Someone's Mad at the Hatter

by Sandra Bretting

  I continued to amble down the path, the mansion in my sights. “I could be better. I found out the victim’s name.”

  “I figured you would. I was gonna call you later. Did you know her?”

  “Umm, hmm. We worked together sometimes. Everyone around here loved her. Everyone.”

  The silence that followed was thick with meaning. If so many people loved Charlotte, our unspoken words implied, then why would someone kill her?

  “I mean, she had a spotless reputation,” I rushed to explain, even though Lance hadn’t asked. “This is gonna hit people really hard around here. Charlotte was one of them.”

  “So I’ve heard. Say . . . the coroner will start on his autopsy today. Might get a preliminary report tonight, if we’re lucky. It all depends on his caseload.”

  “Do you have any leads?”

  “A couple. But nothing I can talk about just yet. I’ll let you know if one pans out.”

  “Thanks.” Although he hadn’t really promised me anything, it was a start. Last summer, when I found out about my client’s murder, Lance barely gave me any information. That all changed, though, when I solved the crime and helped out the victim’s family, who I happened to know. Even six months ago, when Ambrose and I found Mellette Babineaux lying face down on a dirty concrete floor, I had to move heaven and earth before he’d give me a tidbit of information. But, once again, my sixth sense kicked in and I figured out the person responsible for that crime too. Maybe Lance realized he could trust me now. I sure hoped so, for Charlotte’s sake.

  “Have you gone back to your studio?” he asked. “I heard that reporter from channel 11 was out there this morning. What a piece of work.”

  “Tell me about it. Beatrice said she burst into our studio, even. Can’t you stop her from doing that?”

  “I’ll ask for an officer to be stationed at your door. But you might want to have someone drive you to your studio for the next coupla days so she doesn’t ambush you in the parking lot. And screen all your calls.”

  “Will do.” I nodded to a man who passed me on the path. Probably another vendor headed for the meeting, judging by a thick portfolio he carried under his arm. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’m here for this big meeting of wedding planners. They’re supposed to do a tribute to Charlotte this morning. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  “Roger that. And I’ll keep you posted on the coroner’s report. Take care.”

  I clicked off the line and returned the phone to my pocket. Unlike the stranger ahead of me, who swung his portfolio back and forth, I kept all my pictures on my phone. The stream of images showed my hats from every possible angle and in every possible light. I followed the man all the way to the mansion, where we climbed a marble staircase that brought visitors to a wide-plank porch.

  The mansion’s double-wide door stood open, and two very different women flanked its sides. On one side was the stranger I’d met in the registration cottage; the one who’d been so preoccupied with her precious committees. On the left stood Susannah Wan, the association’s president, an older woman in an elegant Chanel suit the color of ripe cherries.

  Susannah was a fixture on the Great River Road. Rumor had it Suzi, as she preferred to be called, single-handedly launched the wedding industry here when she planned the lavish nuptials for a former astronaut. Of course, that was twenty years ago, but people still gushed about the wedding as if it took place last week.

  While she normally looked chic and youthful, today dark rings underscored Suzi’s eyes and thick lines bracketed her mouth. She obviously hadn’t slept well the night before, and the morning sun only exaggerated her condition.

  I tried to catch her gaze as I moved over the threshold, but she abruptly turned away.

  How odd. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t the only person who wouldn’t acknowledge me as I walked along. My favorite photographer hurried right past me, without so much as a hello. Then another business contact decided to study her shoes the minute I reached the porch. And finally, why did one of the most popular florists in town duck behind her assistant when she spied me? Was my imagination playing tricks on me, or were people avoiding me?

  I stopped in the middle of the hall and whirled around. Did everyone know about the crime scene yesterday? That my hat stand was used to kill Charlotte Devereaux? If so, people sure had a strange way of showing it. Instead of coming right out and asking me about it, they’d rather pretend I didn’t exist.

  My shoulders sagged as realization dawned. Like it or not, there wasn’t much I could do about it at the moment. So, I continued to walk to the restaurant, where the association normally held its monthly meetings, with my head down and my mood subdued.

  The entire crowd seemed somber, unlike other months, when backslaps and chitchat and yoo-hoos filled the space. I followed the others into the room and headed for a table by a large picture window that overlooked the garden. Another lady approached the spot after me, but she abruptly turned away when she realized I’d be sitting at the table.

  By the time Suzi stepped behind the podium and called the meeting to order, I had every seat to myself.

  “I’d like to welcome y’all to our January meeting.” Even with a microphone, Suzi’s voice was soft. “I’m Suzi Wan, the president here. Now, I’m sure you’ve already heard about the terrible tragedy that happened yesterday with one of our members.”

  Something tickled my sleeve at that point, and I turned to see a heavyset man with a laptop plop down next to me. Obviously this newcomer didn’t know—or care—about the role I played in Charlotte’s murder. After a moment, the smell of cigar smoke reached me, no doubt imbedded in his checkered sport coat.

  Meanwhile, Suzi struggled to compose herself. “For those of you who don’t know, Charlotte Devereaux was a founding member of this association. I’m afraid—well . . . I’m afraid there’s no good way to say this. She passed away yesterday.”

  Someone behind me gasped; probably a visitor who didn’t have access to the local rumor mill. My tablemate reached for his dinner napkin, which he used to furiously fan his face.

  I was about to lean over and suggest he might be more comfortable without the heavy sport coat when I noticed something on the coat’s lapel. He’d pinned a name tag there, which had the flowery logo for Happily Ever After Events.

  “Excuse me,” I whispered. When he didn’t react, I moved closer. “Excuse me. But are you Charlotte’s cousin?”

  Still nothing. Obviously, he was too overcome with grief to talk. Either that, or he was like everyone else in the room and chose to ignore me.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “But I don’t know what happened yesterday at the Factory. I didn’t have anything to do with it—you have to believe me.”

  The stranger remained silent, but his left eye twitched, which told me everything I needed to know.

  Suzi continued to speak, but by now she looked miserable. “I know this has been hard for everyone. Charlotte was one of our best volunteers. She loved to greet people at things like this. I thought it’d be nice to hear a few words from her family, so I invited her cousin, Paxton Haney, to be with us today. Many of you know Paxton from the special-events company he ran with Charlotte. Please join me in welcoming him to the podium.”

  A polite smattering of applause sounded, and the man beside me rose. Once he lumbered onstage with the laptop, he finally remembered the napkin in his other hand, which he threw to the ground.

  “Thank you,” he said, upon reaching the podium and opening the computer. “As you can imagine, we’re all still shocked about what happened yesterday. The family’s trying to make sense of it all. There’s so much we don’t know. But, I do know Charlotte loved this group, and she loved all of you.”

  As if on cue, a black-vested waiter stepped forward from the sidelines. The moment he flicked a switch on the wall, a roller shade at the top of each window began to unfurl down the panes, bit by bit, accompanied by the soft whir of an electric motor. At the same time,
another waiter unspooled a projector screen placed directly behind the podium.

  Once in place, the white-woven screen provided the only light in the darkened room.

  I blinked when a full-color image of Charlotte appeared on the screen.

  “My cousin was a visionary,” Paxton said. “Why, just this weekend, she told me all about her plans for our company. Said she let a few of you folks in on the news, and she wanted to make a big announcement next week.” His voice caught. “Now she’ll never get the chance. But you know our Charlie. Always reaching out for bigger and better.”

  A few heads nodded, a ripple of shadows that moved across the room.

  “Y’all know what I’m talking about, right?” he said, suddenly reinvigorated. “Most people are happy to work their nine-to-five, but not Charlie. She wouldn’t stop until she put Happily Ever After Events on the map. ’Course, she started in this business at a very young age.”

  He reached for the laptop again and tapped a button. Another image immediately appeared on the screen. There was Charlie, only several years younger, with a messy apron tied around her waist.

  “Charlie began her career as a baker,” he said. “Did y’all know that? She got up at four and started icing cupcakes at the crack of dawn.” The laugh he gave sounded forced. “Good ones too. Always told me the only reason she didn’t become a baker was because of the crazy hours. But she knew she wanted to add a bakery to our business, and now was the right time.”

  Another click on the laptop and a different image appeared. It was still Charlie in an apron, but a few wrinkles creased her eyes and the apron looked clean and pressed.

  “’Course, this time Charlie planned to hire a baker for our business. She took this photo for our new advertising campaign. She wanted to include a flower shop, a photo studio, some musicians, and even a DJ service. It was ‘all systems go’ as far as Charlie was concerned.” He paused, at last dropping the fake smile. “Now she’ll never get a chance to see her dreams come true.”

  Someone began to whisper behind me, the noise like cannon fire in the quiet room. It set off a ripple of sound that swept over the restaurant. Pretty soon, Suzi resumed her place behind the podium and roughly reclaimed the microphone.

  “Now, now.” She waved her hand to silence the chattering crowd. “We’re trying to remember Charlotte here. Please show some respect. You can talk among yourselves when we’re done.”

  She nodded sternly at Paxton, who resumed his spot and once more tapped the laptop. This time a professional portrait of Charlotte appeared: a glossy black-and-white of her looking straight ahead.

  “She took this picture only last week,” he said. “It was for that ad campaign, but now we’ll show it at her funeral. Which you’re all invited to, of course. It’ll be at the Rising Tide Baptist Church, right here in Riversbend. We’ll start at four come Friday. Lights, please?”

  The same waiter from before returned to the wall to call up the roller screens, while Paxton closed his laptop and stepped aside. Daylight flooded the room.

  Once my eyes adjusted, I began to scan the crowd. I’d promised Lance a full report on the day’s activities and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

  I glanced over to the head table first. The girl from the registration cottage was there, with her head bent over something or other in her lap. Every once in a while, her finger flicked up in a telltale motion, which meant she’d no doubt placed her cell phone there. She must be checking her Facebook or e-mail account, or maybe shopping on a website that sold shoes.

  Meanwhile, Suzi dismissed the meeting by weakly thumping the gavel before she tottered off the stage. That left only Paxton and the girl with the cell phone there. Instead of heading for the exit, like most of the crowd, Charlotte’s cousin scanned the room, until he caught my eye. He stared at me as he stepped off the stage and began to walk toward my table.

  When he reached me, he glowered. “I didn’t think you’d still be here. You have some nerve to show up like this.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I almost said something earlier, but there were too many people around us. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

  I dropped my napkin to the ground, like he’d done, and rose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Haney. Look, I’m sorry about your cousin; I really am. But it’s not fair to blame me for her death.”

  “My family told me your weapon was found by her body yesterday. How do you explain that?”

  “It wasn’t a weapon!” I didn’t mean to yell, but I was sick of being doubted. “It was a hat stand. Someone took it from my studio.”

  “So you say. Just do my family a favor and stay away from the memorial service on Friday. Don’t even think of going to it.”

  “B-b-b-u-u-t-t—” I sputtered. How dare he tell me where I could and couldn’t go!

  “But nothing. Stay away.”

  My mouth fell open as my mind whirled. While I wanted more than anything to “lay down the country,” as my grandpa would say, and lay it down good, part of me understood Paxton’s response.

  For all this man knew, I had played a role in Charlotte’s death. How would I feel if our roles were reversed? He obviously needed someone to blame, and I made an easy target. I might’ve done the very same thing if I stood in his shoes.

  So, I swallowed my anger, although it left a bitter taste in my mouth. “If that’s what you want, I won’t go.”

  “It is.” He began to walk away, taking with him the smell of burned tobacco.

  Sweet mother of pearl. The day had just begun, and already I wanted to curl up under the table and take a good, long nap.

  Chapter 5

  By the time I left the meeting, even the girl checking her cell phone had vanished. Unfortunately, Paxton’s scolding affected me more than I cared to admit, and I left in a daze, with no particular plan other than to arrive at my car at some point.

  I longed to return to the Factory, where I could lick my wounds in private. As I made my way through the empty foyer, though, I gradually slowed. Hadn’t I promised Vernice I’d visit her in the registration cottage? If I left the property now, she’d be disappointed, and I couldn’t afford to lose another friend at this point.

  Besides, a warm conversation with her might actually lift my spirits. Vernice wouldn’t care about my role in Charlotte’s murder, and she wouldn’t pretend I didn’t exist. It might be the perfect antidote to the cold shoulders I received everywhere else.

  Renewed by the thought, I set off for the front door, which stood open. With nothing around me but yards of empty space and closed conference-room doors, I studied the ground as I walked, the soles of my shoes whooshing over the wool carpet.

  I finally glanced up when I arrived at the exit. Two figures huddled on the steps outside, their heads bent together.

  One of them, an older woman in a crisp blue-jean jacket and shiny ballerina bun, made tight gestures as she spoke. Her companion was at least three decades younger, and she wore a flowing skirt with combat boots.

  I recognized both of them. Bettina Leblanc always wore her hair in a bun, even when she wasn’t working as a baker in her shop. There was no mistaking the florist, either. Dana LeBoeuf, the woman behind Flowers by Dana, loved to shop for clothes in thrift stores, including her shoes.

  They didn’t notice me, so I quickly moved to the wall beside the doorframe and pressed my back against the cool surface. I definitely heard voices. Although part of me debated whether I should eavesdrop on a private conversation, another part didn’t care, since Paxton’s bullying left me feeling less than charitable.

  “Of course, she knew.” Bettina’s voice quivered with rage. “Those additions would put the rest of us out of business. She had to know.”

  “We can’t be sure.” Unlike Bettina, Dana’s tone remained calm. “Maybe she thought we’d all work together.”

  “Together? Together? How can you say that? The last thing this town needs is another bake
r. Or another florist.”

  “Now, calm down.” Apparently, Dana refused to take the bait. “She never said she’d do flowers for weddings. Or cakes. Maybe she planned to do corporate events.”

  “Who do you think keeps us going during the off-season?” Bettina bit into the words. “We can’t depend on the wedding business during wintertime. You know that.”

  “She’s not even here to defend herself—”

  “Wait a minute.” Bettina quickly cut her off. “You knew, didn’t you? That’s it: You knew exactly what Charlotte was planning to do.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s it! She told you. She went behind our backs and planned all this out, and then she told you about it.”

  Dana didn’t respond. Just to be safe, I held my breath so neither would hear me.

  “Well?” Bettina finally asked. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “Okay. You’re right. She told me last week. She didn’t want me to be surprised.”

  “So, why didn’t you tell the rest of us? Maybe we could’ve done something.”

  “That’s the point.” Now Dana sounded angry. Although I couldn’t see her, I imagined she’d planted her fists on her hips. “There was nothing anyone could do. She was determined to have her way.”

  “We could’ve tried. For all we know, her cousin will go through with her plans. Now that she’s gone, maybe he’ll take the ball and run with it.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  A beat or two of silence, which meant it was time to hold my breath again.

  “You don’t know that.” Bettina’s voice dripped sarcasm. “No one can say for sure.”

  “I know . . . I took care of it, okay?”

  “What do you mean, ‘you took care of it’?”

  “Just what I said. There’s not going to be any expansion. You have to trust me on this.”

  At that moment, something vibrated in my pocket, like a bee trapped inside the lining. I rushed to grab the phone, but not quickly enough. The ringtone shattered the calm, so loudly that even I flinched.