What the Hatmaker Heard

by Sandra Bretting

  Her words came faster and faster.

  Uh-oh. I squeezed her knee tightly, but she didn’t even acknowledge me. “Lorelei. Look at me. I need you to take a deep breath. C’mon. Breathe with me.”

  She slowly brought her gaze around to my face. By now, her shoulders were shaking and her skin looked unnaturally pale.

  “She needs something to drink,” I said loudly. “Something strong.”

  The young bride gazed at me helplessly, desperate for something, anything, to make sense of what she’d just heard.

  “Get the woman something to drink,” Lance repeated to the crowd. He quickly singled out Buck. “You, there. Get her something strong. Now!”

  The best man sprang into action. He bolted from the sofa and made a beeline to a large globe that sat at the back of the room. With one yank, he opened the top half of the globe, which concealed a bar inside. Several bottles of liquor winked up from a black velvet lining. He reached for one, and then he poured about an inch’s worth of alcohol into a tumbler, which he rushed back to the sofa. He’d obviously visited the bar before, since he knew exactly what to do.

  “Here.” He thrust the tumbler at Lorelei. “Drink this.”

  His hand shook as he passed her the drink.

  Lorelei looked dubious, but she accepted his offering and downed it. Then she set the glass on the ground and closed her eyes. “I want to see him.” Her voice was still shaky but audible. “Take me to him.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that right now,” Lance said. “We need to wait for the medical examiner first. She’ll do an examination, and then I can let you see him.”

  “I’ll stay with her.” It was Nelle, who hadn’t spoken until now. She moved around the sofa and elbowed me out of the way. “Lorelei, dear…come upstairs with me. You’ve had a terrible shock, and you need to lie down. I insist.”

  Although Lorelei tried to protest, her mother wouldn’t take no for an answer. She gently took hold of her daughter’s arm and carefully pulled her up from the couch. The minute she did that, Lorelei finally felt free enough to collapse into her mother’s arms.

  “There, there.” Mrs. Honeycutt stroked her daughter’s hair as the girl wept.

  Lance turned to address the crowd. “Like I said…I need to get a statement from each of you. You can either go to your room or stay somewhere else, but please don’t leave. I’d like you all to stay inside, too, until after the medical examiner leaves.”

  Given that directive, the group began to disband. It started with the lady in stilettos, whom I’d pegged for a maiden aunt the day before. She tottered out of the room, and she was followed by several others, including Buck, Jamie, and the bridesmaid from breakfast.

  Darryl stayed behind, though. He cautiously approached Nelle, who stroked her daughter’s hair. He stopped a few feet short of the sofa.

  “Anything I can do?” he asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not.” Nelle continued to rake Lorelei’s hair with her fingers. “Unless…could you please help me get Lorelei to her room?”

  “Of course.” Darryl positioned himself to the left of the bride and gently took hold of her elbow. The trio slowly tottered out of the sunroom and into the hall.

  By now, everyone else had disappeared, except for Mr. Carmichael. He had crept from his chair to the open globe, where he stood, transfixed by the gleaming bottles.

  “What now?” I whispered to Lance.

  “Now we find out about the groom’s family life.” He nodded at Mr. Carmichael, who was filling a large tumbler with whiskey. “Ready or not, here we come.”

  Chapter 5

  Not surprisingly, Mr. Carmichael looked shell-shocked. He stared at his drink, his eyes glassy and his expression vague.

  “Mr. Carmichael?” Lance cautiously approached him, as if he was a wild animal that might bolt.

  “Yes?” The man finally dredged his gaze away from the tumbler.

  “Why don’t you take a seat over there.” Lance nodded to the small sofa, which had been getting more than its fair share of use this morning.

  It wasn’t a question, and he grudgingly moved to the wicker seat. As soon as he reached it, he practically fell onto the plaid cushion, the drink sloshing over the cup’s side, while I perched on a nearby armchair. Only Lance stood, and he slowly withdraw a small notepad from his back pocket.

  “I…I can’t believe this has happened,” Mr. Carmichael’s voice was thick. “What…where…how?” He looked so pained, the creases on his forehead deepening with every word.

  “It’s okay.” I leaned toward him. “Lance will explain everything.”

  “Thank you. Thank you, Miss…”

  I was about to respond when something stopped me. His breath reeked of alcohol. He’d only had time to take a quick sip of his drink, so he must’ve arrived at the sunroom already tipsy.

  My first instinct was to lean away. My second was to glance at Lance, who didn’t notice my discomfort.

  “That’s Missy DuBois.” Lance answered the man’s question. “She went with the groundskeeper this morning to look for your son. Unfortunately, they found him, only it was at the bottom of a water tower.”

  “Oh, my God. Don’t tell me he’d been beaten.”

  “No, that’s not it.” I quickly stole another glance at Lance. Of all the other things for someone to focus on, I didn’t expect a beating to be the first one. “To be honest, it looked like he was only sleeping.”

  “Well, thank God for that.” Mr. Carmichael sounded relieved. “I just knew something like this was going to happen to him. I warned that boy and warned that boy, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” He slowly drew his hand across his mouth, although it did nothing to staunch the smell. “How many times can you tell someone something before you finally give up?”

  “What did you want him to stop, Mr. Carmichael?” Lance paused his notetaking to study the groom’s father.

  “Stop with the gambling, of course.” Once again, his fingers trembled next to his mouth, just like Buck’s had done when he gave Lorelei the drink.

  “So, your son had a gambling problem?” Lance asked.

  “Please call me Foster, and, yes, my son was addicted to gambling.”

  “That’s too bad. What did he play?”

  “You name it, he’d bet on it. It all started with fantasy football in law school. Apparently, Yale has quite an active fantasy football league. Wesley made a lot of money…at first. Enough that he thought about becoming a sports attorney when he graduated.”

  “Interesting,” Lance said. “And did he? Go into that type of law, I mean.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Foster’s expression darkened once more. “He never graduated, as a matter of fact. He lost everything at the racetrack in his last year at school. The tuition, his trust fund…all of it. A million dollars, right down the drain.”

  “Wow.” My mind reeled. To think someone could blow through a million dollars in one year’s time was mindboggling.

  “Did your son gamble right up to his death?” Lance spoke quietly but firmly. He was a master at walking the fine line between being too direct and not direct enough.

  “Well, I was hoping he’d quit. His mother seemed to think he did. Lorelei, too. She was so good to him. She still agreed to marry him, even when she found out what a mess he’d made of his life.”

  Which reminded me of something else. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carmichael, but I couldn’t help but notice Lorelei’s engagement ring yesterday. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. How in the world did Wesley manage to buy a five-carat diamond if he lost all his money?”

  Normally, I wouldn’t dream of asking such a personal question, but this was not a normal weekend. As far as I was concerned, all bets were off when it came to a police investigation, and I could—and often did—ask the most impolite questions.

  “It was
a family heirloom. My great-great-grandmother’s. Since Wesley was my only son, he automatically got the ring.”

  “And you said his fiancée knew about his gambling problem?” Lance asked.

  “She found out about a year ago. Of course, she wondered when he didn’t take the Louisiana Bar Examination after law school, like his friends did. That was when he had to admit he never graduated.”

  “That’s enough, Foster.” A woman’s shrill voice sliced the air.

  We all turned at the sound. An older woman stood near the door to the sunroom, her arms folded tightly. It was the woman who’d fainted earlier, the one I’d assumed was Wesley’s mother.

  “He’s going to find out anyway, Violet.” Foster didn’t even turn. He remained slumped in his seat, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

  “It’s our son you’re talking about!” She hissed the words as she moved into the room. “Control yourself.”

  Lance studied the newcomer. “Your husband is helping the investigation by telling me what he knows, ma’am. It’s important he give me as much information as possible.”

  “You’ll have to get your information from someone else.” She pulled up short of the sofa. She’d redone her hair, and the chignon looked perfectly coifed now. “I know how these things work. You’re going to try and trip Foster up with your questions. Then he won’t be able to take anything back. We are not saying another word until our attorney gets here.”

  “But that won’t be necessary,” Lance said. “I’m not accusing your husband of anything. I’m only soliciting his input into who may’ve killed your son.”

  “Violet—”

  “Oh, no.” She abruptly silenced her husband by wagging her finger at him. “I told you…I know how this works. We have the right to have an attorney present. It’s the law.”

  “I can’t make you talk to me, but you’ll only be helping your son by telling me what you know.”

  “It doesn’t work that way on TV,” she said. “I want our attorney present, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. This woman was impeding Lance’s investigation and pretending to be an expert on something she knew nothing about.

  “May I, Lance?” I whispered. When he quickly nodded, I rose from the armchair and moved closer to her. “This is an interview, Mrs. Carmichael. It’s not an interrogation. Those are two separate things. Your husband hasn’t been accused of a crime, and that’s when the Miranda rights come into play. An interview is something completely different.”

  “But…but those television shows…”

  “They don’t represent reality. You don’t need an attorney present every time a policeman questions you. Hollywood gets a lot of things wrong when it comes to police investigations.”

  Just when I thought she might change her mind, her jaw abruptly clenched.

  “No. I won’t do it. Come on, Foster.” She turned to leave. “They can’t keep you here against your will.”

  Foster looked miserable as he rose from the sofa. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled to Lance and me, before he followed his wife from the room.

  My own jaw had begun to tense, so I took a deep breath. “Well, that was interesting. For a second, I thought she might change her mind.”

  “No…she’s hiding something. But what?”

  “I don’t know, but I think her reaction was strange. She didn’t react like a mother who’d just found out her son was killed.”

  “Agreed. I thought she’d be more surprised,” I said.

  “Then again, she did faint, so, it obviously came as a shock to her.”

  He fell silent for a moment. “Then again, she wasn’t hyperventilating when I gave everyone the news. I was watching her husband, and I happened to catch her reaction. She was breathing normally.”

  “So you think she was acting?”

  “Could be. Maybe she wasn’t surprised by the news after all.”

  “She’s a wonderful actress, then.”

  Already the morning had turned increasingly odd, and we’d only spoken to two people so far. Heaven only knew what the rest of the day would hold.

  Chapter 6

  There was so much to think about, a dull pain began to throb at the base of my skull. “I feel a headache coming on. I think I’ll go rustle up an aspirin. I also want to tell Bo what happened with the Riverboat Queen.”

  “Of course.” Lance studied his notes one more time. “If you see the mother of the bride, please send her my way. I’d like to ask her what she knows about the groom’s gambling problem.”

  “Sure.” I slowly moved away from the sofa, the headache intensifying with every step.

  By the time I reached the exit, though, I remembered something else. “By the way, Lance, did you notice the smell on Mr. Carmichael’s breath? It was whiskey, and a lot of it. He’d been drinking before he got here.”

  “I thought I smelled something funny. At first I thought it came from the bar over there.” Lance nodded at the open globe. “Nothing like a belt of whiskey before lunch, I guess.”

  “More like a bottle of it. See you later.”

  I gingerly stepped from the room. The hall was empty, since everyone else had headed upstairs to their bedrooms. The same was true for the foyer, which abutted another wing that was new to me. It was as if someone had thrown a heavy blanket over the house and cast a dull pall over everything underneath it.

  That all changed when I arrived at the kitchen, though. I spied the back of a woman’s dress, and it looked like Nelle Honeycutt. “Hello, there.”

  She immediately turned. “Hello, Missy.”

  “I’m so sorry about what’s happened.”

  “Thank you, dear. I’m so sorry, too. Poor Lorelei. I don’t know how she’s ever going to recover from this.”

  “I’m sure she’s very resilient. And she’s young. I don’t mean to sound flip, but she has a lot going for her.”

  “Of course, you’re right, but it doesn’t make it any easier, now does it? I just wish I could do something for her. Take away the pain. Maybe if I never…”

  At that moment, a loud noise clattered at the front of the house.

  “Hello? Is anyone home?” A woman’s voice rang out, loud and clear.

  “Oh, dear,” Nelle said. “That would be Wesley’s stepsister. Her plane was supposed to arrive at noon today.”

  I followed Nelle into the foyer. A tall, slim woman stood in the middle of it, and she had a mass of red curls that cascaded over pale, thin shoulders. She wore a sleeveless sundress and pink silk pumps, and she yelped when she spied Nelle.

  “You must be Mrs. Honeycutt!” she shrieked. “It’s fab-u-lous to finally meet you!”

  She threw her arms around Nelle, the curls bouncing in every direction. “Thank you sooo much for hosting our family this weekend.” She turned when she noticed me. “Are you a member of the family, too?”

  “No, I’m not.” I quickly thrust out my hand, since she looked ready to hug me next. “I’m a milliner. My name’s Melissa DuBois, but everyone calls me Missy.”

  “Oh.” The smile slipped from her face. “I thought you might be part of the family. That’s too bad.”

  I tried not to take offense, which wasn’t easy. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Electra Carmichael.” She vigorously shook my hand. “Yes, it’s a stage name. My real name is Lydia. But that’s not very memorable, is it?”

  That made sense, since I’d pegged her for an actress from the very beginning. “Nelle told me you’re Wesley’s sister.”

  “Stepsister,” she quickly corrected. “His father married my mom. It’ll make for some interesting seating arrangements at the wedding.”

  That caused both Nelle and me to flinch.

  “About the wedding,” I said. “Why don’t we go into the sun
room?” No need to create a scene in the foyer. Not only that, but I wanted Lance to be the one to break the news to her, since it’d sound more official coming from a policeman.

  “Okeydoke.” She combed her fingers through her hair. “I’d love to freshen up a little, too. The plane ride from New York City was dreadful. Simply dreadful!” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “You have no idea what it’s like to fly coach these days.”

  Little did she know, but I flew coach every time. “Bless your heart.” I subtly guided her into the hall. “That must’ve been terrible.”

  When we reached the sunroom, I waited for her and Nelle to enter first so I could close the door behind us. Unfortunately, Lance was nowhere to be seen, so he must’ve left when I didn’t return with Nelle right away. Time for Plan B.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Even though I’d judged Foster Carmichael harshly for drinking, I was about to give this girl some terrible news, so the least I could do was offer her a sip of something or other. Although it wasn’t my bar—or my home—to offer, I didn’t think Nelle would mind.

  She didn’t, because she nodded at me after I made the suggestion.

  “How fun!” Electra’s eyes lit up. “Sure, why not. This is a celebration. Do you have any champagne?”

  I moved to the open globe and scanned its contents. Once I spotted a bottle of Dom Perignon, I pulled it from the velvet lining and set to work opening the cork. Meanwhile, Nelle guided Electra to a wingback chair by the sofa.

  The girl happily flopped onto it and stretched out her legs. “Nice spread you have here, Mrs. Honeycutt.”

  “Please, call me Nelle. And thank you. It’s been in my family for generations.”

  “This room reminds of a play I did back in New York,” Electra said. “It was an Agatha Christie mystery. We all sat around on wicker furniture and tried to solve the case. It was terribly fun. We got horrible reviews, but what are you gonna do?”

  I popped the bottle’s cork and poured some into a flute. “Here you go.” I crossed the room and placed the glass in her hand.