This time Truman’s laughter was real. But it soon died out. “I’ll check out this list. But to be frank, I have enough on my plate investigating Felicity’s murder.”
“So it wasn’t a suicide?”
Truman shot me a shrewd look. “The preliminary autopsy results came back. Felicity was hit in the head before she went in. She was most likely unconscious. It was no accident.”
CHAPTER TEN
I left downtown with a heavy heart. The official news that Felicity had been murdered felt like a boulder resting on my chest. I drove on autopilot, wending my way through the yellow-brick streets of Port Quincy without really seeing my surroundings. I found my mind wandering back to Becca and Keith’s pool and the day we found Felicity in the Scarlett O’Hara gown. I realized I’d tried to convince myself that she had indeed committed suicide, in some kind of bizarre payback on Becca for winning the right to buy the Gone with the Wind gown.
And now I had to consider the possibility that my newest bride was a stone-cold killer. There was no love lost between Becca and Felicity, and Felicity had been found in Becca and Keith’s pool. Sometimes the most logical explanation was the winner. Keith and Becca had arrived at Thistle Park together for the tasting on the day we’d found Felicity, but that didn’t mean Becca couldn’t have murdered her rival. Keith could have been anywhere in their cavernous house when Felicity went into the water.
I stole into the B and B, oblivious to the chirping birds and warm May breeze. Rachel was in the kitchen. She wore a chef’s coat over her short yellow jumpsuit, and she knelt to continue applying icing in a complicated herringbone pattern to a delicate petit four.
She whirled around as I shut the back door, an irrepressible smile on her face. Her sunny smile faltered when she took in my expression. She set down her piping cone of icing and brushed her hands on her white coat.
“Felicity was murdered.” I slung off my bag and placed it on the kitchen table. “It wasn’t suicide.”
Rachel took in a sharp breath. “I don’t like this, Mallory. First Becca’s grandmother is strangled, next Felicity is murdered in the pool. We could still cancel Keith and Becca’s wedding.”
“Not to mention Becca’s grandfather was shot last year in his office at Quincy College.” I’d finally searched the Eagle Herald’s online archives for news about Alma’s husband, Glenn. The stories were brief. They reported Glenn had been found shot at his desk in the history department, with Wilkes the Irish setter by his side. A few small articles followed up in the weeks afterward, mainly discussing the Port Quincy police having no leads.
“It’s all fishy.” Rachel rinsed a swath of icing from her hands and dried them on a dish towel. “Right down to Felicity telling her fiancé she’d called us to schedule their wedding when she hadn’t.”
“Well, there is one piece of good news.” I sank into a kitchen chair. “Garrett talked to the judge, and she seems amenable to granting Eric and Becca a lightning-fast divorce.”
“That is good news. At least for Becca and Keith, and Eric and Piper.” Rachel made a face. “Although to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have been unhappy if Becca had decided to cancel her wedding after all.”
I nodded my agreement. “I kind of thought she might have done it after what happened to Alma.” I winced. “And certainly after what happened to Felicity.”
“What’s the rush?” Rachel rested her chin on her hand and joined me at the table with a cup of coffee. “Keith and Becca asked to be placed on a waiting list for cancellation openings. Why not just keep their original wedding date of a year out?”
We sat in uneasy silence for a few moments as we pondered all the strange happenings going on in Port Quincy.
“And there’s one more thing.” I took a fortifying slug of coffee and dragged my eyes up from the kitchen table to meet my sister’s inquisitive green ones. “I sort of told Garrett I’m having doubts about the institution of marriage.”
“You what?” Rachel slammed down her coffee, and a slosh escaped the rim of her delicate rose cup. It spilled over the table in a brown rivulet and threatened to roll off the edge, before she caught it with a napkin. “Mallory, this is the worst possible time!”
“I regret saying it.” I helped her mop up a bit of coffee and cocked my head. “I didn’t even know I really felt like that until the words slipped out of my mouth.” My eyes narrowed at my sister. “But what do you mean, this is the worst possible time?”
What is Rachel up to?
My sister colored, a pretty bloom of pink staining her cheeks. “I just think this isn’t the time to be expressing doubts about marriage. I’m sure Garrett will be popping the question soon!” Rachel beamed, her thousand-kilowatt smile returned. She stood to get more coffee, and executed a series of actual hops on her high-heeled, bejeweled flip-flops.
“Whoa, whoa, calm down. No one is getting engaged around here. Certainly not me.” I felt a coy look steal over my features. “Maybe you should look into getting engaged, if you’re so smitten with the idea.”
My sister had many suitors, all vying to catch her attention. But she seemed in no rush to settle down herself, preferring to go out on a fun series of dates with not-too-serious intentions.
“I’m not the one who’s been dating Port Quincy’s most eligible bachelor for the past year.” Rachel raised one perfectly arched brow and returned with her new cup of coffee. “I’m not the one with a boyfriend spotted in Fournier’s jewelry store.”
My breath caught in my chest.
“What?”
Rachel nodded, the jaunty genie-style ponytail she’d placed atop the crown of her head spilling waves of honeyed hair. “I saw him at the jewelry store on my way out of yoga downtown.”
“But that doesn’t mean he was buying an engagement ring.” My heart began to slow its staccato rhythm. I took a deep breath. “He could be getting something for Summer. Or his mom. Or having a watch battery replaced.” I could think of several reasons why the man I’d been seriously dating had ducked into the jewelry store. And I secretly hoped each one led to a different outcome than an engagement ring.
“What if he was going to ask you right when you blurted out you aren’t sure about marriage?” Rachel pouted and moved back to the sink to rewash her hands. She donned her white jacket again and picked up the piping cone. She squinted as she laced another lattice stripe on a petit four. “Nice going, Mallory.”
My shaky breath returned as I recalled the lovely kiss I’d shared with Garrett. What if I had ruined the moment he was going to propose? A sickening feeling now settled at the bottom of my stomach. I was so confused. I was wary of marriage and entering another engagement after what had happened with Keith. Yet the thought of accidentally stymying Garrett proposing made me sad too. I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
“Earth to Mallory.” Rachel stopped in midpipe and wheeled around.
“Those are pretty,” I remarked as I gestured to the little cakes. I had to try to change the subject before my head exploded. “What event are they for?”
“A church auxiliary party.” Rachel stooped to glance at the petit four from another angle. “I’m taking on more cake orders.” She straightened again and cocked a hand on her hip, leaving a smear of brown icing on her white coat. “I’m going to expand my side business, which means you’ll need more help around here to run the weddings.” A small, satisfied smile rested on my sister’s face.
Check and mate.
If Rachel couldn’t get me to agree to add on more events and book more Friday weddings, she was going to expand her baking repertoire. I’d be forced to hire a bigger fleet to make up for the time Rachel would be devoting to extra baking. My sister was one smart cookie, and she usually found a way to get what she wanted.
“I’m glad you’re taking on more cake orders,” I said evenly. “I suppose I’ll have no recourse but to hire more people to help with the wedding side of the business.”
Rachel let out a whoop of glee. “I’m so ha
ppy you’ve come around. It’s time to take it to the next level. And not just with our business.” She stopped and waggled her brows. “With Garrett too.” Before I could respond, she rushed on. “And then we can host more events, and—”
I laughed, cutting her off. “Let’s just get through this crazy month, all right? Speaking of which, I still need to find a solution for Alma’s theater reopening or we really will have to cancel it.”
And I couldn’t do that. After all Alma had been through, I didn’t dare break her heart by pushing off her grand reopening.
“I bet Helene was the one behind the vendors canceling.” Rachel spoke with disdain lacing her words.
“She’s done it before,” I agreed. Just this February, she’d strong-armed a florist into not working with me as retribution for not following her decrees for a high school dance. Pretending to be Alma and telling all the vendors the event was called off had Helene written all over it.
“But be that as it may, the show must go on. I’m headed out to meet with Jacqueline, and we’ll see what we can do to get the event up and running.”
If I can make it happen in three days’ time.
The thumping in my chest that pondering an impending engagement had evoked returned as I left Thistle Park and drove to the Cunningham residence. Alma’s heavy tome of a three-ring binder rested on the worn leather passenger seat beside me. It held all her ideas, plans, and contracts for her theater-reopening event, but with each vendor erroneously canceled, it wouldn’t do me much good. I had so little time to salvage the event, I didn’t think I could afford to be picky. We would just have to go with what I could piece together, and try to make it a lovely party and debut for the small theater. I mustered these thoughts together as I pulled into the circular drive fronting Becca’s parents’ house.
Becca’s family seemed well off but not ostentatious. Jacqueline and Rhett lived in a sprawling Tudor and brown-brick house with tall trees and a carefully cultivated front garden of hostas, geraniums, and impatiens. It wasn’t as grand as Keith and Becca’s Cubist monstrosity, but it was large and warm and inviting.
“Come in, dear.” Jacqueline brushed my cheek with an air-kiss, a move Becca usually performed as well, and led me down a pretty tiled hallway to the spacious living room. Everywhere, there were pictures of Jacqueline, Rhett, and their twins. I could follow the progression of the girls’ childhood, Becca salt and Samantha pepper. There were photographs of the girls with Alma, and an older man I assumed was Glenn. I recalled the annoyance Jacqueline had expressed at the baby shower regarding Rhett’s failure to properly dissolve Becca’s marriage. I wondered about the state of their marriage. In the pictures, they were a happy couple, doting on their daughters throughout the years. But pictures didn’t always tell the whole tale.
“I hope chicken salad is okay.” Jacqueline startled me as she entered the room. I sheepishly stood away from the bank of pictures I’d been examining and joined her on the couch. The consummate hostess, Jacqueline had served a pretty painted polka-dot tray laden with tiny sandwiches, iced tea, and scones.
“This looks delicious.” I took a delicate bite of a sandwich and shoved the heavy binder with the theater reopening plans away for the moment. “I was just enjoying your family photos. You’ve taken some lovely pictures over the years.”
Jacqueline smiled fondly and picked up a framed photograph from the side table. “They help me cultivate my happiest memories.” She turned the picture outward and tapped the glass. “This is Glenn taking the twins for their first trip on a merry-go-round, at the county fair.” In the picture, a delighted Becca and Samantha as toddlers sat on painted horses as the same older man from the other photographs smiled and kept watch.
“We miss him dearly,” Jacqueline said as she set down the frame.
We ate the small chicken salad sandwiches on mini croissants and moved on to the matter at hand.
“These plans look wonderful. Unfortunately, as I said over the phone, they’ve all been canceled.”
“That nasty woman.” Jacqueline shook her head. “Helene Pierce has been absolutely horrible to my Becca. I’ve counseled my daughter to reconsider marrying Keith, if only so she isn’t under the thumb of that woman.”
I gulped a swig of iced tea and wondered if Jacqueline knew I’d once been engaged to Keith myself, before her daughter and Keith commenced their affair. It certainly wasn’t an appropriate topic, so I chased the thought from my mind.
“Truman Davies said he’d look into who called all the vendors to cancel the theater event contracts. Let’s just say I won’t be surprised if Helene is behind it all.”
Jacqueline and I bent our heads together over the binder, musing about what perfect plans Alma had amassed.
“No caterers in town are willing to step in just three days out.” I bit my lip. “But we do have some food in our deep freezers we can repurpose into hors d’oeuvres. It may not follow a specific theme, but people won’t go hungry.”
Jacqueline nodded at the make-do plan. “And there were some last-minute construction details that were to be completed.”
“I’m trying to get a hold of Jesse Flowers, the contractor. I’ve worked with him before, and I’m sure I can convince him to finish the job.”
At least I hope I can.
“Alma planned on having some centerpieces in the lobby. The florist I usually work with, Lucy at the Bloomery, has agreed to put something together.” I swallowed and broached a delicate subject. “Some of the vendors at the moment aren’t willing to grant refunds to Alma because the cancellation happened so close to the event. They won’t make an exception so far, even though Alma didn’t cancel the contracts herself.”
Jacqueline waved off my concern with a flick of her wrist. “Alma will take care of it. She has enough funds to reimburse whoever steps in at the last minute.”
Phew.
Because for now, whoever was going to step in at the last minute would end up being me. I wasn’t so sure if Rachel would be too keen on us taking on extra events if it meant we’d be footing the bills ourselves.
Jacqueline’s eyes strayed to the photograph of Glenn with her girls. “Alma and Glenn couldn’t wait to start remodeling the theater. They’d gotten the idea to redo the building on the eve of his retirement. This project was his baby.” She smiled wistfully. “Samantha had a special bond with her grandfather. I know she misses him terribly. She said the other day that she regrets she was away in Colombia when he died.”
“It’s sad that he’s gone.” I gave Jacqueline’s hand a squeeze. “The girls seem to have a close relationship with their grandmother as well.”
Jacqueline winced, and I wondered what I’d said to upset her. She spilled the beans posthaste. “Alma seems to favor Becca, and you can’t do that with children. Frankly, I’m appalled that Alma has offered her Gone with the Wind collection to Becca only. Alma seriously slighted Samantha, and she doesn’t seem to care.” Jacqueline’s heart seemed to ache for her dark-haired daughter. I thought of all the ways Rachel and I had been treated differently growing up, even if it had been inadvertent. It must have been even harder for the twins because they were the same age, and were probably always being compared to each other.
“And I’m not even half as mad as Rhett. He’s still furious that his mother bypassed him in favor of gifting her collection to Becca.” She smiled ruefully. “Not that it matters now, with most of the collection stolen.”
I tried to tread carefully but pressed on. “Was Rhett counting on the collection as an inheritance?”
Jacqueline gave a bitter laugh. “We don’t need Alma’s collection, impressive though it is. I brought quite a bit of my own money into my marriage. In fact, I paid for half The Duchess theater.”
I dropped a scone in my lap, where it broke neatly in two.
“What?”
Why is Alma running the show if Jacqueline owns half the theater?
“I was a film major in college,” Jacqueline mused. “Ren
ovating and reopening The Duchess was supposed to be a joint venture between me, Alma, and Glenn. But Alma took over. As she usually does.” A thin current of resentment seemed to boil through Jacqueline and threaten to spill over.
A shiver stole down my back as I inched away from the woman on the couch. What if her ire was enough to act upon? Could Jacqueline have strangled Alma in a spate of revenge for not letting her rightfully plan the theater reopening? Or did Rhett get some inkling that his mother was going to give her priceless trinkets to Becca instead of him, so he rushed to take her out?
“Alma seems to like to pull the strings,” I said carefully. “Maybe she was giving away the collection to get some kind of response.”
Jacqueline parceled out a shrewd look and wiped a crumb of scone from her lips. “Alma certainly does go after what she wants, whatever that may be.”
Maybe I’ve hit a little too close to home.
I decided to switch the subject. “Alma tasked me with investigating Glenn’s death last year. As well as the robbery of her collection and strangulation, for that matter.” I blurted out Alma’s request. I was met with a merry peal of laughter.
“Yes, I can imagine Alma asking you to do that.”
“Tell me more about Glenn.” I still didn’t know much about him or his death, and I had promised Alma to look into it, no matter how misguided the request now seemed. I only knew the slim bits of information I’d gleaned from the spare newspaper articles.
“Well, for starters, Glenn couldn’t stand Gone with the Wind.” Jacqueline took in my shocked look with another laugh. “He would be rolling over in his grave right now if he knew how much Alma has spent in the last year to grow her collection. Glenn was a professor of American history at Quincy College, and he thought the movie and book were inaccurate and biased representations of the Civil War and Reconstruction in the South.”
I racked my brain for my remembrances of the film and the novel. I’d last seen the movie in college, and read the heavy tome in high school. I had planned on watching the film again this week at the theater reopening, because of course Alma had selected Gone with the Wind for the premiere.
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