Better Off Wed

by Laura Durham

  “Who called you about doing her hair?” Kate asked.

  “Her best friend, Beverly. They’ve both been coming to me for years.”

  “Really?” I started to sit up again, but Fern had a hand on my head. He pumped some shampoo onto my hair, and I heard him doing the same to Kate.

  “They were in the salon just a few days before the wedding. This is the mango and chamomile blend to invigorate the scalp. They wanted me to hide their roots.”

  “I guess they’re not natural blondes?” Kate didn’t sound surprised. We had watched the women who came out of Fern’s salon get blonder by the year.

  “Half the ‘natural’ blondes in this town are my work. Now I’m putting on a coconut and papaya conditioner.”

  “You’re making me hungry. Annabelle wouldn’t let me eat a thing today.”

  I ignored Kate’s whining. “So then Mrs. Pierce and Bev were getting along the last time you saw them together?”

  “Of course.” Fern rinsed my hair with a burst of freezing cold water. “This will make your hair shine.”

  “Had either one started acting strange recently?” I tried to dance around my real question.

  Fern squeezed my hair and twisted it up into a towel. “Not that I noticed. Why all the questions?”

  “For God’s sake, Annabelle.” Kate sat up, holding her towel around her head. “She wants to know if Clara knew that her husband and Bev were having an affair.”

  “Oh, is that what you’re asking?” He pushed us up with a finger on our backs and guided us to two plush red stylist chairs. “She knew about the affair for ages. I thought you were hinting at something big.”

  “You don’t call that big?” I stared at Fern as he towel dried my hair with one hand and Kate’s with the other.

  “You have to understand these society tramps.” Fern held up a long, wet strand of my hair.

  I tried not to let my mouth fall open. I had never gotten used to the way Fern referred so casually to his clients.

  “I just tell it like it is.” Fern smiled at my surprised look. If I called my clients tramps, I’d be fired. Fern managed to insult people with a big smile on his face and get tips for it. “I think we should do soft layers around your face and get rid of this ridiculous blunt cut.”

  I tried to sound nonchalant. “As long as I can still pull it up.”

  “What’s the point of having a fabulous haircut if you always wear it in the ponytail?” He started cutting. I closed one eye.

  Kate swiveled her chair around to face Fern. “I don’t get it. Didn’t having an affair with Dr. Pierce give Bev the leg up on Clara?”

  “So to speak?” Fern elbowed Kate. “That’s not the way Clara saw it. See how these layers frame your face, Annabelle? I don’t suppose you’ll let me do highlights, too?”

  “Don’t push it.”

  “Clara got bored with her husband.” Fern measured two sections of hair along my jawbone. “She only married him to get back at her ex anyway.”

  “This is getting juicy.” Kate rubbed her hands together.

  “Dr. Pierce and Dr. Harriman were best friends about seven or eight years ago, girls. Clara found out her husband . . .”

  “Dr. Harriman at the time, right?” I asked.

  Fern bobbed his head up and down. “He cheated on Clara with one of his nurses. Huge scandal.”

  “That must have burned her up.” I brushed a pile of wet hair clippings off my lap. “Especially since she’s so into people’s status in society.”

  “She wanted revenge.” Fern ran a hand through my hair and gave an approving nod. He turned to Kate. “What’s the best way to get even with a cheating husband? Have an affair with his best friend, Clara thought.”

  “I hope you didn’t give her that advice,” I said.

  Fern put a hand on his hip. “I would never meddle in someone’s personal life. Anyway, that’s not the best way to punish a cheating man.”

  I didn’t wait to hear Fern’s way. “She did more than have an affair with him though. She married him.”

  Fern shrugged. “Clara could overdo it sometimes.”

  “You don’t have to tell us about Mrs. Pierce going overboard.” I ran a hand through my hair. I’d have to remember to check the scale later. I’d probably lost at least a pound in hair weight.

  “By the time Clara finished getting revenge, she’d married a nice doctor. But that was it.” Fern flipped Kate’s head forward.

  “What do you mean?” I took off my smock and shook the hairs into a gold trash can by my feet.

  “Clara loved money, glamour, and power. Her new husband had money, but nothing else that mattered to her. After a while she got bored and just ignored him. I’m going to angle the sides to give you movement, Kate.”

  “Poor Dr. Pierce.” Kate peeked out from under her long bangs. “No wonder he had an affair with Bev.”

  “Who could blame him?” Fern held a section of Kate’s hair up and measured it with a shining, gold comb.

  “He certainly had a motive for murder,” I said.

  “There are two things I know, girls. Hair and men. That man didn’t have the guts to kill her.”

  “What about Bev?” I sat back down in my chair and spun around. “Could she have killed her best friend?”

  He brushed the back of Kate’s neck with a fluffy brush. “I wouldn’t put the murder past her, but why bother? Clara knew about the affair with her husband and didn’t care.”

  “I’m still not quite clear on why she didn’t care.” Kate examined the back of her hair with the gilded hand mirror Fern handed her.

  “Simple. She had her own little fling to distract her.”

  I nearly fell off my chair. “Someone was willing to have an affair with that witch?”

  “You didn’t know?” Fern seemed gleeful. “With the president’s top economic advisor.”

  “Do you mean the one who’s on the news a lot?” I could hear my voice begin to shake.

  “She’s the kind of woman who likes to trade up.” Fern nodded and pulled out a blow dryer with a long nozzle. “You know the one, right? He’s got just enough gray at the temples to look honest. Boyd, I think.”

  “William Boyd.” Kate met my eyes in the mirror. “Oh, we know him all right.”

  I could feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. “We were just hired a few weeks ago to plan his daughter’s wedding.”

  Chapter 14

  So Mrs. Pierce had an affair with a prominent political figure who just happened to hire you. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Richard had been waiting when Kate dropped me off in front of my building. I’d revealed the latest development in the Pierce soap opera before we even reached the second floor.

  “What are you talking about? I just found out about it myself,” I insisted.

  “Not about the affair.” Richard led the way up the narrow staircase. “I mean about being hired by the Boyds. Were you trying to keep it a secret so you could use another caterer?”

  “Don’t be so paranoid. We were both too caught up with the Pierce wedding to think about anything else. To be honest, I intended to set up a tasting with you as soon as we were through.” I stopped at the top of my landing. Nearly a dozen crates and cardboard boxes were stacked around my doorway. A pile of plastic garment bags slid off one of the boxes and onto the floor. “What in the world is going on?”

  Richard shifted from one foot to another. “I had the equipment that I took from police storage delivered here. I figured it would be more practical that way.”

  “Why would it be more practical to keep your cooking equipment here? Why not at your catering kitchen?”

  “I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, since I’m still technically closed and can’t use the company kitchens.” Richard started pushing one of the boxes forward as I opened the front door.

  “When you say that you took the equipment from the police, am I to assume that this is legal?”

  “Are you suggesting t
hat I stole my own equipment from the police station?” Richard looked as outraged as he could manage while straining behind the weight of a large brown box. “They gave me everything they no longer needed for the investigation and made me promise not to open my kitchens until the exact cause of death has been determined.”

  I picked up a milk crate and placed it inside the door. “Why am I getting an uneasy feeling about this?”

  “I can’t imagine.” Richard wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I do have an idea I wanted to run by you though.”

  “I knew it.” I slid another box inside my apartment with my foot.

  “Since I’ll be staying here until things are safe again, why not do my catering from your kitchen?” Richard scooped up an armload of plastic garment bags.

  “Wait a second.” I shook my finger at him. “I thought you weren’t allowed to cater.”

  “They asked me not to open my catering kitchens.” Richard pushed the last box through the doorway by crouching over and getting a running start of a few feet. He stood up and brushed off his hands. “They didn’t say anything about using your kitchen.”

  I closed the door and threw my keys on the nearest end table. “I won’t have to worry about being killed. You’re going to get me arrested first.”

  “Arrested for what? Illegal flambé? Possession of an unlicensed spatula?” Richard dismissed my concern with a flick of his wrist. “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “What happens when the police return and see your little setup?”

  “What reason would the police have to come back here?” Richard pulled out what appeared to be an industrial-strength chrome blender from one of the boxes. He disappeared into the kitchen and then opened the white, wooden shutters that divided the top half of the two rooms and poked his head out. “This counter would be a perfect breakfast bar if you got rid of all this junk.”

  “That’s where I put my mail. I haven’t gone through it in a while.” I flopped down onto the chair facing the kitchen. “Reese said he’d return the guest list sometime, so I think you can count on him getting a glimpse of your covert operation.”

  Richard scooped my piles of junk mail and overdue bills into his arms and vanished behind the counter. “He needs to drop something off, right? We’ll make sure he doesn’t come in the kitchen. That’s simple enough.”

  “This plan is destined for disaster,” I moaned.

  “I have only a few small parties, anyway. Nothing we can’t handle.”

  “We?” I gaped at Richard. “I hope you mean you and your invisible friend.”

  “You’re so heartless, Annabelle.” Richard’s voice cracked. Such a faker.

  “I’m already harboring a criminal activity, so don’t even dream about getting me charged with aiding and abetting, too.”

  “They don’t send people to jail for cooking, darling.” Richard popped his head out of the kitchen. “Do they still wear stripes in prison? I would look atrocious in horizontal stripes.”

  “I think they wear blue now. Or orange.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I look fabulous in blue.” Richard sprayed the counter with cleaner and wiped it away with an exaggerated swipe. “Especially if it’s a deep, electric blue. Accentuates my eyes.”

  I stared at the pile of garment bags that Richard had dropped on the couch. “Let me guess. You even brought uniforms for us to wear.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, but no.” Richard stuck his tongue out at me through the space above the counter. “Those are the bridal party tuxedos that you’re supposed to return to the shop. I put them in my car the other night and forgot about them until today.”

  I glanced at my watch. “Well, it’s too late to return them now. The place closes at five.”

  “I would’ve returned them for you, honey, but I wasn’t sure which tuxedo place you used.”

  I let my hair down. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Well, knock me over with a feather boa.” Richard rushed into the living room and pretended to stagger against the wall. “You finally cut that mop.”

  “Thanks, I think,” I said as Richard recovered from his shock and began examining my hair from all angles. My phone rang while he fluffed the back of my hair with his fingers, and I grabbed it from my purse.

  “Miss Archer, this is Mike Reese. Detective Reese. We’ve made a copy of the guest list you loaned me, so I thought I’d return it to you tonight.”

  “That’s fine.” I looked at the boxes of contraband taking up most of my living room. “When should I expect you?”

  “I’m already in Georgetown, so it shouldn’t take me more than five minutes.”

  “Perfect.” I cursed Richard silently. “See you in five minutes.”

  I clicked off the phone and tossed it behind me on the chair. Richard held a pocket mirror up so I could see the sides of my hair he had teased straight out. I glared at him. “Detective Reese is on his way, and if you don’t want me to break down and make a full confession, you’d better do something with all this stuff.”

  Chapter 15

  The doorbell rang, and I glanced over my shoulder into the open kitchen where Richard stood amid his neatly arranged supplies. He wore a plaid apron edged in pleats that we’d found wedged in the back of a drawer. “Are we ready?”

  “Absolutely.” Richard waved a metal spoon at me. The smell of sautéed onions filled the apartment. Richard had found a withered onion sprouting roots in the back of one of my refrigerator drawers and cut it into pieces. Hopefully the detective wouldn’t get close enough to notice the lack of any other food. “Just making dinner and minding my own business.”

  “Good.” I paused before opening the door. “Try not to talk too much.”

  Detective Reese wore a pair of jeans that were broken in. He slipped off a brown leather jacket, and I tried not to notice how great his arms looked in the white T-shirt underneath.

  “It sure smells good in here.” He walked toward the kitchen. “What are you cooking?”

  I opened my mouth and then went completely blank. Richard and I hadn’t planned that far.

  “A sweet onion tart with goat cheese.” Richard looked up from the stove. My stomach growled. Leave it to Richard to pull something out of the air and make it sound delicious.

  “It’s an experimental recipe.” I didn’t want the detective to get any ideas about staying for dinner. “We don’t know if it’ll be any good.”

  Reese leaned on the counter separating the living room and the kitchen. “I didn’t know that the owners of catering companies actually cooked. I thought you had chefs.”

  “We have several chefs.” Richard puffed out his chest. “But you have to know the basics, in case of an emergency.”

  “Is making dinner for a friend considered an emergency?”

  “This is more of a favor,” Richard explained. “An emergency is when your chef calls in sick.”

  “Or when you aren’t allowed to use your staff or your kitchens?” Reese leveled his gaze at Richard.

  A flush began to creep up Richard’s neck. He punched the fan button on the range. “It’s getting hot in here.”

  “Can I offer you anything to drink?” I stepped between Reese and the kitchen, remembering my empty refrigerator as soon as I’d spoken. Please let him not be thirsty.

  “No, thanks.” Reese turned from the kitchen, seemingly satisfied that he’d scared Richard enough. He sat on the edge of the couch and pulled the folded guest list from his jacket. “We didn’t have any luck finding anyone named Phillips on the master list. Chances are that isn’t even important, but we’re grasping at straws right now.”

  “Do you have any suspects?” I sat down across from him and watched as he flipped through the list.

  He studied me for a moment. “I shouldn’t be discussing this with you.”

  “I’m only asking because I might be able to give you some information you don’t have.” I cleared my throat. “About some people who aren’t upset th
at Mrs. Pierce is dead.”

  “From what we’ve discovered, that won’t narrow down the field much.” Reese grinned and dimples appeared in both cheeks.

  I tried to stay serious. “I just found out that her husband and her best friend were having an affair, and Mrs. Pierce knew about it.”

  Reese’s eyes widened. “Interesting. Are you sure?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes.” I blushed and shifted my gaze away from him. “You know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean.” He pulled out a pad of paper and a silver pen. “What’s the best friend’s name?”

  “Bev Tripton. Also write down William Boyd.”

  Reese tapped his pen on the table. “That name sounds familiar. What’s the connection?”

  “He’s the president’s economic advisor, and Mrs. Pierce was having an affair with him.”

  “I won’t even ask how you got this information, Miss Archer. You shouldn’t be running around playing detective.”

  “I have no desire to do your job for you, Detective.” I crossed my arms tightly in front of me. “All I care about is clearing Richard’s name.”

  “Him?” Reese lowered his voice to a whisper and jerked a thumb behind us where Richard leaned over the counter trying to listen. “We don’t consider him a real suspect.”

  “Then why the big deal about examining his equipment and testing his food? You know all this bad publicity is ruining his business.”

  “We’re not trying to put anyone out of business, but we are trying to solve a murder.”

  “So now you’re sure Mrs. Pierce was murdered?”

  “You don’t read the papers, do you?” Reese cocked an eyebrow at me. “The article that ran this morning leaked the fact that an overdose of two different kinds of blood pressure medications killed the victim.”

  “Two kinds?” I had to start reading the newspaper.

  “Mrs. Pierce took one medication for high blood pressure, but we found two drugs in her system. One was her prescription and the other wasn’t.”