Terror in Taffeta

by Marla Cooper

  “Anything is possible,” Ortiz said. “But we don’t even know who he is.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you could help me find out.” Exasperation was beginning to seep into my voice. “And what about the computer files we gave you?” I asked. “Did you even look at them?”

  “We did,” said Ortiz. “However, we found nothing that would exonerate your friend.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. “Those files clearly prove that Dana was blackmailing Ryan McGuire.”

  “They prove nothing,” Ortiz pronounced with an air of finality.

  I could feel my face starting to flush like it does when I’m flustered. “I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know who did it, but I’m sure it wasn’t Zoe, and I’ve given you two viable suspects.”

  The officers resumed their conversation in Spanish, most of which I couldn’t follow. Ortiz was right: my Spanish did suck. After a moment or two, he turned back to me. “We appreciate your thoughts on the case,” he said, “but we are sure we have the right person.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. “Aren’t you going to even look at the other two suspects?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said. “However, you are free to go. The family, they can go, too, if they would like.”

  I should’ve known they wouldn’t just toss me the keys to Zoe’s cell, along with a medal of commendation for excellence in detective work, but a girl can dream.

  “But what about Zoe?” I asked. “We can’t leave if she can’t leave.”

  Officer Ortiz stood from his desk. “That’s your decision to make.”

  I’d been trying to keep my cool, but their refusal to consider any other suspects was starting to annoy me. Did they really just not want to do their job? Was tracking down the impostor too much to ask? Was hunting down Ryan and questioning him about the blackmail outside of their comfort zone?

  Brody could see the ire building in me and shook his head imperceptibly, hoping I would leave it alone, but it was too late.

  “Look, you two, no disrespect, but you’re as bad at police work as I am at Spanish. There’s an innocent girl sitting in a jail cell, and I won’t stand for it. Now you need to get off your butts and look into these other suspects, because I can guarantee you, you are wrong about this.”

  I could feel my face flushing again, and the two policemen stared at me, wide-eyed.

  No one spoke right away, so I kept talking: “I don’t know why you have this vendetta against Zoe, but you can’t prove she did this. You know why? Because she didn’t. So why don’t you stop acting like Barney Fife and start doing your job—pronto!”

  I was pretty sure they hadn’t caught half of what I’d said, but my tone was unmistakable. I was pissed.

  “Quién es Barney Fife?” Nolasco asked.

  Ortiz glowered at me as he drew himself up to his full height, which beat mine by almost a foot. “We got the autopsy report, and the dead girl was poisoned with the same substance we found in your friend’s bedroom. So if you want to play detective, maybe you could ask your friend about that. In the meantime, we’d appreciate it if you would let us do our job while you go back to whatever it is you do.”

  “Lo siento,” Brody said, grabbing my shoulders. “C’mon, Kelsey, let’s go.”

  Stunned, I allowed Brody to steer me out of the police station. I’d been sure the autopsy report would clear Zoe and that whatever they’d found would turn out to be nothing, but this new development looked bad. Really bad. No matter what theories I had about the other two suspects, they weren’t going to trump possession of the murder weapon.

  When we got outside, I collapsed onto the curb.

  “Brody, what are we going to do?”

  “Let’s not panic,” he said. “It’s not like they have an airtight case against Zoe. There’s got to be a simple explanation.”

  After several minutes spent brainstorming, we couldn’t think of a one.

  “Why don’t we go talk to Zoe?” Brody said. “Maybe she can help us figure this out.”

  We signed the visitors log, then sat and waited what seemed like an eternity for the guards to retrieve her. They finally buzzed me in—only one visitor at a time, so I had to leave Brody behind—and I settled into the cheap molded-plastic chair. Zoe looked pallid and a couple of pounds thinner than when I’d last seen her.

  “Zoe, how are you doing?”

  “How does it look like I’m doing?” she asked, attempting a smile.

  “Not so hot,” I admitted. No sense in sugarcoating it.

  “Mom and I met with the lawyers earlier, and she told me about the funeral,” she said. “Who was that man at the wedding?”

  “I don’t know, but we have to find him. Zoe, do you remember anything at all that would help us figure out who Father Villarreal was?”

  “Not really,” she said. “But I did talk to him quite a bit after the rehearsal on Friday.”

  “You talked to him? About what?” I hadn’t realized he’d stuck around afterward.

  “Oh, you know, the usual. Like premarital-counseling stuff. He asked me a lot of questions, but he didn’t really tell me much about himself.”

  “What kinds of questions was he asking you?”

  “Hmmm, just stuff about the family. Come to think of it, he did seem a little nosy.”

  This was news to me. The day before the wedding was too late to be offering any kind of fatherly guidance. What had he hoped to learn?

  “I’m sorry, Kelsey, I wish I could be more helpful, but I really don’t remember. I was distracted because Mom kept fussing with my dress, and, well, a lot has happened since then.”

  I paused for a minute, unsure how to broach my next topic.

  “Zoe, remember how the detectives said they’d found poison in your room? Well, the autopsy came back positive.”

  Zoe looked genuinely shocked. “For poison? Kelsey, that doesn’t make any sense! What kind of poison was it?”

  “I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me. But we need to figure out what it was and how it got there. Are you sure you didn’t have anything in your room…?”

  “That could kill someone? No! I swear.”

  I could tell by her bewildered expression that she wasn’t bluffing. “Okay, well do me a favor and think about it, okay? The police think they’ve got this thing all figured out, and we have to come up with something or they’re going to stop looking for who did this.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that they already had.

  CHAPTER 21

  Five hours. I had gotten to enjoy five whole hours without Mrs. Abernathy around. I had hoped it would be at least another eighteen before our paths crossed again, but sometimes fate is a cruel bitch.

  “Kelsey?” I heard her voice before I saw her. I was standing outside the police station, having just said good-bye to Zoe, and was checking my voice mail: one from Laurel, two from Tamara Richardson, and none from Jacinda, whom I hadn’t heard from since our day of discovery at Our Lady of Perpetual Tragedy and Inconvenience.

  I had my index finger crammed into my left ear in an effort to hear my messages better, so I didn’t even register it at first, but she persisted.

  “Kelsey? Brody? Hellooooo?”

  I looked up from my phone, while Brody greeted our not-former-enough housemate. “Hello, Mrs. Abernathy. Fancy running into you here.”

  I hung up on voice mail and put on the best smile I could manage through gritted teeth. “Hello, Mrs. Abernathy.”

  “I was about to go visit Zoe, but I’m glad I ran into you.”

  Oh, brother. Why would she want to run into me? Maybe she missed being able to get in a dig or two before lunch.

  “I just got done visiting her,” I said. “Did you get settled in okay?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head to reveal red, watery eyes. Had she been crying?

  “Mrs. Abernathy, what’s wro
ng?” This was serious.

  “I was just curious,” she said sweetly, “what on God’s green earth made you think I would want to shack up with a common house cat?”

  “Excuse me?” I hadn’t seen this one coming.

  “Oh, no,” Brody said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. We were about to be chastised.

  “Did you think it would be amusing to lock me in there with that shedding beast? Did it not occur to you for one moment that I might be allergic?” She took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose to punctuate her point.

  “Allergic? Mrs. Abernathy, I had no idea.”

  “Well, you do now. What are you going to do about it?”

  “I could talk to Marisol, but the cat kind of comes and goes as it pleases.”

  “Well, tell it to stop.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “And another thing.” There was always another thing. “Could you talk to this Marissa person about the furniture? It’s simply hideous.”

  I hadn’t expected her to love it, but I was surprised to hear such scorn. Then again, why should I ever be surprised when it came to Mrs. Abernathy?

  Brody stepped in to help. “Really? I thought it was kind of nice.”

  “Nice?” she snorted. “It looks like it belongs in a brothel.”

  “I can see that,” he said diplomatically, “but a really nice brothel, at least, right?”

  “Ugh.” She shuddered. “I can hardly stand those dark antiques and all that lace. You might as well put a corset on me and call me Miss Kitty.”

  Brody’s gay decorating cred wasn’t getting anywhere with her, and she was looking at me expectantly.

  “I’m sorry you don’t like it, Mrs. Abernathy, but there weren’t really any other options.”

  “And if that isn’t bad enough, what am I supposed to eat?”

  Brody and I exchanged glances. Was this a trick question? “Um, food?”

  “And where am I supposed to get this so-called ‘food’?” She made air quotes to show her disdain for my suggestion. “There’s no chef. Imagine that—no chef! I suppose you want me to just eat out of the tamale cart on the corner.” Her voice was getting louder and louder, and some officers exiting the police station paused to see if this was an impending civil disturbance.

  “How about if I get you a list of local restaurants for you to try?”

  “How about if you find us someplace else to stay?” Her glassy, red-rimmed eyes flashed with anger as she stamped her Ferragamo-clad foot on the pavement.

  I didn’t care if she wanted to throw a hissy fit. I’d just about had it.

  “Mrs. Abernathy, this whole town is booked up because of the festival. I looked and looked to find you the best place to stay. I’m sorry it’s no villa, I’m sorry there’s not a Fernando to take care of you, but life sucks all the way around, doesn’t it!” I could feel my face getting hot as she looked at me with shock.

  I knew I should probably stop right there, but I wasn’t done. Not even close. “Instead of going around stomping your feet, why don’t you try to do something useful? Your daughter’s sitting in there in jail. I should be focusing on her, but instead I’m running around trying to keep you happy.”

  Mrs. Abernathy’s eyes grew wide. She’d underestimated my capacity to have a meltdown, but after talking to the detectives, I was on a roll. “Kelsey, for goodness sake, pull yourself together. I shouldn’t think it would be such a burden for you to—”

  “But don’t you see, Mrs. Abernathy? It is a burden. You’re a burden. I’m trying to do my best to help Zoe, but I’m not your personal servant. So if you want another place so damned bad, go find it yourself!”

  Mrs. Abernathy gasped audibly as I turned and stalked down the cobblestone street. I almost made it to the end of the block, too, but my heel wedged in between two stones, pitching me forward. Arms flailing, I tried to right myself, but I ended up sprawled in the street in a supremely unladylike position. Cobblestones just aren’t meant for that kind of drama.

  Brody rushed after me as I picked myself up and hobbled away. “Boy, two in one day,” he said as he caught up to me. “Wanna tell me what you really think of me while you’re at it?”

  I stopped and whirled around to face him. “Brody—” I was about to tell him off, too, but he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Sorry, I’m a little hopped up.”

  “So I see.” He was smirking, which made me want to clobber him, but he was just an innocent bystander.

  Deep breaths. I leaned against the wall of someone’s house, then slid down to the ground, the warmth of the adobe against my back.

  Brody sat down next to me and squeezed my arm supportively. He was probably afraid to get much closer than that. “You okay?”

  I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. “I totally lost it back there.”

  Brody laughed. “I think you were more than entitled. You’ve been going above and beyond the call of duty for those people, and you know why?”

  I sniffled. “Because I don’t want them to cancel my check?”

  “No, because you wouldn’t settle for anything less,” he said. “We both know you couldn’t stand to leave Zoe sitting in jail for a crime she didn’t commit. I just wish Mrs. Abernathy could see that.”

  “Still,” I sighed. “I shouldn’t have yelled at her.”

  Brody looked at me in surprise. “Are you kidding me? She needed to hear it.”

  “You may be right, but I like to think I’m more professional than that.”

  “You notice she only pushes people around when they let her? I’m glad you stood up for yourself.”

  He had a point. “So you don’t think she’s mad?”

  “Oh, no—I think she’s furious. But she’ll get over it.”

  At least I didn’t have to go home and have dinner with her tonight. That was a plus.

  Brody stood up. “C’mon,” he said, holding out one hand to hoist me up into a standing position. “Let’s go pass out some more flyers.”

  * * *

  We returned to Evan’s house to find steaks sizzling on the grill, smelling heavenly in that way that only charred meat can.

  “I’m back here,” Evan called from the patio, where we found both him and the meat. “How was your day?”

  “You don’t even want to know,” I said, plopping down into one of the chairs.

  “That bad, huh? Hold on, I have just the thing.” He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with three salt-rimmed glasses and a pitcher of margaritas.

  “You remembered!” If he was trying to make me feel at home, he was doing a fine job of it.

  “These are about done,” Evan said, prodding the meat with a two-pronged barbecue fork.

  “Can’t wait. I’m starving,” I said. “By the way, I think I owe you a printer cartridge.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” said Brody. “We printed up some more pictures of the mystery priest and showed them around this afternoon.”

  Evan shrugged as he began transferring the steaks to an oval serving platter with a pair of large tongs. “That’s fine. I hardly use the printer anyway. I got it free with the computer.”

  “Oh, and I also put your home phone number on the flyer,” I added, “in case someone has information but doesn’t want to spring for an international call.”

  “Sure. Mi número de teléfono es su número de teléfono. So, any luck?”

  “Not really,” I sighed as we moved inside to the dining room table. “We got lots of nos and some maybes, and I became all too familiar with the expression ‘Yo no se.’ On the bright side, I’m now fluent in denying all knowledge of any given topic.”

  The table was already set: red plates and cobalt-blue glasses on red, yellow, and blue place mats, a different look from the traditional pottery I’d seen everywhere else in town. I didn’t figure San Miguel had a Crate & Barrel, but then, Evan could fly wherever he wanted when he needed to pi
ck up new housewares. Must be nice to be able to hop in your own plane and go get whatever you require. The freedom to do whatever you want to, go wherever you want to go. I could only imagine.

  The steaks were a perfect medium-rare, and he served them with some decadent blue-cheese mashed potatoes and a peppery arugula salad. It took some of the sting out of losing Fernando, although it sure was going to make it hard for me to go back to the real world, where dinner sometimes meant a box of Triscuits and some tuna salad.

  I wondered how Mrs. Abernathy was faring and whether she’d figured out how to get by without help.

  After dinner, we retired to the living room with the intent to polish off the margaritas.

  Evan turned to face me on the couch. “So this priest you’re looking for—is he even a priest?”

  “I don’t really know,” I said. “All we know is that he performed the wedding ceremony and vanished.”

  “And he said he was Father Villarreal?”

  “Yes,” I said. “My Spanish isn’t perfect, but it’s hard to misunderstand ‘Me llamo.’ Anyway, I have to find out who this guy is and whether he’s even a priest. The family wants some answers—understandably.”

  The margaritas were starting to catch up with me, so I scooched down enough to stretch out on the couch. Evan pulled my feet into his lap and rubbed them gently while we talked. I resisted the urge to let out a little moan.

  “Besides,” Brody added, “I still can’t help but think he’s somehow connected to Dana’s death.”

  “Me, too. But for now, it sure is nice to have a night off.” I gestured at the pitcher. “Now, margarita me!”

  Tomorrow we’d have to resume our search for the impostor priest’s true identity, but at the moment, there was nothing more I could do except sit back, relax, and speculate. We drained the pitcher, and there was vague talk of dessert.

  What a cozy way to wrap up the evening. Being able to relax without any clients around. Yummy food. Fun conversation. I could feel the tension of the past week draining out of my limbs. I didn’t even mind having to make nice with the scratchy kilim pillow. I was as content as I could possibly be.

  “You ready for dessert?” Evan asked. He certainly knew the way to my heart.