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

by Leslie Caine

  Drew and I both sighed. For my part, I was counting to ten, which I wish I’d done before making several of my last statements. If I wasn’t so certain he was using cocaine, I would understand why Drew—and Steve—were offended by what I’d blurted out. In any case, I’d wrongly put Steve smack in the middle.

  “You’re right, bro, of course.” Drew turned toward me and gave me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Erin. I’ve been having a real lousy time for the last few months. My stress level is off the charts.”

  “Everyone’s under stress right now. And I was trying manipulate you into proving that you don’t need help. That’s because it’s the nature of the beast to deny it if you have an addiction.”

  “Yeah. I can see that. The thing is, Erin, I’m telling the truth. I haven’t used coke in years. And I appreciate that you’re strong enough and care enough to ask.”

  “That’s kind of you to say.”

  Drew threw his arms around me and gave me a big hug. Now who was being manipulative? Steve was smiling at us, in obvious relief.

  “Have you guys eaten yet?” Drew asked the moment he’d relinquished his grasp.

  “No,” we answered simultaneously.

  “Well, then,” Drew replied, rubbing his hands together, and giving us a truly charming smile, “prepare to be gastronomically delighted. Chef LeBlanc isn’t the only person who can cook in this town.”

  I willed myself to let this go, to smile back at him, and to take advantage of this opportunity to get to know Steve’s dearest friend a little better. I could manage that much for all of our sakes.

  The problem was, I didn’t believe him. I believed Aunt Bea. Furthermore, I didn’t like Drew and Steve’s relationship. In Drew’s company, Steve acted less mature and more macho. Plus, there was a maddening element of truth to what Fitz had said about everyone pussyfooting around Drew because of his race. Would I feel this awful about myself for making these assertions if Drew happened to be blond and blue-eyed?

  My mind was racing through all sorts of hideous scenarios. Fitz and Drew had known each other, and had held each other in contempt. Had their relationship actually been limited to Drew’s being a guest at one wedding reception that Fitz had planned?

  As I watched Drew and Steve interact, I tried to gauge if Drew could be a murderer. I couldn’t answer my own question.

  Chapter 10

  The following day I had a steady stream of wedding-related errands and used our downtown office as a temporary base. That afternoon, Audrey called and said that “we” had gotten the clearance to return to her house. Then she asked when she could expect me. I headed to Steve’s and my house to get my darling kitty, plus some items that I needed, most notably: a carefree conversation with the love of my life. He had been at Parsley and Sage the entire day.

  Our front door was unlocked, and I was surprised and a little annoyed to find Drew sprawled out on the living room sofa. He lifted a hand in greeting as he continued a flirtatious conversation over his cell phone with some woman. I glanced through all of the doorways to see that, indeed, Steve wasn’t home yet. Drew ended his conversation with: “Oh, me, too, babe. Can’t wait to see you.”

  I proceeded into the master bedroom to repack some items of clothing. A couple of minutes later, Drew popped his head through the doorway. “Hi, Beautiful. I’m just taking a little R and R.”

  I disliked this new name for me, but decided to let it slide. “Do you happen to know when Steve will be home?”

  “It’s probably going to be a while yet. He’s down in Denver, looking at some bar chairs for me. I hope they work out. They’re a steal.”

  Goody for you, I thought, uncharitably. Steve and I had an appointment in less than two hours with Lucas to finalize our menu. I hoped Steve would be able to make it back in time. “How’s the situation with your former employee in Napa going?” I asked.

  He grimaced. “My lawyer doesn’t think we’ll be able to recoup anything. Looks like I’m going to have to kiss the money goodbye.”

  “You’re still going to file criminal charges, though, aren’t you? You don’t want to let someone get off scot free after stealing ten-thousand dollars, do you?” I asked, deliberately halving the amount that Steve told me he’d lost. “Isn’t that considered grand theft?”

  “Right. I’m hoping the police can throw the jerk in jail.”

  Drew hadn’t corrected my sum. My suspicion that he’d lied about the embezzling former manager was stronger than ever.

  “Hey,” Drew said, “I just made a run to the liquor store, so you’re well-stocked. Can I get you anything to drink before you go? A beer? Glass of wine, maybe?”

  “No, thanks.” I completed my simple packing job, reeling at the concept that I couldn’t trust my future-husband’s best friend. And that somebody had just been murdered in our midst. How was this ever going to get resolved? When I glanced at the doorway, I was surprised to see that Drew was still standing there, watching me.

  “We’re okay, aren’t we?” he asked in a flirtatious tone. “You and me? You realize that I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt my main man, right?”

  “I know that you sincerely think the world of Steve,” I answered carefully.

  He studied my eyes, a half smile on his lips. “And yet…there’s something that’s not sitting right with you. You still think I’m a junkie, don’t you?”

  “I’m still afraid that you are seriously addicted to cocaine, that you mainline it. And that, if so, it will destroy your life and will deeply hurt the man that I love. So…yes. That bothers me greatly.”

  He shook his head, as if in pity for my lack of understanding. “I’m doing fine, Erin. I’m a nice guy.”

  “Steve likes you. I like you. I hope everything is wonderful for you. Always.”

  “Likewise. Back at you.” He stepped out of view for a moment, and returned while putting on a dapper-looking black wool jacket. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date. You have some very attractive friends, by the way. I’m taking Emma out tonight. Or, I should say, she’s taking me out to show me the town.”

  “Oh.” I was surprised. That was the friend of mine he’d been hitting on during his cliff-walking nonsense on the hearth. She’d seemed uninterested. So. Now Steve’s untrustworthy best man was also dating a friend of mine. “Emma’s great. Have a nice time.”

  “You have a nice evening, too, Erin. I hope Steve gets home soon.” He let himself out.

  Frustrated and worried, I took a moment to collect myself. Mark’s accusations yesterday about Drew were now haunting me; I kept having terrible visions of Drew poisoning Fitz’s coffee.

  Hildi trotted into the room, her body English sending the strong message: Thank goodness he finally left! Unfortunately, it was time for both of us to leave and return to Audrey’s. After indulging myself and Hildi by playing catch-the-end-of-the-ribbon with her, I opened the closet door, where she knows she’s not supposed to go, which had made my curious kitty obsessed with my closet. Her carrying case door was open and located immediately inside the door. When she started to enter the closet, I whisked her inside the carrier with ease. She was too surprised and offended to protest, other than one low growl. Feline cursing, I was certain.

  As I rose and grabbed the strap of my overnight bag, I unexpectedly caught sight of my reflection in the mirror above our dresser. My face was showing signs of my emotional strain; the arcs under my eyes were almost as dark as my brown eyes.

  Was I wrong about Drew being an addict? If I was being honest with myself, his having such a big place in Steve’s heart was difficult to take, regardless of any worries about his drug use. Could my low opinion of him be strictly the result of jealousy?

  I’d soon settled back in at Audrey’s. Hildi curled onto my lap, and we were both purring contentedly in our own way. Then Steve called my cellphone to say that a traffic accident had caused a major jam. He would be in Crestview too late to attend our meeting with Lucas LeBlanc, and suggested that I could always ca
ll his cell whenever I needed his opinion. That, as I told him, was not going to be helpful whenever my question was: Which of these dishes taste best?

  Audrey had overheard my end of the conversation and immediately volunteered to step in for him. Thirty minutes or so later, we were driving in my Sullivan & Gilbert Designs minivan toward Parsley and Sage to meet our new caterer.

  “I love being your sidekick,” Audrey declared.

  “My wedding-reception sidekick?”

  “No, your crime-solving sidekick. You’re going to help your police friend, Linda, and that stick-up-his-ass Detective O’Reilly to solve Fitz Parker’s murder. And I’m going to be your sidekick.” She gave me a happy grin.

  “A young man is dead. This is hardly fun and games, Audrey.”

  “And that’s a tragedy for his friends and family. But we’ll be helping them by figuring out who his killer is.”

  “My wedding is consuming all of my brain these days, Audrey. I need to figure out a whole new menu for a wedding that’s less than two weeks away. I have no intention of playing amateur sleuth.”

  “But…your talents are needed. Our talents, I should say. We’ll be able to learn more about Drew Benson’s relationship with Fitz by asking Drew’s head chef.”

  The last thing I wanted was to be involved in another criminal case. But Audrey had a point. Focusing on the matter at hand, I replied, “I don’t think that he’s going to tell us a thing.”

  “Think positively.”

  “I positively don’t think he’ll tell us a thing.”

  “Whereas I intend to use my wit and charm to coax him into spilling the dirt on his employer.”

  As I pulled into a space in a downtown parking garage, her phrasing stuck with me; it was normally “dishing the dirt” or “spilling the beans.” I had an image of Lucas dumping the contents of a flowerpot on Drew’s head. Combining my wedding planning with investigating a murder was hardly the stuff of dreams. Of happy dreams, that is.

  We made the short walk along the Opal Street pedestrian mall, then entered Parsley and Sage. I’d seen Steve’s drawings and computer mockups, but there was something so dream-come-true-like about seeing the space with my own eyes.

  The kitchen was open so that patrons would be able to see the chefs weaving their culinary magic. The huge ovens with a gleaming cooper hood were in place. I find the reddish-gold hues of copper to be breathtakingly lovely. The pinewood plank bar, finished to a fine sheen, was also gorgeous, perfectly matched with the comfy-looking stools. The tables and chairs were yet to arrive, and none of the all-important finishing touches were in place—no vases and arrangements in the built-in nooks on the paneled walls, no bottles on the shelving behind the bar, no light fixtures in the main dining areas. Even so, I could imagine a large lavender—or perhaps indigo—vase on the top shelf of the bar, harmonizing and setting-off the bar area like a beautiful centerpiece.

  After a few luxurious moments, I was able to shift my focus to my fellow human beings. Lucas was saying something to us, and gesturing for us to come toward him. He then called to someone, “Lock the door. My clients have arrived.”

  The spell that Steve’s ingenious design had cast on me was broken. I hated the notion of being locked in a room with Lucas. Behind me, a man was responding to Lucas’s instructions. I vaguely recognized him as one of our construction-subcontractor’s crew members, and not one of Drew’s, let alone Lucas’s, employees. We could have thrown the lock ourselves. Even so, the man quickly obliged.

  “Chef Lucas,” Audrey cooed. She was already slipping into her witty-and-charming-sidekick persona. “This is such an honor to see you in your own environment!”

  “The honor is all mine, mademoiselle,” he replied with a bow and an enormous grin. He rounded the kitchen half wall only to usher us toward the bar. “We are a work-in-progress, as you can see, so we’ll sit at the corner of the bar, oui?”

  “Oui, Monsieur,” Audrey happily replied.

  Audrey claimed the seat on the corner, positioning herself between us. “Wasn’t it so tragic that a guest at our party was poisoned?” she asked, wasting no time delving into the topic of the murder.

  “Indeed.” He smoothed his thin mustache with his index fingers. “That was so terrible. Have the authorities found a key suspect, do you know?”

  “Not yet,” I interjected.

  “They’re honing in on people from Fitz’s past,” Audrey replied. “Former clients or lovers, competitors, employees, and so forth.” She was winging it, and doing a good job, in my estimation.

  “That is very logical,” Lucas said with a sad nod. His somber, attentive expression struck me as perfectly in keeping with an innocent person’s reaction. I wanted to pay strict attention, not because I’d started to hope that we would learn anything, but because I anticipated that Audrey was so eager, she would jump to erroneous conclusions.

  “It’s ironic that you got the job this weekend due to someone else’s caterer giving a guest food poisoning,” I said, adopting the in-for-a-penny-in-for-a-pound motto.

  “This was a lethal substance in the food or drink, n’est-ce pas? It was murder, not sloppy food preparation.”

  “Right. There’s a huge difference,” I replied. “It’s just that now I worry that my wedding guests will shy away from your food. You were the only chef of the hors d’oevres that any of our guests are ever going to remember.”

  He paled noticeably. “What a terrible thought!”

  “Yes, it is,” Audrey chimed in. “We should all put our heads together and see if we can identify some clues or theories that may help the police arrest the killer immediately.”

  “I would of course like to see that very much.” He shrugged. “But, alas, I know nothing. I was just…passing through on Friday night, noticing only the guests’ delighted faces as they tasted my delicious food.”

  I had to resist smiling at his wording. His French accent and curious phrasing sometimes struck me as every bit as much of an act as Fitz’s sexual orientation had been.

  “Yes, but you can get a lot of information from a person’s facial expressions,” I said. “Did you watch Fitz’s face, for instance?”

  He snorted. “Now there was a sourpuss for you! His eyes were filled with hatred for me. So foolish. It was bite-sized morsels of delicious food! Such a small…and good…thing to cause him so much ill will. Jealousy is terrible for the digestion.”

  “What about your boss, Drew Benson?” Audrey asked. “Please don’t breathe a word of this to him, but he strikes me as being reckless.”

  “Reckless? Yes, I suppose so. He is an extreme skier. And he jumps from planes.”

  “No, I mean that he can act rashly…without considering all the consequences. I can see him feeling so threatened by a competitor that he could take someone’s life.”

  Lucas made no remark.

  “But you are the one who actually knows the man,” Audrey persisted. “I’ve only met him in the context of Erin’s wedding. Do you agree? Have you seen him…throw a tantrum?”

  “He gets very angry. He is not always easy to work for.”

  “The idea for you to bring trays of food to the party must have been his, right?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course. He bought all the ingredients, and I prepared them here. The police have already inspected this entire building, searching for traces of poison. They found nothing. It was not my food that contained the cyanide, I assure you. And the food that I served to your party guests never left my sight. It was made from fresh ingredients, prepared by me alone, and brought straight to your house, mademoiselle.” He gave a slight bow of his head to Audrey, revealing the bald spot beyond his comb-over.

  “Do you think Drew could have killed Fitz?” I asked.

  “I do not know. Perhaps so.”

  “What would his motive have been?” I asked. When Lucas merely furrowed his brow I added, “Did he have a bad relationship with Fitz that made them enemies?”

  “I only know th
at he has mentioned his name before several times, with…how do you say…rancor in his voice. He said that they quarreled about Michelle Sullivan, your fiancé’s sister. He did not feel that Mr. Parker treated her well. From what I have heard, they each shared that opinion about the other.”

  “Neither of them thought that the other was treating Michelle as well as he should?” I prompted.

  “They both had been in…how do you say…intimate relations with her.”

  That echoed what Aunt Bea had told me. Audrey and I exchanged glances.

  “When Drew spoke about his anger for Fitz,” Lucas went on, “he would say that he wished to tear him limb from limb. I do wonder if the method of poisoning would not be too tame. I believe it is more of a woman’s murder weapon of choice, n’est-ce pas?”

  My mind raced to form a list of suspects. If Bea and now Lucas were right about Fitz having had a physical relationship with Michelle, both Michelle and Mark had a motive. Maybe Fitz had strong-armed Michelle, and perhaps Amelia, into giving his business a boost, in exchange for keeping Michelle’s husband in the dark about the affair. Bullying Amelia into giving him her pricey necklace could have been a final payment in a blackmail scheme. Which would also have given Eleanor, Amelia, and Aunt Bea a motive to want the man permanently out of the picture.

  Chapter 11

  The next evening, I was in for a big surprise when I got home. Eleanor Sullivan, Steve’s mother, was sitting on the back porch, awaiting my return, apparently aware that I typically used the back entrance. She rose while I emerged from my car.

  “Hi, Erin. I happened to be in the neighborhood.” She gave me a warm smile. “I had to return something to Paprika.”

  The gift hatchet? I mused to myself. “I’m so glad you could stop over.” Although it was strange that she came here instead of our office; Paprika was a mere three blocks from Steve’s and my office, much closer than Audrey’s house. Come on in.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”