“That would be perfect.”
“Do you want the party immediately after the proposal or within a month?”
“As far as I’m concerned, there isn’t any need to delay.”
“Then I’ll plan it for immediately following the proposal. Is there a family member with a birthday in the next month?”
“Why?”
“We can use a birthday party as an excuse to gather family and friends.” That sounded good, I thought, and made a note.
“Um, sure, my friend Sam has a birthday the end of the month.”
“Great, do you think Sam will let us use him as a ruse?”
“She would probably love it actually,” Keith said.
“Oh, Sam as in Samantha.” I made another note. “Even better, actually. A surprise party for a woman is more believable and opens up the venue possibilities. Now, if I could have her number, that would help. I need to have Sam’s party seem as real as possible so that Amy doesn’t ever suspect anything. We can’t spoil our element of surprise, now can we?”
“No, I wouldn’t want that,” Keith said and gave me Sam’s number. “You know, you are really good at this.”
“Thanks.” I tried not to show my panic at figuring out how to plan a proposal for a scuba diving girly girl in Chicago.
“Listen I know this other dude who wants to propose to his girlfriend in a way that will have her talking for years. Can I give him your number?”
“Yes, of course,” I said and tried to suppress my glee. “Anything I can add to my portfolio would help.”
“His name is Mike Keifer and be sure to charge him for your services. He can well afford it.”
My heartbeat picked up as I wrote down Mike’s name. It was one I’d seen in the society pages. If I could plan a Keifer proposal that got the whole city talking, then I would be on my way to establishing Perfect Proposals as the only place to go when you wanted to create an unforgettable experience for your lady love.
I hung up the phone and went straight to the Internet. Before Mike Keifer called, I was going to have to set my event-planning packages. The first step for doing that was to Google what the going rates were for high-end wedding planners. Then I’d try the low end and settle somewhere in between, factoring in my years of experience, forty percent for taxes, ten percent for insurance, and wow, there was a lot to consider when you started your own business.
* * *
“You should let your father look at your business plan,” Mom announced. She had called and asked me to meet her for lunch at Portillo’s “He’s been a small-business owner his whole life. He knows a thing or two about it, you know.”
I tried not to sigh, hiding my emotions by sipping my Pepsi. For October it was a bright, warm day. The sky was pure blue and we sat out on the patio, letting the sun shine on us. I wore a pale blue sweater set, a black pencil skirt, black tights, and booties. I’d gone into town this morning and handed my business plan off to Warren’s secretary, then checked on table arrangements for Felicity’s engagement party before meeting mom at the restaurant chain known for its hot dogs.
“I’m sure Dad has other things to do besides look over my plan. Besides, it’s not the same. I don’t own a building and I don’t have any employees.”
“Not yet.” Mom picked the onions off her hot dog. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t plan for those things in the future.”
“You know you can order your hot dog without onions,” I pointed out for the hundredth time.
“It’s easier to pick them off than to say everything but onions,” she said and bit into a French fry. “Now tell me again what you’re going to do with this scuba proposal thingie.”
“I’m not sure yet.” I bit into my hot dog and savored the warm, beefy juices. I liked my hot dogs with everything including sauerkraut and pickles. “I was thinking about doing something at the Shedd Aquarium. I have a call in to their business manager.”
“What if you can’t get them to let you plan something?”
“There’s also this resort in Saint Charles with a heated pool that is indoor-outdoor. I could do some kind of under-the-sea theme . . . with mermaids and such.”
“You used to love The Little Mermaid when you were a kid. You must have watched it fifty times. I’m surprised you didn’t break the VCR tape.”
That made me laugh. “She was the only Disney princess with red hair.” I thought about it for a moment. “You know, she did collect baubles and such. Keith’s girlfriend, Amy, likes all things girly so maybe we’re on to something with the mermaid theme.”
“You’d have to be careful that the party doesn’t get too childish,” Mom warned. “It could go wrong very fast.”
My eyes grew wide. “It’s not like I’m going to have Disney posters and plastic rings.”
Mom laughed. “Thank goodness you are good at this stuff. If I tried to plan a mermaid theme, I’m certain the party would go on one of those reality shows where the designer has to come in at the last minute and rescue the poor woman from her own ideas.”
I tapped my finger on my chin. “I’ll have to find some really good props.”
“Too bad you don’t know anyone who deals in flea market finds.” Mom ate more of her fries. “They could help you find inexpensive décor or maybe tell you where you can rent some . . . It’s good to have connections in business.”
“Gage works for a prop warehouse,” I said as I sipped my drink. “I wonder if they have anything I could use. Maybe something from one of the traveling Broadway productions.”
“Speaking of plays, I wanted you to have lunch with me so that we can discuss the engagement party.”
I frowned. “What does that have to do with plays?”
“Nothing.” Mom waved her hand dismissively. “I needed to bring up the subject. It’s called a segue.”
“A bad segue,” I muttered.
“The engagement party,” she pressed. “I know you were worried we were rushing it. But if your sister is going to marry Warren, then I want to be able to tell everyone. Already your Aunt Betty is pressing me about the party.”
“I have the venue, Mom. It’s all under control. Seriously . . . Felicity and I even have the menu planned. I’m working with the W downtown. It’s going to be great. I’m working on this Great Gatsby theme. Biplanes and Roaring Twenties to keep the plane theme going.”
“Yes, Felicity told me.” Mom picked at her fries.
“Okay, if you know, then what’s up?”
“You’re in good with the detective who is investigating the murder, aren’t you? If you aren’t, you should be.”
“Yes, I know Detective Murphy,” I said. “But you told me not to talk about the investigation.”
“I told you not to rain on Felicity’s choice. We are supporting her and Warren.” Mom looked me in the eye. “But your father and I are worried about the investigation. We don’t want to go through all this work and planning only to have something bad happen.”
“Bad, like what?” I raised my right eyebrow. My sunglasses teetered on my nose.
“Felicity won’t tell me anything about what the police are saying when it comes to Warren.” Mom leaned forward. “Is he a serious suspect?”
“I certainly hope not,” I said.
“But do you know if he is or if he isn’t? Because I can’t stand the fact that my baby was questioned and then I have to wait for an arrest. If we have this party and then they arrest Warren . . . oh, my, what it will do to your sister.”
I patted my mother’s hand to try to calm the distress I saw on her face. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m doing my best to stay in the loop on this thing. I didn’t tell you because you made it clear you didn’t want to know.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m a grown woman. I can handle it. That said, I don’t want you putting Warren down. I’m cert
ain he didn’t do anything bad.”
“I agree, Mom,” I said. “I’m certain Warren didn’t do it, either.”
“Good. So the detective, is he telling you anything? Should I be concerned that the police will do something silly and charge Warren?”
“Detective Murphy won’t tell me anything.” I shook my head and frowned. “I’ve been to see him twice in hopes he could keep me up-to-date on the investigation. But he refuses to do anything other than question me about what I saw.”
“But you are a witness. You were there. You found the body. Surely he’d tell you the minute he figures out who did it . . .”
“I’m working on him, Mom.” I patted some more. “I promise. I think Detective Murphy still considers me a suspect. So I have to be careful how I push him.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. You didn’t even know the victim. Did you?”
“No, I didn’t.” I shook my head. “But I made the mistake of not figuring out he was dead and calling the cops the minute I discovered him in the bathroom. Detective Murphy thinks I’m covering up for someone.”
“Who?”
“Warren or Felicity, I suppose.”
“Well, that’s silly.” Mom pulled her hand out from under mine and sipped her pop. “Of course my baby didn’t do it, and neither did Warren. I won’t let the police even hint that they did. Do you understand? It would ruin the party and the one and only chance my baby has for happiness.”
I flashed Mom a closed-mouth smile. Felicity was always her baby. I was her older daughter and that was nice, but being the one older came with responsibilities. Those responsibilities included ensuring the younger one was always happy.
“I won’t let that happen,” I said.
“Promise me, Pepper,” Mom said, her gaze serious. “Promise me that you won’t let them ruin Felicity’s happiness.”
“I promise.”
Chapter 16
I was still mulling over what to do with Keith Emry’s proposal party when I found myself back at the Executive Airport.
“Hi, Pepper.” Jimmy leaned over the guard-shack window. “Did you bring more cupcakes?”
“Cookies.” I lifted the bakery box of cookies I’d gotten from a nearby grocery store. It never hurt to bribe the gatekeeper.
“Come on in.” Jimmy raised the gate. I pulled in and parked my old car next to his small beat-up Nissan. He opened the back of the shack. “How’ve you been?”
“I’m well.” I climbed out of the car and slung my purse over my shoulder. Handing him the box of cookies, I declined the offer to come inside the shack. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to look around a bit.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I can do that. Jeb’s getting real funny about security since Randy got offed.” He took the cookies from me.
“I understand.” I ran my fingers along the strap of my purse. “How about if you sign me in and I go talk to Jeb? That way he can tell me himself if it’s okay if I look around.”
Jimmy thought about that for a full thirty seconds. I caught him checking out the cookies through the clear window in the box.
“There are chocolate chip and peanut butter in there,” I mentioned casually.
“Yeah, hey, okay, I’ll sign you in. Let me get you a visitor badge.” He turned and the shack door slammed behind him. I took the moment to assess my surroundings. There was a camera at the entrance of the airport. The fence around the airport was eight feet tall. There was a light post one hundred yards out on either side of the gate.
Behind me were the hangars with wide parking areas for private jets to taxi into. There were about twenty cars parked in groups of two or three. I put my hand over my eyes to shade them from the sunlight. At the far end was a control tower with a handful of radar arrays and blinking lights.
I hadn’t thought about the air traffic controllers. There had to be at least one. I wondered who they were and if they knew the janitor.
The shack door opened. Jimmy had chocolate on the corner of his face. “Here’s your badge. I signed you in as a visitor for Jeb.”
“Great, thanks.” I clipped the visitor badge to my sweater. “Where is his office?”
“He’s in hangar one.” Jimmy pointed to the first building. “It’s like the hangar you were in the other night. Jeb’s office is the first one across from the restrooms.”
“Got it.” I glanced at the hangar. It wasn’t likely I’d run into too many people between me and Jeb, but rules were rules. If I wanted to keep Jimmy’s goodwill, then I needed to see Jeb first. Hopefully he would be just as cooperative.
“I’ll let him know you’re coming.” Jimmy popped back into the shack and let the door slam behind him.
I squared my shoulders and headed toward hangar one. Jeb wasn’t the nicest person in the world. I also wasn’t sure what he thought of me as we had really never talked, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use my charm and wit to get more information out of him.
The large hangar doors were closed, so I went in through the small metal door. Inside was quiet as a tomb and smelled of oil, jet fuel, and dust. The overhead lights buzzed. There was a single airplane on the far side of the hangar. Lights burned in the office area.
I lifted my chin, pasted on my best smile, and moved forward. “Hello?” I knocked on the open office door. “Mr. Donaldson?”
Jeb looked up from his papers. He had a scowl on his face. His hair was cut even shorter than before, sort of like a Marine’s. I think my dad called them high-and-tight cuts—not that Dad had to worry. He’d been bald most of my life.
Jeb’s eyes were haunted and tired. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Jimmy said I should check with you about coming in and looking around.”
He stood. His clothes were clean and pressed. I remembered what a big man Jeb was. His security uniform skimmed over solid biceps and well-muscled shoulders. The man clearly worked out. “Have a seat.”
I sat in one of the two plastic chairs in front of his desk. “How are things?” I let my concern show in my tone of voice.
He sat down and ran his hand over his face. “This damn investigation has been bad for business.” His brown gaze held a hint of vulnerability and worry.
“You look like you haven’t slept.”
“Why are you here, Miss Pomeroy?” His tone was sharp and suspicious.
“I want to know about Randy Stromer.” I clutched my purse. “I feel sort of responsible for him.” Jeb narrowed his eyes. I raised my hand in a stop motion. “I didn’t kill him, I swear. I’d never seen a dead body before. Heck, I didn’t even realize he was dead. And the police aren’t telling me anything. I can’t sleep, either. I want to know more about him. I want to know why someone would want to kill him.”
“Randy was a good guy with a problem,” Jeb said. “Everyone here knew he had a problem. The only thing I can figure is that he pushed someone too hard or he owed the wrong people money. This is Chicago. Bookies tend to have mob connections.”
“You think it was a mob hit?” I hadn’t thought about mob connections or bookies or anyone like that. I mean, I watched movies and television. I knew these things sometimes happened, but this is the twenty-first century. Surely if it had been a professional hit, they would not have stuffed him into a stall in the ladies’ room. “You know they’re investigating Warren Evans, right? I mean, this is my sister’s fiancé we’re talking about. You don’t think he did it, do you?”
“Mr. Evans seems like an okay guy. I don’t see him doing that unless Randy attacked him, and then, I doubt he would have left him in the women’s bathroom.” Jeb frowned, deepening the lines in his face.
“What do you know about Laura Snow?” I asked. “I assume she’s here all the time and you know her, right?”
“Laura?” Jeb leaned back. “Actually she isn’t here all the time. She works part-time for Mr.
Evans’s company. When the economy went south, she picked up the flight attendant job. Otherwise, she works full-time at Shady Tree Manor. It’s a nursing home for the elderly.”
“That’s an odd combination of careers,” I said, surprised.
“Not really. She’s a certified EMT. That works for both being a flight attendant and the nursing home.”
“I hadn’t thought about flight attendants being EMTs. I suppose it kind of makes sense. They are trained for emergencies.”
“It’s their true job—ensuring passenger safety. Don’t let the uniforms fool you. Those people are skilled. My daughter is a flight attendant out of O’Hare.”
“Wow, you must be proud,” I said.
“I am.” Jeb nodded.
“What about Daniel Frasier?” I asked. “Did he know Randy?”
“Everyone knew Randy,” Jeb acknowledged. “Daniel and Randy used to bet against each other. I think they knew the same bookie at one point, but then Daniel got married and straightened up his act. I don’t think those two had done anything together for years.”
Well, this was getting me nowhere. Unless Laura had access to drugs when she worked at the nursing home, but there didn’t seem to be a motive for her to kill Randy. I sincerely doubted Laura was a mob hit man.
“What about the mechanics?” I asked. “There are mechanics that work on the airplanes, right?”
“Yes, the crew does preventative maintenance on each aircraft before it flies again. It’s a thing with Mr. Evans’s company. He says he wants to have a perfect record, and the only way to do that is to ensure a good ground crew and the best pilots.” Jeb looked at his papers. “It costs extra, but that usually evens out with the number of requests for planes. Randy’s death has hurt our reputation. I may have to lay off some of our top mechanics.” He blew out a long breath. “In this economy, there isn’t anywhere local they can go, and if they move to another state, who’s going to buy their homes? Not with the glut of foreclosures on the market.”
“I can see why you’re worried.” I leaned forward. “It sounds as if the sooner we can get this murder figured out, the better—for my sister and for your crew.”
Engaged in Murder (Perfect Proposals Mystery) Page 11