Dearly Depotted (29 page)

“That he didn’t lie about getting a phone message. See the time stamp in the corner? It says eight forty-eight p.m., which verifies what he told me.” I grabbed a piece of paper and pen and wrote it down.

Melanie Turner came into view next, offering Jillian and Claymore her best wishes. Her father was right behind, his frown lifting for a second as he congratulated the newlyweds.

“Want me to make popcorn?” Nikki asked.

“Not right now.”

“How about decaf lattes?”

“Later.”

She sighed and settled back against the sofa as a procession of guests paraded across the screen. After a few more minutes, she rose. “I’m taking a break. I need something to eat.”

While she was gone I watched the bridal party troop back to the gazebo for posed photographs. While the photographers set up their shots, the cameraman panned the area, doing a circular sweep of the garden and surrounding area, then along the side of the building all the way to the rear, then continuing on around, catching the bridal party again as we went through various poses.

He kept turning until finally the parking lot came into view, panning past my yellow Vette and various Knight and Osborne family autos. I paused the image so I could take a closer look. There was no sign of Richard’s red Cadillac. The time stamp read 9:02 p.m.

Then the video cut to the reception and Pryce’s toast; the camera kept switching from him, to the guests falling asleep at the tables, to the waiters bringing in trays of food. I watched closely, hoping for a glimpse of Jack in his waiter’s disguise.

Nikki returned with a big bowl of popcorn, which we nibbled as we watched Jillian and Claymore make their way among the tables to greet the guests. I spotted the waiter Kevin and was about to point him out to Nikki when suddenly the camera panned to the back of the room, and there was Melanie talking to Jack.

“There they are!” I cried, hitting Pause. “Just like Melanie described. Look at the time stamp. It’s nine twenty.”

The video played for a few more minutes, then suddenly we saw Josiah barreling toward the exit. “And there he goes!” I shouted, jumping to my feet. Simon’s back arched in alarm, then he jumped from the sofa and took off down the hallway. The time stamp on the video, I noted, read 9:29 p.m.

We hunched closer to the set, keeping our eyes sharply focused, but there were no further views of Josiah, Melanie, or Jack. We watched as guests began to leave the ballroom, then the videographer filmed Jillian running out to the gazebo. But unlike the first cameraman, who followed her and had his memory cards confiscated, this one hung way back to pan the crowd behind the police lines. I didn’t see either Melanie or Josiah, but I did spot Richard standing with Grace. “There, Nikki. That verifies that Richard was back by nine fifty.”

“Does it help him?” Nikki asked, stuffing popcorn in her mouth.

“It shows that his car was gone before the murder and there after, which backs up the times he gave, and it also proves Melanie was telling the truth about talking to Jack and about her father leaving the ballroom afterward.” I flopped against the back of the sofa. “But it’s not enough to clear Richard. I’ve got to find something else.” I hit Rewind.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to watch it again. Maybe I missed something.”

Nikki stuck it out with me, polishing off most of the popcorn followed by two glasses of water and her decaf latte, which prompted a trip to the washroom. She settled onto the sofa again just as the cameraman was panning the garden area. As the video rolled along the side of the building, Nikki said, “Pause it.” Then she got right up to the television and tapped her finger against the screen. “Who are these people?”

I crouched beside her for a better look. At the back corner of the building was a figure in a white coat and part of a big green metal garbage bin. Then another white-coated image became visible, carrying a shiny black plastic bag, which he hefted into the air as if it weighed nothing and tossed into the receptacle. Then he turned and the two seemed to be talking. In fact, by their arm gestures, it looked more like an argument was under way.

“I can’t make out their faces,” Nikki said, squinting, “but doesn’t it look like that white coat has tails?”

“Damn. It’s so grainy . . . but I think you’re right.” I checked the time on the video: 9:27 p.m.—just minutes before the murder. “Nikki, that might be Jack!”

“Is there some way to get an enlargement of their faces?” Nikki asked.

“I’m sure there is. I’d have to call around town and see, but I’m supposed to turn the video in to the police in the morning.”

“They don’t know you have it, right? So would it hurt to keep it a little longer, and see if you can find someone who can enlarge that frame for you?”

“If Reilly finds out, I’ll be in major trouble.”

“Then you’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t. Now, what about this other guy?” She tapped the second face on the screen. “Could that be Gunther?”

“Gunther said he didn’t take the garbage out that night because he’d already left, but you know what? He lied to me about knowing Jack. Why should I believe him about the garbage?”

I paused as a chilling thought popped into my brain. What if Gunther hadn’t lied? What if that
was
Jack wearing the tailed coat and it was someone other than Gunther with him? I had to find out, because
that
person could have been the last one to see Jack alive . . . or the first one to see him dead.

I glanced at the clock on the bookcase. It was ten minutes after nine. Perfect.

“Where are you going?” Nikki called as I dashed to the kitchen for my purse and keys.

“To the banquet center. I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. Want to come?”

“Is there danger involved?”

“Possibly.”

“Cool. I’m right behind you.”

We took Nikki’s car and pulled into the Garden of Eden at nine twenty. I had gambled that there would be an event taking place that night, so I was relieved to see that the parking lot was full. Armed with what I had seen on the video, I knew I had to confront Gunther, but first I wanted to stand where the cameraman had stood and watch Gunther’s movements as he carried the garbage bag to the bins.

We crouched behind the shrubs in the garden area and waited.

“I hope they spray for mosquitoes out here,” Nikki whispered, swatting at something.

“Keep your head down,” I whispered back. “Gunther should be coming out any minute.”

“We’re not going to be able to see his face from here,” she warned.

“Doesn’t matter. Just watch how he moves.”

I’d barely finished my sentence when Nikki grabbed my arm and shook it, whispering, “There he is.”

I held my finger to my lips and watched as someone in a white coat came out with a garbage bag and hefted it into a bin.

“Is it him?” Nikki whispered.

“It’s him.”

I heard a gasp and looked around just as Nikki fell back onto the lawn, shaking her leg and slapping her right thigh, then her rear. I turned to shush her, but she was in a panic. “Spider,” she said in a barely audible shriek. “I think it crawled into my shorts.”

Fearing Gunther had heard her racket, I raised my head to peer above the shrubs.

Oh, yeah. He’d heard. “Get ready,” I said. “Here he comes.”

 

 

 

 

B
ecause I believe that the best defense is a good offense, I jumped up, helped Nikki to her feet, and whispered, “Act fearless.” Then, with her behind me, I strode out of the garden area and met Gunther halfway. “I was hoping to find you,” I told him.

“Were you spying on me?”

“How dare you make such crazy insinuations!” Nikki said—staying safely behind me.

“It’s okay, Nikki. Gunther knows I’m collecting information on the murder case.”

His nostrils flared and his beady eyes narrowed. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

“You did, and I have, but something just came to light and I thought you should know about it.”

“You have a really short memory, don’t you? The cops
cleared
me. You got that now?”

At least he hadn’t called me stubby. I knew he was about to turn away, so I blurted, “The thing is, Gunther, I have a video of Monday night’s wedding that shows you taking out the garbage.”

That took him by surprise. He took a step closer and shook a huge fist in my face. I felt Nikki shrink back, but I held my ground.

“I didn’t
take
out the garbage Monday night!” he shouted in my face, his onion-laced breath nearly making me gag.

“So you say,” I muttered.

He looked like he was ready to pop me in the jaw. “Go ask around the kitchen!”

“I already did.”

“Someone told you I took it out? Who? Was it that gossipy bitch Sheila?”

I gave him a little shrug. “I can’t reveal my sources.”

His jaw muscles were working overtime and his hands twitched as though he were ready to plant a few black-and-blue marks on my face. Then suddenly his whole body relaxed and a sly look came over his face. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Well, guess what? I do. You’re trying to trap me into saying something. The thing about that is, I didn’t do anything, so pull up your trap and
go home
.” This time he did walk away, smugly.

Frustrated, I called, “Oh, yeah? Well, the police might have second thoughts once they see the video.”

It didn’t faze him. He lumbered around the corner and was gone. My plan had failed.

“I don’t think you should have told him about the video, Abby,” Nikki said.

“I know. It was an amateurish thing to do. It just slipped out.” In fact, as soon as those words had come out of my mouth I knew I’d goofed. I had a sudden image of Marco saying,
You have to be smooth, sunshine.
I was so far from smooth I could have sanded the bark off a tree.

“Nikki,” I said, as we headed toward her car, “let’s just keep that little slip between us, okay?”

 

When I walked into Bloomers the next morning, no one called out, “Good morning, dear. How are we today?” No coffee machine gurgled. No one hummed in the parlor. “Grace didn’t make it into work?” I asked Lottie as she came through the curtain.

“You just missed her call. She isn’t feeling well, so I told her to stay home and rest. Did you see the morning paper?”

“I did, but I wish I hadn’t.” Richard’s arrest had made the front page.

“I’m sure seeing that didn’t make Grace feel any better,” Lottie said. “I made instant coffee, if you want some.”

We sat down together as we usually did, and discussed the orders for the day, but it didn’t feel right without Grace there. “I think I’ll go see her at lunch,” I said. “Maybe I can cheer her up.”

I took my messages from the spindle and looked them over as I headed toward the workroom. Two were from my mother, reminding me of our family dinner at the country club that evening, a ritual that I forced myself to endure because it made her happy. Life with an unhappy mother was not a pleasant experience. The other message was from Pryce. It said only that he would call back. I crumpled it up and tossed it in the wastebasket.

I glanced at my watch. I really wanted to discuss the video with Marco, but it was too early to call. I had learned never to phone him before nine o’clock because of the late hours he worked. I picked up the handset at my desk and called my mother instead.

“So you haven’t left the country after all,” she said, breathing hard, probably walking on her treadmill.

“It’s not that I haven’t thought about you,” I hastily assured her.

“You had time to talk to Aunt Corrine.”

The blade of guilt sliced through my rib section. “She stopped by, Mom. I didn’t call her. Anyway, I’ll have a chance to chat with you this evening.”

“Oh, you’re going to squeeze us in, then.”

No one could heap on the guilt like my mother.

“By the way, have you been paid for the wedding flowers?”

She had to be psychic. “What made you think of that?” I asked.

“Well, you said your aunt stopped by, so I assumed it was to pay you. She did pay you, didn’t she? Abigail? Why are you hesitating?”

“Okay, let’s just suppose someone in your family owed you money and didn’t seem to remember that she owed it. Would you, A, wait for her to remember or, B—”

“Aha!” she cried triumphantly. “I thought so. Do you want me to call her? I’ll pick up the phone right now. Just say the word.”

Across from me, Lottie was shaking her head, as if she couldn’t believe what I’d just done.

“No, Mom . . . thanks just the same. Think about how it would look for me to send my mother to collect my fees. Not so good.”

“I suppose you’re right. But you know how I worry and you said money was tight. You’re not behind on the mortgage, are you?” She held the phone away to say loudly, “Jeff, your daughter is in financial trouble.”