Lucia nodded toward the phone. “Are you going to answer that?”
I looked at her as if she were speaking pig Latin. “What?”
“Are you going to answer your phone?” she repeated, giving me a quizzical look.
“Right, the phone. Of course I’m going to answer it.” But before I could, the ringing stopped. “Oops, guess I missed it.” Thank God. “Say, did you want to come back upstairs with me?”
Lucia shook her head. “I think I’ll go home. But thanks for the talk. You’ve helped a lot.”
“I’m glad. Well, good night.”
She got in her car, and I turned toward my apartment. I still held my phone, and the bell signaling I had a voice mail dinged.
I forced myself to take a deep breath. Maybe Detective Palmer was calling for a reason unrelated to Bethany’s murder. I’d read in the paper about a bowling fund-raiser the police department was organizing. Maybe the detective didn’t know what a bad bowler I was and wanted me to join his team.
Yeah, right.
I gave a little wave to Lucia as she pulled away and then accessed my voice mail.
“Miss Lewis, this is Detective Palmer.” At the sound of his voice, I felt an involuntary shiver. “Please call me at your earliest convenience.” He recited his number and then clicked off.
The message didn’t tell me anything, but the fact that he’d addressed me by my last name instead of my first let me know he was serious. This was no bowling invitation.
I sighed. No sense putting off the inevitable. If I didn’t do this now, I’d spend the rest of the night worrying about why he’d called. But I’d make the call in my room, not the parking lot, where anyone might overhear me. I climbed the steps and opened the apartment door, hoping to sneak into my room unnoticed. No such luck.
“There’s the bride-to-be,” Mom said when she spotted me.
I held up my phone. “I need to make one quick call and then I’m all yours.”
“But what about the party?” Ashlee asked.
“Yeah, you’re the guest of honor,” Brittany said.
“This will only take a minute. I promise.”
I went into my bedroom and shut the door. For a long moment, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the wall. When I felt calm enough, I called the detective.
He answered before the first ring finished. “Palmer here.”
“This is Dana Lewis. I got your message, Detective Palmer,” I said, using the same formal tone that he had.
“Thank you for returning my call so promptly, Miss Lewis,” he said with the tiniest hint of sarcasm. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. Did that qualify as banter?
He cleared his throat and continued. “I wanted to go over your statement and clear up a few things. Let’s start with your first meeting with the victim the day she was killed.”
“Again?” I said before I could stop myself.
“Is that a problem?”
I felt myself blush. “Of course not. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Geez, wasn’t I Little Miss Unhelpful? “I want to assist however I can,” I added to let him know we were on the same side.
“Good, then start with your first meeting.”
I rehashed my conversation with Bethany, though I noticed I wasn’t quite as sure about the exact words in our conversation anymore. Maybe the music I could hear from the other room was distracting me, reminding me that I was missing my party.
“And the only person you saw was the woman who came in at the end of your conversation?” Detective Palmer asked, breaking into my thoughts.
“Right,” I said. “The woman who mistakenly thought Bethany and I were arguing.”
I was hoping Detective Palmer would agree that the woman had been wrong, but he switched topics. “What about Violet?”
“I didn’t see her at all. Both Violet and her mom said it was her day off.”
“Huh,” Detective Palmer said.
His response gave me pause. Was that a “huh” of surprise? Or was he simply moving the conversation along? Too bad we weren’t talking in person so I could see his expression. Then again, even when I could see his face, I never had any idea what he was thinking.
I finished running through the events of the day with him, amazed at how quickly the finer details were already starting to fade from my memory. After a few more questions, he ended the call, leaving me to wonder what it was all about.
I got up and opened the window, letting in the brisk night air. I checked the clock and was surprised to find our conversation had taken less than ten minutes.
But why had the detective called at all? I’d told him nothing new. I hadn’t remembered anything else that might help. Was he simply letting me know he hadn’t forgotten about me? Was this some sort of mind trick detectives used to keep people on their toes?
Someone banged on my bedroom door, and I jumped.
“Come on, Dana! It’s party time!” Ashlee yelled through the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I called back.
She opened the door. “You mean that?” she asked, a mimosa clutched in her hand. Brittany hovered behind her.
“Yes, I’ll be right there.”
She pointed at me. “Okay, ’cause Mom really wants you out there, plus it’s time to start the games.”
“And we can’t dress you up in toilet paper if you’re not there,” Brittany said with a giggle.
Not waiting for an answer, Ashlee pulled the door closed, leaving me alone once more. I shook my head at the two of them and then sank down on the bed to call Jason.
“Hey, gorgeous. What’s up?”
His voice instantly put me at ease, and I leaned back against the pillows. I could hear talking in the background, making me wonder if he’d gone into the office for some reason. “Detective Palmer just called.”
“What did he want?” His voice held a touch of curiosity, nothing more.
“I don’t know, but isn’t that bad? I don’t think he considers me a serious suspect, but I could be someone he’s got his sights on, right?”
“No, the police talk to everyone involved in a case multiple times, especially a murder investigation. You have nothing to worry about.”
I nestled farther into the pillows. “I found his call unnerving. He got me so rattled, I forgot to tell him all the information I’ve found out.” I heard a shout in the background, followed by cheering. “Are you at work?”
There was a pause. “I’m at my bachelor party.”
I slapped a hand to my forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot. I’ll let you get back. Besides, I have my own party here.”
“What party?”
“Ashlee and Mom threw me a surprise bridal shower.”
“Nice. Then you should forget about Detective Palmer and go have fun. But before you do, I found out today that Mitch made another offer on the flower shop. He wants to buy it from Violet.”
I pushed off from the pillows and sat up straight. “When did this happen? What about the auto parts place?” None of this made any sense. I’d assumed that Mitch’s bank loan and talk with contractors was related to the auto parts store. Were these his plans for the flower shop instead? Why hadn’t Violet mentioned it when I’d spoken to her earlier? Or had she been too busy reliving her resentment toward her mother?
“My source said he hadn’t made a formal offer on the other property. He must have wanted to try for the flower shop one more time with Bethany out of the way.”
I shivered at the wording. Bethany was out of the way all right. I told him about Mom’s conversation with Mitch. “Maybe when Mitch told my mom about breaking down a wall, he meant the one between the two shops. Last time Mom and I were in there for ice cream, he mentioned how his dream was to one day buy the other half of his grandfather’s property and make it whole again. He must figure Violet isn’t as attached to the shop as her mom was.”
“I’d bet on it,” Jason said. “But let’s worry about it tomorrow. Go enjoy
your party.”
I briefly considered telling him about Lucia’s confession, but now wasn’t the time. Tomorrow would be better. “You too. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
My insides always felt warm and fuzzy whenever Jason said that. We hung up, and I took a moment to savor the feeling.
Ashlee’s loud laugh sounded from the living room, reminding me that I still had a party to enjoy. I rose from the bed, flipped off the light, and headed out of my room.
Tonight, I’d celebrate. Tomorrow, I’d find out just what Mitch had planned for the flower shop. And whether he’d killed Bethany to achieve that goal.
Chapter 23
The bridal shower went on for another two hours. After everyone teamed up to create wedding dresses out of toilet paper, we played the game Zennia invented, where everyone tried to name vegetables that started with the letters in the word wedding. I came in last.
After that, we ate the cake Ashlee had bought, and Gretchen gave everyone facials while we chatted about everything from our childhoods to Mom and Esther’s favorite parts of being married. The evening was so much fun that I almost didn’t want it to end, but everyone eventually left, except Brittany, who crashed on the couch after having one too many mimosas.
I went to bed, where I tossed and turned most of the night, finally drifting off in the wee hours. When I awoke just after seven, I panicked that I was late for work, until I remembered that I was scheduled to take the morning off. With the wedding only two days away, I needed to try on my dress with the veil, make sure I had all the little extras, including something old, new, borrowed, and blue, and practice walking in my heels so I wouldn’t fall on my face on my way down the aisle. I also wanted to do all of this at a time when Ashlee wouldn’t be home to watch me and offer unsolicited advice.
I could hear Ashlee and Brittany moving around in the kitchen, so I stayed in bed and relaxed until I heard the front door open and close. Then I threw back the covers, got up, and headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, I was in the kitchen, toasting a bagel. Once it popped up, I slathered on a healthy layer of vegetable-flavored cream cheese, wondering if it counted as a serving of vegetables.
With my breakfast ready, I sat down on the couch in my bathrobe and ate while watching a news show. The apartment was so peacefully quiet, even with the low volume of the TV, that I found myself eating slower than usual.
When I’d polished off the last bite, I washed my plate and went into my bedroom. Tucked in the far reaches of my closet, protected by a plastic bag, was my wedding dress. I slid the hanger along the rod, unzipped the bag, and took out the garment to lay on the bed.
Maybe it was because I spent my days in polo shirts and jeans for work, or maybe it was because the dress represented such a momentous occasion, but just looking at it took my breath away. The tiny beads on the bodice sparkled. The lace flowers on the skirt looked almost too delicate to touch.
I shed my robe and gingerly stepped into the dress. I sucked in my breath as I slid the zipper up, worried I’d put on weight since my fitting, but everything fit as it should. I might even have enough room in the waistline to enjoy a piece of cake at the reception.
I slid my feet into my white satin shoes and walked around the apartment a few times. I only stumbled twice, both times over the same throw rug near the kitchen. I’d have to watch out for similar obstacles at the farm as I walked across the back patio. Then again, Esther didn’t have any throw rugs on her patio, so I most likely didn’t need to worry.
When I felt confident in my shoes, I removed them and slid the dress off, careful not to step on the lace. I hung it back up and smoothed out a handful of tiny wrinkles. Once I’d wrangled the plastic bag over the dress, I zipped it up and secured it in the closet. I gathered my blue garter belt, my mom’s pearl necklace, an old lace handkerchief that had belonged to my grandmother, and a new bracelet I’d found a few weeks ago on sale, and placed everything in a velvet-lined case that I then stowed in my dresser.
While I brushed off my shoes and put them in the corner of the closet, I thought about my conversation with Jason the night before. Would Violet sell the shop to Mitch now that her mother wasn’t there to stop her, and use the money to launch her writing career? Or had she known her mother hadn’t wanted to sell to Mitch and would refuse his offer out of a sense of loyalty?
I looked at the clock and found I wasn’t due at work for quite a while, giving me plenty of time to assemble the wedding favors, since I hadn’t done so last night. After that, a trip downtown might be in order. With the detective still calling me up to ask questions, I wanted to talk to Mitch and find out why he’d set his sights on the flower shop once more. Considering he was trying for a bank loan and talking to contractors, he must expect Violet to agree to his offer. I had to wonder if he’d killed Bethany to clear the path for his plan. No way could I let Mom anywhere near this guy until I knew what was going on. She’d promised not to ask him out on a date, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t accept a request from him for dinner or a movie.
I grabbed the box of favor supplies, carried it to the living room, and set it on the coffee table. I left the miniature mason jars in the box and unpacked the pre-printed labels, jelly beans, ribbon, and tulle to wrap around each jar. Flipping on the TV for company, I arranged the items in assembly-line fashion before pulling out the first jar and filling it with jelly beans.
As I worked, I remembered how Ashlee had called me Martha Stewart one time. Her observation couldn’t have been further from the truth. Most of the labels were slightly off-center, every jar had a different number of jelly beans, and I could barely form a bow with the slippery satin ribbon, let alone tie a symmetrical one. But the guests were coming to the wedding to see Jason and me get married, not to receive a perfectly decorated mason jar.
I finished the last one, carefully placed each tulle-covered jar back in the box, and stowed the box in my bedroom. Not sure I’d have time to return to the apartment before going to work, I dressed in my usual work shirt with the name of the farm stitched over the pocket, a pair of jeans, and my sneakers. I ran a brush through my hair, applied a touch of lip gloss, and went out the door.
As I went down the steps, I noticed that the sky was overcast. The pavement in the parking lot was wet, implying that the threat of rain had become a reality sometime during the night.
I told myself not to worry. The wedding was still a few days away. Just because it had rained last night didn’t mean it would rain again. With that thought, I climbed into my car.
Five minutes later, I was pulling into a parking space in front of the Get the Scoop ice cream parlor. Until recently, Mitch had opened his shop early each morning, but I’d noticed he’d pushed the opening time to eleven a while back. I never did understand why he opened so early, except during the summer. Surely not too many customers wanted cold desserts first thing in the morning, especially in November.
Even with the later opening, I saw him most mornings on my way to work and knew he often arrived early to sweep the sidewalk in front of his shop or set up the outside tables and chairs.
Today, the tables and chairs were already in place, but Mitch was nowhere in sight. I glanced next door at the flower shop, wondering if Violet was available to talk, and then shook my head. I really needed to speak with Mitch first.
I walked to the entrance of the ice cream parlor and pulled on the handle. Locked. No surprise since the shop was technically closed.
Through the window, I could tell the lights were on, but I couldn’t see anyone moving around. I cupped my hands against the glass, leaned forward, and strained to see behind the counter.
As I breathed on the glass, it created a fine layer of haze, and a jolt of déjà vu shot through me. Wasn’t this how things had started when I’d found Bethany’s body? First I’d tried to see into the shop and then I’d gone around back, only to find her dead.
I shuddered at the memory and took a step back before immed
iately admonishing myself. Bethany’s murder had been a one-time occurrence. I couldn’t freak out every time I looked through a window.
I knocked on the door louder than necessary and waited. After a moment, I knocked again. I glanced at the tables and chairs in front of the shop. Had Mitch set everything up and then run an errand? Was he the type to leave the lights on when he wasn’t there?
I gnawed on my lower lip, debating whether I wanted to risk checking the back door. Then I squared my shoulders. No way was Mitch dead in the ice cream parlor. When had I become such a wimp? With a final glance at the glass door, I marched around the corner and through the small alley that led to the back parking lot.
A white delivery truck with a picture on the side of a little kid holding an ice cream cone sat in the lot. The truck’s back doors were wide open, revealing plastic-wrapped tubs of ice cream stacked on pallets. Thick white mist wafted out the open door, as if from a fog machine.
To the side of the truck, Mitch stood with the driver. They appeared to be talking while Mitch was signing the man’s clipboard. I was so relieved he wasn’t dead in the back of his store that I yelled out “Mitch!” with way too much enthusiasm. The truck driver gaped at me. Mitch jerked his head around.
He thrust the clipboard at the deliveryman, who fumbled with it. Then he stepped in front of the guy and held up one hand. “We’re not open yet. You’ll have to come back.” Apparently he wasn’t as glad to see me as I was him.
“I know. I wanted to talk to you.”
He glanced at the deliveryman. “I’m busy right now. I don’t have time to talk.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
“I don’t have a minute. Really, it’s not a good time.” Mitch licked his lips, appearing more nervous than angry. What was wrong with him? Maybe I should have brought my mom along to woo him with her feminine wiles. Never mind, then he’d want to ask her on a date.
“It’s about the flower shop,” I said, not sure if I was helping my cause or hurting it. Then again, this conversation couldn’t go much worse than it already was.
Marriage Is Pure Murder Page 18