For Better or Hearse (16 page)

“Are you sure it's okay to leave the car here?” Kate asked as I drove up Evermay's steep drive and parked in front of the caretaker's house across from the mansion. “Can't Richard see the car from the front door?”

“I'm sure he's too busy to come outside.” I glanced at my watch. “The party starts in half an hour, so he's probably torturing waiters right about now.”

“Maybe I should wait with the car in case the valets need us to move it.”

“Nice try, but let's go.” I stepped out of the car and waited for Kate to join me. “Look at it this way. The faster we get in and talk to Marcello, the faster we can get out.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Kate tugged me by the sleeve as she marched up the historic house's circular drive.

We passed the enormous round marble fountain that dominated the entrance, and I paused to look up at the
house. The red brick mansion was classic in design, but nonetheless imposing. Long rectangular windows were stacked in orderly rows across the front of the house and draped with heavy curtains inside. Wings had been added to each end of the square building, softening its edges.

I followed Kate up to the large wooden front door, and we peeked in the side glass panels. No sign of Richard. I turned the brass handle and slowly pushed the door open.

“He's probably in the tent on the other side of the house,” I whispered to Kate, waving her into the elongated foyer.

“You didn't tell me my hair was a mess.” Kate examined her short blond bob in the large mirror that hung on the wall.

I closed the door gingerly. “You look fine. It's not like we're going to see any eligible bachelors while we're here.”

“You never know.” Kate wagged a finger at me. “Always be prepared.”

Somehow I didn't think this was what the Boy Scouts had in mind when they chose their motto. I led the way through the formal dining room to the kitchen, pausing at the swinging door to the kitchen, and listened to the familiar baritone.

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Is that the theme song to
The Dukes of Hazzard
?”

“I think so.” I'd never heard an operatic version of the song so it was hard to tell.

Kate rolled her eyes. “Richard sure knows how to pick them.”

I put a finger to my lips. “Follow my lead.”

I pushed open the kitchen door and ran straight into
a stack of plastic glass racks that reached my chest. I edged my way around them, trying not to trip on the heavy plastic sheeting that covered the floor. Marcello stood with his back to us at the counter of the long, narrow galley kitchen.

“The hors d'oeuvres aren't ready yet,” he bellowed. “Come back in ten minutes and not a moment sooner.”

I cleared my throat. “We wanted to say hello before the event began.”

Marcello spun around, and his expression changed from irritation to surprise. “You two. Richard didn't tell me this was your event.”

“You know Richard when he gets caught up in things,” Kate said with a nervous giggle. “Probably slipped his mind.”

Marcello nodded and turned back to his chopping board. “You must excuse me. We're running behind schedule. One of the delivery trucks ran out of gas on the way so the food arrived an hour late.”

I groaned. Nothing made Richard more frantic than running late during setup. He would be beyond hysterical, and I knew from experience it wasn't a pretty sight.

“Let's go before he finds us here,” Kate said under her breath. She knew Richard as well as I did.

I shook my head and took a step toward Marcello. “Did you hear what happened at the Fairmont tonight?” I tried to sound as casual as possible.

Marcello hesitated for a second before he continued chopping. “Something else happened?”

“Another accidental death,” I continued. “The chefs there seem to be very careless.”

“A chef?” He held his knife in midair above the counter. “Who?”

“Emilio,” I said. “Locked himself in a walk-in freezer.”

Marcello lowered his knife slowly and leaned against the counter with both hands. I noticed his fingers turning white from the pressure. So he really didn't know about the murder after all.

“Didn't you know him?” Kate asked.

Marcello gave an abrupt nod, and then picked up his knife again. “We were colleagues once. In this business you work with everyone at some point.”

“I thought he worked under you and Henri when you were sous chefs at the Willard,” I said. “So did Jean St. Jean, right?”

Marcello shrugged, but the back of his neck reddened. “Like I said, I've worked with almost everyone in this town.”

From his reaction, I'd say he knew Emilio a little better than he claimed to.

“You must admit that it's somewhat of a coincidence for two of your former employees to have worked under Henri, the man you despised, who's now dead.” I braced myself for an angry response.

Marcello turned around and began laughing softly. “You think I had something to do with Henri's death? And perhaps the two sous chefs as well?”

“I'm sure Annabelle didn't mean to imply—” Kate began, taking a baby step back.

“I was nowhere near the hotel when Henri was killed, and I have a kitchen full of cooks to prove it, so you'd better come up with something better than a coincidence if you plan to accuse me of murder.”

I swallowed hard and put on my best poker face. “You didn't have to actually kill Henri if you masterminded the whole thing. I think you convinced one of
your former colleagues, who hated Henri as much as you, to do the deed.”

Marcello arched an eyebrow and leaned in toward me. “Interesting idea, but why would someone commit murder for me? I'm afraid my colleagues aren't that loyal. Your theory has a few holes in it, Miss Wedding Planner.”

So much for my visions of a spontaneous murder confession à la Perry Mason. Marcello actually made a good point. Why would someone commit murder for someone else? I knew I had the pieces to this murder puzzle in front of me, but I couldn't manage to put them together.

“Oh, well. You can't blame a girl for trying,” Kate said a little too brightly. “Let's go, Annabelle.”

I gave her a withering look.

“Where are my hors d'oeuvres?” Richard's shrill voice carried into the kitchen from the door that led onto the back terrace. He was headed right for us.

“We'd better let you get back to those hors d'oeuvres.” I nudged Kate toward the kitchen door. “Richard hates it when food is late.”

I caught one final glance of the seething chef before exiting the kitchen and hurrying into the dining room.

“Well that got us nowhere,” Kate grumbled.

“Everyone needs to be dressed in five minutes, people.” Richard's voice echoed from the foyer. “If I see so much as one T-shirt, heads will roll.”

Kate clutched my arm. “He's right outside the room. He must have come through the foyer's door to the terrace. What do we do?”

I turned back to the kitchen, but Kate shook her head.

“I'm not going back in there,” she said. “He'll kill us, or worse, turn us over to Richard.”

I looked around the sparse formal dining room for a place to hide. Asian art covered the soft green walls and a large wooden table took up the center of the room. I peered up at the crystal chandelier that burned real wax candles. No help there.

“Great,” Kate whimpered. “Not even a couch to cower behind.”

I eyed the large painted screen that was pressed up against the back wall. “We can hide behind that. Follow me.”

We carefully shimmied the screen away from the wall far enough to slide behind it just as we heard Richard's rapid-fire footsteps enter the room. I held my breath as he walked past us. From the corner of my eye I could see him barrel into the kitchen. I let out my breath as I heard the cacophony of Richard's shrieks and Marcello's booming replies.

“We'd better make a run for it,” I said.

“I'm not going anywhere with Richard on the warpath like that. I'm perfectly fine right here, thank you.”

“Kate, we can't stay here the entire event. Guests are going to start arriving soon. One of them is bound to see us like this.”

“As soon as we step out from behind here, Richard's going to walk out. I know it,” Kate whispered. “Why don't we walk behind the screen until we get close enough to the door to make a run for it?”

“You're kidding, right?” I rolled my eyes. “You don't think a screen lurching across the room on its own will attract attention?”

“We'll go slowly and stick close to the wall.” Kate edged her side of the screen over. “Work with me, Annabelle.”

“Oh for God's sake,” I muttered, pushing my end out with my foot. “I'll bet other wedding planners don't do this type of thing.”

“We've always wanted to be unique.” Kate shuffled sideways. “I think this would qualify.”

“Oh, shut up.”

We ambled the screen around the outskirts of the dining room until we were almost at the door. I poked my head out and looked into the foyer.

“The coast is clear.” I waved for Kate to follow me. “It's now or never.”

We abandoned the screen and scurried through the foyer and out the front door. I pulled the heavy door behind me as silently as possible and jumped when I heard Richard's voice on the other side.

“Who moved this screen? Anyone? It couldn't have walked over here by itself, people. When I find out who's responsible…”

I started running with Kate close at my heels, and we were both breathing hard when we reached the car. I cast a glance over my shoulder and sighed in relief. No Richard.

“Good thing he didn't see us.” I felt a twinge of guilt. “I feel sorry for the poor person who has to suffer his wrath for moving the screen.”

“Tell me about it.” Kate collapsed against the passenger side. “When he gets his feathers muffled, there's no living with him.”

“I'd call last night a total bomb.” Kate collapsed onto my couch, draping her arm across her eyes. From what I could see, her black suit reached her knee and didn't show any cleavage. I studied her carefully for a hidden side slit or peekaboo back. Nothing. Either everything she owned was at the dry cleaner or she'd finally decided to dress appropriately for a wedding.

“I wouldn't say that.” I tucked in my ivory silk shell and zipped up the side of my black dress pants.

“You didn't miss a date with the cutest new senatorial staffer.”

“You had a date last night?” I didn't know why I was so surprised. When it came to her social life, Kate was a champion multitasker.

“We were supposed to have dinner at Ceiba, but after the covert mission you dragged me on I was too wiped out to go home, put together an irresistibly cute outfit, and be captivating for a few hours.” She peeked
at me from under her arm. “I really could have used one of their mojitos, too.”

“Our covert mission, as you call it, wasn't a total waste of time.” I pulled back my living room curtains and squinted at the bright sunshine, crossing my fingers for some clouds before our outdoor photo session with the bride. Every bride prayed for sunny weather, but photos were more flattering when it was slightly overcast.

“How do you figure that?”

“Didn't you see Marcello's reaction when we accused him of being an accomplice to murder?”

“First off,
we
didn't accuse him of being involved in the murder. That was all you.” Kate shook her head. “Personally, I never tick off someone holding a knife.”

“Don't you think he was awfully calm about the whole thing?” I hoisted my metal emergency kit onto the table and opened it to see if I needed to restock any wedding supplies.

“Maybe because he didn't do it?”

“I know we can't prove anything, but I just have a feeling that he's involved. Everyone else hated Henri because he was horrible, but Marcello had a real motive. He lost his career, his wife, his kid.”

“It's not like he talks about them, though.” Kate sat up and adjusted the waist of her black panty hose. “Maybe his wife would have left him anyway. He does have a nasty temper.”

I pawed through the contents of my wedding “crash” kit, as Kate lovingly called it. Safety pins, bobby pins, ink pens, hair spray, bug spray, static guard, fake rings, scissors, tape, glue, white-out, sewing kit, buttons, Velcro, ribbon, powder, chalk, extra strength aspirin. We were in business.

“I still have a feeling that Marcello knows something, even if he didn't actually do it,” I said.

“Since the police lost our only real evidence, we might never know who did it.”

I groaned. “Don't remind me.”

“At least Joni hasn't asked for her tape back yet. If we're lucky, the bride won't even want to see her video.” Kate gave a small shudder. “Would you want to relive that?”

“Wait a second.” I closed the emergency kit quickly and fastened the metal clasps. “Why didn't I think about this before?”

“What? Why do you have that look like you're up to something?”

“I'll bet Joni didn't give us her only copy of the footage. She always copies weddings onto her hard drive so she can edit them, and I'm sure she makes backups.”

“You mean in case the wedding planners borrow them and give them to the police as evidence in a murder case?” Kate didn't sound convinced.

“Exactly.” I grabbed the phone off the coffee table and dialed the videographer's phone number from memory. Answering machine. I left a long message explaining everything and gave her my cell phone number.

“Anyone home?” Leatrice cooed as she pushed open the door.

I glared at Kate as I put the phone back on its charger. “You didn't close the door behind you?”

“Sorry.” She winced. “We're just about to leave for a wedding, Leatrice.”

“Lucky I came up when I did.” Leatrice bounced into the room wearing a multicolored sweater with three-dimensional puffy penguins sewn all over it. “Ian
and I have a theory about the murders that I wanted to share with you.”

“You and Ian?” I looked at the door. “He's here, too?”

“Not now.” Leatrice laughed. “But he was here last night looking for you. I told him you must be out working so I invited him in and we had TV dinners together.”

Kate frowned at me. “Did you stand him up?”

My mouth went dry as I vaguely recalled a previous mention of a Friday night date. Had I missed my only real date in months? “I don't think so. At least I don't remember setting a definite time.”

“You need some serious help, Annabelle.” Kate gave me an exasperated sigh. “I see that I'm going to have to put some overtime in to bring you up to speed on dating.”

“Can I help?” Leatrice clapped her hands.

Just what I needed. Dating advice from an eighty-year-old in a three-dimensional penguin sweater. I'd have to call Ian later and try to explain, but for now I had to focus on the murder. Not to mention the wedding.

“What's your theory, Leatrice?” I tried to change the subject.

Her eyes lit up. “Ian thinks that it had to be Mr. Elliott, and I have to agree that he's a completely unpleasant man.”

“We've been down this road before.” I slipped my black suit jacket off the back of a dining room chair. “As much as I'd love him to be guilty, I just don't think he has the motive.”

“Did Ian tell you why he's convinced the GM did it?” Kate asked.

“He seems to know everyone at the hotel pretty well.
I guess he thinks Mr. Elliott is the most likely person to commit murder.” Leatrice blushed. “He's such a nice boy once you get past the tattoos. He even promised to come over and help me with some surveillance this afternoon. Too bad you girls have to go. I'm going to heat up frozen corn dogs.”

Poor Ian. This had to be one of his tamer Saturdays.

“What type of surveillance?” I hesitated to ask.

Leatrice lowered her voice and darted a glance over her shoulder. “You know that couple that moved into the second-floor apartment?”

I nodded. “The ones from California?”

“Or so they say.” Leatrice gave us a knowing look. “I think they're really moles.”

“What?” Kate stifled a laugh.

“Sleeper spies,” Leatrice continued. “They're planted here by foreign governments and they wait until the perfect moment to spring into action. I've been observing them for weeks.”

“No wonder this building has so much turnover,” Kate said under her breath.

“You know that Washington has more spies than any other place in the world, don't you?” Leatrice didn't wait for an answer. “We have to stay on our toes, girls.”

“Sorry we're going to miss all the fun, but we have to run or we'll be late.” I slipped on my jacket and grabbed my emergency kit off the table. “Tell Ian that I said hi and that I didn't mean to stand him up. It's just that I didn't remember…no, don't tell him that. I didn't know we had a date…no, that doesn't sound good, either….”

“Don't worry, dear.” Leatrice squeezed my hand. “I'll explain that you've been a bit frazzled what with work and the murders.”

Exactly what a man wanted to hear. “Thanks, Leatrice.”

She followed us out the door and waved as we hurried down the stairs.

Once we were out of earshot, Kate turned to me. “I hate to be the one to tell you, Annabelle, but she's nut-tier than a fruit bake.”