by Marla Cooper
“Well, sorry, but I can’t exactly be a wedding planner without going to some weddings, and I’m not going to change careers simply because it makes you feel uncomfortable.”
He sighed and stared out the window. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I grunted noncommittally. It wasn’t that I didn’t forgive him. I did.
But it didn’t change anything.
He reached over and took my hand, and we sat in awkward silence for a moment. “Can’t we forget that this whole thing ever happened? Believe it or not, I’ve really enjoyed getting to spend time with you again.”
I wanted to say yes. But that was exactly what had gotten me into this predicament: I had conveniently chosen to forget everything that had happened the last time we were together, back in San Francisco, and now the same old problems were popping up all over again.
I sighed. “I think we both know this isn’t going to work out. We should have just left it alone.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and he shook his head instead.
“Besides,” I said, “let’s be realistic. We live in different countries. I mean, what’s the point?”
As a rebuttal, he pulled me toward him and kissed me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still swoon a little at the feel of his lips on mine. He wound his fingers through my hair, and for a moment I forgot where I was—but then I remembered we were in the parking lot of a pawn shop and I pulled away from him, breaking the spell.
“Kelsey, we’re so good together,” he murmured. “Don’t you want to see where this goes?”
“Right now the only place I want this to go is to the airport,” I said impatiently. I checked the passenger mirror for smudged lipstick and wiped at my mouth with my hand.
He looked dejected as he started the car; then his face brightened momentarily.
“Hey, ever wanted to join the mile-high club?”
I turned and looked at him, scrunching up my eyebrows in bewilderment. Was he really hitting on me? I had a list of things to do, but having a midair farewell quickie wasn’t one of them.
“I’m kidding,” he retracted. “I mean, unless you really wanted to…”
Any doubt I’d had about my decision evaporated. “Just drive.”
* * *
It was late afternoon by the time we got back to San Miguel, and I couldn’t wait to tell the newlyweds and Mrs. Abernathy what I’d learned about the security team from LionFish. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure that they’d killed Dana. They’d been sent to protect the company’s interests, and Dana had been in direct conflict with those interests. Even if she’d turned over the data, she still could have blabbed to someone that the company was in trouble. What better way to keep her from talking than to silence her permanently?
The only thing I couldn’t figure out was, how had the real Father Villarreal played into all of this? Whatever had happened, I felt terrible about it. To some degree, Dana had been responsible for her own death, but Father Villarreal had never been anything more than an innocent bystander.
I tried calling Mrs. Abernathy and the newlyweds, but all I got was voice mails, so I decided to swing by the jail to see if I could find them there. At the very least, I could report what I’d learned to Zoe, who no doubt would be thrilled at the news. On the way, I stopped at the coffee stand near the jardín for a midafternoon pick-me-up. Not that I needed the caffeine—I was too excited for that—but I had to have one more café con leche before I left town. Who knew when I might be back this way again?
As if in answer, my cell phone buzzed with an incoming text from Jacinda Rivera, whom I hadn’t seen since that day at the church when she had practically fled after learning that Father Villarreal was dead.
Are you still in town? Have time to meet?
I did a little happy dance in spite of myself. As much as I was ready to spend some quality time apart from San Miguel, I couldn’t bear the thought of missing out on a potential client, especially since I had already hit it off with the bride-to-be. I eagerly texted her back, making plans to meet a little later.
What can I say? I love my job.
I slurped down the rest of the coffee as I made my way back toward the center of town. I pondered stopping by and talking to the two detectives, Ortiz and Nolasco, but I’d had enough of them. Nope, best to leave it in the hands of Mrs. Abernathy. She could tell the lawyers, and they could take it from there. The suspects—or soon-to-be suspects—were surely back in the States by now. I had no idea how that all worked, but luckily I didn’t need to. This job was officially out of my hands.
At the jail, a guard buzzed me in, and I hurried into the visitation room to see Zoe.
“You came back!” she exclaimed. “Does that mean you have good news?”
“I think I might,” I replied, sitting across from her. “So I talked to Ryan.”
She sat a little straighter in her seat and looked at me expectantly. “Yeah?”
“And I think I have a really solid lead on who killed Dana.”
Her eyes welled up at the news and she swiped at them with her right hand, the handcuffs dragging her left hand along, too. “Oh my God, Kelsey, that’s amazing. Who? How? Tell me everything!”
I filled her in on what I’d learned from Ryan, and her smile grew bigger and bigger.
“Have you told Mom yet?” she asked.
“No, I called but they didn’t answer, so I came straight to you.”
She bounced up and down in her chair a little. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell them. Or for you to tell them. I don’t care—I just want this to be over with.”
Poor Zoe. She’d gone from being a maid of honor to a murder suspect in just one day, and I could tell her incarceration had really started to wear on her. Despite the fact that Mrs. Abernathy had bullied me into this job, the reason I’d stuck with it was sitting right in front of me. I was as happy for Zoe’s impending freedom as I was for my own.
“Don’t worry, Zoe,” I said, reaching across the worn wooden table and taking her shackled hands in mine. “We’ll get you out of here in no time.”
CHAPTER 29
I swung by the house on Calle Recreo, but nobody was home yet, so I left a note and headed to Jacinda Rivera’s house. She greeted me at the door in a long, pale green dress embroidered with tiny flowers, her tousle of curls pulled effortlessly into a wedding-worthy ’do.
“Look at you!” I gushed. She was going to make one gorgeous bride. I only hoped I hadn’t scared her off.
“Kelsey, come in.” She swung the door open and beckoned me inside. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner. I was a little freaked out when we found out that priest had died, but I realize I was being silly. It’s not like it was your fault.”
“I understand. I was a little freaked out myself. I’ve never had anything like that happen before. For what it’s worth, we have a good, solid lead on who did it.” It was a relief saying those words, reassuring her that the two deaths weren’t the work of some crazed serial killer who only targeted weddings planned by me.
“Who did what?” Jacinda looked at me with a puzzled expression.
“Killed Father Villarreal? The priest? And Dana, the bridesmaid? I mean, I don’t know exactly what happened, but I feel pretty confident that we’ve found their killer.”
“Their killer? What do you mean?”
I paused, uncertain how to proceed. “I mean, I found out who had a motive to kill Dana—she’d made some pretty powerful enemies—and I don’t know how Father Villarreal got caught up in the whole mess, but I’m sure the police will be able to figure it out.”
She cocked her head to one side as if she was unsure what to say. “So I guess you haven’t heard.”
Now it was my turn to be puzzled. “No, heard what?”
“Nothing happened to Father Villarreal. A friend of mine goes to his church, and apparently he had a heart attack. That’s what I meant when I said I was being silly.”
Oh, man. Now inste
ad of thinking I was dangerous, she probably thought I was nuts. “Oh, no, I hadn’t heard.” Good thing she was interested in my services as a wedding planner and not a detective.
She smiled uncertainly at my reaction. “That’s good, right? I mean, better than having two murders linked to your wedding.”
Jeez. Well, sure, when you put it that way. “Yes! I’m sorry. I’m a little embarrassed. I just assumed—well, anyway, let’s talk about your wedding, shall we?”
“Yes. I guess this got off to kind of a weird start, but I’d still like you to submit a proposal. I mean, this wedding’s not going to plan itself, is it?”
I was glad she saw it that way. I wanted the job and would do whatever I could to prove that I was the right person to plan her wedding. Thank goodness she knew that Father Villarreal’s death hadn’t had anything to do with me. Besides, it made the case against the security team from LionFish even stronger. I hadn’t been able to explain their connection to Father Villarreal or why they’d want to hurt him, and now I wouldn’t have to.
“… and so I just wanted to see what you thought.”
Jacinda was holding out a stack of photos, staring at me expectantly. Had she been talking this whole time? I had to stop letting the Abernathy case interfere with my real job. It was time to focus.
“These are gorgeous,” I began, flipping through some pictures she’d printed off the Internet. Lots of rustic charm but with plenty of crisp, modern elements thrown in. My mind was already buzzing with ideas.
“Have you thought about a color scheme? I can tell from these photos that you’re not afraid of color.”
She pointed to the large painting I’d admired on my first visit. “No, I love color. And I wouldn’t mind if we could incorporate some of my artwork.”
“I think that’s a great idea! That will really make it unique.”
“That’s what I was hoping,” Jacinda said. “I want it to be really personal.”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “That’s my favorite part.”
“Oh! But there is one idea I want to steal.” She turned on her phone and started flipping through the pictures. “Remember how I said I saw them setting up for your bride’s wedding? I absolutely loved what you did with the old fountain in the middle of the courtyard, filling it with flowers like that.” She zoomed in on the center of one of the photos and handed it to me so I could see.
It really had been the perfect centerpiece. Using the fountain had been the florist’s idea—I couldn’t take credit, as much as I’d have liked to—but it was definitely easy enough to replicate. I zoomed out a little to admire the setting.
Wait. Something had caught my eye. I tapped my finger on the screen to zoom in again. There in the background was a man wearing an orange shirt that looked an awful lot like a guayabera. Hadn’t Fernando, the chef at the villa, said that whoever had visited Dana’s room had been wearing an orange guayabera? Fernando had thought it was Vince who’d gone to her room, and later we assumed it was Ryan, but the man in this picture didn’t look like either of them. Could it have been the security guy from LionFish? Was this the evidence I needed to convince the police? Maybe they’d even let Zoe out of jail!
“Jacinda, can I have a copy of this photo for reference?” I asked excitedly.
“Sure. It’s not very good, but I can e-mail it to you. Of course, I’d want different flowers. I mean, I don’t want it to be exactly the same.”
“Of course.” I handed the phone back to her, and she forwarded the photo to me with a satisfying swoosh noise. I could have kissed her, but I didn’t want to let on that this was about anything other than her wedding. “All right, let’s talk about your guest list. How many people are you thinking?”
Although I could hardly sit still, I fought with every cell in my brain to stay focused on her wedding for the rest of the meeting. We talked food, flowers, venue, all of it, and I promised to send her an estimate ASAP.
At last we were done, and Jacinda showed me to the door. “Thanks again for coming, Kelsey. I’ll be on the lookout for your proposal.”
“Thank you, Jacinda. I really appreciate it.” She had no idea how much I really meant it.
As soon as she closed the front door, I scrambled for my phone to retrieve my e-mails. Yep, there it was. I shot off a copy to Ryan with a message asking if he could identify the man in the photo, then texted it to Brody, too. Underneath I wrote, “Orange guayabera man?”
I really wanted to see what Fernando thought, and I was only a few blocks from the villa. I walked straight there in the hopes of catching him and asking if this was the same man. The maid escorted me to the steaming kitchen, and my stomach growled audibly at the smells coming from the stove.
“Kelsey!” Fernando greeted me. “How is it you always know when I am cooking?”
“Hola, Fernando. I didn’t come to eat—although I wouldn’t say no. I mean, come on, who am I kidding?”
“Here, taste this,” he commanded, handing me a forkful of the fragrant pork that was simmering in the skillet in front of him.
“Oh my God, that’s good!” It was so tender and delicious I almost forgot where I was for a second, but I was there for business, not Fernando’s incredible cooking. I swallowed and retrieved my phone from my purse. “And while I can’t deny the lure of your cooking, I actually had a question for you.”
I pulled up the picture from the courtyard and showed it to him. “You said you saw a man in an orange guayabera entering Dana’s room the night before she was murdered. Can you tell me if this was him?”
Fernando studied the picture on my phone. “It’s hard to say because this picture’s so small, but it sure looks like him.” The phone chimed, and he handed the phone back to me. “Here, it looks like you got a message.” A text from Brody was superimposed over the photo:
this looks like kirk?!?!
Kirk? Dana’s fiancé? No, it couldn’t be. I peered more closely at the photo, but the tiny man on my phone’s screen could have been anybody.
“Can you excuse me for a second, Fernando?” He nodded, returning to his cooking, and I stepped into the dining room and called Brody, who didn’t even bother to greet me with a proper hello. “Where did you get this picture?” he asked.
“Jacinda took it. What do you mean, it looks like Kirk?”
“That’s his name, right? Dana’s fiancé?”
“Yeah, but you think it looks like him?” My voice was getting a little shrill.
“Did you see it on your phone, or on a computer?”
“On my phone,” I admitted, trying to remain calm. “My laptop’s still at Evan’s.”
“Well, I’m looking at it up close on my computer monitor, and I’m telling you, it’s Kirk.”
“Hold on.” I held the phone at arm’s length, squinting. It was hard to tell on the tiny screen, but the guy in the picture did bear some resemblance to Dana’s fiancé. “Maybe,” I said, “but that doesn’t make any sense! Kirk didn’t arrive until a couple of days after the wedding.”
“Well, if this is him, that changes everything.”
I told Brody I’d call him back and hung up, my mind racing. Surely this was a coincidence. As I tried to decide what to do next, my phone chimed again. It was Ryan:
Nope, sorry, whoever that is wasn’t with us
I sank back against the doorway for support. What could this mean? If it was Kirk, not only had he been here before Dana had even died, but Fernando had seen him going into Dana’s room while she was still alive.
I was getting ahead of myself. Maybe Dana had kept him on the down low. Mrs. Abernathy would have given Dana hell for having an uninvited guest at the villa. Still, why would he pretend he’d just arrived instead of telling us he’d already been here?
After saying a hasty good-bye to Fernando, I exited through the back. Then I sat on the curb for a few moments, contemplating my next move.
I called the hotel where Kirk had been staying. The front desk girl didn’t speak Engli
sh much better than I spoke Spanish, but she was able to tell me that Kirk had already checked out. At least I thought that’s what she said; she might have been recommending a restaurant. I really needed to brush up on my Spanish.
On a hunch—and not wanting to attempt any more bilingual conversations over the phone—I looked up the address for the morgue and headed straight there.
“Hi, hola, habla inglés?”
“Sí?” the front desk attendant answered.
“I wanted to check on a body. Dana Poole?”
“Momento.” He walked to the back of the room and thumbed through some files on his desk. “Sí. She’s ready to go.”
“You mean she’s still here?” I practically shouted.
“Sí…?” he replied, confused by my reaction. “Aren’t you here to take her?”
I sank down in the metal folding chair near the desk. Kirk hadn’t picked up the body? He’d said he would take care of it. Had there been a change of plans?
I held up one finger as I searched for the directory on my phone. “Momento. I need to check on something.” I dialed Dana’s parents, and her mom picked up after a couple of rings.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Mrs. Poole, hi,” I said. “This is Kelsey. I was wondering if you had heard from Kirk?”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry?” she replied.
“Dana’s fiancé, Kirk? He was supposed to make arrangements for … you know…” I could hear her whispering to someone in the background. Please let this all be a big, fat misunderstanding.
Mrs. Poole came back on the line after a second. “Kirk? I’m confused, Kelsey. We don’t know anyone named Kirk.”
CHAPTER 30
I wish I could say I handled the situation with aplomb and made up a good cover story while I got my wits about me, but I mumbled something approximately like, “Um, he, well, I—I have to go!” At least I didn’t make static noises and say I was about to go through a tunnel.
Who was this guy? We had taken him in without a second thought. We’d fed him dinner. Heck, we’d even comforted him for his loss. And what did I know about him? Even less than I know about Japanese battleships or the mating rituals of warthogs. That is to say, very, very little.
