by Gina LaManna
His eyes twinkled. “Of course not. If you haven’t realized, everyone knows everyone’s business around town. Lana Duvet hasn’t been quiet about wedding plans.”
“Figures.” I let out the eyeroll before I could help it. Matt saw it, judging by the little smirk on his face, so I quickly continued. “Let’s pretend you didn’t see that.”
“Not a huge fan of Lana?”
“Eh,” I said. “I don’t want to speak ill of anyone. Like you said, the town’s small.”
“Gossip goes a long way around here,” he said. “Which is why I’m wondering if this has anything to do with Grant Mark’s murder?”
“I don’t feel like commenting on that.”
“I helped with the cake,” he said. “Don’t I deserve to know what it’s for at the very minimum?”
I gave a deep sigh and crossed my arms. “Fine. You seem trustworthy enough, so I’ll give you the short story. I’m not a huge fan of Lana because she pulled down my shorts during summer camp. Which is mortifying when you’re a kid and wearing underpants that spell the day of the week on them.”
“Yeah, I’d imagine that’s not easy to live down.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was called Tuesday for a year.”
He laughed, then covered it up with a muffled cough. “I’m sorry—that’s not really funny.”
“It’s fine.” I gave a dry smile. “It’s funny now, but it wasn’t then. So yeah, I wasn’t exactly pleased to hear about her wedding when I came back. Then her best man goes and gets himself killed, and I’m a suspect in his murder? The whole thing is unpleasant. I feel like the only way to get a fresh start in Blueberry Lake is to uncover the truth about what actually happened.”
“I don’t think anyone believes you killed Grant,” Matt said. “I spend a good amount of time with June, and she thinks you’re innocent. If June’s on your side, you’ve got the weight of Blueberry Lake behind you. Her vote is important on matters of public gossip.”
“Well, that’s good to know. Thank goodness for your family, or I’d be a leper,” I said. “In a red dress because I can’t even clothe myself properly for the seasons.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you look perfect,” he said. “I am just worried about your knees getting frostbitten the second you step outside.”
A moment of awkward silence took over. Matt’s eyes flicked to my face and lingered until I looked away. I wasn’t exactly ready for romance, but Matt was giving off some interested vibes. It’s a shame I was still recovering from a bad breakup. Otherwise, he would’ve been perfect dating material.
Finally, he broke the silence and turned the door handle. “I’m going to head home, but if you need anything—give me a call. I left my number on the counter.”
As he stepped outside, I waved goodbye and closed the door behind him, thinking it looked like a true winter wonderland outside. The fresh coating of brilliant white on everything—the greenhouse, the yard, the deck—made me think of Christmas all over again. In a way, it was as if this quiet blanket was laying the groundwork for a fresh start in all things: romance, hometown, and career.
With a smile, I turned to the oven and glanced at the timer. Twenty-four minutes to go, and I’d have a perfect cake courtesy of my next-to-perfect neighbor.
Humming a little ditty, I ran upstairs to shower quickly before the cake finished. While the snow shone brightly outside, all that glittered was not yet gold. There was still a murder to be solved—and so long as Cooper hadn’t arrested anyone, I wasn’t in the clear.
Worse yet? I knew I hadn’t killed anyone. Which meant that whoever had killed Grant Mark was still on the loose. A murderer hid among us—roaming free through Blueberry Lake. Was it only a matter of time before he or she struck again?
Chapter 10
“Oh, this is so not a good idea,” May grumbled as I pulled up in front of the address to the Duvet residence. “There’s no way this ends well.”
“Since when have we ever gone along with all the good ideas?” I chirped. “We seem to excel at the troublesome ones.”
“Yeah, but this is the Duvets we’re talking about. They’re rich and snotty and powerful.”
“June is more powerful,” I said, regurgitating the line Matt had used on me earlier. “If anyone’s opinion holds weight in this town, it’s June’s. And she was there when we organized this whole thing. Mrs. Beasley is the one who got you the job.”
May gave me a perceptive glance. “You’re right. But I’m suspicious—who told you all that about June’s word being the voice of reason in the gossip mill?”
I realized my misstep too late. Under my cousin’s dark and threatening stare, I exhaled loudly and spilled. “I begged Matt to help me bake the cake this afternoon.”
“I knew it!” She pointed a finger at me as I threw the truck into park. “I knew you didn’t bake that beauty all on your own.”
“No, but I frosted it. Sort of,” I said, which was also a lie. Matt had conveniently popped back over with some misplaced mail just in time to help me frost the thing. We’d both pretended it had been fate, when really, I knew it was his thoughtfulness. (Or pity, but I’d take it all the same.)
“Right,” May said, her voice edging toward conspiratorial. “So, tell me about it! What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was there hand holding? Kissing? Romance in the air?” she asked. “That’s how people fall in love, you know, doing these little things that turn into big things. Isn’t he a hunk?”
“He’s a good man,” I agreed, realizing I was drawn more toward his sturdy gentleness than his looks, though he wasn’t exactly an eyesore. “He’s really nice, but I’m not looking for anything romantic at the moment.”
“Don’t tell me you’re into Cooper!” May rounded on me. “You have Matt practically bending over backward to help you get this cake ready—if you give me the he’s too nice argument I’m going to flip out. You want to marry the nice man, Jenna. Not the bad boys.”
“First, Cooper doesn’t strike me as a bad boy. Second, who says I go for bad boys, anyway?”
“Your last boyfriend was such a nice guy.”
“I thought he was,” I said defensively. “You know, for a while at least.”
“Uh-huh.” May hopped out of the truck and began gathering trays of food into her arms. “Sure. Look me in the eyes and say that.”
“He was nice on our first date,” I said. “And then things moved along really quickly. We had chemistry.”
“I’m not going to lecture you, I’m just saying—be open to a different sort of guy.” May gave me a wink. “You might find he’s just what you’re looking for. Take my Joe for example. He’s nothing like the boys I used to date. He’s a real man, you know? He’s smart and sexy and all that, but he’s also there for me. He’s going to be the best father.”
“I know all that! Joe is great for you, but I’m not looking for anything at all. That’s the difference.”
“That’s when you always find it,” she said knowingly. “Grab the appetizers—we’ll leave the cake out here for a minute because it’ll stay frozen anyway.”
The two of us picked our way through the freshly shoveled walkway up to the looming front door of the Duvet house. Though the path had probably been shoveled less than thirty minutes before, there was already a light dusting of snow in which our footprints lingered.
I had chosen to wear my (freshly laundered) outfit that I’d worn on my flight to Minneapolis. Black pants, black shirt—it was the most official looking attire I had with me that also covered my legs, helping to avoid frostbitten knees. I still wasn’t completely certain if Matt had been making a joke, but I didn’t want to take the risk. (Wouldn’t that be horrible if my knees turned all knobby and black because I’d worn a dress and tights in a blizzard?)
May had opted for a similar outfit except she’d gone with a starched white shirt instead of my flowy black one. This wasn’t her first rodeo at catering events, an
d she handled everything with pure professionalism. I owed her a huge favor, and I told her so again. I had no doubt she’d make me pay her back in a big way. I groaned at the very thought of it.
The door opened to reveal Mrs. Duvet standing before us in an outfit of smart black and white—a tight pencil skirt leading into a breezy top with long, gauzy sleeves that flared out at the wrists. She could either be going to a charity gala or a job interview, but not hosting a bachelorette party. Unless all the bachelorette parties I’d been to so far had been doing things wrong.
“Thank you for covering at the last minute,” Mrs. Duvet said crisply, speaking only to May. “It was a relief when Mrs. Beasley rang this morning after our original caterer cancelled.”
“Yeah, it was quite a surprise,” May said dryly, choosing not to look at me. “But it’s my pleasure. Where should we set up?”
Mrs. Duvet led us through her home—a place that lacked any of the charm of Gran’s old farm house and all the sleek fixings that could be found in a Pottery Barn catalogue. I wondered if she hadn’t paid a staging company to come in and make her house look like a studio set. It had that same empty, unlived in feeling.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Duvet said, gesturing to a long white table covered by linens so expensive my fingers longed to touch them. It was all prepped for wine spills and sauce stains. Pity. “The guests will be arriving in half an hour. We’ll do cocktail hour first, and I’d appreciate if you—” she paused to give a pathetic sort of glance toward me—“wouldn’t mind carrying trays of the signature cocktail around?”
“Of course not,” I said, bowing my head. (Don’t ask me why I bowed—I don’t have an explanation.) “It’d be my pleasure. What would you like me to serve for the signature beverages?”
“Champagne flutes and The Lana,” Mrs. Duvet said. “We had an adorable custom mimosa concocted for the bride-to-be. “It’s over in the kitchen. I’ll leave you to set up. Oh, before I forget—I have this for you.”
Mrs. Duvet slid May a tidy envelope which I imagined housed a check. Once the hostess disappeared, May cracked open the envelope and peeked at the sum written on the line.
“Well?” I asked. “Is it all there?”
Her eyebrows raised slightly. “With a nice tip. Fine, I won’t make you pay for throwing this on me last minute. We’ll be able to get that fancy new jogging stroller I’ve always wanted.”
“I thought you didn’t jog.”
“I don’t,” May said smoothly. “But I’m optimistic that might change.”
“Touché,” I said. “Maybe I’ll try jogging with you.”
May and I exchanged glances with one another and then burst into laughter.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes. “That was fun. Now, direct me, boss. What should I set up?”
The setup time passed quickly. May was just fixing cutesy little umbrellas into the tops of the finger foods when the doorbell chime sounded and guests began flooding in one by one. I leapt for the silver tray on which I’d loaded halfway with champagne flutes, and halfway with The Lana signature cocktail, and rushed toward the top of the steps.
The drinks teetered precariously. I clamped my lips together, balancing them steadily with every atom in my body. The last thing I needed was to get kicked out of the house for clumsy catering just when all the prime suspects were arriving.
“Oh, there you are—give me one of those prissy things,” a brash voice called. “Yes, you, with the alcohol. Bring me two, why don’t you?”
I slid closer to a woman with fiery red hair and brilliant blue eyes. “Which would you like?”
“What in the world are those?” she asked, squinting at the bubbling pink drink. “Looks like a love potion to me.”
“It’s called The Lana.” I cleared my throat, trying not to feel silly. “Would you like to try one?”
The woman gave me a quizzical look. “That’s about the last thing I want. Give me one of the champagnes. Nah, make it two.”
I handed over two and sidled closer to her as the hallway flooded with a burst of guests. “I’m Jenna, the caterer’s assistant. How do you know the bride and groom?”
“I’m the groom’s cousin—Patty,” she said. “I moved to town for a man, oh, five years ago. I lost the man but kept the house, so I’m still here.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, watching as she sucked down the first glass. “Do you live in Blueberry Lake then?”
“Oh, it’s no loss for me. I’m over in Butternut Bay,” she said, waving a hand in the general direction of the door. “As a matter of fact, I lived right down Shepherd’s Way from Grant. The fellow who ended up dead.”
“I heard it was gruesome,” I said, hoping to fuel the gossip flame. If I remembered correctly, Allie had mentioned that Patty had been drinking before the thrift store trip the other day and had acquired a set of loose lips. I reached out and took the empty champagne glass from her hand as she reached for another. “Horrible, huh?”
“I suppose, but the man had it coming.”
“How do you figure?” I asked, completely ignoring the rest of the guests as I leaned closer to Patty. “I only met him once and he seemed—” I hesitated, trying not to speak ill of the dead. It was difficult. “He seemed a little pushy.”
She gave a croaking laugh. “Difficult, sure. You mean a creep who couldn’t keep his hands to himself? That’s more like it. Ask me who wanted the man dead, and I’ll give you a list as long as my arm.”
I paused in the discussion for a moment to quickly offer a round of Lana beverages to the rest of the bridal party as they arrived. By the time I’d finished, Patty was ready for me to collect her second champagne flute while she started on the third. “Does that mean you have some idea who might have killed him?”
“Idea? I have ideas—plural,” she said, squinting as she glanced around the room. “Probably someone here tonight, frankly. Unless it was Greg.”
“Greg is...”
“The groom,” she said. “My cousin. Greg can be very jealous, and Grant was known to be handsy. If Grant ever took a pass at Lana, I could see Greg flying off the handle.”
“What about the women?” I asked, dancing delicately around the question as I super-secretly herded Patty toward the corner of the room for a more private chat. “Do you think any of them could’ve done it?”
Patty pursed her lips as she swallowed a big gulp. “Yeah, sure. Any of them, really. Who would you like me to start with? Why are you so curious, anyway?”
“Just making small talk,” I said quickly. “I’m new to town and don’t know many people. It’s hard for me to get acquainted in such a small town where everyone already knows everyone else. Why don’t we start with Mrs. Duvet?”
Patty blinked. “Didn’t expect you to go straight for the jugular, but yeah—the mother of the bride would be one of my prime candidates. She does anything her baby girl wants—apparently going so far as to name a pink drink after her. I’m telling you, Lana does no wrong in her mother’s eyes.”
“How does that have anything to do with murder?”
“Well, I’ll tell you this—Lana was not happy when Greg named Grant to be his best man.”
“Why not?” I asked, stealing a glance at the bride as she entered through the front door amidst a flurry of hugs and cheek kisses and white streamers. “What’d Grant do to her?”
“What’d Grant do to her sister, you mean,” Patty said, pointing to a pretty, brown-haired woman standing in the corner by herself. “That’s Eliza Duvet—she’s a sweet thing, I have to say. Somehow she didn’t inherit the stick shoved you-know-where like the rest of the Duvet family.”
I caught sight of May giving me a dangerous-looking stare as I bit back a laugh, but I quickly ducked from her gaze and swiveled back to Patty. It was hard to say how much longer she’d last before taking a nap on the couch, and I had to maximize my time with her.
“What happened between Eliza and Grant?”
“He asked her
out on a date,” Patty said, lowering her voice. “And got too grabby at dinner. Eliza was pretty upset about it. In fact, it caused a huge row between Greg and Lana—they almost called off the wedding when Greg named Grant his best man.”
“How did Greg and Grant know one another?”
“College buddies,” Patty said with a shrug. “Old bros. Greg didn’t back down. That’s why I think either Lana or her mother could’ve done it—they both wanted him out of the wedding badly enough and made it quite public.”
“Yikes. That’s one messy bridal party.”
“You don’t even know the half of it,” Patty said. “See Becky over there? She dated both Greg and Grant.”
“The groom and the best man?” I asked, squinting at the nondescript blonde shaking hands with Lana’s mother, Bridget. “Why is she a bridesmaid then?”
“She was Lana’s roommate. I guess quite some time has passed since she dated Greg, but I think she just broke up with Grant a few weeks back.”
“Is there anyone who didn’t have a reason to kill Grant?” I asked, trying to contain my shock and awe. “I sort of understand what you meant when you said the man had it coming.”
“I don’t think Eliza did it—she’s too much of a quiet little mouse. And Becky seems completely over both men, so I doubt she had a real reason to kill anyone. That there—Brenda Kern—well, the new Mrs. Duvet, I should say. She’s Lana’s stepmother, and probably the only other person here with a pity invite.”
“What do you mean, other person?”
“Well, I’ve got the pity invite!” Patty roared with laughter. “If I weren’t related, there’s no way I’d be here. And Brenda’s only here because she married Will.”
“Will is Lana’s father?”
“You’ve got that right. Nobody was surprised when he left the wicked witch.”
“You mean Mrs. Duvet?”
“The one and only,” she said. “Bridget was always too...uptight for him. Not that I know them well, but even I could see from a mile away they were headed toward a divorce.”
“How long ago did Lana’s parents get divorced?” I asked. “Like I said, I’ve just arrived in town, so this is all breaking news to me.”
