“Now, Sheridan.” Bettina’s rebuff was gentle. “No one’s suing anyone. I’m just glad they finally came around. I was worried I might have to sell the bakery. The gossips around here would’ve shut me down for sure.”
“But it didn’t come to that.” Sheridan returned his empty flute to the table. “We’ll accrue for your losses over the next few weeks. Shouldn’t take much longer than that to catch up.”
“I’m so happy for you, Bettina.” While I wanted to stay and hear even more about her newfound joy, I couldn’t keep Ambrose waiting forever. Knowing him, he hadn’t had much to eat today, either. “We’ll have to have coffee soon and catch up. Nice to finally meet you . . . uh, Sheridan.”
Bettina left me no choice but to call him by his first name. Hopefully, he wouldn’t tease me, like Hank Dupre always did.
“Nice to meet you too. Let me know if you ever need any help. Bettina has my number.”
I left the two of them behind as I made my way to Ambrose and Odilia. Once more, the day had taken such a strange and unexpected turn.
“What’s wrong?” Ambrose asked, once I caught up to them.
“Nothing. It’s actually good news. Bettina isn’t a suspect anymore in Charlotte’s murder.”
“But what about the fight?” Odilia’s eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you, those two were going at it like cats and dogs. Thought I was going to have to get in-between ’em and break it up.”
“But that’s the thing, Odilia.” My gaze traveled to her. “Bettina was home nursing a hangover the next morning. Lance finally got the videotape from the parking lot and it shows she didn’t show up to work until after ten.”
Ambrose blanched. “That sounds good on the face of it. But who’s to say she didn’t enter the building and then go out back afterward?” He threw up his hands. “Not that I think she had anything to do with it. I like her as much as you do.”
“Don’t worry. I wondered the same thing.” I took the chair Odilia had pulled away from the table. “Guess Lance also got her computer records from the Internet provider. Her IP address shows she was on-line when Charlotte was murdered. It took a while for the files to come in, but they finally did.”
“Glad to hear it,” Odilia said. “Just wish they’d catch the person once and for all. Makes me jittery knowing we have a murderer out there.”
“Trust me, Odilia. Your son’s working on it. It doesn’t quite work like it does on TV. He can’t solve a crime in thirty minutes or less, and then they roll the credits.”
Odilia chuckled. “As long as we don’t have to stay tuned ’til next week, I’ll be happy. So, here y’all go. I’ll have Cherise wait on you tonight. She’s new here.”
She waited while Ambrose pulled out his chair and settled into it. “By the way, I can’t believe you’re the one who found that body too, Missy. Seems like you have a knack for finding dead bodies.”
I was about to protest, but Ambrose spoke first.
“She does, doesn’t she? People are going to wonder if it happens again. They’ll think she’s the angel of death or something.”
It took some serious restraint on my part not to swat him again. “I’m not that bad. And I can’t help it if I keep getting lassoed into these situations. Maybe I’m like that boy in the movie . . . you know, the one who sees dead people.”
“I hope not. Besides, we’re here to take a break from all that talk about death. Tonight we’re here to relax and enjoy a good meal.” He turned to Odilia. “Missy here got stuck with a serial talker tonight. Figure she needs some downtime to recuperate.”
“That’s a shame,” she said. “Should I bring a nice bottle of wine to take the edge off?”
“Definitely. A good Bordeaux, if you have it.”
“Sure I shouldn’t bring two bottles?”
“Nuh-uh.” I jumped in, trying to keep those two from clouding what was left of my clear head. “It’s tempting. But, no thank you. I still have to call your son when we’re done here, and I don’t want to slur my speech.”
“I don’t think he’d mind,” she said. “You’ve seen each other in all kinds of situations. Some pretty, some not. That’s what happens when you’ve been friends for so long.”
I glanced at Ambrose. “You’re right. If someone really likes you, nothing you do can change that. At least, nothing within limits.”
“It’s all part of the package.” He placed his hand over mine. “The good, the bad, and . . . like you said . . . sometimes the ugly.”
We eyed each other for several seconds, until Odilia chuckled. “Looks like you two need to get a room. You’re getting all moony and you haven’t even had your wine yet. Honestly, this is a family restaurant.” She planted her hands on her hips, but her tone was teasing.
“No promises,” Ambrose said.
“Then I’d better send over your server. Maybe she can chaperone you two.”
Ambrose waited for Odilia to walk away before he squeezed my hand. “C’mere, you. We never did kiss and make up after our fight.”
He leaned in to kiss me. I’m pretty sure it lasted only a nanosecond or two before we parted again, although I wanted it to last a whole lot longer. I didn’t notice a waitress had approached our table until she delicately cleared her throat.
“Ahem. I’m Cherise, and I’ll be your server tonight.”
I suppressed a giggle. Why does Ambrose always make me feel like a schoolgirl? Every time he came close, a tickle automatically formed at the back of my throat and butterflies somersaulted through my stomach. Maybe it was his kiss, or perhaps the cologne he wore, which threw me off-kilter. He wore the same kind as Grady, only it smelled ten times better on him.
“Miss Odilia is bringing us a bottle of Bordeaux,” he said. Unlike me, he recovered in a flash. “And we already know what we’d like to order. We’ll both have the fried chicken and maybe a basket of her famous rolls to go with it.”
The girl quickly scribbled a few notes and left.
“Now, where were we?” Ambrose turned around the minute she walked away.
“We were making up.” I sighed heavily. “But, I have to excuse myself for a minute.” While I wanted to stay put right here, seated only inches away from him, I couldn’t ignore something else a moment longer. “I really hate to do this, but I’ve got to visit the ladies’ room. I didn’t have time when we were at our house, and Grady wouldn’t stop talking long enough for me to get away earlier.”
Reluctantly, I rose and stepped behind Ambrose’s chair, my finger trailing along his shoulder blades. “Promise you won’t touch the wine until I get back.”
“For you, anything. Just don’t take too long, or I might get lonely out here.”
It took a few steps for the room to right itself again, given my lightheadedness. I aimed for a hallway on the other side of the restaurant, which housed the restrooms and a storage closet. A few steps into the journey, I passed a table with an elderly couple who hung matching canes over the backs of their chairs. The next table held a family of four, including two children. The kids looked surprisingly clean, given the carpet under their table held bread crumbs, spilled milk, and a smashed roll or two.
I chuckled as I continued, one table away from my destination. A sharp voice rose above the hubbub before I could reach it, though.
“I tell you, that girl wasn’t worth spit.”
Chapter 22
I was so startled, I almost tripped. The speaker used the exact phrase as the texter who railed against Charlotte earlier on my cell phone.
“Well, she’s gone.” Now a man spoke, his voice quick and desperate. “You don’t have to worry about her anymore. We took care of her. And no one saw us kill her.”
Slowly, I turned. Trudi Whidbee sat at the last table before the hall, the expensive Russian sable casually slung behind her chair. Across from her sat Barrett, her fiancé, who looked about as miserable as the wet weather outside.
She jabbed her finger against his chest, which made him shrivel ev
en more into his dress shirt. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out about your little affair with Charlotte? How stupid do you think I am? At least you had the good sense to follow my plan. Now that she’s dead, I’ll never have to wonder about you two again.”
She didn’t notice me while she spoke, which was just as well, since I couldn’t move my feet anyway.
“Aren’t you gonna say something?” she spat.
His lips barely cleared the collar of his shirt by now. “I told you I was sorry. Really, really sorry. I’ve said it a million times. And I helped you kill her. What more do you want from me?”
“I want you to promise it’ll never happen again. Honestly, I don’t know what you ever saw in her. She wasn’t worth spit. That much’s for sure.”
My breath stalled as I absorbed the words again. Of course. It all makes sense now.
Carefully, I lifted my right foot and slid it back an inch or two. Part of me wanted to run right back to Ambrose and blurt out what I’d heard, but another part wanted to hear more.
Barrett eyed Trudi’s finger warily, as if it might bite him. “I made a mistake. A really bad mistake. But she’s gone now. It’s over. Why can’t we go back to the way things were before?”
“Before?” She laughed, but it was brittle. “Before? We killed a woman, Barrett. We can’t go back to the way things were ‘before.’ ”
I’d heard enough. My breath still lodged in my throat, I brought my left foot back to meet the right. Inch by inch, I slid away from their table, careful to avoid any sudden moves.
When I finally reached the family with the messy carpet, I exhaled a ragged breath. After striding several more yards, I pulled up next to Ambrose.
He noticed something was wrong right away. “What’s up? You look like you’ve seen Blackbeard’s ghost.”
“Worse than that.” I fumbled for his shoulder again, only now it wasn’t to caress his skin. Now I needed something to hold me up. “I just found out who killed Charlotte Devereaux.”
“Come again?”
I pressed harder against his shoulder. “Trudi Whidbee is here. I heard her talking with her fiancé. She’s one of the brides who hired Charlotte to plan her wedding. Only it sounds like her fiancé had an affair with Charlotte instead. So Trudi killed Charlotte. Not only that, but she made her fiancé help her do it.”
“Whoa. Slow down. Have a seat.” He pulled out my chair and patted the seat cushion. “You’re as pale as a bedsheet.”
I shook my head, even though he was right. “We don’t have time. I need to call Lance. Now. Before they get away.”
“Hold on a second.” His eyes narrowed. “Sit down first and take some deep breaths. Otherwise, you’re going to faint.”
Reluctantly, I did as I was told. By now, I should’ve recognized the signs of shock: the shallow breath, the tunnel vision, the knot in my stomach that forced bile into my throat. I felt the same way when I discovered Charlotte’s body in the whiskey barrel behind my studio only two days ago.
“Put your head between your knees,” he ordered. “Now.”
I followed his instructions to a T. After several deep breaths, the sound of blood whooshing through my ears softened.
“How’s that? Do you feel better?”
I nodded, which wasn’t easy, given my position. “I think so.” By the time I straightened, I could finally breathe normally again. “Thank you. I needed that.”
“Now, start from the beginning. What happened to you back there?”
“Okay. Here goes.” I inhaled another breath for good measure. “Remember that text I got? The one from someone who bragged about getting rid of Charlotte? It said, ‘CD wasn’t worth spit.’ Those exact words. I haven’t heard that phrase in a million years. And it’s what Trudi said back at her table just now.”
“You don’t think it’s a coincidence?”
“No, I don’t. They admitted to killing her. And he kept apologizing and saying they wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore.”
“Bottom line is, those two had an affair and the spurned bride took her revenge. With her fiancé’s help. That’s what you’re telling me?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, let’s say you’re right. But what kind of man gets together with another woman right before his wedding?”
I shrugged. “Apparently, Barrett Hudson does.”
Something else niggled at the back of my mind as I spoke: A memory that slipped in and out of my consciousness before I could catch it. Something about a telephone call I placed at the studio. A desperate call; one I didn’t want to make.
Finally, the memory crystallized. It was a call to Trudi after she canceled her appointment. I tried to talk her out of it, but she turned the tables on me and accused me of introducing her and Barrett to Charlotte in the first place.
Even more images crystallized. The two of us sitting in Bettina’s bakery the day before. Where she once more blamed me for bringing Charlotte into her life. While she managed to sound calm while we spoke, she gouged an inch-wide scratch in a photograph under her fingernail.
And then, a final memory surfaced: the beautiful French door at my studio, smashed into a million pieces that glittered on the welcome mat. “Lorda mercy!”
“What now?” Ambrose took my hand in his.
“Trudi’s the one who destroyed my door. She blamed me for getting them involved with Charlotte. She thinks I’m part of the reason her fiancé cheated on her!”
He tightened his grip. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. You need to get on the phone right now. Call your friend Lance and tell him what you’ve told me.” He lifted my purse from the ground with his free hand and fished out my cell. “Want me to dial for you?”
“No, I’ve got it.” I reached for the phone, although my own hand was shaking. “He’s on my speed dial.”
I tapped the screen and waited through three rings before Lance picked up.
“Hi, Missy. What’s up?” He sounded breezy, since he had no idea why I’d called.
“I know who killed Charlotte Devereaux, Lance.” The words came out in a rush. “She’s here at your mom’s restaurant, with her fiancé.”
He didn’t respond right away.
“Lance? Did you hear me? I said I know who killed her.”
“I know what you said.” He paused again. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. Okay. Tell me what happened.”
I proceeded to tell Lance everything I knew about Charlotte Devereaux and Barrett Hudson. About what Trudi Whidbee said and how she angry she’d been. When I finally came up for air, I was met by more silence. “Well, aren’t you gonna say something?”
“Definitely. Stay right where you are. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“I know this all sounds crazy.”
He didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“But I really think they killed her, and they were the ones who destroyed the door to my studio. You can’t miss her when you get to the restaurant. She’s got this enormous fur coat . . . it’s a black Russian sable.”
“Got it. And promise me you won’t try to approach them. Are you there by yourself?”
“No, Ambrose is with me. We came for dinner, and then I ran into Trudi when I went to use the ladies’ room.”
“Put him on the phone.”
Silently, I passed the cell to Ambrose. He shot me a funny look but took it, nevertheless.
“Hello?”
“Of course,” he said a few moments later. Then he eyed me, which only confirmed what I suspected about their conversation. “I’ll do my best to keep her in check. Just get here quick.”
Ambrose clicked off the line and handed me the phone. “He’ll be here in a few. We’re supposed to sit tight and let him handle it when he gets here.”
“Did he tell you to keep me away from them?” I couldn’t hide the irritation in my voice.
“Maybe.”
“That is so like him. He thinks I’m gonna waltz right ove
r there and get myself killed. I’m not that stupid, Ambrose.”
“I know that. But he didn’t exactly say it that way.”
“He didn’t have to. Of course I’ll wait for the police to come. Those two over there bludgeoned Charlotte to death. They obviously don’t care what happens to anyone else. I know when to back off.”
Ambrose shot me a look, but at least he didn’t correct me.
“Seriously. I may have found out who killed Charlotte, but I don’t want to become their next victim.”
“I know this is hard for you. But we have to sit tight.”
Both of us fell silent then. What more is there to say? The people responsible for Charlotte Devereaux’s death sat only yards away, enjoying a leisurely meal. At a public restaurant, out in the open, with nowhere to hide. As far as they were concerned, life went on, and the toughest choice they faced now was what to order for dessert.
I began to fidget as I focused on the injustice of it all. I turned my head this way and that, taking it all in. When I craned my neck just so, I could barely see the back of Trudi’s head over the old man’s shoulder. Her brown hair glowed under the houselights, and it bobbed up and down a few times. No doubt she was wagging her finger at Barrett again, and her head kept time with the movement.
The third time it happened, Barrett suddenly leaped to his feet. He threw something down—no doubt his dinner napkin—and picked something else up from the table. His shoulders stretched taut against the pinstriped shirt as he lifted what looked like a notepad.
“Oh, shine!” I turned to Ambrose, my eyes widening. “He’s got the dinner check. They’re going to leave before Lance gets here!”
Unfortunately, Trudi rose as well, and casually tossed the mink over her shoulders. Instead of waiting for her fiancé, she stalked away from the table, the coat slipping sideways as she pushed past his chair.
It all happened so quickly. Slam! Something hit the wall behind me, and I turned to see three men barrel into the restaurant. Officer Hernandez came first with his gun drawn, followed by Lance, who wore the wrinkled khakis again. A third officer, one I didn’t recognize, brought up the rear.
They rushed into the room as a hush fell over the tables. Lance didn’t stop until he reached Trudi, who looked shocked to see him.
Someone's Mad at the Hatter Page 17