Terror in Taffeta (6 page)

“What? You've got to be kidding me!” I felt my face flushing.

“Don't make me arrest you, Miss McKenna.”

“No, no, I won't. I mean, I'll try not to. You have my full cooperation.” My dreams of escaping our Saltillo-tiled prison were slipping away.

“Good. Then you won't mind staying in town a couple more days while we investigate.”

Damn. If only I'd taken an early flight like the others. “You realize some of the wedding party is already gone.”

“I'm a detective, Miss McKenna.”

“Right. So I guess I'll just, you know, hang out.”

Ortiz nodded, glad I was finally starting to see things his way. “That would be best.”

I swung by my room and cracked the door open, but Nolasco yelled something at me in Spanish and I closed it again. He was busy going through my things. The perv.

I went down to the courtyard, where I found Brody waiting. I plopped into the chair next to his before filling him in on my own personal Spanish inquisition.

“Anyway, I have to hang tight for now, but you can still make it home tonight if you hurry,” I said.

“I don't know,” he said tentatively. He was clearly worried about me.

“No, it's fine. It's just so…” I waved my hand, at a loss for words.

“Ridiculous? Unfair? Completely sucky?”

“All of the above. Anyway, go on. Save yourself.”

“Are you sure?” Brody asked.

“Yes. Absolutely. Well, no. But yeah, go. Seriously. I'll just…”

There really wasn't any good way to finish that sentence. My eyes welled up with tears of frustration.

“Listen,” said Brody, leaning forward and squeezing my shoulder. “You booked me on a full-fare ticket, remember?”

“Yeah?”

“So it doesn't make any difference if I go back today or tomorrow or next week, even.”

I laughed, wiping the tears out of my eyes. “Next week? God, I hope it doesn't come to that.”

“You know what I mean. I don't have anywhere I have to be. That's the beauty of being self-employed. I can catch up on work stuff here as easily as anywhere else.”

“You mean it?” I felt about a hundred pounds lighter already.

“I've already checked out of my hotel, though, so it would be great if I could move into one of these empty rooms.”

“Oh, Brody!” I flung my arms around him. “You're amazing. I have to call the rental agency to see if we can stay, but we'll figure something out. Consider me your own private travel agent. And when you find Mr. Right, I'll plan your wedding for free.”

“Well, that kind of goes without saying.”

Calling the rental company proved easy enough. The next guests weren't arriving until Friday, which gave us a few extra days to figure everything out. It was ours—for a price, of course, but I wasn't the one paying the bills, so what did I care?

“Feel free to charge us double for the inconvenience,” I generously offered the rental agent.

“No es necesario, señora,”
he replied. “It's no trouble at all.”

“Oh, I insist.”

Next on my list was Evan, who was already at the airport, waiting for us to arrive.

“Hi, you on your way?” he asked. “We need to leave, like, now if we're going to make it to Mexico City in time for your flight.”

“We have a situation,” I said. “We can't leave yet.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because it would land us in a Mexican prison,” I replied. “We kind of lost a bridesmaid while we were here.”

“How do you lose a bridesmaid?”

“Well, not lost like ‘look under the bed' lost. You remember Dana? The late arrival you picked up the other night?”

“Yeah?”

“She's dead.”

“What? What happened?”

“We don't know yet. They're looking into it.”

“That's horrible! Is there anything I can do?”

“I hope so. I'm not sure when we're going to be able to leave. Is there any way we can reschedule?”

“Of course. My calendar's pretty flexible this week. I have some flights to make, but that's the beauty of being your own boss.”

“Thank you, Evan. I really owe you one.” I relaxed a little.

“I do have one condition.”

“We'll pay you double—it's no problem.” I was starting to enjoy running up a tab for Mrs. Abernathy. They could afford it. Perhaps I'd insist on luxury gift baskets for the house staff to make up for the inconvenience of dead bodies and histrionic guests.

“You're going out with me tonight.”

“Evan—”

“No excuses. You can't possibly be booked up since you weren't even supposed to be here.”

“I don't think I'd be very good company.”

“What are you going to do, sit home and stew? You need some distraction.”

“No way. You're a pilot. They'd probably arrest me for trying to leave the country.”

“I have some friends down at the police department. What if I clear it with them first? Would that make you feel better?”

“Evan…”

“Kelsey.”

“Okay, fine.” At least it would give me an excuse to get away from my clients for a bit. Besides, Brody would be thrilled.

“I'll pick you up at seven.”

“Okay, see you then.”

Brody looked at me expectantly as I hung up the phone. “Well? What did he say?”

“That I'm going out with him tonight, apparently.”

“What? Get out! That's great.”

“I thought you'd approve.”

“Of course I approve! Can I come with you?”

“Brody!”

“What? I want to make sure you two play nice. Then I'll leave when it's time for you to have sex.”

“We're not having sex. We're just having dinner.”

“Which is oftentimes a precursor to sex. I know you probably don't remember how these things work…”

“Fine, come along with us. What do I care? I'm being held date-hostage anyway.”

“I'm just kidding. You kids have fun.” He ducked behind a chair just in time to deflect the bottle of water I threw at him.

 

CHAPTER 6

Despite my protestations, there really weren't any good, solid reasons not to go out with Evan. Well, okay, there was the fact that he lived in another country and there was absolutely zero chance of it going anywhere, but who says all dates have to end in a destination wedding?

People always assume that when you're a wedding planner you want to get married really badly, when actually, nothing could be further from the truth. It's like if you worked at an ice cream shop. For the first month, you'd eat ice cream every day and think,
Wow, I'm super lucky; I can have ice cream whenever I want.
Then you'd start gaining weight
and
getting bored with the ice cream. You'd start to eat it less often, and after a few months, you'd find that you preferred salty snacks.

It's like that with weddings. You see enough of them, see what they do to people, and it dulls your appetite for weddings altogether. All those flowers and pretty dresses and lovey-dovey stuff? For me, it's just business.

I guess I'm a pretty terrible spokesman for my company.

Anyway, I'd finally agreed to go out with Evan, expecting nothing more than an evening away from the villa and maybe a nice glass of wine. He picked me up at seven, and we strolled toward the center of town.

“So how are you liking it here?” I asked.

“Can't complain,” he said. “Everybody's pretty laid back, food's great … except now that San Miguel keeps making all those ‘Top Places to Travel' lists, everyone wants to come visit me.”

“Hard to blame them. It really is beautiful down here,” I said as we walked through the town plaza, known to everybody as the
jardín
. On nights like tonight, with the weather mild and tourist season in full swing, as many as three or four mariachi bands strolled the
jardín
to field the constant stream of requests, like a chaotic battle of the bands where everyone plays at the same time.

We paused for a moment to sit on one of the park benches facing La Parroquia, a three-hundred-year-old church whose spires could be seen from almost anywhere in town. Even if you couldn't see the church, you could usually hear it: it marked the passage of time by chiming every fifteen minutes and clanging enthusiastically every hour on the hour.

I knew we'd stopped so I could appreciate the imposing building's Gothic architecture, but I took the opportunity to sneak a peek at my date. Mexico clearly agreed with him. He'd traded in his clean-shaven pilot look for a three-day scruff and grown his thick, brown hair out to his collar. Had it always been this wavy? It had never been long enough for me to tell.

He caught me studying him and smiled. “I'm glad I was able to lure you away for the evening.”

I nodded. “I'll be honest: it's good to get out for a while. Mrs. Abernathy's in a total snit about not being able to leave, and everyone else is pretty stunned by Dana's death. The mood over there is pretty intense.”

“I'll bet,” he said, taking my hand. “I'm sure they need some time to process everything that's happened.”

“Yeah, that's for sure. Anyway, the chef was cooking them something special tonight to try to cheer them up, so I know they're in good hands. And I could use some downtime, too. It was nice of them to invite me to stay there with them, but it's hard not to feel like I'm always on the clock.”

“Well, then it's a good thing you agreed to my demands,” he said, squeezing my hand playfully. “You hungry?”

“I'm starving, actually. All I've eaten today is what I was able to scavenge off the brunch buffet.” We'd passed several restaurants that I'd been meaning to try, including a Thai place that I was more than a little curious about. Not that Mexico wasn't allowed to deviate from Mexican food, but I was intrigued by the idea of slurping down pad thai and tom yum in a town known more for
barbacoa
and
albóndigas
. Besides, it was usually packed.

“Good,” Evan said, taking my hand. “I'm having my chef prepare us something.”

I looked at him in surprise. “Your chef? You have a chef?”

“Well, a part-time chef. He's amazing.”

“That must be nice. It's also very crafty of you.”

“How do you mean?” Evan asked.

“None of that awkward ‘Do you want to come back to my place?' business after dinner.”

Evan blushed just a little. “When you put it that way, I
am
awfully clever. Besides, Raúl makes the best sautéed sea scallops in the whole state of Guanajuato.”

“Sold,” I said, my stomach growling in a way that made it impossible to feign disinterest. “You had me at ‘sautéed.'”

I was excited to get to see Evan's house. Throughout the historic center of town, the residences are all hidden behind tall adobe walls that come right up to the sidewalk, and it's impossible to tell what's behind them without an invitation. Behind the heavy wooden doors could be an opulent villa or a modest
casita,
a luscious garden or a tiled courtyard, each one a secret waiting to be revealed.

As Evan turned the key in his front gate, I couldn't wait to see what would be on the other side. It was no villa, but it
was
straight out of a design magazine, with beautiful antique furniture, colorful folk art, and a garden-like courtyard lit by tin
luminarias
. Sure, your money goes further in Mexico, even in pricey San Miguel, but he had to be making some serious cash as a private pilot.

It felt good to be hidden away for an Abernathy-free evening. A table was already set for two in the courtyard, and as we sat down, a middle-aged man appeared with a pitcher of sangria and two chilled glasses, right on cue.

“Thank you, Raúl,” said Evan.

House staff. Nice.

Evan gently clinked his glass against mine. “Here's to our fourth date, five years later.”

“Better late than never.” I smiled, taking a sip of my fruit-laden beverage.

“Maybe you'll stick around long enough for a fifth date,” Evan said.

“No offense, but God I hope not.”

Evan looked a little hurt. “At least wait till you taste the ceviche before you make any hasty decisions.”

No wonder I'm such a hit with the fellas.

“I'm sorry. This is wonderful, and I'm glad I came. I'm just anxious to get back to San Francisco. Speaking of, sorry for canceling on you today.”

“It's no problem. I ended up booking a charter to Mexico City at the last minute, so it's all the same to me. Besides, it gives us a chance to catch up.”

And catch up we did.

Raúl brought us a seemingly never-ending parade of
antojitos,
leading up to the grand finale, his famous scallops, which were every bit as fabulous as I'd been led to believe. It would have been easy to lose track of time altogether, were it not for the church bells ringing in the distance.

“So, any word on when you're flying back?”

“No, the police are still investigating Dana's death, and we've been instructed to stay put. I guess with the break-in, they're assuming something suspicious happened, but there's no way any of us had anything to do with it.”

“I don't know, though,” Evan said, sipping his drink. “Don't you think it sounds a little suspicious?”

“How do you figure?”

“Did your room get broken into?”

“No.”

“Did anyone else's room get broken into?

“No.”

“Just the dead girl's?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“And you can't think of one reason the police would be suspicious?”

“Look, Evan, I can see how it looks bad, but I know these people. They're annoying as can be, but they're not murderers.” I fished some fruit out of my sangria and munched on it distractedly. “Couldn't it be a coincidence? I mean, we don't even know the cause of death. The stupid police wouldn't tell me anything.”