by Laura Durham
Kate and I sat while Richard hovered behind me. Marcie walked behind her desk and pressed an intercom button on her phone. “Marcus, can you bring me a box of our January issue?”
“Marcus?” Richard asked.
“He’s my right-hand man.” Marcie sat in her leather chair. “He’s been with me for a few months now, and I couldn’t have put the last issue together without him.”
“Was he involved with gathering information for the list?” Richard asked.
Marcie tilted her head at Richard. “Actually he was. He took over most of that, which was amazing since it’s such tedious work. How did you know? Do you know Marcus?”
“Here are those issues you requested.” A young man with wavy blond hair entered the office, holding a cardboard box.
“I do know Marcus,” Richard said, his hands on his hips and his eyes blazing.
Marcus saw Richard and dropped the box. It landed on his foot with a heavy thud, and Marcus shrieked in pain.
Chapter 10
“So Marcus worked for you?” I asked after Kate had found us a small table at the back of the Starbucks on I Street. We’d hustled Richard out of the Capital Weddings offices after his screams had started to gather a crowd. Marcus rolling around on the floor clutching his possibly broken foot hadn’t helped matters.
Marcie had stood gaping while Richard hurled accusations of slander and defamation at the injured man until Kate and I had finally managed to drag him off. I’d have to call her later and apologize for the chaos and thank her for the magazines. I pushed the cardboard box under the table.
Richard slumped into his chair. “For almost a year. I brought him on to try to ease some of my workload.”
“He’s cute,” Kate said, then shrugged when Richard glared at her. “What? He is. I mean, from what I could see before he started screaming and rolling around.”
“Why don’t you get us some coffees?” I said to her and held out my Starbucks card.
She waved me off and tapped her phone. “I use the app. This one’s on me.”
As the warmth from the coffee shop defrosted my fingers and toes, I slipped off my coat and hung it on the back of my chair. “So clearly it didn’t work out. What went wrong?”
“It started when Babette began ordering too much food,” Richard said.
I looked at him. “Babette?”
“From the movie Babette’s Feast. That’s what I called him when he ordered enough food to feed the entire city for a dinner party for ten.”
“You don’t have a nickname for me or Kate, do you?” I asked.
“You mean like Laurel and Hardy, Punch and Judy, Laverne and Shirley?”
I leaned back. “Yes, like that.”
Richard straightened. “Of course not, darling.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but I also wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. “So he ordered too much food, and you fired him?”
“No. That was only the beginning, even though I had to talk our chef out of murdering him when our food costs went through the roof,” Richard said. “He didn’t take direction well and saw himself as a creative visionary instead of my assistant.”
I could see how that would cause problems since Richard considered himself a creative visionary, and his company certainly wasn’t big enough for two.
“So you guys didn’t get along well. That’s not unheard of in the wedding world. Why did it end so badly?”
“Do you remember my big corporate client?” Richard put his elbows on the small round table and rested his chin on his hands. “The one who gave me a few events every month?”
“I remember you mentioning them,” I said. “Drop-off lunches, board meetings, annual holiday parties.”
Kate returned carrying a cardboard holder with three large holiday cups covered with white plastic lids. “Peppermint mocha for Annabelle, a caramel brûlée latte for Richard, and a sugar-free nonfat no whip vanilla latte for me.” She slapped a brown paper bag on the table. “And some scones. This occasion calls for carb loading.”
Richard took the cup she proffered. “Do you think you could have come up with a more pretentious coffee order?”
“Absolutely.” Kate winked at him. “I could have asked for soy milk.”
“So, the corporate client?” I prodded, taking a sip of my minty mocha and enjoying the full-fat, sugar-filled, whipped-cream-topped coffee.
“Right,” Richard said as Kate sat down. “I guess Marcus felt he wasn’t getting the respect or creative license he deserved, so he changed one of my proposals that went out to my bigwig client.”
“Changed it how?” Kate opened the paper bag and took out a scone.
“Added so much profanity it would have made a sailor blush.”
I almost choked on my drink. “To a catering proposal?”
“Yep.” Color filled Richard’s cheeks. “Every other word was an F-bomb, and the descriptions of the food were so dirty I couldn’t even understand half of them.”
“That is dirty,” Kate said with wide eyes as she put a piece of scone in her mouth and crumbs fell onto her lap.
“So you fired him?” I asked.
“Spectacularly,” Richard said. “I told him he’d never work in the event industry again, but I guess I didn’t consider that he’d go work for a magazine about the event industry.”
Kate took a long sip and dabbed at her upper lip, even though she had no whipped cream to dab off. “Are we sure he left your name off the list on purpose?”
“You saw the way he reacted to seeing Richard.” I tore a corner off of Kate’s scone. “He looked as guilty as anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“Marcus is smart, even if he can’t cater to save his life.” Richard drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s clear to me he maneuvered his way into the magazine, made himself indispensable, and then took over the list. He played the long game without anyone knowing it.”
I chewed on my bite of cinnamon scone and thought for a moment. Richard’s version of how it had played out seemed pretty convincing to me, and it was the only reasonable explanation as to why Richard Gerard Catering would be omitted from a list they’d topped for years.
“So what can we do about it?” Kate asked.
“The better question is how can we make it look like an accident?” Richard asked.
I shushed him as Kate giggled. “You know we shouldn’t even be joking about that.”
“Just because people tend to drop dead around us?” Kate asked. “If you think about it, it’s the perfect cover. The police are used to us finding murder victims. They never expect us to produce one.”
I shot her a look. “I still don’t think we should joke about murder. Especially not one in which Richard would be the primary suspect.”
Richard frowned. “That does put a damper on my plans.”
“I’ll call Marcie and talk to her after things have cooled off a bit,” I said. “I’m sure once I explain you were left off the list and why her assistant might have been motivated to leave you off on purpose, she’ll understand.”
“But what can she do?” Richard threw his hands in the air. “It’s not like they can reprint thousands of copies.” He paused. “You don’t think they’d reprint it, do you?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
His shoulders slumped. “So that’s it then. Even though I was knocked off the list by a vengeful former employee, there’s nothing I can do about it. Even if the magazine issues an apology or prints an addition in a future issue, I’m still not on the list for an entire year.”
I patted his hand. “I’m really sorry, Richard.”
“You know what would make you feel better?” Kate said, her eyes bright.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Richard said.
“You should come with us to Bedlam.” Kate rubbed her hands together. “It’ll take your mind off all of this.”
“I’m sure the last thing Richard wants to do is hang around a loud bar with a bunch of bikers,” I
said.
Richard sat up. “I don’t know. Maybe a biker bar would be fun.”
I tried to keep my mouth from dangling open.
Richard tapped his chin. “The more I think about it, the better it sounds. How long have I been working myself to the bone to build up my business? Years.” He snapped his fingers. “And it can all be taken away from me like that.”
“It hasn’t all been taken away from you,” I said.
“First, I lost my biggest corporate client, and now I stand to lose a significant amount of wedding business.” Richard smacked his hand on the table. “If anyone deserves a night to cut loose, it’s me.”
“That’s the spirit.” Kate smacked her hand on the table as well.
Richard stood up. “If we’re going to Bedlam tonight, then I need to dash.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “We still have a few hours.”
“Not if I’m going to put together an appropriate outfit,” he said. “I’m not sure what kind of shape my leather is in.”
“Leather?” My voice came out a squeak.
Richard waved his fingers up and down in front of me. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. Don’t even think of wearing a sweater set and pedal pushers, darling.”
I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t own a pair of pedal pushers, but Richard was already flouncing out of the coffee shop.
“This should be fun,” Kate said.
This should be a disaster, I thought.
Chapter 11
“I’m not so sure about this.” I tugged at the shimmery-black miniskirt and felt glad I’d paired it with black tights. At least they kept my legs somewhat warm, which was more than I could say for the red sequined tank top. I rubbed my arms as I hurried along behind my assistant.
“You look great.” Kate turned and flicked her eyes up and down my outfit as she walked ahead of me on Eighteenth Street. “My clothes almost look as good on you as they do on me.”
I dodged a few people as I tried to navigate the sidewalk behind her in heels. “I still insist what I had on was fine.”
Kate shot me a look over her shoulder. “Sure it was, if we were welcoming a classroom of first graders back to school.” She swept an arm wide and almost belted someone. “This is Adams Morgan. Home of hole-in-the-wall restaurants and grimy bars.”
I glanced around at the jumble of neon signs illuminating the dark and the lines snaking out of basement entrances. The air smelled of ethnic food and pulsed with the sounds of club music. I turned as we passed a townhouse with two lines—one leading upstairs to a brightly lit bar called “Heaven” and another twisting down to a dark club glowing with red light and a sign indicating “Hell.” Eighties music spilled out of Hell along with college-aged kids.
“I’m definitely having second thoughts,” I said, stepping over a puddle of something unidentifiable on the sidewalk.
Kate stopped as we reached a nondescript building with the word “Bedlam” hanging above the door in Gothic letters. “I thought you wanted to help Buster and Mack find the baby’s mother.”
“You know I do,” I said. “I’m just wondering if there’s a way that doesn’t involve me showing so much skin.”
“We usually do things your way.” Kate patted my arm. “Tonight we’re trying the Kate method of investigation.”
Usually Kate’s method of anything involved lots of flirting and not much else.
“As long as we actually do some investigating,” I said as I eyed the dark bar with the heavy wooden door.
Kate winked at me. “Follow my lead.”
I trailed inside after her and paused for a moment to let my eyes adjust. Even though it was nighttime, the street outside was bright with street lamps and neon signs and headlamps from passing cars. Inside Bedlam, the lights were dim and the furnishings were dark. Tall black leather banquettes lined the walls, which were made of dark wood paneling. A lamp hung over a pool table in the back, and a long mahogany bar stretched down one side of the place dotted with leather-topped barstools. I didn’t notice any Harley-Davidson signs, but most of the patrons lounging at tables and clustered around the pool table looked like versions of Buster and Mack.
Kate sashayed up to the bar and hopped onto a barstool, ordering a beer for each of us before I’d figured out how to sit down without my skirt riding up to my belly button. I decided to lean against the bar instead.
The bartender, who had a gray mustache that curled up at the ends, set two bottles in front of us and his eyes settled on me. “You girls sure you aren’t looking for Heaven and Hell?”
I laughed, trying to sound causal. It came out sounding strangled. “We’re friends with Buster and Mack. And Soul Man.”
The bartender raised a bushy eyebrow and nodded. “None of them are here tonight, but some of the other boys are.” He gestured toward the group playing pool.
“Thanks.” I took a swig of beer and tried not to grimace as I swallowed it. Beer was not my drink of choice and especially not domestic light beer. I pulled one of my heels off the sticky floor. I suspected more beer had been spilled on the floor at Bedlam than had been drunk.
Kate leaned in to me. “Good thing Richard isn’t here. He’d run out of hand sanitizer within five minutes.”
I feared she was right. “He said he’d meet us here, but maybe he changed his mind.”
“I’ll bet dollars and doughnuts he’s home plotting revenge,” Kate said.
“Dollars to doughnuts,” I corrected, but without much enthusiasm. Richard had been as disheartened as I’d ever seen him this afternoon, and I hoped he wasn’t home alone getting more depressed.
“Well, smack my tush and call me Judy!”
Kate and I both turned toward the familiar voice. I squinted at the men playing pool and shook my head. “Is that . . .?”
“It sure is,” Kate said, gaping at the lean man dressed head to toe in black leather. “How did Richard beat us here?”
“I don’t know, but it looks like he’s been here for a while.”
Kate watched Richard high five the burly men he was playing with. “And I think he’s winning.”
I pulled her with me as I walked over to him. As we got closer, I could tell that his leather was shiny and unmarred, unlike the other men whose jackets and vests were worn and dull and covered in patches. There was a distinct possibility that Richard had gone out and purchased his outfit right after we’d left him. Not that I had any clue where you bought biker wear in Washington.
“Annabelle! Kate!” He beamed at us and raised a beer bottle. “You made it.”
I was speechless. Not only was Richard dressed in leather and playing pool with a bunch of bikers, he was drinking beer out of a bottle without wiping the top first. Things were worse than I’d thought.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He waved a hand at me. “I’m better than okay. I’m great.” He jerked his head toward the three men standing with him. “Slim, Stray Dog, and Rubble have helped me realize that I was upset over nothing.”
I glanced at the men and nodded greetings. “Thanks for helping him out, guys.”
“Don’t mention it,” the biggest man said, thumping Richard on the back. “We know what it’s like to be in a low place.”
Had Richard told them details or had he been vague? I doubted men named Stray Dog and Rubble had ever fallen into a funk over a listing in a wedding magazine.
Richard grinned at the man. “Slim here is one of the deacons at Buster and Mack’s church. He’s very wise.”
I noticed that Richard was slurring his speech and wondered how many beers he’d put away before we arrived.
“You two are friends with Buster and Mack?” A man with heavy stubble and a black T-shirt stretched tight over his belly switched his pool cue from one hand to the other.
“We’re friends from work,” I said. “Do you all go to the Born Again Biker Church?”
The men nodded. Jackpot.
“Cr
azy about the baby, isn’t it?” Kate asked as she leaned one hand against the edge of the pool table.
The men murmured agreement.
“Any idea who could have left her?” I asked.
They shook their heads.
“We don’t got many female members,” Slim said. “And if any of our members got some girl in trouble, I hope he would have come to us. We don’t judge each other. We get enough of that from the outside world.”
The shortest and stockiest man leaned down on the pool table to take a shot.“Most of us got girlfriends or wives now.”
“Rubble’s right,” the stubbly man said. “I can’t think of a one of us who’s still out there playing around.”
“Any thoughts about who might have had reason to leave their baby at your church?” I asked.
Slim tilted his head for a moment before raising and lowering one beefy shoulder. “Can’t think of anyone.” He looked at the man with the five o’clock shadow. “Stray Dog? You’re tight with the younger guys.”
Stray Dog frowned. “You got me. I don’t think I’ve laid eyes on a pregnant lady in months.”
“So much for that,” Kate said to me.
A cocktail waitress in black shorts and a spaghetti strap white top slapped a laminated menu on a nearby high top table. “Y’all want any food?”
Kate picked up the menu while the blond waitress tapped her toe impatiently. “I might give the grilled vegan wrap a try.”
“Grilled vegans?” Richard made a face. “No thank you.”
I looked over Kate’s shoulder. “It’s made with portobellos, not actual vegans.”
“That sounds only slightly better,” Richard said.
“We should probably be going,” I said, noticing Richard leaning against Slim.
Richard blew a raspberry. “Nonsense. The night is young. Live a little, Annabelle.”
“I, for one, want to see what Richard’s like when he cuts loose.” Kate handed the menu to the waitress. “We’ll get the Mexican pizza to share.”
