Anne didn’t have an alibi.
Chapter Nineteen
I felt little cogs clicking into place as I stared at the empty window of Fauston’s bakery. When I’d asked about the day of the murder, Anne had said her uncle was out on deliveries. But I’d never thought to ask about where she’d been. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to switch the little sign to closed, drive the three blocks to Gigi’s, off her, then slip back to the shop with no one the wiser. I’d never thought of her before because she had no motive. But her uncle did. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew Fauston had connived his niece to off Gigi for him while he went on deliveries, providing him with the perfect alibi.
I shoved my hand into my purse, grabbed my cell and, with shaky fingers, dialed Felix’s number.
“Hello?”
“Felix, it’s me.”
“Me who?”
“Can it, this is serious. I know who killed Gigi!”
Felix was silent for a moment on the other end. Then, “Alright, let’s hear it.”
So, I told him my theory, about how we’d completely overlooked Anne even though she was right under our noses the whole time. By the time I was done, I could hear him breathing hard.
“I hate to admit it, but you may be right. Where are you now?” he asked.
“Outside Fauston’s… oh shit.”
“What?”
I watched as a big white van with the words “Fauston’s Bakery” pulled out from behind the building, Anne at the wheel.
“She’s leaving.”
“Where’s she going?” I could heard the sound of Felix grabbing his keys in the background.
“I don’t know. She’s in the bakery van.”
“Well, follow her. Don’t let her out of your sight. If you’re right about Fauston, she may lead us to Allie.”
“Right.”
I flipped my phone shut and gunned the engine, pulling out into traffic half a block behind Anne. Luckily, her big bakery van stood out like a white elephant among the subdued Beemers and Jags, and I had no trouble keeping an eye on her as she wound through the rush-hour crowd, finally stopping outside a large office building on Wilshire. She parked at the curb, and I pulled into a loading zone four car lengths behind her, watching as she hopped out of the van with a big pink box in hand. She disappeared into the building, then fifteen minutes later emerged empty handed and got back into the driver’s seat.
Back into traffic, this time hopping onto Santa Monica Blvd. east toward Hollywood. I followed her through the bumper-to-bumper maze of cars, only losing her once at a red light, before I caught up two blocks later at La Brea. When we hit the 101, she got on going south and didn’t exit until we were near the civic center. I followed her through the downtown streets until the impressive outline of the Summerville building came into view.
Again Anne parked at the curb, this time grabbing a basket of muffins before slipping inside the building. I waited, watching out my window, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. Twelve minutes later she finally she emerged, then jumped back into her van again, this time heading north toward the Echo Park area. I was beginning to wonder how many deliveries she had to make when my cell chirped to life on the seat beside me. I flipped it open.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you?” Felix asked.
I looked up at a passing street sign. “Sunset and Elysian.”
“Good, stay on the line and don’t lose her. I’m on my way.”
“While I appreciate the help, I don’t really think two cars trailing her would be less conspicuous, do you?”
Felix made a funny sound in the back of his throat. “I’m not coming to join you, I’m taking over.”
I scoffed. “Felix, I’ve been tailed by you. You suck at it. I’m doing fine thanks.”
“You have somewhere else to be.”
I made a hard right, trying to concentrate on the road. “Oh, I do, do I?”
“Your wedding rehearsal? I do believe it starts in half an hour?”
I looked at my dash clock. Dammit, I hated it when Felix was right.
“Shit. I totally forgot.”
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately. It’ll be a wonder if you remember the actual wedding.”
I did a double take at his words, remembering how that had been my exact sentiment about Ramirez when we’d originally found Gigi. Now who was the one so wrapped up in a case that she forgot her own wedding rehearsal? And Felix was right. It wasn’t the first item I’d forgotten in the past few days. If it wasn’t for my friends and family, I’d have missed half the wedding-related stuff I was supposed to be doing. I made a mental note to cut Ramirez a little slack the next time a homicide ruined our dinner plans.
Anne pulled into a small strip mall, driving around to the receiving bay of a mini mart. I followed, pulling the opposite direction and parking near a Subway Sandwiches.
“Hey, I’m at the mini mart on Silver Lake,” I relayed into the phone. “Anne’s making a delivery.”
“Keep an eye on her. I’ll be there in three minutes,” Felix promised.
I waited on the line listening to the sound of his little Neon being pushed to its limits as Felix shouted a string of curses at the other drivers. I kept my eyes glued to the back bay of the mini mart, counting the seconds as they ticked by. I bit my lip as one minute turned into two, then five. Come on, Felix, where are you?
Finally six minutes and thirty two seconds later, his little Neon flew into the parking lot, bottoming out on a speed bump as he took it at forty miles per hour.
Just as Anne returned empty handed to the bakery truck.
Instinctively, I ducked down, even though I was pretty sure there was no way she could see me at this angle. Not that it seemed she was looking. For a guilty person, she seemed pretty carefree, whistling as she made her way to the driver’s side and slipped behind the wheel again.
“She’s leaving,” I whispered into the phone. Then realized how ridiculous I was being. If she couldn’t see me, she certainly couldn’t hear me either.
“I’m on her,” Felix assured me. Two beats later he pulled out of the lot, following Anne’s van west on Silver Lake. “Go to your rehearsal. I’ll call you when I get something.”
And with that, he clicked off.
I sat staring down at my silent phone, feeling rather anticlimactic. I just hoped Felix did a better job of tailing Anne than he did me.
In the meantime… I had a wedding to rehearse. Taking a quick stock of my location, I pulled out of the parking lot, pointing my Jeep toward Beverly Hills and praying traffic was light.
* * *
Only forty minutes later, I pulled into the lot of the Beverly Garden Hotel and raced through the lobby to the back gardens where Ramirez and I were scheduled to walk down the aisle in less than twenty-four hours. Then came to a screeching halt as I rounded the corner and saw the scene that Marco and Dana had set for me.
Palm trees lined the yard, strung with hundreds of tiny white lights. In the center, two men in coveralls were setting up rows of pristine white folding chairs next to a long red carpeted aisle. Leafy green vines intertwined with delicate little white flowers lined the pathway, leading up to a large, white latticework gazebo, strung with more tropical flowers and tiny white lights. Beyond the altar I could see tents and clusters of tables and chairs being set out for the reception. The air was so fragrant with the scent of blooming foliage, I’d swear I’d just stepped into Tahiti and not Beverly Hills. Despite all my misgivings about putting the tacky twins in charge, it was beautiful. Tears sprang to my eyes.
(Okay, maybe the two giant wooden tiki heads leading toward the reception area were a little over the top, but I could overlook those.)
“Maddie’s here,” I heard a child’s voice call. I wiped at my eyes to see Molly’s middle child, Tina, bouncing up and down on the toes of her little pink Mary Janes. “We can start wehearsing now!” she lisped.
Mom, Faux Dad, Larry, Mol
ly, Dana, and the entire Ramirez clan all emerged from one of the big white tents, Marco bringing up the rear with a clipboard in hand.
“Okay, people, we’re already behind and we have a schedule to keep if we want this thing to go off. So, places. Chop, chop!”
I couldn’t help laughing. If Gucci ever decided to take over the world, they had a readymade dictator right here.
And suddenly I had a brilliant idea.
“Marco,” I grabbed him by the arm, pulling him aside. “You have been the best wedding planner ever,” I said. And, right at that moment, I can honestly say I meant it.
Marco blushed. “Well, it’s been a labor of love.”
“How would you like to plan another one?”
He cocked his head to the side. “How many times are you and Ramirez getting married?”
“Not mine. Mitsy Kleinberg’s.”
His eyes went round, his mouth dropping into a perfect “O”. “The Mitsy Kleinberg?” he squeaked out.
I nodded. “Yep. I think you’d be perfect for her.” Marco was the one person I knew woman enough to handle Mitsy’s tantrums and actually enjoy the drama.
Marco nodded, his little face bobbing up and down so fast it was almost a blur. “Yes, yes yes! Ohmigod, yes!”
I put a hand on his arm, trying to calm him down lest the hotel patrons think he was having an orgasm on the spot. (Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t.)
“Great, I’ll give her your number.”
“Ohmigod, Mitsy Kleinberg,” he walked away, fanning himself with his clipboard as he ordered the bridesmaids into position.
After we were all lined up, Marco ran us through the paces of “elegantly” walking down the long aisle. He then paired up my bridesmaids with Ramirez’s groomsmen by height. (Conveniently matching himself with Ramirez’s cousin, Alfonso, who starred in a Latin soap.) Finally he cleared his throat and hummed a little “Dum, dum de dum,” tune, signaling my cue. With Tina pretending to make a rose petal trail in front of me (“I get weal ones tomowow!” she gleefully told me.) I did the slow feet together, step, feet together, step thing as I’d been instructed until I made my way toward Ramirez, waiting for me beneath the flowering archway.
I’ve always thought there was supposed to be something magical about walking down the aisle. Like that slow journey toward the love of your life, watching you with adoring eyes, was supposed to make something click inside. Some sort of feeling that you were walking toward your destiny. Or at least an evening of really great sex ahead.
But I didn’t. Instead, I was mostly trying not to trip over Tina. And Ramirez wasn’t so much adoring as laughing at some joke Alfonso told him that included some hand gestures I was pretty sure the flower girl wasn’t old enough to witness. For all the magic I felt, I could have been walking an aisle at the supermarket. It was mildly depressing.
I swallowed down a tiny prickle of panic, telling myself it was just because I was preoccupied by my very silent cell in my pocket and the fact Felix had yet to call in with any news.
I finally made it to the altar to stand between Ramirez and Dana, my maid of honor, then turned to face the person presiding over the ceremony.
Mrs. Rosenblatt.
“Wait, where’s Father Mahoney?” I asked, turning on Marco.
“Uh well, he wasn’t feeling well…” He looked to Dana for help.
“Something about a bad clam sauce last night,” she filled in.
“But he promised he’d be here tomorrow.”
Dana nodded. “Absolutely. I mean, they pumped his stomach for a full twenty minutes last night, so he’s totally emptied out by now.”
“In the meantime,” Marco said, “Mrs. Rosenblatt is our stand in.”
“Yeah,” Mrs. R piped up. “And if he don’t show, I do a pretty snazzy kabbalah ceremony you’d love.”
A loud hiccup erupted from me.
“Maddie, you better take care of those before the ceremony,” Mom said, a frown of concern settling between her brows.
Yeah, ‘cause it was hiccups that were gonna ruin this wedding. Trust me, this wedding never had a chance.
Marco walked us through the rest of the paces without incident, (unless you called Dana choosing a Don Ho version of “All You Need is Love” as our first dance an incident—-which, in an effort to stave off further hiccups, I didn’t) and we all made our way back to our cars to caravan to the rehearsal dinner.
I lingered behind, checking my cell readout for the fiftieth time that night. Nothing.
I slipped behind a palm tree and dialed Felix’s number. Luckily, he picked up on the third ring.
“Felix Dunn.”
“It’s me. Maddie me,” I clarified before he could ask. “Where are you?”
“I’m watching Fauston have dinner at a Taco Bell.”
I frowned. “Fasuton? What happened to Anne?”
“She went back to the bakery. She and Fauston had a conversation. Then he took off and she stayed behind. I thought he’d be the better bet to lead us to Allie.”
“And you just left Anne there?” I hissed. While I agreed with his logic, the idea that Anne could at this very minute be carrying out some orders from Fauston to axe Allie made anxiety curl around my stomach.
“I can’t very well be in two places at once, now can I?” he said. Though I could hear the same anxious thoughts swirling through his voice.
“Look, I’ll…” I bit my lip, watching my wedding party trail down the street. “I’ll go follow Anne.”
“What about your rehearsal dinner?” he asked.
“This is more important.” Something I never thought I would have said even a few weeks ago. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I promised, then flipped my phone shut.
“Be where?”
I squeaked out a yelp as I spun around to find Ramirez standing behind me, a frown puckering his brow.
“Nowhere,” I said.
He gestured to the phone in my hand. “Who was that?”
“No one.”
His eyes narrowed. “A blond British tabloid reporter no one?”
I bit my lip again. “Maybe.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but his eyes narrowed even further, into dangerous cat like slits.
“Look, I… something came up,” I said lamely.
Here’s the deal - as much as I was sure Anne and her uncle were the ones who’d offed Gigi, I had zero proof. Basically, it was just a really, really good hunch. And, as Ramirez had pointed out to me numerous times, hunches didn’t stand up in court. If I wanted to help Allie, following Anne was my best bet.
“‘Came up’?” Ramirez asked.
“Yeah.”
“Hmph.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Everything okay?”
I nodded vigorously.
“You sure?” he probed.
“Yeppers,” I yelled. Geeze, when did I turn into a Disney character? Tone down the perky a bit, girl. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just… I kinda have to leave a little early.”
“How early?”
“Now.”
He clenched his jaw shut. “Wanna tell me why?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Maddie…” he said, his voice a warning growl low in his throat.
“Look, you just have to… trust me,” I said, slipping around him. “I’ll call you later. Tell Mom I’m sorry.”
For half a second I thought he might chase after me. But apparently he thought better of it, instead, calling after me, “Just be careful. And don’t get into any trouble, okay?”
“Who me?” I asked, blinking innocently as I walked backwards toward the parking lot. “Never.”
* * *
Three minutes later I was in my Jeep heading toward Fauston’s. I felt just the teeniest bit guilty at abandoning Ramirez with both our families, but I shoved it down. If we ever did make it to that honeymoon, I promised myself I’d make it up to him. Instead, I concentrated on driving as I sped down the surface s
treets at speeds that would make a CHP officer’s head spin, weaving through Beverly Hills and pulling up to Fauston’s Bakery again just as the white van rounded the corner, Anne at the wheel. Talk about timing. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Was I good or was I good?
I followed her east on Wilshire, wondering if we were on one last late night delivery or if Anne actually drove the van home. She made a right on Dayton, then a left on Palm, and I suddenly realized I was retracing my Speed Racer moves from just a few moments ago. My suspicion was confirmed when she pulled up to the back of the Beverly Garden Hotel ten minutes later. Mental forehead smack. She was delivering my wedding cake.
I parked in an empty spot behind a Dumpster (lest Ramirez wander back and spot my Jeep), then hoofed it around the corner of the receiving bay just in time to see Anne wheeling a huge box toward the prep kitchen on a metal dolly. I ducked behind a bush, out of sight from the back of the hotel, where a couple of waiters stood smoking cigarettes.
I looked to the right, my rows of chairs and flowered archway sat in the dark, mocking me as I started to wonder if I wasn’t on some wild goose chase. Here I was crouched in the shrubbery while half a mile away my entire wedding party was dining on veal piccata and toasting my happiness. And the truth was, I really didn’t have any evidence that Anne was involved outside of a non-alibi.
I glanced back at the bakery van sitting in the lot a few yards away. What do you think the chances were there was any evidence of her crime in there?
I stole a glance at the kitchen door, still closed. Then, not even really sure what I might be looking for, made a dash for the van.
I dove behind it, first trying the driver’s side door. Locked. As was the passenger side. With one last glance at the kitchen door – still shut tight as a drum – I tippy toed around to the other side and jiggled the silver handle at the back of the van.
Ah ha! Apparently it was a little hard to lock a door while juggling a metal dolly and a three tiered wedding cake.
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 123