“Now, it’s a preliminary drawing, mind you.” I showed her the sketch, which featured a flowing train with two tiers of lace and tulle. “I made this for another bride, but her wedding got canceled.”
Rebekkah immediately blanched. “I’m sure it’s nice and all, but I never could afford it.”
“What makes you say that?” She hadn’t given me much of a chance to describe it.
“That was for Trudi Whidbee’s wedding, wasn’t it? Everyone knows she canceled hers.”
“You’re right.” Only then did I notice Trudi’s name in the lower right-hand corner. “Of course, I could always change-up the design for you. We don’t have to use this exact drawing.”
“Well, it is beautiful.” She eyed the sketch pad longingly. “But I don’t know. That was supposed to be this super-expensive wedding, and I’m only having family and friends in the church social hall.”
“Like I said, we can always change it up a bit. Instead of expensive crystals along the edge, we could use rhinestones, which don’t cost nearly as much. And those extra lace inserts could go too.”
She didn’t seem convinced, though. “It’s not just that. I heard about how her fiancé treated her. I don’t want that kind of bad karma at my wedding.”
“Well, it’s totally up to you.” I tapped the pad lightly against my thigh. “You’re the client. Why don’t we take a picture of you in the bubble veil instead and you can show it to your mom. I’ll pull out a few more styles too.”
“Thank you for understanding. And I’m hoping my mama can come with me to the next appointment. She has lots of ideas about what I should wear.”
No doubt. I plastered a smile on my face and gently removed the veil from Rebekkah’s head. “Like I always say: the more, the merrier.”
Chapter 8
After taking Rebekkah’s picture from every possible angle with her cell phone, it was time to wrap up the appointment.
I sent her away with a memory card full of photos in her phone and my sworn promise to give her a preliminary sketch by the end of the month. As the door gently closed, I began to compile a to-do list of all the supplies I’d need to order, including a hair-comb inset with faux Tahitian pearls, several yards of silk tulle, and a passel of inexpensive sequins for the edges.
The list was almost complete in my mind when I paused by the store’s cash register, where Beatrice had propped open a section of newspaper, just like Grady had done.
“Sounds like your appointment went well,” she said, without glancing up.
“Yeah, it did.” I slid onto the bar stool and watched her peruse the front page of the Bleu Bayou Impartial Reporter. “Have you read the story about Charlotte yet?”
She nodded slightly. “Uh-huh. I’m just finishing it now.”
“I saw it over at Grady’s place. Boy, those reporters work fast.”
“Guess they have to.” She finished reading the article, and then she straightened. “It’s crazy how they can write a whole story with only a little bit of information. I didn’t know Charlotte Devereaux was born here.”
“Yep. That’s what makes it even sadder. A lot of people in Bleu Bayou knew her.”
“Well, I didn’t. Not really. We ran into each other a few times in the lobby, but mostly we talked about small stuff. Like the time the vending machine ate my quarter. She gave me another one that morning. That kind of thing.”
“Too bad you never got to work with her. Lots of wedding planners are hyperactive—they have to be—but not Charlotte. She was so laid-back.”
“I get that. And the reporter quoted that detective you know for the story.”
“You mean Lance? You’ve met him before. He worked on Trinity Solomon’s murder case, over at Morningside. I wonder what’s up with him? We haven’t spoken since this morning.”
Truth be told, I’d been a bit distracted since our last phone call. Especially after my visits with Ambrose, Grady, and Rebekkah. “I think I’ll call him. Our next appointment won’t be here for a few minutes. You can find me in the workroom if you need me.”
I brought the sketch pad with me as I made my way through the studio. Once I reached the back room, I tossed the pad on the drafting board and pulled out my cell. Since I’d added him to my speed dial, I simply tapped the screen and waited for him to answer.
“Hey, Missy. How’s your day going?”
“So-so.” His voice jostled a memory, but not quite hard enough for it to be clear. “I was supposed to call you, wasn’t I?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, you were. You’re becoming as forgetful as I am. How did the meeting go this morning?”
“That was it. I promised to tell you what I saw at the wedding planners’ meeting.”
After filling Lance in on everything that happened, I finally took a breath. “That’s why I think Paxton Haney might’ve had something to do with Charlotte’s death. He was sooo nervous. And it wasn’t because he had to give a speech, either.”
“You may have something there. Now that I’ve got the autopsy report, I think I’ll pay him a visit this afternoon and ask him some questions.”
My ears pricked up. “Really? You got the autopsy report back already?”
“Yeah, they rushed it for me. The ME’s a personal friend.”
“That’s great.” A strange sense of déjà vu washed over me as I slowly sank onto the chair behind the drafting table. “So, here we go again. Are you gonna tell me what’s in that report, or do I have to beg you for it?”
“What do you mean?”
I delicately cleared my throat. “As you’ll recall, I was the one who figured out who killed Mellette Babineaux. But it happened only after you finally showed me the autopsy report.”
“You’re right.” He paused for a moment. “I couldn’t have closed that case without you. You seem to have this freaky sixth sense when it comes to people who are lying. I used to hate that about you when we were kids. Remember the time I smashed my mom’s picture frame on the tile?”
I chuckled. “How could I forget? You gashed your thumb, but you lied and said it was a paper cut from playing cards with me. Everyone knows you don’t play slapjack with your thumbs, Lance.”
“Yeah, but did you have to tell my mom that? Okay, here’s the deal: I’ll give you some of the highlights from the report, but you have to keep it quiet.”
“Scout’s honor. What did the ME find?”
Papers rustled over the line. “He wrote unremarkable by most of it. The final diagnosis was acute blunt-force trauma.” Lance’s voice fell flat as he began to read. “Multiple cranial penetrations to the back of the head, concentrated above the left earlobe.”
I pictured Charlotte lying sideways in a whiskey barrel, with only the top of her head visible. The blood clotting her hair was burgundy, wasn’t it?
He continued: “More of the same all the way through. Linear fracture on the left side of her skull, lacerations on the right cheek. Must’ve been from where she fell. Sure you want to hear the rest?”
“I do.” I nodded eagerly, even though he couldn’t see me.
“She had some contusions on her right forearm and wrist too, according to the report. The tox study showed a blood ethanol of point-oh-six. Probably had a few drinks before she was killed. Not bad, considering it was New Year’s Eve and all.”
“Amazing, really. Do you think she was working that night?”
“Could be. That might explain the low ethanol levels.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Anything else?”
“Nothing much. The internal exam showed everything else was normal. Wait a second. This is the part I meant to talk to you about.” He paused, and the rustling stopped. “Did you know at one point she’d had a kid?”
“A what?”
“A kid. During the internal autopsy, the ME found evidence of childbirth in her uterus.”
I softly whistled. “Whoa. She never mentioned it. We weren’t best friends or anything, but you’d think she would’ve said so
mething. Not right away, maybe . . . but we worked together sometimes.”
“Interesting. Well, the rest of the report is pretty routine. I’m going to make some calls, and then I think I’ll head out to the Factory and interview her cousin.”
“His office is close to mine. Do you mind if I tag along?”
“I dunno.” The line fell silent. After a moment, he returned. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll let you listen in, but only because you solved those other cases. You have to let me do all the talking. You’ll be there to observe, and maybe use that freaky sixth-sense thing you have.”
“Deal. I won’t say a word.”
“Let’s meet at five.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Sounds good. She would’ve done the same for me. There’s no way I can sit by and let someone get away with killing her.”
“I’ll stop by your studio first, and then we can go together.”
“No, that’s okay. I’d rather meet you there. I talked two of my appointments out of canceling on me, and the last one won’t be here until four. His office is right upstairs, so I could be there by five.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll see you in a bit. And I’m glad your clients didn’t cancel. There’s no reason for your business to suffer. You weren’t even there that morning. Unless . . .” His voice suddenly trailed off.
“Unless what?” The silence unnerved me, since he’d obviously changed his mind about something. “What were you gonna say?”
“That maybe someone knew what they were doing when they committed the murder behind your studio. Maybe someone’s trying to ruin your business.”
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. “There’s no way! I don’t believe it. That’s crazy.”
“We’re talking about a murderer, Missy. They’re not known for being sane.”
It took me a while to absorb his words. I couldn’t quite scoff, since it sounded almost crazy enough to be true.
“You still there?” He sounded worried.
“Yeah. I was thinking about what you said.” I swiveled around until I spied a clock over the door. My next appointment would arrive in a few minutes. How could I greet her with a big smile, as if nothing was wrong? “Oh my gosh. What if you’re right? What if someone’s trying to ruin me?”
“It could be. The location . . . the murder weapon . . . even the person who found the body. Everything points to you. That doesn’t sound like a coincidence. Have you pissed off anyone lately?”
“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. No one off the top of my head. I’ll have to think about it.”
“You do that. Maybe there’s someone in your past, or someone who doesn’t like you now. Either way, it sounds like you’ve made an enemy. Let’s talk more about it when we meet up at five.”
I mumbled good-bye and let the cell slide to my lap. What if Lance was right? What if someone was trying to ruin my business? Already three people had called to cancel their appointments, and who knew what tomorrow would bring?
Chapter 9
By the time I finished with the last appointment of the day, my cheeks ached from smiling so much. I whisked open the front door for the bride, still grinning, and then firmly shut it behind her.
Beatrice stood on a ladder across the way.
“Hallelujah, we’re done,” I said. “I thought that last appointment would never end. Are you happy it’s over too?”
She’d jammed a handful of pushpins in her mouth, which she was using to reattach a veil to the wall. “Mmmppphhhh.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I whisked out my cell and checked the clock on its screen. I had plenty of time before my meeting with Lance. Fortunately, my last appointment had brought her gown with her, which always sped things up, since I could match the headpiece exactly to her style. Most clients don’t have that option, since most of them don’t have time between dress fittings to schlep a gown all the way to my studio. This bride was different, though.
“Do you know that girl bought her wedding dress when she was only seventeen?” I asked. “Talk about planning ahead.” I tsked all the way to the counter. “Look, I’m wiped out. Can you please close up the shop tonight? I’m supposed to meet someone upstairs.”
Beatrice mumbled something that sounded exactly like her first response.
“Great. Thank you.”
I grabbed my keys and turned to leave, but not before I spied my reflection in the three-way mirror. Ugh. The day had not been kind to my hair and makeup.
Only seven hours earlier, I’d whipped my hair into a French knot before the wedding planners’ meeting. Now strands of hair straggled over my shoulders like leftover bits from a housekeeper’s mop. Not to mention black mascara smudged the skin under my eyes. I looked like something a hound dog would drag under the porch, as Grandpa would say.
While I had a few minutes to spare, it wasn’t enough time for a full makeover. I quickly rubbed at the mascara with my thumb, and then I snapped off the ponytail holder. Once I ran my fingers through my hair, I gathered everything back up again. Voilà! At least my hair and makeup looked respectable now.
“See you later, Bea. I’m heading upstairs. Have a good night.”
She waved as I stepped through the exit. By now, the sky over the parking lot had pinked, and twilight cast streaks of gold and rose onto the clouds. There was no sign of rain, although a patchwork of puddles remained on the asphalt.
I began to pick my way to the atrium, momentarily distracted by a light that glowed in Ambrose’s studio. I shouldn’t stop in, should I? Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate, but the memory of our earlier conversation loomed large in my mind.
So I blazed past with my head down, and I didn’t stop walking until I reached the atrium. A bright light glowed inside it too, but the space was empty. Two sleek Mies van der Rohe couches and a pair of matching armchairs occupied the open, airy space, but nothing else. Even the elevator was empty, so I moved to the car and rode alone to the second floor, where the door whooshed open to expose a long hallway.
Framed artwork paraded along each side of the hall. Instead of oil paintings, though, the frames held colorful produce labels that paid homage to the building’s past. The labels featured beautiful red peppers with curly green stems, artfully shaded burlap bags overflowing with seeds, and even an apple-cheeked sun or two.
At one point, I’d been told, factory workers shipped peppers from Bleu Bayou to Mexico, where another crew took out the seeds, ground them to a pulp, and then returned them. Most of the labels fell off the crates during the ride back home, but somehow these stickers survived.
The colorful artwork ended with a smiling sun. Next to it were the offices for Happily Ever After Events and, across the way, the bakery called Pink Cake Boxes.
A rectangle of light warmed the carpet in front of the custom-cake business, which didn’t surprise me, since Bettina never seemed to leave the building. She parked her car in the last row of our parking lot and left it there until nightfall. Of course, her hard work paid off in spades and now she had a client list in the hundreds, not to mention a waiting list that stretched to three weeks during the wedding season.
I paused at the end of the hall. Come to think of it, maybe the wedding planners’ meeting didn’t make sense. Why would Charlotte want to add a bakery to their business? Bettina’s shop lay right across the hall, and she’d already been crowned the best baker on the Great River Road. It didn’t add up, and it obviously bothered Bettina, judging by her earlier conversation at the plantation.
No use to worry about it, though, with so many other things going on. I turned my back on the bakery and approached the door for Happily Ever After Events. Unlike the modern lobby downstairs—which was all straight lines, sleek furniture, and cool glass—someone had turned the wall here into a page from a Brothers Grimm fairy tale. Painted limestones with rounded corners framed an etched Dutch door, which stood half open. A faux stained-glass window perched next to it and, higher still, a rosebush bloomed over the doorframe. O
ne of the tendrils even reached for the ceiling before it faded away in a green curlicue. I glanced down again when a voice sounded on the other side of the door.
“I’m not accusing you of anything.” It was Lance, his words as sharp as a thorn painted on the rosebush. “You need to calm down.”
My hand stalled over the doorknob.
“Do you have a warrant?” Now it was Paxton’s turn, and he growled the words. “I’m pretty sure you need a warrant to come in here.”
Quietly, I turned the door’s knob and pushed it open. The waiting area inside matched the mural on the wall with more painted roses, faux cobblestones, and an oiled leather chest that stood in for a coffee table.
Paxton stood sideways to the door. He’d ditched the checkered sport coat in favor of a wrinkled shirt that bunched over the waistband of his slacks.
Lance hovered only inches away. “Why would I need a warrant? Is there something you’re trying to hide?” He held a black folder and his face was rigid. Neither man seemed to notice me as I stood in the doorway.
I longed to climb the painted trellis on the wall, where I could hover near the ceiling and eavesdrop on the conversation. I’d already done that once today, so I cleared my throat instead. “Excuse me.” My voice was soft compared to theirs. “Excuse me,” I repeated.
The men turned in unison.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” I stepped into the waiting area. “But they can probably hear you across the street.”
Paxton found his voice first. “What’re you doing here? I thought I told you to stay away from me and my family.”
“Don’t talk to her like that!” Lance pointed the folder at him. “You need to calm down, or I’m gonna haul you into the station.”
“Okay, guys. That’s enough.” I signaled for a truce. “You two need to take it down a notch.”
Lance finally lowered his arm. “She’s right. And just so you know, Mr. Haney, we’ve cleared Missy of any involvement in your cousin’s murder. Her alibi is solid for yesterday morning.”
His gaze wandered to me. “Is that so? What’s your alibi?”
Someone's Mad at the Hatter Page 7
