by Laura Durham
"When did you become the voice of reason?" I asked, grinning at her.
We walked inside, passing through the second set of double doors and pausing. Although the outside of the building indicated the shelter had been a school in its former life, the inside had a long, well-lit hallway and the walls looked freshly painted, even if the paint choice was a gray on gray. I smelled food and realized it must be around lunchtime as people disappeared through a doorway to the right. I didn't know if the mission was a residential shelter or if it only provided meals and services, but it seemed to be bustling.
"Do I smell fried chicken?" Kate asked, sucking in a deep breath.
"Since when do you eat fried food?"
She inhaled again. "I don't, but I love to smell it."
I rolled my eyes, motioning for Kate to follow me as I peeked my head into the well-trafficked doorway.
The room had windows along one side and long fluorescent lights in the ceiling, with tables and attached benches stretching the width of the space. In the corner was an entrance to a kitchen and what appeared to be a buffet line and stacks of green trays.
Kate nudged me. "Is that her?"
I followed her line of sight and spotted the woman with the white braid down her back. "She matches Fern's description."
Kate tapped her wrist, even though she didn't wear a watch. "Then let's do this and get out of here. Autoshop is waiting."
I wound my way to where the woman sat with her back to us. She wasn't eating, but seemed to be nursing a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Walking around the table, I took a seat directly across from her.
She glanced up and her pale-blue eyes flickered something--concern, fear, confusion? "Who are you?"
"We're friends of Fern's," I said.
She sized us both up as Kate sat next to me. "That makes sense." She motioned her head toward Kate. "Especially her."
I tried not to take that as a passive-aggressive comment about my messy ponytail. "You're Jeannie, right?"
She nodded and took a sip of coffee.
"He's worried about you," I said, when I realized she wasn't much of a talker. "You missed your usual appointment this morning."
Her eyes darted around the room, then dropped to her cup. "Can you tell him I'm sorry about that?"
"He'd rather hear it from you," Kate said. "You know how Fern worries."
Jeannie let out a small laugh. "That man sure is a mess of nerves."
A pretty accurate assessment. When she didn't say more, I continued. "And the folks at Clyde's are worried, too."
She shifted on the bench. "Can you tell them I needed a few days off? I'll be back soon."
I leaned closer. "Why do you need a few days off? Is this about Kris?"
Her head jerked up. "Are you here about him?"
"No," I said. "We're here because Fern was worried about you, but everyone is pretty concerned about Kris, too. You heard they found his Santa suit, right?"
Jeannie pressed her lips together and nodded.
"I know you told my fiancé that Kris was worried about something before he disappeared. Something he saw. Do you think that could have gotten him killed?"
She eyed me warily. "Your fiancé? You mean that good-looking cop Fern brought around? You're engaged to him?"
I tried not to be offended for the second time in the conversation. "Yes, he's my fiancé."
"She looks a lot better when she tries," Kate said. "You should have seen her yesterday. She had fake lashes and everything."
Jeannie cocked an eyebrow at me as if she was trying to imagine me with false eyelashes.
I sighed. "Back to Kris. Did he seem to be afraid for his life?"
Jeannie dropped her gaze back to her cup and shrugged. "He seemed concerned, but Kris doesn't like to let anything upset him too much. He says he can't sing if he's in a bad mood."
"And you don't know of anyone who would want him dead?" I asked. "Or what he saw?"
She shook her head sharply. "Everyone loves Kris."
“Not everyone,” I said. “We heard that some of the bell ringers weren’t crazy about him, and even some of your homeless friends didn’t like his policy of not taking money.”
Jeannie looked over her shoulder and dropped her voice. “Those Salvation Army Santas can get real competitive. It’s not a big secret they don’t like Kris, but kill him?” She shook her head. “And none of our people would do that either. Even if they didn’t like his singing shtick. It had to be someone else.”
It seemed to be the general consensus that no one would have hurt Kris, but clearly someone did. A man sat next to me, the smell of fried chicken and macaroni and cheese wafting up from his plate. My stomach growled, reminding me of my banana and coffee breakfast.
"So if it wasn’t an angry Santa trying to knock off the competition, what about what he saw? He didn't tell you anything more about it?"
Another shake of her head. "Just that they shouldn't be doing that sort of thing around the holidays." The corner of her mouth quirked up. "He’s touchy about people messing with Christmas."
I guess that made sense. He did dress up like Santa and sing carols just to make people happy, so he had a certain claim to the holly jolly holiday.
"And he didn't want to go to the cops about it?" I asked.
Jeannie shrugged.
I wondered if he thought he wouldn't be taken seriously because he was homeless or because he dressed up like Santa and sang carols. None of us said anything for a few minutes.
"This seems like a nice place," Kate finally said, swiveling her head around. "The food smells good."
Jeannie nodded and took another tiny sip of coffee.
I twisted my head to take in the quickly filling dining room, as well. "It's not all that close to Georgetown, though."
"I like to move around," she said.
I nodded but knew that contradicted everything Fern had told me about the woman. She was a Georgetown institution, much like Kris Kringle Jingle. I looked at the tight set of her jaw and the thin line of her mouth. No way was this woman going to talk to us, even if she knew something. I suspected her being halfway across town—and the nervous way she scanned the room—had something to do with Kris. Was she avoiding Georgetown because, despite what she said, she considered one of the other homeless there a threat? Was she avoiding being seen by a murderous bell ringer? Was she afraid that her connection with Kris put her in danger? Whatever the reason, the expression on her face told me she wasn’t going to tell us.
I stood. "My fiancé is determined to find out what happened to your friend. The forensics unit is inspecting the recovered Santa suit for clues, so hopefully we'll have more information soon."
Her head snapped up, her brows pressed together forming a hard crease between her eyes. "They can know things just from that bloody suit?"
"Sure," I said. "Forensics is pretty impressive."
Kate stood next to me. "But don't think it's like CSI. None of the forensic techs are even remotely as hot in real life."
I didn't want to know how my assistant knew the "hotness" of the DC forensics department.
"Thanks for talking to us," I said. "We'll tell Fern and the folks at Clyde's you're okay."
Jeannie gnawed on her bottom lip. "Tell that cute cop of yours thanks from me. Not everyone takes us seriously, but he didn't look at me like I was crazy when Fern brought him around and told him about Kris."
"Of course he didn't think you were crazy," Kate said. "He's friends with Fern."
That got a small smile from Jeannie. "Sometimes I think that one might be a sandwich short of a picnic."
"Most creative geniuses are," I said.
"Which explains the entire wedding industry," Kate said under her breath as we left Jeannie.
When we'd gotten outside, I looked over my shoulder. "I'm glad she's okay."
"Too bad she didn't tell us anything."
I let Kate hang onto my arm as we walked down the concrete steps. "What do you mean? She gave us
a huge clue.”
"Just now?" Kate glanced back at the building. "Was she talking in code?"
I shrugged. "She told us that Kris isn't dead."
"She did?"
"Didn't you notice how she referred to him in the present tense? Most people have assumed he's dead when they hear his suit was found soaked in blood, but she didn't seem all that concerned and she talked about him as if she knows he's alive."
"Maybe she's an optimist," Kate suggested, opening her side of the car and leaning against the top of the doorframe.
"Or maybe she knows something we don't." I nibbled the corner of my lip as we both got into the car. “I hope she isn’t in danger.”
“Either way, I wouldn’t worry about her too much.”
I cut my eyes to Kate as I started the car and eased it into traffic. “What happened to your Christmas spirit?”
She shook her head and jerked a thumb behind her. “I mean, I wouldn’t worry because it looked like the cops were keeping an eye on her.”
“The cops?” I craned my neck around quickly, but we were already a block away.
“Didn’t you notice the two guys in the unmarked car parked a few spaces in front of us?”
I hadn’t. “How do you know they were cops?”
Kate gave me a withering look. “Have I ever been wrong about predicting a man’s profession by his clothing?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Trust me, they were cops.”
So someone in the police department was keeping an eye on Jeannie, but my fiancé clearly had no idea. This got more interesting—and baffling—by the second.
Chapter 15
“So are we back to wedding business?" Kate asked as we walked up the metal stairs leading into Autoshop.
I dropped my phone back into my purse. "Absolutely. Fern is happy to hear that Jeannie is okay, and I told Reese so he wouldn't worry about searching for her as well as Kris. Now if we only knew what happened to the homeless man who found the Santa suit."
Kate paused at the wide entrance to the long room with exposed brick walls and steel beams running along the ceiling. "But in a detached curiosity way, right?"
"Of course. I promise to be completely focused on our walk-through." I scanned the space, which was the embodiment of industrial chic and made me feel like I should be wearing hipster glasses and have the tips of my hair dyed pink.
"Good, because we don't have long to figure out a design plan for the space," Kate said. "But don't you think it's perfect?"
"It is a blank slate." I stepped into the room, my shoes tapping on the concrete floors, and gazed down at the tall windows that ran across the far end of the space. "We could do just about anything with it."
"Exactly." Kate walked into the middle of the empty room and spread her arms out wide. "Since the bride wants a time theme, we could hang clocks from the ceiling over each table."
I turned to look at the rough, redbrick walls as my mind raced with ideas. "I wonder if we could rent grandfather clocks to position along the walls."
"And look at this elevated space we could use for cocktails." Kate strode to the other side of the room where more black metal stairs led to a long, narrow space that ran parallel to the main room and had whitewashed brick walls.
I followed her up the stairs until we were standing in the cocktail space, which featured more large windows and doors to an outdoor terrace. "We could put two bars against the walls inside and maybe another outside."
Kate snapped her fingers. "That reminds me. I need to think up a name for our specialty cocktail."
"This wedding is having a specialty cocktail?" I asked.
"Annabelle." She patted my hand. "All weddings should have a specialty cocktail."
"You've really drunk the Instagram Kool-Aid, haven't you?"
"For the right party, that could be a cute name for a custom cocktail," she said, winking at me. "But for a time-themed New Year's Eve wedding, I was thinking about the Melon Ball Drop or the Thyme After Thyme with actual thyme sprigs for garnish."
"Cute," I admitted. "How long have you been brainstorming those?"
Kate grinned. "Since the bride signed the contract."
I crossed to one of the windows overlooking the terrace and spotted the top of the Capitol in the distance. "Normally, I wouldn't think a terrace would be very useful for a New Year's Eve wedding, but this year we could actually use it."
"Don't remind me." Kate slipped on her oversized sunglasses as sunlight streamed through the windows. "I hate sweating in December."
"At least this wedding isn't stuck with a snowflake theme," I said.
"You have got to be kidding me,” Kate said as she slid her sunglasses to the end of her nose and squinted over them.
"I never kid about themes, Kate. You know that. Complain about them, yes. But kid..."
She elbowed me to cut me off. "It's the tire slasher."
"The what?" I watched as her face hardened into a scowl. "Wait. Do you mean Brianna?" I followed her gaze and saw the blond wedding planner flouncing into the event space from the other side. "What is she doing here?'
"Stalking us," Kate said, not taking her eyes off the woman.
I instinctively put a hand on Kate's arm. "You know you can't run over there and accuse her of slashing your tires."
"Why not?"
"Because then she'll know she's getting to us," I said. "The last thing we want is for someone like her to think she's winning."
"Good point." Kate took a deep breath. "Can I kick her? Accidentally?"
"No," I said. "Remember, revenge is a dish best served cold."
Kate made a face. "That doesn't make any sense. What tastes good cold? Are you sure you're saying it right?"
"Positive," I told her. "Now let's go make sure that two-bit tramp knows she isn't getting to us."
Kate grinned. "I love it when Fern rubs off on you."
We walked down from the cocktail area and crossed the room toward Brianna, who stood next to a pair of young women who looked like they could be in high school and were both engrossed in their phones. When the tall blond saw us, her smile froze and she muttered something under her breath that made both women's heads snap up.
"If it isn't the crime-fighting duo themselves," she said in her syrupy Southern accent, laughing at her own joke.
"What are you doing here?" Kate asked, putting her hands on her hips and rapping the toe of her shoe on the floor. "I know you don't have a wedding booked here."
"Styled shoot," one of the girls said. "At least that's what we're trying for."
Brianna's cheeks flushed pink, and she shot daggers at the girl.
"You're so lucky to have the time on your hands to do styled shoots," Kate said, her voice dripping with fake sincerity. "That's the problem with having so many paying clients, like our wedding at the Four Seasons this weekend and the Ritz last weekend. We barely have time to breathe, much less dream up fake events to photograph."
"That's because y'all are too busy stealing other planners' weddings," Brianna said, her eyes flashing.
Kate held up her hands. "We had nothing to do with the bride bailing on you. She didn't even call us until she'd fired you."
"She didn't tell us who her planner had been," I added. "We had no idea it was you."
Brianna glared at both of us. "Like I'd believe that. You've been trying to destroy me ever since I came here."
"Us?" Kate gaped at her. "You're the one who told everyone we were the wedding planners of death."
"Well, you are," Brianna practically screamed. "How many dead bodies have y'all found at your weddings? Ten? Twenty?"
The women with Brianna stared at us.
"Not twenty," I assured them, although I was fairly certain the number was higher than ten.
"Well, while you're running around like chickens with your heads cut off on New Year's Eve, I'm going to be hosting an industry party so over-the-top that no one will be talking about anything else for years." She wagged a finger at us. "Eve
ryone will see just how much better a planner I am than you two."
"Listen, Brianna," I said, thinking that maybe our feud had gone on long enough. "That's silly. You don't need to spend a ton of money on a party to prove you're good."
"Silly?" She tossed her hair off her shoulder. "My daddy always says there isn't any problem that enough money can't fix."
I sighed. Someone wasn't going to win father of the year.
"I'm not sure how we got off on such a bad foot," I said, "but why don't we talk this out?"
"There's nothing to talk about." Brianna folded her arms tightly across her chest. "I'm sorry y'all are making me get ugly, but I'm done being sweet."
Kate folded her own arms. "This has been you being sweet?"
"Ladies," I said, making a last-ditch effort to diffuse the situation. "Let's all calm down."
"You call slashing my tires being sweet?" Kate asked, taking a step forward.
Both of Brianna's assistants swung their heads toward her, but she just smiled.
"Did your tires get slashed? Well, isn't that a shame?" She batted her eyelashes. "Maybe you made the wrong person angry."
"Maybe you did," Kate said, her voice menacing.
Brianna stepped back, clearing her throat. "I've had about enough of y'all threatening me."
Kate leaned forward, flicking her fingers at the three women. "Then I suggest you leave, sweetie."
Brianna spun on her heel and the other two women scurried after her, their shoes pattering as they hurried down the stairs.
"Well, that went well," I said.
"What?" Kate gave me her most innocent face. "I said 'sweetie'."
Chapter 16
“This is an odd way to go back to Georgetown," Kate said as I veered off Wisconsin Avenue and headed down Massachusetts Avenue.
Since it was still in the mid-seventies, I had my car windows down instead of cranking the AC. It just seemed wrong to use air conditioning in December, even if the weather called for it. I rested my arm on the window sill and breathed in. "We're not going back to Georgetown."
"Are we leaving the city to make our fortune elsewhere now that that crazy Brianna is after us?" Kate asked, reaching for the Blue Bottle coffee she'd gotten when we'd walked through the Union Market food stalls on our way out of Autoshop. "Because I'm okay with that plan. I think we could do well planning weddings on the beaches of Mexico."
