by Laura Durham
Reese stretched his arms out wide. “And do you want to know the cherry on top?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “The bride’s mother saw your blond sidekick outside the groom’s room disguised as a doctor.”
“Doctor?” Leatrice mouthed when the detective turned away to start pacing, and she gave me a thumbs-up.
Great. The last thing I wanted was for Leatrice to approve of a disguise and Reese to be mad at me. “I mean, when you put it like that it sounds bad but I didn’t visit the groom intending to do any of that.”
Reese stopped his pacing to look at me. “Why did you go over there in the first place? I told you to stay out of the investigation and let me do my job.”
“Well, you’ve done a bang-up job already,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
Leatrice shook her head slightly but I ignored her.
“Meaning that Kate and I are the only persons of interest in the case.” I walked toward the detective. “You haven’t found any suspects, even though every person who ever met Tricia Toker wanted to kill her. So if I don’t start trying to find some suspects for you, I’m afraid I’m going to find myself being charged with a murder I had nothing to do with.”
Reese took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Do you think I want that?” His voice dropped a few octaves. “I’m doing everything I can to get you two out of this mess, and you keep crawling back in it.”
“I’m not trying to screw up your investigation. I’m trying to save our necks.”
Reese closed the gap between us and took my hands. “Why can’t you let me help you?”
I shrugged and didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m doing what I know how to do. Solve problems. Fix things. I’m not used to sitting back and getting rescued.”
“No kidding.” Reese gave a weary laugh. “You didn’t read the fairy tales where the knight slays the dragon for the princess, did you?”
“Sorry, I’m not much for fairytales.”
He tilted his head to one side. “A wedding planner who doesn’t believe in fairytales?”
“You want to know why I don’t believe in fairy tales? Too many Type-A princesses, evil queens, and knights who want to add clauses to my contract.”
“Well, I promise not to be any of those if you promise to stop getting mixed up in my investigation.” He leaned down and met my eyes. “Deal?”
I wanted to promise him, but I felt torn. On the one hand was the handsome detective looking into my eyes and holding my hands and making my heart race, and on the other hand was the prospect of sitting back and doing nothing to get Kate and myself out of trouble. He leaned in until our lips were inches away. I nodded yes.
He let out a breath and smiled, running a finger down the side of my face. “I’d better get back to work. I’ve got to clear a wedding planner and her assistant of a murder they didn’t commit.”
Leatrice stood only a few feet away from us grinning and rocking back and forth in her vintage lace-up heels.
I ignored her and cleared my throat. “Before I forget, I did manage to find out one bit of info you may not have. Apparently, Tricia and Dave had an ongoing feud with their next-door neighbor. And their best friend Madeleine says the guy threatened them and has a thing for guns.”
Reese pulled a small flip notebook out of his back pants pocket. “Did she give you a name?”
“Frank. Tricia called him Effing Frank because she hated him. But I know he lives right next to them in the redbrick house.”
He scratched a few words into the notebook. “That’s actually helpful. But don’t let it go to your head. I’ll handle checking out this guy, okay?”
I held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “He’s all yours.”
He smiled again and reached for the blazer he’d tossed over a dining room chair.
“What’s all this?” he asked, staring down at the table covered with police documents. “How did you get these?”
Leatrice hurried over to him. “This is all me, detective. I’m practicing my sleuthing skills.”
“Stealing police documents is a felony.” He held up a paper and waved it at me. “And you knew about this? You knew these were illegally obtained?”
“Not before she did it,” I said, hating how weak the excuse sounded.
Reese shook his head and dropped the paper. It fluttered down to the table. “I can’t be involved with this.” He walked to the door, not looking at me as he passed. He opened the door then turned. “I want to believe you, Annabelle, but as long as you’re working against the police department, against me, I can’t be involved. With you. With any of it.”
“He’ll cool off and come around, dear,” Leatrice said once Reese had closed the door behind him.
I’d seen the hurt in his eyes as he’d left. I wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 14
“You’re sure you’ll be fine, dear?” Leatrice asked as I gently pushed her out my door. “You don’t want me to keep you company after that unpleasant scene with the detective?”
“I’m okay. I promise.” What I really wanted after my shouting match with Detective Reese was to be left alone. As well-meaning as Leatrice was, her unrelenting chatter about the murder investigation had started to wear on me.
Her bright burgundy bob wedged into the crack in the doorway as I closed it. “I’m right downstairs if you need anything. Tweet at me. Shoot me a text. Facebook message me. Send me a Snapchat.”
“You got it.” I wasn’t sure if her obsession with crime or her newfound fondness for technology disturbed me more. It seemed wrong that an eighty-year-old tossed around social media lingo more casually than I did.
I leaned against the door once I’d closed it and listened to the clicking of her heels on the stairs as she walked down to her first=floor apartment. I knew it would be pointless to try to lock her out since she had a key to my place and clearly was not shy about using it, but I figured I had a few hours before she concocted a reason to come upstairs again. I congratulated myself for giving her an assignment before I’d sent her away. Tracking down all of Tricia’s online review profiles should keep her busy for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe all night if I was lucky and if Tricia had been very prolific with her poisoned pen.
I flopped onto my overstuffed couch and leaned back, stretching my feet under the glass coffee table. I rolled my head to the side so I could see out the window, where the sun’s rays began to drop below the Georgetown rooftops. Even though the rent was more of my monthly budget than it should be, I loved living in the classic, residential area of DC. It might not be as hip as the U Street area or as modern as the Clarendon neighborhood just over the bridge in Virginia, but I loved the classic townhouses and occasional cobbled streets of Georgetown. Not to mention my favorite bakeries were only blocks away from me.
I felt my stomach growl and realized I hadn’t had lunch, so I got up to scour what was left of the bounty Richard and Fern had brought over the day before. I found an uneaten spinach empanada in the fridge and began munching on it without heating it up as I walked back into the living room.
My phone trilled from the side table, and I picked it up to check the caller, hoping that it wasn’t Leatrice telling me she’d finished her task already. It was Richard.
“Meet me downstairs,” he said when I answered. “But don’t let Leatrice hear you leave. I’m not in the mood to deal with that pint-sized Jessica Fletcher.”
I walked to the window that overlooked P Street, but I couldn’t see him. “You’re outside? Why don’t you come up?”
“I can’t. Just come down.” He disconnected.
I slipped on a pair of black ballet flats I kept by the door and shoved my keys in the pocket of my black pants then headed downstairs, being careful to walk on my tiptoes the entire way and holding my breath as I passed Leatrice’s apartment door. Even though she was elderly, she had hearing that could rival that of a bat. I eased open the heavy wooden door of the building and held it so that it didn’t
shut with a bang. I spotted Richard standing at the corner.
“What are you holding?” I asked.
“Don’t be cute, Annabelle. You know it’s a leash.”
“Yes, but what are you doing with it and why is there a dog attached to the bottom.” I gestured to the Yorkie weaving its way around Richard’s legs then lowered my voice. “You don’t do dogs.”
Richard lifted his feet one at a time to untangle himself from the leash. “I know I don’t usually do dogs but there’s a first time for everything.”
“Is this your dog?” I asked as the brown-and-black dog sniffed my ankles. Richard had always been very clear how he felt about dogs and children—two types of creatures he felt were far too messy and needy for him.
Richard flinched. “Of course not. Have you lost your mind?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Leatrice is on Snapchat, and you’re walking a dog. Should I be checking the skies for flying pigs?”
Richard began walking down the street and motioned for me to follow. “This is P.J.’s dog.”
I ran a few steps to catch up. “And P.J. is—?”
“I’ve mentioned P.J. before. The bartender who paints portraits.”
I racked my brain. Had he mentioned a bartender who was also a painter and had a dog? If so, he’d never mentioned a name. Or that they were close enough that Richard would assume dog-walking duties. “So how long have you been seeing P.J.?”
“A month. Maybe two.” Richard paused at the end of the block then hurried across the street with the Yorkie running to keep up.
“Two months?” I said when I caught up. “And you’re just mentioning this now?”
Richard’s cheeks flushed, and I doubted it was from the scamper across the street. “I didn’t want to make a big thing out of it.”
“I think it’s kind of a thing if you’re walking his dog.” I tried not to sound petty but I couldn’t help feeling hurt that he’d been dating someone for two months without telling me. Ever since I’d moved to Washington a few years ago and opened Wedding Belles, Richard and I had been tight, working together almost every weekend and getting into and out of more than a few scrapes together. “Does the dog have a name?”
“Butterscotch,” Richard said.
I leaned down and scratched the dog’s head. “Nice to meet you, Butterscotch.”
Butterscotch wagged his tail and piddled a bit on the sidewalk.
Richard shook his head and tugged the dog in the direction of the park across the street. “Don’t take it personally. He wets himself every time I come into the room.”
“Don’t worry, Butterscotch,” I said to the dog as we entered Rose Park. “You’re not the only one who wets himself when he sees Richard. Most of his waiters do the same thing.”
Richard glared at me. “Hilarious.”
“When do I get to meet this P.J.?” I asked. “I already know his dog.”
“Do you really want to start meeting boyfriends?” Richard followed Butterscotch as he explored a patch of bushes.
“Well, you’ve met all of mine. It only seems fair,” I said. “Not that I have either guy at the moment.”
Richard raised an eyebrow. “I know you cooled things off with Tattoo Boy so you could see where things were headed with the detective. What’s happened now?”
I gave a shake of my head. “I didn’t exactly cool things off with Ian on purpose. His band went on tour. And Reese and I just got in a big fight.”
Richard put a hand on his hip. “Spill, girl.”
“He found out that I went with Kate to the hospital to talk to the groom, that I accidentally told the groom his wife had been shot when he didn’t know yet, and that we posed as doctors to sneak out. Then, after he’d stopped freaking out about that, he saw Leatrice’s hacked police documents all over my dining room table and got mad all over again.”
Richard’s eyebrows shot up so high they almost merged with his hairline. “That would do it.”
“Basically, he said that I need to trust him to solve the case and stay out of it or he can’t be involved with me.” I blinked hard as I felt tears prick the backs of my eyes.
“But you can’t,” Richard said as a statement, not a question.
I shook my head and swiped at my eyes. “I’ve been fixing things for people for so long that I can’t let go and let someone else take care of it. What’s wrong with me?”
Richard patted my arm. “It’s a hazard of the job, Annabelle. The people who take care of everything don’t know how to be taken care of.”
“So I should sit back and let Reese handle it?” I asked.
Richard tugged on Butterscotch’s leash as we walked, and the dog tried to inspect every stick and pinecone he passed. “Probably. It is his job, after all. And how do we feel when the overbearing mother tries to do our job for us or the annoying bridesmaid tells us everything we could be doing better?”
“We want to gouge their eyes out.” I said. “But this is different.”
“Because it’s a man you have the hots for?” Richard grinned at me. “You know that if you actually like this guy you’re going to have to trust him at some point.”
“Easier said than done.” The thought of playing the damsel in distress to Detective Reese’s knight in shining armor still didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t know if I was ready to give up control, especially if there was a chance I might be charged with a murder. Besides that, I wasn’t sure if Reese had earned my trust. Not when he hadn’t even been clear on where we stood.
“Believe me, girl. I get it.” Richard nodded at Butterscotch sniffing the flowerbed. “One day you let someone in your life just a little bit, and the next thing you know, you’re on dog-walking duty.”
“It must be worth it,” I said, knowing Richard and his feelings about pets in general.
“All I can tell you, Annabelle, as your slightly older and wiser friend, is to be careful. In this business, you snap your fingers and a decade has gone by and you have nothing but a bunch of pretty pictures to show for it.”
I’d never heard Richard talk about his life with anything close to the regret I heard now in his voice. Would I feel the same way if I let things with Reese fall apart?
“Come on, dog. Let’s go home,” Richard said. Butterscotch wagged his tail, trotted over to Richard, then promptly piddled on his shoe.
“Can I make a suggestion?” I asked as Richard cursed and shook his foot. “Maybe don’t wear the Prada shoes when you walk the dog?”
“Are you suggesting I wear pleather?” Richard sucked in a breath. “I might have to walk this dog but I will not lower my standards.”
“Fine,” I said, taking a few steps away from him. “But do me a favor. Don’t wear those shoes to our next wedding together. If we have a next wedding together.”
“Of course we’ll have more weddings together.” Richard walked a few steps then shook his foot again. “This murder thing will blow over and everyone will forget that you were ever involved.”
I knew he was saying that to make me feel better and I hoped he was right, but I had a sinking feeling that Tricia Toker was the kind of bride who could do as much damage from the grave as she had in life.
Chapter 15
“Explain to me again why I’m here if all our appointments have been canceled.” Kate sat cross-legged on the floor of my office in a pair of black-and-white striped silk shorts and a lime-green silk tank top, her idea of casual clothes. My idea of casual consisted of black yoga pants with traces of carpet lint and a pink fitted T-shirt.
I handed her a stack of gold polka-dot file folders. “Because we still have old clients and upcoming weddings even if all the prospective clients got scared off. Besides, I’m not supposed to be meddling in the investigation and if I don’t do something to keep busy, I’ll lose my mind.”
“Aha.” Kate flipped open the first folder. “Now the truth comes out. Let ‘Project Keep Annabelle From Being Thrown in the Nut House’ begin.”
I made a face at her. “I thought we could go through these weddings and pull all the proposals the client didn’t accept and double-check that we have signed contracts for every vendor.”
“I hate paperwork days,” Kate said. “How long until you think people will forget about the murder and start calling?”
I sat down next to her with my own stack of folders and swept my hair up into a ponytail. I rarely bothered styling my hair unless it was a wedding day so “ponytail” was my default setting. “People have short memories. Not more than a few weeks, I’d guess.” I knew that estimate was very optimistic, but there was no need to drag Kate’s mood down by telling her what I really believed.
“Memories may be short, but social media is forever.” Kate scrolled through her phone with one hand. “Have you taken a look at Tricia’s Weddies tribute page? Who are all these people posting about how amazing she was and why weren’t they at her wedding?”
I glanced over at the list of comments as Kate dragged her thumb down the screen. “Some people flock to tragedy. It probably makes them feel good to write something nice and completely untrue. Especially if they didn’t bother to show up to her wedding.”
“I’m surprised more of these tragedy flockers didn’t flock to the Hay-Adams Hotel for filet mignon.”
One of the many things Tricia had complained about during her wedding planning was the low response rate. Usually we estimated about ten to twenty percent of the invited guests would RSVP no, but Tricia’s no rate had been closer to half. Instead of worrying about squeezing two hundred guests into the rooftop ballroom, we’d had to rent trees so the room wouldn’t look empty with eighty. I’d told the bride her wedding weekend was a busy one and people were probably traveling, but that had been a lie intended to keep her calm. The truth I’d known from nearly the first time we’d met was that the bride was a supremely unlikable person and had almost no friends. I’d been amazed she even had the one friend close enough to be her maid of honor.
“Unbelievable,” Kate said. “The Weddies are even getting together to share memories of Tricia. Should we go? I’ll bet we’d have better stories than any of those posers.”
