Two Funerals and a Wedding (Domestic Bliss Mysteries Book 8)

by Leslie Caine

  “I am not about to tell Steve—”

  Again, he lifted his palms. “Hey, this isn’t a skin-color thing. The problem is, you just don’t know Drew like I know him. The man has a violent temper. My wife is afraid of him. She’s afraid of being alone with him.”

  “Yet she hasn’t breathed a word of that to her only brother. Steve would never have him asked him to be his best man if that’s really the way that Michelle feels.”

  “But, I’m telling you, that is how she feels. She just scared to admit it. She’s in denial. She showed me an old scar she got on her ribcage. From when that no-good piece of—” He broke off, and looked down at his hands. He was wringing the linen napkins so hard that his knuckles were white.

  I’d had more than enough of this conversation and took one last sip of my chai. I rose and started to put on my coat.

  “I’m warning you, Erin. The guy’s dangerous. Even if it’s not the color of his skin that makes him so violent, something sure does.” He waggled his thumb at his chest. “So if you’re smart, you better mark Mark’s words, Erin. Drew killed Fitz. If you’re too color-blind to see that, yeah, you can count out both me and my wife. We’re not breaking bread with a killer, and I’m not letting her near your wedding.”

  “She’s the groom’s sister. She needs to cancel for herself.” I whirled on my heel and headed toward the door.

  “Fine. I’ll tell her to get in touch with you. Your guest list is the least of your problems.”

  I opened the door.

  “Use your pretty little head, girly! You’ve got a murderer in your wedding party!”

  Chapter 8

  I drove a couple of blocks to get out of Mark’s sight, then pulled over and called Steve to discuss the conversation I’d just endured. Steve gave Mark’s opinions about Drew no credence whatsoever, but he agreed with my assessment that he should talk to Michelle in private about it; both of us felt that Mark was a strong suspect in Fitz’s murder, which made us both fearful about his sister’s wellbeing.

  I remained a little shaken by the time I arrived at Aunt Bea’s house to inspect her now-fully-stocked wine cellar. She led me down the stairs. Limping a little, she explained that she’d spent too much time standing up at my party. “I’m so sorry about your wedding planner’s death,” she told me.

  “Me, too. We heard that Fitz’s family is holding the funeral the day after tomorrow. Hopefully the police will have the killer under arrest soon. Preferably by the rehearsal dinner. We’ll all feel so much more at ease once the killer is behind bars before our next big gathering.”

  “Is the rehearsal the Friday after next?”

  “No, it’s that Thursday. We wanted to let everyone have a full day and a half to rest up. It’s at the Red Fox. Up the canyon. But, then again,” I added with a smile, “judging by experience, it’s probably a good idea to check your invitation and not take my word for it.”

  She blushed. She hadn’t been invited. Damn me and my big mouth! It should have occurred to me that Steve wouldn’t want Aunt Bea there. Still, that was a rude omission, considering Steve’s whole family would be there, and she was being so generous to us by supplying the alcohol.

  “Didn’t Eleanor send you an invitation?” I asked, feeling my own cheeks warm. “You’re more than welcome to come, Aunt Bea.”

  “No, but thank you. It’s nice of you to invite me, Erin, but technically, I’m neither family, nor an out-of-town guest. It makes perfect sense that Eleanor didn’t send me an invitation.”

  Especially considering that Eleanor hadn’t actually been in charge of the guest list. Blaming her had seemed less hurtful than letting Bea know that the fault was with Steve. Not knowing what else to say, I muttered, “Okay, if you truly feel okay about not joining us.”

  “I do. I might come to pay my respects at the service, though. Even though I barely knew Fitz, it was such a terrible pity for him to die so young.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew him at all.”

  “I got to know him a little from Michelle’s wedding. I supplied the alcohol for that wedding, too. I happened to be in town right while they were in the middle of planning, and Eleanor and Michelle invited me to tag along to some of their appointments.”

  “Oh.” Taking a tag-along to that type of appointment struck me as somewhat unusual. “Do you have a special interest or expertise in weddings?”

  “Well, I’ve been to several weddings in India. They’re major events there, lasting forty-eight hours or so.”

  “So I’ve heard. I don’t know how they manage. I’m stressed enough now with planning for just a couple of hours.”

  She nodded, but said nothing. I studied Bea’s hooded, blue-gray eyes. There was a palpable sorrow in her gaze. Then again, after my hostile conversation with my future brother-in-law, she might have detected some sadness in mine.

  A wise saying came to mind: “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle that you know nothing about. Be kind, always.” In the context of Fitz’s murder, Bea’s battle could be serious. She’d said the day before our fateful party that she had a sense of impending doom. Could she have gotten a death threat that she didn’t want to tell me about?

  “Do you and Fitz ever travel in the same business circles?” I asked.

  “No, not really.” She sighed, which she’d been doing more and more lately. “Now that you mention it, he could have easily gotten himself into a bad situation with some of his former clients. He told me in private that he got into the wedding business because it was a great way to meet women. He claimed that ‘bridesmaids were always ripe for the picking.’”

  The phrasing was so distasteful that I couldn’t help but grimace. “Yet his choice of clothing and certain affectations were decidedly gay.”

  She snorted. “All part of his routine. He told me that he used that to his advantage, by whispering in his target’s ear: ‘Pretending to be gay for the sake of my career finally paid off, the moment I saw you.’”

  Again, I grimaced, thinking of how little I would have wanted a Lothario to hit on my bridesmaids. “Did he flirt with Michelle’s bridesmaids?”

  “Oh, he did much worse than that, I’m afraid,” Aunt Bea said with a chuckle. “He bypassed them and scored with the bride.”

  “Michelle had a…dalliance with him?” I asked, stunned.

  “She sure did. It nearly cost her her marriage. So you can imagine how surprised I was to learn that she’d recommended his services to a second member of the Sullivan family.”

  “So am I.” If what Bea was telling me about Michelle and Fitz was true, that is. I felt more than a little skeptical. Steve disliked Bea, and typically, he and I liked the same people. With the unfortunate exception of Drew Benson.

  “Mark, Michelle’s husband, became so jealous of Fitz that he all but called off the wedding,” Bea continued. “In fact, Fitz truly should have had the decency to decline managing your wedding.”

  “Are you sure that they had a fling?”

  “Quite sure, my dear. Michelle told me about it herself.”

  I still didn’t want to believe her. “I spoke to Mark recently, and he was calling Fitz names…assuming that he was a homosexual.”

  Bea snorted and put one hand on her ample hip. “I would think he’d be worried that Fitz might have been bisexual. But Mark must have been fibbing to you, for reasons of his own. He knew full well Fitz was straight. And he didn’t like him hitting on his wife, whatsoever.”

  Bea seemed to be hinting that she suspected Mark of murdering Fitz. “I have to admit that I caught Fitz ogling young women a couple of times,” I remarked.

  “Well, it wasn’t really limited to ‘young’ women. I invited Fitz out one night to talk business over glasses of wine. I wanted to use him as a source for potential customers. He was ogling every single woman’s chest as she walked toward our table, and her fanny as she walked away. I was worried he would strain his neck before the evening was through.”

  Our inspection of the
now amply stocked wine cellar didn’t take long. Now that so many of the shelves were full, I had merely wanted to make sure that she’d found the shelving space to be precisely what she’d wanted. While I scanned the cabinetry for gaps in seams, uneven shelves, and gaps between bottles, I pondered Mark’s and my conversation yet again. He could have been concerned about Fitz giving him AIDS after all, through his relations with his wife. Maybe Mark’s jealousy was so far out of control that he’d killed Fitz. If so, that could explain why he was making a point of calling him gay; that would shift everyone away from the jealous-husband motive for murdering Fitz.

  I told Aunt Bea that I couldn’t find a single fault with anything about the space, and Aunt Bea replied, “Neither can I. It’s perfect.”

  “That’s so wonderful to hear! Do you mind my taking photos for my personal records?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said to my surprise. “I don’t want my competition to get a leg up on me. I still want my business to thrive for decades to come.” She dropped rather heavily into a chair at the round table near the door. She was a little out of breath. I pulled out the chair beside hers and sat down, willing to act as if we shared some exhaustion.

  “What do you think of Mark?” I asked.

  She grimaced. “The police should have Mark Dunning as their number one suspect.”

  Certainly, he was now my prime suspect. Steve could be completely right that Mark was trying to set up Drew as the fall guy for a murder that he’d committed himself. Yet I needed to take everything Bea said with a grain of salt, now that she’d managed to alienate Steve’s affections so thoroughly. “Tell me something, Bea. Why did you tell Steve you’d put him into your will only if he cut all ties with Drew?”

  Once again, she sighed. “I might as well fess up. I was bluffing. I already put Steve and his sisters in my will. Five years ago. And the reason I brought it all up now was due to this feeling that my time left on this earth is drawing to a close. He would be so much happier if he got himself away from Drew’s sphere of influence.”

  “He is happy, Bea.”

  “Of course he is. He’s about to get married to you, for heaven’s sake. What I mean, though, is that he’d be so much better off with Drew out of the picture. Drew belongs in a rehab facility, not a wedding party! The other day, when I was consumed with the feeling that the end was…nigh, I foolishly decided that maybe my last good act on this Earth should be coercing Steve to get away from Drew.”

  “By threatening to disinherit him?”

  She nodded, her face drawn. She suddenly struck me as old and tired. “As a last resort. I intended to merely offer him some advice. But he made it so clear that he didn’t believe a single negative word I said about Drew that I lost my temper. I wound up telling that I would disinherit him if he didn’t cut ties with Drew immediately.”

  “Steve is hardly the sort of man who is waiting around to inherit your or anyone else’s money. What made you think that he’d agree to something like that in the first place?”

  “Like I said, Erin, I lost my temper. He was being dismissive of my well-founded misgivings about Drew. So I fibbed and told Steve that I had only recently decided that I wanted to give him and his sisters the bulk of my estate. And that my fear, where he’s concerned, was that having him inherit a good deal of money would only make him a bigger patsy for Drew. Steve snarled back at me that he didn’t want my money…that I should leave him out of my will, or else he really would give it to Drew, just to spite me. I retorted that if he didn’t cut all ties with Drew, that’s precisely what I’d do…I’d disinherit him. But I didn’t mean it, Erin. He and the girls are the closest things to my surviving legacy that I’ll ever have.”

  Her eyes misted, and in that moment, I had a clear vision of how lonely and elderly she was. “I understand,” I told her truthfully. “I saw that gorgeous sapphire necklace that you gave Amelia…and Michelle.”

  “I gave it to Amelia, so that she could have something all her own. Amelia has a big soft spot for her sister, the same way Steve has for Drew. Amelia hardly ever wears that necklace.”

  “She had it on at the party.”

  Bea widened her eyes in surprise. “Not when I saw her, she didn’t. I would have noticed. She must have taken it off by the time I arrived.”

  Chapter 9

  I felt a measure of relief to arrive back at Steve’s and my home that evening. “Are you home for good?” Steve asked, with a rather lascivious grin.

  “That depends on whenever Audrey returns to her house. She’s happy enough at the Marriott, but as soon as the police have finished dusting for prints and so on, then the cleaning crew finishes up, she’ll want my company.”

  “So will I,” he countered.

  I wasn’t in a playful or romantic mood and merely added, “She’ll be scared to be alone at a murder scene.”

  Steve scratched his chin. “You got me there. Although Drew’s out and about most of the time. He’s at our house less often than you might think.” He shook his head ruefully. “I’m sure glad he was at the party last night. He didn’t hesitate to give Fitz mouth-to-mouth, even though we knew he might’ve been poisoned.”

  “True, but then, Drew wasn’t exactly sober when he was making that decision. He wasn’t using good judgment at any point last night. He was making a lot of our guests uncomfortable while he clowned around.”

  “Yeah. He got too boisterous. But he was just letting off steam. It’s been one hell of a tough month for him.”

  “Not as tough as Fitz’s.”

  Steve glared at me. “Drew just can’t do anything right where you’re concerned.”

  “And he can do no wrong where you’re concerned. So we’re perfectly balanced.” I wanted to stop, but I could feel my blood pressure rising. If Aunt Bea was right and Drew was a heavy cocaine user, that could explain both his behavior and his financial woes. Also his nosebleed at Audrey’s house. I considered the fact that I’d never seen him with his sleeves rolled up, let alone in a T-shirt. If the love of my life was getting sucked into the vortex of a drug addict, we were heading toward some serious troubles.

  “Does Drew ever wear short-sleeve shirts when he’s here with just you around?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Steve snapped, glaring at me. “He does have needle marks, if that’s what you’re driving at. He got hooked when he was younger, but he’s clean now.”

  “Maybe you’re wrong about his being clean, Steve. He acted high as a kite last night. Aunt Bea told me that he mainlines cocaine.”

  “She’s exaggerating. That’s what she always does. She’ll say anything to make a better story. Think about it, Erin. She’s been living here in Colorado for nine months now. Drew’s been in California almost that whole time…up until he moved into our house. Bea and Drew don’t like each other, so they avoid each other whenever they can. So you tell me: how could she have any idea whether or not Drew is shooting up with drugs?”

  “Maybe she knew all the signs, or she heard about his addiction from a trusted source,” I replied. “But even if she’s lying through her teeth, isn’t her story worth checking out, for Drew’s sake?”

  “Erin, I’ll talk to him about it. I will. Okay? In the meantime, give Drew a break. He’s just—”

  The outer door banged shut, startling me. Drew Benson strode through the doorway. “Give me a break about what?” he asked. He glanced at Steve, then settled his gaze on me.

  “I heard a rumor that you’ve got a really serious cocaine addiction,” I answered.

  He gaped at me, straightening his shoulders indignantly. “That’s a load of BS! Who told you that?”

  “I don’t want to make an issue out of who-said-what, Drew. The thing is, I’m worried that it’s true. You seemed to be running on high-octane last night, and you had a nosebleed. It’s a natural conclusion to draw that you’re…heading the wrong way down a one-way street.”

  “Erin. Get serious. I work hard, and I play hard. Just like your fiancé. Neither on
e of us has a problem with drugs or alcohol. No matter what some old busybody told you. Okay?”

  “Okay by me, bro,” Steve said. “Erin?”

  Drew had obviously figured out that my news source was Aunt Bea. “No. Sorry, but I’m not convinced. It’s pointless to take a drug user’s word that he’s no longer using drugs.”

  Neither Steve nor Drew replied. I studied Drew’s handsome features. He was wearing a hangdog expression on his face that struck me as false, and it only made me all the more certain he was lying.

  “If you’d be willing to go to a lab with me or Steve and can pass a drug analysis test right now, I’ll apologize on bended knee. Furthermore, I would be willing to give you a sizable loan to help you open Parsley and Sage as quickly as possible.”

  Both Steve and Drew exchanged glances as if they were not only stunned, but disgusted with me.

  “You want me to pee in a cup for you? Who do you think you are? My mother? Steve’s mommy?”

  “I’m nobody’s mother, Drew. I’m just someone who’s unable to take you at your word.”

  “But you are willing to take a nasty old woman’s slanderous words about me.”

  “She can’t prove their accuracy,” I snapped back. “Only you can do that.”

  “Erin, Drew is my friend, not my ward,” Steve said. “But, Drew, I know where Erin’s coming from. She’s just afraid you’re spinning out of control. She doesn’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Drew glared at me with fiery eyes. “If you must know, I can’t take a drug test, Erin. I smoked pot last night. That’s legal in Colorado. But I refuse to allow that on my permanent record when I’m trying to build a chain of national restaurants! Furthermore, I don’t want you or Steve to loan me money. I value our friendship too much for that. I’m hurt and offended that you thought you could bribe me into obeying your manipulative garbage!”

  “That’s enough, Drew!” Steve snapped. “Erin was just trying to err on the side of caution. She’d be the first to tough-love you into a detox center, if it turned out that you needed help.”