Lance nodded. “That’s a good idea, Missy. I have a few questions for Mr. Lee here.”
“You’re welcome.” I started to lead Violet away, but we didn’t get very far.
“Never mind,” Jamie said. “I don’t have anything more to say. I just wanted everyone to know Lorelei had nothing to do with this whole mess. Nothing! If anything, she’s a victim here, too.” With that, he turned and hurried away, as quickly as he’d appeared.
I expected Lance to follow him, but he didn’t. He did, however, check something in his notes as he flipped the pad closed.
“Do you have any idea what he was talking about, Mrs. Carmichael?” he asked.
“No. None at all.” Interestingly enough, she gazed over Lance’s right shoulder this time. “I have no idea what he was talking about. What a strange little man. But if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better find the master bedroom. I’m terribly tired, you know.”
The moment she left, I swallowed hard. For some reason, the confrontation between Violet and Jamie left a strange taste in my mouth. It was anyone’s guess who was telling the truth and who wasn’t.
Chapter 13
Lance and I watched her walk away, the last of the guests to leave the sunroom.
“Well, that was interesting,” I said. “She wasn’t lying about Jamie, though. She really didn’t know why he protested like that. But she did lie to you earlier.”
“Which part are you talking about?”
“Violet told you she overhead Wesley and Lorelei in the garden. She swore it happened at six. But that’s impossible. I heard them arguing by the beautyberry bush, and it was much earlier…probably five. After that, it started to pour, so no one stayed outside.”
I’d already told Lance about the way I inadvertently eavesdropped on Wesley and Lorelei yesterday. It happened right before a thundershower sent all of us scrambling for cover.
“Now I remember,” he said.
“By six, it was raining buckets. I heard Lorelei yelp, and then they both went inside.”
“Did you see the way Violet acted around Lorelei?” Lance asked. “We knew they had their differences, but that was amazing.”
I nodded. “I noticed that, too. It’s funny, but Violet gets along with the rest of the family. She and Nelle seem quite comfortable together. Nelle even planned to pay for Wesley’s funeral expenses, remember?”
“Nothing adds up here,” Lance said. “And why did Jamie react so strongly when Mrs. Carmichael bashed Lorelei? For a wedding florist, he seemed awfully concerned about his client.”
“I know, right? I’ve never heard a florist talk that way about one of his brides. As Shakespeare would say, I think he ‘doth protest too much.’”
Something stirred behind us then, and a strong voice rang out.
“Ah…act three, scene two.”
I spun around to find Electra behind me. Like Buck, she’d been drinking, and an empty wineglass dangled from her fingers.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“You’re quoting from Hamlet. Act three, scene two.” She reached for a bottle from the open bar. “I’ve played Queen Gertrude a time or two. Now, the real question is…what was the name of the play Hamlet staged for his mother when he said that line? The play-within-a-play?”
“That’s easy.” Lance didn’t hesitate, to my everlasting surprise. “It was called The Mousetrap.”
I gaped at him for several seconds. Lance and I grew up together in Texas, and he had never, ever quoted Shakespeare to me. Not once. “How in the world did you know that?”
“Hey, I’m cultured.” He smiled as he said it, although I detected a hint of defensiveness, too. “I read things.”
“Don’t get me wrong…I think it’s great. I’m all for you becoming more literate. But it doesn’t seem like your…your…”
“Your métier,” Electra offered. “It doesn’t sound like your métier. It means your ‘thing.’”
“Thank you,” I said. “Your thing. How did you know the name of that play? Tell me the truth, now.”
Lance shrugged. “It’s also an Agatha Christie play. She got the name from Hamlet.”
“Okay, now you’re mentioning Agatha Christie.” I pretended to swoon. “Somewhere in the world, pigs must be flying.”
“Very funny,” he said. “I told you…I read a lot. And not just books on police procedures. I’ve been known to pick up a mystery or two.”
“Okay, kids. Settle down.” Electra seemed amused by our banter. She also reached into the pocket of her sundress to withdraw a long, slim cigarette. “By the way…do either of you have a light?”
We both shook our heads.
“Great. That’s just great.” She glumly returned the cigarette to her pocket.
“Now, about Lance’s sudden fascination with Agatha Christie—”
“It’s not sudden.” Lance jumped in to defend himself. “She wanted to call her play Three Blind Mice, but that title was already taken.”
“He’s right, you know,” Electra said. “She only called it The Mousetrap because she couldn’t have the other title.”
The conversation was veering off track, but I welcomed the chance to talk about something—anything—other than a murder investigation for a moment.
“Has anyone seen the play in London?” I asked. “The Mousetrap? People say there’s nothing like seeing it done with British actors.”
“I haven’t.” Electra shook her head. “Acting doesn’t really pay enough for me to go flying off to places like England.”
“From what I understand, that’s about to change,” Lance said. “Pretty soon, you’ll have enough money to practically buy England.”
Electra cut her gaze to me. “You told him? But I said that to you in confidence. I didn’t think you’d tell anyone else.”
“I tell Lance everything,” I said. “And I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
By the look on her face, she minded very much, thank you.
“It’s okay. I won’t tell a soul.” Lance glanced at me before he made that promise, because we both knew he couldn’t keep it. “And it’s too bad you never had a chance to tell your stepbrother. Of course, it might not have made any difference.”
“Of course.” Electra sloshed some red wine into her glass. “I thought the same thing. No matter what, it probably wouldn’t have saved my stepbrother.”
“And I’m sure your mother is so grateful to have your support this weekend.” Maybe I could redirect the conversation and win Electra back to my side. No need to antagonize one of our suspects. “There’s nothing like family to help you when you face something horrible.”
“That’s why I feel terrible about leaving.” For once, she sounded sincere. “I wish I could stay, but I have to go back to New York City. My agent got me a reading for a one-woman show. So I booked a last-minute flight that leaves late tonight.”
“That must’ve been a pricey ticket,” I said. “Airlines always charge an arm and a leg for last-minute flights.”
“It wasn’t terrible.” She gulped from her wineglass. “And it’ll get me there before New York City’s even awake. Now, if I could just have my cigarettes with me, I’d be okay. I always get the heebie-jeebies when those planes take off, and nothing calms my nerves like a good smoke.”
“Bless your heart,” I said. “I’m sure your parents will hate to see you leave Louisiana.”
“Oh, I’ll be back. They’re talking about holding the funeral next weekend. Wesley wanted to be cremated, you know.”
“He did?” I squinted. “Well, then, it’s a good thing he told your parents that. You know, before he passed away.”
“Oh, he didn’t tell my parents. He told me. When we…we spoke. A while ago.”
“I see.” Now it was Lance’s turn to look askance. “And just when did you have that conversa
tion with your stepbrother?”
Electra drained the rest of the wine from her glass. “A while ago, like I said. But I’d better scoot now. It’ll be time for my flight before you know it.”
She quickly turned and left, the click-clack of her heels the only sound in the empty room.
“Well, well, well.” I waited for the noise to disappear altogether. “That was interesting.”
“Which part? The part where Electra couldn’t wait to get out of here or how she’s addicted to her cigarettes? She’s the only smoker we’ve met so far.”
“Or the only one we know of. And don’t forget…the cigarette we found in the cellar was hand-rolled. But Electra smoked Virginia Slims. Unfiltered.”
“True.” Lance yanked out his notepad and flipped to a specific page. “The cigarette paper we found in the wine cellar was common enough, though. Anyone could buy that brand at Walmart. And she seemed so comfortable with smoking, she very well could know how to hand-roll a cigarette.”
“Hmmm. There’s something else. How in the world did she find out Wesley wanted to be cremated? She never talked to her stepbrother, and if she did, it’s not something you’d bring up in a casual conversation.”
Lance nodded. “I thought about that, too. Look, I’m going to go back to the station right now and run a background check on Electra Carmichael. If anything comes up, I’ll get an injunction to keep her from leaving.”
“Sounds good. You might want to check out her alibi for Friday night, too. She said she didn’t fly into Louisiana until this morning. But there’s no telling what she was doing when Wesley was murdered.”
He suddenly frowned. “By the way…are you okay? You look exhausted. Why don’t you go get some rest? I want to run that report anyway, and there’s nothing else we can do tonight.”
I stiffly stretched my arms over my head. “Now that you mention it, I’m bushed. Maybe I’ll stay here tonight, if Nelle has an extra room. I’ll bet she does. If not, I can run home and be back here tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks for helping me out, Missy. I knew I could count on you.” He turned away, his hand already reaching for his cell.
Since everyone else had left by now, I decided to leave, too. I walked down the shadowy corridor, where a few nightlights provided the only illumination, until I reached the kitchen. That was where I spotted Nelle, who was leaning against the doorjamb, which seemed to be her favorite resting spot.
The sounds of pots and pans clanking against each other floated through the open doorway as the caterers closed up shop for the night.
“How’re you holding up?” I joined her by the door.
“I’m okay.” Despite her reassurances, she looked exhausted. Wispy strands of silver hair fell against her cheeks, and shadows underscored her bright blue eyes.
“What a long day you’ve had,” I said. “Can I help you with anything tonight?”
“Thank you, dear. But I don’t think so. Only six people decided to spend the night here, so I have a few bedrooms left. By any chance, would you like one? It’s nothing fancy, but I’m sure you’ll be comfortable.”
Nothing fancy? I stifled a smile. From what I’d seen, everything about the mansion was fancy. Mahogany floorboards, elegant whitewashed furniture, and sky-high ceilings decorated with plaster medallions. The house looked like it belonged in a cover spread for Southern Living.
“You’re too kind,” I said. “And, actually, I’d like to take you up on your offer. I’m so tired, I can barely see straight.”
“Why, of course, dear. Let me give you the second bedroom from the stairs. We’ll be just down the hall from you, since we let Violet and Foster use our master suite.”
At the mention of Wesley’s parents, I remembered something else. It was a throwaway comment Nelle had made earlier, but one that stuck with me throughout the day.
“I think it’s wonderful you want to pay for Wesley’s funeral expenses. A lot of future in-laws wouldn’t be that generous.”
“Oh, did I mention that? I guess I did. Please do me a favor and keep that to yourself, would you? I daresay my husband wouldn’t be pleased if he found out. He wasn’t a big fan of our daughter’s fiancé. In fact, he counseled her against marrying the boy. She wouldn’t listen to him, of course. Children never do.”
I nodded sympathetically. “So I’ve heard. Was your husband worried about Wesley’s gambling problem?” While I didn’t mean to be indelicate, too much had happened for me not to speak my mind.
“It wasn’t just that. He didn’t get along with Wesley’s father, either. The Carmichaels ran into a bit of financial trouble, and they didn’t even offer to pay for the bar at Lorelei’s wedding.” She leaned closer. “That’s usually the groom’s responsibility, you know. My husband was afraid the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree. As far as he was concerned, none of the Carmichaels could handle their money.”
I cocked my head in surprise. “Really? But what did you think of Wesley?”
“I just wanted Lorelei to be happy. That’s all. No matter who she married. But listen to me. Here I am, talking your ear off. I should be ashamed of myself for gossiping.” She tsked once or twice. “I never could hold my tongue when I’m tired.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not offended.” Truth be told, I found it interesting Wesley’s father didn’t have enough money to contribute to the wedding. I’d have to call Lance tomorrow morning and share the conversation with him.
At the thought of a phone call, my mind quickly jumped to something else. “Oh, shine!”
“What is it, dear?”
“I forgot to call my fiancé this afternoon. He’s probably worried sick about me.”
“Then, by all means, call him. Also, there’s a linen closet upstairs in the hall. Please help yourself to towels and a washcloth.”
“Thank you.” I turned on my heels and headed for the stairs. By the time I reached them, I’d already taken out my phone and hit the button for Ambrose’s cell. Thankfully, he answered my call on the first ring.
“Where’ve you been?” He sounded frantic. “I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”
“I’m so sorry, Bo. I turned my ringer to ‘mute’ during this meeting Lance called. I didn’t want to disturb everyone.”
“Missy.” His voice sounded a warning. “It’s nice you didn’t want to disturb other people, but you disturbed me. I thought I’d hear from you hours ago.”
“I know, I know.” Unfortunately, he was right. In my defense, I never meant to leave him hanging. “So much happened this afternoon, I don’t even know where to start. But one thing’s for sure…I never should’ve worried you like that. I’m sorry.”
“Well…” Fortunately, the warning tone seemed to wane. “You didn’t mean to do it, I guess. Just don’t leave me in the dark like that. I can’t wait until we’re married. Maybe then I’ll have a better handle on where you are.”
“I know, I can’t wait either. The day we get married will be the happiest day of my life.”
Uh-oh. The wedding. At this rate, my mind was hopscotching from one thought to the other, with no signs of slowing down. “That reminds me, Bo. I was supposed to call Beatrice this afternoon and ask her about my wedding veil. She stained it by accident, and she was going to try and fix it.”
“That’s too bad. Are you sure you don’t want me to go to your studio and have a look at it? Maybe I can come up with a fix.”
In addition to being an excellent designer, Bo possessed an uncanny eye for details. In fact, he wanted to create my whole wedding ensemble, from the gown to the shoes and accessories, but, knowing Bo, I understood the commitment that kind of project would entail, and I knew he wouldn’t rest until every detail was perfect.
That’s why I insisted on buying a dress off the rack for my nuptials. Any other time of year, I would’ve been thrilled to wear a custom crea
tion from Ambrose’s Allure Couture. But since we’d landed smack-dab in the middle of the wedding season, I couldn’t possibly ask that of him. Knowing Bo, he’d work ’round the clock to finish the project, and he needed all his wits about him if he hoped to have a successful summer at his studio.
Unbeknownst to most folks, the vast majority of wedding shops on the Great River Road earned ninety percent of their income during the months of May through September. After that, business fell off to next to nothing, and most shop owners spent their time reordering supplies and handling other administrative tasks.
No, if I let Bo create my wedding ensemble, it would put him in debt because he couldn’t take other commissions, and I refused to do that. While he seemed offended at first, he quickly realized I was right and agreed I should buy an off-the-rack ensemble for our wedding day.
And now, the top part of that ensemble teetered in the balance, since Beatrice didn’t sound at all sure about her ability to fix the veil in time for the ceremony.
“There’s more, Bo,” I said. “We still don’t have a venue for our reception, or—”
“All right, calm down.” He must’ve sensed the rising panic in my voice. “One thing at a time. You’re not going to believe this, but I actually got some good news about our wedding today.”
I blinked. “Good news? What’s that?” It’d been eons since I’d heard those two precious words.
“I got a call today from Dana, the wedding photographer. She said it was all a big misunderstanding, and she’ll be happy to shoot our wedding.”
“What? You’re kidding!” My joy lasted a full second, until reality set in. “Wait a minute. Is she going to take the pictures, or is her assistant? I can’t imagine anyone would want to shoot our wedding when they had the chance to photograph a senator’s daughter. Not when there’s so much publicity at stake.”
“For your information, Dana plans to shoot our wedding herself. Turns out, one of those entertainment magazines wants to cover the senator’s event. And they want an ‘exclusive’ on the wedding pictures.”
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