“A special events company?” It can’t be, can it? “You don’t mean Paxton Haney, do you? He owns Happily Ever After Events upstairs.”
Hank nodded. “That’s him. He’s in a hurry too. Said he would’ve sold out a long time ago, but his cousin wouldn’t hear of it.”
Well, saddle me up and call me a horse. “I had no idea.” I purposefully took another sip from the cup to buy a little time. If Paxton Haney wanted to sell the business and Charlotte wanted to expand it, I could only imagine the fireworks that flew between those two. “But isn’t there a waiting period when a partner dies? Charlotte just passed away.”
“Normally there is,” he said, “but she rewrote her will to name Mr. Haney the business’s designee. He’ll have to wait until after the reading, of course, but it looks like he can sell it without anyone’s blessing.”
“You don’t say.” I carefully shifted the cup to my other hand. No telling what Lance would think about that bit of information. He needed to know—and the sooner, the better. “Well, I’ve gotta get going. Will I see you Friday at the memorial service?”
“You bet. Wouldn’t miss it.”
I waved good-bye and began to walk away. Of all the strange things to hear this morning, I never expected to find out Paxton Haney wanted to sell Happily Ever After Events. Why would he do that so soon after Charlotte’s death? It didn’t sound like something a cousin would do.
Tucking my skirt in close, I walked across the lobby with my gaze lowered until I reached the exit and glanced up. Sheet after sheet of rainwater rolled down the atrium’s windows like a clear shade set free of its roller. Wave upon wave, with no end in sight.
Dagnabit. I’d have to slosh through a downpour again. Unlike other parts of the Factory, Ambrose’s studio wasn’t reachable by an interior hall. It only had two doors: the main one off the parking lot and an employees’ entrance that led to the back lot.
Looks like I’d get drenched again. Not to mention, I’d surely ruin Ambrose’s taffeta skirt this time. How could I return a ball-gown skirt to him with pockmarks across the front? It wouldn’t be very polite, and it’d ruin any chance I had of borrowing something else in the future. Maybe I should just stay put and call Lance from the lobby, where at least I’d be warm and dry.
I reached for my cell, which I seemed to remember stashing in the skirt’s hidden pocket, but felt only fabric. Sweet mother of pearl. I must’ve left the phone on Ambrose’s counter. Now I had no way to reach Lance . . . or did I?
I spun around, hoping to find Hank by the coffee bar. No such luck. He must’ve taken his coffee—and his cell phone—with him to the car. He was probably in a hurry to get back to his office and the paperwork for Paxton Haney’s business.
My gaze took in nothing but yards and yards of empty space, which ended at the open elevator across the way. It was the same car I’d ridden the night before, when I rushed upstairs to meet Lance at Happily Ever After Events. The business lay directly across from Pink Cake Boxes, the bakery started by Bettina Leblanc.
Bettina. I hadn’t thought of her since yesterday, when Lance mentioned she was the person of interest in Charlotte’s murder case. I could only imagine how horrible she felt when he gave her the news.
Maybe I should pay her a visit. Even though she might not be at the bakery today, since she spent part of the night before at the police station, I wouldn’t put it past her, knowing how hard she worked. She’d also have a phone I could borrow. I changed tack and trudged across the floor to where the empty elevator stood waiting for me. By now, nothing would surprise me.
Chapter 14
Once the elevator swept me to the second floor, it deposited me in the hall lined with framed produce labels. No time to dillydally this morning, though, since my sights were set on Bettina’s bakery, which lay all the way at the end.
A rectangle of light fell on the carpet in front of it. When I reached the bakery, I spied someone inside, but it wasn’t Bettina. The girl sat at one of the tables, with her back to the door and her hand on a photo album. A mink coat lay over the chair next to hers, topped by a pair of matching gloves. The fur’s sheen matched the glimmer in the girl’s coal-black hair.
Only one person I knew could afford a full-length Russian sable with rounded collar and cuffs, not to mention the matching gloves.
“Trudi?”
She spun around. “Huh, hello.” After a second, her gaze drifted south, just like Suzi Wan’s had done. “Aren’t you a little dressed up for this weather?”
“It’s a long story. I’m just borrowing the skirt for the day.” Although I didn’t see Bettina, she might return at any moment. “Mind if I join you?”
“I guess not . . . if you must.” She sighed and pushed the coat off the chair, where it landed on the floor and rounded like a sleeping bear.
“Thanks.” I sat next to her. Apparently, she’d been studying pictures of wedding cakes in the photo albums. Tall cakes, wide cakes, some five stories high. A sticky note jutted from one of the pages like a yellow caution sign. “Looking at wedding cakes?”
“Obviously.”
Once again, her tone seemed to question my intelligence, but I ignored it. “That one’s beautiful.” A photo showed an elaborate wedding cake bound with garlands of rhinestones, crystals, and delicate seed pearls. “But I thought you canceled your wedding.”
“I did. But my boyfriend convinced me to change my mind.”
“You don’t say. So, now you have to plan everything all over again?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But this time I’m going to do it right. By the way, you do know you’re the one who introduced us to Charlotte Devereaux, don’t you?”
“I did?” Something else I’d forgotten. Usually, a bride found me through her wedding planner, but this time everything got turned around. Trudi came to me first, and then I introduced her and her fiancé to Charlotte. “I hope you don’t blame me for introducing y’all. I had no idea this would happen.”
“It’s all water under the bridge now.” She lightly grazed the photo with her fingernail. “Luckily, this town is crawling with wedding planners. Since I’m having it at Morningside Plantation, they were only too happy to suggest someone new.”
My mind clicked into overdrive. While I didn’t want to be pushy, or downplay what happened to Charlotte, I might not get the chance to talk wedding veils with Trudi Whidbee again. “I still have the design for your veil, you know. I could easily dust it off.” Not only that, but yesterday’s bride wasn’t the least bit interested in her cathedral-length veil, and I hated to let a perfectly good design go to waste.
“Here’s the deal.” Trudi ran her nail over the photo again, but this time it left a mark. “I’ve picked out an entirely different gown. I’m starting fresh. It’s a mermaid dress, which wouldn’t work with your design.”
“Maybe.” I tried to sound casual, but my mind whirled with possibilities. A mermaid gown cried out for an angel-cut veil, which draped down the sides. “I can always come up with something new. What if we—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Trudi tried to rub the scratch away with her thumb, but it didn’t budge. “I’ve given my new wedding planner free reign to pick out the vendors this time. And I already wrote you a check for your design. The way I see it, we’re even steven.”
She quickly rose and snatched the sleeping coat off the ground. “Tell Miss Leblanc I couldn’t wait for her anymore. She was supposed to be gone a minute, but that was five minutes ago. I don’t have time for this.”
Although I’d obviously annoyed her, I couldn’t help myself. “One last question.”
“What now?”
“You said you hired a new wedding planner. Who’d you pick?”
“Not that it’s any of your business—” she shrugged into the coat, which swallowed her whole—“but I’m using Suzi Wan.” As her right arm entered the sleeve, something flashed; a spark of light from the diamond Rolex on her wrist, which she quickly checked. “Great. Now
it’s been six minutes. This is why I need a good wedding planner.”
“I’ll tell Bettina you had to leave. I’m sure she’ll understand.” There was no need to be ugly with her, even though she’d given me nothing but snippy replies.
“Whatever. Tell her to call Miss Wan next time. I marked my favorite in the photo album, and they can work out the details.”
She swept away, the bulky coat receding after her. The last bit to leave was the hem of a side pelt.
Funny, but Suzi didn’t say anything about working with Trudi Whidbee when we spoke in the lobby. Apparently, she didn’t find it newsworthy, even though Trudi came from one of the richest families in Louisiana. That girl was the ultimate “get” for a wedding planner, and surely Suzi knew that.
Come to think of it . . . no wonder Suzi was at the Factory so early. She told me she’d come for a client meeting, but she never said which client.
I pondered that while I waited for Bettina to reappear. After a moment, the baker skulked through a side door and entered the room.
She looked exhausted. Her gray braid straggled onto the shoulders of the chef’s coat, which hadn’t seen an iron in several days. She’d also forgotten one of the buttons, and her pale skin showed through the gap. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn Bettina spent the night curled up next to her mixing bowls.
“Missy?” She held a sketch pad, which she lowered when she saw me. “Where’s Trudi?”
“She had to leave.” I plastered on a bright smile; no need to start her day off on the wrong foot. “She apologized to high heavens, though. Said something about her wedding planner calling you later. Speaking of which . . . do you have a phone I can borrow?”
“I’m afraid I left it in my car. My landline went out last night, so I was going to go get it once the rain let up.” Bettina shrugged and tossed the sketch pad on the nearest surface. The waist–high display case held cake samples and a half-dozen wedding cake toppers, complete with frosted rosettes and white-chocolate hearts. I asked Bettina about the samples once, since I couldn’t imagine they stayed fresh for more than a week or so. That was when she confessed the “cakes” were actually Styrofoam discs frosted with spackle.
I patted the chair next to me, which still was warm from Trudi’s backside. “You look exhausted.”
She wearily took me up on my offer and slumped into the chair. “That girl told me she wanted to see a cake I’m making for the governor’s niece. Guess she wasn’t really interested, after all.” Her red-rimmed eyes grew narrow. “To tell you the truth, it’s probably for the best. I’m not sure I could deal with her kind today.”
Although it was obvious, I had to ask. “How’re you doing this morning, Bettina?”
“I’m pretty tired, that’s for sure.”
“Lance told me what happened last night.”
“So you know. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
“You can tell me anything, you know. I’m friends with Detective LaPorte, and he and I work together sometimes.”
That seemed to reassure her, and her face perked up a bit. “I had to give a statement to the police last night. The police! They think I had something to do with Charlotte Devereaux’s death.”
“That’s what I heard. Detective LaPorte told me you fought with her on New Year’s Eve and someone reported it.”
“It’s true. We both went to Odilia LaPorte’s restaurant. I only wanted to use the ladies’ restroom, but then we ran into each other.” She frowned, as if the moment still bothered her. “How was I supposed to know we both picked the same restaurant?”
“What did you two talk about?” It was hard to picture the grandmother beside me in a screaming match with Charlotte Devereaux, since the woman was half her age and twice her size.
“That’s the thing. We weren’t really that loud. It was a private conversation. I didn’t mean to start something, but I couldn’t help myself when I saw her.”
She hadn’t answered my question, so I tried again. “Were you two arguing about her new business? Is that what set you off?”
“Partly.” She crossed her arms. “I told her she shouldn’t have made all those plans to expand without talking to the rest of us first. We’re like family down here. Everyone knows that. We work together. It’s how we’ve always done things. But then Charlotte went and blindsided us.”
Amazing to think we’d both attended the wedding planners’ meeting only a day before, when Paxton announced all of the changes Charlotte planned to make. “That was some meeting, all right.”
“He didn’t even mention the worst part. She’d already up and hired a baker to run her cake business. Someone from Commander’s Palace over in New Orleans. I worked right across the hall from her. Now, why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. But you’ve got a great reputation. What difference could one more bakery make?”
Bettina grudgingly uncrossed her arms. “Wait ’til you’ve been in business as long as I have. This is how it starts: Someone new comes in and then they drop their prices, so people get used to paying only half what these cakes are really worth. Before long, she’d put us right out of business. Mark my words . . . it was only a matter of time.”
I eyed her. Surely she’s exaggerating. Everyone knew about Pink Cake Boxes. People waited three weeks for an appointment during the wedding season, for goodness sakes. She also got more press in bridal magazines than anyone else on the Great River Road. “But what about all those magazine articles you’ve been in? They must bring you tons of publicity. Enough to set you up for life.”
She scoffed. “You’d be surprised. Most times people just tear out the pictures of my cakes and bring them to their own bakers. It’s not right, but it’s what they do. I’m not complaining, mind you, because my family gets a kick out of seeing me in those magazines. But I’ve never made a lot of money off them.”
I leaned back. And here I thought Bettina’s business was bulletproof. Little did I know the publicity didn’t necessarily translate into more sales. No wonder she was so angry with Charlotte. “You said you talked to Charlotte about other things that night. What else was bothering you?”
“Well, I found out—”
“Excuse me.” It was Trudi again, who’d returned to the bakery in a huff. She stood in the doorway with her hands clasped in front of her. “Have you seen my gloves? I must’ve dropped them here.” She quickly scanned the carpet, all but ignoring the two of us.
“No, I haven’t seen them,” I said. “But, look . . . Bettina’s back.”
“Sorry I took so long.” Bettina glanced at her sheepishly. “I was trying to find the sketch you wanted.”
“Don’t worry ’bout it. You can show it to my wedding planner. Aha!” She lunged forward and disappeared under our table. A moment later, she reemerged with the gloves in her hand. “I knew it!”
“But I’ve got the drawing now.” Bettina’s voice was hopeful. “Look, it’s right over there, on top of that case. Would you like to see it?”
“I said that won’t be necessary. You can call my wedding planner today. She’ll work out the details with you.”
Once she jammed the gloves on her hands, Trudi turned and stalked away again. It took a moment for the air to recover after her whirlwind appearance.
“Guess she put me in my place.” Bettina sighed and lumbered to her feet. “I’d better set up a meeting with her wedding planner. I heard she’s using Suzi Wan now.”
I wanted to say something comforting; I really did. But between her obvious resignation and Trudi’s rudeness, nothing came to mind. So I rose too and walked to the door. “Hang in there. Detective LaPorte will nab a suspect soon. Then things will get back to normal.”
She didn’t look convinced. “I wish I could believe you. I really do. But I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”
Chapter 15
Bettina left the bakery through the same side door she’d used earlier. She didn’t even bother to retrieve t
he sketch pad she’d placed on the display case.
No wonder Lance considers her a person of interest. She didn’t defend herself very well, and, if her current state of mind was any indication, she felt guilty about something.
Maybe it was best to leave the building once and for all. So far, I’d run into more people on this side of the Factory—including Suzi, Hank, Trudi, and Bettina—than I ever thought possible, and our conversations left me more confused than ever. By now, the words jumbled together like an alphabet soup of people, places, and information.
Not only that, but the barista downstairs must’ve skimped on the caffeine in my mocha, because my brain still felt like mush.
So, I left the bakery and headed for the elevator, which I guessed would be waiting for me at the end of the hall. No such luck. Instead of the pppiiinnnggg of it coming to greet me, I heard a different sound altogether: a methodical cccrrruuunnnccchhh as metal gears chewed through paper.
The noise seemed to be coming from Happily Ever After Events, across the hall. Sure enough, when I stepped over to the other wall, the sound grew louder.
Curious now, I glanced over my shoulder, just to be safe, and cautiously pushed open the door with the faux-painted roses above it. What’s another minute or two in the grand scheme of things? True, I still had to call Lance, but the noise was irresistible.
I stepped into the offices of the special events company, where I once more saw sweet paintings done in pastel colors: roses trellised across the wall and grassy hills tapered to a far-off horizon, and a quaint Dutch door stood half-open. The whimsical colors didn’t quite match the sound that arose behind it. Cccrrruuunnnccchhh.
I carefully pushed open the painted door and spied Paxton in his office. He stood with his shoulders angled to the hall and his hand outstretched, only inches from a black plastic box.
It was a paper shredder, of all things. He carefully fed one sheet into it, and then another, while I watched. Each time he forced the page through the opening, as if he thought the machine might spit it out again.
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