COZY MYSTERY: Wedding Bells & Murder?: A Margie Lauderdale Cozy Mystery (Book 2)

by Liz Turner

  Ray shook his head. “So what does the timeline for Martha look like?”

  “She was undressed. Perhaps they...” Margie blushed, “Uh, got together before the wedding started.”

  “Perhaps Martha proclaimed her love for him and said she was going to leave her husband and tell everyone,” Ray took a sip of his coffee. “If he was married, he might have killed her to keep her quiet. Put her clothing back on to make it look like no affair had happened.”

  “Or, perhaps the lover’s wife walked in and saw them. Then she waited until he was gone and killed Martha out of rage.”

  Ray shook his head. “We should go back through her things. Perhaps now that we have an idea of what we are looking for, we’ll see something with fresh eyes. Would you care to join me at the precinct?”

  “Can I finish my coffee first?” Margie said, raising her eyebrows.

  Ray looked sheepish for a second. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

  “So,” Margie said finally after a long pause. “You and Camelia?”

  Ray spit out his coffee, spattering her with it. She winced and then laughed a she wiped at her face. “Why would she tell you that?”

  “Why wouldn’t she? She’s my best friend.” Margie leaned on her hand, blinking exaggeratedly at Ray as he wiped down the table with napkins. “Besides, why does it matter if you two are happy?”

  Margie had the distinct pleasure of watching Ray blush from his neck to his hairline, his skin burning a violent shade of pink. He looked sunburnt, and Margie chuckled at his discomfort. “I guess you’re right. I just never... You don’t mind?”

  “Why would I?”

  Ray made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, shrugging. “She’s a good person, Margie. She doesn’t deserve to be stuck with someone like me.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but you are also a good person, Ray.”

  He fidgeted with a napkin, ripping it to pieces while she watched. “But she’s, I don’t know...”

  “Smart, funny, pretty, independent, strong, and fun?”

  “And I’m...”

  Margie frowned. “Handsome, dependable, loyal, and full of a rare kind of courage that makes you want to do the right thing?”

  Ray started, his eyes going wide. “That’s how you think of me?”

  “That’s how everyone thinks of you.”

  Ray stared at her, the blush slowly but surely fading from his face. He was deep in thought as they paid for their drinks, his silence continuing on their ride back to the precinct. It was nearly dark when they arrived, and the whole street was lit up like Christmas. The window displays looked like miniature scenes of winter snow and playful decor. It was a tradition for the shops to put up Christmas displays the first cold day of the year. Margie was heartily glad it came early this year, even though she hated the cold. She loved the Christmas season; it was the only time of the year where everyone tried to remember what it was like to be a child.

  Ray didn’t seem to notice the change in decorations, but Margie took it all in, happy knowing that her two friends would take care of each other, no matter where she ended up. Perhaps they hadn’t even started dating yet, but Margie was pretty sure they’d end up married. It seemed inevitable, a future that was completely and utterly unavoidable. She wondered what Camelia’s overly strict father and mother would think of a police officer in the family.

  They walked into the precinct together to a chorus of greetings. Margie waved to the night crew, a grin splitting her face. “Good evening!”

  Ray didn’t even react.

  Margie and Ray slipped into the back, looking through the boxes of evidence for Martha Justice’s case files. They were near the front; Ray checked them out with the help of the night time desk officer.

  “Good evening, Officer Smith.”

  “Oh, good evening, Margie. Been awhile since I’ve seen you around. Still at it?”

  “Still at it, sir.”

  He grinned as Ray leaned over to fill out and sign the forms. Margie lifted up the box of evidence, still grinning like an idiot.

  “Good thing. We need more hard workers like you. Keep at it!”

  She saluted him. “Yes, sir!”

  Ray and Margie both put on gloves, pulling the evidence bags from the box. They saw her jewelry, her clothing and her shoes. They scoured everything, their eyes roving over the stuff, again and again, looking for any clue. “There seems to be something in her shoe, perhaps.” Ray carefully removed the shoe from the plastic bag, his eyes locked on the inside. “Or am I seeing things?”

  Margie meanwhile stared down at the necklace Martha was wearing the day she died, her eyes tracing over the edges of the chain again and again. The jewels in it were blue; sapphires most likely. They were perfectly shaped and an amazing color. The chain seemed to also be of high quality. Margie picked up the bag that held it, trying to see if there were any markings on the insides of the fittings for the stones.

  “Isn’t it odd that a woman with an estranged husband and without enough money to afford rehab has enough for a new-looking gold and sapphire chain necklace?”

  Ray’s eyes narrowed to a slit. “A lover’s token?”

  “Or a bribe for silence?”

  Ray grabbed a pair of tweezers and reached into the toes of the shoe, pulling out what looked like a cufflink. It was small, a little diamond cufflink all in gold. Margie stared at it, her mind reeling. “Perhaps whoever owns the other cufflink can tell us exactly which it was.”

  “I think you might be right.” Margie stared at the cufflink, her eyes tracing the outline of it. She couldn’t recall if anyone in the wedding was wearing cufflinks that day. “But it still begs the question of whether it was the lover or the lover’s wife who killed her. Or someone else entirely The cufflink isn’t proof either way.”

  Ray nodded, bagging the cufflink. “It must have fallen into her shoe before the killer put her shoes back on; I don’t think it’s possible for it to have gotten shoved in there so hard if someone didn’t force her foot on top of it. Were she alive, she certainly would have noticed it.”

  Margie took the bag from Ray, her fingers trembling. Every clue was leading to more questions, not answers. It was frustrating; they seemed no closer than they were a week ago. She reached into the pile of Martha’s things, her mouth in a frown. She glanced again through the clothing, the jewelry, the shoes. She found nothing. “Did you find any evidence or fingerprints on her body?”

  Ray shook his head. “Not a surprise either; there were cleaning rags and supplies all over that room; the killer could have grabbed anything to put between his hands and her.

  “Is there anything left in this box?” Margie reached into the evidence box, grabbing at whatever was left at the bottom without looking. She pulled out the bag and gulped. The rope. The rope Martha hung from. It sickened her to see it. She replayed the wedding back over and over again in her mind, feeling like a brick had settled inside of her stomach. She might not have been the best sort of woman, but she was a person. People didn’t deserve to die like this. Margie ran her fingers over the rope again, her eyes running along the edges. “Did someone cut this?”

  Ray nodded. “To get her down.” He was staring at her dress with a magnifying glass, inch by inch, his gloved hands running over the fabric as if grasping for clues.

  “What kind of knot is this?”

  “It’s a bowline knot.” Ray glanced up at her, his breath caught in his throat. “Usually a boating knot.”

  “Seems like an odd choice for a knot, don’t you say?” Margie ran her fingers over the knot. It had come loose a little from the lack of weight against it; bowlines had a habit of loosening when they were no longer under pressure. “My father’s father had a tiny sailboat he used to take us on; I remembered the knot better than the name. Where else is this knot used?”

  “Firefighters use it.”

  Margie made a face. “How do you know that?”

  Grinning, Ray puffed up his chest. “
I’m a volunteer.”

  Margie grimaced, trying to imagine him putting out a fire. “Sounds dangerous.”

  “So is being a detective in this town when you’re around. Don’t hear you complaining about that.” He bent back to his work, retracing the lines of the dress for clues.

  “So we’re looking for a boating enthusiast or a firefighter? Or someone who just knows their knots?”

  “Boy Scout, maybe?”

  “Perhaps. Might also mean nothing at all. Carlton seems like the type who might like boats; he was wearing boat shoes in the bar..”

  Ray grinned. “He may at that; I’ll check to see if he has any interest in boating.”

  Margie thought back, trying to remember if anyone else had shown any indication that he or she was into sailing, but her mind came up empty. “Well, I’m sorry to leave you, Ray, but I should get back to my books. Think you can handle this without me?” She waved at the dress. Ray grunted in response and Margie took that as a yes.

  It was dark outside by the time Margie exited the station. She sighed, her breath clouding the air, before turning around. She had the secretary call her a cab. There was no way she was walking home and giving herself a cold with all of this sudden, wintery weather. No, her apprenticeship was too important to spoil by getting sick. When the cab arrived, Margie gave the cab driver her address. She watched as the night streamed by, her mind tangled up in the mystery.

  Chapter 12

  “There, last one,” Margie said, setting the tiny pie down on the tray. Lucky for her, Leroy was in the kitchen today. Her bullies had fewer opportunities to haze her so she could work with relative ease. If something were wrong today, they would all get it. And not a single male here hated her enough to go down in flames with her. There were a few glares, a couple of sneers, and one “Hey watch it; I’m walking here!” Overall, however, the day had been quite pleasant. Margie wiped some flour from her face with a damp towel. She was sweating rather profusely and dearly wanted to take a bath.

  “Up, up!” Someone yelled from behind her; she turned just in time to see a tray of pies teetered uncomfortably close to her. She grabbed the pan on reflex. It slammed into her hand, scalding hot. She hissed as it burned her hand, but she held on, keeping the pies from tumbling to the ground.

  “Ah!” She set the sheet pan onto the counter, pulling back her hands as quickly as she could manage. Curses pressed against the back of her firmly sealed lips as tears streamed down her face. She ran to the sink, putting her hand under cool water. It stung, God it stung! The pain throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She cried as silently as she could into the sink; the cold slowly seeping into her skin.

  Marlin stepped up beside her, a bottle of something that looked like it was going to sting like hell in his huge hands. “You’re damn lucky Margie was there to save you; that was a damned fool thing to do,” he was saying to one of the other men in the kitchen. Henry, the same man who she had caught dumping salt into her soup, had the sense to look sorry at least. They locked eyes and Henry mouthed "Thank you" at her rather sincerely. Margie might have saved his job, but at what cost?

  She glanced down at her hand and winced. The skin was pink and already swollen with blisters with a second-degree burn. She sighed; whatever Marlin had in his hands wouldn’t be enough. “Will you take me to the Dr. Farier’s office on 9th Street, please, Marlin?”

  The pale giant looked down at her hand and cursed, his face lighting up from the heat of his anger. “Sure thing, Margie. You think you can hold on a second while I talk to Leroy?”

  “Yeah.”

  But she was putting a brave face on it; her hand hurt. It felt like liquid fire ran under her skin instead of blood, and it throbbed. Margie looked away from it, her eyes welling with tears. How could she cook with a burnt hand?

  After a few minutes, Marlin walked her out to his car. It was a little red number with food wrappers piled high in the back seat. Margie sat down, keeping a clean, linen hand towel wrapped loosely around her hand. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Marlin got her to the doctor’s office and even walked her inside.

  After everything, she went home and laid down. The ointment the doctor gave her would help numb the pain and keep it from getting infected, but it still hurt. She covered it loosely with a linen bandage and wrapped a piece of tape gently around the whole thing. It refused to stay in place, so she taped it to her arm, not caring how silly it looked.

  She was crying by the time she’d taped up her arm, the whole incident catching up with her. Leroy would have to fire her; there was no way she could chop or stir anything. She would not be of any use to him what-so-ever. Why did she have to grab that damn pan? It would have served Henry right. But then she sighed; it wouldn’t have been right, though.

  The phone rang after Margie finally got her hand settled. She picked up the receiver with her left hand and put it to her ear, reminding herself over and over not to do anything with her right. “Hello?”

  “How are you, Margie?”

  “Oh, I’m alright, Mr. Bevins,” she said, nervously. Here it comes. You can’t do your duties, you’re fired, there’s no longer a place for you.

  “I hope your hand is okay.”

  Margie took a deep breath. “I can’t hold anything.” She said honestly, briskly. Best to get it over with quickly.

  “Well, it was worth it; had you not saved those trays, we would have been in hot water. I really appreciate it, Margie. Come back tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it and we’ll get you some less hands-on training,” Leroy sounded honestly grateful, and Margie’s breath went out of her. She was silent for so long that Leroy continued. “Or, we can wait until next week if your hand is feeling bad; we’ll make up for lost time later.”

  “Oh, no, I should be okay tomorrow, just so long as I don’t have to hold anything!” Margie stammered, her words tumbling out too fast. She wasn’t fired. Oh, this was the best news. “I was just... I thought you were calling to let me go.”

  Leroy laughed, his voice full of incredulity. “When you saved the order at the expense of your own hand? I would never do that. I’ll see you tomorrow; let’s say about noon? We’ll let you train with some of the other guys around the place. If you can hold a pen, you should take notes.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bevins.”

  “And thank you, Margie.”

  Her heart felt a thousand times lighter when she hung up the phone. Not fired, not fired… It rang in her mind over and over again like the peel of a bell. It was the best news; perhaps this would work out in her favor. She closed her eyes; the relief of the last few seconds had left her exhausted and drained. Perhaps it was best if she just grabs a quick nap...

  “Margie, are you here?”

  Camelia voice sounded frightened. Margie shot up in bed, looking around frantically. “I’m here, what’s wrong?”

  Camelia appeared in her doorway, her hand pressed to her breast. “Oh thank goodness, Justin McKenzie saw you at the hospital today. He just told me while I was leaving work. I called around to a few places and couldn’t find you.”

  “I wasn’t at the hospital,” she answered, frowning. Just like Justin to exaggerate everything. “I just went in to see the doctor. I burnt my hand bad at work.”

  Making a noise like a reaction to pain, Camelia came all the way inside of her room, finally noticing her hand. She unwrapped it and showed her; Camelia immediately winced away.

  “It looks worse than it is.”

  “I’m just glad you’re alright,” Camelia smiled, patting Margie’s good hand. She looked a little worse for wear; her uniform was stained, and her hair was falling out of its bun. Looking like she hadn’t slept well, she seemed much less bubbly and out of sorts.

  “Are you alright?”

  Laughing she straightened, pulling her hair out of the hair tie she’d wrapped it up in. “Just fine. Long day at work and then I was just worried about you is all.”

  Margie silently wondered if her lack of sleep had anything t
o do with spending too much time with Ray. She kept it to herself, though; Camelia would tell her when she was ready.

  “What shall we do for dinner?”

  Margie glanced down at her hand, frowning. “Take out?”

  Camelia laughed. “Take out it is.”

  Chapter 13

  Margie straightened her skirt as best as she could with one hand. The day at the caterer hadn’t been the disaster she had been fearing; lucky for her the men now looked at her with a kind of camaraderie. In saving those pies at the expense of her hand, she’d shown the kind of machismo these men admired. Two or three would never accept her as part of the kitchen, and those she steered clear of. But the rest seemed to have decided she was okay.