Death Takes a Honeymoon (17 page)

“Todd refused to talk about finding the body, but if he was the killer, surely he would have rehearsed something? I think he was hiding something, but I just don’t think it was murder. I mean, you can tell he loves smoke jumping. To hear his stories—”

“So he’s innocent because he’s a young hunk who tells good stories?” said Aaron in that snide tone he uses sometimes. I hate that tone. “Sounds to me like he was trying too hard to be charming. Not that you’re hard to charm.”

I bristled. “Meaning what?”

“Oh, nothing, just that—”

“The Tyke’s been acting weird lately, too,” said B.J. abruptly. I could see she was trying to head off our quarrel. “Look at how she yelled at us after the Talent Show.”

“What Talent Show?” asked Aaron.

“I’ll tell you on the way back to the lodge,” I told him. “It must be getting late.” I checked my watch. “Damn, it really
is
late. Come on, I don’t want Beau complaining about me.”

“I’d better get to work myself,” said B.J. “I’ll stop in the Pio at lunch, and Carnegie can talk to Al at the bachelor party.”

“Wait, one last question.” Aaron looked from her to me and back again. “After you two figured out that one of the smoke jumpers was a killer, why did you go out to the smoke-jumper base late at night? That was pretty chancy.”

“Oh,” I said, stalling. “Oh, that.”

B.J. eyed me uneasily, afraid that I’d tell him about her and Brian. She needn’t have worried. Even though I knew Aaron wasn’t the type to sit in judgment, I’d sworn to keep her secret. And secrets are sacred in matters of the heart. Or the bed. No, I was stalling because I’d drawn a sudden blank about our excuse for being at the base.

What the hell did I tell Larabee, anyway? Something about...
oh, right, the party.

“Well, you see, I had to scope things out for the bachelor party, and I was too busy to go there the next day—”

B.J. and I had delivered the tale so smoothly at the police station, but this time we stumbled all over ourselves.

“Yeah,” she chimed in, “and I had to go with her to, uh, to help scope...”

It was a sorry performance, and Aaron looked unimpressed.

“Whatever,” he said, “but try to be more careful, would you? No more sneaking around in the dark?”

“Absolutely not,” I promised.

“No way,” vowed B.J., as she snagged her tote bag and led us outside. But once Aaron was beyond earshot she murmured to me, “Try and get the necklace this afternoon, OK?”

“With all those bachelors around?”

“Come on, Muffy, I don’t have much time before Matt gets back. Please?”

“OK, I’ll try.”

After all, I hadn’t promised not to sneak around in the daylight.

Chapter Nineteen

WE HAD TAKEN AARON’S RENTAL CAR TO BREAKFAST, SO I navigated us back to the lodge. The short drive was just long enough for a bang-up fight.

“I appreciate your help with this,” I said. I was still ticked off at him for being so bossy, but fair is fair. “Take the next left.”

“I keep telling you, Stretch, I’m a helpful guy. Helpful, witty, handsome, modest...”

“How about honest? Tell me honestly, did the
Sentinel
really give you that story assignment?”

He cocked his head. “Well, maybe I pitched them the story. And maybe I took a few days off.”

“I knew it!” I said gleefully. Maybe too gleefully. “Are you staying for the wedding? I’m going to be awfully busy, but—”

“Busy with Boris?” Aaron blurted, as if in spite of himself.

“How’d you know Boris was here? Did Eddie tell you?”

“Wasn’t that the idea?” He looked over at me, his eyes invisible behind his sunglasses. Talk about a poker face. “Interesting that your friend doesn’t have her own florist.”

“As a matter of fact, she did.” I would have explained about Valerie Cox, but I didn’t care for Aaron’s tone. “What do you mean, wasn’t that the idea? What idea?”

He stared at the road. “Come on, Stretch, you be honest. I turned you down about coming to this wedding, so you called your old boyfriend and got him to come instead. Eddie made a big deal about it. Don’t tell me you didn’t put him up to it.”

“Aaron!”

“Look, it’s fine. I should have come with you in the first place, I admit it. But I’m here now, we’re having a good time, and we’ve got this business about your cousin to deal with. So forget it.”

“I will not forget it. I can’t... You... Pull over. Pull over right now!” He complied, and before the car stopped rolling I had my door open. “I cannot
believe
that you think I would play games like that. I have never been so—oh,
shut
up!”

This last was directed at the driver behind us, who had honked his horn. I climbed out, slammed the door with such violence that it popped open again, and marched off to the lodge.

My father used to kid me about smoke coming out of my ears when I got angry. I was still smoking as I entered the lobby, and painfully aware of my tardiness, as well. But when the rosy young Austrian girl beckoned to me from the front desk, I calmed myself and went over. I always hate it when people take out bad temper on employees who can’t fight back.

“What is it?” I asked, forcing a polite smile.

“Herr Paliere asked me to watch for you,” she said, growing rosier. “He is even more handsome than in the magazines!”

“Isn’t he, though. Did he leave a message?”

“Oh, of course. He asked for a keycard to the suite, and when he did not find you in the suite, he was...not pleased. He wishes you to know that he is waiting for you at the swimming pool.”

I looked at her silently, breathing through my nose and counting down from ten. Then I pulled out my own keycard and slapped it on the counter.

“Change it,” I said. “Please.”

“Change your suite?”

“No, just reprogram it. I want one, and
only
one, keycard programmed for that suite, and I will pick it up myself, in person, in ten minutes. Me, not Herr Paliere, and not...anyone else. Especially anyone else. Is that clear?”

“Of course,” she said. “But I must ask the manager—”

“You do that.” I turned toward the hallway to the pool. “I’ll be back.”

The lodge’s swimming pool was a perfect circle, its turquoise-blue surface reflecting a ring of white lattice fence and a surrounding stand of lofty pine trees. In my day the pool was strictly off-limits to staff—a rule that was deliberately and frequently flouted. Oh, the midnight swims, the damp husky shoulders of the boys, the chlorine-flavored kisses...

In a somewhat better frame of mind, I emerged into the dazzling sunlight and looked around for Beau. I was expecting an impatient but elegant figure, perhaps clad in an Italian summer suit, seated in the shade with a pile of papers and a laptop.

But the only laptops I saw were smeared with cocoa butter. As I scanned the dozens of suntanned and bikinied figures that reclined on lounge chairs or stood waist-deep in the pool, I was painfully aware that my face was flushed, my hair was frizzy, and I was the only one out here with clothes on.

Then I heard Beau’s unmistakable voice, deep and smooth, like audible cognac. It came from the far side of the pool, where a pair of lounges were drawn cozily together, well placed for the occupants to see and be seen. The occupants were Beau and Olivia, Tracy’s maid of honor, lying facedown and murmuring to each other across their folded arms.

Olivia’s sarong was absent today, but it wasn’t her unveiled derriere that arrested my attention. It was Beautiful Beau’s. You don’t get many men in thong bikinis in Seattle, which is not a bad thing. The spectacle before me was like a bakery’s display case, four round brown buttered buns in a nice neat row.

“You’re late,
ma belle.
” Beau broke up the display by rolling onto one elbow. “I expect promptness from my Girls.”

The sight of Beau’s generous assets took the wind from my sails, but only for a moment. I wrenched myself into a more businesslike frame of mind.

“Sorry. Shall I wait for you upstairs?”

He waved a languid hand. “
Non, non.
As you can see, I am engaged in discussing the wedding with this exquisite
mademoiselle.
”

Olivia trilled with laughter, and I waited for Beau to introduce me, or sit up, or ask me to sit down, or
something
besides leaving me standing there in the hot sun like a lackey. Fat chance.

“You,” he continued, “may proceed with your work. Go and find Nevsky, review his plans for the flowers.”

“What about the bachelor party?”

“The game of base ball?” Beau spoke the two words separately, pursing his lips in distaste. “A schoolchild’s game at a gala affair... Eh bien, I bow to the wishes of the groom.”

“That’s big of you. What I meant was, when are we going out to the smoke-jumper base? The party starts soon.”

“You will see to it on my behalf.” He was already turning back to Olivia. “As I was saying, mademoiselle... ”

I left them to it. I didn’t object to going solo to the smoke-jumper base, given the snooping around I had in mind. In fact, the crumpled bit of paper with the padlock combination was already nestled in my pocket.

But as I reentered the lodge I marveled at Beau’s laissezfaire attitude. Did he always let his assistants do the work while he got the glory, or was he just coasting on this particular wedding to take advantage of me? If I ever met another of Beau’s Girls, I’d have to ask her.

When I picked up my recoded keycard, the young desk clerk gave me an appraising look, one female to another, and handed me a folded note. It bore my name in Aaron’s slanted, angular handwriting.

“Another gentleman asking for you,” said the clerk.

“Let me guess. He also was not pleased.”

She dimpled. “No. But also handsome!”

I unfolded the note.
This is crazy, Stretch,
it read.
Can we
talk? I’ll be in the bar—love, A.

Love, huh? I walked over and peeked through the door of the Duchin Lounge. Sure enough, there was the back of Aaron’s undeniably handsome head. His hair was black as crow feathers, but fine and silky to the touch. My fingertips still kept the feel of it...

Maybe I overreacted, just a little?
I told myself that it couldn’t hurt to talk, though I really should be working. I reached for the door handle—and saw Aaron take a deep drag on a cigarette.
To hell with it.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and turned away. Let him cool his heels and work on his apology while I went looking for Boris.

Sun Valley Village is a pleasant pedestrian complex, with restaurants and shops scattered among the lawns and the duck ponds. I cut through them at a rapid clip toward the tennis court parking lot, where I knew that a refrigerated trailer full of flowers had been trucked in last night. But I was waylaid by two people I couldn’t turn away from: the mother of the bride and my own mother.

“Oh, there you are, dear,” said Mom. “Are you having fun?”

She and Cissy, along with three other ladies, were just emerging from the Chocolate Foundry. As the door closed behind them I caught a heady draft of fudge perfume. The Foundry stocks a dizzying array of candies, but the real treat is watching them sculpt molten chocolate into truffles on the marble countertop. Cissy, I noticed, carried a bulging paper sack.

“Carnegie’s not supposed to have fun,” she said with a droll little finger wag at me. “She’s working. Beau says you’re wonderful, you know. A real fast learner.”

“Golly. How sweet of him.”

I tried to press on, but Cissy insisted on introducing her companions. And when I heard their names I was glad she did. Two of the ladies, sisters with long horsey faces, were well known for their wealth, and the third was the governor of Idaho’s wife. Even better, all three of them seemed to have marriageable daughters or nieces or both, and I had a sudden vision of opening a Made in Heaven branch office in Boise.

“Let me give you my business card and—ack!”

Domaso’s dog Gorka, tail wagging and drool flying, burst out of some nearby shrubbery and into our little group. The sisters whinnied in terror, and the governor’s wife was nearly upended. Gorka wasn’t barking, but only because his mouth was full of a length of black fabric, which whipped through the air as he snapped his massive head playfully back and forth.

“Get away!” yelped Cissy, her bonbons ascatter. “Carnegie, can’t you stop him?”

“That’s your dog?” one sister inquired from behind the safety of the Foundry’s porch railing. “I hardly think...”

“He’s not mine,” I protested. “Gorka, down! I’m not playing tug-of-war with you, so don’t— Hey, drop that.
No!
” Gorka had abandoned his toy to lunge for Cissy’s chocolates. I kicked one out of his way and hauled at his collar before he reached the others. “Cissy, pick those up. Hurry, I don’t think I can hold him.”

“Pick them up?” Cissy was incensed. “Don’t go telling me what to do, sweetie, especially when it’s your fault—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” said my mother, bless her. “Chocolate is poisonous to dogs, don’t you know that?”

Mom recovered the paper sack and began to collect the toxic goodies from the grass. One of the sisters helped, but the other women just stared spellbound at Gorka, who favored them with his biggest, toothiest grin, like a mouthful of steak knives. Then he let loose a bark, bunched his muscles, and bounded away, breaking my grip without even trying.

I let him go, figuring he’d make his way back to Domaso or to a dogcatcher, and serve them both right.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but he’s really not my dog. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go or I’ll be late.”

As I stepped away the tangle of fabric caught at my feet, so I picked it up. One of the ladies tittered. It was a bra. A lacy, capacious, shredded black bra.

“Is that yours, dear?” asked my mother, damn her.

“No, it is
not.
”

I dropped the thing in a wastebasket on the porch, and when I turned back Cissy was herding the ladies away. Mom, lingering behind, had a twinkling, girlish look on her face that should have tipped me off.

“Poor Carrie, still so irritable. You miss him, don’t you?”

“Miss who?”

“Your new friend, silly.” More twinkling. “But I’ve got a feeling that you’ll have a date for the wedding after all.”

“Mom,” I said, a horrid suspicion dawning, “what exactly are you talking about?”

“Oh, I hate to spoil the surprise, but I’m dying to tell you! And anyway, I’m afraid you might be up at White Pine when Aaron gets here. You see, I had a little talk with Eddie and—”

“You
what
?”

“Don’t shout, dear,” she said mildly.

But I was smoking again, and flaming, too. “You put Eddie up to it, didn’t you?
You
had him tell Aaron all that nonsense about me and Boris! How could you?”

She was entirely unfazed. “Is your friend here already? How nice. He must care for you a great deal to hurry like that. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Mom, Aaron thinks I set this up. He thinks I’m playing some stupid little game with him!”

“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t think that. And if he does, I bet he finds it flattering. Men are like that. Now, Cissy’s taking us to lunch, so you run along. Bye!”

Between the summer heat and the sheer indignation, I reached the parking lot barely able to breathe. The sun burned down on me and the black asphalt bounced it back up, unrelieved by any breeze. I headed for the canvas awning along the side of the trailer, but its breathless shade was scant relief.

“Boris? Anybody home?”

By tomorrow a line of work tables would be set up beneath the awning, and the floral crew would be working furiously at Boris’s direction. But for now there was only the hot asphalt and the grinding rumble of the trailer’s refrigeration unit as it kept the cargo of blossoms nice and cool.

Nice and cool.
If Boris didn’t show up soon I’d have to leave for the bachelor party, but I didn’t have to broil while I waited. Why not meet him inside? I went around back, mounted three steps to the double door, and slipped into heaven.

Ahhh... After the furnace outside, the trailer was positively arctic. But the Arctic never smelled this good. The long narrow space was jammed with flat boxes and plastic water tubs, and they in turn were jammed with many-colored roses and midnight-blue delphinium and the tightly furled spears of irises in white and plum and gold.

The flowers nearly hid the corrugated steel floor, except for an aisle down the middle that led past a heap of canvas sacks and a tower of crates. The crates must hold vases and bowls for arrangements, and I could see wands of curly willow poking out of the sacks. Boris would have a field day.