Murder of a Wedding Belle (22 page)

“I need to go over to Laurel and put a fire under the crime tech’s butt.” Wally started the car. “He still hasn’t identified all the prints on the carton the bouquet holder was hidden behind.”

“Any other leads?”

“No. Our most credible suspects are Iris and the tent-and-rental man. I’m not convinced he wasn’t the one with Belle at the Brown Bag the night of her murder. You told me she claimed that she never went to bed alone, and a lot of women are attracted to those big, tough, tattooed guys.”

“True. At least for a one-night fling. And from what they said yesterday during the dance lesson, it doesn’t look as if any of the groomsmen were involved with her. And Riley said she never allowed Nick to be alone with Belle,” Skye reported. “Tonight at the shower I’ll ask the bridesmaids if one of Belle’s exes might have wanted to see her dead.”

“Sounds good,” Wally agreed. “That pretty much leaves the photographer, the linen consultant, and the dress-shop owner as the most viable secondary suspects. They all have obvious financial motives.”

“Now, if we could only find someone who saw one of them in Scumble River late Saturday night.”

“I’ve got Quirk and Martinez showing their pictures around town, but no luck so far.” Wally shook his head. “At least the vic’s parents are due back today. There’s something funny about them not responding to any of my messages.”

“Do I see a trip to California in your future?” Skye tilted her head. “I bet you’d look good in surfer gear.”

Wally grunted. “I can just imagine trying to get the city to pay for that.”

“Yeah. The only way that would fly is if they all got to go with you.”

“And brought their wives.” Wally kissed her cheek. “I’ve got my cell on if you need me.”

“Okay.” Skye slid out of the cruiser. “I’ll put mine on, too.”

“You be careful today. We still have no idea who killed Belle or why. The feds may be convinced it was the counterfeiters, but I’m not so sure.”

“Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute. “See you tonight at five thirty.”

By the time Frannie and Justin arrived at nine, Skye had unpacked one carton of each of the favor’s four components and set up an assembly line. She showed them how to put together the gift boxes, place the wine-bottle stopper and corkscrew set inside, attach the tiny heart-shaped thank-you card to the ribbon, and tie the bows.

Once the teens were busy, she went to see how Iris was doing. Skye found her knee-deep in roses and orchids. Apparently the deliveryman had offloaded the flowers on the curb and left.

“Hi.” Skye waved. “Need a hand?”

“Please.” Iris hefted a huge white plastic bucket of long-stemmed pink roses. “These need to get into the floral refrigerator as soon as possible.”

As they went back and forth with the containers, Skye commented, “I’ve never seen this many flowers in one place before.”

“Yes.” Iris placed a pail of orchids on a shelf in the rear of the cooler. “Normally there would be half this many, maybe even a third, but your cousin and her fiancé wanted something lavish.”

“I can believe that.” Skye wiped her brow. “Scumble River will be talking about this wedding for the next fifty years.”

“Riley’s exact words were that she wanted the décor to be ‘jaw-dropping.’”

“Knowing what’s planned, I’d say Riley should be able to hear the chins hitting the floor.”

“She’d better or I’ll be in trouble.” Iris didn’t sound as if she was kidding.

“Even with Belle out of the picture?” Skye asked. When Iris shrugged, she added, “I bet this is the first event you’ve ever worked at that had the preparations interrupted by a murder.”

“Yes. Thank goodness.”

Skye glanced at the tiny woman as she said, “Although I’m sure some of the people working for Belle in the past have wanted to kill her.”

“Maybe.” Iris shrugged again.

“I know since this wedding isn’t local, Belle is using a lot of new vendors, but how about the ones she arranged to come from California?” Skye pretended to focus on a pail of greenery. “Do you think any of them got fed up with her demands?”

“Besides me, you mean?”

“Of course.”

“The other regulars aren’t arriving until Friday,” Iris answered.

“Oh.” So much for that theory. As the two women worked in companionable silence, Skye said, “I just have to ask, did your name influence your choice of profession?”

“In a way.” Iris hefted the last container onto the shelf. “My parents owned a florist shop. They named all their children after flowers.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Three. Hyacinth, Daisy, and Rose.” Iris waited for Skye to walk out of the refrigerator, then followed her. After locking the door behind them, she asked, “Is this the only key?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not good.” Iris tucked a lock of straight black hair behind her ear. “I tend to lose stuff like keys.”

“Is that why I keep finding the cabin you’re using for storage unlocked?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you do at home?” Skye couldn’t understand how someone so successful and seemingly organized in every other way couldn’t keep track of a small thing like a key.

“My assistant, aka husband, takes care of those issues.”

“And he isn’t arriving until Friday?” Skye confirmed, remembering the floral designer had mentioned the date yesterday.

“Yes, he’s stopping in Chicago to pick up the crew I hired and should be here by midmorning.”

“Good.” Skye smiled. “Have you ever tried wearing the key around your neck? You could put the keys to your cabin, the storage cabin, and the refrigerator all on the same chain.”

“That’s a great idea.” Iris brightened. “But I don’t have a chain that’s sturdy enough.”

This was like dealing with a first grader. “I’ll find something that will work.”

“Here, you hold on to the key.” Iris thrust the tiny piece of metal into Skye’s hand.

“I’ll be right back.” Skye ran toward the cottage where Justin and Frannie were working to get a length of the narrow favor ribbon for the keys. As she entered she heard the teens arguing.

“You tell her. She likes you better.” Justin’s voice cracked.

“I’m not telling her. I told her about the misspelling on the menus and programs. It’s your turn.” Frannie’s tone was stubborn. “And she does not like me better.”

Skye cleared her throat and the teens looked in her direction.

“Uh, hi, Ms. D.” Frannie shoved her boyfriend forward. “Justin has something to tell you.”

“I do not.” Justin backed up. “You figured it out; you tell her.”

Skye glanced at her watch. It was past ten o’clock. “Somebody tell me already. I’m late leaving for the country club as it is.”

Frannie shot Justin an evil look, then swallowed and said, “There aren’t enough pink boxes. We’re fifty short.”

“Crap!” Skye felt like hitting something. Preferably her cousin, the picky bride.

“I called the company listed on the packing order,” Frannie volunteered. “They can’t get us the rest of them until Monday at the earliest.”

“Which is useless,” Skye finished Frannie’s thought.

“I checked online, Ms. D.,” Justin offered. “But no one has the exact same ones in stock, and even with overnight shipping we wouldn’t get the boxes until Thursday or Friday.”

“Terrific.” Skye closed her eyes. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Justin shook his head, but Frannie squealed, “A shopping trip!”

“And you know the only place around here that might have something like that?” Skye’s expression didn’t match the teenage girl’s.

“Wal-Mart!” Frannie jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “We’re going to Wal-Mart!”

Skye rolled her eyes. Just what she needed. A Wal-Mart shopping extravaganza.

Bang for Your Buck

T
he Wal-Mart in Laurel was surrounded by a parking lot the size of Rhode Island. And, as usual, it was full. To most of the inhabitants of Stanley County, shopping there wasn’t a quick in-and-out trip; it was a day’s entertainment. It wasn’t just a store; it was an amusement park.

Which was exactly what Skye was worried about. Justin had agreed to remain behind to continue assembling the favors, but Frannie had begged to go with Skye. The teen had prevailed when she pointed out that they could take separate cars, and she could bring the boxes back to Scumble River while Skye went directly to the country club. Now all Skye had to do was keep Frannie from getting distracted by the merchandise.

Frannie and Skye were able to park relatively close to each other, but their walk to the entrance was interrupted at least a dozen times by folks stopping them to say hello and ask what they were there to buy—a small-town social ritual that Skye had come to accept. Once Skye and Frannie were inside, they were hailed by another handful of Scumble Riverites before selecting a cart, and even more as they began their search for the party-supply section of the superstore.

Skye rarely entered the behemoth structure, but Frannie confidently steered them toward the right. They turned the corner next to a rack of Father’s Day cards, zigzagged past the wrapping paper and bows, and entered the party-goods aisle.

Oh, my gosh!
For a moment Skye was stunned, overwhelmed by the countless displays of Hello Kitty paper plates, Spider-Man napkins, My Pretty Pony tablecloths, and tiny toys of every description. Was anything here
not
designed to lure parents into overspending for little Susie’s or Billy’s birthday extravaganza?

Shaking off her amazement, Skye hoisted her purse more securely on her shoulder and scanned the shelves. “Do you see any items without logos, Frannie?”

The teen started to shake her head, then pointed to the far end. “Maybe down there.”

Skye squinted. “Where?”

Frannie took off at a jog, tossing an “I’ll go check” over her shoulder.

As Skye walked in the direction Frannie had indicated, she attempted to keep an eye on both sides of the aisle. She was in midstride when she glimpsed a patch of unadorned pink and skidded to a halt.

A nanosecond later a shopping cart rammed into the back of her knees, and a whiny female voice screamed, “Get the hell out of my way.”

Flailing her arms in an effort not to fall, Skye did an awkward pirouette and found herself staring into Glenda Doozier’s rabbitlike eyes. Skye’s heart sank. Of all the people she didn’t want to run into when she was in a hurry, Glenda and her husband, Earl, topped the list.

Skye likened the Dooziers to a pack of wild hyenas, intensely loyal to their own group but lacking the ability or desire to care about anyone else. They weren’t known for being the brightest flashlights in the woods, but they did have a talent for stumbling on, and taking advantage of, those whose bulbs were even dimmer. In a town like Scumble River, which was surrounded by railroad tracks, it was impossible to say someone lived on the wrong side of them, but the Dooziers came mighty close.

Earl was skinny, except for the small potbelly that hung over the elastic waist of his shorts, and a head shorter than his statuesque wife. His greasy brown hair formed a horseshoe around a cereal bowl–size bald spot on top of his head.

He was the patriarch and unofficial ruler of a Scumble River clan the locals called the Red Raggers—a derogatory term for kinfolk who lived in shacks by the river and led a different sort of life from the majority of Scumble Riverites. For the most part the Red Raggers kept to themselves—except when they were running some kind of con on the out-of-towners.

The problem wasn’t that the Red Raggers were poor, although they were, and it wasn’t that they dwelled in squalor, although they did; it was more that they seemed to enjoy living that way. As Skye had once tried to explain, the Red Raggers were the original out-of-the-box thinkers—as long as the box was a case of beer.

“Miz Skye.” Earl peeked out from behind his wife’s shoulder. “I ain’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

“Earl, Glenda.” Skye nodded to the couple. She had established a good relationship with Earl from working with his many children, sisters, brothers, nieces, and nephews in her job as a school psychologist, but she and Glenda had started off on the wrong foot when Skye first moved back to town, and they’d never quite gotten into sync. “It has been a while. Last Halloween, right?”

“Yep.” Earl’s toothless smile widened. “At the haunted house when I saved you from them-there spooks.”

“Yeah, you sure saved her. If nearly gettin’ shot in the ass amounts to savin’ someone.” Glenda snorted and hitched up her Daisy Duke cutoffs. From her grimy feet shod in red plastic stiletto sandals to her dyed blond hair with its two-inch black roots, she was the embodiment of an ideal Red Ragger woman.

“Uh, sorry to rush off, but I’m in a big hurry,” Skye said. Not wanting to get involved in the inevitable squabble between the pair, she looked around for Frannie. “I’ve got to run.”

Before Skye could move, Earl darted in front of her, his cowboy-boot-encased feet moving remarkably fast. “What-cha doin’ here anyway?” he asked. “I heard you was puttin’ on that fancy weddin’ for that snooty cuzzin a yours now that the other lady got herself kilt.”

“That’s right.”

“I sure hope people don’t start yellin’ at you like they did her.”

“I hope not, too.” Skye stepped backward, trying to escape. “I’m here to pick up a few things we need for the big day.” She made a show of peering at her watch. “Gee, look at the time. I better scoot.”

“You know”—Earl blocked her getaway—“I was thinkin’ of maybe stoppin’ on by and seein’ how y’all put on a shindig like that, but it turns out we got our own hitchin’ to throw. Ours is on Friday, and your’n is on Saturday, but I’ll prolly be too hungover to get outta bed until Sunday.”

“Well, we certainly understand.” Skye blew out a relieved breath. Earl may have been several inches short of a ruler, but he’d always been a good friend to her, and she would have hated to see what Riley would do to him if he crashed her wedding. “Who’s getting married?”