Annabelle Archer BoxSet, page 163
part #1 of Annabelle Archer Series
I turned my attention back to Detective Hobbes. “You were asking about the other planners at The Mayflower Hotel?”
Richard looked between Reese and me and tapped his finger on his chin, and I knew his mind was whirring.
Detective Hobbes produced a notepad from his pocket. “We’re interested in knowing how they might have been tied to the victim. Take Byron Wolfe, for instance.”
“Does this mean things are slowing down to a normal pace?” Richard asked me, his voice low. “Or did something happen and we’re in a cooling-off phase?”
I pretended not to hear him. “I saw Byron yesterday with Gail Gordan. I think they do events together every so often. Their wedding wasn’t at The Mayflower, though. The bride only got ready there.”
“I’d like to think this means you took my advice not to rush into anything foolish like moving in with someone you’ve only been dating a few months,” Richard said under his breath.
“I told you I’d let you know when I’d decided,” I muttered to him.
Detective Hobbes looked back and forth between Richard and me. “Did Byron and Gail get along with the victim?”
“I really couldn’t tell you,” I said.
“I could,” Richard said in a sing-song voice.
“And you are?” Hobbes asked.
“Why don’t you tell him, Detective?” Richard said to Reese.
“This is Richard Gerard,” my boyfriend said. “He owns a catering company and was also at the scene of the murder yesterday.”
Richard sat down in the yellow twill chair across from the couch and gave Reese an arch smile. “Detective Reese and I go way back, don’t we?”
Reese shifted. “You could say that.”
Hermes jumped down from the couch, ran over to Richard on the chair, licked Richard’s hand, and ran back to Leatrice.
Richard let out a breath and rummaged through his man bag until he produced a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. “Although I’m not nearly as close to him as some people.” He gave me a pointed look.
He was loving this, and I could have killed him.
“Can you tell us anything else about the other wedding planners?” Hobbes asked, a thoroughly bewildered look on his face.
Richard crossed one leg over the other and focused his attention on Detective Hobbes. “Byron is the biggest brownnoser in the business. He sucks up to all the female planners in town and they all love him. Some of them, literally.”
Leatrice’s eyes widened, and Hermes mimicked her expression, his spiky brown bangs popping up. Since Leatrice liked to babysit Richard’s dog so much, I worried the dog was taking on her personality. I suppose that was better than the alternative, I thought as I watched Richard dab antibacterial gel on his hands like he was applying salve to a burn victim.
“What about Gail?” Reese asked.
“She’s a female version of Byron.” Richard dropped the gel back into his bag. “She’s had a series of rich husbands and stays in the business as an excuse to party all the time. She’s a huge gossip and one of the industry’s power brokers.”
“Were she and Byron involved?” I asked and wondered why Richard had never shared this gossip before.
“There have been rumors,” Richard said. “I wouldn’t put it past either one of them.”
Hobbes wrote furiously in his notepad without looking up. He directed his questioning to Richard. “So Gail and Byron have a lot in common then.”
“They both started off in this industry working for Carolyn, and they both hated her with a passion.”
Leatrice’s eyes didn’t leave Richard as she took the other coffee mug and began drinking, with Hermes curled up next to her. So much for getting rid of her so she could get ready for her date. If Richard kept spilling this much dirt, she’d never leave.
“Why?” Hobbes and I asked simultaneously.
Richard folded his arms in front of him. “Because she ruined their lives, of course.”
I gulped. Things were starting to get interesting.
10
“Are you sure you should have told the police gossip about Byron and Gail?” I asked Richard after the detectives had left.
Reese had let his partner go ahead to the car, but between Richard and Leatrice, we hadn’t gotten more than a few moments alone and all I’d gotten was another apology, a quick kiss, and a promise he’d call me later. Even Leatrice had gotten more time with him since she’d insisted on walking with him downstairs. She’d claimed she wanted to take Hermes down to her apartment to give him treats, but I suspected she also wanted to talk about the case with Reese.
“It wasn’t gossip,” Richard insisted. “Byron and Gail both started out working for Carolyn. It’s no secret Carolyn tried to blacklist them when they each went out on their own. Of course, Byron worked for her about ten years before Gail came along but same story for each one.”
“I mean the part about them having an affair,” I said, then paused. “Wait a second. Is Byron really that much older than Gail?”
Even though the man had gray in his dark hair, I’d assumed it was premature.
Richard winked at me. “Plastic surgery, darling. I did say the affair was purely speculation. No one can arrest you for sleeping around. If they could, half our industry would be in the slammer.”
“At least I’d be in the clear on that one.” I picked up the tray with the untouched mugs of coffee and walked to the kitchen.
Richard leaned his elbows on the dividing counter between my kitchen and living room. “Are you sure you don’t have a little romantic competition from your nutty neighbor?”
“I think I can handle a rivalry with an eighty-year-old who runs around in battery-operated clothing. Plus, she’s involved with Sidney Allen, remember?”
Richard grimaced. “Stop it. Now I’m imagining the two of them together.” He pressed his eyes closed and shook his head back and forth. “Make it stop. Make it stop.”
“If it wasn’t for her upcoming date, she’d still be here discussing the murder.”
“What’s to discuss?” Richard opened his eyes and took a last swig of his wine. “I, for one, don’t want to relive the horror any more than I have to.”
I felt wobbly in the knees thinking about Carolyn’s lifeless body swinging in midair. “You don’t think Byron or Gail really had anything to do with the murder, do you?”
“I know neither one ended things on good terms with Carolyn, but a lot of people had issues with the Queen of Mean. I don’t think that’s a reason to kill someone.”
I shook my head. “People have killed over a lot less.”
“What would Gail or Byron gain from Carolyn’s death?” Richard came into the kitchen, washed out his wine glass, and pulled down a paper towel to dry it. “That’s a lot of effort to go to in order to get back at someone.”
“You’re right, but then who killed her?”
“That’s for the police to find out, Annabelle.” Richard eyed me. “If you’re thinking of getting any more involved in this mess than we already are, you’ve lost your mind.”
I waved off his concern. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“Oh, I think I do. Do I need to remind you what happened the last time I warned you not to stick your nose in police business? And the time before that?”
“I was a different person then.”
“A couple of months ago?”
“My point is I have no intention of investigating the death of Carolyn Crabbe. Detective Reese and his pudgy pal can have that all to themselves.”
Richard put the back of his hand to his forehead. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that.” He shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Now I need to retrieve Hermes before your crazy neighbor decides to put him in slippers that roar.”
Even though Richard loved to complain about Leatrice, he knew she loved Hermes as if he were her own. That didn’t mean she hadn’t been known to have some questionable ideas about the dog’s style, so Richard’s fears weren’t wholly unwarranted.
I walked him to the door. “I can’t promise not to talk about it though. I’m sure everyone will be asking about the murder at the Willard’s wedding planner party tomorrow.”
Richard rubbed his temples. “You have another wedding planner event tomorrow? Do wedding planners in this town ever work, or is it just party, party, party?”
“You know we work,” I gave him a look. “At least the ones of us who actually book weddings and don’t only obsess about Instagram stories.”
Richard rolled his eyes. “As if I have time to watch everyone’s ramblings. First it was incessant posting, and now it’s nonstop videos. If I wanted to know what people thought every second of the day, I’d ask them.”
To claim Richard had not adapted well to the influx of social media in our business would have been an understatement.
“Now with polls in Instagram stories, you can,” I said.
He threw his hands up. “Aaaagh!”
“Anyway, the Willard party is another start of the fall wedding season get-together.” I opened the door and leaned against it as Richard stepped into the hall. “All the wedding planners in town will be there, including lots of the old-timers who know the scoop on Carolyn and her possible enemies. I’m dying to find out all the people who had it in for her.”
“Be careful, darling.” Richard paused at the top of the stairs. “The guest list could very well include a killer.”
11
“You worry too much, Annabelle,” Kate said as I pulled in front of the Willard Hotel’s regal black-and-white awning. “The most dangerous thing about the Willard’s party will be Byron Wolfe if he has too much to drink. Or Maxwell Gray. Do you think he’s shooting the party today? He seems to photograph every party that has free wine.”
I glanced at my dashboard clock and took a final swig of my hot mocha, putting the white paper cup back in the holder. “It isn’t even noon. You think people will be drinking already?”
“If you ask me, day drinking takes the edge off everyone.” Kate opened the passenger door as I rolled to a stop. “Not a bad idea with this crowd.”
I handed my keys to the approaching valet. “To have them drink too much and get sloppy?”
“No.” Kate grinned at me. “It takes the edge off them if I drink.”
I raised an eyebrow and led the way up the stairs and through the revolving brass door into the hotel lobby. To call the Willard lobby ornate would be putting it mildly. Enormous marble columns rose two stories in the air and met a ceiling adorned with colorful, intricate tiles of each of the fifty state seals with pendant chandeliers hanging from them. To the left stood an old-fashioned reception desk backed with a mahogany wall of slots where messages for guests were kept before voicemail and cell phones. Clusters of palms in cloisonné urns gathered around the base of the columns, while a round table centered in the room held a mass of brightly colored flowers.
“We’re in the Crystal Room.” Kate motioned toward the long corridor across the lobby, and we climbed the red-carpeted stairs leading to it. Brass wall sconces, as well as hanging pendant chandeliers, illuminated the wide hall that was dotted with vignettes of velvet armchairs and marble-topped bistro tables.
“Well, if it isn’t the two cutest little wedding planners in the city.” The nasal voice and sarcastic tone made my skin crawl.
Eleanor Applebaum stood near the sign-in desk outside the doors to the Crystal Room, wearing a forest-green polyester suit and a laminated nametag. Her mousy brown hair fell to her shoulders, and she sported feathered bangs. Eleanor had apparently stopped reading fashion magazines in the mid-eighties.
I forced a smile. “Hi Eleanor. How are you?”
“Insanely busy, of course.” Eleanor gave us her best fake smile as she looked us up and down. “I have so many brides I can barely see straight. Did you see my Instagram stories yesterday? I was at The Mayflower, you know. I saw a lot of other planners, but not you two.”
Was there a wedding planner who hadn’t been at The Mayflower on Saturday? “Sorry. I don’t follow Instagram stories. Kate’s the one who stays up on that.”
“Missed them,” Kate said, returning Eleanor’s saccharine smile as she found our name tags on the table and handed mine to me.
“A picture, ladies?” Maxwell asked, holding up his camera and motioning for the three of us to stand together as he half-leered at us. We shuffled stiffly together and gave him fake smiles, then moved apart the moment the shutter clicked.
“Told you,” Kate whispered to me as Maxwell moved off toward the bar.
“Of course I left the hotel before all the drama.” Eleanor shook her head. “Too bad about your recent run of bad luck with weddings. Maybe there are a few brides who haven’t heard about it.”
“You mean the bad luck of having a wedding featured in the hottest wedding magazine around?” Fern walked up behind us and linked his arms through ours. “Let’s go get a drink, girls.”
Eleanor pressed her lips into a white line as Fern led us from the registration table to the bar a few feet away at the base of a long set of stairs.
“What are you doing here?” Kate asked after ordering a glass of white wine. “Not that we don’t owe you for saving us from Eleanor.”
“Don’t even give her a second thought. She blows more hot air than my hair dryer.” Fern didn’t bother to lower his voice. “I’m doing a presentation today, remember? The newest trends in bridal beauty from Washington’s most deluxe hairstylist.”
“Of course.” I ordered a Coke from the bartender. “Are you ready?”
“My equipment is all set up in the Crystal Room. Now I need my model.” Fern glanced at his jewel-encrusted watch. “She should have been here by now. I’m going to run and check the lobby again.”
I took my Coke from the bartender and sized up the crowd as Fern pushed his way through it, his brown man bun bobbing above the other heads. Wedding planners of all ages were milling around in Peacock Alley holding glasses of wine. It looked like I was the only person not drinking today. I took a sip of my Coke. I’d rather be on my toes with this bunch, especially if I hoped to catch any gossip about Carolyn.
“Feeling lucky?”
“What?” I was pulled from my thoughts by the perky voice of Stephanie Burke.
“Do you want to buy a raffle ticket?” Stephanie asked, holding a roll of red tickets in front of me. “The money goes to charity.”
Stephanie was one of the newest wedding planners in town. She had curly dark hair she wore loose down her back and brightly lacquered pink nails.
“What’s the charity?” Kate asked.
Stephanie blinked a few times. “Something about helping indigent wedding planners, I think.”
“There are indigent wedding planners?” Kate looked concerned and began digging in her purse.
I tugged on Kate’s sleeve once she’d purchased a raffle ticket and Stephanie had moved on. “Look over there. Byron and Gail.”
They were deep in conversation by the door to the Crystal Room, but it didn’t look friendly. Byron—a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and ice-blue eyes—held Gail by the elbow until she wrenched her arm free and stalked away, leaving him red-faced and fuming by himself.
“I wonder what that’s all about,” Kate said.
“Lovers’ quarrel?”
“Doubtful.” Kate shook her head. “I don’t get the vibe from them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were involved at one point, but not any more.”
I usually trusted Kate’s instincts when it came to men and dating.
“Don’t look now, but here comes Boob Job Bambie.” Kate downed her wine as Bambie Sitwell advanced on us, her significantly enhanced bosom arriving well before her face. She’d teased her hair high off her forehead and gone about three shades blonder since the last time I’d seen her.
“Annabelle, Kate.” She gave air kisses all around. “I was so distressed to hear about what happened at your wedding. And about Carolyn of course. You know I had my third wedding at The Mayflower.”
I’d never been able to determine how many times Bambie had been married, but I suspected she could keep her business afloat by planning her own weddings.
“It was pretty awful,” Kate said.
Bambie pulled us close to her in a huddle. “I heard she was hanging by a veil.”
“I don’t know if we should talk about it,” I said.
“I would never have mentioned it if Margery and Lucille hadn’t told me about it first.” Bambie put a finger to her lips. “You know I despise gossip.”
About as much as she despised cute pool boys and alimony payments.
“Lucille and Margery are here?” I looked around the hallway. “I’m surprised they felt good enough to come today.”
“They’re a bit of a mess, actually.” Bambie looked behind her as she spoke. “They didn’t know if they were going to stay for the whole party. Not that I blame them.”
“Lucille should take a few days off. She didn’t handle Carolyn’s death well.” I took a sip of Coke and craned my neck to find the two assistants.
Bambie touched a hand to her shellacked hair. “She’s always been sensitive. I’ve heard she cries every time someone cancels their wedding.”
“We never get emotionally attached to our brides,” Kate said. “Probably because they’re all insane.”
I glared at Kate. “She’s kidding.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Bambie giggled. “I know exactly what you mean. Even I’ve been known to turn into bridezilla from time to time.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Gail Gordan said as she joined our conversation. Gail wore her dark hair in a French twist and rarely had a hair out of place. “Don’t forget I coordinated your last wedding.”
Bambie threw her arm around Gail’s shoulder. “Who better to plan a wedding planner’s wedding than the OWP president herself?”
Gail had managed to be president of the organization more times than anyone on record. No one else had been able to take the internal politics and backstabbing for more than a year without having a meltdown. Gail survived mainly because she was responsible for most of the internal politics and backstabbing.
