by Laura Durham
Richard’s jaw dropped. “Run off the road?”
“Not an accident?” Kate’s voice sounded unsteady.
“That SUV wanted me dead. The driver didn’t just bump my car; he rammed it from the back and the side.”
“Who would want to do that to you?” Richard held his fingertips over his bottom lip.
“Someone who thinks I’m getting too close to finding out who killed Mrs. Pierce and Mr. Boyd.”
“But, Annabelle,” Richard glanced at Kate. “They already caught the killer.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” I said.
Kate pulled the curtains the rest of the way around my bed. “You think the murderer is still on the loose and is trying to kill you, too?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think it’s a little coincidental that my apartment gets broken into and I get nearly killed all in the span of a few days?”
“But the police arrested our number-one suspect,” Kate insisted, perching on the edge of the bed.
“Maybe we were wrong.” I looked from Kate to Richard. “Maybe the police are wrong.”
Richard patted my hand. “Maybe we should leave well enough alone.”
“With someone still out there trying to kill me?”
“Why would the murderer want to kill you?” Kate shook her head. “We’ve just been playing a guessing game. It’s not like you have any hard evidence.”
“We might know more than we think. The murderer must be aware that we’ve been hunting around for clues. Maybe they’re scared we’ll find something or maybe we already have.”
“Annabelle, you could be right.” Richard poured himself a glass of water from the plastic pitcher. “We weren’t scared when someone broke into your apartment because we thought they were after something.”
“Exactly, Richard,” I said. “If they didn’t find what they wanted, they must assume I still have it.”
Kate gave me a weak grin. “Instead of trying to get it back again, they’re just trying to get rid of you.”
“I must have something that the killer considers a threat. But what?”
Richard tapped his fingers on the metal bar of the hospital bed. “Heaven knows what could be in that mess in your apartment.”
“So much for the outpouring of sympathy.” I frowned at him.
Richard crumpled up his paper cup. “I think we have two options. We can either take these attempts on Annabelle seriously and forget about the murders, or we can put all our information together and find out why the killer considers us a threat.”
“Everything has happened to Annabelle. Maybe the killer doesn’t consider us a threat.” Kate pointed to herself and Richard.
“That’s fine with me.” Richard let one side of his mouth curl up in a smirk.
“Hey,” I cried. “What happened to my loyal sidekicks?”
“I think you should make the decision, Annabelle,” Richard said. “After all, you’re the one who seems to be in the most danger.”
I touched the knot on my head and thought about Mrs. Pierce’s twisted body and Mr. Boyd’s purple face lying in a bowl of soup. “I don’t want to let anyone get away with murder.”
“Especially when they’re killing off our business.” Kate winked at me.
“Then we’re back on the trail?” Richard went pale behind his smile.
“To be totally honest,” Kate admitted, “Annabelle and I were never off it.”
“Really?” Richard’s smile faltered. “You’ve been poking around today even after what happened last night?”
“Wait until you hear what Kate and I found out.”
Richard wagged a finger at me. “You’re lucky I’m too happy that you’re alive to be mad.”
“We’ve got lots to do.” Kate threw back the curtain. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Chapter 26
Leatrice stood underneath a huge bouquet of helium balloons in my living room. The balloons all read get well soon in various color combinations and bounced around the ceiling, their ribbons hanging down around Leatrice’s face. She wore a necklace made entirely of the little metal bells, and she jingled as she ran to greet me.
“Kate called me and told me about your car accident. I’ve been worried sick.”
I pried her from around my waist. “I’m fine, Leatrice. No major damage.”
“The doctor did say you need rest.” Kate led me to the couch. “Your concussion means no running around.”
“He said mild concussion.”
“A concussion? Oh, dear.” Leatrice wrung her hands. “Don’t worry. I can stay with you as long as you need me.”
I felt a miraculous recovery coming on. “Thanks, but Kate’s going to spend the night to make sure I don’t slip into a coma or something.”
“Well, I’d be more than happy to keep you girls company,” Leatrice chirped. “We could stay up all night and watch my favorite episodes of Matlock.”
The coma didn’t sound so bad. “How did you get in my apartment, Leatrice?”
“You gave me a spare key ages ago in case you ever got locked out, remember?”
I must have had temporary insanity. “Not really, but it’s probably the concussion.”
“I wanted to surprise you when you came home from the hospital. Do you like the balloons?”
“They’re great.” I smiled at Leatrice. “It’s not like I stayed in the hospital more than a few hours though.”
“I’m glad they didn’t keep you overnight.” Leatrice sat on the arm of the couch. “The food at the Georgetown Hospital isn’t so good. Now Suburban Hospital has decent food, but I hear the service is terribly slow.”
No doubt in the Zagat guide under hospital cafeterias. “We’re not in luck here either,” Kate said from the kitchen. “Looks like a couple of leftover slices of pizza and a few cans of Coke. Is this lettuce?”
Richard walked in the front door that still stood ajar, plastic grocery bags hanging off his hands. “Don’t worry. I thought things in your kitchen might be desperate since I cleared out, so I stopped at the store.” He went into the kitchen and began unpacking the bags with Kate. I reached for a cushion, and Leatrice leapt up to put it behind my back. An ideal setup, if my head didn’t hurt so much and Leatrice didn’t jingle each time she moved.
“Kate mentioned that the car accident may not have been an accident at all,” Leatrice said.
“You and Kate had a nice, long chat, didn’t you?” I raised my voice to be sure Kate could hear me. She pretended to be busy with the groceries.
“After our pizza party last night, I gave her my phone number in case she ever needed anything. Good thing I did, too.”
“Yeah, good thing.” I tried to catch Kate’s eye to give her a dirty look.
“So the other car ran you off the road? Were they trying to get rid of you?”
“I don’t think you should get caught up in this mess any more than you already are, Leatrice. See where trying to solve these murders got me?”
Her face fell.
“Oh, come on, Annabelle.” Kate came from the kitchen and sat on the chair. “Tell her our theories.”
“I can help you figure it, too,” Leatrice insisted. “I always solve the crime before Jessica Fletcher does.”
“See? It can’t hurt to run our ideas by someone else.” Kate kicked off her heels. “Two heads are better than a nun, anyway.”
“Young people today have such colorful expressions.” Leatrice giggled and patted Kate on the arm. “I’ll have to remember that one.”
The thought of Leatrice running around using Kate’s garbled sayings made me grin and rub my aching head simultaneously.
Leatrice took a seat beside me. “Do you think the person behind the two murders is the same person who tried to kill you?”
“I’m not sure if the murderer was trying to kill me or just scare me off the trail.” I reached for the bowl of personalized candy hearts and popped one in my mouth. My version of comfort food.
“Regardless, your car crash must mean we’re getting close,” Kate said.
“Who are your suspects?” Leatrice found a pen and legal pad in the piles of papers on the floor next to her feet.
“We keep coming back to Mrs. Pierce’s two husbands,” I said. “Her ex-husband, Dr. Harriman, who hated her for making his life miserable during their divorce, and her current husband, Dr. Pierce, who had an affair with his wife’s best friend.”
“We’ll call them the Ex and the Sex.” Leatrice made a column for each on her pad of paper. “What’s the evidence against each one?”
Kate tucked her feet under her. “Well, Dr. Harriman was arrested today for his ex-wife’s murder.”
“I’d say that’s pretty strong evidence.” Leatrice dropped the pad in her lap. “You think the police got the wrong person?”
“He’d been one of our top suspects, but he was arrested before someone tried to kill me today,” I said. “If we go with the theory that the person who committed both of these murders is also out to get rid of me, then Dr. Harriman can’t be the killer.”
Leatrice picked up her paper again and gave my shoulder a pat. “Of course I believe you if you say someone tried to kill you, but let’s look at the evidence against all the suspects before we eliminate anyone. No stone should go unturned.”
“God forbid we skip a step in the private investigator correspondence course,” Kate muttered out of the corner of her mouth.
Leatrice ignored Kate. “So let’s get back to the two husbands.”
“First off, it had to be someone who knew she took blood-pressure medicine.” I took the pillow from behind my head and sat up. “Both Dr. Harriman and Dr. Pierce fit the bill.”
“We thought Dr. Harriman was the most likely killer,” Kate said. “He attended the wedding and examined the body before the paramedics arrived. He also had an appointment with Mr. Boyd less than an hour before he died.”
Leatrice kept her eyes on her notebook. “Motive and opportunity.”
Kate sighed. “On the other hand, she treated Dr. Pierce horribly. He and Clara’s best friend were having an affair, and they won’t waste any time now that she’s gone. Also, they were both missing at the wedding when we found Clara, so they could have planned it together.”
“A buddy system for murder.” Leatrice tapped her pen on the legal pad.
“Don’t forget what you found out about Helen Boyd, Annabelle.” Kate sat forward and rested her elbows on her knees. Richard joined us from the kitchen, and I remembered that I’d been too dazed in the hospital to tell him my latest scoop.
“Mrs. Boyd knew all about her husband’s affair with Mrs. Pierce. Mrs. Pierce wanted to blow the cover off the whole thing and destroy his career.”
Richard drew his breath in sharply. “Why?”
“Because she could,” I reminded him. “This is Mrs. Pierce we’re talking about, after all. No loyalty. No forgiveness. Maybe Boyd did something to make her angry and she wanted to punish him. Who knows?”
“You’re sure Mrs. Boyd knew?” Richard pressed.
I nodded. “The day before the wedding she showed up on Mrs. Pierce’s doorstep threatening all sorts of things, including murder.”
“I have a hard time imagining prim Mrs. Boyd making threats,” Richard said.
Kate’s eyes widened. “Where were you when she thought you killed her husband?”
“In a state of catatonic shock, I think.” Richard put a hand on his forehead and swayed. “It’s all fuzzy.”
“She threatened to kill Mrs. Pierce,” I assured them, “and called her every nasty word you can imagine.”
“How marvelous.” Richard smiled. “I bet I’d have thought of a few more choice words for her.”
“Did anyone hear Mrs. Boyd say she’d kill your client?” Leatrice asked me.
“No, but Mrs. Pierce told Maxwell the whole story.”
“Then it’s hearsay.” Leatrice made a note. “Not enough to build a case around.”
“All this thinking has made my head pound.” I picked up my purse to retrieve the pain medication the hospital had given me. “Could you get me some water, Richard?”
He went into the kitchen, and I heard him searching for a clean glass. I opened my purse and took out the small box of wedding photos. “I almost forgot. The whole reason I went to see Maxwell Gray. The pictures from the Pierce wedding.”
Kate took the box from me. “Are there any good shots of the Corcoran Gallery? We spent so much time designing the event.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t get a chance to look at them carefully.”
“I wonder if we’ll find anything in the pictures.” Leatrice dropped her pad and pen and ran over to stand behind Kate.
“What are you hoping to find?” I asked.
“That concussion must have really affected you, dear.” Leatrice looked up from the pictures. “I’m searching for clues to the murder.”
I forgot all about my headache.
“Good thing these photos were in your purse or they’d be at the mechanic’s with your car,” Kate said.
My car had been hauled off to a Georgetown body shop in the hopes that my crumpled bumper and mangled grate could be repaired. I’d be without a car for at least a week, not that I felt like driving anytime soon.
Leatrice thumbed through the first few photos. “What kind of wedding pictures are these? Who takes pictures of the food?”
Richard hurried from the kitchen and nudged Leatrice to scoot over. “I asked Maxwell to get a few close-ups of the hors d’oeuvres and my displays. Let me see.”
“The best way to find clues will be to find pictures of the victim.” Leatrice instructed us. “See who she’s with and who’s near her. If we’re lucky, we’ll find some of our suspects lurking in the background.”
“Have you ever seen such a spectacular blend of color on a sushi station?” Richard held up a picture. “The sweet sushi is a work of art. All my idea, naturally.”
I handed Leatrice a print of Mrs. Pierce being escorted down the aisle by a handsome groomsman. “This is the victim. Clara Pierce.”
“That’s some hairdo.” Leatrice studied the cotton candy helmet. Bold words coming from a woman as old as she was with jet-black hair.
“I’ve got to hand it to Maxwell,” Richard said. “He captured the true beauty of the chive-tied beggar’s purse.”
Leatrice strained to look at the photo in Richard’s hand. “You serve food in a purse?”
Richard groaned and shook his head. “A beggar’s purse is a term we use when we fill a crepe and tie it up into a tiny bundle. For these we used a long chive to make the bow on top. Have you ever seen anything so adorable?”
Leatrice took the picture from Richard. “Doesn’t look like any purse I’ve ever owned.”
Richard snatched the picture back and muttered under his breath as he continued to admire it.
Kate passed a pile of prints to me. “There are lots of pictures with Clara, but most of them are portraits at the church.”
“She looks fine in all of these,” I said. “If she’d already been poisoned, it hadn’t kicked in yet.”
Leatrice held a photo an inch from her nose. “If I wanted to poison someone, I’d do it during a party where it’s easier to slip it in food or drink. Not at a church.”
“These are gorgeous table shots, Annabelle.” Richard held up a square picture of one of the dining tables taken before the guests descended for dinner.
I took the picture from Richard and held it by the edges. Looking at the breathtaking flowers and coordinating Limoges china, I felt a twinge of regret. Each wedding had something go not quite right. Off-key soloist. Mediocre food. Late limousines. But not this wedding. We’d planned for a year so it would be perfect. It had been, except for the dead body.
“Check this out.” Kate peered over Leatrice’s shoulder. “The bride with Clara and Dr. Harriman.”
“Neither parent looks happy,” Leatrice said. “Good thing the da
ughter stood between them.”
“I must get a copy of this one.” Richard clapped his hands. “The caviar in the quail egg is like a tiny Faberge masterpiece, if I do say so myself.”
“Here’s a classic.” I lifted a photo of Clara and Bev Tripton out of the stack. They held each other around the waist and each had a drink in the other hand. “They seem pretty chummy,” Kate said.
Leatrice took the photo. “The victim’s eyes are bloodshot. Maybe the poison had started to take effect.”
“Here I am setting up the Indonesian satay station.” Richard waved a photo in front of me. “Do you think that jacket makes me look hippy?”
I didn’t bother to look. “No.”
“I don’t care for the way the side vents hang. I may have to cycle that suit out of the lineup.”
“Another one of Mrs. Pierce with a drink in hand,” I said.
“It appears to be the same drink, Annabelle.” Leatrice pointed to the glass in Mrs. Pierce’s hand. “See? Same type glass and same two little plastic straws.”
“What?” Richard snapped his head up. “Hand me those pictures.”
“Is there a problem?” Kate asked.
He jabbed at the photos. “You’d better believe there’s a problem. These straws shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.” I watched Richard stand up and take huge strides around the room, mumbling about straws. Maybe he’d finally lost it.
“I never use plastic straws at my parties. It would ruin the look of the entire event to have guests running around with tiny poles sticking out of their drinks.”
“Curious.” Leatrice took the two photos from Richard as he sank back onto the couch.
“I have no idea how those hideous things could have landed on my bars.”
“Do we have any pictures of the bars?” I asked.
Kate and I sifted through the proofs, fanning them out on the coffee table.
“Right here.” Kate held up a shot of a bar draped in white shimmery organza. The glasses were arranged in front with the bottles of liquor behind them. Small glasses of olives, onions, and lime wedges sat on both ends. No straws.
Richard inspected the photograph, and then tossed it back on the table. “Thank God. They didn’t come from me.”
