by Laura Durham
"Warn you?" I said. "About what?"
Kate grinned. “Reese just left their offices after questioning her for over an hour."
"You know I've always liked that detective," Richard said. "I'm glad you finally decided to move things forward with him, darling."
It took all my effort not to gape at him. "I take it she thinks I have something to do with it since he's my boyfriend?"
"I don't think she singled you out," Kate said. "From what I could gather, she's vowed to ruin us all."
Richard rolled his eyes. "Then she needs to get in the back of the line."
15
"Well, that was a day," Kate said as she staggered into my apartment and flung herself onto the couch.
I was glad, for once, she wore pants since she hooked one leg over the arm of the sofa while she lay sprawled across the yellow twill cushions. True, the black pants were so tight they could have been leggings, but I'd take it.
I dropped my purse to the floor and slipped off my ballet flats, balling my toes on the rug once they were finally free from the shoes. "Tell me about it. First we convince Richard not to run off, and then we manage to get all those gift bags delivered without getting into an accident."
Kate raised her head. "There's a good chance we even got all the names matched up to the right hotel."
"You checked them off the rooming lists, right?" I'd let Kate go over the lists with the various hotel bellmen while I'd waited in front with my car. At most of the downtown hotels I'd had to double-park, and the valets had not been wild about me leaving the SUV idling under their marquees.
Kate fluttered a hand in my general direction as she reclined her head. "Sure I did, but you know how it is with weddings. Lots of guests have the same last name, and some even have the same first and last. There were three Stephen Abrahams."
"At least the bags are at all the hotels, and we can check that off our list. I think I'm going to add a clause in our contract limiting the number of hotels we'll deliver bags to. No one should have guests scattered at six different hotels."
"How many new clauses does our contract have now?" Kate asked.
"A few." I had a habit of adding a new section to our wedding planning contract every time a client did something egregious. In the last six months, I'd added clauses preventing clients from cursing at us, making us run personal errands for them, or blaming us if their guests walked off with the silverware. I imagined the Wedding Belles contract would be quite sizable within a couple more years.
I headed for the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and scanning the contents for anything quick to eat. Nothing but beverages, condiments that looked a bit worse for wear, and leftover takeout. Drat. No leftovers from Richard’s dinner. I pulled out an opened bottle of white wine and reminded myself I needed to go shopping. That or find where Richard stashed the good food. I drained the last few drops of wine into two glasses, dropped the empty bottle into our blue recycling bin under the sink, and headed back out to the living room.
I handed Kate her glass. "You earned this."
"I'm assuming this comes with a fat raise." Kate took the wine and winked at me. "I'm pretty sure today should qualify me for hazard pay."
I took the chair across from her and tucked my bare feet up under me. "Every day as a wedding planner should count toward hazard pay."
Kate lifted her glass. "I'll drink to that."
I hoisted my glass before taking a sip of the cold, crisp wine. I slid back in the upholstered chair and closed my eyes. "Do you think we'll ever have a wedding that doesn't make us crazy?"
The sound of keys rattling in the lock made me open my eyes and sit up.
Reese pushed open the door and paused to take us in before stepping inside. "I take it your day was as fun as mine, ladies?"
Kate only opened one eye to look at Reese. "Did you stop someone from becoming a fugitive from justice, break about a hundred traffic laws, and get threatened by a potentially homicidal Southern belle?"
Reese raised an eyebrow. "So it was worse?"
I nodded. "Probably best not to ask."
"Agreed. I'd hate to have to arrest you both." He dropped his weathered leather bag on the floor next to my purse and came over to me, leaning down and giving me a kiss. "Although I might not mind subduing you."
I glanced over at Kate, who was smirking with her eyes closed. I was sure to hear about this later.
"My day was no picnic either," he said, walking to the kitchen. "Your friend Brianna is a piece of work."
Kate held a finger high in the air. "Not our friend. At best our frenemy. More like our nemesis."
I heard the refrigerator door open and close and the soft hiss of a bottle being opened.
Reese's head appeared above the opening between the two rooms. "You have a nemesis? I thought only supervillians and Richard had those."
I took a swallow of wine. "Let's just say there's a lot of bad blood between us and Brianna."
"And Richard and Brianna, and Fern and Brianna, and Buster and Mack and Brianna," Kate said. "You get the picture."
Reese joined us and squeezed in next to me on the chair, moving me so I was half on his lap. "I'm starting to."
"So what did she say when you asked her why she was at the Capital Weddings offices?" I asked, leaning against the hard muscles of his chest and trying to focus on anything but how nice they felt.
He took a swig from his bottle of microbrew beer. "How did you know I asked her about that?"
Kate waved her hands at me from the couch like you'd wave off a landing plane. She stopped as soon as Reese cut his eyes to her.
"I'm just guessing that's what you asked her," I said, feeling a little bad lying to my boyfriend.
Reese looked from me to Kate, who now wore a look of doe-eyed innocence--quite a feat for her. "The wedding industry grapevine is impressive, I'll give you that. Whoever told you what I asked Brianna must have also told you she wasn't very helpful. I can't tell you what she said, but I can tell you I doubt she had anything to do with the murder."
I let out a breath. "How can you be sure? Might I remind you this is the same woman who flirted shamelessly with you the first time you met her?"
Reese cocked his head at me. "I don't remember that."
I pushed myself up so I wasn't lying against him. "The bridal show? She batted her eyes at you so hard she nearly lost a set of lashes?"
He shook his head. "I remember you, and I remember the bartenders you had at the Wedding Belles booth wearing hot pants."
Kate perked up. "Those were my idea, you know."
"I figured," Reese said, pulling me back down to him by the belt loop of my pants.
"I can't believe you don't remember Brianna throwing herself at you. How do I know she didn't do the same today and that's why you think she's innocent?" I said. "I hope you didn't let her Southern accent fool you into thinking she's a sweet person."
"She’s a pit bull in pearls," Kate said, downing the last of her wine. "And not in a good way."
"There's a good way?" Reese muttered to me.
I sat my wine glass down on the coffee table. "How can you clear her when she had motive and opportunity?"
"I haven't cleared her." Reese tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "I'm just telling you what my gut instinct tells me."
"I'll bet she denied sending the dead roses too," Kate said, swinging her leg down from the arm of the couch. "Although I honestly don't know if that's her style."
"What dead roses?" Reese asked.
"Didn't Marcie tell you when you questioned her?" I said. "Someone sent her a bouquet of dead roses after the ‘Best Of' list came out at the end of December."
"The wedding industry version of hate mail," Kate said.
Reese sat up and nearly pitched me off the chair, catching me with one arm before I tumbled onto the floor. "She didn't mention it. Maybe she didn't think it was connected to what happened to her assistant."
"It might have slipped her mind in
the aftermath of Marcus being killed," Kate said, while I readjusted myself in the chair as Reese stood up and began to pace in front of the windows.
"All of those details are important," he said. "Those roses were a clear message and might have been the beginning of escalating violence."
"The redhead in the Capital Weddings office said Marcie assumed it was a wedding vendor disgruntled because they didn't make it on the list or one angry they'd been removed," I told Reese.
"Like Richard," Kate added.
I narrowed my eyes at her. "But not Richard."
"I remember how upset Richard was about not being on the list." Reese stopped pacing and took a drink of beer. "Are we sure we know all the people who were kicked off the list like him?"
"Didn't we determine that the other day?" I said.
"We came up with a few people," Kate said, "but if we want to be official about it, we should compare the last few years’ with this year's. I’ll bet there are people who were removed a couple of years ago who still want to get back on. And the longer they’ve been trying, the more desperate they’ll be."
I jumped up. "Sometimes you're a genius, Kate."
She grinned. "Don't tell Richard. I'd hate to ruin my reputation as a dyed with wool blonde."
I patted her on the shoulder as I hurried by her toward my office down the hall. "Your secret is safe with me."
I flipped on the overhead light in the small room that held my desk, a black swivel chair, a file cabinet, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with client binders, wedding books, and back issues of Capital Weddings magazine. The room smelled of sugar from the boxes of Valentine's candy stacked against one wall, and I inhaled deeply. Even without eating any, the scent gave me a mini sugar rush. I pulled the three most recent December issues off the shelf and rushed back to the living room.
I put them on the coffee table and opened them all to the list at the back. Kate and Reese stood over my shoulder as I began scanning the names.
"Ron Tinker," I said, confirming the name of the band agent who appeared on last year's list but was missing from the updated version.
"Skyfall Video." Kate pointed as I dragged my fingers down the lists. "We were right about that one too."
"I already knew those," Reese said. “Anyone else?”
I flipped the pages of the magazines and continued comparing while Reese got the notepad and pen from his bag. "There's Petals and Petunias."
“Already have them down,” Reese said.
"Wait a second," Kate clutched a hand to my shoulder. "That can't be right."
"It's right. The florist is definitely on the old list but not the new one."
"Not that." She waved a finger at the pages. "Below the florist section. Look which photographer is missing from this year's list and last year’s but not the year before that.”
My eyes shifted back and forth between the pages until I saw it. That couldn't be right. I twisted around and stared at her. "Maxwell Gray isn't on the last two lists."
Reese looked between us. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"
"Because he's the most notorious society photographer in the city," I said. "He also was the photographer for the wedding where we first met you."
Reese's mouth fell open. "The Pierce murder?"
"And it was his party where one of the other planners was killed last year," Kate said.
I shook my head as I rechecked the list. "He's done all the old money weddings for decades. Sure, he's as infamous for trying to seduce wedding planners as he is famous for his celebrity weddings, but I never imagined he'd fall off the list."
“It happened last year and we didn’t even notice.” Kate sank back on the couch. "It makes sense. There aren't as many old-school planners anymore, and he doesn't appeal to any of the newer planners. Not to mention, lecherous men are way out of style."
I felt pleased a slime ball like Maxwell finally had experienced a little karma.
"Would sending dead roses be his style?" Reese asked.
Kate and I exchanged a glance.
"For sure," I said. "He considers himself a Casanova, so something dramatic would fit his MO. Especially since he’s had two years to be upset about this.”
Kate clutched my arm. "Annabelle, how could we forget?"
Forget what? I thought, before the realization hit me. We'd been so focused on the decor for Saturday's wedding, we'd barely paid any attention to the rest of the team. "Maxwell Gray is the photographer for Amelia's wedding."
16
"I can't believe we forgot about Maxwell." I rubbed my forehead as the knowledge sank in.
"I wouldn't beat yourself up about it. Photography hasn't been the emphasis of the wedding," Kate said, emerging from the kitchen with an unopened bottle of wine and a wine opener. "I don't think it's come up again since we booked it."
I didn’t comment on opening a second bottle of wine. After realizing our wedding’s photographer was a likely murder suspect, we needed it. "I should have remembered the mother insisted on Maxwell. They do live in Potomac after all."
Kate peeled the foil off the top of the bottle and dropped it onto the coffee table then wedged the bottle between her knees as she screwed the wine pull into the cork. "And Amelia's mother is exactly like every client of his I've ever met. Rich and Botoxed."
Reese wrote something in his notepad. "I'll need to talk to him--and the other names you mentioned."
The cork came out of the bottle with a soft pop, and Kate fell back onto the couch, the wine still between her knees. Luckily, just a few drops splashed out and only onto her black pants. Not that my couch hadn’t seen worse.
"Before Saturday's wedding?" I asked. The last thing I wanted was a photographer who was irate after being questioned by the police.
He looked up and gave me a look I recognized. "I can't put the murder investigation on hold until after your wedding, babe."
"What good is it dating a cop if he can't postpose questioning a suspect or two?" Kate mumbled as she poured Pinot Noir into both of our glasses, even though they still held traces of white wine. “Voila. Instant rosé.”
Reese flicked his eyes at her, but she made a point to ignore him.
I felt a flutter of panic as I faced Kate and tried to ignore the fact that my white wine was now pink. "You did email Maxwell the wedding day timeline, didn't you?"
"Of course I did." She swirled her own glass of pink wine. "This is your usual pre-wedding jitters talking. Everyone has the timeline and the load-in details. There's nothing to worry about."
"Except the possibility our photographer is a killer," I said.
"Well, sure, there's that," Kate said. "But I feel like that's every wedding lately."
Reese flipped his notepad closed and tossed it onto the coffee table. "I promise to go easy on the guy. If I remember correctly, he's not exactly young."
Kate laughed. "Don't tell him. He's still swiping right for twentysomethings."
I wrinkled my nose. The thought of the aging photographer going after women younger than Kate made me want to gag. He still favored silk shirts worn open to the navel and cologne that arrived before he did. I took a drink of my mixed wine and was surprised I liked the slightly fruity yet still crisp taste.
"Where can I find him tomorrow?" Reese asked, heading for the kitchen with his empty beer bottle.
"He has an office around Sixteenth and U." I sat down next to Kate on the couch. "I can get the address for you as long as you promise not to throw him in jail before Saturday."
Reese's head appeared in the opening between the two rooms. "What if he's guilty?"
"If you leave me without a photographer the day before the biggest wedding of the season, for the most high-strung bride of the year, there will be two murders to solve."
Kate grinned at me. "I love it when you get fierce. That's why we call you the iron fist in the velvet glove."
“Who’s we?” I asked.
She took a big gulp of wine. “No one. P
eople. Richard. Everyone.”
Reese gave me a suggestive smile. "Badass Annabelle is a bit of a turn on."
My face felt warm as Kate's grin grew even wider, and it was my turn to hide behind my wine glass.
"Just promise me," I said to Reese.
"I promise to put him last on my list of suspects to question." He held up his hands as if surrendering. "No brass knuckles and thumbscrews."
"Where's the fun in that?" Kate said. "Who else is on your list of suspects? You already talked to Brianna."
"I guess I might as well tell you since you’ll find out anyway,” Reese said. “We eliminated the band guy and the florist. Neither had opportunity and both have solid alibis. The videographer has been hard to track down, but his Instagram posts show he's shooting a destination wedding, so unless he's postdating his images, I can't see him being involved."
Kate leaned back and threw one leg over the arm of the sofa again. "Look at you using social media to solve crimes. I had no idea the police department was so hip."
"So we told you what we found out from Marcie," I said, motioning to my assistant to close her legs and getting a wink in return. "Doesn't that mean you have to tell us something you've learned about the case?"
"Quid pro quo?" Reese brushed the dark curl off his forehead. "I just told you about the suspects."
"That's not fair. A bunch of people who didn’t do it isn’t interesting." I tried to make my voice sound like Kate's did when she pouted. "Isn't there anything else you can share that wouldn't affect the case?"
His face disappeared, and I could hear the sound of cabinets opening and closing followed by a deep sigh. I wasn't sure if it was a reaction to the sad state of our pantry or my request for information on the murder case. Probably a little bit of both.
Reese appeared again, holding up the latest pizza flyer we'd gotten. "Who's in the mood for pepperoni with extra cheese?"
"Yes, please," Kate said. "Annabelle and I forgot to eat lunch again."
I could hear him calling in the pizza order before he walked back out with another beer. I stared at him as he sank into the overstuffed armchair. He finally put a hand to the side of his head. "Fine. I can tell you the type of poison used as long as you promise not to breathe a word to anyone."
