by Laura Durham
I stopped at a red light and held my fingers to the car's heating vents. "Have you ever known Richard to miss something like being implicated for murder in the newspaper?"
"Good point. And you said he hasn't returned your calls?"
"Nope. I left him a message last night and two this morning. I didn't mention the article but asked him to call me." I wiggled my now-warm fingers and replaced them on the steering wheel. "I'm a little worried. You know he doesn't handle stress well."
"What's the worst that could happen?" Kate asked as she checked her makeup in the passenger seat visor mirror. "He goes into hiding at your apartment again?"
"I don't think so." I let my foot off the brake as the light turned green. "Not with Reese there. That's why I'm worried. So much has changed recently--my boyfriend moved in, Richard Gerard Catering didn't make the list, his business is down, Buster and Mack pseudo adopted a baby--I'm afraid it's all too much for him."
Kate waved a hand and snapped the visor back in place. "Richard's like a cat with nine lives. He'll always land on the street."
"Don't you mean his feet?"
Kate gave a half shrug. "That too. My point is Richard has been in business for a long time. He works with brides for a living. He's used to crazy. He may be a bit freaked out right now, but he can handle this."
"I'm more afraid for Brianna," I said as the distance between housing developments lengthened, and the houses within the enclaves became larger. "Who knows what he might try to do to her?"
"What I can't figure out is why a reporter interviewed her in the first place. It's not like she has a connection to the case or to Richard. Anything she knows about him, or thinks she knows, is all secondhand information. I'm pretty sure those two have never had a conversation in their lives."
"You know Brianna," I said. "She manages to worm her way into everything. I think it's that Southern accent. People think if you have a drawl, you must be sweet."
Kate tapped a pink fingernail on the armrest. "Maybe I should start using a Southern accent. I already do an excellent Russian and British."
"Your Russian accent sounds straight out of Rocky and Bullwinkle," I told her.
"You wound me, sugar," Kate said in a syrupy sweet Southern drawl before dropping the accent. "I, for one, couldn’t care less what happens to that awful Brianna. She's the one Richard should have given the poisoned chocolate to."
"Richard didn't give anyone poisoned chocolates, remember?"
"Well, he should have given them to her, dah-ling," she said in her Russian accent.
I shook my head as I veered right and glanced at the enormous houses set back from the road down curved driveways or perched up on sloping hills. Some looked like Tuscan villas, some looked like Georgian mansions, and others looked like a few building styles had been mashed together into sprawling yet schizophrenic estates.
"The person we should worry about is the bride," Kate said. "I'm afraid bubbly is going to morph into manic if we're not careful. Did you notice how high her voice was at the walk-through? It was like being in a meeting with Minnie Mouse on speed."
I slowed the car as I approached the Abraham's home. It was impossible to miss the massive white house with the circular drive and double stone staircases leading up to the columns framing the front door. Aside from the impressive entry, the house spread out in both directions with both an east wing and a west wing, each with a circular turret anchoring it. It was Greek revival meets English castle meets Barbie Dreamhouse.
Kate slipped her oversized sunglasses on to block the glare from the white stone. "I still say we should have had Marigold & Grey make the welcome bags for this wedding. It's not like the client couldn't afford it."
We farmed our more elaborate welcome bags out to a company specializing in custom gifts for wedding guests. The biggest upside, aside from the gifts being beautiful, was that they delivered them to the hotels. Delivering welcome bags was one of our least favorite things to do.
"You know I tried to convince them," I said, killing the engine and grabbing my purse and the broom handle from the back seat. "Amelia insisted it would be fun to make them with her bridesmaids."
"Another reason I refuse to be a bridesmaid," Kate said as she stepped out of the car and adjusted her pants so the waistband didn’t fall below her hips. "The only job worse than bridesmaid is maid of honor."
We both wore black pants since I’d told Kate we’d be hauling gift bags, and even she didn’t want to do manual labor in a miniskirt, although her pants were snug enough and low enough to make some of her skirts look modest. I felt grateful to have my legs covered since the weather had turned so cold, and I didn’t know how Kate could stand pants that dipped so low they revealed flashes of thong. Come to think of it, I didn’t know how she could stand to wear thongs.
As we started up the steps, the front door flew open and Amelia bounded out of the house, her blond hair bouncing around her shoulders. "I'm so happy you're here. I've been up since five putting the finishing touches on the bags."
"That's not good," Kate said under her breath as the petite bride jumped up and down clapping her hands.
"We can't wait to see them," I said, trying to match Amelia's energy but falling short. We followed her inside and immediately came to a halt.
The two-story foyer was filled with red gift bags, and each bag had a cluster of pink helium balloons coming out of the top.
Kate reached for my hand and dropped her voice to a whisper. "How are we going to drive with these in the back of your car?"
I did a quick mental calculation. The bags would fill my trunk as well as every inch of the back seat and possibly Kate's lap.
"Don't you love the balloons?" Amelia asked, her voice sounding like she'd been dipping into the helium herself. She hurried over and pointed to one. "I had them printed with our names and the wedding date inside a pair of hearts."
"Wow," Kate said. "I'll bet everything inside the bags is covered with hearts too."
Amelia swatted at her and giggled. "Of course." She bent over one of the bags and began producing items. "I had custom labels made for the water bottles. The mint tins are heart shaped; I picked the heart chocolates for the mini Godiva boxes; the travel candle is pink; the French macarons are red and pink; and the welcome letter is on pink heart-shaped paper."
"That's . . ." I didn't know how to finish the sentence.
"Ah-mazing," Kate said, beaming at the bride.
"Right?" Amelia gave a high-pitched trill of a laugh, and I was certain dogs all over the neighborhood were howling in pain.
"We'd better get these loaded into my car," I said, holding out the broom handle I'd brought for that very reason.
Kate took the other end and began sliding the handles of the bags over the wooden pole until we had about a dozen hanging from it.
"Isn't that clever?" Amelia's mother said as she came down one side of the sweeping staircase. "I was going to have our gardener help you, but you girls seem to have it well in hand."
"Thanks," I said to the stately blonde who was even more petite than her daughter, if that was possible. "We came up with this system a while ago."
"Did Amelia tell you we put name tags on each bag?" Mrs. Abraham asked. "We thought that would make it easier for the hotels to distribute."
I tried not to let my smile falter as I shifted the wooden pole to my other hand. Name tags would make giving out the bags twice as complicated, but I wasn't about to mention that now. It also meant we had to check each name off the hotel's rooming list when we delivered them, guaranteeing the task would take at least an extra hour.
"The tags are heart shaped." Amelia held up one pink tag with a guest's name written in red calligraphy. "Of course."
"Of course," Kate and I said in unison.
We walked back down to my car, taking small steps and keeping the pole even so the bags wouldn't slip to one side or the other. When we reached my gray CRV, I popped the trunk and we slid the bags off and into the ba
ck end.
Kate rubbed her palms, which were already turning pink from the weight of the pole. "I really hate delivering welcome bags."
"We should be able to get them all in two more trips," I said. "That's better than having to walk back and forth a dozen times, plus we don’t want these balloons to deflate in the cold.”
"If you say so," Kate grumbled.
My phone trilled in my purse and I pulled it out, looking down at the screen and feeling a rush of relief. "It's Richard. He's finally returning my call."
"See?" Kate said. "I told you he'd be fine. Richard is a lot tougher than he looks."
"Well, that wouldn't be hard." I answered the call and put the phone to my ear. "You finally returned my call."
"I didn't want to leave without telling you," Richard said, his voice muffled.
"Leave? What are you talking about? Where are you going?"
An impatient sigh. "I know you saw the article. If I wasn't ruined before, I am now. There's nothing left for me here, and the net is closing in."
"What net?" I asked, giving him a sigh of my own. "I told you. The police are not after you. That article was all about Brianna getting back at us."
"Even if the police don't get me, the court of public opinion is cruel." Richard's voice cracked. "I need to lay low for a while. Get out of town until things cool off."
"Have you been watching gangster movies again?"
A small yip told me Hermes was with him. "I'll be in touch once the heat is off. Don't tell anyone where I've gone."
"I don't know where you're going," I said. "Where are you going?"
The phone disconnected, and I looked at Kate. "We have to go find Richard before he becomes the world's most fashionable fugitive."
14
"I can't see a thing," I said, looking in the rearview mirror and seeing a sea of pink balloons behind me. We'd had to lower the back seats to get all the welcome bags in my SUV, and Kate had two at her feet.
"You're clear on this side," she yelled, her head hanging out of the rolled-down passenger side window.
I craned my own head out the window as I slowly made a left turn. "We're going to get killed before we make it downtown."
"So what's the plan?" Kate pulled her head back in and pushed aside one of the balloons in her lap. "If we hit The Wharf hotel first, we'll get rid of the most bags."
"We have to make a pit stop before the hotels." I rolled up both windows and cranked up the heat, breathing easier once we were on the Beltway. As long as I didn't have to change lanes, I could be relatively safe. I just hoped I didn't pass a cop. Driving with a car filled with balloons couldn't be legal.
"Don't tell me we're actually going to track down Richard?" Kate smoothed her hair back into place. "From what it sounds like, he could be anywhere by now."
"You know Richard," I said. "When has he ever packed in under two hours? It takes him a day to plan what to take for a weekend away, and he spent a full week putting together outfits for our trip to Bali. No way will he be out the door so fast."
"If he's actually going anywhere." Kate adjusted her air vents so they didn't blow the balloons into her face. "It could be a bluff."
"Maybe," I said. No one could deny Richard was prone to dramatics, but he'd sounded determined on the phone. I held up my phone, which was open to the Find My Friends app. "This says he's at his offices. At least his phone is. I just want to make sure he isn't making Richard Gerard Catering HQ a pit stop as he heads out of town."
"Doesn't he know it would look bad for him if he disappeared in the middle of the murder investigation? If the press found out, they'd eat that up."
"That's why we're going to stop him before he makes a big mistake," I said. "He’s not thinking straight at this point. Can you see any cars coming up in the left lane?"
Kate rolled down her window again and poked her head out. "After this blue car passes, you can go."
I watched the blue car zip by before merging into the next lane. "I think you may be right about the welcome bags. Picking them up and delivering them for clients is not the best idea."
"Not unless we get a Wedding Belles delivery van," Kate said. "Can you imagine us driving around in a white paneled van with our logo on the side?"
I shivered from the cold air and was glad when Kate raised her window. "Yep, and I can imagine Fern refusing to be seen with us."
Kate nodded. "I may be with him on that. Riding around in a delivery van would definitely hurt my street cred." She pointed at the waterfront area as we crossed one of the bridges leading into the city. "You sure you don't want to swing by the hotel first?"
"Let's just pass by the Richard Gerard offices. They're close to The Wharf area and if he isn't there, we'll do the rest of the deliveries and worry about Richard later."
I took the Twelfth Street exit ramp and turned onto Independence Avenue. Richard's company was located in Capitol Hill, an area that had gone from dodgy to trendy over the past decade. Pulling up to his town house headquarters, I glanced around and felt my heart sink. No sign of his convertible.
"He may have parked around back," Kate said, as if she could read my mind. "You know he hates to search for parking."
"You're right," I said. "Let's run inside and see if he made a stop here or if he told his office staff how to reach him."
We jaywalked across the street and hurried up the steps to the glass paned wooden front door. I didn't bother knocking, pushing my way inside and peering at the pristine living room where he met with clients and the attached tasting room where he let clients sample his food.
"Richard?" I called out. "It's Annabelle and Kate."
I started up the stairs when I heard a bark from the back of the building.
Kate grabbed my arm. "He's escaping out the back through the kitchen."
I followed her, our heels tapping on the hardwood floors as we ran, and she threw open the swinging kitchen door. Richard was halfway out the back door when he spotted us and froze, the look on his face as if we'd caught him in the commission of a crime. He wore Hermes in the black man bag slung across his chest, and the little Yorkie barked happily when he saw us.
"How did you find me?" He nearly dropped the file box in his arms.
"This is your office," Kate said. "It wasn't hard. Plus, Annabelle tracked you with her phone."
His shoulders slumped, and I noticed his black button-down was wrinkled. "Are you wearing jeans?"
Richard dropped the box to the floor. "I hoped you wouldn't have to see me like this."
"I didn't know he owned jeans," Kate whispered to me. "You're right, Annabelle. This is serious. I don't think he even has product in his hair."
I took Richard by the arm and led him to one of the stools lined up down the kitchen's granite countertops. I lifted Hermes from the man bag and handed the little dog to Kate. "Why don't you sit down and we'll talk about it?"
"What's there to talk about?" He dragged a hand through his unusually bouncy dark hair. "First I'm kicked off the list, and my business slows down. Then my attempt to fix the problem backfires, and someone actually dies. And finally, my name is splashed all over the media as the caterer whose clients get poisoned."
Kate sat down next to him, Hermes tucked under her arm. "When you put it like that, it doesn't sound so great."
I shot her a look, then took Richard by the shoulders. "This is all temporary. What have you always told me?"
He studied me for a moment. "I tell you a lot of things. You need to accessorize more; you should start moisturizing at night; you need to stop wearing ponytails. Would you like me to continue?"
"Not those things," I said. "You've always told me that in events we're only as good as our last party. You may have had a bad run of it lately, but if anyone can turn it around, it's Richard Gerard. You cater a few fabulous parties, and no one will care about the list or the drivel Brianna told the paper."
"Who will hire me now?"
"Kate and I will for one," I said. "And
you know Fern and Buster and Mack will recommend you to all of their clients."
Kate put a hand on his back. "You can probably count on Fern for some pushback against Brianna, too."
I liked imagining what salacious gossip Fern would cook up about our nemesis. Knowing Fern, it would be both creative and disturbing.
Richard squared his shoulders. "You're right, of course. I survived the Adkins diet debacle of the late nineties, not to mention the fashion of the early nineties. I can't let this take me down."
Kate's phone trilled in her pocket, and she walked a few steps away to answer it, shifting Hermes to her other hip.
"I promise the police are not focusing on you. I told Reese that Marcie's favorite type of truffle was the only one that was poisoned. And Leatrice helped me realize Brianna had opportunity and motive since she was at the Capital Weddings offices when you dropped off the truffles, and she hadn't made it onto the list yet."
Richard nodded. "That's right. She was steamed about it at the holiday party at the Cathedral. Do you think that's why she leaked the information to the paper?"
"I wouldn't put it past her," I said. "She may sound sweet, but she's devious."
"Are we talking about Brianna?" Kate asked as she rejoined us and slid her phone into the pocket of her snug black pants.
"You know it," I said.
"Well, I just got off the phone with one of her interns." Kate set Hermes down on the floor, and he began scurrying around sniffing at the tile. "She came to the last assistant crew happy hour, and we ended up hitting it off. She's actually too cool to be working for Brianna."
Richard shook his head. "How does that girl have interns when she barely has business?"
"Free labor," Kate said. "She has them styling Instagram photos all day. Anyway, her intern wanted to warn me."
