I took a stab. “Was she gay?”
Janet shrugged. “That’s part of her mystery,” she said noncommittally. “If she was, she kept it on the down low, and I can’t blame her. She ran a very traditional business in a very conservative town. You know how folks are around here. Mamas don’t dream of their little girls becoming cowboys or engineers or astronauts. They want them to debut, pledge a sorority, get pinned, marry money, join the Junior League, and have babies, all in that order.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, because that was precisely what Cissy had wanted for me, although that hadn’t exactly panned out, had it? “So what do you think? Did Olivia have a secret girlfriend?”
“Maybe she did, and maybe she didn’t.”
I groaned. “Come on, Jan, give me a crumb here. Which is it? You know everything about everyone in this burg.”
“Speaking of crumbs, I’m hungry,” Janet murmured and took another bite of a croissant before brushing the crumbles off her hands. “A few of the Highland Park ladies who lunch swore that Olivia’s Achilles’ heel was playing house with married men, but I think they were just guessing like everyone else.”
“Ah,” I murmured, because that one made more sense, considering the Olivia I had known back in prep school always wanted what she couldn’t have and thought rules, respect, and common decency were for sissies. “So she did the nasty with married guys.”
Janet put up a hand. “Don’t get too excited, Andy. Like all the rumors about Olivia, it’s just talk. She was extremely good at keeping the spotlight on her business, not on her love life. So nobody seems to really know anything except what she put out there.”
“But sleeping with other women’s husbands would have been very bad for business, wouldn’t it? Was she shagging the grooms or fathers-of-the-brides?”
“Why not throw in the mothers-of-the-bride, too?” Janet tossed out, just to make my brain even dizzier. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“You must know something.”
“Cut me some slack, would you?” Janet frowned. “Olivia’s private life was not Watergate, and I’m not exactly Woodward or Bernstein.”
“No, you’re the Socialite Whisperer,” I told her, and she sighed.
“All right, all right, I did try to find out more about Olivia when I interviewed her last year for the PCP. It was the Wedding Belle’s tenth anniversary. She had chatted up my boss about running a big promotion in the paper. So Gary thought we should do a nice sidebar about Olivia. You know, the whole ‘local girl makes it big’ angle.”
“You met with her?” I said, wondering how Janet had remained civil with Olivia when she’d despised La Belle from Hell as much as I. “You didn’t tell your boss you and Olivia had a history?”
“Not exactly,” Janet said. “I did mention we were at Hockaday together, but I left out the part about her tormenting me and my friends. I was dying to see the Turtle Creek penthouse she and Draco moved into a few months back. She must have been raking in some serious bucks, because I know Draco’s not bringing home enough bacon for Turtle Creek, not yet.”
“Maybe the reality show pays better than the wedding planning,” I suggested.
“I’m told they pay peanuts, relatively speaking,” Janet remarked, “and that it’s more like free advertising than real income.”
“So what happened? Did you get to the penthouse?”
Janet made a face. “Unfortunately, Olivia declined to meet my photographer and me at her Turtle Creek digs. We had to go to her office instead.” An angry blush began to bloom on Janet’s cheeks. “And when we got there, she totally acted like she didn’t know who I was. If my name rang a bell, she didn’t let on. She probably didn’t even remember all the times she harassed me. If I hadn’t been doing the story, I would have called her out. But I didn’t want to lose my job.”
By the time Janet finished, her face was a hot shade of red.
“What a jerk,” I said, quickly adding, “If it makes you feel any better, Olivia didn’t recognize me either. Not for a few minutes anyway. We were standing face-to-face, and I haven’t changed that much.”
“Troll,” Janet muttered.
If I wasn’t such good friends with Janet, I might have wondered if she didn’t stab Olivia in the neck herself.
“So did you get any scoop from the interview?” I pressed. “Did Olivia divulge anything earth-shattering?”
“I asked her about being in love since love is her job,” Janet said. “I kind of hoped she’d jump on the couch like Tom Cruise and make a big deal about Draco, trying to convince everyone they were really a unit.” Janet tightly crossed her arms. “But you know what she said?”
“That she was an alien from the planet Be-otch and didn’t have a heart?” I suggested to Janet’s snicker.
“Oh, it’s even better science fiction than that,” my friend replied. “She said that planning events to celebrate milestones in other people’s lives was her one true love and that anyone in her life had to understand that.” Janet let out a snort. “Is that the lamest thing you’ve ever heard or what?”
“It sounds like a nonanswer.”
“Exactly”—Janet bobbed her head—“she was completely avoiding the question.” She squinted thoughtfully. “I didn’t see a single photo of Draco in her office, not a romantic one, anyway. The only pictures of Draco showed him with Olivia’s brides in the gowns he’d designed for them.”
“Interesting,” I murmured.
So was Olivia’s relationship with Draco a farce? Was she hiding behind it because she either had a lesbian lover or a married one? Even if that was the case, was it any reason for someone to want Olivia dead? Unless Olivia was tired of faking it and Draco wasn’t ready for his ride on the gravy train to end.
“I would love to meet him,” I murmured, “just to size him up.”
“What if you’re barking up the wrong tree?” Janet asked. “Maybe her death has zero to do with her love life. Olivia had plenty of enemies on the job. For example”—she began to tick off on her fingers—“every assistant she’d ever hired and fired, other event planners whose clients she stole, vendors who didn’t like to have their arms twisted.”
“Like that florist, Jasper Pippin,” I blurted out, recalling a tidbit my mother had shared. “Although Olivia didn’t just twist his arm, she drove him out of business.”
“Ah, Jasper Pippin.” Janet tapped her chin. “I remember last fall when he sold his shop piece by piece. I think he started dismantling the place even before Olivia’s infamous show aired, because he was supposed to do the flowers for the White Glove Society’s annual deb ball and he bailed on them. They were in a tizzy, trying to find someone else at the last minute. The fact that Olivia tarnished his rep on TV was just the final nail in the casket. The whole mess got Jasper unseated as chair of the state floral association. The poor guy practically went into hiding.”
“He was selling his store before the show even aired?” Geez, I thought, he must have been terrified, knowing what was to come. “Can you find him?” I asked. “He’s a prime suspect as far as I’m concerned.”
Janet pursed her lips then sighed. “Well, if he hasn’t picked up stakes and moved to Key West, I’ll hunt him down and see what he’s been up to.”
I sat up straighter, finally feeling as if I was getting somewhere. “And I’ll talk to Terra Smith,” I told her. “Olivia sounded like she was getting ready to can her. Maybe she gave Terra the axe after Penny Ryan’s wedding, and Terra popped a gasket. Olivia did tell me that if she canned Terra, things could get messy.”
“Well, they got messy all right,” Janet said with a loud hmph. “What do you plan to do? Phone the girl and ask if she killed her boss? My God, that’s brilliant!” She smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Oh, ye of little
faith,” I said with a sniff, having just come up with the most perfect idea. “I thought I’d ring her up and see if she wanted to plan a wedding.”
“Whose?” Jan asked, and her brow wrinkled.
“Mine,” I said. When Janet gave me a Whatchu talkin’ about, Willis? look, I explained, “What can it hurt to pretend I’m plotting the course for my pending nuptials while asking a few subtle questions to see what I can find out?”
“You? Subtle?” Janet guffawed. “You’re the proverbial bull in a china shop.”
I ignored that. “It’s the least I can do for Millie.”
I didn’t add that going upstairs to visit my Nancy Drew books had inspired me to sniff around, although Janet would probably have found that equally amusing.
My friend opened her mouth to say more but my cell phone interrupted, playing a quick burst of Def Leppard’s “Animal,” my personal ring tone for Malone. I had it tucked in my back pocket and grabbed for it, answering breathlessly, “Hello?”
“Are you at your mother’s house?” asked my very tired-sounding fiancé.
“Yeah, I’m still at Cissy’s,” I said, “but if you need me to go home—”
“No,” he cut me off. “Stay put.”
“Did they arrest Millie?” I asked, and my pulse zinged like I’d had too much caffeine when all I’d drunk was orange juice.
“Not yet,” he said, “but they’re working on it.”
“What’s going on?”
“They’re executing a warrant right now to search Millie’s house and the shop. They’re building a neat little case for the prosecution. They’ve already got Olivia’s blood on Millie’s clothes and shoes, and they have the knife with Millie’s prints on it, although she’s admitted to handling it. They’re looking for Olivia’s missing computer and cell.”
“Which means what? Are they holding Millie while they gather more evidence? Can they do that?” I felt sick to my stomach, thinking of Millie behind bars for as much as a minute.
“No, babe,” Malone said, “they can’t hold her unless they charge her. They have to follow due process. But they’re working on it as we speak.”
“So where is she?”
“I just put her in my car, and she doesn’t want to go back to her house. She can’t stomach watching the police rip the place apart, so I’ll head over and wait for them to arrive with the warrant.” His voice lowered even further. “She’s exhausted and scared, and I don’t want to leave her alone.”
I glanced across the table at Janet, who mouthed, What’s going on? I shrugged and asked Brian, “So where are you taking Millie?”
“I thought that maybe”—he cleared his throat—“well, I hope your mom doesn’t mind if I drop her off there. I’m just getting behind the wheel so we’ll be there in five. See you soon.”
He hung up, and it was probably just as well.
I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a coherent reply. My gray cells were still processing the fact that Malone was bringing Millie Draper over to Cissy’s.
Chapter 15
When I told Janet that Malone was on his way with Millie, she got up to leave, and I didn’t stop her.
“I know she wouldn’t want to find me here, Andy. She’s probably already got the media stalking her,” my friend said as she carried her crumb-filled plate from the table to the sink. “It would freak her out, thinking I was ready to pounce on her for the sake of a story.”
I nodded, because I knew she was right.
As I walked Janet to the door, I saw my mother standing just inside the butler’s pantry. I’d been too wrapped up in talking with Janet to catch the creak of her footsteps coming down the stairs. I wondered how much of our conversation she’d overheard. By the tense look on her face, I imagined she’d overheard plenty.
She didn’t say anything until I’d shown Janet out, my friend promising to do her best to track down Jasper Pippin and unearth further details on Olivia’s life.
Before I could get into it with Mother that Malone was en route with Millicent Draper in tow, she dug into me about something else entirely.
“I know what you’re up to,” she said, her pale blue eyes homing in on mine. “You’re not calling Olivia’s assistant for an appointment because you want her to plan your wedding. You want to pump her for information about Olivia and see if she rats out the perp,” she said point-blank.
Dear Lord, she did watch Law & Order reruns.
“Geez, Mother,” I said, squirming beneath her very direct gaze, “what if I just changed my mind and figured you were right about having a professional involved in Brian’s and my wedding?”
“Oh, please, do you think I just fell off the turnip truck?” She sniffed. “Listen here, sweet pea,” she went, her voice deadly serious, “if you’re gonna play undercover agent with Olivia’s assistant in order to find out who killed her, I’m going with you, and that’s that.” She jabbed her chin in the air and crossed her arms rigidly over her pretty pink blouse. That was definitely Mother’s don’t mess with me stance.
How to delicately tell her to mind her own business?
“Oh, you are so wrong,” I lied.
“Am I?” She arched her perfectly drawn eyebrows. “Well, then, if there’s nothing more to it and you really do want to start plannin’ your nuptials, what’s the harm in letting your dear old mother join you?”
I nearly choked. “Well, um, for one thing,” I muttered, trying to come up with a fast excuse, “I’m a grown woman. You don’t have to hold my hand. For another, we don’t want the same things.”
I did not want Cissy getting involved in my wedding planning, even if it was all a ruse. It was one thing sticking my neck out, but I didn’t want to risk my mother’s pearl-draped throat if anything should go awry.
“You’re a bad liar. You always were,” she informed me, unfolding her arms so she could reach for mine. She held me in a death grip. “Why don’t you just accept my help? There’s a lunatic running around out there, and I don’t want anything to happen to you. How can it hurt to have backup?”
“This is America. There are always lunatics running around,” I said, “just turn on the news or read the paper.” Or look in the mirror, I mused, only half kidding.
Mother frowned. “I’m not jokin’,” she warned. “You’ve been doing this since grade school, and one of these days it could catch up with you.”
“What have I been doing?”
“Getting involved in other people’s problems,” she said and clicked tongue against teeth, finally letting me go. “It’s like a compulsion. You can’t leave well enough alone.”
I stared at her and rubbed my arms where she’d dug in her talons. “I can’t leave well enough alone,” I repeated. This coming from a woman who had worn a wig and dressed in velour warm-ups with rhinestones in order to infiltrate a retirement home and figure out who was poisoning her bridge partners?
“Don’t make me have you followed,” Mother added, and I sighed, knowing that she had the contacts and the deep pockets to do just that. “Whatever it takes, Andrea. If you’re going to stick your finger in this pie, I’m going to keep tabs on you one way or another. It might be easier if you just let me play undercover agent with you. No one’s going to mess with the two of us, not while I’ve got Anna Dean on speed-dial.”
“Okay, okay,” I said reluctantly, giving in to her verbal arm-twisting. She did present a good case. Maybe she should be on Malone’s defense team. And it would make the whole scenario more believable if I went to talk wedding deets with my pushy mother in tow. “I’ll call you as soon I’ve got an appointment with Terra, and you can tag along if it makes you feel better.”
Cissy smiled, and her face softened. “Oh, it does,” she remarked and gently patted my cheek, “immeasurably.”
The doorbell rang, and we both swung around toward
the noise.
“That must be Malone,” I said nervously. “I’ll get it.”
I dashed away, hurrying toward the foyer in order to let Brian in, knowing who’d be with him as I pulled the door wide.
There stood my knight in shining armor with his arm wrapped around the slumped shoulders of a very weary-looking Millicent Draper.
“Hey, babe,” my fiancé said before he patted Millie’s arm. “Hang out here for a while, okay? No one from the media will find you,” he assured her in his warm masculine voice, which even had me convinced. “Stay put until I get back to you,” he told her. When Millie nodded numbly, he leaned over to kiss my cheek. “I’ve got to run but I’ll see you back at the condo in a bit.”
Without further ado, Brian took off, loping down the steps toward the driveway. Millie stood unmoving on the doormat in her police-issued scrubs, and I quickly took her hand, attempting to draw her inside.
“Oh, Andy, I hate to impose,” Millie said in a scared little whisper. “Are you sure it’s all right with your mother?”
I looked into her lined face and tired eyes magnified by her giant round glasses, and I had a sudden flashback to all the times Millie Draper had driven up to the kitchen door on the morning of my birthday. I used to peer out the window, eagerly awaiting the white VW van with pale pink printing on the sides—because that was what she’d driven back then, not a fancy SUV—and it was like opening a present on Christmas morning to see what marvelous fantasy Millie had brought to life with my cake.
“Andy?” she said, squinting at me. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Sorry, yes, I’m good,” I told her and quickly ushered her in. “I’m even better now that you’re here. Brian’s right, you’ll be safe with Cissy. My mother might look like a delicate Texas bluebonnet, but she’s a pit bull in pearls,” I remarked. “If any reporters sniff around, she’ll send them packing.”
Before I closed the door, I glanced out toward Beverly Drive. I was thankful it was Sunday and traffic was at a bare minimum. Hopefully, no one had seen Millie standing at Mother’s door in her jail scrubs.
Say Yes to the Death Page 12
