“I hope you’ve been well since our last visit.” The last time we spoke, Adaline had a bad case of shingles that nearly landed her in the hospital.
“I’m much better now.” Her eyebrows suddenly shot up. “Wait a minute. Don’t tell me you’re the one who found the body this time, too?”
“Guilty as charged. The house’s caretaker and I went looking for the groom when he didn’t show up at breakfast this morning.”
“There was no chance of that,” she said. “The victim died last night.”
She must’ve concluded her initial investigation, which she would type up and present to Lance as an official report.
“Anything else you can tell us about the body?” Lance asked.
“You’ll get a preliminary later today. I’ll rush it.” She raked her fingers through her short, gray hair, some of which was plastered to her forehead by sweat. “It’s like a furnace out there. Not a very good day for a murder investigation, is it?”
“Did you say, ‘murder’?” Lance shot her a funny look.
“Oh, yeah. I found a second pair of footprints in some mud near the body. Too large for the victim’s, so it had to be someone else’s.”
My mind immediately flew back to my time with Darryl. Since he’d bent over the body to determine whether Wesley was still breathing or not, his rubber boots could’ve left prints in the mud. “Say, Adaline. Did the prints have smooth soles, or rough?”
“They looked smooth,” she said. “No indentations. Why?”
“Because I thought they might belong to the caretaker. He was with me when we found the body. But his boots had treads on the bottom.”
“Then they’re not his prints,” she said, matter-of-factly. “These prints were smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
“Let me get this straight,” Lance slowly crossed his arms. “There’s no way the man’s death was an accident, then?”
“None at all. Someone either killed him in the tower or brought him there afterward. Either way, there was another person involved.”
I knew why Lance had asked. Up until now, we could all pretend that maybe Wesley’s death didn’t involve foul play. There was no chance of that now, though.
“Another person was involved in what?”
A woman spoke up behind us, and her voice sounded shaky and weak.
I turned to see Lorelei standing in the entrance to the kitchen. A messy ponytail splayed over one shoulder, thick and matted, and her eyes looked glassy. It seemed she’d just gotten out of bed, or maybe she needed to be there.
“Ummm…” Even Lance didn’t know what to say.
“Well? Aren’t you going to tell me?”
Finally, Lance regained his composure. “We have some bad news about your fiancé. About how he died.”
“Oh? I thought it was an accident, right?”
The medical examiner started to say something, but Lance silenced her by raising his hand.
“First of all. I think you should meet someone. This is Adaline Clark, with the St. James Parish Medical Examiner’s Office.”
“Thank goodness.” Lorelei breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you’re here. People are saying all kinds of terrible things about Wesley. Like how maybe he didn’t hit his head and fall down. Like how maybe someone killed him.”
She shook her head and the ponytail flew forward. “But I don’t think that’s what happened. My poor Wesley obviously took too much medicine and got confused. He probably hit his head, or maybe he fell down on the pavement. I just hope he went quickly and it wasn’t too painful.”
She gazed at Lance hopefully, waiting for him to agree with her.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s not how it happened.” Lance spoke gently, but firmly. “There’s no easy way to say this. Someone was with your fiancé when he died, so now we suspect foul play.”
“But…but that doesn’t mean anything,” she sputtered. “Maybe one of his buddies was there and the guy tried to help him after Wesley fell. Maybe he tried to get help. Did you ever think of that, Officer?” She was grasping at straws, and we all knew it.
“Miss Honeycutt.” Up until this point, Adaline had held her tongue. “I won’t have an official report until later this afternoon, but I can tell you this—off the record—that someone poisoned your fiancé. I noticed bubbling on the surface of his skin.”
“Poison?” That took the fight right out of Lorelei. “But…but I don’t know how that could be.”
“Did Wesley have any enemies you know of?” Lance asked.
“I…I guess so. I mean, doesn’t everyone?”
“I’m not talking about little squabbles.” Lance’s voice reminded firm. “I mean, did he upset someone to the point they may have wanted to kill him?”
Before she could respond, another noise reached us. But this one was loud and chaotic. Something metal crashed to the ground in the foyer, and it was followed by a string of very colorful curses.
“Could you please see what’s happening out there?” Lance asked me.
“Of course.” It was the least I could do, since he obviously wanted to speak more with Lorelei.
I practically flew into the foyer, hoping to silence the noisemaker. When I arrived, I skidded to a stop, since I encountered the last person I expected to see: Stormie Lanai, the newscaster. And she looked none too happy to see me, either.
Chapter 8
“It’s you!” I didn’t mean to yell, but she’d surprised the heck out of me.
“Of course, it’s me. We were trying to film out here, but my cameraman broke the camera lens.”
A cameraman crouched on the ground behind Stormie, holding a busted lens. The rest of his equipment was scattered on the floor, as if he’d dropped it in a panic. “The station manager isn’t going to like this. Not one bit.”
Stormie scowled at him. “Then fix it. We still have to shoot some footage.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going through with the story?” I asked. “Haven’t you heard about the body we found on the property?”
“Yes, I have. But that doesn’t mean my job here is done.” She fluttered her false eyelashes, which always reminded me of two butterflies about to take flight. “It only means I’ll be working on a different kind of story now. Real news…not the fluffy wedding piece my editor wanted me to cover.”
Heaven forbid Lorelei should wander into the foyer and find a news crew waiting for her, so I had to get rid of them.
“I’m sorry, but you have to leave. The police detective is talking to the bride in the kitchen.”
“He is?” She glanced over my shoulder. “Why didn’t you say so? That’ll make for some excellent footage!”
“Oh no you don’t.” I blocked her with my shoulders. “Don’t you dare go anywhere near Lorelei.”
“Last I checked, this wasn’t your house.”
“No, but it is my house,” someone new said.
Sure enough, I turned to see Nelle standing behind us. “And I’ll thank you to get out of here.”
The newscaster’s demeanor immediately changed. She rushed to Nelle’s side, the picture of concern now. “I’m so sorry about what happened. What a horrible thing to face on your daughter’s wedding day! Is there anything I can do to help?”
I rolled my eyes. If I knew Stormie—which I did—the last thing she wanted was to help someone else. More likely, she wanted to help herself get a story that was guaranteed to lead off the nightly news.
“Come off it, Stormie,” I said. “We all know why you’re here. You want to get the scoop on this story before someone else beats you to it.”
Her eyelids fluttered even faster. “That’s a terrible thing to say! Even coming from you. I only want to help the family in its time of need.”
“Do you, really?” Nelle sounded equally suspicious. “The best thing you ca
n do is leave. Please take your cameraman and your tripod and whatever else you brought, and get off the property.”
“But…but we already have such wonderful footage of the mansion!” Stormie gestured to the camcorder on the ground. “Would you like to see it?”
The offer came as a complete surprise. Especially since the cameraman seemed more concerned with his broken lens than with us.
“I’d be happy to share it with you.” Stormie reached for the camcorder, before she seemed to remember something. “Charles? Could you please be a dear and help me lift the equipment?”
She turned to Nelle as the cameraman hoisted the equipment onto his knee.
“My doctor doesn’t want me lifting anything over five pounds.” She whispered the news, as if she was sharing an important secret. “It’s bad for the baby, you know.”
“A baby?” Nelle’s tone abruptly softened. “Why didn’t you say so? I never would’ve yelled at you like that if I knew you were with child. Dear me, that was just awful of me.”
“No, no.” Stormie waved casually, as if she hadn’t given it another thought. “I didn’t take offense. You had no way of knowing.”
“Now you, on the other hand…” She gave me a pointed look, as if I should’ve volunteered to lift the camcorder for her.
“It’s under the weight limit,” I said, as innocently as I could. “Those things only weigh three or four pounds nowadays, so your doctor wouldn’t mind.”
Gracious light. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if Stormie stretched out the pregnancy to a year or two, instead of the usual nine months, so she could guilt people into lifting things for her.
“Yes, well, you can never be too careful.” She turned her attention back to her number one priority…Nelle.
“We got some wonderful shots of your property.” She leaned across the cameraman and angled the viewfinder out. “The house’s colors look just gorgeous! It was made for the camera. Even the flowers look great, especially the magnolias. We took footage over by the garden, inside the family chapel, and near the pull-through drive. We have some terrific B-roll.”
To be honest, something about the footage intrigued me, as well. I wondered if Lance knew about it and whether he could use it in his investigation.
“May I see the footage, too?” I took a step closer.
“Suit yourself.” Stormie pushed the start button, and scenes began to scroll by on the viewfinder. It played everything from panoramic shots of rice fields outside the fence line to close-ups of magnolia blossoms. At one point, the images switched to a long, panoramic view of the exterior, from one end of the property to the other.
My breath stalled when the camera alighted on the stairwell by the wine cellar. “Stop the memory card!” I gasped.
“What?” Stormie seemed annoyed at the interruption. “Why?”
“When did you take this?” I continued to watch the scene, mesmerized.
“I don’t know. About eleven this morning. Maybe eleven thirty. Does it really matter?”
“Yes. Stop the card. And please rewind it back a few seconds.”
Fortunately, Stormie listened to me this time, and she reluctantly hit the pause button. Then she pushed rewind, and the card reversed itself.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “You don’t have to yell. Geesh…what’s your problem?”
“There.” I jabbed my finger at the viewfinder, once the card went back to a particular spot. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Framed within the viewfinder was a shot of the stairs that led down to the wine cellar. The statue at the top of the stairs, which Lance had replaced after our visit there, was gone. It had completely disappeared, with nothing but a bit of leftover debris on the ground to show for it.
“When did you say you shot this?” I asked.
“About eleven.” Stormie shrugged. “I still don’t see why it matters.”
I turned around, instead of answering her. Now I was eager to get back to the kitchen and find Lance. I flew down the hall and arrived there before either Stormie or Nelle could move.
Once I skidded into the kitchen, I hurried to Lance’s side. “You need to come with me.”
He seemed to be finishing up with Lorelei, and he didn’t look happy I’d interrupted him. “Are you sure? We’re almost done here.”
“I’m afraid so,” I said. “There’s something important you need to see outside.”
I moved next to Lorelei. “I’m sorry, but I need to take Detective LaPorte away for a little bit. Your mother’s down the hall, in the foyer. Would you like me to send her in here?”
She sniffled and shook her head. “No thanks. She doesn’t know I left my room. I think I’ll just go upstairs and lie down again.”
Once I realized she was going to be all right, I grabbed Lance’s hand and practically pulled him from the kitchen. The noontime heat was almost unbearable when we stepped outside, and humidity clung to me like wet cotton. Once again, I thanked my lucky stars I’d opted to wear ballet flats today, because we cut across the lawn at breakneck speed.
After a moment, we arrived at the stairwell that led to the wine cellar.
“Look.” I pointed at the empty landing.
“What happened to the statue?”
“I don’t know. But I’m afraid we’re going to find out.”
I took the stairs two at a time, until I arrived at the doorway. Bravery was one thing, but foolhardiness was quite another, so I waited for Lance to enter the wine cellar first. He was the one who carried a sidearm in his waistband, not me, and I had no idea what awaited us.
The air in the cellar was much cooler than the air outside. Almost at once, the humidity on my skin and hair began to evaporate, and my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I automatically reached for the light switch on the wall, and pale, gold light flooded the space as soon as I flicked it on.
“Cross your fingers we’re not too late,” Lance said.
Once the shadows disappeared, I sized up the room. It looked exactly the same as before. Over there was the bar with the elaborate monogram carved on its side. A line of casks stairstepped up the opposite wall, and each was branded with the same monogram. Even the barstools looked untouched, with their seats swiveled to face the same direction. But that wasn’t what we were looking for.
We made our way to a certain shelf on the wall, and when we reached it, I loudly gasped. “Sassafras! They’re gone.”
Sure enough, the wineglasses Lance planned to “bag and tag” later for evidence, once he’d had a chance to measure their position on the shelf, had disappeared.
“Holy cow.” He spoke behind me. “That’s what I was afraid of. I should’ve taken them when I had the chance.”
“But you had no idea they were going to disappear.”
“At least I still have this.”
He slowly reached behind his back and withdrew a shiny plastic bag from his pocket. Inside was the cigarette paper we’d found on the floor. It looked so innocent lying in a sheath of plastic: just another rectangular slip of white paper with crisp edges and clean sides.
“That’s right!” I eyed the bag. “At least they didn’t get that, did they?”
“Nope.” He returned the evidence to his pocket. “Look, I’m going to seal up this room more tightly, so no one else can come down here. It’s too late for the wineglasses, but there could be some other evidence we haven’t seen. Do you mind checking on the bride while I do that?”
“No, of course not. She said she was going back to her room, so I’ll check there first.”
“Stay in touch. And keep your eyes open. I have a feeling we’ve already crossed paths with our killer.”
I gulped. “That’s a creepy way to put it.”
“I know, but it’s the truth. Be careful.”
I left the room and quickly climbed the s
tairs. Once more, humidity settled over my head and shoulders the minute I emerged from the cool stairwell, and it only got worse as I made my way toward the mansion.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts—Why would someone take the wineglasses? Who else knew about the wine cellar?—that I barely noticed someone on the path ahead of me. In fact, I didn’t notice him until we nearly collided, and our heads jerked up at the same time.
“Whoa!” I said.
It was Buck Liddell, the best man I’d met in the sunroom. He’d seemed so casual about everything before, but now he moved like the wind. Wherever he was headed, he couldn’t get there fast enough.
“Sorry about that.” He held his cell phone in one hand and a brand-new Samsonite in the other. “I’m trying to get an Uber, and I didn’t see you.”
“I could tell that. You’re Buck Liddell, right?”
He squinted at me. “Yeah, I am. And you’re that girl who was helping the police detective.”
“Yes. I’m Missy DuBois. Were you going somewhere?”
It was hard to miss the suitcase, or the crisp linen blazer he’d donned since I last saw him.
“There’s been an emergency at my dad’s business.” He slowly moved the suitcase behind his back, as if I wouldn’t notice it then. “He asked me to come to New Orleans to help him out this afternoon.”
“But you can’t leave.” Strange he didn’t remember how Lance specifically told everyone in the wedding party to stay put. “The detective wants to interview everyone who was supposed to be in the wedding tonight.”
“I already told him what I know. Staying here isn’t going to help anyone out, and my father really needs me. He told me the store’s packed with tourists and two of his best salespeople called in sick.”
“That may be, but I’m afraid you still can’t leave.” If anything, I was more determined than ever to keep him from disobeying Lance’s orders. Who does he think he is? “Detective LaPorte wants everyone to stay on the property. Including you.”
“Now look here.” He set the suitcase on the ground, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know who made you the watchdog around here, but I’ll only be gone for one afternoon. I plan to come right back after the store closes for the night.”
What the Hatmaker Heard Page 7