by Laura Durham
“Listen.” I rolled my eyes and poured the remaining soda into a glass. I took a big swallow. Completely flat. I made a face and took another drink. “There’s nothing we can do except wait until the police have finished their investigation.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious about who murdered that horror of a woman?”
“It would be nice to know who to thank.”
“Annabelle,” he scolded me. “You have no respect for the dead.”
“Come off it. I’m not going to pretend that I liked the woman. Okay, I’m sorry someone killed her. Not a nice thing to do, but if anyone had it coming . . .”
“I wouldn’t go around saying that since you were the last person to argue with her before she died.”
“Whose side are you on, Richard?” My old-fashioned doorbell rang loudly. I put the glass down on the counter and hurried down the hall to my bedroom.
“Is that your door? Probably the press wanting an interview. I told you this wedding would put you in the spotlight.”
“It’s probably someone trying to sell something.” I grabbed my suit pants from the floor of my room and pulled them on, then threw on the jacket and buttoned it up. No one would ever guess I didn’t have anything on underneath.
“Whoever it is, they really want to talk to you if they climbed four flights of stairs. You’d think they’d have more elevators in an area like Georgetown.”
“That’s why it’s called a walk-up, Richard, and it’s supposed to be charming.” I walked down the hall to the front door.
“Exhausting is what it is.”
“I’ve gotta go. Try not to poison anyone today.” I clicked off the phone as I swung open the door, my mouth falling open a bit when I saw who it was.
“Detective Reese?” I fumbled to put the phone down on the bookshelf next to me. My first-floor neighbor, Leatrice Butters, stood next to him smiling. A tiny woman in her late seventies, she never left her apartment without a heavy dose of bright coral lipstick and her unnaturally dark hair curled up in a Mary Tyler Moore flip. She wore a multicolored striped blouse and matching hand-painted sneakers, which I recognized as one of her gardening outfits.
“I went outside to check on the tulip beds and found this nice young man on his way to see you.” Leatrice took Reese’s hand and squeezed past me into the apartment.
Leatrice noticed the mounds of papers on the dining room table and the books in towering piles on the floor. She shook her head. “She’s a busy career woman. No time for anything but work.”
“Thank you, Leatrice.” I tried to keep my voice pleasant as I closed the door.
“I’ll make us all some coffee while you entertain your guest.” Leatrice ignored my protests and hurried to the kitchen. “Happy to do it, dear. Happy to do it.”
“Nice place.” Reese sat down on my yellow, overstuffed couch. I pulled back the front drapes and light flooded the sparsely furnished room. I moaned inwardly as I noticed the herds of dust bunnies on my hardwood floors.
“Thanks, but it’s a mess.” I straightened a pile of wedding magazines on the coffee table. “As my very helpful neighbor told you, I’ve been swamped with work.”
Detective Reese leaned forward and picked up one of the pink candy hearts that were piled in a bowl next to the magazines. “I thought these were only around at Valentine’s Day.”
“Those are special ones we got with the bride’s and groom’s names printed on them. We had a lot left over that they didn’t want.” I didn’t add that I snacked on them constantly and had seriously considered ordering a private batch when I ran out.
He popped it into his mouth. “Pretty creative. So you plan weddings full time?”
“Full time and then some.” I swept my hair out of my face and let it fall down my back. “Brides are pretty demanding clients.”
“Mrs. Pierce more than most, I take it?”
“You asked me these questions last night, Detective. Why are you questioning me a second time?” I suddenly noticed that my suit was covered in beige lint from the area rug in my bedroom, and I felt my face flush. Fabulous. It looked as though I’d been rolling around on the floor.
“I thought you might be able to help me out.” He smiled as his eyes traveled down my crumpled outfit. I hadn’t remembered that he had dimples, too.
“Sure.” I sat down across from him in the yellow twill chair that matched the couch, trying to brush off some of the lint on my suit without being obvious. Still grinning, he took a notebook out of his blazer pocket.
“We made a list of the guests in the Corcoran last night, but I wondered if you might have an original guest list.”
“I have the list of names and addresses we gave to the calligrapher.” I went over to the dining room table and shuffled through the folders to find it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually eaten at that table. “What are you hoping to find?”
“There’s a name in the victim’s notepad we can’t match up with any of the guests or staff at the reception.”
I located the thick list of names and handed it to Reese. “She didn’t limit her infractions to the wedding.”
“I’m guessing that some of her guests declined the invitation and got themselves written up.” He gave me a quick wink and began studying the list.
“It sounds like you’re catching on to Mrs. Pierce’s style, Detective.”
“Thanks.” He held my gaze for a second before returning to the papers. I hadn’t remembered his eyes having so much green in them. Not that it mattered.
“Coffee’s ready.” Leatrice walked into the room carrying a wicker tray with three mismatched mugs and set it on my glass coffee table. “You don’t have a thing to eat in there, Annabelle.”
“I’m never here to eat,” I said, more to Reese than to her. Why did I feel that I needed to explain myself?
“So how did you two meet?” Leatrice handed us both a mug and perched on the couch. She leaned closer to Reese as he started to take a drink. “I already added some sugar and there isn’t any milk to be found.”
“We met last night when one of my clients died at the wedding.” I watched Leatrice’s face drop. “Detective Reese is in charge of the case.”
“I’m here to get some more information from Ms. Archer.”
“Heavens!” Leatrice put her hand over her mouth and shook her head back and forth. Then her eyes lit up. “A murder case?”
“We’re exploring all the possibilities.” Reese flipped through the guest list, his eyes darting from the paper to Leatrice. “It’s not as exciting as it sounds, ma’am.”
“I read mystery novels all the time.” Leatrice took a sip of her coffee. “I’m always on the lookout for suspicious people. Isn’t that right, Annabelle?”
“Any luck with the name?” I tried to steer the conversation back to Reese’s investigation before Leatrice could launch into a lengthy chat about her methods of neighborhood surveillance.
He shook his head. “Does the name Phillips mean anything to you?”
“Not really.” I picked up a stray rubber band on the coffee table and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. “Aside from the Phillips Collection.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The art gallery?”
“Right. But I don’t think Mrs. Pierce had any connections to it.”
“It’s worth checking out.” He stood up to leave. Leatrice jumped up after him. “You should check out all leads, Detective. You never know what might turn up.”
“Yes, ma’am, you’re absolutely right.” Reese turned to me. “Do you mind if I keep this list? I’ll return it to you once we’re done.”
“No need to return it to me.”
“Thanks, but I may have to return to ask you more questions anyway.” Reese walked toward the door.
“Come back any time.” Leatrice followed him.
“Thanks for the coffee.” He handed his mug to Leatrice, who blushed as she held open the door. She didn’t close it until he’d walked half
way down the stairs.
“Isn’t he charming?” Leatrice headed for the kitchen with Reese’s mug. “And so handsome.”
“Don’t even try, Leatrice.” I warned her. “He’s not my type.”
“I didn’t know you had a type, dear.”
“Well if I did have a type, it wouldn’t be a cop.” I rubbed my clammy palms on the legs of my pantsuit.
“Not fancy enough for you?” Leatrice returned to the living room.
“That’s not it.” I grabbed a handful of sugar hearts and tossed one in my mouth.
“Well, he’s better than those young hotshots you bring around every so often. All those boys care about is their careers.”
“How do you know?” I’d never let her know how right she was. I hadn’t had the best luck with Washington men.
“I told you, I’m very observant. Comes from reading those detective novels.”
The phone’s high-pitched trill made me jump. I grabbed it from the bookshelf.
“Annabelle.” Richard’s voice crackled on the other end. He was on his cell phone.
“Where are you? I can barely hear you.”
“I’m in the closet.”
“What are you talking about?” I pressed the phone closer to my ear.
“I’m hiding in here so no one can hear me,” Richard whispered.
“Who’s going to hear you?”
“You’ve got to help me.” Richard’s voice faded in and out. “It’s a matter of life or death.”
Chapter 4
For your information, a cocktail party for twenty does not constitute a life-or-death situation.” I stood in the kitchen of one of Richard’s clients, breathing hard from running the five blocks from my apartment. Richard barely glanced at me as he placed cookie sheets along the counter.
“It does for a caterer who’s on the brink of extinction. This is the only client who hasn’t fired me, and I’m not about to let her down.”
“So where do I come into all this?” I ran my fingers over the cool marble countertop. “I hope you didn’t make me run all the way here just to have someone to complain to.”
“Why didn’t you drive?” Richard sounded impatient.
“And try to find a new parking space in Georgetown on the weekend? The closest spot would have been more than five blocks away.”
“Did you bring a black skirt and white blouse?”
I nodded and pulled the items out of my red nylon bag—a designer knockoff I’d bought from a street vendor. “I followed your orders precisely, Commander. What’s this about, anyway?”
“As you’re fully aware, I couldn’t hire any staff for tonight. I’m technically supposed to be shut down until this murder business is cleared up.”
“You don’t think I’m going to play cocktail waitress for your illicit party, do you?”
“Fine, you don’t have to be a cocktail waitress.” Richard placed miniature beef Wellingtons on cookie sheets in perfectly spaced rows. “We’ll call you the food-and-beverage distribution engineer.”
“Hilarious.” I took the white apron he handed me and tied it around my waist. “You owe me one.”
“We’ll consider it payback for your client who had me place garden gnomes on the buffets at her wedding.”
“That happened three years ago.” I put my hands on my hips. “I can’t believe you’re still upset about that.”
Richard narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you forgetting that I had to dress the gnomes to match the wedding party?”
“Okay, but after tonight we’re even.”
Richard nodded. “I’ve been doing parties for this client for years. They like to keep things simple, which is lucky for us.”
“So what’s the timing?”
“Since it’s a pre-theater cocktail reception, guests will start arriving at six-thirty, and they’ll all leave by eight to make it to the Kennedy Center.”
“Then we’ve got plenty of time.” I relaxed and hopped up onto a kitchen stool.
“Not quite.” Richard motioned me off the stool with a jerk of his head. “Dr. and Mrs. Henderson like to make surprise inspections of the setup.”
“Henderson... that name sounds familiar. Have you mentioned them to me before?”
“Maybe I did because they live so close to you.”
“I’ve always wondered who lives in this house.” I pushed the swinging door to the dining room open and peeked out. “I can see the front room lit up at night when I walk by. The artwork is gorgeous.”
“They spent a fortune renovating the place.” Richard lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The moldings alone took three months to get right.”
“Is it okay if I take a peek around?” I gave Richard puppy-dog eyes, and he groaned.
“Only if you make it snappy. We’ve got four dozen wild mushroom chopsticks to wrap, fifty Brie tartlets to fill. . .”
I let the kitchen door swing closed before Richard could recite the entire menu. The noise of my heels on the hardwood floors sounded deafening, so I slipped out of my shoes and padded in my bare feet from the dining room into the front parlor. A polished black grand piano covered with framed photographs stood in front of the expansive bay window. Dr. and Mrs. Henderson at a black tie party, Dr. and Mrs. Henderson on a sailboat with a group of friends, Dr. and Mrs. Henderson with a pretty blonde in a graduation cap. I looked at the photo on the boat again, then picked it up and walked back to the kitchen.
“You didn’t tell me that the Hendersons are friends with the Pierces.” I waved the silver frame in front of Richard.
“Dr. Henderson is in the same practice as Dr. Pierce. Isn’t the groom in with them, as well?”
“No, he joined Clara’s ex-husband’s practice right after we were hired, remember?”
Richard nodded. “Now I do. Our MOB wasn’t too thrilled.”
“Were the Hendersons at the wedding?”
“Most definitely. Mrs. Henderson wore that silver backless dress that Kate drooled over all night.”
I put the picture down and rubbed my temples. “This can’t be good.”
“What’s the problem, Annabelle?”
“Catering a party against police orders the day after one of our clients gets killed is one thing, but doing it for a group of witnesses and friends of the victim is another.”
“Relax.” Richard held out a mound of dough and a rolling pin. “Rolling out some dough for the mushroom chopsticks will help you take your mind off things.”
“Nice try. Let me put this picture back before someone misses it.” I tiptoed to the parlor and replaced the frame. Before I could turn around, I heard a series of fast, clicking footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Of course we’re still having the party.” I assumed this low, cultured voice belonged to Mrs. Henderson. “Why on earth would we cancel just because of last night?”
I searched the room to find a place to hide. In a few seconds she’d be standing in front of me, and I’d have to explain why I was wandering around her house barefoot. Not a good first impression. My eyes rested on the billowy blue curtains that pooled on the floor.
Thank God sheers are out this season, I thought as I slipped behind the heavy drapes.
Mrs. Henderson came into the room. I could hear pacing and could smell her floral perfume as she passed my hiding spot. “Yes, it’s the same caterer and no, you have nothing to worry about.”
She must be talking on the phone to one of her guests for tonight’s party. I shifted my weight so I didn’t lean against the window. I could imagine crashing through the glass and landing outside in the bushes.
“Of course I’m sure Richard Gerard didn’t have anything to do with her death.”
I heard some voices outside. I pivoted my body toward the window and realized that everyone who walked by on the sidewalk could see me cowering behind the curtains that covered the bay window. Like most houses in Georgetown, this one sat so close to the sidewalk that people could almost touch it as they p
assed. Please let no one I know see me.
“Because I know who did kill her, that’s why.”
My heart started pounding. I couldn’t believe Mrs. Henderson was talking about the murderer.
“I didn’t see anything, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who wanted her dead,” Mrs. Henderson said in an authoritative voice.
I felt a drop of sweat trickle down my neck as a man outside stopped to stare at me. I pretended to be wiping a spot on the glass and smiled at him. Perfectly natural to be cleaning the windows hunched over behind the curtains.
“I’ve got to go, hon.” Mrs. Henderson’s footsteps sounded as though they were in the foyer now. “Donald is running the water for my pre-party bubble bath.”
I waited until I heard her walk upstairs, then I dashed back to the kitchen, scooping up my shoes as I went.
“Where have you been?” Flour covered Richard’s apron and most of the floor.
I could smell the savory scent of the beef Wellingtons in the oven and heard my stomach growl in response. When had I last eaten?
I waved his question away. “I just overheard your hostess talking about Mrs. Pierce’s murderer.”
“How did you overhear that?”
“I hid behind the living room curtains when she came downstairs,” I mumbled.
Richard opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head.
I held up my hand. “Don’t start with me.”
“Okay, so did Mrs. Henderson say who killed the wicked witch?”
“No.” I took the pile of linen napkins that Richard pushed toward me and started folding them. “She didn’t mention a name.”
“That doesn’t do us much good, Watson.”
“Why do I have to be Watson?” I sat on a stool and swung my bare feet in front of me.
“Elementary, my dear.” Richard gestured to his head. “You could never pull off the hat. I have a much better face for hats.”
“The hat is all you,” I said. “I want to know who Mrs. Henderson meant.”
Richard wagged an oven-mitted finger. “Since it’s only the two of us, there’s no time to solve this crime during the party.”
“I’m not trying to solve anything, but it doesn’t hurt for us to keep our ears open tonight,” I insisted.
