16 Cook's Big Day

by Joanne Pence

“Somehow, it’ll work out for you, sweetie,” her best friend, Connie Rogers said as she gave her a big hug. Connie, who was divorced, would be Angie’s matron of honor. “Haven’t we always gotten out of one crazy situation after the other?”

  Tears came to Angie’s eyes as she hugged Connie back. “You can say that again. As long as you’re with me, Connie, we’ll make it work.”

  “And me,” Stan said. Angie had talked Paavo into making Stan one of his groomsmen.

  “And you!” Angie hugged him as well.

  “I’ll drop by tonight for a midnight snack,” Stan said, wiping away a tear. “It’ll be my last one in your apartment. I’ll try not to cry on your trousseau.”

  “If you do, you’ll be attending the wedding with black eyes,” Angie warned. “I’ll see you later.”

  Only her sisters and parents were left. “Tell her,” Bianca said to their mother.

  “Tell me what?” Angie asked.

  Serefina glared at Bianca. “I didn’t want to say anything, but we’ve got something worked out for you. If you can’t have the reception you want, we’ve got a back-up plan.”

  “You do? Where? Who’s the caterer?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Angelina!” Serefina said. “You just think about being a beautiful bride for your handsome groom.” She faced Paavo. “Caro mio, you make me so happy. I look forward to dancing at your wedding, and I will.”

  “But, but—” Angie sputtered.

  “Andiamo! Time for all of us to go home. We have a big day tomorrow.”

  “And tonight,” Frannie muttered.

  “Tonight?” Angie asked.

  “Nothing,” Frannie said quickly. “I just have to figure out what I’m going to wear tomorrow, that’s all.”

  Angie wasn’t sure she liked all this secrecy, but before she knew it, Paavo had her out the door, his arm around her, and she had more interesting things to think about.

  Chapter 15

  Saturday 9 a.m. – 6 hours before the wedding

  Richie showed up at Homicide at 9 a.m. Saturday morning, to find Rebecca all alone. She looked as if she’d been up all night.

  “No luck?” he asked, putting a non-fat latte from Starbucks on her desk. He knew she liked them.

  She looked surprised by the coffee. “Thanks,” she murmured, then added, “No luck at all.”

  He could see she was exhausted and beyond frustrated. From what she’d told him about past cases, and what he’d heard from others, she’d never had one of these “locked room” type cases before. Always in the past, she’d go out and talk to people, search the crime scene, and if nothing turned up, she’d find more people to question, and would widen the scope of the search. In this case, from what friends on the force had told him, she’d talked to everyone, and CSI had gone over practically the entire building with a fine tooth comb. Security cameras around La Belle Maison proved that no one who wasn’t a guest or employee had entered or left the venue throughout the day or night of the wedding, which meant that the killer was one of the people she had interviewed.

  “I’m going through everything again,” she said through gritted teeth. “Even the trash. I must have missed something. I’ve boiled it down to the groom, his brother, or his best man. But which one, I don’t know. I’ve even got some cop friends in Los Angeles trying to find a connection between Mason Blythe, the brother, and Taylor, since she was down there a lot trying to get into movies. I keep hoping the phone will ring and it’ll be them telling me they’ve found something.”

  He knew she was really upset because she hadn’t bothered to say anything snide to him and had actually given him a straight answer. “I guess the others are being a bit rough on you and Sutter.”

  Troubled blue eyes met his. He hated seeing her this way. The two of them were so different, so much at odds in almost everything, he knew they could never be more than friends—if that. Still, he liked being around her, and kept finding reasons to see her. Since when had he become such a glutton for punishment?

  “Sutter would tell the crime scene unit to open up the space,” she murmured, leaning back in her chair, massaging her temples. “He says the case will be solved eventually, and that’s that. But I worry that some evidence might be destroyed. The CSI has a few more areas they need to check, mainly the basement. It’s a long shot, but nothing else has worked. Still, I feel as if I’m letting everyone down. I’m close to solving the case, I’m sure, but I’m missing something. The killer wasn’t a pro, so how was he so clever?”

  “You’re right,” Richie said. “He isn’t a pro. And probably no one went to the wedding planning to kill the bride. But how did they get the murder weapon out of the kitchen without one of the staff noticing?”

  “It wasn’t in the kitchen. It was in the anteroom on a rolling cart with other used knives and serving utensils. It simply hadn’t been moved down to the kitchen yet.”

  Richie nodded. “So pre-meditation can be pretty definitely ruled out.”

  “Right.”

  “Which means the killer wasn’t hanging around looking for an opportunity to kill Taylor. Something had to happen that drove him, or her, to it.”

  She nodded. “The question is: why did the bride go to the anteroom? Answer that, and we should know who the killer is.”

  She sat upright again, took a sip of the latte, and then picked up a handful of clear plastic evidence bags. They were all filled with odds and ends collected by CSI as they went through the entire facility, including the dumpster and outside trash cans. She fanned the bags across her desk and faced Richie. She looked so beaten down he wanted to pat her shoulder and tell her everything would be all right, but he knew she hated that sort of thing.

  “I’ve looked at this stuff three times already,” she said. “I tell myself I missed something but I don’t think so.”

  “What’s there?”

  She snorted. “Dirty napkins, mostly. A few have names and phone numbers written on them.”

  “Really?” Richie pulled his chair closer to her so he could look, too.

  “But they all connect to the movie people who seem to have no motive for killing Taylor. I suspect some of them thought about getting together after the wedding, but once the murder happened, it was all they could do to get out of there, and they left the phone numbers behind. Who knows?”

  Richie looked over the evidence bags a while, then asked, “What’s this?” He lifted a bag containing a piece of paper with a list of names.

  “The guest list. The way the paper was cut down, it looks to me like someone, probably the bride or groom, was going to use it as a crib sheet to thank their guests for coming and wanted to make sure they didn’t forget anybody.”

  Richie pointed. “Is that another crib sheet?”

  Rebecca reached for the bag he pointed at, then smoothed it on the desktop to better read the typed words under the plastic covering. It was a piece of paper with the word TOAST at the very top, followed by bullet-points. “It was the best man’s speech—reminders to him of things to say. It’s got a number of nice comments about the bride and groom.”

  Richie scanned it. “The toast is usually given before the cake cutting and all, so he probably never got a chance to give it.”

  “He didn’t. I asked him.”

  “He threw it away?”

  She nodded. “He said, ‘Why should I keep it?’”

  Richie read it again. “Weird. It doesn’t sound like any best man’s speech I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s doesn’t?”

  “Hell, no. Usually, the best man jokes about the groom—he often tells at least one embarrassing story—and then talks about what good friends they are and how lucky the groom is that he actually found a good woman to put up with him. This card has none of that—it’s mostly a list of the bride’s accomplishments, ending with a few nice words about the groom. This is strange, Rebecca.”

  She frowned, studying the paper. “I haven’t gone to many weddings, but what you de
scribe is the way I remember them.”

  “The best man actually admitted that he wrote this?” Richie asked.

  “All he admitted to was that it was a speech for his toast and that he didn’t give it.” She pulled the typed guest list side-by-side with the toast speech. “Same paper, same font and font size—but it’s typical computer paper, a common font, so that might not mean anything. But still …”

  “Still?” Richie asked.

  For the first time that morning he saw a spark of the old Rebecca—the one who was tough, smart, and tenacious. He was glad; he wouldn’t want her any other way.

  She tapped her finger against her lips as she thought. Very nice lips, in his opinion. He found himself focusing on them until she interrupted the wayward direction of his thoughts by saying, “The best man didn’t hide his disdain for the bride, or that he thought Leland was making a big mistake marrying her. It was clear that Taylor didn’t like him, and also didn’t like him and Leland being so close. The best man even hinted that she had been trying to break up their friendship. It makes no sense he’d sing her praises this way. I need to talk to him again.”

  Richie smiled at her. “I’d say so.”

  Just then, Bill Sutter came waltzing into Homicide. “Well, well,” he said, eying Richie with a sneer. “Here I was feeling sorry for you, Mayfield, being stuck here all alone on a Saturday morning and thought I’d come in early. Just goes to show ya.”

  “Glad you’re here,” Rebecca said. “We need to call in the best man. I’ve got a few more questions for him, and I think Homicide is the best place to ask them.”

  Richie stood to leave. “I’ve got a lot to do this morning, and need to get going. You get this wrapped up by two o’clock, call me. But one way or the other, come to the wedding. Even if not to the church, at least to the reception. I’ll text you its location. Most of Homicide will be there, and you should be as well. Please try to make it, Rebecca.” Then, something made him add, “For Paavo’s sake.”

  She looked a bit puzzled, but then smiled. He always told her she had a nice smile. He wished he could see it more often. “I will,” she said. “Especially if I can manage to get La Belle Maison opened up for them to use. I’m actually feeling a bit optimistic about it.”

  Chapter 16

  Saturday, 2 p.m. – 1 hour before the wedding

  Paavo was more nervous than he’d ever been in his life as he waited for the wedding ceremony to begin. He was outdoors in the courtyard at the back of the church, trying to get a little fresh air and sunshine, not to mention having plenty of room to pace.

  San Francisco was putting on a show for them—the sky was blue, the temperature mild, and no wind to speak of. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

  With him were his best man, his partner, Yosh, who was doing all he could to help Paavo keep some slight semblance of calm, and his other groomsmen: Homicide Inspector Luis Calderon, Angie’s neighbor Stan Bonnette, her cousin Richie, and Paavo’s step-father’s good friend Doc Griggs who drove up from Arizona with his new wife, Lupe, to be a part of the wedding.

  Paavo’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it.

  “Don’t answer! You are not going out on a call,” Yosh said. “I like having my head attached to my body, and Angie would remove it if I allowed you to leave the church grounds even for a minute.”

  Paavo answered. “Rebecca, what’s up?”

  He listened without saying a word, and then only said, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He looked at the others and with a sigh of relief said, “Rebecca caught the murderer. He confessed, and La Belle Maison is open for business.”

  “Who did it?” Yosh asked.

  “The best man. The bride wrote his toast for him and insisted he give it exactly the way she wrote it—filled with praise for her. It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. When he refused, she harangued and threatened him. He said he killed her to spare his best friend a lifetime of misery.”

  Inspector Calderon chortled. “He only regrets that he has but one bride to get rid of for his friend. Some defense.”

  “We’ve got to let Angie and the others know,” Paavo said. “I know I’m not supposed to see her before the ceremony, but I guess I can call.”

  “Let me tell them,” Richie suggested. “There are some arrangements that will need to be made. You know her mother had a back-up plan.”

  “That’s right, her secret plan.” Paavo had learned that the Amalfis liked to do things their own way, and if Richie wanted to talk it over with them, he wasn’t about to interfere. “Okay. Go for it.”

  o0o

  Richie was directed to the room where the bride was getting ready. He knocked on the door, and Bianca opened it. “You aren’t supposed to be here,” she hissed.

  “I have news about the reception. Big news.”

  Bianca shut the door on him, and a moment later opened it wide. “Come in.”

  He actually gulped as he stepped into the most female room he had ever been in. He had visions of what it must have felt like to enter a harem’s seraglio. Clothes, particularly under clothes, were strewn about, as was make-up, brushes, curling irons, and something that looked like a clump of curly brown hair on a tabletop. The air was thick with clashing scents of perfume and talc. Angie was already in her bridal gown, and the others were a rose-colored sea of silk and satin. He wanted to flee, but straightened his shoulders and, after a quick glance at Serefina, faced Angie.

  He would have taken a deep breath but was afraid he might choke. Then he noticed Micky, the ring bearer, sitting alone in a corner. Micky was the son of Paavo’s first partner in Homicide. After Matt Kowalski was killed, Paavo kept in touch with the boy, teaching him to play baseball, basketball, and soccer, taking him to ball games, and just spending time with him. Micky’s mother, Katie, at the moment was helping Connie Rogers with her hair.

  Richie walked over to Micky and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We guys have to stick together,” he whispered. Micky smiled up at him and nodded.

  Richie faced the women and gave his news. “Rebecca Mayfield caught Bridezilla’s killer. It was the best man. She contacted La Belle Maison, and they’ll be able to have the room ready for the reception … if you want to have it there after all.”

  The room turned quiet with shock.

  “Oh, my God! That’s wonderful!” Angie shrieked. Then she realized she was the only one cheering. Her mother, sisters, Connie, and even Richie, looked remarkably crestfallen. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Richie said. “I’m only delivering the news.”

  Angie faced her mother. “I know you made other arrangements. But if it’s possible to have the caterer you found go to La Belle Maison, I’m sure the guests wouldn’t mind a little delay in the dinner.”

  Serefina glanced at her other daughters, and then at Angie. “We can manage. We know you want to use that place.”

  Something about the way her mother said “that place” gave Angie pause. “Wait, you never told me what your other plans were, and I have the feeling all of you rather liked those other plans.” Then an almost heretical thought struck her. Her heartbeat quickened. “Are you saying you liked your other plans even more than using La Belle Maison?”

  “It’s all right,” Serefina insisted, then glared at everyone but Angie. “All of us know what you’ve got your heart set on.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake. Tell her!” Connie said. “Angie, they came up with a great idea, but they know it isn’t the elegant, well-known wedding venue you had your heart set on. But I think you should hear what their plan was before you tell them to change it.”

  Angie nodded at Connie. “I agree.” She faced her mother and sisters. “So, who’s going to tell me?”

  “All right, I’ll do it.” Serefina spoke up. “You know we tried to find a replacement for La Belle Maison, and learned all the usual places were taken. But then, I thought we have a g
reat venue right in the family. Richie’s club. Big Caesar’s has a ballroom, space for a band, liquor, even a kitchen for the food. But it was already taken by a group raising money for Children’s Hospital. So, I offered them money. I talked to the guy in charge. For a donation, a big one, he was willing to move his fund-raiser, and came up with a time next month that will actually work better for them. Not that he turned down the donation. I wrote him a check. It’s tax deductible, which made your father happy. A little, anyway. And Richie isn’t charging us a penny, not even for his staff or his wine.”

  Angie glanced at Richie. He shrugged and nodded.

  “Then,” Serefina continued, “we needed food. I don’t like catered food all that much, so I called your sisters, relatives, a few friends and explained what happened. All of us spent yesterday and last night cooking our most special recipes for your wedding. So, no, we don’t have a fancy caterer, we just have ourselves and our food. We hired a couple more people to help Richie’s employees, and we’re all set.”

  Angie’s mouth dropped open.

  Her oldest sister, Bianca, took over. “This morning, we went to Big Caesar’s. Connie was in charge of decorating it in white and rose colors to look like a wedding party should be there. It turned out like something out of Cinderella’s ball. That’s how we were going to surprise you. But now, it seems, we don’t have to.”

  By the time she finished talking, Angie had tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat that was so huge she could scarcely speak. “All of you … all of you did all that for Paavo and me?”

  “We had to have a place to dance at your wedding, Angelina,” Serefina said, her head high and her back straight.

  “And you offered your club on a Saturday night?” Angie said to Richie, knowing it was biggest night of the week for him.

  “I’m happy to be able to help! What more could I do for my favorite”—he glanced at her sisters plus his cousin Gina, mother of the flower girl—“one of my favorite cousins?”

  “Thank you so much, Mamma”—Angie hugged Serefina—”and Richie”—she put her arms around her cousin—“and everyone else. Forget the stuffy old La Belle Maison. Whatever was I thinking? We’re going Big Caesar’s for the best reception this city has ever known.”