Terror in Taffeta

by Marla Cooper

  I rolled my eyes. Look who was all serious now. “Oh, you’re up,” I said breezily, handing him his flashlight.

  He hugged me tightly to him. “I was so worried about you.”

  I furrowed my brow, puzzled. “Really? Why? We were only gone just over an hour.” Even Brody looked surprised by Evan’s sudden change of heart.

  Evan walked to the door and slid the dead bolt closed. “You didn’t answer your phone. I thought something had happened.”

  “Something did. We found Father Villarreal. Well, not the real one, of course. We knew where he was.”

  Evan looked exasperated. “But why didn’t you call me back?”

  Hadn’t he heard me? I had really expected a little more reaction to my news. “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you even listen to your messages? Kelsey…”

  “I was kind of busy chasing someone at the time. What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is this.” He walked over to his answering machine and pressed Play, and a man’s muffled voice filled the room: “You need to back off and mind your own business, or you are going to end up like the dead girl.”

  Beeeeeeeeep.

  CHAPTER 23

  If there was one way I definitely didn’t want to end up, it was “like the dead girl.”

  My stomach lurched as I pressed the Play button again. It was a man’s voice, older, from the sound of it. Despite his heavy Mexican accent, his point was all too clear. He knew what we were up to, and he was more than mildly disgruntled.

  But who was he? It couldn’t have been Leo, whatever his real name was. If he were the bloodthirsty type, he wouldn’t have run away from us like a scrawny third grader being chased by the class bully.

  Goose bumps prickled my arms as I thought back on our evening. We’d been out traipsing around the empty streets of San Miguel in the dark. Had the man who left the voice mail been following us?

  “First thing in the morning,” Evan said, “I want you to go to the police.”

  Brody and I exchanged looks. “I’m not exactly in good standing down at the station,” I said sheepishly.

  “I don’t care,” Evan insisted, his voice emphatic. A vein in his temple throbbed as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Talk to someone different if you have to. I’ll give you my friend’s name, and you can ask for him. This is serious.”

  Brody nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Kelsey. This guy could be dangerous.”

  I nodded my consent. Even if Ortiz and Nolasco weren’t interested in hearing my theories about the case, they’d have to take a threat against my life seriously. I mean, wouldn’t they?

  We all headed off to our respective beds, pretending we’d be able to sleep. But sleep was hard to come by. The long, dark shadows in the guest bedroom took on ominous shapes, and every unfamiliar sound put my central nervous system on high alert.

  I rolled over and punched my pillow into shape, trying yet again to get comfortable. This little sleepover was not at all what I’d hoped it would be. Brody was on the foldout, I was in the guest room by myself, and instead of a good-night kiss, I’d been sent off to bed with a death threat.

  How serious was the man who’d left the message? Was he just trying to scare me, or was I actually in danger? My mind buzzed as I replayed the evening in my head again and again.

  * * *

  I must have drifted off eventually, because the shadows had dissipated and bright morning sunlight was streaming into my room.

  In search of caffeine, I stumbled out to the kitchen, where I found Brody working on his laptop. “Morning, cupcake. You missed Evan, but there’s coffee ready for you.”

  I poured myself a cup, then dumped in some cream and sugar. Maybe it was the sunshine, maybe it was just a strong case of denial, but I felt a little better this morning. “I don’t suppose the fact that Evan is gone means I can skip going to the police station?”

  “Nope,” said Brody, closing his laptop and sliding it a few inches away. “I promised him I’d make you go first thing.”

  “All right, all right.” I slurped the lukewarm brew and wrinkled my nose. How long had it been sitting in the pot? I stuck my cup in the microwave and pressed some buttons until it started to go. It still wouldn’t be fresh, but at least it’d be hot. I slumped against the counter. “I just don’t want to have to talk to those detectives again.”

  Brody laughed. “Yeah, especially after you compared them to a bumbling sitcom deputy.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try to avoid that this time.”

  After getting myself properly caffeinated, I threw on some clothes and hurried to the station. I insisted Brody stay and get his work done. I’d disrupted his life enough already, and besides, I didn’t need an escort in broad daylight. That’s not to say I didn’t look suspiciously at every person I passed on the street.

  No one was paying much attention to me, though, and by the time I got to the police station, I was starting to wonder if maybe we were getting ourselves all worked up over nothing. Nonetheless, I pushed through the double doors and approached the uniformed woman who was manning the front desk.

  “Hola. Hi. I need to talk to Officer Castillo,” I said, slipping her the piece of paper on which Evan had scribbled his friend’s name.

  “Porqué?”

  “Habla inglés? I got a death threat. Cómo se dice ‘muerte’ … threat?”

  The desk clerk creased her forehead in disbelief and looked me up and down. “Really? Why?”

  Now, why was it so hard to believe that someone wanted to kill me? “Could you just—?” I pointed at her phone to indicate that now would be a good time to use it.

  She not-so-subtly rolled her eyes and picked up the receiver. “Okay, momento.”

  I settled into a plastic chair as she rattled off some Spanish into the phone, then hung up. “Okay. Wait there. Someone will be with you eventually.”

  “I’ll wait,” I said, scrunching down in the seat to show my resolve.

  After about ten minutes, my phone started ringing from inside my purse. The woman at the desk flashed me an annoyed look as I fished it out of the side pocket and checked the caller ID.

  Tamara Richardson.

  Again.

  She had left me a couple of messages, but I hadn’t had time to call her back. I gestured to the clerk to let her know I’d be right outside, then braced myself with a plastered-on smile I hoped would convey enthusiasm over the phone line.

  “Hey, Tamara, what a coincidence. I was just about to call you.” Okay, so I wasn’t, but I felt bad that I’d been ignoring her.

  “Kelsey. Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you. I was worried you might be dead or something.”

  “I’m so sorry, Tamara. I’m sure Laurel told you, but I’m dealing with … a family emergency.” I glanced in through the doors to make sure no one had come to retrieve me, but the lobby was empty and the clerk was absorbed with some paperwork on her desk. I really should have been waiting inside so they wouldn’t have to hunt me down.

  Tamara sucked in a breath. “I hope everything is okay…”

  Feeling a little bad about my white lie, I waved one hand to dismiss her concern. “Thanks, it is. I just—”

  “… because my wedding is next weekend, and frankly I’m kind of freaking out here.”

  For a split second I’d actually let myself believe she was worried about my well-being, but her only concern was whether I’d be back in time for her wedding. I couldn’t be too offended; I hadn’t exactly been giving the bride-to-be my full attention. But at the moment, I had much bigger problems than her impending nuptials.

  “Tamara, don’t worry: I will be there next Saturday. Meanwhile, Laurel is doing a great job of getting everything ready. And if there’s anything she can’t handle, I’ll make sure it gets done.”

  “Really?” Tamara asked, her voice hopeful.

  I had won her back over. Sometimes you just have to know the right things to say to make it all better, and I p
atted myself on the back for possessing such a skill. “You have my word.”

  “I’m so glad to hear you say that,” she gushed, “because I had the greatest idea. I was watching some really fun wedding videos online, and I want to do a flash mob!”

  “That’s … great,” I lied. The last thing I wanted to do was plan a flash mob. Well, the last thing I wanted to do was be stuck in Mexico investigating a murder with someone leaving me threatening messages, but planning a flash mob was second on the list.

  Did Tamara really not get that an emergency usually indicates something bad is happening? I fake-smiled again to cover my irritation. “Who’s going to choreograph it?”

  “That’s why I called you! I want you to do it!” Tamara sounded as giddy with excitement over the news she’d just delivered as if she’d asked me to be her maid of honor.

  Not this, not now. I really didn’t have time to think about a dance number, what with my impending death and all.

  “Tamara, I’m not a choreographer; I’m just a wedding planner.”

  I’d been repeating variations on that phrase a lot lately. I’m not a detective; I’m just a wedding planner. I don’t want to get married; I’m just a wedding planner.

  “But you said you’d help!” She sounded incredulous about my lack of excitement.

  “I will—I want your day to be perfect—but you don’t know what you’re asking. You only have a week. These things take time, planning, practice.”

  “Well, I’m asking you to make the time. You said I was your priority.”

  Had I? I always want my clients to feel special—they don’t call it “your special day” for nothing—but right now my priority was talking to a police officer.

  “Tamara, look, I’m sorry, but you’re not my only client. And unfortunately, I have way worse problems than some misguided conga line!”

  As soon as the words were out, I let out a little gasp. I shouldn’t have gone there. But I had.

  What was I thinking? I couldn’t go around yelling at my clients, no matter how stressed out I was. Biting your tongue is an essential skill for a wedding planner, and apparently I needed a refresher course.

  I opened my mouth to apologize, but it was too late.

  “Well, I’m sorry to be such an inconvenience!” Tamara yelled into the phone. “You know, in case you hadn’t realized, my wedding is kind of important.”

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to stave off the headache that was barreling down on me. I felt terrible. She was totally right. “Tamara, look, calm down. I didn’t—”

  “Calm down? Calm down? You don’t even care, do you? It’s my special day—MINE!—and you’re ruining everything!” I had to pull the phone away from my ear to keep her from splitting my eardrum.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. She was right. When it came down to it, I didn’t give a rat’s ass about her stupid flash mob. A girl was dead, and all Tamara could think about was herself. Not that she could have known, but I had way bigger issues to deal with. Life-and-death issues, as a matter of fact. “You know, Tamara, it’s not all about you.”

  “Excuse me? What did you just say? My wedding isn’t all about me?”

  Okay, so it was a low blow. That’s the one thing you should never tell a bride; it’s pretty much all about them.

  “I don’t mean your wedding isn’t all about you. It totally is. I just mean that not everything in the world is about you.”

  My clarification didn’t help much.

  “I hope you’ll be very happy with your other clients, and I hope they’re paying you a lot of money, because you’re fired!”

  “Tamara, look— hello? Hello?” Dang it. She’d hung up on me. I tossed my phone back into my purse and buried my face in my hands.

  I’d just lost a client.

  I should have been distraught, I should have called her back, but I just felt numb. I didn’t have time to deal with happy, fluffy wedding plans, not with everything that was happening here.

  One of the doors swung open and a heavyset man in a black uniform motioned for me. “Señorita?”

  I nodded.

  He looked a little gruff, but he greeted me with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m Officer Castillo. Come on inside.”

  I followed him to an interview room and filled him in on the events of the night before as he jotted furiously in his notebook, furrowing his brow in concern. I told him about Dana’s murder, our search for the priest, our conversation with Leo—all the way through coming home and finding the message on Evan’s machine.

  “That sounds serious. I’m going to need you to fill out a report,” he said, standing up from his chair. “Wait here.”

  I sat quietly, swinging my legs back and forth. I didn’t know what kind of muscle he could wield, but at least he was showing the proper concern. While I waited for him to return, I texted Laurel:

  Veruca just fired us. Correction: just fired me.

  She texted back:

  I know. I’m on the phone getting an earful from her right now.

  Damn. Poor Laurel.

  After a couple more minutes, the door swung open again, but instead of the nice officer I’d been talking to, Officer Ortiz stepped into the room, clutching the file the other man had started.

  Uh-oh.

  “Officer Castillo tells me you’ve been busy,” he said, settling himself onto the edge of the table, his mouth a grim line. “After our conversation yesterday, I hoped you’d start minding your own business. Going behind my back and talking to another officer isn’t going to help anything.”

  “But this isn’t about that!” I said, jumping from my seat. “Someone threatened my life. Did he mention that?” I couldn’t believe Castillo had ratted me out.

  “And why do you suppose someone would want to threaten you?” he asked calmly, as if talking to a small child.

  I don’t take well to being patronized, and I could hear my voice go up an octave. “Because they didn’t want me to—oh, I see what you’re doing there.” If I had minded my own business like he’d told me to, this never would have happened. Talk about blaming the victim.

  Maybe I could try a different tack. “Look, I know you think Zoe is guilty, but if she were, why would someone be after me? Don’t you think that means I’m onto something?”

  “Then that’s all the more reason for you not to be involved,” he said with an air of finality. “You let us do our job, and you won’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Yeah, nothing except the wrong person being convicted,” I huffed, plopping down in my chair and crossing my arms in front of me. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this man. “May I please speak to Officer Castillo again? I would like to finish filling out my report.”

  Officer Ortiz stood and put both hands on the table, leaning down to look me in the eye. “A report isn’t going to help you if you don’t back off. You’re pissing off the wrong people, and you need to mind your own business, you got it?”

  “But—”

  “I mean it.” He slid the folder across the table to me. “You can file a report, but if someone really wants to hurt you, this piece of paper won’t protect you.” He turned to leave. “You want to know what you can do if you want to stay safe?”

  I nodded. Of course I did.

  “Go home.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “How did it go?” Brody asked as soon as I walked through the door.

  I went to the hall closet, where I had stashed my empty suitcase less than twenty-four hours earlier, and pulled it out with a yank. “Does this answer your question?” I asked, holding it up for him to see.

  “Whoa. Okay,” Brody said, scrunching his face in concern. “What happened?”

  “Brody, the police can’t help me. I filed a report, but their advice was to butt out. And I think they might be right.”

  Brody let out a low whistle and followed me as I dragged my suitcase into my room, tossed it onto the bed, and unzipped the zipper. Whatever my job description did or did
not include—and it had been stretched to its limits over the course of the past week—I was done with the whole mess. If the police couldn’t help me, I had no business being here. It was time for me to hang up my badge.

  I opened the dresser drawer and started scooping up my clothes, dumping them unceremoniously into my bag. “If I keep pursuing this, I might be putting us both in danger.”

  Brody nodded pensively. “I hate to say it, but that message did leave me kind of shaken.”

  I went to the closet to retrieve the clothes that were hanging there. “Even if you take that out of the equation, I still have no idea what I’m doing. This whole thing is a disaster. I told Zoe I’d help her, but I’m not helping at all. I’m just antagonizing the police. They’re sure Zoe did it, and they won’t even listen to me anymore.”

  I slapped the empty hangers back onto the rod with such vigor that they continued swinging back and forth while I scooped my shoes up off the closet floor. “Mrs. Abernathy is going to be mad at me, but she’s just going to have to be mad. Oh, and did I tell you? I lost a client today! I’m supposed to be working on her wedding, which is next weekend, but instead I’ve been neglecting her while I play private investigator. She called me today, and I lost it. She fired me, and frankly, I don’t blame her one bit.”

  “Wow, yeah, that sucks pretty bad. This thing has really taken over your life.”

  I knelt down and checked under the bed for shoes, then sat up again and looked at my friend. He’d been so patient, and I was exceedingly grateful that he’d stuck by me these last few days. “Yours, too,” I acknowledged. “I know you have a life you have to get back to.”

  “What? And miss out on all this?” Brody laughed.

  “So, anyway,” I said, ducking my head to the floor to check under the bed again, “I say we get out of here.”

  Brody nodded, but I noticed he was chewing on his lip thoughtfully. He didn’t seem as enthusiastic about my suggestion as I’d thought he’d be. “What?” I said. “Spill it.”