Dying on the Vine

by Marla Cooper

  As we paused in the foyer—itself large enough to house a family of four—Brody let out a low whistle. “Nice place.”

  “I’ll say.” I took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the opulent setting. “What do you think something like this would go for?”

  “More than either of us have,” Brody said.

  “Maybe if we all chipped in?” Laurel said. “I could sell my Prius. It’s worth at least eight thousand dollars.”

  “Nice,” Brody said. “I bet that would at least cover one of these light fixtures, maybe even a doorknob.”

  “C’mon,” Laurel said, leading the way toward the back of the house. “I bet it’s got a great view.”

  The sounds of piano music mingled with forks clinking against expensive china got louder as we approached, and as the hallway spilled out into the parlor, we were greeted with floor-to-ceiling windows with a view that extended all the way from Coit Tower to the Golden Gate Bridge.

  There was a flurry of greetings as I saw several faces I recognized. Like the funeral, it was a veritable Who’s Who of the wedding community.

  “Kelsey, comment ça va?” said Thierry Beland, the makeup artist I assumed had given Babs her final powder.

  “I thought I might see you here,” I said.

  “It’s been way too long, darling,” he said, kissing each cheek.

  “Babs looked fabulous,” I said. “Were you behind that?”

  He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve begged her to let me do a makeover on her for years, and I finally got my chance. I’m just destroyed that this is what it took to get my way.”

  “Well, she looked amazing,” I said, squeezing his arm.

  “It was my honor,” he replied. He took me by the shoulders and held me at arm’s length. “Speaking of makeovers, I would love to get my hands on those cheekbones of yours. Have you ever considered contouring?”

  I blushed a little and touched my face. “I didn’t have time to do my full makeup routine this morning.”

  He smiled slyly. “Don’t be silly. You always look marvelous. Not that I couldn’t work wonders on you, but if everyone could do what I do, I’d be out of a job.”

  Right after we made a pact to have lunch one of these days—I knew it probably wouldn’t happen with our busy schedules, but it was nice to pretend it was a possibility—I spotted Margot sipping a martini and made my way over to say hello.

  “Margot, thank you so much for having us. Your house is gorgeous.”

  “Thank you,” she said, slurring ever so slightly. This clearly wasn’t her first trip to the bar. “And thank you for coming.”

  “The service was lovely. Exactly what Babs would have wanted.”

  “You’ve got that right,” she said, sloshing a bit of her drink as she waved her glass in a gesture of agreement. “Let’s just say I had some help.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” I said. “We wedding planners can be control freaks.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she said. “If only Babs had been as good at managing her own life as she was at micromanaging other people’s. I can’t remember the last time I ordered my own wine without Babs ‘suggesting’ a better vintage. Or a better vineyard. Or that maybe I shouldn’t be drinking at all.”

  I was surprised by Margot’s blunt assessment, and she must have been, too, because she quickly switched topics to something about the caterers. I didn’t catch most of it, though, because right at that moment Stefan walked in the door, his eyes narrowing to tiny slits when he saw me talking to the hostess.

  What was his problem with me, anyway? Surely this wasn’t just about one measly little wedding contract. I mean, I didn’t ask Haley and Christopher to sign on as my clients. They’d sought me out. Still, I didn’t want there to be a scene in the middle of Babs’ meticulously planned reception.

  “Say, Margot, I’m so sorry, but can you point me to the ladies’ room?”

  “Of course. Down that hall, third door on the left.”

  “Thanks so much.” I reiterated my condolences and retreated toward the back of the house. I couldn’t make Stefan like me, but at least I could avoid him for the next little bit, and with any luck, it would be a long, long time before I bumped into him again.

  That was the plan, anyway.

  CHAPTER 7

  Having removed myself from Stefan’s general vicinity, I set off to look for Brody and Laurel. Where had they gotten off to, anyway? I decided to check the bar, and okay, yes, it was partly so I could grab a drink, but I was thirsty, and besides, if Stefan decided to throw a cocktail in my face, I didn’t want to find myself unarmed.

  In addition to an excellent wine selection, the bartenders were serving signature cocktails created just for the occasion. I ordered a Babs Bellini in her honor, then scanned the room for my friends.

  “Kelsey!” said a voice from over my shoulder.

  I turned around to find Danielle Turpin, a fellow wedding planner I knew from around town. She specialized in local weddings, and over the years she’d graciously thrown a couple of out-of-town referrals my way.

  “Hi, Danielle,” I said as she leaned in for a hug. “Good to see you.”

  “You too,” she said, “although I wish it were under different circumstances.”

  “I know.” I shook my head. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “I just saw her last week, and she looked healthy as a horse.” Danielle leaned in, her voice dropping an octave. “I heard the police suspect foul play.”

  Although I had suspected foul play myself, Danielle was known as a world-class gossip. Maybe she could fill in some pieces of the puzzle for me. “You mean murder?” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Why would they think that?”

  “I heard they found her on the floor of her office.”

  They. Should I just fess up that it was me? Danielle would probably find out anyway. Then again, if I did tell her, she’d just pepper me with questions.

  Instead of answering, I continued my tack of turning the questions back on her. “Who do they think could have done it?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense. She was beloved by most of the wedding community.” She glanced around the room. “I heard Stefan is a suspect.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised. Despite my firsthand knowledge of his personality deficiencies, I couldn’t imagine him wanting Babs dead. He seemed much too ambitious for that. “That seems like it would be kind of shortsighted of him. She was kind of the goose that laid the golden egg.”

  “True, but I’m sure she must have been one tough goose to work for.” Danielle looked around the room, munching thoughtfully on a carrot stick. “I hope it’s not true. I’d hate to think someone we know could have had something to do with it.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, glancing around at the sea of faces.

  “I feel so bad for her sister,” Danielle said.

  “Oh, I know,” I said. “I’m sure it must have been such a shock.”

  “And being questioned in your own sister’s death”—she shook her head—“I can’t even imagine.”

  “Wait, what?” This was definitely a tantalizing tidbit.

  “Well, I heard from a friend of mine whose husband is with the San Francisco Police Department that they—” She stopped herself and waved her hand, as if to make her sentence fragment vanish from where it hung in the air between us. “Well, I probably shouldn’t spread rumors.”

  I couldn’t believe she was going to make me drag it out of her when it seemed fairly obvious that she was dying to dish.

  I glanced furtively over at Margot, who was leaning against the grand piano, belting out “Those Were the Days.” Surely Babs hadn’t left a tipsy serenade as one of her final requests. On the plus side, though, there was no way Margot was going to overhear us talking.

  “C’mon,” I said, “you’ve gotta tell me what you heard.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Danielle said, shoveling quinoa salad int
o her mouth.

  “They think Margot might have had something to do with it?” I whispered.

  Danielle swallowed, then jerked her head toward a far corner of the room, away from the crowds. I followed her, scanning the room to see if anyone had noticed us talking.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Danielle said, once we were out of earshot of the other guests. “So don’t repeat this, because I don’t even think she’s really a suspect. It’s just that she sort of had a motive.”

  “Motive? To kill her own sister? But why?”

  “Look around you,” she said.

  I surveyed the dining room. Stained-glass windows. Enormous oak table. Antique chandelier. But no motives for murder that I could see. “I’m not sure I understand. Something in this room?”

  “No, look around you. All around. As in, this whole house.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, puzzled. “So what?” For someone who loved to gossip, Danielle was certainly making me work for it.

  “This house belonged to their parents, and Margot and Babs inherited it,” she said. “Not just the house, but a couple of other buildings in San Francisco. Babs didn’t have any heirs, so if she died—I mean, since she died—it all goes to the sister.”

  “Whoa,” I said, looking around the room and through the door to the living room with its multimillion-dollar views. “Okay, so Babs’ death is going to make Margot a very rich woman, but surely she wouldn’t murder her own sister? If they owned several buildings together, she’s already pretty stinking rich.”

  “No, you’re totally right,” Danielle said, setting her empty plate on an antique sideboard and dabbing at her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  I hoped it was nothing. Surely Margot wouldn’t be so heartless as to kill her own sister and then still go out and buy an ice sculpture.

  “Anyway,” Danielle said, “forget I said anything. Shall we?” she asked, gesturing in the direction of the party. We reentered the living room, and I made my way over to Brody and Laurel, who were lurking in a corner.

  “There you are!” said Laurel. “We were about to send out a search party.”

  “Yeah, you’re missing all the fun,” said Brody, gesturing across the room to where Margot was sitting in some man’s lap while she sipped her martini.

  “Sammy, can I get some more olives?” Margot shouted to a passing waiter.

  My eyes grew big as she slapped the waiter’s butt for punctuation. “Oh, my. Someone’s going to regret this in the morning.”

  “Not me,” said Brody, snapping a picture with his phone. “I love a good spectacle.”

  “Maybe we should get a keg,” Margot said to some nearby guests. “You know? I mean, life is short.”

  Just past Margot, I could see Stefan in a huddle with Thierry and a couple of wine reps I knew. They were whispering excitedly about something. No doubt gossiping about our hostess’ condition. Okay, so sobriety wasn’t one of her strong suits, I thought. Leave the lady alone. She’s not hurting anyone.

  Stefan looked up and our eyes met, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile. He turned back to the group to say something, then looked back at me, and I realized with horror that I was the topic of conversation.

  “Hey, guys?” I said, nudging Brody and making my “this is important” face at Laurel. “I think we should go get a drink.” I tried sending them both a psychic message as I cut my eyes in Stefan’s direction, but they didn’t notice the angry little man.

  “But I already have a drink,” Laurel said.

  “I know, but you know how you hate conflict?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, there’s about to be one,” I said, jerking my chin toward Stefan, who was now officially walking toward us.

  “And me without my Mace,” Brody said.

  “C’mon, Kelsey,” said Laurel, “he’s not going to make a scene here.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” said Brody, setting down his champagne glass. “He looks pissy.”

  “Yeah, let’s just go,” I said as I turned toward the front door. I wasn’t in the mood, and I certainly didn’t want to have it out with him here, in front of the entire wedding-planning community.

  “Oh, sure,” Stefan yelled after us. “Just run away.”

  Too late.

  “Stefan,” I said, pretending I was just noticing him. “We were just leaving.”

  “You know, Babs trusted you,” he spat.

  “Excuse me?” I didn’t know where he was going with this, but things were about to turn ugly.

  “I told her that you were out to steal her clients, but she vouched for you—and look where it got her.”

  I edged toward the door, ready to make a break for it.

  “Don’t you try to leave when I’m talking to you!” he bellowed.

  “We have to go,” I said. “Weddings to plan. You know how it is.”

  “Oh, I know exactly how it is,” he said, his tone downright venomous.

  I glanced anxiously around the room. People were starting to notice the hubbub, and I saw Danielle actually shushing the person she’d been talking to so she wouldn’t miss a word. Great. “Maybe we could talk outside.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Stefan sneered.

  “Yes?” I said, confused as to why that was even a question.

  “Stefan,” Brody cut in, placing himself between me and Stefan while Laurel cowered a few feet away. “If you have some sort of issue, maybe we could go discuss it privately.”

  “Look at you, defending her. How sweet.”

  “Look, Stefan—” Brody said.

  “Don’t you ‘look’ me,” replied Stefan. He whirled to face me again, jabbing a finger in my face. “Babs always defended you, too, and how did you repay her? By stabbing her in the back!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I didn’t stab anyone in the back.”

  “You’ve always been jealous of Babs, and now she’s gone.” He crossed his arms in front of him. “This all seems to have worked out exactly how you wanted it.”

  What? I counted to ten while I fumed silently. “I did not want this,” I said. “How can you even say such a thing?”

  “Did you hand out plenty of business cards at the funeral?” Stefan asked, his voice mocking. “Should I just go ahead and hand over my client list?”

  I could feel my exasperation coming to a head. This was absurd. “Don’t you mean Babs’ client list?”

  Stefan’s expression turned dark with rage, and he got right up in my face. “You know what I think?” His eyes locked on mine as his voice grew slow and deliberate. “I think it was no coincidence that you were the one who found Babs’ body.”

  Several people around us gasped, me included. “Is that true?” said Danielle, who hadn’t missed a word. “You were there that night?”

  “Oh, it’s true,” said Stefan. “And I’m starting to wonder if maybe she knows more than she’s telling.”

  My face flushed in a mixture of embarrassment and anger. I was acutely aware of the attention our conversation was getting from the rest of the crowd. A couple of people were even holding their cell phones in the air. Were they videotaping us?

  “What happened?” he asked. “Did you want to rub it in her face that you’d stolen our client?”

  “No, that’s not what happened!” I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. “I’ve never stolen a client in my—”

  “Did you get into a fight? Did she threaten to tell everybody?” His voice was getting louder and higher by the second. Soon he would be speaking in a pitch that only dogs could hear.

  “Okay, buddy, you need to bring it down a notch,” Brody said, taking Stefan by the shoulder.

  Stefan yanked away from Brody. “Why? What are you going to do? Shut me up, like she did to Babs?”

  My heart started pounding and I could feel adrenaline flooding my body. I opened my mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Before I could form a thought that didn’t
involve me unleashing a string of expletives, Margot stumbled into the room. She took a gulp from her cocktail and swiped at her chin with her hand. “What’s going on in here? I could hear you all the way down the hall.”

  “I’m sorry if I caused a disruption, Margot.” Stefan paused for dramatic effect as the room grew silent. “But I was just telling everyone how this woman”—and with that he lifted his hand and pointed directly at me—“killed Babs Norton.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Nothing brings a party to a screeching halt like a murder accusation. Well, at least for the person being accused. For everyone else, the drama is like a really juicy party favor, something to take with them when they leave.

  After his big pronouncement, Stefan turned on his heel and stalked into the other room. A moment later, conversation resumed, but mostly at a whisper and punctuated with words like “Babs” and “murder.”

  I closed my eyes and willed myself to be invisible. I took a deep breath and turned to our host. “Margot, I hope you don’t think—”

  “Nonsense,” she slurred as she made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Stefan’s always had a flair for the dramatic.” And with that she wandered off into the other room to refill her glass.

  It was nice of her to let me off the hook, but I couldn’t tell if she meant it or if she just really wanted to get away from me. With any luck, she wouldn’t even remember what had happened.

  Brody squeezed my arm. “You okay?”

  “Not really,” I said, my hand trembling as I set down my glass on a mahogany side table.

  “C’mon,” said Laurel, grabbing my arm. “Let’s say our goodbyes and get out of here.”

  I followed her, noticing the pointed lack of eye contact from the other guests. Surely they hadn’t put any stock in the crazy things Stefan had said?

  I smiled and gave a little wave as I passed Danielle. “Good to see you again.”

  She gave me a tight-lipped smile in return and nodded curtly.

  “Just keep walking,” Brody murmured, pulling me along after him.