Ditching David

by Jenna Bennett

  Understandable. I cleared my throat. “Thank you for coming. I’ll just... um... go sit over there. And wait for the service to start.”

  Mendoza nodded. “I’ll stay in the back of the room. And keep an eye on things.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “I don’t suppose that includes detaching Jacquie from the coffin?”

  Mendoza squinted at her. “Is she... stroking it?”

  I nodded, biting my lip. “It’s a bit unseemly. I’m sure everyone’s wondering why I’m not doing anything about it. And of course I can’t, because—”

  “Of the restraining order.” Mendoza sounded resigned. “I’ll go talk to her.”

  “Thank you.” I turned to watch him walk away, and then reconsidered when I realized that half the room was still watching me. The other half was watching Mendoza, their eyes glassy.

  No, I was definitely not the only woman responding to the sex appeal.

  So Mendoza detached Jacquie and made her sit down. And then he went and took a seat himself, at the back of the room. On his way past, he gave me a wink. I was so surprised my mouth opened, and I probably looked like an idiot standing there gaping after him. Until I realized, once again, that people were staring and—by now—whispering. I was blushing as I went to find my seat.

  The service got underway after that, with Anselm Howard delivering the eulogy. It relied heavily on David’s accomplishments and philanthropy, and on the suddenness of his passing, with no mention of the fact that he was in the process of divorcing his wife of eighteen years because he’d found himself a twenty-five-year-old mistress.

  After Mr. Howard had wound down, he invited anyone else with something to say to stand up, and Krystal jumped to her feet to give a touching speech about her daddy and how much she’d miss him. Kenny followed, less verbose and obviously more ill at ease. I thought Sandra might have something to contribute, but she didn’t, so instead it was Daniel’s turn next.

  This was my first chance to really get a good look at David’s brother. We’d met before, obviously, but it had been years. Maybe as much as a decade. He hadn’t come back for their mother’s funeral last year. His excuse had been something about the distance and lack of money, but I think their mother had always liked David best, and Daniel probably knew it.

  He was older than David by a couple of years, and looked his age. Unlike David, who had worked hard at staying in shape and looking young, Daniel didn’t look like he cared. He kept his gray hair long—it was pulled back into a ponytail for the occasion—and the black suit was years out of date. The jacket pulled across his stomach.

  It wasn’t new, and it clearly didn’t belong to Kenny, so Daniel must have brought it with him from California. I made a mental note to ask Detective Mendoza what Daniel thought he’d need the suit for here in Nashville. It wasn’t like he could have known he’d be going to a funeral.

  Daniel sat down, and Farley took his place. He spoke about the business and about his long friendship and relationship with David. After him came Anton Hess, who did the same. A couple of clients and golfing-buddies of David’s also had their say. As the last one sat down, Anselm Howard gave me the eye. I prepared to get to my feet to thank everyone for coming out, and to explain about the graveside service and subsequent reception at the house in Hillwood. But just as I braced myself to get up, Jacquie stood.

  I subsided back into my seat. Mr. Howard blinked. The audience gasped. Whispers broke out as Jacquie undulated her way up to the podium; her posterior, as the saying goes, moving like two puppies under a blanket. I think I even heard growling, but it probably wasn’t the puppies. It was more likely to be one of the men, or perhaps Sandra giving vent to her feelings.

  Jacquie stopped behind the podium and leaned into the microphone. In a breathy Marilyn Monroe voice—Happy Birthday, Mr. President!—she said, “My name is Jacquelyn Demetros.”

  I don’t think anyone had been in any doubt about who she was, but I suppose it was nice of her to introduce herself.

  “David and I were engaged.”

  The room buzzed, and more than one head turned to look at me. I smiled tightly. Yes, David and I were still married when he died.

  “We were happy,” Jacquie sniffed, raising that black-rimmed handkerchief to dab at her nose under the black veil. As if she’d really do anything so uncouth as to develop a runny nose in the middle of her big moment. “Until she killed him!”

  She shot out a quivering finger, directly at me. My jaw dropped, and my skin felt like it shriveled as everyone in the room turned in my direction.

  Part of me wanted to jump up and scream that it wasn’t true. The other part was glued to the chair, in a mixture of mortification and shock.

  Determined steps came down the aisle toward the front. I turned my head, jerkily, like a marionette on a string, and saw Detective Mendoza making his way to Jacquie, who had subsided into a sobbing heap draped over the podium. The microphone broadcast her sniffles to every corner of the room.

  Mendoza didn’t look at me, but a glance at Nick brought the latter to his feet. They approached Jacquie one from each side.

  “Time to go, Ms. Demetros,” Mendoza said calmly. He took her elbow and removed her from the podium. She staggered, and Nick grabbed her other arm. Between them, they supported her to the back of the room and out the door. She was wobbling on the high heels, and hiccupping under the veil. Mendoza shot me a look on the way past, something halfway between sympathy for my ordeal and an eyeroll over Jacquie’s behavior. Or at least that’s what I hoped it was.

  What happened was a tough act to follow, and I didn’t try. After a glance at me, Anselm Howard made the announcement that the memorial service was over. The action would pick back up at Spring Hill Cemetery at one o’clock, he said—not in those exact words—and anyone who wanted to come to the graveside ceremony was welcome to attend. Maybe I should have stood up at that point and added that there’d be a reception at the house in Hillwood at three, but to be honest, I didn’t care if I ever saw any of these people again. If I ended up with a spread for fifty and nobody to share it with, that was just fine with me.

  * * *

  I SHOULD HAVE known better.

  The graveside ceremony went off without a hitch. Daniel and Kenny, Farley and Krystal’s boyfriend, plus two of David’s clients and golfing buddies, carried the coffin from the hearse to the grave. I guess Anton Hess was either too short or too old to pitch in, but he was there. Jacquie wasn’t, so I didn’t have to worry about her throwing herself on top of the box as it was lowered into the ground. Even the weather cooperated. It was a drizzly, dreary day with gray skies and intermittent showers, but the twenty minutes that we spent in the cemetery, watching David go into the ground, were dry. The air was misty, but it didn’t rain.

  Anselm Howard had handed everyone a white rose to toss into the grave on top of the coffin, and we did, to the tune of Amazing Grace, sung by Krystal’s boyfriend, who sounded like he smoked a lot. After that, we each grabbed a handful of earth from the pile next to the hole in the ground, and threw it in. The rattle of dirt and stones on top of the coffin sounded very final.

  I was the first to walk away. Not only did I have a party to get to, and caterers at the house, but I had no desire to commiserate with Krystal and Kenny and Sandra and Daniel about David’s death. They were all hugging one another and brushing away tears, and the idea of taking part in it made my stomach clench.

  I had my hand on the handle of the car door when I heard the slosh of a foot on the soggy ground. I spun around, expecting... I wasn’t even sure. But it was just Rachel, in one of her boring, black suits with a boring white shirt under it.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I took a breath. “It’s OK. Just the situation.”

  She nodded, but didn’t make reference to the clutch of people hovering over the grave, or Jacquie’s accusation back at the funeral home. “There’s a reception at your house in an hour?”
>
  I acknowledged the accuracy of this. “You’re welcome to stop by. I’m sure David would have wanted you to. And Farley, too.”

  Something moved across Rachel’s eyes, but too quickly for me to see what it was. “I was wondering whether you might like some help,” she said.

  “Oh. Um...” Not something I’d ever thought I’d hear from Rachel. I was pretty sure she didn’t like me.

  Although maybe this was the last thing she could do for David, and she felt like she wanted to do something.

  “Sure,” I said. “There’s a team of caterers at the house right now, setting up, but once they’re done, they’re going to leave. I didn’t want to have waiters circulating with trays of hors d’oeuvres, you know? It might make the occasion look too much like a party. So when the buffet gets empty, I’m going to have to refill it. I wouldn’t mind some help with that.”

  Rachel nodded. “I know where you live. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She squished off across the wet ground to her Toyota, and I got into the convertible and wished, not for the first time, that it had a proper roof. A trickle of rain had found a weakness in the joint between the metal and the canopy, and had dropped onto my seat. I was sitting in a puddle of water. It put the cherry on top of what had been one of the worst days of my life so far.

  And it was only halfway over.

  Chapter 11

  THE CATERING TEAM had come and gone. The dining room table was set with trays and platters filled with food—stuffed mushroom caps, deviled eggs, tiny rounds of French bread topped with salmon and caviar—while the buffet had been transformed into a serve-yourself bar of wine and liquor.

  I gave it a quick look on my way past—the kitchen counters were heaped with extras, too—before hustling up the stairs to the master bedroom, peeling off my clothes as I went. The back of my tasteful black and gray dress had a big spot across the bottom—it looked like I’d wet myself, perhaps when Jacquie made her accusation—and I had to get out of it and into something else before Rachel knocked on the front door. The last thing I wanted, was for anyone to take it as a sign of guilt.

  Three minutes later, wearing a pair of black slacks and a cobalt blue blouse, I headed back down the stairs, just as the knock came. I yanked the door open, only to take a step back. “Oh.”

  It wasn’t Rachel. It was Daniel. “You goddamn bitch,” he told me, in a very conversational, calm tone.

  He had yanked off the tie and left the suit jacket in the truck, so he looked a little more comfortable than before. The expression on his face didn’t reflect any increased comfort level, though.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  He took a step toward me. I, perforce, took one back. Not because I wanted him in my house—I didn’t, although it wasn’t like I could stop him. He was David’s brother, and if anyone had the right to attend the reception, it was David’s family. But he was a big guy—six-one or two, and correspondingly broad—and the way his face twitched was disconcerting.

  “You sicced the cops on me.”

  “Your brother was murdered,” I said, trying my best to stand my ground and sound calm as he loomed over me. “You should be glad they’re looking at all the possibilities.”

  Daniel’s eyes narrowed. They were David’s eyes, cool blue and penetrating. “We all know who murdered David.”

  Me, I assume. I decided not to dignify the remark with an answer.

  “What I’d like to know,” I said, “is how you knew you’d need that suit you’re wearing. It’s obviously not new, so you must have brought it with you from California. What made you think you’d need a suit on this trip?”

  He flushed a very ugly shade of puce. “You accusing me of something?”

  “I’m wondering what you’re doing here,” I said. “You don’t live in Nashville. You didn’t even come to your mother’s funeral last year. But now you’ve driven all the way here, just in time to put your brother in the ground. A brother who was alive and well when you left the West Coast. And coincidentally, you just happened to bring your funeral suit.”

  “I don’t like your tone,” Daniel growled.

  I didn’t like his, either. And I wished he’d leave. He was scaring me. He leaned over me, and his fists kept clenching and unclenching. Also, his breath was bad.

  “I didn’t have nothing to do with what happened to David. And don’t think it’s gonna work pointing the finger at me so as the cops forget about you. We all know you did it.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” I said, taking another step back, “do you?”

  He followed, and reached out a meaty paw to wrap around my upper arm. “Listen, bitch—”

  But whatever he’d planned to say was lost when there was a crunch of tires on gravel. Daniel turned his head and I peered over his shoulder to see Rachel’s white Toyota make its way up the drive to the house.

  Daniel cursed and let me go. He pushed past me and disappeared into the dining room. I assumed he was attacking the hors d’oeuvres, or more likely the liquor, so I didn’t bother to follow him. Besides, I needed to greet Rachel.

  She came up the steps looking half suspicious, half apprehensive. “Was that Daniel?”

  I nodded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He thinks I killed David,” I said. “I think he might have.”

  Rachel squinted at me. “Why?”

  “Someone did. He’s here.”

  She didn’t respond to that, just peered past me into the house. “What do you want me to help you with?”

  So she didn’t want to discuss Daniel. Fine. “Let me show you around,” I offered.

  “I’ve been here before,” Rachel said.

  Had she really?

  Sure, David entertained at home—dinner parties, cookouts, and the like—but his administrative assistant wasn’t invited to those shindigs.

  “You weren’t here,” Rachel added.

  “Where was I?”

  She shrugged. “Shopping or something.”

  Shopping. Right. “What was David doing?”

  “He was busy,” Rachel said, avoiding my eyes. Although I suppose it’s possible she was just having a look around. “He gave me his key and had me drive out here to pick up something.”

  “Something, what?”

  “A change of clothes,” Rachel said. “He was going to dinner.”

  With Jacquie, I assume. If he had scheduled dinner with a business associate, he’d just wear the same suit he’d worn to work all day.

  Or maybe with Sandra. Or—hell—someone else. Someone I didn’t even know about.

  While I tried to figure out whether it would do any good to ask, or whether I even wanted to know the answer, Rachel moved past me into the house. I shrugged and followed.

  * * *

  WE STAYED BUSY after that. I showed Rachel the spread in the dining room, and the extras stacked on the kitchen counter and in the fridge. If nobody showed up, I’d be eating well for a long time.

  Although plenty of people did show up. About fifteen minutes after Rachel walked in, they started coming up the driveway. Farley and Martha, Sandra and Kenny, Krystal and the boyfriend. All the business associates. Anton Hess. They were all milling around my house, chatting and laughing, eating and drinking. Rachel and I had our hands full, keeping the trays stocked.

  Even Diana had taken off work early to stop by. She walked in around four, holding a manila envelope. “Big crowd.”

  I nodded. “I guess they don’t want to risk missing it, just in case the police show up to arrest me.”

  She arched her brows. “Any chance of that?”

  “Probably a pretty good chance. I had the best motive of anyone. Although I will say that Detective Mendoza doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to slap me in handcuffs.”

  “That’s Jaime,” Diana said. “A sucker for a pretty face.”

  I laughed. “Oh, please.” He had a wife at home; what did he care
what my face looked like? “If he was sure I’d done it, I don’t think he’d have any problem throwing me in jail.”

  Diana shrugged. “He can’t be sure, then.”

  “There are a few other options. Did I mention that Daniel’s in Nashville?”

  “Briefly,” Diana said. “Is he here?”

  I nodded. “Talking to Anton Hess.”

  She scanned the room, and then grinned. “Excellent. I have something to give Anton, anyway. I’ll go take a look at him.”

  I eyed the envelope. “What do you have to give Anton?”

  “Notice that we know about the hidden accounts,” Diana said. “I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.”

  She sashayed off across the room. I watched as she approached the two men—Daniel looming over squat little Anton Hess the same way he’d loomed over me earlier—and stopped beside them. Anton, of course, looked wary. He knew who she was. Daniel didn’t, so he gave her a frank and appreciative once-over, top to bottom and back.

  Diana’s an attractive woman. A few years my senior, with sleek blond hair she keeps pulled back into a chignon that can go from businesslike to elegant in a heartbeat, and a still-trim figure under the expensive business suit. I wasn’t surprised that Daniel approved. She’s married, though, so that approval wouldn’t go anywhere. And anyway, he was hardly Diana’s type.

  As I watched, she greeted them both, and then addressed Anton. The lawyer’s face flushed red, and then paled. When he accepted the envelope, I swear I saw his hand tremble.

  Diana came back across the floor with a pleased smile, while both men watched her go. I’m pretty sure Daniel was watching her rear end, while Anton Hess’s expression was a mixture of fear and loathing.

  “So that went well,” I said, when she was close enough to hear me.

  She grinned. “I thought he’d have a heart attack on the spot.”

  Me, too. “You think this will weigh in our favor, right?”

  “It should,” Diana said. “Nobody likes a cheater.”

  No, indeed.