by Leslie Caine
“Not as far as I know. Audrey could be busily turning her bathtub into a terrarium again.”
Eleanor gave no reaction to my joke and probably hadn’t been listening. I held the door for her and she walked inside.
“It was a lovely party.” Her eyes widened as if realizing that her assortment of small talk was stale and, in the light of recent events, inappropriate. “Except for what happened to poor Fitz.”
In my nervousness about her unexpected visit, I had to fight my impulse to wisecrack about my delight that forty-nine out of our fifty guests were still alive. “Can I get you a cup of tea, or a glass of water? Or wine?”
“No, thanks.” She took a seat on one of the stools. “I’ll just sit here at the counter. But you go ahead and get yourself something. Or do whatever you’d be doing if I hadn’t popped in when I did.”
I would probably change my clothes, then I’d get on the phone to confirm this evening’s appointment with Suki, Fitz’s assistant. Leaving the room or making a phone call hardly felt appropriate with Eleanor here. “I guess if you weren’t here, I’d be sitting at the counter, all by myself.” I sat on the stool beside her. “Is something troubling you, Eleanor?”
She nodded, her eyes averted. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant toward you. I want to welcome you into my family with open arms. I really do. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I truly like you. And I’m glad you and my son have found each other. Truly. But I’ve been undergoing a lot of stress. It’s so difficult to see your only son get married.”
“I can only imagine.” Although, truth be told, I couldn’t muster much sympathy for her. Steve had lived an hour away for more than a decade now, whereas Michelle’s house was in the same housing development, and Amelia still occupied her childhood bedroom.
“I feel responsible for this disaster…for Fitz’s death. We never should have been so adamant about your hiring him as your planner. We’d simply wanted to give him a head start, now that he relocated his business to Crestview. But if it weren’t for our recommendation, none of this would have happened.”
“You had no way of knowing that there was extremely ill will between him and someone that I invited to the party, though…right?”
“No, no. Of course not.” She sighed and, one again, averted her eyes. “Although, to be honest, we all knew that Mark didn’t care for Fitz.”
“Oh?” I was playing dumb. Audrey would have been proud. “Why not?”
“Personality clash, mostly. Sometimes Fitz could be a little pushy.”
“How so?”
“He was just a little too eager to be…he’d flatter people too much and try to make himself in charge. I guess that made Mark feel territorial toward my daughter.” She rolled her eyes. “Mark has old-fashioned ideas about a husband’s role as master of the family.”
“So he found Fitz threatening?” I prodded.
“Yes, I think that’s exactly what it was.”
“I have to say that, in retrospect, you didn’t seem all that eager to socialize with Fitz yourself. And you weren’t comfortable with Amelia talking to him. Was there some kind of a problem between the two of them?”
“No, no. But if I had to do it all over again, I never would have recommended him. I’m so very, very sorry for ever having even mentioned his name.”
“Actually, it was Michelle who recommended him so highly. I don’t recall you and me ever having a conversation about him.”
She winced. “Indirectly, we did. Through Michelle. I’m the one who insisted to Michelle that she tell you all about how great Fitz was.”
And you did all of that just to give the guy a head start, out of the goodness of your heart? That seemed unlikely. “It was strange that he wound up taking Amelia’s valuable necklace.”
She furrowed her brow. “It’s hard to say for certain how that happened. My hunch, though, is that Fitz praised it to the sky, and Amelia gave it to him. She does things like that frequently…tries to buy friendship…and that’s why I interrupted their conversation. Fitz is a player, more than happy to take advantage of a situation for his own gain. Amelia’s emotional reactions are so volatile and unpredictable.”
“Yet…according to Detective O’Reilly, someone used nail clippers to cut through the chain, and a pair of clippers were found in Fitz’s pocket.”
“That’s what the detective told me, too.” She rose, her lips pursed as if she had no intention of shedding any light on the puzzling contents of Fitz’s pockets.
“Was Fitz ever alone with Amelia? Upstairs?”
Her eyes flashed in anger. I couldn’t tell if the reaction was fueled by bitterness at the memory, or resentment at my asking the question. “Just for a few minutes. But I need to hit the road now before the traffic starts to build up. All I really came to say, Erin, was that I’m sorry I’ve been so distant toward you.”
“I…have a feeling that there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“No, no, just my long overdue welcome to the family.” She gave me an awkward hug. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with the wedding. Things must be in a state of chaos under the circumstances.”
“Not chaos. Just a bit more hectic. I’m going to be working with an associate of Fitz’s now. But he had taken careful notes.”
“Oh, good. Well, tell Steve I was here and said hi. Audrey, too. She’s such a lovely person.” She let herself out the door.
What an odd conversation. Why would she visit me, ostensibly to be more open with me, only to be so cryptic? She must truly feel guilty about her role in Fitz Parker’s being our wedding planner. She was so unwilling to discuss why the gold chain might have been cut that I wondered if she felt that was incriminating evidence toward one of her daughters, for some reason.
I picked up my phone and weighed the notion of calling Steve to ask about his mother’s relationship with Fitz Parker. I reconsidered, unable to picture myself telling him that his mother seemed to me to believe that she needed to shield Amelia and/or Michelle from the police investigators’ eyes.
All I really knew was that Mark, Michelle, Eleanor, and Aunt Bea, plus Drew and maybe Lucas, had experienced some unfortunate interactions with Fitz. I could pass that information along to Detective O’Reilly if anything more noteworthy occurred. I decided to take Eleanor’s advice—to go about doing the things that I would have done if she’d never dropped by.
Audrey arrived home shortly before Suki, Fitz’s associate, arrived, and she joined us for our appointment. At first, I wondered if it was Audrey’s presence that was making Suki so flustered. Partway through the meeting, after I’d had to periodically reassure Suki that everything would be fine, I realized that I didn’t believe my own words. Furthermore, we’d reversed roles. When I shot an exasperated glance in Audrey’s direction, Audrey reached over the table and patted the young woman’s trembling hand. “Where exactly are the ‘extensive notes’ that Mr. Parker kept for you, my dear?”
“Umm…that’s just the thing. I don’t actually have them. They’re in his private file. For some reason, yours was the only client file he didn’t give me the software authorization to open.” Her gaze shifted to me, then back to Audrey.
“That can’t possibly be all that difficult to resolve,” Audrey exclaimed. “I’m sure a computer expert could open that file as easily as your average refrigerator.”
“Maybe so, but the police took Fitz’s computer and told me I’d be interfering with a police investigation if I accessed any of his private files. I don’t want to get in trouble with an officer.”
“Was this Detective O’Reilly?” I asked.
“Yes. He…asked me a lot of questions about you. It’s made me feel a little…uncomfortable. I hate to have….”
She pursed her lips and suddenly rose, packing all of her papers into her briefcase in a flurry of motion. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time tonight. I’m afraid that Parker’s Party Planning is not going to be able to continue to work on yo
ur wedding. We’ll talk later about returning your deposits and whatnot.”
“The wedding is in eleven days!” I cried, rising as well. “I can’t get a new wedding planner on that short notice! Even if I could, without Fitz’s notes, I might as well not have a planner.”
“Maybe you could talk to Detective O’Reilly about giving you Fitz’s notes,” Suki said as she showed herself out. “I’m sure you’ll have a beautiful wedding.”
She closed the door behind her.
Audrey and I both stared after her, then turned to face each other. I was trying to think of something funny to say. Unfortunately, all that came to mind was: My wedding has turned into a Cable TV reality-show disaster.
“That little girl is going to have to work pretty darned hard from here on out to get a nice testimonial from me,” Audrey quipped.
“Really? I thought she was the Mary Poppins of party planners.” I sat down again and sank my head into my hands.
“It’s okay, Erin. I’ll step in and fill the gaps.”
“She was probably scared to death to be here, thinking she’ll be next. And that I’m Detective O’Reilly’s prime suspect.”
“That reminds me. Was someone here earlier?”
I lacked the energy to ask how the mention of Detective O’Reilly had sparked that question, but I did, at least, manage to sit up straight again. “Yes, Eleanor stopped by.”
“The middle stool at the kitchen counter was off-center, and you and I tend to take the seats to either side of that one. Was it a good visit, I hope?” Audrey was well versed on how strained my relationship was with my future mother-in-law.
“No, it was strange. She was here to ease her guilt for telling Michelle to recommend Fitz Parker to me.”
“That is a little strange. But then, the death of someone we know brings up all sorts of old wounds and unprocessed emotions.” She paused for just a second or two, then said, “We need to talk to Lucas again.”
“We do?”
“Yes. Immediately, and in person.”
“Why? We just spoke with him last night.”
“Lucas left the premises long before Fitz was poisoned. That means he’s our least-likely suspect, and he has worked closely with Drew for the last couple of years. He told me over the phone this afternoon that Drew has loose lips when he drinks.”
“Meaning that he dribbles his liquids?” I teased. After a pause, I added, “I’m assuming that you called him?”
“Of course. Lucas might have the scoop on how Drew truly felt about the members of the Sullivan family.”
“Audrey, none of that is relevant. They’re my future in-laws. All that matters is how the Sullivans and Drew felt about Fitz Parker.”
“Right. And Drew could have been gossiping about the Sullivans’ opinion of Fitz to Lucas.”
“That’s remotely possible, but—”
Audrey had already swept up the phone and was dialing. “Hello, Lucas! How’s my favorite chef?” Audrey said into the phone, holding up a palm to signal that I should stop talking.
Hildi started wrapping herself around my ankles. Needing a cuddle myself, I picked her up. Apparently, whether I liked it or not, Audrey had unleashed the hounds. I stared into Hildi’s gorgeous gold-flicked eyes. “I hope we don’t find ourselves chased up a tree,” I told Hildi, who touched her nose to mine.
Chapter 12
Lucas fidgeted with his napkin, reminding me of my conversation with Mark. I wondered if napkin mangling was a reliable method to detect guilt. Probably not.
Audrey had persuaded Lucas to stop by for a home-cooked meal, which she’d thrown together—broiled lamb, steamed green beans, and seasoned pasta. We had finished the delicious food, but not Audrey’s pricey bottle of Chatuneff de Paup; she had pulled all of the stops for this unlikely-to-amount-to-anything fishing expedition of hers.
“Have you met the groom’s sister, Michelle Dunning?” Audrey asked Lucas. “I believe she came out to visit Drew in Napa a couple of years ago.”
I attempted to kick Audrey under the table, but only succeeded in kicking her chair leg. Michelle might well have mentioned a trip to Napa during a conversation with Audrey at our party, but I wanted her off this conversation. My stomach was already in knots. If by some hideous chance, a member of Steve’s immediate family had actually committed the murder, I didn’t want Audrey or me to get involved. I wanted to marry the love of my life a week from Saturday, and to leave for Europe, all blissfully unaware of the murderer’s identity.
“Yes, I met Michelle. She is a beautiful young woman,” Lucas replied. “She was traveling with her not-so-beautiful husband, and they all had dinner at my restaurant.”
All? “The three of them? Mark, Michelle, and Drew?” Audrey asked, clearly as surprised as I was.
Lucas furrowed his brow and didn’t answer. We sat there in silence.
“Did they bring their daughter, Zoey?” I asked.
“No, it is not a family-style restaurant,” he answered. His gaze shifted from me to Audrey. He patted his plastered down comb-over as if to ensure that his baldness was still in doubt. “My apologies, mademoiselle, but I have had time to rethink our conversation at Parsley and Sage.”
“About possible murder suspects?” Audrey asked, batting her eyes at him.
“Yes, and I don’t think you should continue to ask anyone any questions. I believe you are making a lobster of yourself, just as the chef has brought the water to a boil. N’est pas?”
“You’re worried about my safety?” Audrey asked. “That’s sweet! But you needn’t worry. One of the pleasures of being both petite and above a certain age, which we’ll call forty, is that people consider me harmless, and overlook me.”
“Which people?” I asked. There were few people in this world harder to overlook than Audrey Munroe.
“Nobody would dream of seeing me as a threat,” Audrey told Lucas, raising her voice a little as if to drown out mine.
Lucas touched his mustache, as if to reassure himself that it was still there. “I would think a killer would find even the meekest of witnesses a threat. My worry, mademoiselle, is that Drew would know it came from me, if he was asked about his relations with Michelle. I do not wish to lose my job.”
“I see,” Audrey said.
“Michelle’s past relationships with Mr. Parker and Mr. Benson are not a clue. The police don’t need to know. Yes?”
“I’m sure the police already know,” Audrey said. She turned to me. “Don’t you agree, Erin?”
“Well, I—”
“Steve and his whole family know that Drew and Michelle were once a couple,” Audrey continued. “Michelle’s crush on Fitz Parker was an open secret, as well.”
“You should still not tell,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “I do not want to mislead. It would look like I am perhaps hiding something from the police myself.”
“It’s too late,” Audrey said. “I already told Detective O’Reilly everything you’d said.”
I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows in surprise at Audrey’s fib. She hadn’t said a word to O’Reilly; we’d discarded the idea of speaking to the detective while we were making tonight’s dinner.
“I regret that you did that,” Lucas growled.
I began to worry a little. The line was reminiscent of something from an old movie—or two—uttered right before the bad guy lunges at the innocent female. “You won’t lose your job, Lucas,” I said.
“And what do you know of the matter?” Lucas snapped. “Drew does not respect your opinion. You are just an obstacle in his path.”
I was taken aback and instantly felt hurt. “Between him and Steve, you mean?” I asked.
Lucas nodded. “He does not have to work at keeping Steve…how do you say…in his corner. That makes Steve an invaluable asset. Until now. Now you are filling Steve’s head with such things as the truth that Drew so often does not do the right thing, but rather the easy thing.”
“Wow. You summed that up perfectly,�
�� I muttered.
Lucas dropped his napkin on the table and rose. “No sense in talking on. We agree about what can and cannot be done.”
“Even if Mark were to fire you,” Audrey protested, “you’ll be in steady demand for catering. You’d always be able to make a great living here in Crestview from catering, if that’s what you’d like to do.”
Lucas drained his wineglass in two gulps.
“That is true. It is not the specter of being fired that worries me. I am not merely his chef. I’m a fifty-fifty partner. I am the one who bailed him out in California. If ‘Parsley and Sage, Colorado,’ goes under, so do I.”
Chapter 13
The next morning, Amelia Sullivan called me and asked if I’d take her to the Denver Design Center today. If the request had come from anyone else, I would have declined and suggested a date next month, when Steve and I were back from our honeymoon. Amelia, however, was so emotionally fragile that I didn’t have the heart to decline. My understanding, at least, of her situation was that the medications she took to quiet the voices in her head also slowed her reactions and cratered her word-retrieval skills. The upshot is that she’s and attractive, intelligent woman in her late thirties who appears to be mentally challenged.
The Denver Design Center is like a super elegant, high-end mall for interior designers and decorators that, other than their annual open house, is closed to the general public. I enjoyed Amelia’s company immensely. Her childlike demeanor in the Design Center matched mine perfectly; visiting the DDC always made me feel like a kid in a candy shop.
I’d set a time limit of ninety minutes for us to window shop, which now felt like needing to leave a movie at the halfway point. I mollified myself by exercising an escape clause; I hadn’t stated that we’d leave the premises in ninety minutes. We lingered over cups of coffee at the tables in a hallway with a wonderful view of upholstery fabric in the window of one of my favorite shops.
We’d reached a natural conclusion to our conversation praising the magical ambience of the DDC. I was just on the verge of asking Amelia about her hobbies and career aspirations when she said, “I know how terrible this sounds, but I’m glad Fitz Parker is dead.”
