The Truffle with Weddings

by Laura Durham

  I wasn't sure if I believed in chefs imparting moods into their dishes, but I certainly didn't want to take the chance of adding more conflict into the rehearsal dinner.

  "I take it your divorce wasn't amicable," I said, even though we'd already heard through the grapevine and from her ex himself that it wasn't.

  Marcie gave a mirthless laugh. "You could say that." She bit the edge of her thumbnail. "To be honest, I was coming here to ask him if he was the one who tried to poison me. A part of me thinks he might have murdered Marcus by accident."

  "You really believe that?" Kate asked.

  "The last time I saw him, he told me he wished I was dead and said to watch my back." Her voice broke. "I didn't take him seriously, and now Marcus is dead because of me."

  “You should tell the police,” I said, thinking I should do the exact same thing.

  Her eyes hardened. “If my gut is right and it's my ex-husband’s fault, he’s going to need the police all right, but to protect him from me.”

  24

  I hesitated before knocking on Leatrice's door. It had been a long day, and I needed a moment to gather myself after fighting Friday night traffic to get home. My shoulders felt like they were in knots, and I had to make a concerted effort to unball my fists. I always got a little tense the night before a wedding, but adding the murder and Leatrice's heart attack on top of it had not helped my overall Zen. I prided myself on being able to stay calm in any crisis, but this was a lot of drama. Even for a wedding planner.

  I also needed a second to prepare myself to see Leatrice again. I knew that she'd been cleared to come home, but my mind couldn't help flashing back to seeing my elderly neighbor lying helpless and nearly lifeless on the floor. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out deeply. I let my eyes flutter open and knocked gently on the door, making the frilly paper hearts taped on the wood surface quiver.

  Within seconds, Sidney Allen opened it and beamed at me. He waved me inside. "She's been asking about you since we got home."

  "I would have come sooner, but we had meetings and then the rehearsal."

  "You don't have to explain to me," he said. As an entertainment coordinator, I knew he understood the life of events.

  As usual, Sidney Allen wore a dark suit that didn't have much shape and had a wireless headset perched on his head. He touched a finger to the earpiece. "Affirmative. We're on the move."

  I glanced around the dim insides of the apartment but didn't see anyone else. A brass floor lamp next to the floral print couch provided the only light, sending a warm glow over the knickknack covered side tables and wooden coffee table strewn with mystery novels and Leatrice's dog-eared private detective manual.

  "Are you coordinating an event remotely?" I asked.

  He shook his head and the microphone in front of his mouth bobbled. "I'm hooked up to Leatrice in her bedroom. This way she can direct me to find things for her around the apartment without having to raise her voice."

  "How clever," I said, thinking how glad I was Richard hadn't discovered this method of bossing people around from a distance.

  Sidney Allen led me down the hallway to the bedroom, giving a cursory knock before pushing open the door. "Here we are, love muffin."

  Love muffin? Were ridiculous nicknames a new thing with them, or had I really been out of it lately?

  "Annabelle." Leatrice sat propped up in bed on what looked like every pillow and cushion in the apartment. Her jet-black hair helmet remained intact--making me wonder if Fern had already been to visit--and although her cheeks were a bit pale, her electric coral lipstick made up for it. She held out her spindly arms and beckoned me forward. "Tell me everything that's been happening."

  I gave Sidney Allen a questioning look as I sat down on the bed next to her, not sure if talking about a murder investigation was the best thing to do with a recent heart attack patient. I didn't want to be the one responsible for overexciting her.

  "You might as well tell her." He put his hands on his round waist. "If you don't, she'll go drag that police scanner in here and listen to it all night."

  Leatrice giggled and squeezed my hands. "My honey bun is such a worrier. I keep telling him I'm fine."

  Honey bun? Love muffin? Hoo boy.

  "He's right to be concerned, Leatrice. You gave us all quite a scare."

  Something flickered across her face, but it was replaced by her wide smile almost instantly. "Nonsense. My little incident had nothing to do with your murder case or with my scanner. I wasn't even listening to it then."

  "What were you doing?" In all the chaos, I'd never asked how or why Leatrice had nearly died.

  Her eyes went to Sidney Allen and her cheeks colored. "A little too much romance I'm afraid."

  I braced myself for a potentially traumatizing overshare. "That's okay. You don't need to--"

  "We were dancing," Sidney Allen said. "I was teaching her the tango."

  I let out a breath. "Dancing?" I tried to imagine the egg-shaped man dancing the tango.

  "The tango is a very sensual dance," Leatrice said with a wink, “and very vigorous."

  I tried to remove both of those words from my brain as I thought of Leatrice and Sidney Allen. "I'm just glad you're okay."

  "I'm fine." She gave my hands a shake. "But enough about me. There's nothing interesting to say about a hospital visit. I can tell you the food was dreadful, but the waitresses were lovely."

  I didn't remind her that they were orderlies, not waitresses.

  Sidney Allen slipped out of the room, and Leatrice lowered her voice. "What's going on with the case?"

  I thought back to what Leatrice knew so far. "You remember the redhead from the magazine who told us about Marcie's broken office door and the dead roses? Well, she's been having an affair with the photographer Maxwell Gray."

  "Don't I know that name?"

  I nodded. "He's been loosely connected to a few of our cases before. Oh, and someone was killed in his new studio during a party."

  "Is he connected to this case?"

  "He conspired with Cassandra--that's the redhead--to spook Marcie with the dead flowers so she'd quit. The plan was Cassandra would get Marcie's job, and Maxwell would get back on the ‘Best Of' list he'd been kicked off." I took a breath. "They claim they didn't have anything to do with the broken lock or the poisoned chocolates though."

  Leatrice looked like Christmas had come early. "Two new suspects. How exciting!"

  "I forgot Marcie's hairdresser, who was also upset not to be on the list, and her ex-husband. That makes four."

  "My detective manual says the spouse should always be looked at very carefully." She steepled her fingers and drummed them against each other. "Did he have a good reason to want her dead?"

  "Their divorce wasn't friendly," I said. "He was paying a lot of alimony, at least that's what we heard. He claims he didn't kill him, but Kate and I didn't expect him to confess."

  Her fingers froze. "You tracked him down?"

  "Not exactly. He's a chef at the hotel where our clients are holding their rehearsal dinner tonight. We just happened to be going there."

  Leatrice drew in her breath sharply. "One of your suspects is a chef? That would have made it easy for him to tamper with the chocolates, wouldn't it?"

  "Possibly," I said, "but we have no idea how he could have gotten his hands on them. As far as we know, he wasn't anywhere near the magazine offices, and everyone swears the box of chocolates never left the editor's desk. I'm sure Marcie would have noticed her ex-husband lurking around."

  "What about the planner who hates you and was at the magazine when Richard dropped off his truffles?" Leatrice asked. "She had motive and opportunity."

  "Brianna? Reese questioned her but doesn't think she did it." I didn't add that I thought my boyfriend was being snowed by her innocent Southern belle act. "Unfortunately, she blames us for being added to the suspect list."

  "Oh dear." Leatrice frowned. "Did I get you in hot water with one of your colle
agues?"

  I patted Leatrice's wrinkled hand. "There was no love lost between us to begin with. I wouldn't worry about it."

  Leatrice rearranged herself on the collection of pillows and couch cushions. "So what's our next move?"

  "I have a big wedding tomorrow, and you need to stay in bed, so I don't think either of us have a next move. Plus, Reese will have me put in protective custody if I don't butt out."

  Leatrice took my hands again. "I hope you'll tell him to stop by. He's such a nice young man, Annabelle."

  "Look who's here," Sidney Allen called as he walked back into the room.

  "I would have been here sooner, sweetie," Fern said, bustling into the room with a bag over each arm. "I was just now able to pull myself away from the bride."

  "Amelia kept you busy until now?" I asked. "The dinner should have been in full swing."

  Fern held up both palms. "Do. Not. Ask. The bride wanted to change looks between the church and the hotel. We're going to be out of hairstyles by the time the wedding rolls around. Don't blame me if I have to send her down the aisle with a Mohawk tomorrow."

  He set the bags on the end of the bed and gave Leatrice the once-over. "You look a thousand times better already. All we need is to spruce up your look with some color. How do feel about a smoky eye?"

  "It's nighttime," I said.

  Fern looked at me as if I were a simpleton. "Which is the best time for a smoky eye." He produced a handful of nail polish bottles and held them out for Leatrice to inspect. "What do you think about silver glitter for your toes?"

  "Do you have anything more Valentiney?" she asked, giving Sidney Allen a suggestive smile. "Maybe a sexy red?"

  I was glad Richard was not here to see this. He might have regretted giving her CPR.

  Fern dug in one of his bags and produced a bottle of fire engine red polish. "What about this? We could always do a clear glitter top coat for some sparkle."

  Leatrice clapped her hands. "Perfect." She blew a kiss to Sidney Allen. "What do you think, sweetie pie?"

  "You'd look beautiful in any color, cupcake," he said, blowing her a kiss back.

  That was my cue to leave. Between the sweetie pies, cupcakes, honey buns, and love muffins, I was getting both hungry and nauseated.

  "I'll leave you and Fern to your makeover." I stood and started backing toward the door. "I still need to go over the schedule for tomorrow and check my emergency kit."

  "You'll keep me posted about the case, won't you?" Leatrice asked as Fern unpacked his pedicure supplies on the bed.

  "I promise you nothing will happen between now and the next time I see you," I said. "But I'll make sure Reese keeps you updated if he finds out anything new. And I'll see you tomorrow morning, Fern."

  Fern gave me a finger wave over his shoulder, his enormous topaz ring flashing at me. "Bright and early."

  Sidney Allen led me to the front door. "Your visit really perked her up."

  "Then by the time Fern's done with her, she's going to be on the ceiling," I said. "Just make sure she gets some rest."

  He told me he would as he closed the door behind me. I started up the stairs to my apartment, pausing when I heard the building's front door open.

  "Hey, babe." Reese smiled as he walked in, but I noticed that he looked as tired as I felt. His white button-down was wrinkled and had some sort of stain on the collar with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  I waited for him on the landing and let him pull me into a hug. His arms felt good wrapped around me, and I felt the familiar flutter of butterflies as I pressed a hand against his hard chest muscles.

  "I was visiting Leatrice," I said, indicating her door with my head.

  "Should I pop in and say hi?" he asked.

  "Fern's giving her a pedicure right now, so she may be a bit distracted. Better to wait until tomorrow. The rest of us will be working all day, even Sidney Allen, so it would be a good time to visit her."

  "Consider it done." Reese slipped an arm around my waist as we headed up to our apartment. "Are you ready for your wedding?"

  "I'd better be," I said. "I just hope the photographer doesn't play the diva card."

  "You're used to divas though. Do I need to remind you about Richard?"

  "True," I said. "But I may have ticked this one off by accusing him of trying to kill Marcie."

  Reese stopped mid-step and shook his head slowly. "Do I want to know?"

  I explained our visit to Maxwell, the encounter with Cassandra, discovering Marcie's ex-husband was a chef at The Hay-Adams, and talking to him at the hotel. When I closed with explaining Marcie’s theory that her ex was behind Marcus’s death, Reese gaped at me.

  "I honestly don't know how you get all your wedding work done with the amount of sleuthing you do."

  I smiled up at him. "Impressed?"

  He ran a hand through his hair. "That's not the word that comes to mind."

  "Most of the information fell into our laps," I said. "And it was a coincidence that Marcie's ex happened to work at the hotel we were going to anyway. The good news is now you can run with all the clues we discovered. It's not like I'll have time to do any investigating tomorrow during my wedding."

  Reese mumbled something about small favors as we reached our apartment door.

  "You brought up one good point," I said as Reese jiggled the key in the lock. "I haven't heard from Richard at all today. It's not like him to go radio silent like this."

  He pushed open the door, but neither of us went inside. It both sounded and smelled like someone was cooking in our kitchen.

  "There you are," Richard rushed to the door in a white chef's hat with Hermes poking out of the pocket of a matching apron. "I've been waiting forever. I have so much to tell you two."

  25

  Reese closed the door behind us. He hadn't said a word since we'd walked in on Richard, and I couldn't tell if he was in shock or contemplating how fast it would take him to move out.

  "When did you get here?" I asked, even though it was only one of about a hundred questions I had for him.

  Richard glanced at his Gucci watch. "A couple of hours by now." He pointed a wooden spoon at me. "I expected you to be home much earlier. I thought rehearsals were usually around five o'clock."

  "They are, but Kate and I checked in on the rehearsal dinner at the Top of the Hay, and then I stopped in to see Leatrice."

  Richard spun on his heel and headed back to the kitchen. "How is the old thing?"

  "She looks almost like her usual self," I said. "The heart attack didn't put much of a damper on her energy."

  "That's too bad," Richard said. "I suppose it was too much to hope she'd take up crocheting instead of playing neighborhood spy."

  Despite his complaints, I knew Richard had a soft spot for Leatrice. Not that he would ever admit it.

  Reese dropped his worn satchel on the floor next to the couch. "At least we don't have to order pizza tonight."

  Richard gasped and poked his head over the counter dividing the kitchen and living room. "Have you been serving this man nothing but pizza?"

  "No." I heard the defensive tone in my voice, and I dropped it to a mumble. "We also order Chinese."

  Reese pulled me down with him onto the couch. "It's okay." He nuzzled my neck. "I like pizza." He glanced over his shoulder. "I also like privacy."

  Hermes scampered out from the kitchen and jumped onto the couch next to us, running from one end to the other and walking across our laps in the process.

  "Sorry about this," I whispered. "Maybe we should change the locks."

  "Doesn't Leatrice have one of those key-making molds? How long until she cloned our new key and made copies for everyone?"

  "About a week," I admitted, closing my eyes and wishing I could kick Richard out as Reese nibbled my neck. I felt Hermes circle a few times before curling up next to me.

  "I hope you're in the mood for steak, Detective." Richard called out over the sound of something sizzling in a pan. "I'm searing it
in herb butter. Nothing fancy."

  Reese moaned a little, and my own stomach rumbled. I pulled back and swatted at him. "Are you moaning because of me or the steak?"

  He gave me a crooked grin, his hazel eyes deepening to green. "A little of both." He laughed as I swatted him a second time. "Hey, I didn't eat lunch."

  Richard cleared his throat. "Don't you want to know what I found out about our victim?"

  "Is there anyone who isn't investigating my murder case?" Reese asked.

  "Why are you checking out Marcus?" I asked Richard. "I thought you already knew him. Didn't you hire him to work for Richard Gerard Catering?"

  "Yes, but to be honest, I didn't do my due diligence. This was back when we were so busy I couldn't think straight, so I was in too much of a rush to check out the candidates like I should have."

  "Did Marcus give references?" I asked.

  "Oh, I called those and they all said nice things about him, but who gives a reference who won't say nice things about you? I should have checked out the details on his resume, and that's what I did today."

  I sat up straighter. "Are you saying Marcus put things on his resume that weren't true?"

  "He stretched the truth," Richard said. "For one, he claimed to be a college graduate, but he wasn't."

  "I know he went to college." I dropped my shoes on the floor and tucked my legs up under me. "He and Marcie went to the same school."

  "He went," Richard said. "He didn't finish. I called the university today and apparently Marcus was expelled."

  Now Reese straightened. "Expelled? Why?"

  "He was arrested." Richard paused for what I was sure was dramatic effect. "In his senior year he stole a campus police car and went joyriding. They caught him and he was arrested for DUI and kicked out. He never graduated even though he only had a few weeks left to go."

  "I almost feel sorry for him," I said. "A lot of people do dumb things in college, but not everyone gets kicked out and loses the chance to get a degree."

  "Feel more sorry he got poisoned," Reese said under his breath.