughtfully around. I wondered if she was rethinking putting it in her mouth. “I was kinda hungover in the morning, but by noon I was okay. The mimosas sure helped.”
“Hair of the dog,” I said.
“Huh?”
I shrugged, not wanting to sidetrack her with an explanation about why more alcohol was supposed to cure a hangover. I’m not sure I believe it anyway. Gigi went on, “I guess I was still hoping Daddy would show and we’d get a few pictures, maybe after the ceremony. People started arriving. It was just awful. I mean, it was getting close to four. Where was he? We told the caterers to open the champagne, so we started drinking some more. We even called my mother then, and she and the Ferrari guy came right over.”
“Did you try to call Violet?” I asked.
“We’re not stupid. Of course we did. She never picked up.”
“Okay.”
“People kind of moved around the grounds, staying out of the way. I think they were embarrassed. Deenie and I were crying and nobody knew what to do. Finally, we had to say there was an accident and the wedding was postponed. Emmett’s parents, Dave and Goldy, were upset.” Her lips compressed, and she started to say something, then cut herself off. I got the feeling it might have been something not all that nice about Emmett’s parents. She went on instead, “We didn’t really believe something bad had happened to Daddy. Not then…but then Emmett found Daddy and called his dad. He didn’t want to tell me over the phone.” She swept in a breath. “
It was David who told everyone Daddy’d been in an accident. He didn’t tell me the truth until everyone had left.”
I heard a car engine and looked through the window to see a dark blue Mercedes convertible pull into the driveway and park. Emmett Popparockskill climbed from the driver’s seat, removing a pair of Ray-Bans. He glanced toward the heavens, but the rain had briefly abated and rays of sunlight stabbed downward through black-bottomed clouds. Emmett was lean and dark like Gigi, and I watched him run a hand slowly alongside his hair, then do it again, a narcissistic habit that said a lot about him. Then he tucked his hands together in that way golfers do, as if they have an actual club in their palms, swept his arms back and made a deep swing. He finished, arms upward, staring in the direction the “ball” had gone. His clothes were golfers’ togs: tan chinos, collared black T-shirt with three-button placket.
“There were just a few of us at the end,” Gigi went on distractedly. She, too, was watching Emmett’s swing. “I remember Melinda making a point to try to be nice to my mom even though she’d been such a bitch the night before. Renee was really quiet. I think she was scared. Like she knew something really bad had happened. I guess we all knew, just didn’t want to face it.”
Emmett entered the house and Gigi suddenly broke into action, running to him, juggling her wine. She managed to keep from sloshing, but after planting a smack on his mouth, she slurped some more from her glass. Emmett regarded her with a look threaded with both indulgence and annoyance, as if she were a bratty child, which wasn’t that far from the truth. “Watch the wine,” he said.
“Oh, pooh. Let me get you a glass.” Gigi twirled back into the kitchen and grabbed another Lismore. She filled it full, saw that the bottle was empty, and after placing the stemware in Emmett’s somewhat reluctant hand, plucked a new bottle from the fridge.
Emmett clearly hadn’t expected visitors and his expression was long-suffering.
I stuck out a hand. “Jane Kelly.”
“Emmett Popparockskill.”
What a mouthful. He shook my hand and it was a decent handshake.
“She’s here ’cause I invited her,” Gigi said quickly. I shot her a look, not sure if she was hiding my true agenda for reasons of her own or not. “Have some cheese.”
Emmett popped a couple of squares of pepper jack into his mouth and started drinking with more enthusiasm. “I quit my job today,” he said.
Gigi’s mouth dropped open, then shut, then dropped open again. She looked like a beached fish. “What? Why?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” Which was couple-speak for “after the guest leaves.”
But Gigi was having none of it. “How’re we supposed to pay our bills? Oh my God. You’re kidding, right?”
“It’ll all be okay.”
“Oh my God…”
“Nobody knows what they’re doing there. The other salesmen don’t know fuel injectors from wiper blades.” He flicked a look my way. “I work—worked—at Miller-Kennedy, the Mercedes dealership. Mike Miller’s my uncle and there is no Kennedy anymore.”
“A family-owned business,” I said politely.
“You got that right. My dad’s the account manager.” Something about his tone suggested he thought his father wasn’t much of an employee, either. I got the feeling Emmett thought the place would fall apart without him.
Gigi was going through a rapid thought process. “She’s still there, I take it.”
“Everybody’s still there. Except me.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
I wondered who “she” was. Emmett’s mother?
“Well, you can’t quit now, Emmett! My dad’s estate isn’t even close to being settled. We gotta wait.”
“Too late. I walked. Mike was yelling and screaming. I think he scared two customers out of the showroom.”
“You should have that dealership,” Gigi stated flatly. “But Mike’ll leave it to those morons, you know he will.”
“His sons,” Emmett said for my benefit.
“But you’re the only one who knows anything. Y’see?” she said, turning to me. “And then there’s Violet. She gets her family’s money? And she’s awful. It’s just not fair. Unbelievable! She hit Daddy with that tray and killed him and it’s like it never happened! Why haven’t they arrested her?”
Emmett gave me an assessing look. “You know Violet?”
Gigi apparently decided to come clean, saying, “She’s working for her,” then proceeded to put her spin on my role in searching for Roland’s murderer, making me sound like I was just using his death as a means to suck off some of Violet’s money.
“Violet’s paying me,” I admitted. “She’s fully aware that if I find out she’s at fault, I’ll turn her in.”
He looked skeptical. “She’s a liar,” he told me.
“Daddy used to call her Ultra-Violet, like it was a pet name,” Gigi revealed. “Made me want to puke! She always tried to be so nice to us. I never liked her. I just know she slithered back into Daddy’s bed.” She shivered all over. “They were probably screwing while I was supposed to be walking down the aisle.” Her face was suffused with color.
“She killed him,” Emmett said.
“I’d like some proof, before I go there,” I said.
“She hit him with a silver tray in the head and he died. What I wonder is, why aren’t the police doing their job? She should be in jail.”
His sentiments and Gigi’s were one and the same. “She says he was alive when she left.”
“But she admits she hit him.” Gigi pounced on that one. “Who says he was alive? Emmett’s right. Violet is a liar!”
“Can you think of anyone else who might have a reason to want him dead?”
“Violet hit him,” Gigi repeated stubbornly. “That’s a fact.”
“The Wedding Bandits were there, too,” I reminded her.
“Who says? Violet?” Gigi crossed her arms over her chest. “She could have stolen those things.”
“The police are pretty sure the bandits were interrupted.” I didn’t feel I needed to go over all the particulars. The fact that items had been scattered around the house and yard was well documented.
“I found the body,” Emmett reminded me soberly. “I know the crime scene.”
Gigi tossed her head. “I don’t care what anybody says. Violet killed Daddy. I hope she goes to jail forever. I hate her.” She turned to Emmett, her nose turning red, angry tears welling. “It’s so awful!” Emmett cuddled her into his arms, but Gigi turned her head toward me, her cheek pressed up against his shirt. “You’re going to find Daddy’s killer?”
“I’m gonna try.”
“Good luck.” Emmett didn’t sound convinced of my abilities and I didn’t blame him. They thought I was wasting my time. Neither of them liked Violet. And both of them thought she was guilty.
Hell, she probably was.
CHAPTER FOUR
I spent the next several days making phone calls, going down the list Sean had given me, trying to connect, or reconnect as the case might be, with various wedding guests. Big Jim answered his phone straightaway and this time, when I told him Sean and Gigi had okayed talking to me, he became garrulous to the point of mind-screaming. And he had nothing to contribute. I finally laid my head down on my kitchen table, the phone to my ear, mumbling an occasional “Oh,” “huh,” and “I see.” I was practically in a coma by the time he finally wound down. The other bridesmaids, groomsmen and assorted guests I reached couldn’t offer any further information or insight, either, so I was left knowing little more than I had before. I never reached Deenie but I left her a message, and I put in another call to Dr. Wu’s, where I was told rather curtly that Dr. Wu was out of the country, Ms. Kelly, and he would contact me when he returned.
I also phoned Melinda Hatchmere, Roland’s widow, and Renee Hatchmere, Roland’s first wife, asking each of them in turn to call me back. To date, neither of them had responded. At another impasse, I wrote up my billable hours
for Violet and temporarily dusted my hands of the case.
Friday evening I joined Chuck and Officer Josh Newell for a ride-along expecting the evening to be an uneventful waste of time. I was right about the uneventful part; wrong about the waste of time. While I rode around in the police car I watched the reactions of the people who noticed our vehicle. It broke down pretty evenly: twenty-five percent looked stricken, as if they’d been caught in some nefarious act; twenty-five percent pretended they didn’t see us—like, oh, sure, that’s gonna help; twenty-five percent reacted as if the police were their good buddy-buddy, waving frantically and smiling and generally being the kind of brownnosing suck-ups that drive me crazy; and twenty-five percent acted cool and hard-eyed and tough, mostly teenagers whose smoldering demeanors were for their friends’ benefits and caused Officer Newell to chuckle low in his throat.