Phoebe wrapped the napkin around her fingers so tightly, the flimsy material ripped. “I should, you know. If only his wife weren’t so sick. I don’t want to be the one who pushes her over the edge. What if the news kills her?”
I heard a chime coming from the direction of Phoebe’s briefcase. She slid her hand into one of the side pockets and pulled out a cell phone, checking the screen.
She gasped. “Is it that late already? My boss is going to kill me.” She dropped the phone back into the briefcase pocket and hastily gathered all the crumpled napkins into a ball. “How do I look? Is my mascara smeared?”
“Nope, you look great.”
Phoebe stood, deposited the wadded-up napkins and her cup in the trash can, and slung her briefcase strap over her shoulder. “Hey, thanks for listening. It was a big help.” She rushed out of the coffee shop, taking any additional information she might have shared about Carter with her.
That was okay. She’d given me plenty to think about. I just needed to decide if her relationship with Carter, and their breakup, was somehow connected to Bethany’s murder.
Chapter 21
After I’d finished the last drop of my frappé, I drove back to work. A light rain dampened my hair and clothes as I crossed the farm’s parking lot toward the lobby, my mind wandering back to my chance meeting with Phoebe at the Daily Grind.
Poor, gullible Phoebe. Why had Carter chosen now to dump her? Had he needed to kill Bethany before he could break up with her?
I considered the possibility and then shook my head. Even with Bethany dead, Carter had to worry Phoebe would tell his wife about their affair. Bethany’s murder didn’t change that.
Perhaps the breakup wasn’t related to Bethany’s death at all. Maybe their relationship had reached its inevitable end and the timing was a coincidence. Carter might have simply decided he wouldn’t allow Bethany to blackmail him anymore and gotten rid of her.
Feeling like I was no closer to finding Bethany’s killer, I spent much of the afternoon working on a new brochure in the office before taking the digital camera outside to snap pictures of the vegetable garden, particularly the broccoli plants. Tomorrow’s blog would include a recipe for healthier guacamole, with chopped-up broccoli florets replacing part of the high-fat avocado. I’d never tried the recipe myself, but it was one of Zennia’s favorites.
After I’d finished taking photos, I went back inside, put away the camera, and gathered my belongings, surprised at how fast the afternoon had sailed by. Jason was getting together with a few of his buddies tonight for his bachelor party. While he was enjoying one of his final nights as a single guy—hopefully without any strippers—I was looking forward to a quiet evening at home, double-checking the RSVPs, tallying up our expenses to make sure we were within budget, and watching TV while I assembled the wedding favors.
I said good night to Gordon and left through the lobby. Once in my car, I drove down the highway and took the exit for downtown Blossom Valley. The Open sign for the flower shop glowed brightly in the encroaching dusk. I wondered how Violet felt about working evenings in the shop where her mother was murdered. I certainly wouldn’t want to be there alone, especially after dark.
A few minutes later, I pulled into my parking space at my apartment complex and shut off the engine. Ashlee’s Camaro sat in the space next to mine. Her being home might mess up my plans for a relaxing evening, but I could always hang out in my room if she turned the volume up too high on whatever reality show she was sure to be watching. For a second I considered adding noise-canceling headphones to my wedding registry, but I’d be moving out soon enough.
I climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to the apartment. As I pushed it open, I could hear voices coming from down the hall. Ashlee must have company. I shrugged out of my jacket and headed to my room to hang it up.
As I got closer, I realized the voices were coming from my bedroom, not Ashlee’s.
What the heck?
I stuck my head inside and froze. Ashlee and Brittany stood in one corner, blowing up balloons. Mom and Esther each struggled with the shrink wrap on packages of streamers, while Zennia sat on my bed with a stack of index cards and several pens. Lucia and Gretchen crouched in the corner, trying to untangle a garland of tiny wedding dresses.
When no one noticed me, I cleared my throat and said, “What’s going on?”
Everyone whipped their heads in my direction, while Ashlee let go of her partially filled balloon. It flew around the room with a loud farting sound before dropping to the floor.
There was a pregnant pause; then Brittany threw her arms wide. “Surprise!”
A huge grin spread across my face as I realized what was happening. Mom rushed over and gave me a hug.
“I know you said you didn’t want a shower, but it didn’t feel right. I told your sister this morning, and she took over from there.”
Ashlee snatched the balloon up off the floor and started stretching it out. “Yeah, only I had to help with an emergency dog surgery during lunch, so I couldn’t get started until I got off work. I texted Brittany, and we ran over to the drugstore for party supplies. That’s where we ran into Lucia.”
Lucia gave me a small wave and a shy smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I came along. It sounded like fun.”
“Of course not,” I said. “The more the merrier.”
As I looked around the room, I couldn’t seem to stop smiling. My family and friends were really throwing me a bridal shower. Even though I’d said I didn’t want one, deep down, I really kind of did.
Zennia took up the narrative. “When we all got here and found the girls hadn’t had a chance to decorate, we all jumped in.”
“But wouldn’t it be easier to do this out in the living room?” I asked.
“Yeah, but if you walked in on us, we wouldn’t be able to surprise you,” Ashlee said. “My room’s a mess, so that only left your room to work in. I thought we’d hear you come home, and we’d hit the lights and all jump out at once.”
Gretchen laughed. “Guess we messed up the surprise part.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m definitely surprised. And thrilled. This means a lot to me.”
Everyone started talking at once as they gathered their supplies and carried them out to the living room. I glanced in the kitchen and saw bags of chips, a carton of dip, a sandwich platter, and a cake box on the counter that I’d somehow missed on my way in.
“Let’s get this party decorated,” Mom said.
We all set to work. Ashlee and Brittany resumed blowing up the balloons while the rest of us put up streamers, the garland that Gretchen had finally managed to untangle, and a sign that read CONGRATULATIONS, with each letter made out of miniature brides and grooms. I found myself smiling as I helped decorate for my own surprise party.
“All this work is making me hungry,” Ashlee said as she taped a balloon to the end of the coffee table.
Brittany giggled. “Me too. Let’s get the food out.”
I went with them into the kitchen, where Ashlee pried the clear plastic cover off the sandwich tray and Brittany pulled open a bag of chips.
“Dana, can you get out the drinks?” Ashlee said, nodding toward the fridge. “We’re making mimosas.”
“Whoo-hoo!” Brittany hollered, making me wonder if she hadn’t already sampled one.
Gretchen came into the kitchen. “Ashlee, where did you want me to set up for the facials?”
“The kitchen table is fine. We can put the food on the coffee table. But let’s wait to do the facials until after we play that game Zennia made up.”
“Okay. I’ll wait and set up later,” Gretchen said.
She went back to the living room while I opened the fridge and found bottles of champagne and cartons of orange juice. I grabbed a few and carried them to the counter, then opened the cupboard to see how many clean glasses I could scrounge up.
Lucia came into the kitchen. “Can I help with anything?”
“Know how
to open champagne?” I asked.
She took the closest bottle and started to remove the foil around the cork.
Brittany watched her and sighed. “I love a good party. Lucia, remember that awesome Labor Day party we went to?”
Lucia let out a little gasp and dropped the foil on the floor. She scrambled to pick it up, obviously agitated.
“It sounded like the best party ever,” Ashlee said with a pout. “Next time you’d better invite me.”
“I did invite you,” Brittany said, “but you’d started dating that drummer and he had some gig that weekend.”
A dreamy look came over Ashlee’s face. “I almost forgot about Tommy. That guy was a master with his hands, and I’m not talking about what a good drummer he is.”
“And you’re not still dating him?” I asked, casting another glance at Lucia. She’d turned her back to us and was lining up the glasses I’d taken out of the cupboard.
Ashlee shook her head. “Too many groupies. You should have seen the way the girls threw themselves at him.”
My sister didn’t normally let a little competition get in her way. These groupies must have been prettier than average, or more aggressive.
“Besides,” Ashlee said, “he was too flaky. Not like Logan.”
“Logan? Isn’t that the guy you’ve gone out with a couple of times already?” I asked. Ashlee dumped most guys by the third date, ready to move on to someone new. I had to wonder when Logan’s expiration date would hit.
Ashlee shrugged. “I like hanging out with him.”
Brittany grabbed two chip bags and picked up the dip. “Ashlee, help me carry the rest of the food to the living room.”
Ashlee took hold of the sandwich tray. “Right behind you.” They headed out of the kitchen area, leaving me relatively alone with Lucia. With all the excitement over the surprise party, I’d all but forgotten how I’d wanted to ask her about the night of the hit-and-run accident. This might be the perfect time to talk.
I moved next to her. “Boy, sure sounds like I missed quite the Labor Day party,” I said as I pretended to busy myself with the glasses, too.
“I guess,” Lucia mumbled.
“What was it like?”
“Everyone hung out, listened to music, the usual.”
“And drank beer, if it was anything like the parties I used to go to.” In actuality, I’d never been much of a partier, but didn’t all parties have beer?
Another shrug. “I didn’t stay long.” She looked longingly at Ashlee and Brittany, who were over by the coffee table, laughing about something.
“Wasn’t it down in Santa Rosa?” I asked. “That’s a long drive for a party.”
She abandoned the champagne bottle and pulled an orange juice carton toward her. She twisted the top. “Brittany really wanted me to go. She thought I’d have fun.”
I could barely hear her over the buzz of people talking in the living room, but based on her tone, it sounded as if it had been anything but fun.
“That’s cool.” I paused, wondering how to work the conversation around to the accident. “I always worry about driving home in the dark down in that area, with those windy roads. Makes it hard to see any bicyclists in the dark.”
Lucia whirled toward me and bumped the orange juice container, hard. It teetered on the edge of the counter for one long second and then fell to the floor. Orange juice gushed out the open top. I knelt down, grabbed the carton, and tipped it upright to stop the flow.
Lucia covered her mouth with her hands. I noticed they were shaking. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Everyone rushed over to the kitchen entrance, and I held up my hand to stop them from coming in. “Nothing to worry about. We just spilled some juice.”
Mom went to fetch the mop from the utility closet. I glanced at Lucia and saw that her eyes were filling with tears.
“I’d better go,” she said. “I have to get home.” She hurried from the kitchen and out the door without a backward glance.
“Maybe I should find out if she’s okay,” Brittany said.
“No, let me,” I said. I stepped around the spilled juice and headed for the door. This was turning out to be quite the bridal shower.
Once outside, I scanned the parking lot and saw Lucia already opening her car door. “Lucia, wait,” I called down the stairs.
She glanced up at me and slowly closed her car door. I trotted down the steps and over to where she stood.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” In the glow cast by the parking lot lights, her eyes looked puffy. “Are you?”
She nodded. “I have a lot on my mind. That’s all.”
“Does it have anything to do with the Labor Day party?” I held my breath.
Her head snapped up. “How did you know?”
“Every time someone mentions it, you get upset. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
My apartment door opened, and Ashlee stepped out. “Hey, you coming back up?” she called.
From behind her, the pop of a champagne cork sounded. At least the party was still going on. Too bad I was out here in the parking lot.
“Give me another minute,” I called.
Ashlee shrugged and disappeared into the apartment, shutting the door behind her.
I turned back to Lucia. She was wringing her hands and staring at her feet.
As gently as I could, I asked, “Were you the driver who hit the bicyclist?”
Lucia burst into tears. I gave her a few seconds to compose herself and then said, “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
She sniffed. “I was driving home from that party. It was dark, like you said, and I don’t always do so great on the freeway at night. I decided to take the old highway, the one that runs parallel to the freeway, since hardly anyone uses it.”
“Sure, I know that road,” I said.
“Everything was fine at first,” she went on, “but then I came around a curve too fast, and all of a sudden, I saw some lady riding her bike in front of me.” Her voice rose in pitch. “I couldn’t help but hit her. I mean, she wasn’t even on the side of the road or anything. I slammed on my brakes, but . . .” She let the sentence hang.
“I read in the article that you took off before help arrived,” I said. “Why didn’t you stick around?”
Lucia twisted her fingers together. “I’d only had one beer, but it might have been enough to show up on a Breathalyzer test. I wasn’t supposed to be driving at all. I would have been in big trouble.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, keeping my eyes on her face.
“I was always running late for class and didn’t pick the best places to park. I got so many parking tickets that they suspended my license.”
Driving on a suspended license? Ouch. Hitting someone on a bicycle after drinking? Double ouch.
“I’m on a partial scholarship. They might have revoked it if I’d gotten arrested,” Lucia said. “They already did me a huge favor by letting me take the semester off. I couldn’t risk getting caught.”
“So you hit someone with your car and just left?” I couldn’t help asking.
“It wasn’t like that,” Lucia said. “I don’t know how everything went wrong so fast, but I stopped, I swear I did.”
I believed her. The article had mentioned a young woman providing help before the paramedics arrived. That must have been Lucia.
“I thought she was dead when I first got out of the car.” Lucia winced at the memory. “She was lying in the road, not moving. But when I got closer, she started to moan.” She put a hand to her heart. “I nearly jumped out of my skin. Then I noticed her phone on the ground next to her and used it to call nine-one-one. I stayed with her until I heard the sirens from the ambulance. Then I jumped in my car and barely made it out of there. I actually passed by the ambulance, but I don’t think they got a good look at me.”
I tried to imagine what it had been like for Lucia that night: The g
uilt of running someone down, the fear of being arrested, the uncertainty of what to do. No wonder she was still such a wreck.
Lucia let out a long breath. “I feel so much better after telling you. I’ve had everything bottled up inside me. Whenever I see a policeman, I think he’s coming to arrest me.”
“Have you considered going to the police? Telling them what happened?”
“Every day, but I’m just so scared.” She lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “But maybe I should tell them. Otherwise, I’ll never be free of what happened.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” I said.
She nodded. “I’ll go to the police tomorrow.”
I gave her a hug. After a pause, she hugged me back.
Ashlee came back out. “Hey, you guys, everyone’s asking where you are. Come on up.”
“Be there in a sec,” I said.
“Fine, but if you’re not here pretty quick, I’m drinking your mimosa.” She stomped back into the apartment.
“You should really get in there,” Lucia said. “I’ve already taken you away from your party for too long.”
“I have one more question,” I said. “Did Bethany from the flower shop find out you were the hit-and-run driver?”
Lucia’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“I found your name in a notebook. Well, your initials anyway. I assume she was blackmailing you?”
Lucia shook her head. “No, she wasn’t.”
I scrunched up my nose. “Really?” Then whom did those initials belong to?
My cell phone rang before I could ask her more. I pulled it out of my pocket, my finger at the ready to reject the call, but I froze when I saw the screen. Detective Palmer’s name stood out in stark relief.
My insides turned to jelly. What did the detective want now?
Chapter 22
I stared at my cell phone as it continued to ring. Why was Detective Palmer calling me? Had he realized I’d been telling the truth about that supposed argument with Bethany and wanted to apologize? Or had he unearthed something else he could use against me?
Marriage Is Pure Murder Page 17