“I hope that doesn’t make you too uncomfortable,” I said, pleasantly.
“Pish-tush! Let’s not quibble about niceties. Not when we are beginning anew, Miss Bean. Not when we have a whole delicious relationship to embark upon. Not when you assure me, as indeed you have assured me, haven’t you? That you have no intention of taking our wedding business away from us. So let’s put our heads together, shall we? Let’s think deep thoughts. What if, as you suspect, I had been upset and angry with Vivian? Let’s even say I had a very good reason. Can you guess what that might be?”
“Perhaps you hadn’t been consulted about selling the business?”
“Excellent point. See how well we are doing? So there I am, distraught over the thought of losing a business I had worked for twenty years to build up. A business, I might add, that had been promised to me all these years. Well, if not promised, then implicitly pledged, as anyone would assume after I had traveled such a long and hard journey building the business up. Even if one imagined I had ample reason to work myself up to hate Vivian, which is pure nonsense—I simply worshipped and adored her—but should I have felt thrust out, as surely you must have suspected, as you wisely suspect everyone, would I have it in me to kill her? Well?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good answer. You don’t know me at all. But I know me. I could never do such a thing in a million years. But let’s say you don’t take my word on it. All right, then, let’s look at the question logically. Since you have cleverly worked out a possible motive upon the notion that I covet Vivian Duncan Weddings, why then, dear lady, you can’t believe I would harm the business. I wouldn’t. Had I any motive which involved keeping and preserving and running the business which is Vivian Duncan Weddings, the last place I’d commit a murder would be at one of our own weddings. Don’t you see? It would be exactly like pissing in one’s own Jacuzzi. Simply not done.”
“Excellent point, Mr. Pettibone.”
“Whisper to you, now that we’re friends.”
“Why do people call you Whisper? Your voice is quite booming, really.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Whisper said, playing at being elusive. “A gent must keep an air of mystery. Now, I wonder if you would be good enough to pour me a glass of water. No, no, not that awful stuff they put in that pitcher. It’s from the tap, for the love of God. No, I have a bottle of San Pelegrino here, somewhere. Ah, yes, that’s it.”
I poured out a glass for Whisper and then, in the brief lull as he drank, grabbed the chance to get a word in and ask one of the questions I was really after.
“I’d like to know more about the day Vivian’s car was stolen. Would you mind filling me in a little?”
“I’m sorry? When was that?”
“When her Mercedes was car-jacked.” I sat down and I looked at him. “Don’t tell me that doesn’t ring a bell. Three weeks ago. The day she was supposed to meet Sara Bell and her fiancé at Darius for their tabletop. You called me later that day, remember? You had been worried because you couldn’t reach Vivian.”
I could tell, as I spoke, that it was the first time Whisper Pettibone had heard of the car-jack incident. And he had claimed it was impossible for Vivian to keep a secret from him. Hah. On the other hand, just exactly why would she have kept such a traumatic crime quiet?
“This is most alarming.” Whisper chewed his lower lip. “That is not the story I heard at all. Vivian took the Mercedes to the shop, she told me. Some gizmo gone wrong at the worst possible time, that sort of thing. Certainly, if she had been robbed, I would have known. And she came home late that night, as I remember, driving her own car once more. This is very disturbing. I would suggest a car-jacking never happened, but I believe you would only contradict me.”
“I was there. I saw it. I was almost run down by the car as it tore out of the alley.” I looked at Whisper, shocked he didn’t know what I was talking about. “Didn’t Vivian tell you I found her on the pavement?”
“No.” He looked at me, shaken. “But now you mention it, dear girl—scratch that—woman, I do recall that I found Vivian’s poor pink Chanel wrapped up for the trash. Snagged something tragic! Vivian said it was ruined as she scrambled under a car to fetch a child’s fearful kitty. The snags. The oil. The tiny rip. These she explained away as the inevitable consequences of helping this crying tot.”
“And that sounded like Vivian to you?” I asked.
“Not on your life. No. Sacrifice a two-thousand-dollar Chanel? And this season’s, no less? For a child? I knew it wasn’t the truth, but I figured she was keeping one of her boyfriends somewhere messy. This would have explained her sorry excuse for an excuse. I let it go. It was our way. But now you are telling me Vivian had been attacked weeks before the evening of the wedding?”
This was big. I pulled out my phone and dialed Honnett’s private line. When he didn’t pick up, I left a message.
“Unless…” I could see Whisper Pettibone puzzle it out in his mind. “Unless she was indeed covering for some reprobate boyfriend she was seeing at the time. I hadn’t thought she was into that riffraff scene anymore. Frankly, it has been years since I’ve known her to take on a new friend. But if, indeed, she had found a young man who hung with the wrong sort…well, it’s possible he or one of his sordid little mates stole the Mercedes. If Vivian recognized who took the car, she would never have wanted to report it to the police.”
“Yes. Whoever did this would have counted on her silence. She feared bad publicity. She was the perfect victim. She’d never tell the police.”
Whisper said, “Of course. But, really, I can’t think this is possible. I would have known. She might have kept a brief car disaster from me, but never a love interest.”
“Do you think you could find a picture of her old boyfriend—the waiter you mentioned? And any others. I’m sure she’d have pictures somewhere, and only you could probably find them.”
I thought it over. If Vivian had gotten herself mixed up with an immoral lover, who knows what he might have been capable of? Had she somehow threatened him to keep him in line? After all, she got her car back almost immediately. Had he gone a step further and murdered Vivian? Oh, yes, this was promising. Except for the fact that we had absolutely no evidence “he” even existed.
“Aha! Entertaining a visitor this morning, Mr. Pettibone? Lovely!” A cheery nurse, the size of a cement truck, entered the room, carrying a tray with needles.
I knew my cue and stood up. “I’ll leave this list with you. The messages on your answering machine.”
“No need,” Whisper said, briskly. “I got them this morning. First time I wasn’t drugged up to kingdom come. I’ll take care of the business, now, don’t you fret”
“Fine. If you’re sure. I know Beryl was worried.”
“Beryl? Worried about the business? That is such a laugh, my dear lady, I cannot begin to tell you. Little Beryl worried about mummy’s business. Ho-ho-ho.”
“She’s working on a very big case and she seems like she might snap. I guess mother and daughter had a difficult relationship.”
“Tell me about it,” Whisper said, as the nurse came around to tidy up his table. “It was simply vile. I talked to Vivian about it. Constantly. But what could one do? Viv was simply not maternal. It was regrettable, but there it was.”
“And you don’t think that Beryl…” I let the sentence hang, in view of the bustling nurse.
“My, my, my. You do suspect everyone, don’t you? Who would ever guess that a pretty little thing like you had such a nasty, nasty imagination?”
The nurse was raising one of the needles, checking it in preparation for a stick. I made for the door.
“Miss Bean! Madeline, if I might? Don’t run away. I would hate to think you were offended, now that we’ve become such fast friends. I meant no offense, dear lady. Your nasty imagination is one of your most charming qualities.”
Chapter 18
“All I ever wanted was my own house.” Sara Silver sat on
the floor of the large living room of her grandfather’s house, cross-legged. “Didn’t I?”
“Well, that and a man,” the thin redhead said, giggling.
“Denise!” the tall brunette hissed. “Cut it out.”
Sara was not alone. Three former bridesmaids sat with her offering support in her time of need. Or if they couldn’t actually provide support, they seemed determined to stick by her side, come what may.
“I thought I was getting out of here, anyway.” Sara sighed. “Would you want to live here?”
I looked around. The four walls were paneled in dark mahogany. The wood floors were covered in fine antique oriental carpets. The furniture, in burgundy and brown, was of the heavy, tufted leather variety. Accessories like the brass spittoon and the large alabaster ashtray finished the masculine look. But I almost missed noticing any of it, so overwhelming were the room’s central features.
“Well…” What was the polite thing to say?
“I’m afraid I’d feel the souls of these animals stalking my dreams,” Denise said, clearly not one to give the niceties a second thought.
“They’re hideous!” Sara said, referring to the stuffed heads of Africa’s slain species mounted all around the two-story-high room. A rhino and a hippo, a giraffe and a lion. They stared down in dismay. “I hate them.”
“Why don’t you just leave here and move into the condo?” asked one of her friends, a young lady with Asian features and blond streaks in her dark hair.
“No. That was supposed to be for Brent and me. If I moved in there without him, it would be like I’ve given up.”
“That’s the point, Sara. Give up. The guy disappeared. What kind of freak leaves his wife before their wedding night? It’s abnormal. What could be more jerky than that?” The redhead spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.
I watched Sara. Her hair, black as coal, was tied back, giving her young face a classic look. Her dark brown eyes flashed at Denise and then she stood up.
“Thanks, you guys. It was great of you to come over and cheer me up. But now I’ve got to talk with Madeline.”
“Hey!” one protested.
“What’s that?” asked another.
“I thought we were gonna go get our nails done?” The third, a brunette, scrunched a freckled nose. “I’ve gotta get this little one mended or it’s history.”
“And your nails are shot, Sara. You’ve picked them right off. You’ve got to take care of yourself,” counseled the first.
“If you stay here, you’re just going to get all down on yourself. You’ve called everyone you know seventeen times and you still can’t find Brent. So give up,” demanded the second young lady.
Number two was the alpha-bitch of this group. She stood and straightened her charcoal slacks. “Okay. Here’s the plan. We’ll go to Sara’s room and get ourselves fixed. We’ll be back in fifteen, and then Sara will be done and we can all go do nails. Come on,” she ordered, and the others, chattering away about nail polish, followed her out of the room.
“Sorry about that,” Sara said. “I should probably offer you something to drink.”
“No need. I got your messages and I figured I’d better stop by. It sounded urgent.”
I took out my little notebook, expecting some question or other regarding security deposit money, or thank-you note etiquette, or some other odd or end.
“Oh, Madeline.” Sara instantly went into tears mode. “Remember back when we first met at the flower shop? Remember how Brent looked at me. Tell me you remember how much he loved me then.”
I put down my pencil. “Of course I remember. You were a darling couple, Sara.”
She smiled at me, tears streaming. “I know we were. I know it, goddamn it! We had everything. I had the perfect dress. He had the perfect hair. It was supposed to be the perfect wedding. So how did it all fall apart?”
She was only twenty-two. She hadn’t learned, yet, about the risk of insanely high expectations. But why should she? Her wedding planner had been the best in the business. She virtually guaranteed her brides would have a perfect day. Dangerous word, perfect.
“You mean you really haven’t heard a word from Brent in all this time?”
“Grandfather even called the police. They said Brent wasn’t really missing. We’d have to wait another day or something to make an official report.”
I began to worry that this might be more than a case of a bridegroom with cold feet. After all, a murder had happened right at the wedding reception. Anyone might have accidentally seen something and become the target of a killer. Is that what happened to Brent Bell?
Sara used her hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks and I noticed the large engagement ring, now joined by a wedding band, and recalled that I had been impressed by its deep green stone the first time we’d met at Darius’s shop.
“Do you think something might have happened to Brent?” I asked carefully.
She looked down at her lap and shook her head.
“Are you sure, Sara? What if the same person who hurt Vivian…”
“No.” She said it quietly, but I could tell she was holding something back.
“You know where Brent is, don’t you?”
She looked up at me. “I want you to go see him. Please. Tell him to come home. Tell him I don’t care why he left me. I want him back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I think he moved into our condo—the one we bought in Santa Monica. Grandfather gave us the money as a wedding gift. We were supposed to go on our honeymoon for three weeks and then when we got back, we would have moved in together. It was so romantic. I had just finished furnishing it, you know? Nothing like this disgusting place. I picked light colors, you know? Brent said I should pick out anything I wanted.”
“You think he’s there? Or do you know for sure? Did you go over and confront him?”
“No. I’ve been calling there, dozens of times, leaving messages on our answering machine. I imagined that he might be there, standing in the hall next to the machine, listening, and he would hear my voice and…I don’t know. I figured he was just upset. But he never called me back. And none of his friends have heard from him, not even his brother. So then, pretty soon, I didn’t know what to think. I doubted he was there at all. And I couldn’t just go there. Don’t you see? What if he was there, after all, just hiding from me? I couldn’t face him like that. I couldn’t. And I couldn’t ask my friends to go. They don’t want me to get back together with Brent. They think he’s a terrible loser, and they won’t even let me talk about us fixing it. So last night, when it was really, really late, I decided to call the condo again. And that time, Madeline,” she said, breathlessly, “that time somebody picked up the phone.”
“Brent?”
“I have to think so. He didn’t say anything, but who else could it be? Maybe I woke him up and he just instinctively reached for the phone. But what am I going to do? I can’t go there myself. It would be terrible. What if he hates me? I just can’t face him.”
“Sara, I have to ask this. Could Brent have been involved in Vivian’s death? Is he hiding from the police?”
“No way! How could he? That’s impossible. He was with me every single minute from the instant I walked down the aisle and met him at the altar until the second I left the table to go to the little girl’s room and saw Vivian hanging up there.” She began to tear up again.
“I see. That makes it clearer. Thanks.”
“My life is ruined.”
“I know it must seem awful right now. In fact, it is awful. Really totally crappy. But things change.”
“Yes. I know,” she said with sarcasm and pain. “That’s what Grandfather keeps saying. I’ll get over it. Right.”
That hurt. My great advice. Since when had I gotten so lame that my words of wisdom matched that of a seventy-year-old geezer? I tried again. “I’m sure that isn’t very much comfort to you at the moment, but it’s tru
e. I feel so bad for you, Sara. You don’t deserve any of this. Your wedding was…well, it didn’t go as well as you’d dreamed. And Brent’s behavior is so extremely bizarre…” I let it trail off. I felt so damned useless.
“I wish there was a way to fix it, I really do.” I shook my head, frustrated. “Vivian would have figured out a way to help you. Vivian would never have stood for one of her brides being unhappy.” I had to admire Vivian, once again, and oddly enough, I missed her.
“By the way,” I continued, “your grandfather said he’d known Vivian for a long time. I was curious about that. Did Vivian plan your mother’s wedding?”
“Oh, no!” Sara grew quiet.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling instantly like I’d trespassed upon some taboo topic. “None of my business. I just wondered about Big Jack Gantree’s connection to Vivian.”
“It’s all right. It’s you mentioning my mother like that. I guess it startled me. The thing is, I didn’t really know my mother. She died when I was a little girl.”
“Is that when you moved in here with your grandfather?”
“Oh, no. We always lived here, I think. My father had died before I was even born. He worked for the Museum of Nature, actually. He was a senior natural biologist, I guess. He did an awful lot of field work. And my mother met him in Africa. They married there. Anyway, it’s a long time ago and I don’t really know all that much about their wedding. But you are right about one thing. Grandfather did insist we use Vivian to plan our wedding. When she first came to the house to meet with Brent and me, she told us how she used to dance with Grandfather at some officers’ club. So, wouldn’t that be from World War Two or something? She wasn’t very specific.”
“I see.”
Sara checked her watch, and again I caught a flash from her emerald.
“May I ask about your beautiful ring? I couldn’t help noticing how deep the green is.”
“It’s really too large, I know. Denise says I’m just waiting to get ripped off. And Anita thinks it’s so big it looks fake. Imagine that? But, as a matter of fact, Vivian Duncan helped us find this ring.”
Killer Wedding Page 14
