by Cindy Stark
Hazel hurried to his side and leaned close to his ear to whisper. “I believe she’s been murdered. You might want to have your men keep anyone from leaving.”
He agreed with a jerk of his head. “Kennington, gather the guests from outside and put them in the chapel. Try to keep them calm, but let them know they may be here a while.”
Peter gave her hand a quick squeeze. “That includes you and Gretta. You’ll have to wait in the chapel. After we get the scene secure, I’ll interview you along with everyone else and get more details.”
She wanted to complain that she wasn’t everyone else, but she knew he’d follow protocol and get to her when he could. She also hated that she always had to bow out right in the middle of the action.
Still, there was no point in arguing. “Come on, Gretta. I want to sit somewhere in the back where I can watch everyone.”
Fifteen minutes later, Hazel studied the crowd gathered in the chapel. Some whispered. Others outright spread the gossip.
Fiona was dead. Strangled by her veil.
Hazel tried to remember who else had been in the room where Fiona had died so she could pinpoint the source of the rumors. Technically, she knew the information was likely correct. But people should have the decency to respect those who’d lost their loved one that night.
She sighed. Then again, it was hard to control human nature. Including hers.
Gretta lifted her head from her palm to survey Hazel. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just awful.” She narrowed her gaze and glanced around. “Hey, where is your sister?”
“She left maybe ten minutes after you went to visit with your friends.”
Hazel raised her brows, and Gretta chuckled. “Take off your investigator’s hat. Katie didn’t even know Fiona. Also, I remember Fiona was dancing with her father when Katie left, because she mentioned her dad was also short.”
Hazel released a chuckle to hide her embarrassment. “Sorry.”
Gretta winked. “That’s all right. You forgave me for dousing you with holy water. I think I can overlook you considering my sister a murder suspect.”
She chuckled. “I think Peter is rubbing off on me.”
Gretta shifted in her seat, her vibes anxious and antsy. “I wish they’d let us bring in the teas and some of the goodies. We might be here all night.”
“I hope we’re not.”
Hazel studied the room again and found Margaret sitting with her sister and Sondra. She searched the perimeter around them, but couldn’t see Carol. She stood. “Excuse me for just a minute. I’m going to see how Margaret is doing.”
Gretta nodded and pulled out her phone. “I’ll distract myself with social media. Heaven knows, that can suck up hours without me noticing.”
Hazel agreed and then made her way to Margaret. “Hey, guys. Doing okay?”
Gwen’s pallor looked ashen, while Sondra appeared downright scared.
“Not so much,” Margaret answered. “They’re worried our cops will discover their antics.” She shot them both with a sharp gaze. “As well they should be.”
Gwen looked close to tears. “You promised you wouldn’t tell,” she said to Margaret.
Margaret dropped her face into her palm. “I said I wouldn’t volunteer the information, but if I’m questioned, I’m not going to lie to cover your butt.”
Hazel glanced about them again. “Where’s Carol?”
All three of their gazes turned guilty. Margaret blew out a breath heavily-laced with anxiety. “She said she needed to use the restroom about ten minutes ago. She managed to get out before Peter posted a man at the door.”
Oh, dear. “It shouldn’t have taken her that long.”
Margaret shook her head, and worry etched her face. “No.”
Gwen lifted her gaze and met Hazel’s. “She went to find Fiona’s shoes that she’d hidden,” she whispered. “She needed to wipe off her prints.”
“What?” Margaret’s voice exploded through the chapel.
Hazel took Margaret’s hand and shook her head. “Keep calm.”
Margaret pinned her sister with a harsh look. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Gwen responded with an angry whisper. “Because you would have freaked out, which is exactly what you’re doing.”
“Of course, I freaked out. Do you realize what this means?”
Sondra glanced at them with a hollow gaze. “She could have killed Fiona.”
Gwen gasped. “No.”
Sondra snorted, looking like she now wanted to cry, too. “We don’t know that. She was really angry.”
Gwen folded her arms. “I don’t believe that.”
Hazel turned to Margaret. “We need to find her. Any idea where she might be?”
“The kitchen,” Sondra answered in a despondent voice.
“I’m coming,” Gwen announced.
Margaret gave her a snide look. “No, you’ll stay right here and try not to look as guilty as you do now. Besides, Officer Bartles might let Hazel and me leave the chapel, but he’s not going to let you, especially not without casting suspicion on yourself.”
Gwen and Sondra sat like granite lumps of despair as Hazel walked away with Margaret in tow.
However, when they approached John Bartles at the entrance to the chapel, Margaret took the lead. “Hey, John. We need to find Peter. Do you know where he’s at?”
“Probably still with the body, I’d guess.”
“Thanks.” Margaret stepped past him and into the hall.
When Hazel tried to do the same, John grabbed her arm, sending a jolt of fright through her. She tried to fight back her nerves as she met his gaze.
“Just wanted to say I’m sorry, Hazel, for the way I handled your questioning in Father Christopher’s case. I was out of line and never should have doubted you.”
Relief rushed through her, and a warm smile curved her lips. Part of her really did like the guy. “It’s okay. You were just doing your job.”
He gave her a grateful nod. “Thanks for understanding.”
She returned the gesture and slipped past him. When they were halfway down the deserted hallway, she emptied her lungs. “I thought he was going to stop me.”
Margaret snorted. “He’s still walking on thin ice with the boss. He wouldn’t dare.”
Instead of heading toward the main part of the crime scene, Hazel and Margaret turned toward the kitchen.
The room was dim, lit only by a small light burning over the stove. Shadows hid whatever lurked in the corners. Hazel couldn’t see Carol, but she could sense her.
“Carol,” she whispered. “It’s Hazel and Margaret. Where are you?”
Margaret shook her head. “I don’t think she’s in here.”
Hazel nodded. “Carol? Come out, and let us help you. We know why you’re here and what you’re doing.”
Slowly, one of the shadows to the left of Hazel grew larger. Margaret sighed in relief and strode toward her. “Thank heavens.”
Or the Blessed Mother, Hazel thought.
Margaret reached her and put a hand on her shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Carol sucked in an emotional breath. “I need to find the shoes. I hid them in a cupboard. The one with the pans, I’m sure. But they’re not there.”
Margaret clucked. “I can’t believe the mess you three have created. I know you’re upset. Maybe you’re mistaken about which cupboard.”
Hazel wanted to warn Margaret not to get too involved in a murder investigation. For all they knew, she might be helping the killer. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, so she observed and took mental notes instead.
Carol sniffed and dragged a forefinger beneath her nose. “I’ve checked all of them. Twice. But now the cops are everywhere, and I’m afraid to do anything.”
Margaret shook her head. “It’s best if you head back to the chapel and try to avoid looking suspicious.”
“They’ll find the shoes,” she cried.
�
��They may, but at this point, staying here will only make you look guiltier. My best advice is to own what you’ve done. Tell the police outright before they discover evidence that will make you look guilty.”
Carol shook her head. “I can’t. If my husband finds out…if my mother finds out, they’ll kill me.”
Margaret straightened and put her hands on her hips. “Would you rather have them mad or find yourself in jail?”
Hazel could tell by her tone that she’d lost her patience.
Margaret gripped Carol’s elbow. “Let’s go.”
The three of them turned toward the exit, but made it no more than a couple of steps when a bright light shone in their faces, blinding them.
“Hold it right there.”
Four
Hazel hung her head as one of Peter’s officers marched her, Margaret and Carol down the hall toward the murder scene. When they arrived, he called Peter out to join them.
Peter narrowed his gaze and folded his arms across his broad chest as he surveyed the three of them. Normally, Hazel loved staring into his devastating green eyes and imagining running her fingers through his dark wavy hair, but, this time, she had a hard time holding his gaze.
“Found these three skulking around the kitchen,” Officer Larsen announced.
Margaret inhaled a sharp breath. “We weren’t skulking.”
Peter gave a slow nod. “Thanks, Larsen.”
Then he pointed to Carol. “Why don’t you escort this one to the classroom where we’ll start interrogations? I’ll talk to the others in a separate room.”
Larsen nodded and led Carol down the hall.
Peter shook his head in disappointment at Hazel and Margaret. “You two, follow me.”
His long strides and stiff posture warned Hazel of his mood, and she silently cursed the bad decisions she’d made that led her to this point.
Peter opened the door to the now-vacant secretary’s office and let them precede him. Once inside, he closed the door with a thud of finality, reminding Hazel of a cell door locking her in.
He closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath before he met their gazes again. “Could one of you give me a reasonable excuse as to why my girlfriend and my administrative assistant blatantly ignored my orders?”
Hazel bit her bottom lip and sensed Margaret’s energy shrink beside her. Hazel tried to find the right words, but none would come. Margaret didn’t speak either, and Hazel could only guess it was for the same reason.
“Well?” he demanded. “It’s one thing for Hazel to ignore me, but you, Margaret, your job depends on how well you follow my instructions.”
She threw her hands up in defeat. “I’m sorry, Peter. It’s complicated.”
He made a show of glancing at his watch. “It appears I’ll be here all night anyway, so spill.”
Hazel hated experiencing friction between two of the people she loved most. “We were only trying to help Carol.”
He shifted a disappointed gaze toward her. “And how exactly did you plan to do that in a darkened kitchen?”
She couldn’t see any way out of the corner he’d backed them into. Margaret had made a promise to her sister, but Hazel hadn’t. She’d take one for the team this time. “Carol was looking for the shoes she’d hidden earlier.”
He shot her an impatient look. “And?”
She exhaled. Here goes nothing. “The short version of a long story is that there are three women who came to the wedding to make Fiona pay for the misery she’d caused them.”
Margaret winced and shook her head.
Hazel hadn’t meant to cast them all as prime suspects. “Okay, that’s worse than it sounded. In the not so distant past, Fiona wrecked their weddings in one way or another, and the three wanted to get even. By playing practical jokes,” she hurried to add.
Peter leaned against the desk and folded his arms. “Go on.”
“One of them, Gwen, is Margaret’s sister and obviously not a killer.”
He pulled out the trusty notepad from his shirt pocket, and she sensed Margaret’s anxiety heighten, which, in turn, increased hers as well. “There’s Gwen, Carol and Sondra. Between them, they stole the bride’s shoes and veil and hid them from her, and someone doused the bride’s dress with itching powder.”
Margaret rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Just the bodice,” she corrected. “To make up for Gwen’s…exposure.”
A hint of a smile appeared on Peter’s lips as he jotted in his notebook. “I do recall that incident.”
He glanced up at them. “How does this lead us to the kitchen?”
Margaret nervously tugged on the ends of her gloves. “After we’d heard Fiona had been murdered by the veil Sondra had hidden, no less, Carol panicked. Her prints were on the shoes, and she didn’t want to be tied to a murder she didn’t commit.”
“So, the shoes she was looking for were Fiona’s?”
“Yes,” Hazel answered.
Peter tilted his head and studied her. “Are you sure she didn’t do it?”
Margaret scoffed. “Of course, she didn’t. None of them did. They might have been angry, but not enough to commit murder.”
Hazel cursed herself for not being able to keep her mouth closed. “Except Sondra, maybe. She still carries a lot of anger. Well, Carol kind of, too.”
All of them really.
Margaret shot her a look that branded her as a traitor. “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree. After Gwen befriended these women because of similar circumstances, I’ve gotten to know them, too. They all seem like decent people.”
Peter studied his assistant. “Can you vouch for their whereabouts all evening?”
She pursed her lips together, not happy with his question, and then shook her head.
“Then they’ll remain on the suspect list until proven otherwise.”
He released a heavy sigh. “I have to say, I’m really disappointed in you both that you couldn’t trust me with this.”
A gasp exploded from Margaret. “Excuse me, but I was trying to convince Carol to confess what she knew to the police seconds before Larsen found us in the kitchen.”
His demeanor lightened. “And did she agree?”
Margaret stared at him.
“No,” Hazel said in a low voice. “She was too scared.”
Peter straightened. “As she should be.”
He walked to the door and then paused. “I’m going to send Larsen in here with some paper. I want you both to write out your recollection of the day. Every detail. Then I’m going to have him take you home since I’ll no longer require your assistance in my investigation.”
He left the room and closed the door firmly behind him.
Margaret walked to a chair and dropped into it. Hazel could tell she and her soul were weary, as was Hazel’s.
Hazel sought out the chair on the opposite side of the desk, remembering all too well when she’d broken into the files in this very office. With Victor’s help, unfortunately.
The worry lines on Margaret’s forehead increased. “That didn’t go well.”
“Nope.”
“I hope he won’t fire me.”
Hazel sent her a kind smile. “He won’t. He relies on you so much that he’d completely flounder without you.”
Margaret agreed with a small nod of her head. “I hope so.”
Hazel drew her brows together. “I hope he doesn’t break up with me.”
A smile teased Margaret’s lips. “Are you kidding? That man is so smitten with you.”
Hazel breathed easier, recognizing the truth in Margaret’s words. If he hadn’t dumped her for being a witch, then he could surely handle a little meddling in his investigation. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t helped him before.
Though this time, she hadn’t offered help. Only hindrance.
Five
Hazel had been summoned. That was the only way she could describe Peter’s short phone call and their abrupt conversation.
She opted to ride her bike
to Peter’s house, which gave her time to compose her thoughts and search for a decent excuse for her behavior.
Maybe she should claim peer pressure.
Or friendship.
None really seemed to work. When it came right down to it, she was as guilty as Margaret for interfering, even though she’d only observed what had happened when they’d gone searching for Carol and the missing shoes.
She coasted into the driveway of a gray nineteenth century home with gorgeous decorative trim, her tires bumping over the uneven cement surface. She parked her bike next to his truck in the drive and tried not to drag her feet to the front door.
Red and yellow mini roses were in full bloom along the house, interspersed with lavender and white daisies. Tall pines flanked the corners, sentries planted to protect the house and its occupants, a sure sign that, at some point, a witch had once lived there.
Buzzing sounds hovered nearby, but she couldn’t spot the perpetrators. Still, they left her nervous.
She knocked loudly on the door and hoped he’d answer soon.
The moment he opened the door, she forced her way inside and insisted he shut it immediately. “I think you must have a hornet’s nest or beehive nearby. Lots of buzzing going on out there.”
He responded to her statement with a somber look. “I’ve heard them, too.”
The seriousness of his mood forced her to school her features into the same. She studied his gaze and the energy he emitted to assess his mood. Not the happiest person, but no longer angry.
He turned toward the living room without pulling her into his arms as he usually did.
She frowned.
His house smelled slightly of coffee, which wasn’t surprising for a Sunday morning. He didn’t have much clutter, but the throw pillows for the couch lay tossed aside on the floor, and a stack of unopened newspapers rested on the coffee table next to a mug.
She caught up to him and placed her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Peter. When I tried to help Margaret find Carol, I had no intention of messing with your investigation.”
He turned, his eyes sharply focused on her. “Umm-hmm.”