by Marla Cooper
“I’m going to go upstairs and say hi,” he said in a low voice, waving the gun in the air in a gesture that would have seemed friendly had it not been for the weapon. “I think you know more about those files than you’re letting on. There might even be an extra copy floating around.”
“Kirk, I’m telling you—”
He cocked the gun and pointed it straight at my face. Oops. Okay, I was just going to let him do whatever he felt like he needed to do.
“You make a noise and I’m going to kill your friends. Then I’m going to come back down here and kill you. You got it?”
I nodded mutely. The guy with the gun gets to call the shots.
He walked up the stairs, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans. “Hello!” he called out cordially. “Sorry to startle you, but you said if I needed a place to stay I could come here. I hope that’s okay. I was just doing some laundry.” The door closed behind him, so I couldn’t hear how his arrival was received. Hopefully Mrs. Abernathy wouldn’t say something stupid and make him mad.
I realized with horror that they had no idea he was dangerous. They didn’t even know he’d broken in; for all they knew, he had just sweet-talked someone at the rental company. I had to find some way to get free. I closed my eyes to concentrate, frantically working at the knots. Too bad I didn’t have my wedding emergency kit with me.
I heard a soft meow and opened my eyes. Guapo the cat was staring right into my face. He must have slipped past Kirk when he went upstairs.
“Hi, kitty,” I said quietly, still tugging at the rope with an urgency the cat did not share. He butted my face with the top of his forehead and started purring.
“Good boy! Be like Lassie—go get help!” In response, the tabby started licking my forehead in short, raspy strokes that actually kind of hurt.
“Ewww, that’s not helping,” I said, moving my face away from his, but he was persistent. “Stop that!”
Bored, he walked several feet away and began cleaning himself.
“Thanks a lot, cat.”
I looked around the room to see if there was any means of escape. I could hear the cat playing with something in the corner of the room, and I twisted around to see what it was. My knife!
“Don’t suppose you know how to fetch?” I asked, scooching across the floor toward him without waiting for an answer.
With my back to the knife, I twisted my body into a position for which I have yoga to thank and managed to take hold of the handle. The cat batted playfully at my fingers, happy that I was joining him in his game. “Sorry, kitty, this is mine now.”
It took some maneuvering, but I finally managed to wedge the knife against the rope with my wrists bent backward in an awkward position. A lot of good it did me. I could barely manage to move the blade back and forth; at this rate, it would take forever to get free.
I could hear the sound of muffled voices coming through the door, the tone sounding more urgent than before. What was happening? I resumed my sawing with greater intensity. If Kirk returned before I got free, it would all be over.
Finally, I felt the rope start to give. I had frayed it enough to loosen my wrists. I dropped the knife and began frantically working my hands around until—success!—I managed to get one hand loose. I quickly freed my other hand and then my feet, and I scrambled to stand. The cat followed me up the stairs, whapping playfully at my heels as I went.
I paused at the door. I didn’t have much of a plan. I cracked it open a hair and peeked out. Kirk had the family lined up on the couch where I’d been attempting to nap not all that long ago.
“… so are you sure no one made a copy or anything?” He was chatting amicably with them, trying to learn what he could without the use of the gun.
As I swung the door open a few more inches, I caught Nicole’s eye and held one finger up to my lips. Her eyes grew big, but she didn’t say anything. She nudged Vince and somehow did some secret look at him, then me, then back at him, and he nodded imperceptibly. How did couples do that?
I spotted a heavy ceramic vase on a table a couple feet from the basement door. Maybe I could grab it before Kirk noticed me.
Mrs. Abernathy caught sight of me right at that moment and opened her mouth to speak. “Kelsey—”
“—is supposed to join us a little later for a glass of wine,” Nicole interrupted with surprising force, giving her mother a pointed look. “In fact, Kirk, maybe you could ask her about the files. You know, she planned the most beautiful service. I’m so glad I trusted her, because she always knew exactly what to do.” Mrs. Abernathy looked confused, but Nicole continued with her monologue, providing the distraction I needed.
I darted for the vase, and Kirk spun around at the movement, pulling the gun out of his waistband. Right as he lunged at me, the cat zipped across his path, causing him to look down for a split second.
“Kelsey, what are you doing?!” Mrs. Abernathy cried, jumping from the couch. But it was too late. I swung the heavy vase with all my might, landing a blow squarely on the back of Kirk’s head and sending shards of Mexican pottery flying and the gun skittering across the floor.
Nicole was on it before anyone else. She scrambled across the floor and grabbed the gun, holding it victoriously over her head. “Got it!”
In the meantime, Vince had pounced on Kirk, who was lying on the floor, not quite knocked unconscious but looking pretty woozy. “Yeah, how does it feel having someone smash you over the head?” I yelled at his prone figure, still hopped up on adrenaline.
“Kelsey, what in heaven’s name were you thinking?” Mrs. Abernathy demanded, nostrils flaring.
“Mrs. Abernathy, it was Kirk! Kirk killed Dana. He was in on the blackmail with her and he poisoned her and he had me tied up downstairs.” I was out of breath and not sure if I was making much sense.
Nicole tossed me the gun. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. “I thought it was weird when he was asking all those questions, and then when I saw you on the stairs, I knew something was up.”
Kirk was starting to come to, but Vince shoved him down on the floor while I held the gun on him, hands shaking.
Vince looked up at me. “What do you want me to do with him?”
“Feel free to punch him in the face if you’d like.” I figured the groom probably had a lot of pent-up frustration from spending his honeymoon with his new mother-in-law. “In the meantime, does anyone remember how to dial 911?”
Mrs. Abernathy let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, did you absolutely have to break my vase in the process?”
“Your vase?” I sputtered. “I thought it came with the house.”
She knelt to pick up one of the larger pieces off the floor. “It was a wedding gift for the kids. It’s one of a kind, made by a local artist who’s earning quite a name for himself. It wasn’t technically for sale, so you wouldn’t believe how much it cost me.” She added an eye roll for dramatic flair.
We all stared at her, not sure what to say.
She tossed the jagged shard back onto the floor and sighed. “Well, this is clearly beyond repair. I suppose you can reimburse me.”
CHAPTER 32
Thanks to a roll of duct tape Vince remembered seeing in the hall closet, we were able to subdue Kirk until the police came. It was going to hurt when they removed the tape later. They’d probably end up pulling his arm hair out by the roots. I hoped he’d think of me fondly when that happened.
“Let me go! You can’t prove anything!” Kirk spat, writhing on the floor while we all watched from the couch. “I’ll have you arrested for assault!”
“Oh, please,” Mrs. Abernathy snorted. “Kelsey, will you be a dear and tape his mouth shut?”
“Glad to oblige, Mrs. A.” I applied a piece of the sticky silver tape with a satisfying slap to make sure it stuck. Mrs. Abernathy cocked her head to one side. Had I really just called her Mrs. A? My triumphant mood was making me a little brazen.
Soon enough, a couple of officers arrived to take away our bound s
uspect, followed moments later by Detectives Ortiz and Nolasco.
As Nicole led them into the living room, I greeted the officers enthusiastically. I was genuinely glad to see them, although it was a bit difficult restraining myself from dancing around the room like it was a college football end zone, chanting, “I told you so!” at the top of my lungs.
“Kelsey,” Ortiz said formally, as Nolasco merely nodded to me by way of greeting. I noted the lack of astonished appreciation in their tone. I was going to miss them.
Okay, no, I really wasn’t.
They took our statements separately, starting with Mrs. Abernathy. Although they were in the other room, she managed to raise her voice just enough so we could hear her mention the “very expensive vase”—pronounced vahzzz—that had met its untimely demise.
“Don’t listen to her,” Nicole said, smiling warmly at me. “You were amazing. You may have even saved our lives.”
“I don’t know about that,” I demurred.
“Besides,” Nicole said, “you caught the bad guy! I wish I were as brave as you.” Her look of admiration made me feel proud inside. I am pretty brave, aren’t I?
“Yeah,” Vince agreed, almost in response to my unspoken thought. “You were a total badass.”
Nicole brightened. “And now maybe we can actually go on our honeymoon!” She leaned over and kissed Vince—just a peck at first, but then I swore I could see a little tongue. Ewww. Get a room, people.
* * *
I was waiting outside the jail, catching up on my e-mails and phone messages, when Zoe emerged into the early afternoon sun, flanked by her mom, sister, and new brother-in-law. She wore a flowered dress her mother had bought her in one of the boutiques near the plaza, a definite improvement on the prison uniform she’d been forced to wear, and she broke into a huge smile when she spotted me.
“Kelsey!” she exclaimed, and she rushed over and tackled me in an enthusiastic hug. She pulled back and looked at me, eyes tearing up with emotion. She brushed at the tears and started laughing at the same time. “Nicole told me everything. I don’t know how to thank you!”
“Oh, no need to thank me,” I said modestly. “Just doing my job.”
“Are you kidding me?” she said. “I’m pretty sure your job duties don’t normally include smashing bad guys over the head.”
“Well, I’m glad it all worked out.” I glanced at Nicole sheepishly. “Although I think I owe your sister a vase.”
“Now, don’t you think you’re being a tad overdramatic?” Mrs. Abernathy said. I opened my mouth to protest but saw a hint of a smile creep over her face.
Nicole and Vince laughed as Zoe pulled me in for another hug.
“That’s enough, girls,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “People are starting to stare.”
Zoe snuck in an extra squeeze, then pulled away. “I thought you had a plane to catch?”
“And miss all this?” I beamed. “No way!” I was leaving with a clear conscience, and that was all that mattered.
“Why don’t you fly back with them?” Vince asked, jabbing a thumb in the direction of his new in-laws.
“Yeah!” said Zoe enthusiastically. “Dad’s flying down on the company plane to pick us up.”
“I didn’t want to have to spend one more night in this awful little town,” Mrs. Abernathy said, fluttering her hand dismissively toward San Miguel in general.
“Although you have to admit, Mom—” Nicole was stopped dead by her mom’s stare. Mrs. Abernathy didn’t have to admit anything.
“Anyway,” Nicole continued, “we’re leaving for our honeymoon, like, right now, so it seems a shame to waste all that extra space on the plane.”
Mrs. Abernathy offered a tight-lipped smile. “I suppose there’s room for one more.”
“Great!” said Nicole. “It’s settled then.”
Mrs. Abernathy reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind Nicole’s ear. “Honey, don’t think I don’t want you kids to go have fun. I do. But this has been such an awful ordeal. And if you think about it, it wasn’t even a real wedding. Don’t you want to try again?”
Looking confused, Nicole took Vince’s hand protectively. “What do you mean, try again?”
“We could do a real wedding in Napa, like we had planned. Wouldn’t that be lovely? I could invite all of my friends.”
Laughing, Vince held up his hand to stop her. “Please, no more weddings! Once was enough.”
“Yeah, Mom,” said Nicole, “I think we’re done with weddings. No offense, Kelsey.”
“None taken, believe me!” I was ready to move on with my life, and I was sure they were, too. Not that Mrs. Abernathy would have hired me to plan Nicole’s “real” wedding. Or maybe she would have, just so she’d have another shot at firing me.
We said our good-byes, and I hurried back to Evan’s house to get my things. In a couple of hours, I’d be heading home. On the way, my cell phone buzzed again to let me know I had a voice mail, so I dug it out of my back pocket and pressed it to my ear to listen.
“Hi, Kelsey, this is Jacinda. I got the strangest call this morning from a Mrs. Abernathy?” Oh, dear Lord. What had she said? If she had blown this job for me, I was going to strangle her with my own two hands. Although perhaps I’d wait until we were back home to do it, because I’d quickly grown accustomed to the idea of hitching a ride on their private plane.
Jacinda continued: “I’m not sure how she got my number, but then again, San Miguel is a pretty small town. Anyway, Mrs. Abernathy recommended you very highly. In fact—what was it she said? Oh, yeah. She said I’d be a fool not to hire you.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would never have been written if I hadn’t met Ali Wing, who asked me to help her write a baby-gear guide for Chronicle Books. Or if my editor at Chronicle, Lisa Morris Campbell, hadn’t reached out to me to ghostwrite a second book: a guide to destination weddings. Or if Alison Hotchkiss Rinderknecht of Alison Events hadn’t taught me basically everything I know about destination weddings during the writing of said guide.
Once I started writing, my mystery writing group was a great source of inspiration, laughter, and bagels—and Diana Orgain and Laura-Kate Rurka proved to be awesome partners in crime. Not only did they make brilliant suggestions, they corrected my Spanish and reminded me that sometimes people and places require physical descriptions.
After I finished the book, the fabulous Marina Adair was kind enough to introduce me to her agent, Jill Marsal of Marsal Lyon Literary Agency. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Jill for believing in this book and for getting it into the hands of Anne Brewer at Thomas Dunne Books, who waved her magic wand and made it a reality.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer a shout-out to the NorCal chapter of Sisters in Crime, the SinC Guppies, and my coconspirators at Chicks on the Case: Lisa Q. Mathews, Kellye Garrett, and Ellen Byron, who provided much needed moral support as we juggled book launches, platform building, and writing second books together.
I’d also like to thank Jeff Fowler, who was always there when I needed a plot twist; Eva Guralnick, who dropped everything to proofread my first chapters for submission; and my wonderful husband, Tim Bauer, who read this novel more times than really seems fair and cheered me on the entire time.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MARLA COOPER was astonished when, at the age of eighteen, she realized people could actually get paid to write things. So she switched her major from business to advertising—much to the relief of her accounting professor—and began her career as an advertising copywriter. Since then, she’s written all sorts of things, and it was while ghostwriting a guide to destination weddings that she found inspiration for her first novel, Terror in Taffeta. Originally hailing from Texas, Marla lives in Oakland, California, with her husband and her polydactyl tuxedo cat. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
TERROR IN TAFFETA. Copyright © 2016 by Marla Cooper. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover images: bride by Terri Francis/Shutterstock; skulls by rvvlada/Shutterstock; floral pattern by MarushaBelley/Shutterstock.
