Engaged in Murder (Perfect Proposals Mystery)

by Nancy J. Parra

“I can’t, Pepper. I have financially sensitive corporate information on my computer. There’s a certain trust factor I have to maintain with my clients. If anyone even hinted that I would share that information with the cops, I wouldn’t be able to do business.”

  “What about the business of proving your innocence?”

  “Is that what this is about? Are you thinking I had something to do with Randy’s death?”

  “Let’s just say that, for Felicity’s sake, I hope not,” I said. “She’s my only sister. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “I love Felicity,” Warren insisted. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize our relationship.”

  “Not even pay off a blackmailer?” I turned off my car and sat in the parking lot in front of J’s Bakery and studied the cakes in the window.

  “Pepper, I swear—”

  “What if we have the engagement party in Rosemont?” I asked, changing the subject. The man could swear he was innocent until he turned blue in the face. It wouldn’t convince me I should believe him. Especially if the cops didn’t believe him.

  “Rosemont would be fine, too.” Warren blew out a long breath. “Whatever Felicity wants. Okay?”

  “Okay. Bye, Warren.”

  “Good-bye, Pepper.”

  I hung up and frowned at my steering wheel. Innocent or not, Warren’s proclamations didn’t mean the police would stop suspecting him. The police needed evidence of his innocence that would stand up in court before they stopped. I needed them to stop. Preferably before Felicity married Warren and had a baby. I didn’t want my niece or nephew having to go to prison on visiting day to meet their dad.

  Chapter 11

  “I’m serious, Pepper,” Mom said. “You can’t work from that tiny apartment of yours. You have to have a place where clients would feel comfortable meeting you.”

  “I’ll meet them at Starbucks or Panera.”

  “Coffee shops and restaurants?” Mom looked horrified as she paused in her clothes folding. The towels had gone from a tangled pile to a neat stack of perfect squares.

  “People do it all the time—especially if they are small business owners . . . like me.” I twirled my coffee cup. It was Thursday morning. One of the perks of being self-employed was the ability to stop by and have coffee with my mom any day of the week.

  “It doesn’t seem appropriate,” Mom said. “You have to be aware of your image when it comes to your own event planning. You no longer have a full marketing crew or corporate brand to back you up.” She placed the stack of towels on the counter and dumped the load of clean whites on the table to be folded next.

  I winced at her words. It wasn’t as if her piano room in the basement would create the image she spoke of, either. “Mom, I’m fine living on my own. Really. All it will take is one or two well-placed events and I will open an office space. Okay?”

  “You won’t have to open an office space.” Mom frowned and folded one of Dad’s T-shirts with military precision. “I have a nice office space right here that you can use.”

  “I came over to talk engagement party.” I sat at the small table in the basement laundry room. It smelled of dryer sheets and fabric softener. “Warren told me that money is no object, but that doesn’t help me with the budget. I feel funny spending a lot of money without any set budget. What are your thoughts?”

  “I thought your father and I were paying for the engagement party.” Mom narrowed her eyes at me. “We’ve saved for years not only to put you both through school, but to pay for your weddings, too.”

  “Oh, sweet.” I sat back. “But from my perspective, you might as well use it all on Felicity. I don’t see a man in my life anytime soon—if ever.”

  “We will spend equally,” Mom insisted as she folded the last of the T-shirts and started on the socks.

  “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I sipped coffee and did my best to change the subject. “So what is your budget?”

  The amount she so proudly gave me made me flinch. It would cover half the venue in Rosemont and an eighth of the Chicago venue. Rosemont it was. As long as Mom didn’t ask for receipts, I would talk to Warren about paying the bills. I hated to make my parents feel bad. They really did work hard and save as much as possible. Felicity and I didn’t care if we had simple parties in the warm atmosphere of the home we grew up in, but I know a man of Warren’s stature demanded more than that.

  It was a fine line to walk between budget and expectation. It was also something that I was good at doing.

  “All right.” I took my planner out of the large leather tote I carried and wrote a budget amount at the top. “I will need a list of people you want to invite. The numbers will help determine venue size.”

  Mom paired socks and flipped them together. “I have no idea how many people Warren’s parents would like to invite. Warren gave me his mother’s phone number and I’ve left two messages, but she has yet to return my calls.”

  “You and Felicity should meet with Warren’s mom and have a get-to-know-you lunch.”

  “I’m sure that would be helpful.” Mom took the clothes upstairs. I followed her. “Felicity hasn’t even met his parents.”

  I leaned against the frame of the door to Mom and Dad’s bedroom and watched her carefully put the clothes in drawers. Mom was so different than me. I generally shoved my clothes in whatever space they fit into. Mom always had a place for everything and everything in its place.

  Dust never settled in Mom’s house. Their bedroom always smelled like my Dad’s aftershave and clean sheets. “She hasn’t met his parents? That seems kind of weird, doesn’t it?”

  “Not really.” Mom shrugged. “Felicity tells me that Warren thought introducing her to his parents sooner would have given away his secret.”

  “Seriously? Doesn’t that bug her?”

  “Listen up, kiddo, Warren Evans is the man your sister wants to marry.” Mom turned on me, her gaze fierce. “You will support her in this.”

  I straightened up. It was habit really. Whenever Mom gave you “the look,” you knew to take notice. “I simply don’t understand his reasons for keeping these things from her, that’s all.”

  “Warren’s reasons are fine with Felicity and that’s all that matters. I don’t want to hear any more negative talk from you. It makes you sound jealous and petty.”

  “I’m not jealous.” I drew my eyebrows together. “Really, I worry for her. That’s all.”

  “If you love her, then you will take care not to let her become aware of your concerns. Felicity is the happiest I’ve ever seen her. I won’t have anyone take that away from her.”

  I swallowed my reply and simply nodded. Mom was right. It appeared I would be on my own with my investigation. To keep Felicity happy, I was even more determined than ever to find out who killed the janitor. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Mom nodded. “Now are you staying for dinner?”

  * * *

  My talk with Mom only strengthened my desire to get to the bottom of this murder. Don’t get me wrong, I liked Warren. He paid me well and gave me the idea to start my own business. The problem—as I saw it—was that as long as the investigation hung over their relationship, my sister would never be safe.

  Since Mom would hear no more of my reservations, I took it upon myself to press Detective Murphy for more information. When he called me, I jumped at the chance to speak to him face-to-face.

  “Thanks for coming down, Ms. Pomeroy.” Detective Murphy sat at his desk. “You didn’t have to. A simple phone call would have done it.”

  Detective Murphy wore a white shirt, a green striped tie, and black pants. I liked the fact that he wore a white T-shirt under his dress shirt. Not too many men wore T-shirts under dress shirts anymore. I liked that it gave the shirt a cleaner look. For an old guy, Detective Murphy was okay in my mind.

 
“I prefer to visit in person.” I leaned toward him from my place on the orange plastic chair in front of his desk. “You said the coroner determined a time of death for Mr. Stromer?”

  “It’s approximate, but yes, we have the window of time during which his death occurred,” Detective Murphy said. “So tell me if you can what time you arrived at the airport?”

  “It was around four P.M.,” I said. “Jimmy should have it in his gate logs. They checked my ID before I was allowed into the airport.”

  “I’ll check the logs later,” he said. “For now give me your best version of the time frame.”

  “Okay.” I sat back and held up my hand, marking each point on a finger. “I arrived after four P.M. My ID was checked and then Jimmy called Jeb Donaldson. I waited until Jeb got there and checked my ID again.”

  “How long did that take?”

  “I don’t know. Fifteen minutes or so? I remember that I’d been running a bit late and their delay at the gate had me worried about how much time I had left to get my decorating done before Felicity was supposed to arrive. Warren had asked her to come out after she got off work at five P.M.”

  “What time did you get to the hangar?” His hound dog eyes were flat and calm.

  “You know, I don’t have a watch.”

  “Estimate.”

  “Okay, well then, probably four twenty—if you account for the delay at the gate and then five minutes to find the right hangar.”

  “Who was the first person you saw?” He wrote notes on a pad of yellow legal paper.

  “Daniel Frasier, the pilot. He came out and offered to carry my potted palm into the hangar and show me around.” I hadn’t thought about the fact that Daniel would also be a suspect. In fact, he might be a better candidate than Warren.

  “Was Frasier with you the entire time?”

  “Well, no.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “Let’s see . . . he helped me bring the palm into the plane and showed me the interior.”

  “Was anyone else there when he did this?”

  “Yes, Laura Snow, the flight attendant, was there as well, but they both left me while I decorated the interior. I have no idea what time that was or for how long. All I know is that I was on a deadline and I had a lot I wanted to do to create the perfect atmosphere.”

  “But you said your sister was to arrive by five P.M. Is that correct?” Detective Murphy looked at me over the top of his reading glasses.

  “No, she was leaving work at five. She works in Des Plaines near O’Hare Airport. So you need to figure in extra time with traffic, she would most likely get there between five twenty and five forty. This means I couldn’t have been decorating for more than forty-five minutes.”

  “So you were done decorating around five P.M.”

  “Give or take.” I nodded and smoothed the pleats in my skirt. I had a meeting with the venue manager for Felicity’s engagement party. So I was dressed professionally in a tan midcalf-length pleated skirt and a cream and tan sweater over a crisp white shirt. It made my orange-red hair and blue eyes stand out.

  “What do you consider give or take? Roughly? I want to clarify the timeline,” he said as he made notes.

  “Okay, well, give or take ten minutes,” I said. “I’m terrible at estimating time. Ask anyone. I’m notoriously early or late—never on time.”

  “Maybe you need a watch.”

  “Maybe.”

  His dark gaze showed a hint of humor for the first time. “Who did you see after that?”

  “I exited the plane and Daniel gave me a quick tour of the exterior—well, the safe zones anyway. I wasn’t supposed to go past the wing. Wait—he did that before I decorated.” I frowned. “I mixed that up. He took me on a tour inside and out—even showed me where the bathrooms were, all before I decorated.”

  “So he showed you the bathroom before you decorated. Did you go inside?”

  “No.”

  “Did he go inside the restroom?”

  “No, he simply pointed it out. Then I went back inside the plane and decorated.” I threaded my fingers together nervously. How could I have mixed that up?

  “Okay, so Frasier showed you the outside of the plane and pointed out the restrooms, then you went into the plane and decorated. Correct?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “When I came out, I was looking for Laura, the flight attendant. I didn’t see her—but I did see Daniel in the cockpit.”

  “That fits with his statement,” Detective Murphy muttered. “Did you find Laura?”

  “No, I thought maybe she was in the bathroom, so I went in and called her name.”

  “Was the deceased inside at that time?”

  I chewed on my lip. “Yes, but I thought he was passed out. I mean, he looked a little blue but some people turn green when they are drunk.” I shrugged. “Green, blue, they are pretty close. So I was about to shake him and tell him he needed to leave when Warren opened the door a crack and let me know Felicity was coming through the gate.”

  “So you left the dead man and watched your sister’s proposal, drank champagne, and waved them good-bye—letting everyone leave—knowing there was a dead guy in the bathroom?” He raised one gray eyebrow and gave me a look like I was about the biggest idiot he’d ever known.

  “I didn’t think he was dead,” I defended my actions. “I’ve never seen a real-life dead person, except at funerals, and they don’t count.”

  “So you thought he was passed out and didn’t think to tell anyone there was a passed-out man in the ladies’ room?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

  I tried not to twitch. “I was caught up in the excitement of my sister’s big day. I didn’t think it was a big deal. After all, Laura and I were the only women in the hangar that I knew of and we were both busy. I didn’t think that a passed-out man would disturb anyone. Besides, for all I know, he died while Warren was proposing.” I fished for a timeline on the janitor’s death. Detective Murphy ignored me.

  “When did you realize he was dead?”

  “After they left, I went to collect my bags and I remembered the man in the bathroom. I called 911. The dispatcher took my information and told me to call airport security. After I talked to Jeb on the phone, I figured I’d better check on the drunk guy. I mean, if he got up and left, then there was nothing I could do, but if he was still in the stall, I could at least stay with him until the police came.”

  “So you went back into the bathroom with a possible drunk that you didn’t know and didn’t take anyone with you?”

  Now he did make me feel foolish. “Yeah, I guess that wasn’t very smart.” I wasn’t about to mention that I was afraid the drunk guy would leave before the police got there. “He was drunk, right? I could outrun him if he tried anything.”

  “When did you realize he was dead?”

  “He was still in the same spot when I went back inside. His position in the bathroom stall looked painful, so I went to shake him. I thought if I could get him out of there and maybe at least get him flat on the floor, it would help. I used a mop handle to poke him . . .” I shuddered. “He was cold and stiff.”

  “We have in our records that you called 911 at six thirty P.M.”

  “That sounds about right.” I clenched my hands together.

  “Evans’s jet was cleared to takeoff at six fifteen P.M. How do you account for the difference?”

  “I went out to watch them take off and see if Cesar was in place to take the appropriate footage.”

  “I see.”

  “I could not have killed him between six fifteen and six thirty,” I said. “He was too cold.”

  “He was killed earlier.” Detective Murphy didn’t look up from his notes. “But you could have hid evidence or tried to clean up.” This time he glanced up and pinned me with his brown cop’s gaze.

  “I didn’t,” I said,
pulling back my emotions. “I called 911 and was advised to call airport security. I looked up the number and gave Jeb Donaldson a call. It was when Jeb got there that we determined the guy was actually dead.”

  “Where was Evans during all this?” he asked, his gaze going back to the notes in front of him.

  “In the plane, flying to a romantic destination with my sister.”

  “Where was Evans when you were decorating the plane?” He said it slowly as if I were a small child.

  “I don’t know.” I unclenched my hands and leaned forward. “Is that when the janitor was killed? Does Warren not have an alibi?”

  He closed his eyelids for a moment and then opened them. “Do you have an alibi?”

  “Yes, I was in the plane decorating it.” I sat back.

  “Was there anyone else with you at the time?”

  “Well, Laura was there for a while . . .” I pursed my lips and frowned. “She must have left because I didn’t see her when I went looking for Cesar. Maybe she was outside supervising the luggage guy. I don’t know. I found Cesar and pulled him into the plane.” I leaned forward. “We put him in the airplane toilet with a view of the cabin so that he could film in secret. Ingenious, wasn’t it?”

  “Brilliant.” He said it with a flat tone as he wrote on his note pad. “Did you see Evans at all during this time?”

  “No . . . I imagine he was in his office finishing up business things.”

  “Business things?” Detective Murphy asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe e-mails and stuff like that. What does an executive do while he waits for his girlfriend to show up so he can propose?”

  “I doubt he checks his e-mail,” Detective Murphy muttered.

  I pursed my lips and raised the right corner. This wasn’t going very well at all. I made it sound even more likely that Warren could have done it. My gaze landed on a framed picture of a woman around my age on Detective Murphy’s desk. I reached over and picked it up. “Is this your wife?” I tilted my head and tried not to sound judgmental. I mean May-December marriages happened all the time. Then again, maybe I had her age wrong. Maybe she was older than me.