by Laura Durham
I stared at her. “How do you know this?”
“I’m plugged in to the social scene in DC,” Kate said.
“I had no idea the social scene in DC was so all encompassing,” I said.
Kate patted my knee. “You live a sheltered life.”
Leatrice bobbed her head, apparently agreeing with Kate.
“So are you saying you don’t think the killer was out to get drag queens?” I asked, eager to shift the conversation away from my boring social life and back to the case.
Leatrice tapped her marker on the white board. “Not any drag queen. The killer wanted Cher dead and risked being seen at your wedding to do it. Maybe the second murder was only connected to the first because the killer thought Blanche knew something.”
Kate slapped my leg. “Blanche did say she knew something when we talked to her at the reception.”
“But she never said what it was, and she was dead a few minutes later,” I said, rubbing my jeans where Kate had hit me.
“Interesting.” Leatrice underlined Blanche’s name. “And the suspect who escaped can be placed at both the reception where Blanche was killed and the wedding?”
“Yes,” I leaned back and rested the palms of my hands behind me. “Antonio. He worked for Buster and Mack doing setup and delivery so he was on-site at the wedding and delivered the floral arrangements to Perry’s. But aside from opportunity, I can’t think of any reason he’d have to kill Cher or Blanche. I can’t imagine he knew them.”
“What if he didn’t have to know them?” Leatrice sucked in air. “What if he was a hit man hired to kill them?”
Kate gasped. “Reese said the murders did look like they were done by someone who knew what they were doing.”
I looked from Kate to Leatrice. “Even if I was to somehow believe Buster and Mack inadvertently hired a hit man to work in a flower shop, why would anyone put a hit on two drag queens?”
Leatrice was silent for a minute. “Good question. We need more information about the victims.”
“I know exactly where we can get it,” Kate said. “Tonight at Hotel Rouge.”
I shook my head. “No way. Reese will kill me if he finds out I went to a drag night looking for information about the murder victims. Not to mention Richard. It’s the one thing they both have in common.”
“Would you rather be killed by Reese or Antonio?” Kate asked, whipping a length of silk ribbon around her neck and making a face like she was being strangled.
“We don’t even know if Antonio did it,” I said, putting a hand to my throat. “And we certainly don’t know if he’s a hit man or not.”
Kate shrugged. “Have it your way. If it was me who’d fingered a hit man, I’d want to get as much evidence to put him away as possible, but I’m funny that way.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Fine. But I’m only going for half an hour. We are in and we are out.”
Leatrice jumped up and down. “This is so exciting. I need to go pick out something fun to wear.” She dropped the marker and hurried out of the room.
“Now look at what you’ve done,” I told Kate. “We’re stuck taking Leatrice to a drag night.”
“Look at the bright side.” Kate grinned. “With her clothes and hair, she might be able to pass as a drag queen.”
Chapter 24
Kate held one side of the glass doors open for me, and we paused inside the Hotel Rouge bar as Leatrice hurried to catch up.
“I’m still not sure this is such a great idea,” I said as Leatrice teetered up to us in a rainbow-striped jumpsuit with belled sleeves and flared pants. Since she now came up past my shoulder, I knew she wore some sort of heels under her long billowing pant legs.
Kate took in Leatrice. “It’ll be fine. She blends right in.”
Kate had a point. Leatrice would fit in with a room filled with drag queens better than I would. I’d worn a pink sequined tank top with my jeans and black cardigan, but Kate had still deemed my outfit too “soccer mom” for a night at a bar. Between her deep V-neck minidress and Leatrice’s disco garb, I was feeling a little buttoned-up.
I scanned the narrow space with a white bar across the far end, a red banquette stretching down one wall, and white leather furniture clustered around cocktail tables. The furniture was modern and sleek, the ambient lighting was red, and the music was pulsating. Definitely the hippest hotel bar I’d ever seen. But unlike most bars I’d been in, this one had few men. As far as the eye could see there were short skirts and long legs and big hair. And instead of smelling like beer, this bar held the lingering scent of perfume.
“Should we get a table?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the music and motioning to an empty one near the door.
Kate shook her head. “The bar.”
We worked our way through the towering women until we reached the curved bar. There was one open barstool, so we hoisted Leatrice up onto it and stood next to her on either side. An attractive bartender in a black T-shirt put a hand to his ear—a signal to yell our drink order to him—which we did.
The blonde next to me with a long neck and pronounced Adam’s apple winked and smiled. I pivoted toward Kate. “So who are we looking for exactly?”
Kate swiveled to face the crowd, her dirty martini in one hand. “Do you recognize anyone from Cher’s memorial reception?”
“It’s hard to say for sure.” I ran my eyes over the brightly colored cocktail dresses and plus-size evening suits. “I’d probably recognize dresses before I’d recognize faces.”
“That’s not good,” Kate said. “I don’t think anyone would wear the same dress twice in one week.”
Leatrice spun around on her barstool, moving the paper umbrella out of her way before taking a sip from her blue frozen drink. “I would love to have some of these dresses.”
Leatrice’s love of creative clothing went hand in hand with her desire to be a secret agent. I, for one, was grateful she didn’t have a closet filled with chiffon and sequins.
“I might recognize hair,” I said, switching my wine glass from one hand to the other. “You don’t think they would change wigs from a few days ago, do you?”
Kate tapped a finger to her chin. “Fern would be the one to ask.”
I shook my head. No way was I dragging Fern any deeper into things. He’d already been suspected of murder twice this week and considered fleeing the city. I did not want to lose my number one wedding hairstylist to a nervous breakdown.
A brunette in a black satin pantsuit with dramatically smoky eyes and bright-red lips passed us and raised her glass to Leatrice. “Love the jumpsuit, girl.”
Leatrice giggled and raised her glass in return. “She certainly has a deep voice doesn’t she?”
Kate rolled her eyes to me over Leatrice’s head. “Do you remember what Hedda Lettuce looks like?”
“Brown hair, purple eye shadow, Roman nose, slight five o’clock shadow,” I said.
“That doesn’t narrow it down much,” Kate said as a lanky bow-legged blonde with a wispy moustache clomped by us in thigh-high boots.
I turned to the bartender. “Do you happen to know someone by the name Hedda Lettuce?”
He shook his head. “I’m not good with names.”
I wanted to ask him how you could forget a name like Hedda Lettuce, but I smiled.
“I know Hedda,” Adam’s apple next to me said.
I pivoted. “You do? Is she here tonight?”
The blonde didn’t answer right away, instead giving me a sultry smile. “Quid pro quo, honey. What’s your name?”
“Annabelle,” I said.
“I’m Trevor.” He extended a hand. “This must be your first time here.”
I shook his hand, admiring the pink-polished nails. “Yep. My friends and I are looking for Hedda.”
Trevor looked at Kate and Leatrice and fluttered his long lashes at me. “I would have remembered a pretty thing like you.”
I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I scoote
d closer to Leatrice. “So Hedda Lettuce?”
“Right.” Trevor pointed to a cluster of people a few feet away from us. “In the purple dress and the feathered fascinator.”
I leaned over Leatrice and grabbed Kate’s arm. “I found Hedda. In the purple dress and feather hair thing.”
Kate raised one arm in the air. “Yoo hoo!” she called, her voice rising above the music and the buzz of conversation. “Hedda Lettuce!”
Hedda swung her head toward Kate’s voice and beamed when she recognized her. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
She ambled over to us, swaying her hips from side to side and gave us each air kisses. Her eyes fell to Leatrice. “What do we have here?”
“This is my neighbor,” I explained. “Leatrice.”
Hedda handed Leatrice her glossy-purple fingertips. “Hedda Lettuce. Enchanted to meet you. Love the name.”
Leatrice giggled again and shook Hedda’s fingers. “Nice to meet you, Miss Lettuce.”
“We wanted to ask you a few questions about Cher and Blanche,” I said, “since you knew them both.”
Hedda’s face darkened for a moment before she regained her smile. “What do you want to know? I think I told the police everything.”
“We think their murders may have been hits,” Kate said. “Do you know any reason why someone would hire a hit man to murder them?”
Hedda’s purple-lidded eyes widened. “A hit man? Why do you think it was a hit man?”
“The killer left virtually no evidence, which makes us think it was a professional,” I said. “Plus, the victims were garroted. That’s an old-school mob method.”
Leatrice bobbed her head up and down. “Like in The Godfather.”
“The mob? I can’t imagine either Cher or Blanche had anything to do with the mob.” Hedda shivered. “Cher would have told me if she feared for her life because the mob was after her.”
I switched gears. “Did you happen to see a man in black at Cher’s reception?”
Hedda nodded. “I told the detectives when they interviewed me. I saw someone in all black near the gold velvet. The next time I noticed the fabric, it was down.”
So Hedda was one of the two witnesses. “We think we found the man you saw, but he escaped police custody.”
“Really?” Hedda pressed a hand to her purple scoop-neck bodice. “And you think that man was a hit man?” She turned around and waved for someone to join us.
A redhead in an emerald-green cocktail dress approached, giving us the once-over and arching a brow. She had an expertly drawn-on beauty mark on her left cheek and wore crimson lipstick.
“This is Rhoda Dendron,” Hedda said, waving a hand in front of her. “She was Blanche’s roommate, and she also saw the man in all black at Cher’s reception.”
Rhoda shot Hedda a look but smiled at us. “Who are you?”
“Wedding planners,” I said, deciding not to give our names. “Cher was killed at our wedding.”
Rhoda’s mouth fell open a bit. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first since you’re not wearing your black dresses.”
I studied her face. “Do we know you?”
She touched a hand to her bright-red hair. “I’m sure you don’t recognize me. I bartend for Richard Gerard Catering.”
“You work for Richard?” Kate asked.
“Not for very long,” Rhoda shifted from one foot to the other. “David, I mean Blanche, hooked me up and put in a good word for me.”
I rubbed one of my temples. “So were you there on Saturday?”
“I was setting up the bar in the tapestry room.”
I tried to process the new information. “Did the police question you about knowing both victims?”
Rhoda put a hand on my arm. “Oh, I didn’t really know Cher. I mean, I knew Blanche had an issue with her, but that was about it.”
“And you and Blanche got along well?” I asked.
Rhoda rolled her eyes. “Blanche was a diva, which was why she and Cher didn’t get along. But the two of us got along fine as roommates.”
Hedda bobbed her head up and down. “Two divas are too many. Blanche wasn’t the only person Cher didn’t get along with.”
I remembered what we’d heard about Cher and Tina clashing. Tina definitely fell into the diva category, as well.
“Did you see Blanche leave the wedding early?” Kate asked Rhoda.
“I heard about it but didn’t see it. I was unloading my liquor behind the bar, and the drama with David and Richard happened downstairs in the prep area.”
That meshed with what Richard had told me.
“Do you think you could identify the man in all black you saw at Cher’s reception?” I asked.
Rhoda looked at Hedda. “I didn’t see a face, did you?”
“No,” Hedda said. “Only a back.”
“I have a question.” Leatrice leaned closer to Rhoda and Hedda. “What kind of mascara do you use to get your lashes so long?”
“These things?” Hedda batted her eyes at Leatrice. “They’re as fake as my rack.”
Leatrice’s eyes darted to Hedda’s chest and back to her eyes.
Rhoda reached into her purse. “I always carry a spare pair. Let’s go to the bathroom, and I’ll get you fixed up.”
Leatrice slid off her barstool and disappeared with Rhoda.
Kate hopped up onto the barstool and was instantly taller than me. “I can actually see over a few of the heads.” Her face froze. “Uh oh.”
I followed her gaze and saw Reese pushing his way through the crowd toward us. He didn’t look happy.
“You didn’t answer my calls or texts,” he said when he reached us.
“Hello, handsome,” Hedda said, checking out Reese in his dark jeans and gray T-shirt.
“It’s loud in here,” I said. “I didn’t hear them. Did we have plans?”
He looked around, taking in the number of burly women in cocktail dresses and wigs, and slanting his eyes at me. “I hope you aren’t going to try to convince me you happened to pop in here on drag night?” His eyes landed on Hedda. “Weren’t you one of my witnesses from Perry’s?”
Hedda grinned at him. “I’m flattered you remember me, sweetie.”
Reese shook his head at me. “This has reached compulsion level.”
“Actually, this was all my idea. I take full responsibility for us being here.” Kate held out her wrists. “Take me in and lock me up, Detective.”
Hedda held out her own wrists. “Yes, please. You can handcuff me any day.”
Reese looked at me, and I could see the side of his mouth twitching. He closed the distance between us and put a hand on my waist. “Do I need to lock you up to keep you out of danger?”
“No.” I did my best to sound indignant. “And I’m not in danger.” I angled my head at him. “Why aren’t you more upset? You normally lose your mind if you think I’m messing around in your investigation.”
Reese sighed. “It doesn’t seem to have any affect on you, so I’ve decided not to get mad anymore.”
“Really?” I studied him. “What’s the catch?”
He leaned in so his lips were brushing my ear. “The catch is I’m going to be spending a lot more time with you. You can’t get into trouble if you’re with me.”
I felt shivers run through my body, and I leaned back against the bar for support. Now that was a plan I could get behind. “Is your showing up here part of the plan? How did you find me anyway? The only people who knew I was coming here are with me.”
“Easy. I tracked your phone.”
“Should I be impressed or annoyed you used police resources to keep tabs on me?”
He tilted his head at me. “It’s hardly police resources. I added a locator app to your phone.”
When my mouth dropped open, he added, “With the amount of trouble you seem to get into, I figured it may save your life one day.”
I tried to work up some indignant anger, but I had to admit to myself he was probably
right. “So is this part of Operation Annabelle?”
“Is that the code name for our mission tonight?” Leatrice appeared at our shoulders, her face brightening when she saw Reese. “Are you here undercover? Should I pretend I don’t know you?”
“If I were you I’d take the offer,” I said to him under my breath.
To his credit, Reese didn’t appear shocked at Leatrice’s appearance even though it looked like a pair of butterflies had died on her eyelids, and her hair was teased so far out from her head no one could stand within two feet of her. Rhoda must have been packing some serious hair product in her bag.
Rhoda held out her fingertips to Reese. “Well, hello handsome.”
“This is Rhoda Dendron,” I said. “Blanche Davidian’s roommate.”
Reese shook Rhoda’s fingertips. “You’re one of the witnesses from Perry’s aren’t you?”
Rhoda pulled back her hand, her smile flickering.
“I already asked him, but he didn’t see a face so he can’t tell us if it was Antonio or not,” I said.
Kate cleared her throat. “Speaking of Antonio, did you guys locate him yet?”
“We did,” Reese said.
“Who’s Antonio?” Hedda asked.
“The guy we thought might be the man who was in all black and a hit man who murdered Cher and Blanche,” I said.
“We’re pretty sure he didn’t kill Cher or Blanche,” Reese said.
“How can you be so sure?” I asked. “The clues point to him being involved.”
“Because we found him floating in the Potomac River,” Reese said. “Still wearing the handcuffs he had on when he escaped from the police.”
Chapter 25
“So let me get this straight,” Richard said as he stood in the driveway of Darla’s brick McMansion, waving in a delivery truck as it backed up to the garage. “The second person you tipped off the cops to as a suspect was found dead?”
I put my fingers in my ears to block the truck’s piercing beeps warning of its reversing. “Why are you making it sound like this is my fault?”
Richard put his hands on his hips and gave me a look telling me I didn’t want to know the answer to my question. The sleeves of his lavender button-down were rolled up in crisp folds to his elbows, but he still wore a designer belt with his black pants. I suspected the belt cost more than my entire wardrobe. Since we’d be spending most of the day overseeing the load in and setup for Debbie’s baby shower at her mother’s home, I’d worn jeans and a white T-shirt with the Wedding Belles logo on the front. Even though Richard rolled his eyes at the branded shirts, I was glad I’d bought them in bulk.
