The photo, from a primitive edition of the Weekly Gazette’s venerable society page, was also old, dating back to 1978, but I could still tell that the building was well-maintained. Then my eyes grew as wide as Ms. Peebles’s big saucers when I studied the image more closely, focusing on a group of smiling young women who posed in front of the chapel.
Bridesmaids—who were wearing the exact same dresses that were hanging in my room.
My gaze darted between the clipping and the gowns hanging on my closet door about twenty times, until I noticed the bride, who stood off to the side, clutching a bouquet to the bodice of her simple empire-waist gown.
Her face was turned away, her solemn gaze trained on something outside the photo’s edge, but even in profile, she looked remarkably familiar, and I read that caption, too.
Bride Desdemona Siminski’s wedding party gathers for photos on the eve of Sylvan Creek’s most anticipated nuptials of the year. Left to right, bridesmaids are . . .
I had no idea what to make of the coincidence, nor the second appearance of the name Siminski in the clips, and I didn’t have time to piece together this new puzzle, because all at once, I heard noises I’d been bracing for ever since I’d brought Ms. Peebles into Plum Cottage:
A series of sharp yowls, followed by a tremendous crash.
Chapter 33
“Thank you so much for watching Ms. Peebles,” I told Fidelia, as I stumbled through my part-time accountant’s door, burdened by a cat carrier and a gown that was draped over my shoulder. Socrates was ahead of me, and when he stopped just inside the apartment, I nearly tripped over him.
I assumed he was taken aback by the strange combination of odors that met my nose, too. The first scent was a blend of roasted beans and chocolate, because Fidelia lived above my favorite coffee shop, Oh, Beans. But those pleasant odors were overlaid by whiffs of the sulfurous fireworks that kids were lighting off all over town in anticipation of Sylvan Creek’s official show, which would start in about an hour.
Having never visited Fidelia before, I set down the carrier and had a look around, noting that she had actually hung the painting she’d created at the Owl & Crescent. Her rendition of the flowers, top hat, gloves and dogs—to which Fidelia had added a small heart, above the dogs’ heads—occupied a place of honor just inside the door.
Beyond that, Fidelia’s home was clean but austere, like she kept a tight rein on not just ledgers, but design. A small table and two chairs took center stage in a modest kitchenette, where two yellow mugs in a sink-side drying rack provided the only pops of color. The living room, painted pale blue, held nothing but a beige sofa, a small television and a low coffee table. And cheap plastic blinds, which covered all the windows, added to the impression that the space was temporary and utilitarian.
“Ms. Peebles was doing okay at the cottage until she jumped onto Tinks’s herb garden,” I explained as Fidelia unburdened me of the dress. “I think they could’ve become friends if she hadn’t crossed that line.”
“Oh, I’m happy to watch her,” Fidelia promised, draping the gown over one of the kitchen chairs. She bent to unlatch the carrier. “Come on out, roomie!”
Ms. Peebles remained in the crate, mewing softly, like she did when she got herself stuck in bad situations.
“She’s used to being trapped in places,” I said, sympathizing with the poor cat, who had recently been zipped into a suitcase. “She probably thinks she can’t leave of her own accord.”
Fidelia straightened and waved at the carrier, dismissing my concerns. “We’ll just give her time. She’s probably unhappy because she’s been through a lot of change, too.” Fidelia frowned in her self-deprecating way. “And I know my apartment isn’t as homey as Plum Cottage. She’s probably disappointed.”
“I doubt that,” I said, even though I suspected that Fidelia’s observation might have been close to the truth. The apartment, which suited Socrates’ austere aesthetic, probably wasn’t too welcoming from a cat’s point of view. I knew from experience that they liked places to hide and climb, and Fidelia’s home offered neither. I wished there was a way to tell Ms. Peebles that the situation was temporary, and she’d at least be safe, but I had no idea how to convey that, except to dig into the pocket of my light jacket, which I’d worn in anticipation of my meeting at the lake, and retrieving some Chicken Chompers homemade treats. I handed the bag to Fidelia. “These will help lure her out, when you’re ready.”
“Thanks so much.” Fidelia accepted the bag. “I’m actually really excited to have her here. I set up a litter box in the bathroom, and Tessie Flinchbaugh is dropping off some bowls and food.” She set the treats on the table, then lifted the dress off the chair, resting her free hand on her chest. She turned to me, practically beaming, to the degree Fidelia Tutweiler ever beamed. “Daphne, this dress is amazing!”
“I thought so, too,” I told her. “Dex Shipley recalled that he had a bunch of them in storage not long after you left Something Borrowed, Something New.”
Color crept up Fidelia’s neck to her ears. “I know you think I like him.” She didn’t exactly deny that, but said, “I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend, though. So it’s stupid for me to even think about him, right? Plus, I’m not like you, who has handsome journalists and detectives falling all over you. Dex is probably just a pipe dream, right?”
She wanted me to confirm that she shouldn’t pursue her crush. Yet she didn’t want that at all. She had a hopeful look in her eyes.
“What makes you think he’s seeing someone?” I asked, watching Ms. Peebles, who had poked her head out of the carrier before quickly retreating. “Has he said something?”
“No.” She bit her lip. “It’s more the way he kept looking at Laci Chalmers the night of Piper and Roger’s dinner.” Fidelia’s shoulders slumped. “And, let’s face it, Laci is beautiful and confident. I would never have the nerve to cut my hair that short!”
Outside, firecrackers popped and crackled, while a bunch of ideas exploded in my head, too.
What if Jonathan was wrong, and Laci and Daisy weren’t conspirators?
What if Laci and Dex had teamed up to kill Abigail?
That made more sense.
They were more forceful personalities. The type of people who didn’t let a wedding planner push them around forever without fighting back.
And I was going to meet one of them at a lonely boat launch ...
“Daphne? Is something wrong?”
I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. “No, everything’s fine.” I looked outside and realized the sun was setting. “I do need to get going.”
“Oh, really?” Fidelia sounded disappointed. “I was hoping you could stay for coffee. It’s easy enough to run downstairs and get whatever we’d like.” She looked at Socrates. “I could find something for you, too. I’ve gotten very close to the baristas there. We do each other favors all the time.”
I got the sense that Fidelia was often lonely—because she frequently said so. She even sounded a little desperate about cozying up to her downstairs neighbors. I wished I could hang out for a while. However, I had promised to meet Laci, and I said, “Thanks so much. But we have an appointment.”
Fidelia furrowed her brow. “So late?”
“I’m meeting Laci Chalmers at the fireworks,” I admitted. I hadn’t planned to share that information, but I could tell that Fidelia thought I was ditching her. And, in retrospect, it was probably wise to let someone know where I was going. There was really no reason to keep my destination a secret. It was just a bad habit I’d gotten into because so many people discouraged my sleuthing. Deciding to make my whereabouts very public, I told Fidelia, “She asked me to meet her at Kremser’s Landing.”
Socrates grumbled. He didn’t want to go. And Fidelia still seemed confused. “Why?”
“She was in a rush when we set the time and place, but she said she’s shooting the fireworks from there, for the Gazette.”
“Well, be careful,” Fidelia suggest
ed, following me to the door. “I think it sounds a little odd. And someone was just murdered. I know I said I felt like we were all part of an Agatha Christie novel that might end with a big reveal at the chapel. But that was in broad daylight. And Laci was at Artful Engagements the night Abigail died!”
“Please don’t worry,” I said with a smile. “I’ve got Socrates by my side.”
The dog in question made another groaning sound.
“There’s a good chance other people will show up at the landing, too,” I added, although I wasn’t sure about that. Still, I reminded Fidelia and Socrates, “Everybody looks for good spots around the lake to watch the display.”
Fidelia cringed. “I’d go with you, but I hate fireworks. They’re so loud!” She looked at the carrier just as Ms. Peebles darted out and ran under the couch. “And I feel like I should stay with Ms. Peebles, who already seems a little nervous.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” I said, looking past her to the living room. Big eyes fairly glowed beneath the couch. “You will probably hear some of the louder booms here.”
“Well, have fun. And text me when you get home safely,” Fidelia urged as Socrates and I headed out into the gathering darkness.
“I will,” I promised, pulling the door shut behind us. “But I’m sure we’ll be fine!”
Right before the latch clicked into place, I heard Ms. Peebles meow, a soft, mournful and strangely haunting farewell that almost made me feel like I might be wrong.
Chapter 34
“Cats in suitcases, cats in carriers, cats under couches and cats at cults ... what am I still missing?” I asked Socrates, who hopped down from the VW, his paws landing silently on a grassy patch at the side of the road that wound around Lake Wallapawakee.
The night was clear and warm, the air tinged with sulfur even at the remote edge of Bear Tooth Forest. Atop a high hill, Elyse Hunter-Black’s home, which most locals still called Flynt Mansion, loomed against a starry sky. And across the lake, people were gathering in a clearing at the edge of the water. I could see sparklers flickering and a fire burning in a pit that was also a popular gathering spot during Sylvan Creek’s annual Tail Waggin’ Winterfest.
Only a few of the most unflappable dogs, like Socrates, braved the fireworks, which were one of the community’s few less-than-pet-friendly activities. Most pooches only attended the Wags ’n Flags picnic in Pettigrew Park and All Paws on Deck.
For once, Socrates, who usually enjoyed the artistry of a well-designed display of explosives, was among those canines who were less than enthusiastic about the loud light show.
I had to admit that I was also getting a bit uneasy, because it didn’t seem like anyone else had come to the landing, except for Laci. Her old Honda was the only other vehicle parked at the top of the path that led to the launch.
“I’m going to let one more person know where we are,” I told Socrates, just as the show started. A whizzing sound drowned out the loud hum of crickets and the sky was showered with glittering gold, followed by a thunderous boom. Pausing for a second to watch, I then pulled my phone from my pocket and texted Gabriel Graham, while big plumes of pink and green burst above us.
At Kremser’s Landing with Laci, keeping her company while she works long hours for you!
I wrote that like I was joking, but in truth, I just wanted him to know that I was with his employee at an isolated location, in case he had suspicions about her. Gabriel also had a strong investigative streak, and I thought he’d alert me, or even come to the lake, if he had the slightest doubts about Laci.
That didn’t seem to be the case. As Socrates and I began to pick our way down the dark path and the sky popped and crackled with festive lights, Gabriel immediately texted back.
She’s a go-getter, no doubt. Stop by Elyse’s later for a drink. Watching show from her patio with crazy Chihuahua.
I was reassured by his lack of concern—and the fact that he was close by, in case his faith in Laci was misplaced. I was also glad that Gabriel and Elyse continued to seem happy with each other after he and I had officially and amicably parted ways at the last Bark the Halls Ball.
“I feel much better now,” I told Socrates, who couldn’t read texts—at least, I didn’t think he could—and who therefore continued to remain on alert. His tail was low and sweeping, and his nose was close to the ground, sniffing and scanning for danger.
Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I carefully picked my way down the dark path with Socrates by my side until we reached the inky water.
“Laci?” I called softly, batting at some mosquitoes. The landing, just a patch of gravel that led right into the lake, wasn’t very big, but I didn’t see her anywhere. “Hello?” I called, my nerves again jangling, just a bit. “Where are you?”
Laci didn’t answer, and I couldn’t help looking up again as the sky erupted in a cacophony of hisses and booms, while no fewer than four chrysanthemum-like fireworks arced and plumed downward.
I continued to follow the impressive pyrotechnics as they sizzled their way into the water, my eyes drawn downward until my gaze rested upon the gently undulating lake—where something nearly as dark as the water was bobbing.
Socrates had spied the object, too, and we both rushed into the lake, where Laci Chalmers floated facedown, her camera strap, minus her camera, pulled tight around her throat.
Chapter 35
“Oh . . . oh, goodness, Daphne, you poor thing!” Elyse Hunter-Black stammered when I reentered the kitchen at her gorgeous mansion, interrupting a quiet conversation she’d been having with my sister.
I hoped Elyse, who looked guilty, for some reason, felt sorry for me because I’d just found a body, and not because my hair was a mess and I didn’t quite fill out the top of the incredibly soft velour track suit she’d loaned me while my wet clothes spun in her dryer.
After dragging Laci Chalmers’s body to shore, I’d first called 911. Then I’d quickly texted Gabriel again to let him know what had happened. I’d done that as a courtesy to an employer. However, of course, he’d responded as a journalist himself and rushed to the scene, where he remained, after convincing Detective Doebler that I should be allowed to drive the short distance to Elyse’s home to change clothes and wait for a debriefing.
I hadn’t wanted to contact Piper, but Elyse had insisted, so my sister and Roger, who had been right across the lake watching the fireworks, too, were waiting for me at the kitchen table, where banquette seating overlooked the water far below.
The kitchen was also crowded with canines. Elyse’s greyhounds, Paris and Milan, stuck close by her side while she moved about, putting muffins on a plate and refilling mugs. And Axis, Artie and Socrates hung out on an antique Persian rug that I always thought was a bold choice for a room where food might get spilled. The dogs seemed happy to be reunited, but all of them, including Artie, were subdued, reading off the collective mood of the humans, which ranged from shaken on my part to upset. That was mainly Piper.
“You are lucky you’re alive,” my sister told me. Her hands were on the table, next to a mug of coffee, and Roger squeezed her restless fingers, trying to restore her usual unshakable calm. “What were you thinking?”
“Easy, there, Piper,” Roger soothed, while I made a shooing motion, telling Axis, Artie and Socrates to go have fun. Socrates seemed reluctant to abandon me, but I kept brushing him along until he followed his friends. “Daphne’s fine,” Roger noted. “Let’s not consider the what-ifs.”
“Which could have been disastrous,” Piper reminded him, her voice steadier. “Forget a wedding.” She shot me a pointed look. “We could’ve been planning your funeral.”
“I took some precautions before going to the landing,” I assured her as the front door opened and slammed shut, the sound muffled by walls that separated the kitchen from the distant foyer. Setting one more steaming mug on the table, Elyse gestured to a chair, and I sat down, too. “I told Fidelia where I was headed, and I texted Gabriel.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, she did due diligence,” Gabriel agreed, joining right in to the conversation without so much as greeting us. He smelled like pine and lake water and mud, although he’d had the good sense to ditch his shoes in the foyer. Pulling his own omnipresent Nikon from around his neck, he kissed Elyse on the cheek before setting the camera on the marble countertop.
Elyse Hunter-Black was almost always composed, but her fair cheeks flushed and her normally impassive eyes twinkled with warmth.
They were definitely having a good influence on each other.
Heading to a massive black Keurig that rivaled the Italian espresso machine at Flour Power, at least in size, Gabriel helped himself to coffee and leaned against a long bank of white cabinets. Taking a sip, he looked over the rim of his mug, watching me with his dark, intelligent eyes. “At least, I assume that your first text was meant to let me know where you were, and who you were with.”
I nodded. “Yes. I was giving myself—and Socrates—a safety net when I realized that no one else had showed up at the landing, like I’d expected.”
“You were also asking, without asking, if I thought you were safe with Laci, who’d disliked Abigail Sinclair, and who’d made no bones about that fact.”
Gabriel was nothing if not shrewd.
“Yes, that’s true, too. I was seeing if you’d warn me off.”
My sister had mixed feelings about Gabriel, and he wasn’t winning any points right then. “Why didn’t you tell Daphne that she was in danger?”
“If I’d believed that, I would’ve told her to leave right away,” Gabriel said. “But I worked with Laci every day, if only for a brief period, and I knew her to be tough. A little reckless, even.”
That was a word I’d used to describe her, too. “How so?”
Gabriel grinned with grudging admiration. “She liked to upset the apple cart. I told her not to print the photo of the monk’s belt implying it was a murder weapon. Laci went around my back and did it anyway.” He shrugged. “The hazards of running a two-person operation, I guess. I had to trust her to take the paper to press when I couldn’t be there.”
Something Borrowed, Something Mewed Page 20
