by Laura Durham
I nodded. “She swears that she didn’t kill Henri, and she thinks someone is setting her up.”
Darcy looked at Hugh. “Who would want her gone bad enough to do that?”
Hugh shrugged. “My only guesses were Mr. Elliott or one of the captains.”
Darcy frowned. “Not the captains. They’re all bark. Mr. Elliott would love any excuse to fire her, but I can’t imagine him being involved in a murder. He’s more the type to wait for someone to hang themselves.”
“Sounds charming,” Kate said.
Hugh leaned over the counter. “Does Mr. Elliott know about the fight?”
Darcy leveled a finger at him. “No, and if you tell anyone…”
“You know I would never spread rumors that would get Georgia in trouble.” Hugh recoiled at the accusation.
“What fight?” Kate asked.
“This is just between us, right?” Darcy motioned for us to come closer. “No one knows about this except for Hugh. If the police or Mr. Elliott found out, Georgia would be done for.”
Kate made a zipper motion across her lips. “You can trust us.”
Darcy took a deep breath. “Henri came up to Georgia’s office. He was steamed about the pricing of a menu she’d done. I didn’t hear most of it because they closed the door, but when he opened the door to leave, I heard him threatening to tell Mr. Elliott that Georgia had no idea how to do her job. Georgia yelled back that she wished he was dead and threw a glass paperweight from her desk at him.”
Kate sucked in air. “Did she hit him?”
“She missed and hit the wall instead,” Darcy continued. “Henri stormed out.”
I gulped. “You didn’t tell the police?”
Darcy reddened. “I guess maybe I should have, but I know Georgia didn’t kill him. She didn’t really mean what she said. It was the heat of the moment. We’ve all joked about wishing Henri was dead. I knew if I told the police, it would look bad for Georgia.”
“When was the fight?” I asked.
Darcy cringed. “The morning of the wedding.”
Kate put a hand to her mouth. “The same day Henri was murdered?”
Darcy nodded. She was right. Georgia had motive, evidence linking her to the victim, and no alibi. It looked very bad indeed.
Chapter 13
“You look like you need a drink, darling.” Richard perched on the edge of an upholstered bench as Kate and I collapsed onto the beige sofa in his office sitting room. The couch was a sleek, modern design, more angles than cushion, and my back immediately regretted the choice.
I shifted around, trying to get comfortable. “I wish. Isn’t a bride meeting us here, though?”
“Viola Van de Kamp and her mother, Louise.” Richard looked at his watch. Ever since he’d gotten a Cartier, he checked the time with a regularity that bordered on compulsive. “They’re three minutes late.”
“That name sounds familiar.” A little red light went off faintly in the back of my brain, but my mind swirled with questions about Georgia and her connection to Chef Henri’s death. Was it a coincidence that Henri died only hours after he so enraged Georgia that she threw a paperweight at him? If Georgia was on the verge of being fired, would she do something desperate to keep Henri from threatening her job?
Richard cleared his throat. “So you girls have been out and about already today?”
Kate leaned her head back against the back of the sofa. “Annie wanted to poke around at the Fairmont. Ask a few questions about Georgia.”
“Any luck?” Richard looked back and forth between us.
“No,” I confessed. “We actually found out that Georgia had an incriminating fight with Henri the day of the murder. She screamed that she wished he was dead and hurled a paperweight at him.”
“She missed, though,” Kate added.
“Heaven help us.” Richard rolled his eyes. “Now I like Georgia as much as anyone, but do you really think you can find anything that will convince the police she’s innocent?”
“If I don’t help her, who will? She’s all alone and about to lose everything.” I felt my jaw tighten. “I know she’d do the same thing for me.”
Richard put up his hands. “Okay, okay. Just asking. Personally, I think she should plead temporary insanity. Anyone who gets blood on an Hermès scarf has clearly lost her mind. I’d acquit her in a second.”
I laughed despite my best efforts not to. “Very funny. But she didn’t get blood on the scarf. She was framed.”
“You don’t say? Who framed her?”
Kate leaned forward and cupped a hand around her mouth. “We’re still working on that minor detail.”
“You can make all the jokes you want, Richard, but we’re going to find out who really killed Henri and set Georgia up.”
“As long as you do it after we meet with the Van de Kamps.” Richard stood up and unbuttoned the bottom button on his black suit jacket. He never liked his jackets buttoned all the way because he claimed it looked too uptight. “They’re interested in wedding planners, not a crime fighting duo. And they haven’t signed my contract yet, so a few mentions about how fabulous I am would be appreciated.”
“You’re sure these are good clients, right?” I asked. “Not a bride who thinks that decorating the reception with origami is a good idea?”
Richard put a hand on his hip. “You’re still steamed about that, aren’t you?”
“I can make paper cranes in my sleep,” Kate complained.
“This is a Potomac family who wants to throw a big bash for their only daughter. I guarantee you won’t be doing arts and crafts for them.” Richard jumped as the doorbell rang.
The door opened and I heard footsteps in the foyer. Richard rushed forward to greet them, but all I could see as Mrs. Van de Kamp rounded the corner was blue eye shadow and lots of it. It took me only a second to recognize the girl in the shapeless dress behind her mother. I looked at Kate, whose eyes widened in recognition and fear.
It was Viola the Vegan.
“Weren’t you two at the bridal tea?” Viola eyed us warily. She looked less than thrilled to be there, and I had a feeling there had been some sort of coercion involved.
“You must be Mrs. Van de Kamp.” I stepped forward and took the mother’s hand. I turned to Viola and forced a smile. “And you must be the bride.”
Viola barely took my hand. “You must be a genius.”
Kate and I exchanged glances. The last thing we needed was to deal with Bratty Bride for the next year. Richard laughed nervously and motioned for us to sit down.
I took my seat on the couch. I avoided looking at Richard for fear I might be overcome with the need to bludgeon him to death. “Tell us about your wedding plans so far.”
“Isn’t that why we’d hire you?” Viola slouched down in an armchair. “To plan the wedding?”
I liked this girl less every second. The faster I could get out of this, the better. I turned to the mother. “Have you set a date?”
“We’re looking at next fall, but we want to see what your availability is before settling on a day.” Mrs. Van de Kamp sounded desperate, and I could see why. “You come highly recommended from Richard.”
So much for saying we were already booked, if she intended to plan the wedding around our availability. Leaving the country to get out of it seemed a bit extreme.
“I need to get married before Jupiter goes retrograde, Mother.” Viola gave an exasperated sigh. “So it has to be before October seventeenth.”
Then again, maybe relocating the business overseas wasn’t such an outrageous plan.
“Come again?” Kate did little to hide her curiosity.
Viola rolled her eyes as if we were idiots for not knowing the star charts. “After Jupiter goes into retrograde, it won’t be good for me to enter into any unions. That includes marriage.”
“Absolute nonsense,” her mother snapped. “I will not rearrange a wedding based on what a telephone astrologer told you.”
Viola crosse
d her arms in front of her. “Fine. Then I won’t come.”
Richard jumped up and rushed to the wooden sideboard by the window. “I forgot to offer everyone some champagne. We always start off the wedding planning with a toast.”
This was new. I suspected Richard had made it up to force everyone to have a drink and loosen up. Not a bad plan.
“Why don’t we worry about the date later and talk about general style,” I said as Richard briskly tore the foil off a champagne bottle. “What’s your vision of the wedding?”
“I want an outdoor ceremony,” Viola started before her mother could speak. “Something very rustic. No formal gardens. And I want to use lots of seasonal flowers and leaves.”
Okay. Not a bad start. An outdoor, autumn wedding could be beautiful. Maybe this wouldn’t be a disaster after all.
“What colors were you thinking for bridesmaids?” Kate asked.
“They’re going to be called wood nymphs, not bridesmaids, and I thought they could be in body stockings with leaves sewn on.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. This would be one bridesmaid—oops, wood nymph—outfit that no one could ever claim to wear again.
Mrs. Van de Kamp gave a muffled cry. “You can’t make your friends wear leaf pasties to your wedding.”
“Bridesmaids dresses are stupid.” Viola squared her shoulders. “So are bouquets. I want them to carry floral tambourines instead.”
Now this I wanted to see. Although I doubted she’d have any friends left after she told them they were wearing leotards and shaking tambourines down the aisle. I could see Kate begin to tremble with silent laughter next to me.
“Champagne anyone?” Richard rushed over with a round metal tray of crystal champagne flutes.
Mrs. Van de Kamp took a glass and downed it in one gulp. Even under her tire track blush, I could see her cheeks burn with anger. I didn’t blame her.
“Is it sulfite free?” Viola gave the tray a suspicious glance.
“No.” Richard spun on his heel away from her. “Better not have any.”
“I think we should do this at a later date, once Viola has had an opportunity to rethink her ideas.” Mrs. Van de Kamp stood and jerked Viola up by the sleeve. “Thank you, ladies. Richard.” She pulled the girl all the way across the room and out the door as Kate and I hurried to stand up. The door slammed behind them.
Richard held the tray of champagne in one hand and downed glass after glass with the other. “What the hell was that?”
“Exactly my question.” Kate turned to him, her mouth hanging open. “You call those clients normal?”
Richard hiccuped. “I might have misjudged.”
“Might?” Kate and I said in unison.
“Okay,” Richard admitted. “They’re awful. Can I make it up to you with dinner?”
“This one is going to cost you.” Kate walked over and snatched the last glass of champagne off the tray before he could. “I’m in the mood for a French martini at Mie N Yu.”
Richard put the tray down. “Shall we end the work-day early and try to snag the loft table?”
“Let me run to the ladies’ room while you call ahead,” I said over my shoulder as I walked down the back hall. I paused outside the doors to the bathroom and kitchen, which were side by side. Whose voice was that? I stepped closer to the swinging kitchen door and pressed on it enough so it opened a fraction of an inch.
“I owe you a debt of gratitude for what you did.” Marcello spoke in hushed tones. “We all do.”
Why the secrecy and whispering? I leaned forward so I could see through the sliver of an opening. Marcello stood to the side holding a cordless phone.
“After all these years, he got what he deserved.” Marcello gave a soft chuckle. “Finally, his career was the one put on ice.”
Ice? I straightened up with a jerk. Could he be talking about Henri? Who else?
“I only wish I could have seen the look on his face,” Marcello added.
I pressed against the door to see more clearly, and the hinge creaked.
Marcello froze. “Hold on a second. I think I heard something.”
With my heart pounding, I let the door go and spun around. I ran back to the front of the house, passing Kate and Richard in the sitting room. I kept running to the foyer, motioning them to follow me.
“Wait for us,” Kate cried, grabbing both of our purses.
Richard stood holding an empty glass of champagne as Kate hurried away. “What’s the rush? They’re holding the table for us.”
“Come on.” I gave a nervous glance toward the kitchen door. “I’ll tell you once we’re out of here. It’s about Henri’s murder.”
Richard’s shoulders sagged. “Again?”
I nodded. “A suspect just moved to the front of the line.”
Chapter 14
“Coy does not become you, Annabelle.” Richard stepped out of his convertible after parking next to us in the Georgetown lot. We’d taken separate cars to the restaurant so we wouldn’t have to drive Richard back to Capitol Hill after dinner. It was early enough that we’d found space in the tiny public lot next to Mie N Yu.
“I’m not being coy. I just want to wait until we’re sitting in the restaurant to tell you. Someone could overhear us on the street.”
“Who?” Richard looked around us. “A homeless person or a Hari Krishna?”
“Less talking, more walking.” Kate passed us and strode down the sidewalk toward the brick red and gold facade of the restaurant with sheer yellow curtains fluttering in the doorway. “I’m dying for a martini.”
“You shameless hussy.”
I recognized Fern’s voice immediately. Or maybe it was his vocabulary I recognized. Who else called people hussies to their face? I turned to find him standing behind us wearing a long black Nehru jacket with an ornate silver cross hanging down the front. If I didn’t know better, I’d have pegged him for a priest. Although the slicked back ponytail and giant rings on his fingers were a bit of a giveaway.
Kate spun around with a smirk on her face. “Look who’s talking.”
“I am a man of the cloth.” He looked wounded, then grinned at us. “You wouldn’t believe how nice people are to you when you’re a priest.”
Richard shook his head. “You do know you’re not really a priest, right?”
“I’m a hairdresser. It’s close enough,” Fern explained. “I take confessions exactly like they do.”
Richard frowned. “But priests don’t spread the stories they hear all over town.”
“A technicality, I’m sure.” Fern dismissed Richard with a wave of his hands. “What I want to know is why you’re tying one on at five-thirty? Isn’t it a little early?”
“Not after the meeting we just had.” Kate sighed. “A nightmare bride.”
Fern’s face lit up. “Worse than the one who had me put three tiaras in her weave? Do tell.”
I looked at Richard, who shrugged his shoulders, and then I turned to Fern. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”
“Only if I wouldn’t be imposing,” Fern said as he linked arms with Kate and led the way into Mie N Yu without a backward glance.
As I followed them through the opening in the restaurant doorway’s sheer curtains, my eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the low lighting inside. Mie N Yu had been designed around the travels of Marco Polo, so there were tons of low tables surrounded by luxurious cushions, tables perched high in cages, and red fabric cascading from the ceiling. Kind of an East meets West meets Kama Sutra. It was also a place where the pretty people of Georgetown came out to play.
After a delay appropriate for one of the city’s hot spots, an aloof hostess led us to a table nestled on the landing between the first and second floors and draped with white netting. The table jutted out over the first floor and had carved wooden sides to keep people from falling over. This was the perfect place for talking without being overheard since there were no other tables near us. Kate and Fern began studying the ma
rtini menu immediately.
“Well, are you going to tell us now?” Richard tapped his fingers on the round wooden table.
I waited until the hostess had descended the stairs again. “I overheard someone talking to Henri’s killer. They were on the phone.” I hesitated to implicate Richard’s chef. Knowing Richard, he wouldn’t take it well.
Kate pulled her eyes away from the long list of martinis. “How could you know that Henri’s killer was on the other end?”
“Because they were talking about icing careers,” I said patiently. “The person on my end thanked the other person for getting rid of someone they both hated.”
“Enough already,” Richard said with a sigh. “Who did you overhear?”
I cringed, knowing Richard wouldn’t like this one bit. “Marcello. He was on the phone back at your office.”
“You can’t know that he was talking about Henri,” Richard sputtered. “Talk about putting words in his mouth. Just because he has a past with the victim doesn’t mean he’s on a murder phone tree.”
“It may not sound convincing, but you should have heard him,” I cried. “He sounded very secretive and sinister.”
“I don’t think you can prosecute someone for murder because they sound creepy on the phone.” Kate looked as skeptical as Richard.
Fern waved a cute waiter over to take the drink order. “Two French martinis and…Annie, what are you drinking?”
“A Coke.” I turned to Richard. “You said that Marcello was with you at the time of the murder, right?”
“Campari and soda for me.” Richard flipped open the laminated menu and nodded. “He was the chef at our wedding at Dumbarton House.”
“Give us a few more minutes to look at the menus,” Fern said quietly to the waiter.
“Of course, Father.” The young man gave a bow of the head as he left the table.
Richard gave Fern a look. “You’re out of your mind.”
“What?” Fern gave an innocent shrug. “Did I say I was a priest?”
“What if he didn’t kill Henri, but had someone do the dirty work for him?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the murder. “I’ll bet he knows all the chefs in town.”
