Review to a Kill

by Laura Durham

  I hated the thought that Detective Reese might think I needed him. I was no damsel in distress, I told myself, and I didn’t need any guy to rescue me. Especially one who had a habit of going AWOL. I swiped for the phone again and knocked it out of her hand. It flew into the air then bounced off the groom’s back before landing faceup in the pool of blood. The maid of honor gasped, the groom groaned, and the ambulance sirens grew louder. It knew it must be right outside the house.

  “Hello?” Reese’s voice came out of the phone as Madeleine, Kate, and I all stared at it. So much for not tampering with the crime scene.

  “Nice going,” Kate said. “How are you going to explain this?”

  “It is your phone.”

  “Was my phone. I’m never touching that again.”

  “Hello?” Detective Reese’s voice came from the phone and behind us simultaneously.

  I turned around and saw him standing next to a uniformed officer in the doorway to the kitchen. A pair of paramedics with large red cases pushed past them into the room.

  Reese clicked off his phone and narrowed his eyes at us. “Which one of you is Erica Kane?”

  Chapter 9

  “Do you want to tell me why you and Kate and that blonde were standing over a man who’s been shot?” Reese asked once he’d taken me outside to the front porch. “And why Kate gave a fake name to 911?”

  I leaned back against the white wooden railing of the porch and crossed my arms. I was grateful to be out of the house and felt sorry for Kate, who was being questioned inside. I took in a long breath of cool air, letting it fill my lungs completely before I blew it out. “That part’s easy to explain. Kate was nervous and that’s the name she gives to guys in bars if she’s not interested. She said it without thinking.”

  Reese raised an eyebrow. “That’s not completely unbelievable.”

  “Trust me. If you knew Kate better you wouldn’t think twice.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw the flashing lights of the ambulance and squad cars that had double-parked in the middle of the narrow street and a small group of curious neighbors gathering on the sidewalk. The sirens had been turned off, but I could hear the wailing of more in the distance.

  The detective rocked back on his heels. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here in the first place. And who’s the blonde?”

  I tried to ignore the fact that he looked really good in jeans, a blue button-down shirt, and a brown blazer. “The guy on the floor in there is one of our grooms. We came by to talk to the bride, and the door opened when I knocked. We called both of their names and were about to leave when we heard some noises in the kitchen. That’s when Kate and I found the groom. The strawberry blonde crying hysterically is the bride’s best friend and maid of honor from the wedding, Madeleine.”

  Reese took a pocket notebook out of his blazer and flipped it open, writing the name ‘Madeleine’ on a blank page. “Was she here when you arrived?”

  “No. She came in with the top of the wedding cake after we’d been inside the house for about ten minutes. Right after we called 911.”

  Reese jerked a thumb at the cake box that had been kicked out of the way when the paramedics rushed in. “That cake box?”

  I nodded and felt a twinge of guilt over the cake smeared across the floor.

  “So he’d already been shot when you arrived?” Reese asked.

  “Of course he’d already been shot,” I said. “We certainly didn’t shoot him.”

  Reese wrote in his notebook. “Do you have any idea how long he’d been on the floor? Did he say anything? Could you already see blood?”

  I thought back to the moment when I’d first seen the groom lying on the black-and-white tile floor. “There was definitely blood already, but he wasn’t conscious. I had to check his pulse and breath to even know he was still alive.”

  Reese looked up. “So you did touch the body?”

  “Only to determine if he was breathing. We didn’t move him.”

  “Did the blonde touch the body?”

  I thought back to Madeleine kneeling next to the groom. “I don’t think so but maybe.”

  A police cruiser pulled up behind the ambulance and flipped off its lights. A uniformed cop got out and came up the front steps of the house, nodded to Reese, and went inside. I moved so I could see into the house where Kate stood talking to one of the policemen in the front hallway.

  “So you find the body, determine that he’s still alive, and then what?” Reese tapped his pen on the notebook.

  I took a breath and replayed the events in my head before answering. “Kate called 911, Madeleine walked in, I checked for a pulse, then you arrived.”

  Reese looked at me. “That’s your whole story?”

  I did not want to admit why Kate and I had been fighting over her phone. “Those are the pertinent facts.”

  “How about the less pertinent facts, like how a phone ended up in the victim’s blood?”

  I shrugged. “It slipped.”

  “And Kate was calling me because?”

  “She thought you might be able to help.” I sighed. “She thought it looked bad for us to be at another crime scene and that you could keep us out of the report.”

  The detective closed his notebook. “What did you think?”

  “I thought that you’re a very busy man and we didn’t need to bother you.”

  He took a step closer to me. “You think I’d be bothered if you called me and asked me to help.”

  I avoided his gaze. “You’re busy. How do I know what you’d think? It’s not like we know each other that well.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Is this because we haven’t talked lately?”

  “No.” He was standing much too close for comfort. I walked to the other side of the porch. “I know you’re a busy man and probably one of those types who says they don’t have time for anything but work.”

  He followed me, closing the distance between us again. “One of those types? Sounds like you think you’ve got me pegged.”

  “I don’t think I’ve got you pegged.” I started to feel flustered. This was not going the way I’d imagined it. I was coming off bitter and whiny, not cool and nonchalant. “I’m saying I don’t expect anything from you.”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded. Before he could respond, one of the uniformed officers came out on the porch and pulled him aside. They spoke briefly, but I couldn’t make out the conversation. Whatever it was made Reese’s face turn grim.

  “I wish you had called me sooner,” he said once the officer went back inside.

  “Why?”

  “Because I could have told you not to leave a letter outlining your grievances to Tricia Toker at the scene of the crime.”

  The letter. I felt like smacking myself in the forehead. I’d completely forgotten that I’d left it sitting on the hall table propped against the fake topiary. “She left us a nasty review online so I wrote her a letter telling her what I thought of her. I was just getting it off my chest.”

  Reese studied my face. “And that’s all you did?”

  “To get my anger off my chest?” I asked. “Of course. Why?”

  It was Reese’s turn to look away.

  “You don’t think I killed the groom to get back at his awful bride, do you?” I stepped closer to Reese and touched his arm. “Because that doesn’t make any sense.”

  He met my eyes. “I don’t think that at all but, like it or not, I have to consider you person of interest in the murder investigation.”

  “Murder?” I stepped back until my legs hit the porch railing. “Did the groom not make it?”

  “I don’t know about the groom. The paramedics are still working on him. I’m talking about the bride. My officers found her upstairs in bed with a bullet hole between her eyes.”

  Chapter 10

  “This is not good.” Richard folded the newspaper and laid it on the foot of my bed before walking over and opening my blinds.

  I raised my head a few inches
off the pillow, shielding my eyes from the daylight streaming in and eyed the paper. “If you’re talking about the article in the Post that names me as a person of interest in the murder of a bride, then ‘not good’ is an understatement.” I flopped back onto my pillow. “How did you get in, anyway?”

  Richard flicked a hand through his spiky dark hair, which, thanks to the miracle of designer sculpting cement, never had a strand out of place. “Your nutty neighbor has her uses.”

  My elderly downstairs neighbor, Leatrice, had a key to my apartment not because I’d given her one but because she’d made a mold of my key using her amateur spy gadgets before I’d taken my spare key back. Leatrice considered herself a hair’s breadth away from being a supersleuth but Richard considered her only moments away from being committed. And if he had his way, he’d be the one committing her.

  “She’s a terror,” I said. “She started a Go Fund Me page for my criminal defense, and I haven’t even been charged with anything. And I won’t be because I didn’t touch Tricia Toker, and the police know it.”

  Richard shook my foot through the beige duvet cover. “Well, you’re not going to be able to fix anything from your bed.”

  I produced my cell phone from under the covers. “That’s where you’re wrong. I can monitor everything from right here. If I play my cards right, I never need to leave this room again. Look, I can access the Post article here and read all the nasty comments. And if I go on Instagram, I can see where Brianna reposted it and tagged Wedding Belles in the image.” I threw my phone down and reached for the now nearly empty bag of gummi bears on my nightstand, shaking the remaining few sticky bears into my palm. I tossed them into my mouth and began chewing. “See? I don’t need to move a muscle. The haters will come right to me. And did you know that those Weddies have already started a tribute page for Tricia, and they’re all posting things about losing a member of their Weddies family? I mean, obviously they never met her.”

  Richard snatched the empty candy bag out of my hand then cast a glance around my bedroom and made a face. “If this is what you’re like after only one day of self-induced exile, I shudder to think of the disarray after a week.”

  I sat up, jamming a pair of pillows under my back and pulling my auburn hair into a ponytail. “Give me one good reason to leave. It’s not like the phone is ringing. The two potential clients I was scheduled to meet this week canceled. I’m assuming they read about the murder and decided not to hire a wedding planner embroiled in a scandal. The clients we do have on the books have gone radio silent, no doubt waiting to see the degree of fallout before they decide to jump ship or not. And Detective Reese pretty much threatened my life if I so much as breathe in the direction of the investigation.”

  Richard used two fingers to lift a pair of jeans claw-like from where I’d tossed them on the foot of the bed. He dropped them on the floor and took a seat on the side of the bed next to me. “And you’re going to roll over and take it? What happened to the fired-up Annabelle who tore out of here yesterday with a list of grievances in defense of her team and her colleagues? Where’s that person?”

  “She walked into a murder scene. That’s what happened.”

  Richard grabbed me by the shoulders. “We’ve had worse. The important thing is that you get up again and fight back. They may take your brides, but they can’t take your freedom.”

  “Are you quoting Braveheart to me?”

  “Too much?” Richard asked, dropping his hands. “It felt like I brought it out too soon.”

  “A touch,” I said.

  “At the very least, why don’t we start with getting up and showering?” Richard patted my hands. “Baby steps.”

  I groaned as he flung back my wrinkled duvet and grasped both hands to pull me to my feet.

  “That’s what you sleep in?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

  “It’s Pink Floyd. It’s vintage.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “It’s a concert T-shirt. The only vintage that’s worth wearing is vintage Armani, vintage Versace, or vintage Dolce & Gabbana.”

  I had to admit I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Richard in a T-shirt. He wouldn’t be caught dead in a graphic tee. Even to come over to my apartment and drag me out of bed, he’d worn a black polished-cotton dress shirt and perfectly pressed flat-front chinos.

  “Is she up yet?” Leatrice poked her head in my doorway, and I jumped at the sight of her. She’d recently tried to go from her bottle-black hair to red, and the results had been a shade more akin to an electric burgundy than any red found in nature. Not that her black hair had been convincing since Leatrice had recently turned eighty, but at least I’d been used to the jet-black Mary Tyler Moore look.

  “I’m coming,” I said. Then, when Leatrice disappeared, I whispered to Richard. “You let her loose in my apartment?”

  He grinned at me. “More motivation to get out of bed, wouldn’t you say?”

  “This is domestic terrorism.” I snagged the white terry-cloth bathrobe off the hook behind my door and wrapped it around myself as I walked down the hall.

  “I’m glad you’re up.” Leatrice took me by the elbow and steered me toward my dining room table. I looked down at her since she only reached my shoulder and took in her outfit. Compared to her some of her unusual ensembles of the past, the bright blue skirt and suit jacket with scalloped hems were positively tame. And retro.

  “Nice suit,” I said.

  Leatrice beamed at me. “Do you like it? I’m channeling Kitty O’Day.

  “Who?”

  “She was a detective in the movies played by Jean Parker,” Leatrice said.

  I eyed the matching blue hat perched on the back of her head. “I’m assuming a while ago.”

  “The forties.”

  “Ask her why,” Richard said as he came up behind me. The amusement in his voice made me nervous.

  “To get me in the right frame of mind to work on your defense.” Leatrice swept a hand over the papers she’d arranged on the wooden dining room table.

  I leaned closer to read them then turned to her. “This is all information about Tricia’s murder.”

  Leatrice nodded. “The police reports, the autopsy, the media clippings. It’s all here.”

  “Should I ask how you got all of this?” I put my fingers to my temples. “And how long have you two been in my apartment anyway?”

  They both ignored my last question, but I imagined it had taken at least an hour to set out all the documents in such organized piles. How had I not heard them?

  “She’s gotten very good at computers,” Richard said, grinning like the Cheshire cat from where he sat perched on the arm of my sofa.

  I stared as Leatrice put on a pair of glasses. “Do you know how to hack into computer systems now?”

  “Hacking?” Leatrice laughed. “No, but I made some friends online in my noir chat groups who do.”

  I glanced back at Richard. “Do I want to know about the chat groups?”

  He shook his head. “Definitely not.”

  Leatrice swatted at Richard. “This one is such a worrywart. But I do have some concerns about the police’s investigation.”

  I sat on the chair Leatrice pulled out for me.

  “For one, they don’t have any leads on potential suspects. Other than your letter. And two, you and Kate are the only people of interest so far.”

  “That can’t be right,” I said. “Tricia must have had plenty of enemies. Just think of all the people she panned online. Plus, all the people she abused in person. The list of suspects should be a mile long.”

  “You forget that she comes from a filthy rich family,” Richard said. “Maybe no one wants to come out and say they hated her. That’s probably why none of the people panned ever responded to her reviews.”

  I put my head in my hands. “Except me.”

  Chapter 11

  “So now can you tell me where we’re going? You were vague on the phone,” Kate said as she slid into the passenger s
eat of my black Volvo and shut the door. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’re up and about. The way Richard talked, I thought you were going full hermit.”

  Leave it to Richard to turn staying in bed for less than twenty-four hours a call for an intervention. I craned my neck around to check oncoming traffic as I pulled away from the curb in front of Kate’s high-rise apartment building. “It’s a client.”

  I thought all the prospective clients for this week canceled.” Kate tugged her seatbelt into place then lifted her dove-gray shirt over the lap belt and smoothed it out so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

  “They did.” I slowed as I entered Dupont Circle and took the exit for P Street, grateful that traffic was light and the circle wasn’t backed up. “This is a past client.”

  Kate twisted in the car seat to look at me. “Since when do we have meetings with past clients? Who was it who taught me to keep a firm line between business and friendship?”

  “I know,” I said. “This is a special case.”

  “Because?”

  I ignored her question as we entered Georgetown and passed a bakery. “Did you have breakfast?”

  Kate flipped her phone over in her lap. “Do you mean did I have lunch? Yes, I did. Now do you want to tell me who we’re meeting?”

  “You mean who I’m going to meet while you act as lookout?” I turned onto Reservoir Road.

  “Lookout? I got all dressed up to be a lookout?” Kate motioned to her black pencil skirt and fitted button-down shirt. “This is a waste of a perfectly good outfit. Now I know why you didn’t ask Richard to come with you. He hates playing the sidekick.”

  She was partially correct. I hadn’t asked Richard because I knew he’d disapprove and try to talk me out of it plus I knew he got flustered under pressure. Kate was a skillful charmer and had talked her way out of plenty of sticky situations and bad dates. Being a lookout played right into her wheelhouse.

  I swung into the squat, industrial parking garage for Georgetown Hospital and rolled down my car window to take a ticket.