Bodice of Evidence

by Nancy J. Parra

  “I would have come up with a cover story.” I shrugged. “It was a chance I had to take. I couldn’t find out anything about your family or friends. Your Facebook page is blocked. And your LinkedIn profile was all work.”

  “Now I’m curious. What does this Toby look like?”

  “He is kind of a cross between Columbo and George Clooney.”

  “Well, that certainly sounds interesting.”

  I raised a corner of my mouth in a wry grin. “It is.” I stood and she stood. “Thank you for your time.” We shook hands and she tried to give me back my card. “No,” I said, and waved it off. “Keep it. You never know if you or a friend might need a hand planning the perfect proposal . . . or dodging one.”

  She laughed. “Indeed. Thank you. I’ll watch out for this Toby guy. If I feel he’s stalking me, I’m getting a restraining order.”

  “Be my guest,” I said. “At this point I can’t guarantee he isn’t crazy.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “I feel that vetting the clients that don’t sound right is an important part of my job.”

  “I’m happy to help.”

  She might have been happy, but I wasn’t. After we left, I went back to Old Blue, sighed at the twenty-dollar parking fee, and decided that I would simply bill Toby for expenses plus my time and the effort it took to figure out he was a nut case. After all, that’s what retainers are for, right?

  I dialed Gage and put him on speakerphone. Ever since Chicago banned cell phones while driving, I had been especially careful to use my car speakers. Thank goodness for Bluetooth technology.

  “Prop warehouse, this is Gage speaking, how can I help you today?”

  “Hi, Gage, it’s Pepper.”

  “Hey, Pepper, how you doing?”

  I laughed at his imitation of the character Joey from Friends. Last time we met we had had this conversation about Chicagoans and how often they said that to each other. “Better now that I’m talking to you.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I finally got to talk to that Toby guy’s girl. You know, the one he wants to propose to but could tell me nothing about.”

  “Right. How’d that work out?”

  “Not so good. It turns out she doesn’t even know who he is.”

  “Oh, that’s not good.”

  “Right? I figured I’d ask a guy if he had any idea why another guy would do this.”

  “Try to propose to a girl he’s never met?” Gage asked. “Pretty much sounds like a guy who gets what he wants with little effort.”

  “Hmmm, he did say he pays his people to make him money.”

  “Well, there you go. My advice is that you’re going to have to tell him from a strictly female perspective that that doesn’t work. No matter how rich the guy is.”

  “Okay, strictly speaking, there are some women out there who would marry a guy she doesn’t know just for his money. Why do you think they had that television show about marrying a millionaire?”

  “That’s laziness on both their parts, if you ask me. They deserve each other.”

  “I don’t think that’s what he wants,” I said as I drove down Interstate 90. “I think he picked Laura because she is smart, beautiful, and successful in her own right.”

  “Call him, Pepper,” Gage said. “He has to know that if she is the kind of woman he wants, he needs to go out there and get her himself.”

  “Sounds like you have some experience in that area,” I teased.

  “I’m trying,” he said, sincerity in his voice. “When are we going out again, Pepper? It’s been a couple of weeks. It was great fun going through the estate I bought for the warehouse, but I wouldn’t really call that a date.”

  I winced. “I’ve been a little crazy what with Mary’s proposal, Alexander’s proposal, and Felicity’s wedding stuff.”

  “Not to mention investigating that murder.”

  “I’m a proposal planner not an investigator,” I reminded him. “Besides, it’s weird to try to date you with Bobby next door in that bar.”

  “How’s the hunt for a new place going?” he asked. “All these excuses can leave a guy thinking he might be rejected at any moment.”

  “I have a lead on a place that might be nice,” I improvised. “The thing is that there might be a ninety-four-year-old-woman involved.”

  “In my experience, older women are pretty tolerant,” he said. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Detective Murphy’s mother. He said she has a place in Park Ridge.”

  “It can’t hurt to go look,” Gage said. “Want me to come with you?”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “I’m going to go see Toby in person. I don’t really have the time to indulge Detective Murphy. I’ll just keep looking online.”

  “And our date?”

  “You are persistent.”

  “Very,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Resistance is futile.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake.” I rolled my eyes at the old Star Trek quote. “Fine, I do want to see you. It’s been too long.”

  “Let’s go out Saturday at nine,” he said. “I’ll make reservations. You wear something sexy and we’ll see what happens from there.”

  I did so love the low timbre in his voice when he gave hints of more to come. It made my heart race and my knees go weak. “I’ll be there,” I said.

  “Wonderful.”

  I hung up the phone feeling good. I’ve known Gage my whole life. For most of it all I really knew was that he was Bobby’s best friend and deserved far better than the way Bobby treated him. But then again, so did I.

  I remember being shocked when Gage first approached me. I hadn’t seen it coming. But now looking back, all the signs were there. Gage had been Bobby’s friend for so long simply to stay close to me.

  There was something very romantic about the whole thing. I sighed and turned off the highway. From that good conversation to the next bad conversation, it was time to see Toby and confront him about Laura.

  Chapter 16

  I met Toby at a small business café. They had a few around the area. It was basically a large open and airy room. There were couches and chairs and even a few desks strewn about. There were also tables for teams of up to six to sit and work. The atmosphere was one of hushed quiet with free Wi-Fi. They had a bar on the right where you could order coffee, tea, pastries, and fruit. The room had all the amenities of a corporate break room. And like a corporation break room, there were two refrigerators side by side to hold your lunch. In the back were three glass-walled conference room spaces for meetings.

  It was the twenty-first-century version of a home office. It gave people who worked from home or people who started their own business a place to come when they needed to get out of the house or meet with clients.

  I had called and booked the smallest conference room in the back. It was more expensive than booking a conference room at the local library, but this time I wanted to ensure that Toby didn’t have any movies or books to distract him from our conversation.

  I arrived and set up my laptop. The café had a printing service that cost five cents per page, but I already had my own printer and had preprinted everything I needed. Next I went and ordered a pot of coffee, hot water, and assorted teas, along with a small pastry tray. After all, the bill was on Toby.

  He was prompt.

  “Hello, Toby, thanks for meeting me on such short notice. Please have a seat.” I closed the door behind him. “Can I offer you coffee or tea?” I waved at the tray on the table. “Perhaps a muffin?”

  Toby looked as if he had just gotten out of bed, thrown on clothes he’d left on the floor, and come on down. He had a bit of a five-o’clock shadow going that was gray and didn’t look too bad on him. In fact it sort of toughened up the roundness of his face. He s
melled good.

  “Coffee’s fine,” he said, and sat down. “Black.” I poured him a cup and we sat in what felt to me like awkward silence, but I’m not sure he noticed.

  “I spoke to Laura,” I said.

  “How did you get her to meet with you?” he asked, his thick eyebrows drawn together.

  “I have my ways. Besides, you’ll see it in your itemized bill,” I said briskly. “You have not been honest with me, Toby, and I don’t like dishonest clients.” I gave him my best version of a mother’s stare. You know the one. Where she lets you know in no uncertain terms that you have been caught in a lie.

  He merely shrugged and poured sugar into his coffee even though he’d asked for it black.

  “Toby, Laura doesn’t even know who you are. How did you decide you were going to propose to her?”

  “I saw her at a charity event I attended last month,” he said. “Then I searched for her online and ran a background check.” He sipped his coffee and reached for a slice of pound cake. “I’m at the point in my life where marriage is the next logical step. Then in a year or two I should have children. Mid to late thirties is the optimal time for men to marry and have children. Laura is twenty-nine years old. She only has a year or two of her prime childbearing years left, and I figured she was ready to do the same.”

  “You wanted to propose to her because you are ready and you believe she is ready to build a family based on your ages?”

  “Oh, there is more than that. There is family health history and risk of disease, et cetera. I’ve taken it all into account, as I did when I hired you.”

  “Toby, love doesn’t work that way.” I folded my hands on the tabletop.

  “Certainly it does,” he said. “I have read the research that nine times out of ten a woman feels her biological clock ticking and begins her search for her ideal mate. That ideal is a man in his mid to late thirties with enough money to support her and her children in a manner she is either used to or wishes to get used to. A man, on the other hand, looks for a woman who is pretty enough to show his friends that he has the monetary stature to obtain her—thus the term ‘trophy wife.’ Also, I prefer a woman who is smart enough to not bore me to tears. Beyond that there are some studies that suggest intelligence is genetically handed down by the female of the species. Laura worked on all fronts. Did you tell her what I was proposing?”

  I bit my bottom lip. “Surprise is a big factor in creating a perfect proposal,” I said. “It made this meeting with Laura difficult. I began by asking her if she was dating you.”

  “I see.” He sipped coffee. “When she said she was not?”

  “I told her who I was, who you were, and what you wanted.”

  He took a bite of his cake and thoughtfully washed it down with more coffee. “Interesting. What was her reaction?”

  “She asked if she needed to take a restraining order out on you.” That was pretty cut and dry as far as I was concerned. You had to be careful with certain men. They didn’t always understand what no means. Especially if you said it nicely.

  “Huh.”

  “In the interest of business, I have an itemized bill for my time and services necessary to discover that you are not actually dating Laura and she is not actually interested in a proposal no matter how grand.” I slipped him the bill, which I bumped up to three thousand dollars in hopes that he realized how expensive this entire fruitless endeavor was. “I have cut you a check for the remainder of your retainer.” I handed him the seven thousand dollars that I hated to part with but couldn’t keep, in all fairness to the poor slob.

  “Look,” I said. “You seem like a very smart guy, so I will tell you what I know from a female perspective. Women want to be wooed. We want the dates, the drinks, and the fun times. We want to fall in love with a man who gets to know us. We want him to know what we like, what we don’t like. We want him to pay attention to the details.” Gage came to my mind. He knew how I took my coffee. He knew I would love to go through the estate sale finds he bought and see what treasures we could discover. He brought me flowers.

  There was a long pause while Toby seemed to process this information. “So courtship is more important to a woman than money and the ability to give her children and care for them at a higher social economic status.”

  I sighed. “It’s not that the ability to care for our children isn’t important.” I thought of Bobby and was suddenly glad I dodged that bullet. “Courtship is an important part of the entire process. Almost every living creature has a courtship period. Women need that. Their families need it, too.”

  Toby’s expression was one of thoughtful confusion.

  I felt sorry for the guy. This might be the first time in his life he’d come up against something he didn’t understand. “Look, I have a proposal event tomorrow,” I said. “Why don’t you come and watch what happens. It will help you understand how important relationships are to the couple getting married and to their combined families.”

  “I don’t have to worry about my family,” he said. “My mother is in a nursing home and my father is dead. I’m an only child.”

  That explained a lot, if you asked me. “But the woman you eventually marry will have a family. Please come and see it for yourself firsthand.”

  “Fine,” he said, and finished his cake and coffee. “What time and where?”

  “It’s at the DuPage Airport in West Chicago at ten A.M. Arrive fifteen minutes early and look for me. I’ll be tweaking last-minute details, so just look for me wearing a headset. Whatever you do, do not tell anyone why you are there other than to meet me. The event is a surprise and since you don’t know anyone, you don’t want to give it away to the wrong person. Okay?”

  “All right,” he said and stood. “Good day, Ms. Pomeroy.”

  I stood as well and shook his hand. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

  “I’ve come to expect these things in business,” he said as he folded up my invoice and pocketed my check. “Good day.”

  I sat down and watched him go. All in all he took it well. He really wasn’t a bad sort of guy, just a little clueless. I poured myself some coffee and put a blueberry pastry on a plate. I still had fifteen minutes left in the meeting room, so I used it to work.

  Everything was in order for Alexander’s engagement. Mary’s was coming along nicely. But after that the well had run a little dry. It was time to drum up a little business. I did it by creating a Pinterest board with other people’s fantastical proposals. There was the pro cheerleader whose boyfriend proposed with a flash mob at halftime. Then there was the couple who got engaged at the top of Mount Everest—which was not a proposal event I would ever plan no matter how much they paid me. I was not that happy when faced with a lack of oxygen.

  Pinterest was perfect for gaining ideas as well. Girls tended to pin their dream weddings. I liked to see how they put things together and envision how I would have used that information to create a perfect proposal.

  Then I paid for a Craigslist ad to let the public know that Perfect Proposals was the best proposal planning company out there. In Chicago it was the only such company. I left my work phone number on the advertisement along with my e-mail. Hopefully Cesar’s video of the jumping couple would draw coverage from the five-o’clock news as a human interest story. That kind of publicity was something you simply couldn’t buy.

  I packed up, careful to ensure that the remainder of the pastries were carefully wrapped. I’d drop them by Gage’s office. A woman who lived alone did not need a half-dozen baked goods sitting in her kitchen. Better to hand them off to a warehouse full of men who would devour them in an instant.

  My phone rang when I got into my car. “Perfect Proposals, this is Pepper Pomeroy. How can I help you?”

  “Hey, Pepper.” Detective Murphy’s voice came over the phone. “Are you driving?”

  “No, not yet.”r />
  “Good,” he said, and I rolled my eyes. “Listen, we found almost all of the items stolen from Eva’s bridal shop.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. Vidalia will be so happy. She was telling me that most were one-of-a-kind pieces. How and where did you find them?”

  “They were put up for sale online,” he said.

  “How were you able to find the dresses? How do you know they were Vidalia’s?,” I asked. “Have you tracked down the owner of the site yet?”

  “Slow down,” he cautioned. “We have divisions for online theft and fraud. Their whole job is to track down stolen goods. They were able to confirm that the dresses were the same one-of-a-kind sample dresses that Vidalia listed.”

  “So was it the thief who listed them online? I mean, that would be too easy, right?”

  “You would be surprised how often that happens—where the thief lists stolen goods online. They aren’t the brightest people sometimes. In this case, it wasn’t the thief. The posters ran an online service. They claim they didn’t know the goods were stolen. They got a box in the mail with the items and a substantial wad of cash.”

  “And no return address on the box . . .”

  “That’s correct,” he said. “Listen, I spoke with my Mom,” he said, and I felt my heart go straight to the bottom of my stomach. “She said she would love a renter. Why don’t you go down and let her give you a tour. You don’t have to rent. I promise. But it would make her day to meet you.”

  “Fine,” I said with a sigh. “What’s the address?” I wrote down what he rattled off.

  “I told her you’d stop by this afternoon,” he said. “Will three P.M. work?”

  “Really?” I could not believe he did this to me. It was something my parents would do. I know he said I reminded him of his daughter, but that nostalgia might have gone a little too far. “Detective Murphy—”

  “I have more information on the case,” he interrupted.

  “Okay . . .”

  “Will you be there at three?”

  “This feels a bit like blackmail,” I said. “But yes, I’ll be there at three. Now, tell me what else you know about the case.”