Better Off Wed

by Laura Durham

  Who needed a neighborhood watch group when you had Leatrice keeping tabs on you?

  I kept my hand over the rip in my pajama bottoms and walked sideways to the kitchen. “Do you want coffee?”

  “Not if it’s that instant kind,” Leatrice grimaced. “I came up to see if you and Kate are planning to question the two doctors today.”

  “We’re going to do a little investigative work at Dr. Harriman’s office, but other than that, we’re keeping a low profile. We don’t want people knowing we’re still snooping around.” I poured the contents of a Nescafe single into a mug. “If Detective Reese questions me one more time, I think he might put me in protective custody.”

  Leatrice beamed at me. “Protective custody with the detective. That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  I moaned and turned on the electric kettle. I needed coffee to deal with Leatrice.

  The phone in my office rang and I looked at the kitchen clock. Ten o’clock. Damn. I’d bet the messages were piling up. If I didn’t return their calls right away, my clients would send out a search party. The kind with torches and pitchforks. I skidded down the hall in my socks and grabbed the phone on the third ring, managing a breathless hello.

  “Did you get the scan of the cake sketches?”

  “Hi, Alexandra.” I flipped through the pile of scans I’d printed out yesterday. “I’m glad you’re not a crazed bride.”

  Alexandra laughed. “I sent them to you and the Murphys yesterday. I wanted to know if you’d heard from Mrs. Murphy yet.”

  I found the cake sketches and sat down at my desk. “I haven’t checked my voice mail this morning. Yesterday turned out to be a bit hectic.”

  “Another deadly client?”

  I winced. “You could say that. Okay, I’m looking at the cake designs.”

  “Do you think I made the bow cake too hideous?”

  I studied the drawing of a tall, tiered cake with what appeared to be giant tongues rolling down from the top. “I think it’s safe to say she won’t choose it.”

  “Mission accomplished.” Alexandra sounded pleased with herself.

  “There’s my call waiting. I’ll let you know what Mrs. Murphy says about the cake.”

  I clicked over to the other line, half expecting an irate Mrs. Murphy to be screaming about bows.

  “What a sexy voice, Annabelle.”

  Who was this? A pervert who knew my name? I cleared my throat. “Can I help you?”

  “It’s Maxwell Gray.”

  The photographer from the Pierce wedding. Famous for photographing society brides and hitting on anything in a skirt. Except his brides. Bad for business, he said.

  “Right. How have you been?”

  “Swamped with nothing but calls from people wanting to hear about the Pierce murder. I haven’t gotten any work done. What have you been up to?”

  Setting traps for suspects, sneaking around people’s houses for clues, witnessing a client’s death. “The usual.”

  “I wanted to tell you that I rushed the proofs from the wedding. I thought the bride would like to have the portraits of her mother as soon as possible. If you want to look at them before the bride and groom pick them up later this afternoon, stop by the studio.”

  Most photographers sent me digital images for my website, but Maxwell Gray was old school. Not only did he shoot film, he gave his clients prints. I hoped Maxwell didn’t have any ulterior motives in showing me the images.

  “Thanks. I’d love to see how the museum photographed. Kate and I have an appointment first, but how about I swing by in a couple of hours?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Technically, snooping around Dr. Harriman’s office with Kate couldn’t be considered an appointment, but I shrugged off my little white lie. Seeing the wedding pictures would be just the thing to take my mind off the murder case for a while. And Richard claimed I couldn’t stay out of trouble. What did he know?

  Chapter 22

  Kate swung into a parking space in front of the Chevy Chase Cardiology Center, missing the car next to her by mere inches. “So what’s the plan again?”

  I turned my phone off, feeling less guilty about doing more investigating. I’d spent the entire drive to Dr. Harriman’s office on my cell phone with brides and felt completely caught up. I knew that feeling would last five minutes at the most.

  “Simple,” I explained. “We go into the office, and you make a scene to distract the receptionist while I sneak into the records room and see if Dr. Boyd is a patient.”

  “What kind of scene?”

  I slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “Anything you want, as long as it’s dramatic.”

  Kate sighed. “We need Richard for something like this. He’s the best at faking illness.”

  “Well, he’s not talking to me at the moment, so we’ll have to manage without him.” I opened the car door and tried to wedge myself out in the tiny sliver of space Kate had given me.

  She stood waiting for me behind the car when I’d finally managed to squeeze out. “Maybe I should go in ahead of you so I can have time to create the distraction, and you can slip by me.”

  “Sure.” I nodded and brushed the dust off my pants. It looked as if I’d polished the entire side of the car with my legs. “The next time I’m going to be the wheelman.”

  We walked to the front of the steel office building, and I watched Kate go through the revolving glass doors. I looked at my watch and cursed in my head. We should have synchronized. For all I knew, Kate could have run into a cute security guard and not even have been past the front lobby by then.

  I watched another couple of minutes tick by and decided to go inside. I found Dr. Harriman’s name on the directory in the lobby and got on the elevator to go to the fifth floor. As soon as I stepped off the elevator, I heard Kate’s raised voice. Good old Kate. Her distraction sounded very distracting. I felt bad for ever doubting her.

  I opened the door to Harriman’s offices. Kate stood at the receptionist’s desk speaking in a heavy Russian accent that made her sound like Natasha from the Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoons.

  “Ma’am, we’re a cardiology practice.” The receptionist looked as if her patience was wearing thin. “You’ll have to put out the cigarette.”

  My mouth almost fell open as Kate blew out a heavy stream of smoke. I put a hand over my nose so I wouldn’t breathe in the acrid air. Where did she get the cigarette? I knew she didn’t smoke. Perhaps I should have been more specific about the type of distraction. At least all eyes were on Kate.

  “Look again for name, dah-ling,” Kate said to the receptionist.

  I slipped through the waiting room and into the back offices as Kate gesticulated wildly with the cigarette. Who knew Kate could do a convincing Russian accent? I would have to give the girl a raise.

  I walked down the hall passing three examination rooms and a men’s bathroom. Where did they keep their files? I rounded a corner and froze. Dr. Donovan, our groom, stood at the end of the hall, but he appeared to be studying a patient’s chart and didn’t see me. I took a few steps backward and ducked into the men’s bathroom I’d just passed.

  I didn’t want to try to explain what I was doing creeping around his offices without an appointment. Not to mention why my assistant had suddenly acquired a Russian accent. I groaned to myself thinking of Kate smoking up a storm in the waiting room. I had to get us out of here.

  My cell phone began ringing, and I dove into my purse for it. I pushed the talk button and held my breath. I didn’t hear anyone in the hall, but I could hear Richard nearly shrieking on the other end of the phone.

  “I’m a little busy right now, Richard,” I whispered, cupping my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.

  “That’s what I hear,” he snapped.

  “What are you talking about?” I couldn’t believe I was arguing with Richard over the phone while hiding in a men’s bathroom.

  “I went back to your place to make amends and apologize for being a bit s
ensitive this morning . . .”

  “You’re forgiven, Richard.” I cut him off. “Now can I call you back later?”

  “But Leatrice said that you and Kate took off out of here like a shot, talking about finding evidence.” Richard’s voice went up a few octaves. “I know you’re not out there getting into more trouble after all that’s happened.”

  I heard voices in the hallway getting closer, and I stepped into one of the stalls and pulled the door closed behind me. “Of course not, Richard.”

  “Please tell me you have more sense than to get yourself in even deeper trouble than you have already, Annabelle.”

  I stepped onto the toilet seat and crouched down so my head didn’t poke above the stall. My slingbacks would be a dead giveaway if anyone walked in and saw my feet under the door. “Give me a little credit.”

  “Then why are you whispering?”

  I gulped and thought for a second. “Kate and I are at a museum. You know I can’t talk normally when I’m in a museum.”

  “Why are you in a museum?” Richard sounded skeptical. “Which one?”

  “The National Museum of Women in the Arts. We’re doing a walk through with a bride.”

  Richard was silent for a few seconds. “Does she have a caterer?”

  I grinned. Always the businessman. “Not yet, but I promise you can do a proposal.”

  “This doesn’t mean I’m not still angry with you,” Richard said with a huff. “But send me the information, and I’ll work on something for your bride.”

  He hung up, and I let out a deep breath. I had to get out of there before I got arrested and Kate got dragged off by Homeland Security.

  As I stepped down off the seat with one foot, the strap of my other slingback slipped off my heel, and the entire shoe dropped into the toilet. Damn. Damn. Damn. I fished my shoe out with one finger and dropped it on the floor, then opened the door to the stall and looked around the bathroom. Two gleaming metal hand dryers were mounted on the walls with not a paper towel in sight. Why was I not surprised?

  I slid my foot into the dripping shoe and leaned against the door, listening for voices. Nothing. I poked my head out of the bathroom. The coast was clear. I squished down the hall and dashed through the waiting room, where a group of irritated nurses surrounded Kate. I caught her eye as I slipped out the door and motioned for her to follow me.

  I held the elevator until Kate got inside, the two of us breathing as though we’d run a race. We didn’t speak until we were out of the building and in the car.

  Kate put the key in the ignition and turned to me. “Well, did you find anything?”

  “No,” I shook my head, coughing from the cigarette smoke that emanated from Kate’s clothes. “I ran into the groom before I could find the files.”

  “What was he doing here?” Kate stared at my feet. “And why is your shoe leaking?”

  “You don’t want to know.” I gave a shudder. “Donovan shares a practice with his father-in-law, remember?”

  “I’d totally forgotten.” Kate slumped over the wheel. “So all of that was for nothing?”

  “Well, it wasn’t a total waste.” I took a deep breath. “I learned that you can do a decent Russian accent.”

  Kate grinned. “What can I say? The men love it. Now what?”

  “Well, you still have your meeting with Jack from the White House, right?”

  Kate perked up. “You’re right. Maybe he’ll be able to tell me something good. He’s a big fan of my accent, you know.”

  “That may be more than I needed to know. You’re going to be subtle, right?” I put on my seat belt as Kate flung the car in reverse. “We don’t want word getting around that we’re trying to solve this case.”

  “I’m always subtle, dah-ling,” she said in her Russian accent.

  I swallowed hard. “Just drop me back at the office so I don’t have to watch.”

  “What are you going to do while I’m pumping Jack for information?”

  “I got a call from Maxwell Gray this morning. The pictures from the Pierce wedding are in, so I’m going to look at them before the bride and groom pick them up.”

  “You’re going to see pictures of Clara right before she died? How creepy.”

  “I didn’t think of it that way,” I said. “I figured we spent enough time planning the wedding. We might as well get some shots of the decor for our web site.”

  “Just be careful you don’t get more than you bargained for,” Kate warned. “You know photographers in this city.”

  “Not as well as you do, I’m afraid.”

  There were few straight men in our business, and they all seemed to be photographers. Kate had dated enough of them to know to keep her distance.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Take my word for it, then.”

  “Don’t worry, Kate. Everything will be fine.”

  Kate gunned it out of the parking space. “Why does that sound familiar?”

  Chapter 23

  My cell phone rang, and I hunted for it on the passenger-side floor as I merged from M Street onto the Key Bridge. By the time Kate had dropped me off at my car in Georgetown, I was already running late to meet Maxwell. I’d thrown my purse in the front seat and half the contents of my bag had spilled out.

  I had one hand on the wheel and one groping among the loose papers on the floor where I’d last spied my phone. I heard the rings slide under the passenger seat and into the back. Reaching behind me, I scooped up the phone, keeping one hand on the wheel. A car honked as I veered into its lane for a moment. Almost as bad as Kate’s driving.

  “Wedding Belles. This is Annabelle.” Office calls were being forwarded to my cell phone, so I wouldn’t get too far behind with work.

  “Are you at Maxwell’s?” Kate asked. I heard car horns around her, and knew she must be in traffic, too.

  “Not yet.” I took a right off of Key Bridge onto the GW Parkway. The thick green trees created a lush corridor for me to drive through. The perfect day for a convertible. Not that I didn’t love my old Volvo, but I dreamed of being less practical. “How’s your meeting with Jack?”

  “I’m running a little late. I’m not sure how much more he can tell me about Boyd though. Unless the man ran up and down the halls announcing the name of his doctor, this might be pointless.”

  “See what you can find out. I’m just curious.”

  “Don’t tell Richard,” Kate said. “He’ll have a fit.”

  “This isn’t the same thing as snooping. You’re just chatting with an old friend.” I accelerated on the gentle curves of the road and looked out my rolled-down passenger-side window. I watched a crew team practice in the Potomac River, their boat cutting the smooth water, as I breathed in the cool crisp air.

  “You keep telling yourself that,” Kate said. “Okay, I’ve got to run. Call me when you’re done at Maxwell’s studio. And be careful, Annie.”

  “I doubt the murderer is after me, Kate.”

  “I’m talking about Maxwell.”

  I laughed, turned off the phone, and tossed it on the seat next to me. Maxwell Gray proclaimed himself the ladies’ man of the wedding industry. Not that he had a lot of competition. He looked like a cover model for a romance novel, only older and much more weathered. I didn’t consider his silk-shirt-and-gold-medallion brand of sexiness much of a turn on, although I’d heard I was in a minority among my colleagues. I cringed at the thought.

  I almost missed the exit for the Chain Bridge and had to brake hard not to fly off the sharp curve of the ramp. Too busy thinking about Maxwell and his conquests. I glanced at the directions in my lap to make sure I hadn’t passed his studio. I drove by the entrance to the CIA and continued through the primarily suburban area until I came to a cluster of office buildings. I turned into the parking lot and found a space in front of Maxwell Gray Photography.

  His studio had large front windows filled with portraits of brides in various dramatic settings. How had he convinced a bride in her wedding gown to lie
down in the middle of a wheat field? Most of my brides were afraid a ride in a limousine would wrinkle their dresses. Forget rolling around in a field.

  I walked into the studio. A chime signaled my arrival. Maxwell came around a corner and advanced on me, taking my hand and pressing it to his lips. He wore his ash blond hair long and brushed off his face, the back perfectly smooth. He did a better job with a blow dryer than I did. He had an unnaturally thin nose, and teeth so perfect they had to have been capped. He ran his tongue across his top lip as he released my hand. The Pierce photos had better be nothing short of amazing, I thought to myself.

  “Annabelle, you’re as lovely as ever.” He gave me a sticky smile and waved me into the appointment room where he met with all his clients. A low glass table held all his sample albums. Two red velvet chairs flanked a royal-blue velvet couch. Fringed lamps, perched on a pair of glass end tables, and palm trees filled the corners of the room. I couldn’t shake the feeling of visiting a harem.

  Maxwell pulled a bottle of champagne out of a standing metal bucket. “Can I offer you a glass?”

  “I’m really here to see the pictures. I’m not much of a drinker. Not at noon anyway.”

  “I thought we might get to know each other a little better.”

  Perfect. Just when I thought the week couldn’t get any worse, the slimiest photographer in Washington starts hitting on me.

  I motioned to the ornately framed wall portraits around the room. “Beautiful work, Mr. Gray.”

  “Call me Maxwell.” He poured himself a glass of champagne. Obviously he didn’t have a problem drinking before noon. “All the other wedding planners do.”

  I’ll bet they do. I forced myself to smile. “It was nice to finally work with you, Maxwell.” And to finally have a client with the budget to afford a society wedding photographer.

  “I photographed Clara’s family for years. Long before she became a Pierce.”

  Maybe this visit wouldn’t be a total waste after all. It shouldn’t be too hard, I thought, to finesse some information about Mrs. Pierce from him. I wished I’d paid more attention to Kate’s flirting instruction.