A Wedding to Die For, page 21
Now he paused to look from face to face around Rebecca and Purdy’s living room.
Carrie shut her eyes while in the background Trent’s voice began again.
Was he angry because she’d concealed the knife cover? Well, that was understandable.
Angry at those who hadn’t called him the very minute something that might have bearing on his case occurred? Again, understandable.
Angry at all of them for, as he said—rather too theatrically in Carrie’s opinion—“putting themselves in harm’s way”?
That part, at least, was not their fault.
Mostly, she guessed, Trent was angry at himself because he felt stumped and frustrated by this case and had an audience here who not only, as politicians often said, “felt his pain,” but shared it. He also knew that most of them were counting on him to remove the pain as well as the danger facing every one of them, right down to baby Charlie.
She lifted her chin a notch higher. As far as she was concerned, the sergeant had every right to feel frustration. She felt it too, plus a significant amount of fear.
And the most frustrating thing of all was happening right inside her own thinking. A door there seemed to be stuck shut, closing out logical insight and the ideas her detective work thrived on.
The sergeant slapped a hand against his thigh—snap—which brought her back to his words.
“Our department doesn’t have the personnel to guard all you women. But three of you can sure help me by getting out of town. Go home. King, take your female friends back to Guilford—get ‘em away from my jurisdiction.”
Ahwell, Carrie thought, tuning him out again, angry or not, he isn’t actually yelling and his face isn’t red.
Poorman, this is quite a bit of serious crime for him to deal with. He said they’re not used to murders here in Eureka Springs. Now he has murder, bombing, people being shot at. No wonder he feels frustrated. Proves he can use our help, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
She realized the room had gone quiet.
Carrie came to attention and claimed the silence quickly. “But Sergeant, you wouldn’t know as much as you do about Melissa Donley’s possible role in all this if it hadn’t been for Rebecca and the rest of us.” She pointed to Rebecca, to Henry, and then swept her hand to indicate the women seated on the couch. “We have been of some help to you, and we haven’t really gotten in your way, have we? Besides, Henry already told the three of us we must stay together, never be alone, and we’d be safe. As for Rebecca and Charlie, a little caution and guarding by your department will take care of their safety.
“Henry, Shirley, Eleanor, and I are here in Eureka Springs today for three reasons.” She held up fingers. “First, to help the Mukherjee family get their business up and running. Second, to assist Rebecca Mukherjee as a new mother. Third, to see if we can help clear the family of any suspicion in the murder of Sonya Wells and learn who shot at them Saturday night.
“As I understand it, the probable time of death and an investigation of where Mukherjee family members were during the day on Saturday have pretty much eliminated them as suspects in this killing. You have witnesses who saw Ashur, Chandra, and their children in the places they said they were. You have said Wells was probably not killed where we found her and where evidence was set up to make the Mukherjees look guilty. Therefore our wish to prove this family innocent of any part in the death of Sonya Wells has been fulfilled.
“The shooting? Well, we’ll leave out the shooting for now.” Again, she came up against that door taped shut inside her head but, ignoring it, continued. “As for our work in the flower shop and to help a new mother, that’s totally out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it?
“Now—when are you going to talk with Melissa Donley? As soon as she realizes every one of us knows she slipped up by mentioning the knife, and also realizes we figured out the only gossip about the Mukherjees is at the high school, we’ll all be safe, won’t we?”
Trent eyed her sourly. “Someone from the department will talk with Ms. Donley as soon as possible. Until we do that, Rebecca will keep her doors locked and stay away from windows, especially at night.” He looked toward Rebecca. “And young lady, be sure that cell phone with our number in it is by you at all times, you hear? Call if you need to go out for any reason. We’ll find someone to drive you, we can manage that much.”
He got to his feet and held out his hand, palm up. “Fingerprints or not, I’ll take the knife cover now, Ms. McCrite.”
She went to her jacket, removed the tissue-wrapped cardboard, and handed it to him. “I know I was a fool,” she said as she sat down again, “if it’s any comfort to you.”
He didn’t comment, just stuck the cover in his pocket and spoke to Henry. “I give up on these three.” He pointed toward the couch. “They’re all yours, Major King.”
Humpf, Trent was treating them like chattel. She was glad to see that Henry did not look pleased.
When he reached the front door, Sergeant Trent stopped and turned back. “Okay, now I’m gonna tell you something for your own good...not to shock you. I think you already know most of it anyway. The attack on Sonya Wells was vicious. Bashing someone’s head in by repeated blows with a rock is ugly. The killer must have been driven by fury or desperation or both. He or she wouldn’t even have had to be especially strong, because we think an autopsy will show Ms. Wells was comatose at the time of the attack. There were no signs she resisted her killer.
“Detective Wolverton found the wrapper from a sleep medication prescription bottle caught in the waste pipe of her toilet. The prescription was in Wells’s name. There were two empty glasses in the dishwasher. No fingerprints. Somebody washed those glasses before they were put in there. Unusual, don’t you think?”
Eleanor said, speaking as slowly and thoughtfully as if the solution of this whole crime depended on her opinion, “Well, no, I don’t think that’s unusual at all. If I were a killer tidying up and had used a glass for poison or something, I’d wash it, of course. Any of us would.” She looked around the room, then at Trent’s stoic face. “I mean...wouldn’t you, Sergeant Trent?”
Trent stared at Eleanor for a moment before he went on. “Anyway, there was no sign of a prescription bottle in or around the house. With the label gone, the container could have been tossed in the trash anywhere. Needle in a haystack. Too bad, because it may have had something we could identify—residue or fingerprints, maybe.
“What I’m saying this for is so you’ll all take the danger seriously and be very careful. Someone out there is desperate.”
Carrie saw his lips pinch together in a straight line before he turned to the door, yanked it open, and hurried out. In another minute they heard his car start.
“I hope we can settle this soon,” Carrie said while the four friends ate schnitzel, cabbage, potato pancakes, and applesauce at the Bavarian restaurant that night. “I’d like to begin enjoying wedding preparations.”
“Well, yes,” Eleanor said, pausing to sign the charge ticket the server handed her, “but first things first. Carrie, we’ll get to you in plenty of time, but we still have a job here. So, what’s on for tomorrow? I know what the three of us plan, but how about you, Henry?”
“Since you’re working on flower arrangements with Chandra, and Purdy’s staying with Rebecca and Charlie all day, I told Ashur I’d help re-build latticework arches for tomorrow night’s wedding and go with him to install them at the hotel.”
“We’re all accounted for then.” Eleanor picked up her purse and started to stand.
“Wait a minute,” Henry said. “I want to be sure you really are spending the day with Chandra. Together.”
“That’s what we plan,” Carrie assured him.
The next morning the three women had just spread out their work materials under Chandra’s watchful eye when Eleanor said, “Chandra, would you excuse the three of us for about an hour? We have a bit of work to do before we start here. If Henry comes back from taking measurements at the hotel and looks for us, would you tell him we’re doing flower research and are definitely staying together?”
“I don’t feel comfortable lying,” Chandra said.
“Oh, you won’t be,” Eleanor assured her. “We truly are doing flower research—at Owen’s shop.”
Shirley and Eleanor were chattering away, telling Carrie what they’d learned about decorating and filling flower baskets the previous day, when Eleanor turned her car into the Owen parking lot. An immediate silence swallowed their conversation until Shirley said, “Land-a-mercy, look at that thing. It’s like a...”
“Huge cuckoo clock,” Eleanor finished for her. “Carrie, I’m amazed you haven’t mentioned this, er, structure.”
“To see is to believe,” Carrie said as they opened car doors. “Oh, there’s the white van. Owen must be in the shop. Now, Eleanor, are you comfortable with what you’re going to say? Henry and I learned a lot here, maybe the three of us will, too.”
“Yes, I’m ready. Let’s go do it,” Eleanor said, still staring at the building.
Jan Owen had her back to the entrance when Carrie opened the door for her friends and followed them inside the shop. The florist—whose bulk and big blond hair looked even more impressive in the ornate building—continued fitting purple foil around a pot of lavender mums, and, for a minute, she didn’t acknowledge the arrival of customers. The three women lined up at the counter, waiting. Eventually Owen, still not looking in their direction, said, “Help you?”
“We’re here about a wedding,” Eleanor said, “to plan flowers.”
The businesslike tone got the woman’s attention. She wiped her hands on her green coverall and turned around. When she saw them, Carrie thought she looked suspicious for just a few seconds before she caught herself and smiled, then glanced quickly toward the rear of the shop.
Following her gaze, Carrie saw Cody Wells through a wide opening into the shop’s work room. Good, he was here too, as Cindy Sturdevant had promised. It looked like he’d been unpacking glass vases and lining them up on a shelf. The boy sensed his aunt’s sudden attention and looked toward the front room. When he saw the three newcomers, he froze, and the cardboard box he held teetered dangerously over the edge of his work table. He steadied the box and, like his aunt, quickly returned his face and actions to normal.
Sensitive kid, Carrie thought. He recognizes us from the day of the bombing. She’d wondered if the boy saw them as he rushed out of Artistic Floral on Monday and was glad there was still a bandage on her cheek. He probably realized why it was there.
She watched him go back to lining up vases. It didn’t hurt at all to remind Cody Wells of what he did that day and that people were injured. She had a feeling it would matter to him.
Eleanor continued, “I’m a wedding planner from Guilford, and this woman,” she waved a hand toward Carrie without introducing her, “is to be married here later this year. My assistant and I,” another hand wave, indicating Shirley, “would like to inquire about your ability to help us.”
Jan drew herself up to her full height which must be, Carrie decided, at least six feet tall plus hair. “We are the top floral designers in this area.”
Eleanor took a date book from her purse, opened it, and pretended to study a page. “Yes, you are recommended, along with a firm called Artistic Floral. We have not spoken to them about this wedding yet. We had planned to go there on Monday, but there was an...interruption. Perhaps we won’t have to interview them, depending...”
“We can fill your needs to greatest satisfaction,” Owen said, “and I am sure you’ll prefer doing business with an American-owned firm. Most do.”
“American-owned?” Eleanor let the words hang in the air.
“Artistic Floral is foreign.” The big blond made the word foreign sound like a curse. “People from India.”
This couldn’t be going better, Carrie thought.
“My goodness, there must be a lot of people from India here in Eureka Springs.” Now Eleanor’s voice oozed smugness. “I happen to have an acquaintance who’s with the Eureka Springs Police. He told me when I talked with him just this morning that a Hindu couple here was first suspected, then cleared of involvement in a murder case the police are investigating. Murder! Isn’t that simply terrible?”
Owen sneered, revealing a row of too-perfect white teeth. “Oh, those are the people I spoke of, and I doubt they’ve been cleared.” She glanced toward her nephew again and lowered her voice. “It was my own sister they killed last Saturday night. One or both of them murdered her in the woods right next to the Crescent Hotel parking lot.”
Eleanor shuddered. “Tsk, tsk, how tragic for you.” Shirley and Carrie produced sad faces and shook their heads in unison.
“That’s why I doubt they have an alibi. I, for one, saw the husband there by himself that night, though he didn’t see me, thank goodness. The tragedy is, those Hindus meant to kill me instead of poor Sonya—get rid of the business competition, you know. They killed her by mistake!”
Owen was warming to her story in response to three listeners with sympathetic expressions. “You’ll understand that I must look my best at our customer’s weddings, and I have several wigs to use in case my hair gets mussed and I haven’t time to go to the salon. Sonya was taking my oldest wig to a friend whose daughter has the role of Martha Washington in a school play. I’m sure, in fun, my sister just popped that wig on her head and those foreigners mistook her for me and...” She made a slicing motion across her throat.
“Oh, no, you poor dear,” Eleanor said. She raised her voice as if for emphasis. “But my friend did say most definitely that the Hindu couple is in the clear. They’ve accounted for where they were during the period of time involved, and a number of people confirm it.”
“But, I saw him...”
Whatever Jan Owen planned to say was cut off by a crash from the work room. Everyone turned to look toward Cody Wells as he stared at them, one hand clutching an empty cardboard box.
Carrie didn’t need to guess what had happened. She was becoming very familiar with the sound of breaking glass.
Jan Owen’s agitation and the resulting tirade directed at her nephew ended any need for continuing their wedding flower charade. Eleanor told the back of Owen’s green coverall that they’d return at a better time, and the three women all but ran out of the shop.
After Eleanor’s car began moving, Shirley said, “Whoee...she did unload just like you said she might, Carrie. Looks like she’s another one who doesn’t see granny ladies as anything beyond wrinkles and addlepated curiosity.”
Carrie leaned forward from the back seat. “I’ve found age and grey hair often give us a huge advantage over younger people. Many folks, women especially, are willing or even eager to dump their problems on a sympathetic, non-judgmental granny.”
Shirley laughed. “We’re the ‘Granny Detectives.’ I like that.” She glanced back at Carrie and reminded her to fasten her seat belt before she said, “I’m more than glad that boy was in the shop. Now he’s heard the truth about Chandra and Ashur. Tell me, though, how are we gonna let the police or Henry know what happened back there without giving up we didn’t exactly follow today’s plan?”
Carrie could still picture the look on Cody Wells’s young face after he heard the Mukherjees weren’t suspects in the killing of his mother. “He was starting to cry,” she said. “Did you see that? A teenaged boy, and he was crying, and his stupid aunt just kept yelling and yelling as if she had no sense of how he felt. Or,” she said more slowly, thinking it through, “maybe she did.”
Shirley turned to stare at Carrie. “His mother is dead. Is it so surprising he would cry?”
“Well, no, but why right now, when he found out the Mukherjees had nothing to do with his mother’s death? Crying isn’t unexpected under the circumstances, but I wonder...”
“I wonder,” Eleanor stuck in, “if Cody Wells just learned his aunt lied to him and if he might not talk to the police on his own. Is that what you were going to say, Carrie? Maybe we won’t have to tell anyone what we’ve done, at least not right away.”
Shirley asked, “But, wouldn’t his aunt try to stop him from doing that? Talk to the police, I mean?”
“She might,” Carrie said, speaking slowly as she thought of something else. “Girls, help me here. Jan Owen said she saw Ashur at the Crescent on Saturday night. What was she doing there—if she really was there?”
The three women fell into an uneasy silence until the car turned onto the greenhouse road. Then all of them started to speak at once.
“It means...”
“That could mean she...”
And Eleanor’s voice, emotional and ragged, spiking above the rest, “Do you think it’s possible she killed her own sister? Just banged her to death with a rock?”
Silence returned until Eleanor’s car pulled up by the workroom door. Then Shirley said, her voice almost a whisper, “I’m more than glad we’re getting back to our flower baskets.”
Chapter 28
At last Carrie felt like a bride-to-be.
Water swirled, steam drifted, a masseuse awaited. She leaned back, shut her eyes, and spent a moment lamenting the modesty that kept her from trying something like this years ago.
Eleanor and Shirley had stopped off to look at local artwork in the lobby gift shop, but they would soon be enjoying similar pampering in rooms next door. She couldn’t wait to find out what Shirley might say about such luxurious treatment. Or Eleanor, for that matter, though she was used to the spa experience, as she put it.
Carrie let her thoughts float free. Out of the blissful ether a picture formed. Two bridesmaids, Eleanor and Shirley, standing with matron-of-honor Susan. Perfect, even if that meant every woman at her wedding would be in the wedding party.
Except Catherine? She started a giggle but ended up sputtering instead when water sloshed into her mouth. Catherine could be her flower girl.
