by Laura Durham
“He’s on the third floor,” I said when we’d walked from the cab to the lobby, passing through automatic glass doors. “The elevators are over here.”
My nose twitched reflexively at the distinctive hospital smell. Quite a change from the luscious scents of the bakery we’d just left. I wished I’d packed some pastries in my purse to combat the antiseptic air.
“Excuse me,” a nurse with dirty-blond hair called out as we passed by the front desk. “You can’t have a dog inside the hospital.”
Richard shoved Butterscotch’s head inside the bag with a move of his elbow and looked wildly around the lobby.
The nurse leveled a finger at him. “Yes, you. The man with the pink shirt and black purse.”
Richard let out an exasperated sigh. “This shirt is salmon, not pink, and anyone who follows fashion knows this isn’t a purse. It’s a man’s messenger bag, and it’s Hermès.”
The nurse shook her head. “I don’t care what you call it. You still can’t have Hermès in the hospital. No dogs allowed. You’ll have to wait down here.”
“For heavens sake, Hermès isn’t the name of the dog.” At this, Butterscotch wedged his head out of the bag and looked up at Richard, and I could swear the dog was smiling.
“Maybe you should wait here,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
“All right.” Richard looked down at Butterscotch. “You know, Hermès isn’t such a bad name. I wonder if P.J. would mind if I renamed him?”
I didn’t want to be the one to tell Richard I was pretty sure his boyfriend would mind very much having his dog renamed, so I left him perched on a celadon-green chair trying to get Butterscotch to answer to the name Hermès. I took the elevator to the third floor and stuck my head out before stepping into the hallway. I didn’t want to run into the bride’s mother or maid of honor this time even if the groom did ask me to stop by. I found the groom’s room and pushed the door open, calling his name at the same time.
“Who’s there?” he answered back.
I stepped fully into the hospital room. The groom sat up in his bed with all the lights on and the wall-mounted television tuned to ESPN. He looked much more alert than he had the last time I’d visited and, aside from the bandage across his shoulder, didn’t seem to belong in a hospital.
“It’s Annabelle Archer,” I said. “You left me a message asking me to stop by.”
He waved me inside. “Right. Thanks for coming so quickly. The last time you visited you asked me to let you know if I remembered anything. And Tricia told me you were a miracle worker so many times during the wedding planning, so I figured you might be able to add to what the police are doing. Plus, I had your number in my phone, and I thought it was worth a shot. You actually knew Tricia, so you have a reason to want to know who killed her, right?”
“Right,” I lied. Even though Tricia had been a nightmare to work for, I couldn’t help feel a rush of pride that she’d called me a miracle worker. The groom never needed to know that I didn’t want to solve her murder because I’d known her. Most people who had known her had wanted to kill her. But it was true I was probably more interested than the police. The desire to save your own skin could be very motivating.
“So is this about your neighbor?” I asked.
“My neighbor?” The groom’s brow creased.
“Madeleine told me that you and Tricia had a feud with the guy who lives next door, and he threatened you.”
The groom readjusted himself in the bed and made a pained face. “Frank? I mean, he wasn’t the friendliest guy but do you think he hated Tricia enough to walk in our house and shoot both of us?”
I noticed he said that Frank hated Tricia, not him. That meshed with what I knew of Tricia but wasn’t consistent with how Madeleine had described the situation. Then again, Tricia telling the story to cast herself in a better light wasn’t surprising in the least. It probably made her feel better to tell people that the neighbor hated both of them instead of just having a problem with her.
“I don’t know. But I do know the guy likes firearms.”
Dave nodded. “Not surprising. Have the police talked to him?”
“Not yet.” I didn’t feel the need to tell the groom that the man who potentially shot him was running loose. “But if you weren’t calling me about your neighbor, why did you call me?”
“Oh, right. I found something that may be important.” He held up his cell phone. “I haven’t had much to do since I’ve been in here, so I decided to clean out my phone.”
I really hoped he was going somewhere with this.
“The day before Tricia and I were shot—” His voice hitched and he paused. “Sorry. It’s hard to get used to her being gone.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway, I found an email in spam that was sent to both of us. I think you might want to see it.”
He held out his phone, and I took it from him. The email had, in fact, been sent the day before the murder from what looked like a random account with no name attached. There was only one line.
You will pay for your lies in blood.
Chapter 22
“Where are you?” I asked as I stood in the lobby of the hospital holding my phone to my ear. I’d left Richard sitting on one of the upholstered chairs in the waiting area, but now he was nowhere in sight. The nurse who’d scolded us earlier had her head down at the front desk, and only a couple of people sat in the chairs reading worn magazines.
“Outside,” Richard said. “Hermès doesn’t like the smell of hospitals.”
I looked out the glass double doors and saw Richard waving from the sidewalk. “So now the dog is Hermès?” I asked as I walked outside to meet him. “That was fast.”
Richard stood with a leash in his hand, the tiny brown-and-black Yorkie scampering around on the other end. “If I didn’t let him out of the bag, he was going to piddle all over the insides, and calfskin does not do well with moisture.”
“I’m not sure much does well when soaked in dog urine.”
Richard grimaced. “What did the groom have to say? Was his information worth you dragging me here and banishing me to wait for you?” He fanned a hand at his face, and I noticed that it felt more humid than it had earlier.
I looked up at the thickening clouds and wondered if we were about to get rained on. I had the bad habit of not checking the weather unless it was a wedding weekend, so I rarely carried an umbrella. If Richard worried about his man bag getting damp, he really wouldn’t like it getting soaked in a rain shower.
I opened up my email on my phone and scrolled to the threatening message the groom had forwarded to me. “Check this out.”
Richard leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Very dramatic. But how does that help anything? We’ve established that Tricia wrote lies about a lot of people. You can add this person to the list.”
I knew Richard was right, but this email seemed more violent and vengeful to me. “No one else threatened her with violence like this. Or sent her a direct email that I know of. This is an escalation. Plus, it was sent the day before the murder, almost like the killer wanted to scare her first.”
“Okay, but do we know who sent it?” Richard switched the leash into his other hand as Hermès née Butterscotch crossed between his legs.
I slipped my phone back into my purse. “No, but that’s where Leatrice and her hacker friends come in.”
“If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times.” Richard shook his hand at me, and the leash quivered. “Do not encourage her.”
“At least this new hobby of hers is helpful,” I said. “Her hobbies used to include trying to set me up with the FedEx guy and running surveillance on all our neighbors. Why do you think old Mr. Provovitch moved? Because Leatrice was convinced that he was a Russian sleeper spy and followed him anytime he left the building.”
“I’d say that was helpful. The old man cooked way too much cabbage and made your hallways smell awful.”
“Well, I, for one, am th
rilled that her paranoia finally has practical applications,” I said.
Richard allowed himself to be tugged forward a few feet by the leash. “Then don’t come crying to me when Crazy Lady gets you busted by the Feds for running an illegal hacking operation. If you want my advice, you should ignore this email, and let the groom turn it over to the police.”
“For your information, I did tell him to show it to the police. But unless they have a more sophisticated cyber division than I think they do, I doubt they’ll do much with it.”
“When did you advise the groom to give the email to the police?” Richard asked.
I motioned to the ,redbrick building behind me. “Just now. After I made him swear not to tell Detective Reese that he called me or showed me the email. I’m trying to take your advice and let go more.”
Richard scooped up the dog. “Great. Now you take my advice. Are you insane? That means the cops could be on their way here at this very moment. Do you really want to have to explain what we’re doing here?” He spun around and walked straight into a man rounding the corner, Richard giving a yelp at the same time as the dog in his arms.
Detective Reese took a step back and stared at the excited Yorkie in Richard’s arms. Then his gaze shifted to me and disappointment replaced the puzzled look in his eyes. “I’m almost afraid to ask what the two of you are doing here.”
Richard opened and closed his mouth a few times, reminding me of a hungry goldfish.
Reese took a step close to me and grasped my elbow. “I know you aren’t trying to sneak in to talk to the victim again without authorization.”
I stared up at him and couldn’t help thinking how attractive he looked when he was upset. His green eyes deepened and flashed with heat, and I felt my heart begin to beat faster. There were times when I really wished the detective didn’t have the dark hair and light eyes that seemed to be my Kryptonite. “Absolutely not.”
Richard’s head snapped toward me. Technically, this wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t snuck in to see the groom because he’d asked me to come. And since he’d asked me to visit, it wasn’t unauthorized, either.
Reese narrowed his eyes at me, and I could see he was trying to decide if he believed me or not.
“I do live in Georgetown, you know,” I said, my voice not much more than a whisper since he stood so close to me.
Reese didn’t let go of my elbow but, instead, pulled me closer. “All the way on the other side of Wisconsin Avenue. It’s a long walk from your place to here.”
Richard cleared his throat. “We’re walking my dog.”
Now it was my turn to snap my head over to look at Richard. I wasn’t sure if I was shocked more by the fact that he’d lied to the detective or the fact that he’d claimed the little dog as his own.
Detective Reese dropped my elbow. “This is your dog?”
Richard gave the Yorkie’s head an awkward pat. “Well, I didn’t steal him.” He jerked a thumb in Reese’s direction and laughed. “I mean, honestly. Do you believe this guy, Annabelle?”
Reese eyed Richard, whose mouth was drawn back in a tortured smile that would give the Joker a run for his money as Hermès freely licked his hand. I wondered if Reese was deciding which was stranger, Richard stealing a dog or having one in the first place. He shook his head, either giving up or trying to forget the scene, and turned back to me. “I want to believe you. I really do.”
I nodded as I met his eyes and felt guilt wash over me. Here was a guy who wanted nothing more than to keep me out of trouble, and I could not seem to stop lying to him. What was wrong with me?
I reached out and took one of his hands. “I’m sorry I keep giving you reasons to doubt me.” I meant every word of what I said. I hated that I had such a hard time trusting him, or any man who wasn’t Richard or Fern, and I wished I didn’t feel like I needed to solve every problem on my own. It was a wedding-planner curse.
Reese met my eyes. “You like driving me crazy, don’t you?”
“It does seem to be my talent,” I said.
The detective squeezed my hand. “I’m sure you have other talents, as well,” he leaned over and whispered into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “And when this case is over . . .”
Richard coughed and the dog yipped, bringing me back to reality.
Reese stepped back but kept hold of my hand. “You’d better finish your walk or your friend might nip someone.”
I grinned at Reese. “To date, Richard’s never bitten a single person.”
“Hilarious,” Richard drawled, setting the dog back on the ground and heading down the sidewalk away from me. “Come along, Hermès. We know when we’re not wanted.”
Reese shook his head. “You’d better follow him.”
I mouthed an apology to Reese as I ran to catch up to Richard. I looked back and saw him watching me for a few seconds before walking into the hospital.
“Thank you,” I said to Richard once I’d reached him. “You didn’t have to lie for me.”
“Of course I did.” Richard tugged Hermès away from a flowerbed. “You would have done the same for me.”
It was true I’d gotten myself into more than a few compromising and dangerous situations to help save Richard’s skin, but when you’re best friends you don’t keep score.
I rested a hand on Richard’s arm. “I could do a lot worse than you.”
He patted my hand as awkwardly as he’d petted Hermès then cleared his throat. “What are you going to do about the email?”
“I already forwarded it to Leatrice, but that is the last thing I’m doing.” I made a gesture of wiping my hands clean.
Richard gave me a side-eye glance. “When have I heard that before?”
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out, stopping and frowning as I read the text.
“Problem?” Richard asked, pausing next to me.
“It’s Leatrice. She says that her hacker guys are working on the email but that she’s busy at the moment.”
“Dare I ask what she’s doing?”
“Apparently, she’s on a stakeout.”
Chapter 23
“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” Richard said as we piled into the backseat of another cab, this one a rickety station wagon painted brown. “Your neighbor, whom most would consider eccentric on a good day, is presently parked outside the house of a guy who is currently the only decent lead in a murder investigation?”
“Correct.” I gave the address to the cabbie and sat back on the cracked vinyl seats. The taxi had seen better days. Silver slashes of duct tape held the cushions together with bits of crumbling foam peeking out the ends. A cardboard pine tree air freshener, faded from the sun, swung from the rearview mirror but did little to battle the odor of mildew. I made a mental note to wait for an Uber next time. Their black car service may be more expensive but the air quality made up for it.
Richard wrinkled his nose as he lowered Hermès, née Butterscotch, from the window and let him sniff the seat. “And I’m assuming she doesn’t have any training in surveillance?”
“You mean aside from stalking me for the past few years and tracking every person in our neighborhood whom she thinks is even remotely suspicious?”
“You make a good point.” Richard reclined onto the bench seat and cringed when it crackled against his back. “She’s been training for this for her entire life.”
“I still don’t think it’s safe.” I drummed my fingers on the car seat as we idled at a traffic light, the engine rattling in protest. “This guy supposedly has guns. What if he decides to take a shot at her?”
“Normally, I’d say having a gun doesn’t necessarily mean one will use it but in this case . . .”
“Meaning?” I sat forward, resting my hand on the back of the driver’s seat and twisting to look at Richard.
He shrugged. “Let’s just say that Leatrice is lucky some days that I don’t own a gun.”
The car jerked forward as the driver pressed the
gas, and I was jolted back against the seat as the dog yelped. “You know she means well. She’s just . . .” I paused as I thought of words to explain my downstairs neighbor.
“Mentally imbalanced, overbearing, meddlesome?” Richard finished my sentence for me. “Take your pick.”
“I was going to say lonely. She doesn’t have any family I’ve ever heard of, and I think most of her friends are dead.”
“Coincidence?” Richard tapped a finger on his chin. “I think not.”
“You know she’s obsessed with solving crimes, not committing them.” I grabbed the door handle to keep from sliding into Richard as we made a turn without slowing. The Yorkie tried to regain balance as his four feet skittered across the slick seats. Richard scooped up the tiny dog with one hand before he landed on the floor.
“Who’s to say she isn’t some criminal mastermind who’s secretly been plotting all of these crimes to give herself something to do?” Richard said, tucking the Yorkie back in his man bag.
Now it was my turn to arch an eyebrow at him. As we drove down the bride and groom’s street, I pointed a finger at the mideighties Ford Fairmont up ahead. The yellow car stretched out over two parallel spaces along the street and was anything but unobtrusive. The top of a beige fedora barely reached above the steering wheel. “Does that look like a criminal genius to you?”
Richard passed a few bills to the driver as the car slowed to a stop. “That’s what’s so brilliant. No one would ever suspect her.”
I slid across the seat and exited the car from Richard’s side, being careful not to slam the door too hard for fear it might fall off. Leatrice’s hat bobbed up for a moment when we tapped on the window. Then it began lowering.
“Hurry,” she said. “Get in the back seat before anyone sees you.”
I pulled open the door to her car, giving it a yank when it stuck, and got into the back seat. Richard followed, setting his messenger bag between us and letting Hermès pop his head out and begin his sniff inspection. Although Leatrice’s car was old, it had rarely been driven so no air fresheners needed to dangle above the dashboard and no duct tape marred the cloth seats. Despite the fact that Leatrice rarely drove her car, the dash appeared to have gotten a recent coat of Armor All, and the carpet looked vacuumed. Our cab driver could have taken a lesson. The only indication that time was not on the car’s side was the sagging beige ceiling fabric that bloused over our heads.
