Uncertain how to proceed, Marla nudged Torrie's arm under the table and released the cloth so nothing showed.
Catching Dalton's eye, she signaled frantically. He'd know what to do. When he reached her side, she sagged against him.
“Don't look now, but there's a dead body under the table,” she murmured under her breath.
“What?”
“You heard me.” She smiled tremulously at a couple who strolled past. Could they tell she was sweating? That her face had lost its color? That she was about to lose her dinner?
Dalton half bent, his dark hair falling forward, but then he straightened with a grin. “Good one, Marla. You almost got me.”
She shuffled her feet. “I'm not kidding.” Any minute they'd call for the cake, or Jill would broaden the hunt for her sister. Chewing on her bottom lip, she lifted a portion of the drape so Vail could see for himself. Her stomach heaved as she almost stepped on a trickle of congealing blood. Forcing down the acid reflux, she grimaced.
“Holy Mother, you aren't joking.” He gave her an incredulous glance that she read as, Not again.
“I didn't feel a pulse. Can you believe this? I mean, it's bad enough that Torrie met her end this way, but couldn't it have happened after Jill and Arnie left? Their wedding has gone so smoothly until now.” She didn't intend to sound callous, but she felt so bad for her friend, considering the unpleasant events that would follow.
Dalton's lips compressed. “Let me take a look. Anyone watching?”
“Not right this minute.”
“Good.” He bent, muttered an expletive, then straightened. “I have to call this in.”
She let the cloth fall back into place. “Can we do it quietly? I hate to put a pall over everything, at least until Jill concludes the ceremonies. Give her a few more happy memories for the wedding album, if you will.”
“Are you proposing we should keep the lid on an obvious crime scene?” Dalton asked, flabbergasted.
“I'm proposing that we don't let anyone move this table to disrupt the evidence. Think about it.”
Dalton's glance met hers, and she saw by the stormy gray in his eyes that he understood Marla's overwhelming concern for her friend.
“Stay here. I'll go out in the hall to make the call.” He started toward the door behind the alcove, appeared to have second thoughts, and veered in the opposite direction.
Marla gave a sick smile to anyone who passed, saying she was guarding the cake table until Jill and Arnie had rounded up the photographer.
“We'll leave the table here,” Dalton said upon his return, “and just move the cake. That should buy us about fifteen minutes or so before the shit hits the fan.”
“Thanks, Dalton. We can do this.”
Steeling herself, she lifted half of the cardboard base holding the tiered confection while Dalton gripped the other side. Together they started a slow shuffling dance toward the head table. Her breath came short and rapid from the labor, or maybe she was hyperventilating out of fright that someone would discover the body.
“Hey, guys, what are you doing?” Philip Canfield intercepted them. His ponytail had come loose, and he looked hassled.
Marla hadn't realized the florist was still around. “It's time for the cake ceremony.”
“What happened to my beautiful table?” He gestured toward the nook. “Didn't you see the flowers I put around the rim? My magnificent orchids? They match those candied violets to perfection.” He air-kissed his fingers for emphasis.
Marla paused before she tripped and sprayed the crowd with buttercream frosting. “Uh, one of the legs is broken. We were afraid the table would topple over if we wheeled it out. Can you imagine the disaster?” She gave a nervous laugh.
“Good heavens, then allow me to assist you. I'll get a tray. Don't go anywhere.”
“Never mind, we'll be all right,” Dalton reassured him.
“I'm sorry, I didn't introduce you,” Marla said hastily, hoping to distract the man. “Philip, this is my fiancé, Dalton Vail. We're getting married in four weeks.”
“Yes, I remember. I should give you my card in case you run into a snag with your decorator.” He fumbled in his pocket and handed her a business card. “December is such a busy month, what with holiday parties and all. I'd find a way to fit you into my schedule.”
Seeing that she had her hands full, he tucked the card into Dalton's tuxedo jacket. Leave already, Marla commanded silently, her arms trembling. If she didn't put the darn cake down soon, she'd splatter it all over the floor.
“Your centerpieces are fabulous,” she said, hoping to spur him on his way. “And I loved how you decorated the gazebo into a chuppah. You did a wonderful job.”
Dalton inclined his head, meaning they should resume their pace. She picked up speed, her grip slick with sweat. Biting her lip, she concentrated on their destination.
“Don't forget,” Canfield said, dogging their steps. “Call me if you need me. I'm tops in the business.”
She grunted with relief when he strolled away and they'd put their burden to rest at the bride's place of honor. Her body shook from head to toe. She dreaded the scene that would follow.
“Where's the cake knife?” Dalton's brow creased in a perplexed frown.
She stared at him, aghast. “Didn't you see? That's what . . . it's in Torrie's chest.”
“Hell. Wait here.”
He ran off and returned a few moments later brandishing a meat knife. “This will have to do. Let's move things along. Yo, Arnie,” he hollered to the groom, dancing to an oldie but goodie at arm's length with an elderly matron.
Arnie's expression, a sort of weary resignation, brightened. “Come and join us on the dance floor.”
Dalton shook his head. “Can't. Time to cut the cake. Where's the bride?”
Marla spotted Jill across the room, chatting with Leanne Oakwood while the wedding photographer jostled with the man from Boca Style Magazine for the best angle to snap pictures. She could just imagine Falcon's reaction to a murder on Orchid Isle's opening weekend. Then again, sensational news coverage often brought curiosity seekers to a site. Attendance might increase as a result.
“Excuse us, please,” she told Falcon's wife, steering Jill away by the elbow. “Arnie is waiting for you to cut the cake,” she informed the bride. “We moved it over to the center where everyone can see better.”
“Thanks, hon. I saw you chatting with Philip. Aren't his flower arrangements magnificent? Leanne was telling me how he keeps her vases filled at home. I gather he was instrumental in helping Falcon obtain some of the rarer orchids for his collection.”
“Is that so? He must have good suppliers. Tell me, how are you holding up?” You'd better be strong, considering the bad news that's about to ruin your day.
“I'm fine.” Jill bustled forward, her gown sweeping the floor. “The cake looks so beautiful, it's almost too perfect to destroy. Don't forget to save the top layer for me to take home and freeze.”
“Here.” Dalton shoved the knife handle at her and Arnie. “Smile for the camera.”
Arnie stared at the knife but didn't make a move to take it. “What's this? It isn't the one we picked out at the store.”
“What do you mean?” Marla's heart skipped a beat.
“We bought a special cake knife. Jill liked the ribbons and engraving. You must have left it on the table.”
“I don't know why you moved the cake, Marla,” Jill added. “The lighting over there was better for photos.”
“It's good here, too. Why don't you go ahead with the ceremony, since your guests are waiting? I'll find your knife later. You can use it on your anniversary when you defrost the remains.”
Her unfortunate choice of a last word brought a different type of remains to mind. Gulping, she pushed that thought aside with another unpleasant memory.
She'd frozen the top layer from her wedding to Stan and easily recalled its bitter taste one year later when their marriage dissolved.
“Arnie, will you look on the other table?” Jill said in a peevish tone.
“I'll go.” Dalton loped off before anyone could object. He returned a moment later, shaking his head. “Sorry, can't find your knife anywhere. We'll ask the caterer later. Meanwhile, I'd suggest you proceed. It's getting late, and people will start leaving soon.”
No bride wanted to see her guests depart before she'd completed all the rituals.
As Jill and Arnie fed cake to each other and the assistant photographer caught them on video, Marla reflected how Jill seemed more concerned about her missing cake knife than her sister. Nor did the bride comment on the matron of honor's absence during the garter and bouquet tosses. How odd, unless she figured Torrie was occupied elsewhere.
Dalton had gone out to make a second call for backup. He'd just reentered the ballroom when a shriek rent the air. A young blond waitress, attempting to move the round table in the corner, stood rooted to the spot with an expression of horror on her face. A pair of legs stuck out from beneath the floor-length cloth, plum high heels stained with a sickly crimson.
“Hold on.” Dalton rushed over. He whispered a few words to the woman, who then stumbled from the room. “Listen up, people,” he said to the shocked assembly, while the musicians on stage froze, instruments in midair. “There's been a, er, an accident. Why don't you gather your belongings and wait on the porch where we had cocktails?” His commanding tone brooked no arguments. “The police are on their way, and they'll want to ask questions before you leave.”
“Who is it?” Jill asked, the words barely escaping her lips. Arnie's mouth compressed as he put an arm around her waist.
Marla scanned the room. Fortunately, his kids were nowhere in sight. They must be outdoors with the other youngsters. “I'm afraid it's Torrie,” she said, feeling she should be the one to break the news. “I'm so sorry, Jill.”
“My sister? Oh, my God. Did they call an ambulance? I'll go with her to the hospital.”
Her next stop is likely the morgue. Marla's heart went out to the newlyweds. How she'd wanted this day to be joyous.
When Jill started to move toward her sister, Marla blocked her path. People filed past them toward the patio in a somber and silent fashion. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Dalton barring anyone from going near the crime scene.
Marla exchanged a glance with Arnie. There was no avoiding the truth. “Jill, your sister's been stabbed. Torrie is beyond help. I'm sorry,” she repeated.
“She's . . . she isn't . . .” Jill sputtered to a stop.
“Yes.”
“Oooh.” The bride sagged against Arnie, whose eyes reflected painful awareness.
“Look, why don't you guys wait in the bride's room? We'll tell the detective in charge to question you first. There isn't anything you can do by hanging around here,” Marla said.
“I should find our nanny and let her know what's going on,” Arnie told Jill. “She can take Josh and Lisa home.”
“Call her on your cell phone,” Marla suggested. “Dalton and I will handle the traffic at this end. Go on, you two. At least you can have some privacy while we're waiting.”
“Shouldn't I at least look at her? For identification, I mean.” Jill's eyes filled with tears.
“Scott can do that. See, Dalton is talking to him.” Torrie's husband stood with his shoulders slumped and a hand on his mouth while Dalton spoke to him alone by the raised platform.
After more coaxing, Jill finally acquiesced. Watching Arnie lead her away, Marla slouched. She wanted nothing more than to crash at the hotel with Dalton. That wasn't about to happen any time soon, especially when the cops arrived.
Dalton held a private conference with the paramedics on the scene. They had to wait another half hour before a detective showed up, along with his team of crime lab technicians.
“Marla, this is Detective Brody.” Dalton signaled her over from where she drooped by their dinner table. The staff, told not to clear the room yet, hovered by the perimeter.
Brody, in his forties, wore creases beside his eyes like a badge of honor. “I'd like to get your statement, ma'am, before I interview the bride and groom.”
“How can I help you?” Her throat went dry. They sank onto seats draped in lavender.
“Tell me how you discovered the victim.” Brody's deep baritone was worthy of a radio announcer.
Glancing at Dalton for comfort, Marla folded her hands in her lap. “It was time for the cake-cutting ceremony. I meant to help by rolling out the side table, but then I saw an arm sticking out from underneath.”
Brody scribbled in his notepad. “You were able to ID this person?”
“Yes. I took a peek beneath the cloth. Torrie, the bride's sister, had been stabbed with the cake knife.”
“Torrie Miller, right?” He squinted at her, his gaze keen. “Tell me what you know about the deceased.”
“She's married, works for Boca Style Magazine as a fashion reporter, and drives a snazzy BMW.”
“I'm guessing this is a crime of passion, because whoever did it grabbed a handy weapon and didn't put much thought into hiding the body.” Brody tilted his head. “We won't know the cause of death for certain until the medical examiner's report. In the meantime, can you think of anyone who had cause to harm her?”
“Can I!” Just about everyone I met today.
Her comment drew a snort from Dalton. “You're asking my unofficial deputy here. She'll tell you more than you want to know, buddy. And if you don't stay on top of things, she'll find the bad guy before you get anywhere close.”
She swiped at a couple of stray hairs cutting her vision. “No way. I'm keeping my ears clean on this one. We have too much to do planning our own wedding.” Smiling sweetly at her betrothed, she waited for the detective to prompt her again.
“I'd like to take brief statements from everyone and then let them go home,” Brody said, “so if you have anyone in mind that I should interview further, please share that information.”
A flash of light drew her attention to the forensic guy snapping pictures. The cake table had been moved out of the way, and Torrie's body lay in full view. Someone had drawn a chalk outline around it.
A wave of dizziness assailed her. “The photographer,” she murmured. Dalton's warm hand squeezed hers, giving her strength. “Not the man doing wedding photos, but the other one. Griff Beasley. He works with Torrie at the magazine.”
“He's here?” Brody said with a puzzled frown.
“Yes, apparently Griff and Hally Leeds were assigned to cover the wedding because it takes place the same weekend as the grand opening for Orchid Isle. Hally is a society reporter,” she explained. “They came as a team.”
“When did you meet these people?” Dalton inserted, as though wondering why he'd been left out.
“Outside, just before the wedding ceremony, when I was headed toward the bride's house. I overheard a brief conversation between them.”
“And?” both men said in unison.
Marla folded her arms across her chest. “Hally implied that Griff had more than a professional interest in Torrie. Hally didn't seem happy about it either.”
“You're saying she acted jealous?” Brody held his pen poised over his notebook.
“I can't be sure. After all, I don't know these people very well. Hally also said something about Torrie edging in on her column. When Torrie spoke to Griff later, she sounded less than eager to boost Hally's career.”
“Friendly rivalry between colleagues is nothing new,” Dalton commented.
“Right, but if you're looking for motives, Hally came across as resentful either way.”
“Had you noticed any hint about more than a professional relationship between this Beasley character and the deceased?” Brody asked.
Marla's face pinched in thought. “Actually, yes. Torrie said something to Griff about putting herself at risk for him and that she hoped her husband hadn't noticed. She said Griff would be sorry if he backed out on his word.”
“What did he say in return?”
“That if she ratted on him, she's dead,” Marla ended in a hushed tone.
Brody scribbled madly. “Those two sound like persons of interest. Who else?”
“Um, Torrie had a conversation with Falcon Oakwood. I know she's friends with his wife, Leanne. That's how Jill was able to book the wedding at Orchid Isle.”
“So?” Dalton yawned.
The poor man looked exhausted. Marla felt bad, embroiling him in another murder investigation. It wasn't his district, but he wouldn't let go so easily.
“Whatever Torrie and Falcon were discussing wasn't making the real estate developer happy,” Marla said. “Then again, they could have been talking about the weather, for all I know.”
“Anything else?” Brody gripped his pen.
“Well, there are the family issues.”
“Oh?” Brody straightened, his keen eyes alert.
“Jill and Torrie own a piece of commercial property together. It's been rented on a steady basis until recently, when their tenant left. Their cousin Kevin, who's in the real estate business, offered to get them a new lease without charging a commission.”
“This property, is it worth much?”
“It's increased in value. Torrie and Jill were in the process of drawing up a partnership agreement. I believe their uncle, an attorney, was helping them.”
“I see,” Brody murmured, adding Jill's relatives to his expanding list of guests to interview more thoroughly. “Thanks for your cooperation, Miss Shore. You've been very helpful. Lieutenant,” he said to Dalton, “you and the lady can go now. We'll talk more later. I may have more questions, plus I'd appreciate your insights.”
Dalton didn't have talking on his mind when he unlocked their hotel room door, unfastened his bow tie and cummerbund, and loosened his shirt. With a gleam in his eyes, he pulled her close after she'd kicked off her shoes.
“I'm sorry for what happened today.” He stroked her hair. “This should have been a happy occasion.”
“It's horrible. I can't imagine how Jill feels right now.”
She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his strong arms around her. She needed to feel alive, to know that her own world felt stable. Raising her stockinged feet, she met his lips with a passionate kiss.
Shear Murder Page 4