The Wedding Guest

by Jonathan Kellerman

  She hefted her book. “Anything else?”

  Milo said, “Guess you’ve covered everything.”

  “I’ve covered nothing,” said Amanda Burdette. “And by saying I have, you obviously don’t get it.”

  She turned her back and walked away.

  Milo said, “Did that just happen? Nasty little piece of work. Thinks she’s brilliant but she just made me more interested in her.”

  “You’ve got your narrative, she’s got hers.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “I’d like to talk to her.” Eyeing Leanza Cardell.

  * * *

  —

  This time, the unlucky bridesmaid got up as we approached. Wiggling to maintain balance and calling out, “My turn?”

  Thickly built but shapely and blessed by a beautiful, clear-skinned face, she knew her flaming waist-length hair was an eye-catcher and used it like a prop, tossing and arranging and rearranging as she sashayed toward us in impossible heels. Her glossy satin dress shifted between gray and mocha depending on the light.

  The garment looked tight enough to restrict respiration. One of those sadistic things brides pick for their supposed friends in order to look good in comparison. But Leanza seemed to enjoy working it, walking in a way that maximized gelatinous bounce. Her smile nearly bisected her face, her teeth whiter than fresh snow.

  Milo led her to the area vacated by Sean’s group.

  She sat carefully, tugged her bodice down to expose an additional inch of bosoms.

  “At your service, Lieutenant.” A look at me. “Yours, too, sir.” Tinkly, little-girl voice. Huge blue eyes awned by false lashes that could’ve been fashioned from tarantula legs.

  Milo said, “Sorry for the wait, Ms. Cardell. Terrible thing you’ve been through.”

  “Call me Lee, Lieutenant. Yeah, it freaked me out, I mean all I wanted was a place to…you know.” Spidery flutter. “The little girls’ room. But I’m fine now, had a Martini—that’s okay, right? I mean I don’t have to be totally sober to talk to you, do I?”

  “What you endured, Lee, I can see booze helping.”

  Leanza Cardell laughed. “You sound kinda like a TV detective.” Edging satin knees closer to Milo.

  He said, “Columbo?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Historical figure.”

  “Huh?”

  “Please run it by us again, Lee.”

  * * *

  —

  With her hair and chest as props, Leanza retold her narrative, creating a mini-drama in which her bladder starred.

  “I mean, really, you go in to tinkle—that’s what my grandma calls it, to tinkle—you go in to tinkle, are trying to pull down your panties, and you see that? I thought I’d lose it completely. So who is she?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out, Lee.”

  “She was dressed to party, had to be on the invite list.”

  “She isn’t and no one seems to know her.”

  “Really? I assumed she was from his side. I mean I knew she wasn’t from Brears’s side, I know everyone Brears knows.”

  “You and Brears go back?”

  “High school, we were both cheerleaders.”

  “So your first impression was she was Gar’s friend.”

  “Well,” she said, “I just assumed. She’s not? Wow, that’s weird. You’re sure she’s not?”

  I said, “No one from his side admits knowing her.”

  “Admits? You think they’re lying?”

  “Any reason they would be?”

  “I’m not saying that—can I ask your name? So we can talk like people. You, too.”

  “Milo.”

  “Alex.”

  “Nice names for nice guys,” she said, smiling crookedly. “All I mean, Alex, is that if she’s not from Brears’s side, she’d have to be from Gar’s side, right? It’s like, that’s the whole thing, right? So if they don’t admit—I mean it’s the process of elimination, right? She has to come from somewhere.”

  I nodded. “You were just sitting with Gar’s family. Did anyone indicate they knew her?”

  “Uh-uh. They weren’t talking much. Pretending like it didn’t happen, you know? Gar’s dad did go on a bit about how much it cost and now look what happened, and Gar’s sister—the married one—was saying she was pissed she couldn’t bring her kids but now turned out that was a blessing.”

  We waited.

  Leanza Cardell said, “That’s it, really.”

  I said, “Did Amanda have anything to say?”

  “Her? The freak? She reads,” said Leanza Cardell. “Brears warned me about her.”

  “Warned you about what?”

  “Her being a psycho freak. Autistic like, what do they call it, spectral? You just met her, she’s weird, right? Brears didn’t want to invite her to the bachelorette in Vegas but she had to. Thank God she didn’t come. Said she had a test. Wasn’t nice about it.”

  “Rude.”

  “Not answering the e-vite, not answering Brears’s calls. Finally, the day of she emails, like, ‘got a test.’ Every time I’ve seen her, she’s reading. I mean come on.”

  I said, “Speaking of the bachelorette, anything interesting happen?”

  She flushed scarlet. “No, it was great.” Loss of volume on the last two words. Her eyes slid to the right and back.

  Milo said, “Lee, if there’s something that could relate to this murder, we need to know.”

  Fingers knotted around flame-colored hair. Pale knuckles.

  “Lee?”

  “No, no, nothing like that, it was—the usual.”

  I smiled. “Never been to a bachelorette so don’t know what the usual is.”

  She squirmed. Satin squeaked. “You know. We ate and drank and had…you know, male dancers.”

  “Any conflict—fights among the girls?”

  “No, we were—it was all about the party.”

  White knuckles as her lips moved. Again, she glanced to the side.

  I said, “Did Brears do anything that might’ve gotten her into trouble with someone?”

  Leanza Cardell’s head dipped toward her satin lap. “I really don’t want to talk about this. It’s not fair.”

  “To who?”

  “Brears. She’s entitled to her…time on the runway.”

  “Stardom.”

  “Yeah, it was supposed to be her big day.”

  I said, “So what, the party was an intro to the big day?”

  “Well…” Grimace. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Milo said, “Someone was murdered, Lee. If you know anything—”

  “I don’t. It had nothing to do with it.”

  “What’s it, Lee?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” she repeated. “Dancers are nothing to anyone, they’re like…they’re…no one even knew anyone’s name, okay? It’s not like the two of them had an affair, just a quickie—”

  She clamped her hand over her lips. “Omigod I’m such a…” Wet eyes.

  Milo said, “There was some fooling around. A dancer and Brears.”

  “You never heard that from me. It’s not important!” She began crying.

  I said, “We’re not here to judge.” One of the baldest lies I’ve ever told.

  “I’ve messed up everything!”

  “You haven’t, Lee. Really.” I placed a hand on hers. Warm, slightly moist flesh. A body maintained on simmer.

  She looked at me. “Really? You’ll forget about it?”

  “If there really was nothing more than some fooling around.”

  “There really wasn’t, sir—Alex. I swear to you. We don’t even know their names, everyone wears masks, no o
ne knows anybody or anything.” She looked around, panicked. Lowered her head again and said something inaudible.

  “What’s that, Lee?”

  “Ma fau.”

  “Your fault?”

  Mournful nod.

  “For…”

  “Not stopping it. He asked me first, picked me out and said I was hot, it would be fun. I said no way.”

  “You opted out. Nothing wrong with that, Lee.”

  “That’s what I thought!” Squeezing my fingers.

  I said, “Brears thought differently.”

  “It was supposed…I thought…I figured it would just be—” She stroked air. Placed a hand behind her head and pushed down. “I should’ve done it to save her. I just wanted to stay classy!”

  I said, “You took care of yourself, Lee. Nothing to be ashamed of, just the opposite.”

  “But I should’ve protected her. She already had drank way way too much, she had these cocktails…I should’ve, I mean I tried, told her don’t do it but she laughed and then she’s getting up pulling her dress down so her you-knows are all exposed and then he’s taking her hand…” More tears. “They actually did it. I couldn’t believe it, they did it. And everyone’s cheering.”

  “Then it was over,” I said.

  “Don’t judge her. Please. That’s how she is.”

  “Determined.”

  She sniffed. “Yeah. She always gets her way. Always.”

  * * *

  —

  Milo produced a tissue and Leanza dabbed her eyes. We questioned her gently, going over the same ground, probing for new info. She said, “Uh-uh, I swear that’s everything. And no way the party is important.”

  I said, “How many girls were there?”

  “Why? You’re not going to talk to them—please, I don’t want them to know I told!”

  Milo looked at me. If we needed to find out, we could.

  He said, “Sure. Big party?”

  “No, just girls who’re close. Four, okay? But no one would ever tell. Because…some of them also.” Looking down. “Actually, everyone got into it. It was crazy. Except me.” Looking down. “I had my period. Also, I didn’t want to.”

  She ruffled her hair. “Totally crazy, we had masks. No one was themselves. Except me. And I was the one who felt weird.”

  * * *

  —

  She tottered as she stood. Milo said, “How’re you getting home?”

  “Uber.”

  “Okay, be careful.”

  “I will, sir.”

  Staggering off.

  Milo rubbed his face. “Girls gone wild with a bunch of hired studs. The groom finds out, I can see an excellent motive for strangling the bride but not some third party. And there’s no indication the groom did find out. From what I’ve seen he’s still basking in the glow of oblivious love.”

  He laughed. “Poor sap. Probably happens more often than we think.”

  I said, “His family doesn’t know, either. If they did, they’d have tried to stop the wedding.”

  “Mean Amanda would’ve loved that narrative.”

  “Amanda attending the bachelorette would probably have kept things tame.”

  “Chastity belt on legs?” He laughed. “I guess I could talk to the other girls at the party but if it turns out not to be relevant, I’ve made things even worse for these poor kids and their families.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “At this point, best to be discreet.”

  He laughed. “Put otherwise, I remain stuck at ground zero.”

  * * *

  —

  We left the building and stepped out into cool night air soured by gasoline and garbage.

  I said, “How long since this place was a strip club?”

  “Back to the dancer thing?”

  “She’s a good-looking young woman who knew where the upstairs bathroom was.”

  “Or like Leanza she just had bladder issues, went looking, and lucked out.”

  “Leanza didn’t luck out. She knew because she was a bridesmaid and had changed upstairs. The location’s out of the way. My bet is Red Dress either was familiar with the layout or was meeting up with someone who was.”

  “Tryst in the loo?” he said.

  “She may have been lured there for a hot time, but I don’t see this as rough sex gone bad. Our bad guy came with a garrote and a shot of something nasty. She was brought upstairs to be killed.”

  “Bad guy’s a wedding guest? Or he, too, knew the place from before? Why pick a stranger’s wedding to kill your soon-to-be-ex?”

  “Maybe some sort of fantasy—double-crashing and getting it on. Plus there’d be practical reasons. When the building’s not being used, it’s locked, and noise from the party would be a great sound baffle.”

  “I guess so,” he said. “But we’re still talking high-risk, Alex. Anyone could’ve come up there at any time.”

  “Maybe danger was part of the fantasy. She was left to be found. Displayed in a demeaning way.”

  “Hypo full of dope,” he said. “That takes me right back to Gar’s clan with all their medical training.”

  I said, “Including the women. Sandy Burdette and Marilee Mastro are both tall, strong-looking women, and the injection would’ve reduced the need for physical control.”

  “Amanda isn’t big but she’s smart enough to plan and sweet as a wolverine. Now the big question for all of them: motive.”

  I shrugged. “We need to know more about the families—both sides.”

  “How kind of you,” he said, patting my shoulder.

  “What is?”

  “The benevolent plural. We need to know.”

  “What are friends for?” I said.

  “When it comes to our newlyweds, good question.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  A little after three p.m. the following day, Milo’s office number flashed on my phone. I’d just gotten offline, researching The Aura. Party venue for a little over a year. Lackluster website, a few thumbnails of happy celebrants, most of which looked like canned archive shots.

  He said, “Here’s your daily recap, Doctor. Requested a high-priority autopsy but the crypt’s so backlogged they’re bringing in outside help. Pathologist I spoke to did think the fentanyl scenario or some drug like it made sense.”

  I said, “Working on Sunday?”

  “The Lord’s got job security, let Him rest. I also ran basic background on everyone at the wedding. Out of a hundred and three people, twenty-two have local arrest records. DUIs and penny-ante dope stuff except for one burglary—the deejay. That was fifteen years ago, it got pled down to trespassing and the details sound more like a landlord–tenant dispute. The families both look damnably law abiding but that’s just surface stuff and I haven’t checked the docs’ civil records for malpractice.”

  I told him what I’d learned about The Aura.

  He said, “Fits with what Sean turned up, I’ve had him looking at the place. He emailed their booking number and got a canned reply. Weddings, bar mitzvahs, anniversary parties, quinceañeras. The current owners bought it five months ago, a group from Hong Kong.”

  “Anyone mad at them?”

  “Not that’s turned up, so far. Making matters worse, no current lawsuits, no bitching on Yelp.”

  I said, “The last time girls danced around the pole was around a year and a half ago. Who owned it back then?”

  “Guy named Ramzi Salawa, business address in Hollywood. Doesn’t seem to be in the club biz anymore, his money comes from storefronts on the boulevard. I put a call in to Petra to see if anyone in her playground knows him, she poked around, nothing. I texted him and he surprised me by answering a few minutes ago. At LAX, clearing customs from an overseas trip. He sounded freaked about the murder, agreed to drive
over on his way from the airport. Hour or so. You curious enough to want to observe?”

  “Twitching with interest.”

  * * *

  —

  When I arrived at the West L.A. station, a black-on-black Mercedes 500 was parked illegally at the curb and Milo was talking to a trim black-suited, black-shirted, black-bearded man in his forties. The only color relief, bright-red calfskin loafers.

  Milo said, “This is Mr. Salawa.”

  “Ramzi, people call me Ron.” Soft, mellow, unaccented voice. I shook the hand he extended. Pliable, warm, exerting the barest pressure.

  “Nice to meet you, Ron.”

  “Yes, well…this is pretty shocking.”

  Milo said, “Turns out Mr. Salawa knows our victim.”

  “I wouldn’t say know, more like acquainted,” said Salawa. “You can’t tell me what happened, Lieutenant?”

  “Sorry, not yet.”

  “That place.” Head shake. “Jinx from day one, couldn’t wait to get out of the business. Tried not to get involved too much, period. That’s why I didn’t really know her. Plus she was hired toward the end, was maybe there for a couple months.”

  I said, “The club scene didn’t work out for you.”

  “Disaster,” said Salawa. “I’m a real estate guy, never intended to get into entertainment. It was my uncle’s thing, he owed me money, gave me four crap locations when he moved back to Dubai and The Aura was one of them. It was supposed to be a great deal. Maybe I’m just not cut out for it but my opinion is what messed it up is internet porn. Why should guys bother to leave their houses when they can log on and get their jollies? So the ones who do show up are mostly losers without a lot of bank. We’d have them showing up already drunk, getting by with the cheapest two-drink minimum. They’d rarely spring for drinks for the girls and their tips sucked so we couldn’t hold on to girls. Plus that type, you know. They can cause problems.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “Nothing serious, but still a pain.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Drunk and disorderly. I didn’t call you guys, didn’t figure it was worth your time.”