by Laura Durham
Fern's eyes grew wide. "I forgot he had handcuffs." He put down his scissors and used both hands to fan himself. "I might need a moment."
I shook out my smock and significant chunks of hair fell to the floor. "Maybe we should stop talking about Reese and move on to figuring out how to help Richard. All this talk of Valentine's Day is stressing me out and overheating Fern."
Kate grinned as she watched Fern lean against the back of my chair. "Maybe you're right."
"The key is finding out who had a motive to kill Marcie since she was clearly the intended target," I said, assessing my slightly shorter hair in the mirror as Fern composed himself by swigging another glass of champagne. "The problem is we don't know enough about her to know if she had enemies."
Fern took a black Bluetooth device and hooked it to his ear. "Didn't I tell you I could find out anything through my hairdresser network?" He picked up his comb again and started to brush my hair straight down my back. "Siri, call Rudolpho."
I caught Kate's eyes and she raised her hands and shrugged, which meant she had no clue who this Rudolpho was either. Even though Fern worked with us on nearly every wedding, his salon business was his bread and butter, and I knew he was as well known in the world of stylists as he was in the world of weddings. I suspected Fern did wedding hair with us as a diversion from his daily cut-and-color routine for the wealthy women of DC.
Fern eyed the back of my hair before combing a section high above my head and shearing off the ends. "Rudolpho, sweetie, it's Fern." He paused and let out a laugh. "Well, aren't you a doll?" Another pause. "Oh, go on."
Kate cocked an eyebrow at me as she plucked a brush from the credenza in front of her chair and began rolling the ends of her bob around the round bristles. I'd always been envious her hair held curl and shape even after twelve-hour wedding days, while my straight hair lost any bounce within the first ten minutes. Hence my habit of wearing it in a bun during weddings. It drove Fern crazy that I rarely styled my hair, but buns or ponytails kept it out of my face and made it one less thing I had to worry about.
"You know I would love that," Fern said as he walked around me, appraising my cut. "Quickie question before I run, you don't happen to know who does the editor of Capital Weddings, do you? The tall girl with long dark hair. Blunt cut."
"What about sexy underwear?" Kate whispered to me as she replaced the brush.
"Didn't we decide sexy lingerie was too much?" I asked.
Kate waved a hand at me. "Not for you. For him. What about getting Reese some red boxer briefs? He does wear boxer briefs, doesn't he?"
"Yes, but. . . " I stopped once I realized I'd revealed what kind of underwear my boyfriend wore. "I don't think he'd wear red underwear."
"Too bad," Fern said, and it took me a moment to realize he was still speaking to Rudolpho. "Do you think Jacques would know?"
"You never know until you try. It's not like I'm suggesting you get him a thong made to look like an elephant's trunk." She winked at me. "Not for your first Valentine's Day at least."
The thought of Reese wearing an elephant thong made my cheeks flush, and I was glad Fern was too occupied with his call to have heard or noticed.
"Kisses to you too," Fern said, looking up. "Well, we know it wasn't Rudolpho or any of the stylists in his salons, but he thinks Jacques might know."
"Too bad you don't keep a central database of clients," I said. "That way you could track them when they switch stylists and know which ones are the nightmares."
Fern tapped his comb on my shoulder. "Not a bad idea, sweetie."
"We should do that with brides," Kate said.
I flicked more hair off my smock. "Except by the time we know they're nightmares, they're already married."
"What do we think?" Fern leaned down so his head was even with mine and studied me in the mirror. "Safe enough for you?"
He'd trimmed a couple of inches off the ends and tapered the sides, parting my hair on the left as usual. I had to admit it looked a lot better. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"Of course it is." Fern straightened. "I'll clean it up after it's wet. Let me get the water warmed for you, then I'll take you back to wash." He headed to the back of the salon as he asked Siri to call Jacques.
"This hairdresser angle may not pan out," I said to Kate. "And even if it does, Marcie might not be the type to tell her stylist her life history."
Kate shrugged. "Maybe not. You don't think Reese would be willing to do a background search on her and share his findings, do you?"
I stifled a laugh. "Definitely not. I'm sure he's doing background on her, but I doubt he thought of the hairdresser connection. He'd be less than thrilled we've roped Fern into asking other stylists about her."
Kate spun her chair to face me. "See? This is why we end up investigating. The cops don't approach things from the creative angles we do."
"I doubt Reese sees it that way."
Fern hurried toward us holding a short stack of brown towels. "I got a hit, girls. Marcie gets her hair done at Jacques's salon. She couldn't get in with Jacques himself, of course, but she goes to one of his second-tier stylists."
Kate stood up. "Great. What did the second-tier stylist say about her?"
Fern shook a finger then pointed to his earpiece. "Mmm hmm. She said that?" He raised an eyebrow. "I owe you one." A giggle. "You know I would. Mmm hmm. Don't be a stranger."
"Well?" Kate said when he'd clearly hung up.
Fern dropped the towels in her arms and pulled me up by the elbow. "According to Marcie's stylist, she got the same cut every time and hasn't made any significant hair changes recently." He shifted his eyes to me. "Kind of like some people I know."
We headed to the shiny washbasins lined up against the back wall behind a partition, and Fern plunked me down in the nearest chair. "A switch in hairstyle can signal a major life change," he continued, "but Marcie hasn't done anything like that."
He took one of the towels from Kate and folded it around my neck then pushed me down so my hair fell into the attached basin.
I sighed as I tried to get in a comfortable position with my neck angled back. "So another dead end?"
"Not exactly." Fern pulled the nozzle out and let the water run over his hand for a second. "She may not have changed her hair, but her stylist said she'd been jumpy the last time she'd been in. Almost like she was afraid of something."
Kate put a hand to her mouth and dropped the remaining towel. "Do you think she suspected her life was in danger?"
Fern turned the spray on my hair and the warm water spilled down my head, blocking out all sounds but the rushing water. I closed my eyes and thought about what Fern had discovered. If Marcie knew her life might be in danger, I wondered what else she knew and wasn't telling.
10
"I'm glad we're not going back to the office right away," Kate said, "although it's a shame not to take your new hair out for a spin someplace fun."
I flipped my blown-out hair off my shoulder as I turned onto P Street, trying to fight the urge to put it up in a ponytail. "It's not a new sports car. Since we know Marcie was afraid of something, we should try to find out what that was. It might be the key to the entire case and clearing Richard as a suspect."
"Unless she was afraid of Richard," Kate said. "That's always a possibility."
"She didn't know him enough to be scared. You have to really know Richard to be properly terrified."
"You make a good point." She leaned forward and drummed her polished pink nails on the black boots skimming her knees. "Don't you think popping into the Capital Weddings offices is exactly what your boyfriend would call meddling?"
"What he calls meddling, I call being a supportive colleague." I cast a quick glance over my shoulder as I merged into the traffic heading downtown. "And I have every intention of telling him what we've found out about Marcie. Is it my fault he didn't answer his cell phone just now?"
"Now that's a conversation I'd like to be a fly on the wall for."
"Let's look at this as marketing strategy," I said. "It's always a good idea for us to be in tight with Capital Weddings, right? And what better way to ingratiate ourselves with them than to stop by and offer condolences?"
"I can think of a lot of things I'd want more than condolences," Kate muttered, "but I see where you're going with this."
I turned onto I Street and snagged a street parking space from a car as it was pulling away from the curb. Plugging the space number into the mobile parking app on my phone, I paid for an hour in advance and hoped I wouldn't need more.
Kate pulled her coat tight around her neck and glanced up at the steel-and-glass building housing Capital Weddings. "The last time we came here, things didn't end so well."
"The last time we had Richard, and he was whipped up before we arrived. This time will be different."
"I hope so." Kate teetered beside me in her boots. "I'd hate for the people at the magazine to associate high-pitched shrieking and death threats with us."
We hurried out of the cold and into the warmth of the building lobby. Aside from an expanse of white marble floor and elevators, the space held nothing but a front desk and drowsy security guard who barely looked up when we signed in. We were quiet on the quick elevator ride up. I know I felt a bit nervous to be visiting the crime scene, although the lobby had betrayed no clue there had been a murder in the building.
The small waiting area for the magazine was empty and we paused at reception. An arrangement of white lilies sat to one side of the desk, and the pungent perfume of the flowers mixed with the smell of coffee made my stomach turn.
"I don't see any crime scene tape or cops, but the place seems dead," Kate said, then cringed. "I didn't mean it that way."
"You're right." I peeked my head out of the reception area to the open floor plan room dotted with cubicles. "It looks like half the staff called in sick."
Kate craned her neck around me. "I wonder where it happened. The murder, I mean. Do you know where Marcus's desk was?"
"Close to Marcie's office, I assume, since he was her assistant." I let my eyes wander to the editor's office at the far side of the space and overlooking the street. The door was closed. Either she was holed away inside or had decided not to come in. Neither would have surprised me.
A curvy redhead approached us. "Can I help you?"
I put on my best sincerely fake smile. "I'm Annabelle Archer with Wedding Belles and this is my associate Kate. We're friends with Marcie and wanted to see how she's doing."
This seemed to appease the redhead because the wrinkle between her eyes relaxed. "How nice of you. It's been just awful around here since . . ."
Kate put a hand on her arm. "Isn't it tragic about Marcus?"
"Did you know him?" the woman asked, digging a crumpled tissue from her pants pocket.
Kate nodded but didn't speak.
The woman dabbed the tissue to her nose. "I still can't believe it. It could have been any one of us. We all tried the chocolates."
Again, I was struck by how odd it was to poison one chocolate truffle out of an entire box. The killer either assumed the victim would eat the entire box or knew the one flavor they'd go for.
"And you are. . .?" Kate prodded.
"Sorry." The woman swiped at her eyes and held out a hand. "Cassandra. I'm one of the assistant editors."
"I think I recognize your name from some of the articles," I said, trying to make a connection. "Didn't you do the feature on edible favors?"
She smiled through her tears and nodded.
"It was really good," I said before switching gears. "Do you remember Marcie trying any of the truffles before she gave them away?"
The woman thought for a moment. "I don't think so, but she might have when she walked through the main office. She didn't so much give them to Marcus as give them to him to share with the team."
"That was nice of her," Kate said. "Marcie must be a great boss to work for."
Cassandra bobbed her head up and down. "She's the best. How many other bosses would share their gifts with their coworkers?"
"So no one here has a problem with her?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
"With Marcie?" She stopped wiping her nose. "Of course not. Everyone loves working for her. I can tell you she's tons better than the last editor."
I barely remembered the name of the last editor because she'd come and gone so quickly, and I was pretty sure I'd never met her. Marcie had already earned a reputation for being more involved with the wedding community and more friendly than her predecessor.
"And Marcus liked her?" Kate asked, rubbing her hand up and down the woman's arm.
"Oh, yeah. She and Marcus were tight. I think he spent more time in her office than at his own desk. She's pretty devastated about what happened. She's barely left her office all day."
I glanced at the closed door. "It must be scary to know the chocolates meant for you were poisoned."
Cassandra shook her head sharply. "It must have been a mistake of some kind, because I can't think of anyone who'd want to kill Marcie."
"I know she's upset now, but do you think she's seemed nervous lately?" I asked.
"Nervous?"
"You know." I dropped my voice as I noticed a couple of heads poke out from their cubbies. "Jumpy or scared about something. Anxious perhaps?"
"Well, she hates getting calls from irritated vendors, and she definitely got a few of those after the list came out at the end of December. This year she even got a bouquet of dead, black roses from someone."
Kate made a face. "Creepy. Do you know who sent them?"
"I doubt the person signed the card," I mumbled, wondering what kind of psycho had decided that was appropriate. Even Richard, who'd been pretty steamed about being taken off the list, would never have stooped to sending dead roses. Primarily because he would never send a gift that wasn't visually appealing, no matter how upset he was. The dead flowers could have been what had spooked Marcie and what her stylist had picked up on. It would make sense. Black, rotting bouquets weren't a feel-good type of gift.
"You're right. No one took credit for the dead roses," Cassandra said. "It shook Marcie up, but other than that I wouldn't say she's been jumpy. She wasn't thrilled the lock on her office had been broken, but she didn't think it had anything to do with the upset wedding vendors."
"Her office was broken into?" I asked.
"Actually, no," Cassandra said. "The lock was damaged so she couldn't lock the door, but no one broke in. She thought the cleaning crew did it accidentally or something."
I tapped my foot against the carpet. "When did this happen?"
"The day before yesterday. Marcie noticed it at lunch when she tried to lock her office as she left."
I did a mental calculation. That would have been the day Richard dropped off the chocolates. It seemed awfully coincidental that the lock on Marcie's office was damaged. It also meant the chocolates had been in the unlocked room overnight before she gave them to her assistant to pass around. Without a lock on the door, the killer would have had access at any time Marcie was out to tamper with the truffles.
"I wish we knew who sent those black flowers," I said more to myself than anyone. "And who broke the lock on her office door."
"So do I," Marcie said from behind me.
I put a hand to my heart as I turned around. The editor's eyes were red rimmed and held an expression I couldn't place. When had she come out of her office, and how much of our questioning had she heard?
11
"Just the person we came here to see," Kate said, recovering more quickly than I did and pulling Marcie in for a hug.
; Marcie didn't return Kate's embrace, and her expression remained wooden. I wondered if she was in shock or if she considered us the enemy since we were friends with Richard.
"They came by to see how you were doing," Cassandra explained, her own expression more guarded now that her boss had joined us. "They said they were your friends."
"We hope we aren't imposing," I said. "We were worried about you after yesterday and wanted to see if there was anything we could do."
"We have some experience with dealing with murders in the workplace," Kate said.
I tried not to slap my hand on my forehead. The last thing I wanted Marcie to know was how many crime investigations we'd been involved with. It did not make us, or Richard, look good to know how many dead bodies had turned up at our weddings.
Cassandra blinked hard a few times then let out a nervous laugh, and Kate and I joined her. Better she think Kate was making an odd joke, I thought.
"I came by to try to get some work done," Marcie said, not joining in on the laughing. "I thought it would be better than staying at home, but it's not."
"We're so sorry about your assistant," I said. "I know it must have been an awful shock."
She bit her thumbnail. "Everything was fine when I left the office yesterday morning. I gave Marcus the box of chocolates to share with the team then ran out to make it to Love Brunch on time. I never saw him again."
"You didn't like chocolate truffles?" I asked, trying to make my question sound as conversational as possible.
Marcie dropped her chipped thumbnail from her mouth. "Normally I'm a pretty serious chocoholic, but I'd decided to drop a few post-holiday pounds."
I gave the editor a quick once-over. She was pretty trim, but that didn't mean anything since Fern regularly went on crash diets and never needed to. Even Kate did the occasional carb fast, and she'd been a size four since the day I met her.
"Did anyone know you were dieting?" I asked.
She twitched one shoulder up and down. "I told Marcus, but that was about it." Her voice broke. "I told him everything."
