by Laura Durham
“The truth comes out.” Richard picked up a couch cushion and brushed the dust off, sending him into a coughing fit.
“Why are there so many cops here?” I asked Reese. “And why an ambulance?”
“Mrs. Butters requested every emergency vehicle in the city.” Reese wasn’t smiling.
Richard sat up from where he’d collapsed on the couch after his coughing fit. “Some people are so dramatic.”
“Just trying to be helpful.” Leatrice lowered her eyes to the floor. “I thought you were in trouble, dear.”
Reese patted Leatrice on the arm. “Who knows what would have been taken if she hadn’t called the police and set off her safety horn.”
Richard lifted the arm he’d draped across his eyes. “Safety horn?”
“Half the neighborhood heard it.” Leatrice beamed at me and produced the small red horn from her coat pocket. “Do you want me to show you how it works?”
Richard jumped up from the couch. “I’d like to see.”
“No,” I snapped. Richard made a face at me and sat back down.
“So what’s the next step, Detective?” Leatrice reluctantly put the horn back in her pocket. “Should I come downtown with you?”
“We appreciate all your help, Mrs. Butters, but we’ve done about all we can do for now.”
Leatrice cleared her throat. “But how are you going to find out who did it?”
“To be honest with you, we might not.”
“What?” Leatrice and I spoke at the same time.
“We dusted for prints, but it appears the doorknobs were wiped clean or the intruder wore gloves.” Reese slid his notebook into his blazer pocket.
“I hope your men are going to be cleaning up their dusting powder.” Richard pulled a monogrammed handkerchief out of his jacket and waved it in front of his mouth. “One thing this apartment doesn’t need is more dust.”
“Or another smart comment,” I said under my breath.
“Well, I’m just being honest, darling,” he mumbled through the white linen.
Reese raised his voice. “I’m afraid without an eyewitness identification, we just don’t have much to go on.”
“You didn’t see them leave?” I asked Leatrice. “I thought you were standing by the front door.”
“They left through the back door and down the fire escape,” Reese answered for Leatrice. “Probably the point of entry, too.”
“I’ve been meaning to get a new lock on that door for a while.” I sighed. “It’s loose.”
“Do you think they’ll come back and try again?” Richard’s eyes darted to the back of the apartment.
“I’m sure these are just petty criminals.” Reese started for the door. “I’d recommend changing your locks to be on the safe side, but otherwise, you don’t have to worry too much about them returning. I’ll bet Mrs. Butters scared them pretty bad.”
Richard followed after the detective. “Are you sure this isn’t connected to Mrs. Pierce’s death?”
Reese shook his head. “Doubtful.”
“So it’s just a coincidence that Annabelle finds a body and gets robbed all in the span of two days?” Richard’s eyebrows popped up so high they almost disappeared under his choppy bangs.
“I’d say so.” Reese stepped into the hall, and the rest of the police officers followed him out. “Feel free to call me if anything else unusual happens though.”
“First a dead body, then a burglary,” Richard said over his shoulder to me, but loud enough so Reese could hear. “I forget what comes next. Swarms of locusts or water into blood?”
Leatrice followed fast on the detective’s heels and tried to talk over Richard. “So nice of you to come down personally, Detective.”
Richard closed the door behind her and started pushing a bookshelf in front of the door.
“What are you doing?” I sat down on the sofa and kicked off my shoes. “The back door is the one they broke into.”
Richard took off his suit jacket and pushed up the powder-pink sleeves of his shirt.
“I’m not protecting us from the burglars,” Richard said and gave me a disdainful look. “I’m saving us from Leatrice.”
Chapter 8
So we’re all secured.” Richard swung the milk crate onto the kitchen counter. “I pushed a table in front of the back door and made a pyramid of those little silver bells on top. If anyone tries to get in tonight, we’ll hear them for sure.”
My mouth fell open in surprise. “You used the silver-plated bells for Saturday’s wedding as a booby trap?”
“Relax. They’re not breakable.” Richard bumped into me as he opened a cabinet. Definitely a kitchen designed for one. “The pyramid is fabulous. I think you should arrange them that way for the wedding.”
“How many did you use?”
“All of them.”
I felt a huge headache coming on. “Are you telling me that at this moment, two hundred bells are stacked up against my back door?”
“You don’t sound grateful, Annabelle.” Richard pawed through the contents of the plastic crate and produced an aluminum tray covered in cling wrap.
I pressed my hands to my cheeks and tried to look sincere. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t mention it, darling.”
Richard missed my sarcasm.
“I wouldn’t have dreamed of letting you stay here by yourself after what happened.” Richard patted my arm. Great, now I felt guilty.
“I told you that I’d be fine.”
“Just because you’re an independent businesswoman doesn’t mean you have to do everything on your own.”
“I know. I’m just used to it.” I squeezed his hand. “Thanks for staying with me.”
Richard batted his eyelashes at me. “I only hope Leatrice doesn’t consider it inappropriate that you’re having a man stay over.”
I groaned. “She’s like a chaperone and a matchmaker all rolled into one.”
“I must admit that I’m enjoying watching her try to set you up with our detective friend.”
“Don’t you dare encourage her.” I wagged a finger in his face.
“Encourage her?” Richard unwrapped the foil tray and tossed the wadded-up plastic wrap in the metal trash can in the corner. “She doesn’t need any encouragement.”
“That’s the problem.” I rubbed my temples.
“This will make you feel better.” Richard began unloading the contents of the disposable tray onto a plate. “I saved some hors d’oeuvres from the party.”
“Good. I’m starving.” I watched Richard arrange a handful of crab puffs and Brie tartlets on a dinner plate and place it in the microwave. “Someone didn’t let me eat anything all night.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Annabelle.” Richard opened my refrigerator. “There’s not a drop to drink in this house, is there?”
“Not unless you want coffee.”
Richard closed the door with his hip. “That would calm my nerves and help me sleep better.”
“I might have some decaf.”
“Never mind. I think I have a bottle of leftover champagne.” Richard emptied the rest of the milk crate and held up a bottle with a white label and heavy gold lettering. He made a face. “It’s warm.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got ice.”
“Normally I’d be horrified.” Richard peeled off the foil and popped the cork into a yellow-striped dish towel. “But desperate times call for desperate measures.”
I pulled two fat mugs down from the cabinet and filled them with ice.
Richard eyed the mugs. “You must be joking. This is champagne, Annabelle, not Ovaltine.”
“Sorry. I don’t have much occasion to use fancy champagne flutes.”
“Pity.” Richard poured the champagne into the mugs and took them into the living room. I followed him with the microwaved plate of hors d’oeuvres, holding it by the edges with paper napkins so I wouldn’t burn my fingers.
“You can put it here.” Richard mot
ioned to a space he’d cleared on the coffee table. He pulled one of the paper napkins from under the plate. “Who are Martha and Matt?”
“One of my couples who got married last year.” I grabbed a cushion from the couch.
“And why do you have their cocktail napkins?” Richard held up a white napkin with shiny silver script.
“I called the clients for months, but they never picked them up.” I shrugged my shoulders. “One day I needed a napkin, so I started using them.”
Richard dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “Remind me not to leave anything behind.”
“Let’s see how good these famous Brie tartlets are when they’re reheated.” I took a bite of one and the crispy sugar topping crackled in my mouth. “Not bad. Kind of like a pungent crème brulee.”
“Be careful.” Richard scowled as I dribbled some of the hot Brie onto the couch.
“It’s okay.” I dismissed his concern and scraped at the small spot of Brie with my finger. “This cotton twill is easy to clean.”
“That’s all well and good, but you’re not the one who has to sleep on it.”
“Richard, I said you can take the bed and I’ll take the couch.” I took a drink of watery champagne to cool my mouth from the hot cheese. “I know how your neck gets if you don’t sleep on a proper mattress.”
Richard nibbled on the edge of a crab puff. “I wouldn’t hear of it. Besides, I should be near the front door in case the burglars come back.”
“They broke in the back door, remember? The door near my bedroom.”
“Which is all the more reason they’d try a different door.” Richard’s eyes disappeared behind his mug as he took a drink. “To surprise us.”
“Very funny,” I gave Richard a saccharine smile and then got serious. “You don’t think they’ll try to break in again, do you?”
“No,” Richard assured me. “I think we’re safe for now.”
I snatched the last crab puff off the plate. “What do you mean, for now? You don’t agree with Detective Reese that it was a random break-in?”
“It seems too coincidental to me.” Richard pulled his legs up onto the couch and folded them Indian style. “How many times have you found a dead body? Once. How many times has your apartment been broken into? Once.”
“Okay, so it’s a bit odd that they both happened within a couple of days. I’ll give you that.”
“And why did the burglar take nothing?”
“I think Leatrice did a pretty thorough job of scaring the burglars off before they were able to get anything.” I finished the last of my champagne and stood up, stacking my mug on top of the empty plate. I continued talking as I headed for the kitchen. “I’m thinking of buying a safety horn myself.”
“Maybe she scared the burglars away, but why did they bother to throw things around? Not that you can tell the difference.”
“Hey! I heard that.” I refilled my mug with champagne and brought the bottle with me to the living room. “So what’s your theory then?”
Richard held out his mug for me to fill. “I think they were after something.”
“If they didn’t want valuables, then what could I have that any thief would want?”
“Good question.” Richard let out a deep breath as he scanned my apartment. “Maybe this particular thief obsessively collects scrap paper and old magazines.”
“Have I told you how hilarious you are?” I arched a brow at Richard.
He blew me a kiss and sat up straight. “If we’re going with the theory that the murder and the break-in are connected, then they had to be searching for something to do with the Pierce wedding.”
“Let me see if the file is gone. I left it on the table earlier today.” I went to the dining table and began sifting through the mess of papers. I held up a purple accordion folder. “Here it is.”
Richard hopped up and craned his neck over my shoulder as I flipped through the papers inside the file. “Is there anything missing?”
“I don’t think so. Except for the guest list that Reese took with him.”
“Maybe that’s what they were after.” Richard began pacing up and down the length of the room. He stopped at my large front window and began fussing with the curtain ties. “Someone could look right in here if you’re not careful.”
“I don’t think they could see much. We’re on the fourth floor, after all.”
“You never know. People are so nosy these days.” Richard pulled the curtains together tightly and then peeked back out through a tiny gap. “Why, I can see right into the house across the street from here.”
“They always keep their curtains open.”
“Do you ever see anything good happen?” Richard pulled his head out of the crack in the curtains and glanced over his shoulder at me.
I shook a finger at him, and he stepped away from the window, mumbling something I couldn’t quite hear. Knowing Richard, I wasn’t sorry I missed the comment.
I tossed the Pierce file on the table and sank back onto the couch. “Maybe we’re going about this all the wrong way. What if Mrs. Pierce’s ghost came back to haunt me and ransacked the place?”
“It would be just like her to be high-maintenance even when she’s dead.”
“Putting the poltergeist idea aside, is the missing guest list our only motive?” I asked. “That wasn’t a big secret, so why go to all the trouble to break into my apartment for it?”
“I don’t know what they were after, but since nothing is missing, I think we can assume that they didn’t find it. And if it has something to do with Mrs. Pierce’s death, you can believe they’ll be back.”
“What are we going to do?” I felt a little light-headed and doubted that the champagne had anything to do with it. Even if we had finished the bottle.
“We’ll just have to figure out who’s behind this little break-in before they can try again.” Richard sounded more confident than I felt.
I swallowed hard and felt my mouth go dry. “If the killer and the burglar are the same person, we have to find them before they kill again.”
Chapter 9
Do you really think Mrs. Pierce’s death and the break-in are connected?” Kate handed me a white paper bag as I got in her car. “Your favorite chocolate croissants from Patisserie Poupon.”
I took a deep breath, inhaling the rich buttery aroma as I felt the warmth of the fresh croissants through the bag. Chocolate for breakfast. I’d have to start my diet the next day.
“Remind me to give you a raise.” I pulled a croissant out of the bag and a shower of buttery flakes fell onto my lap.
“I figure you deserve indulging after what happened last night.” Kate jerked the car into traffic, and I heard the cacophony of car horns that usually accompanied her driving. “Weren’t you frightened to stay at your apartment after someone broke in?”
“With Richard to protect me? Why would I be afraid?” I took a bite of croissant and moaned as I tasted the dark chocolate combined with the flaky pastry.
Kate laughed. “If I were you, I’d want to spend the whole day in bed recovering from the shock.” Kate gave me a sideways glance as she swerved around a van double-parked in the street. “Do you mind if I ask what those marks on the side of your face are?”
I swallowed a mouthful as I pulled down the window visor and examined myself in the tiny mirror. “Oh, great. I’ve got marks from the sisal area rug. I got ready so fast I didn’t even check myself in the mirror.”
“You slept on the floor?”
“Not on purpose.” I flipped the visor back up and took another bite. “We ended up staying awake pretty late and just fell asleep in the living room with all the lights on.”
“The illustrious Richard Gerard sleeping on the floor? Now that’s a sight I’d love to see.”
“Well, you missed your big chance.” I finished the croissant, folded up the empty bag, and tucked it in the glove compartment. “He’s off to the Phillips Collection to see if Mrs. Pierce had any connection the
re, then to the police station to try to clear his name.”
Kate sighed. “I wish we had a reason to stop by the police station and see all those cute cops again.”
“Sorry to deprive you, but we have to pay condolences and see if we turn up any clues.” I wiped a smudge of chocolate from the corner of my mouth.
“After our cake appointment with Meredith Murphy, right?”
I slapped my hand to my forehead. “I almost forgot we had a meeting this morning. Good thing you reminded me.”
“I’m sure Meredith’s mother would have understood if we missed the meeting. She’s so easygoing.” Kate winked at me and we both burst into laughter. Meredith Murphy’s mother had a facial twitch that I attributed to her being as high-strung as a Chihuahua. Kate insisted it must be a result of multiple face-lifts.
We burned a yellow light as we turned onto a residential street behind the Georgetown cemetery. Kate rolled through a stop sign and angled her car into a space on the street. I hopped out of the car and scanned the fronts of the nearly identical row houses until I found the one with the Christmas lights still wrapped around the top of the porch. Our favorite cake baker, Alexandra, had her cake studio in the basement of her fashionable Upper Georgetown house.
“With five minutes to spare,” Kate sounded out of breath as we climbed the stone stairs to the house.
I leaned on the doorbell and brushed the last croissant crumbs off my skirt. “Are the marks on my face gone?”
She glanced at me. “Pretty much.”
The front door opened and Alexandra waved us in. I’d always thought that bakers should be round, jolly people, but Alexandra had changed my preconceived idea. Thin and sophisticated, she spoke with a slight accent that I could place vaguely in Eastern Europe. She never claimed any one country. Just a little bit of everywhere, she said.
Today Alexandra had thrown her long brown hair into a loose bun fastened with chopsticks and wore a body-hugging turquoise dress with matching strappy sandals. Her talent for making clothes look perfect came second only to her ability to create stunning wedding cakes. If she weren’t so nice, I’d hate her.
