Murder Has a Sweet Tooth Read online

  “What do you think?” Eve asked.

  I didn’t dare wax too poetic. If I did, she’d go for the sapphire blue in a heartbeat. “You should try it on. It seems a little—”

  “Too plain?” Eve wrinkled her nose. She gave the dress another look, then held it up in front of herself. “Does it make my complexion look sallow?”

  “Absolutely not!” It was the truth and besides, I was secretly rooting for the peachy dress. It was everything I’d ever dreamed a bridesmaid’s dress should be. “I’ll bet if you try it on, you’ll like it. I mean, it’s that kind of dress, isn’t it? It might not look like much on the hanger, but once you’ve got it on, pow! You know, it might just be one of those dresses that looks spectacular on. Why don’t you—”

  “No.” Eve shook her head. Her gaze traveled back to the blue whipped-creamy dress and my spirits plummeted. She looked at the peachy one again and my hopes rose like those perky mounds of whipped cream. “I’m not going to try it on,” she said, and before my hopes had a chance to take another dive, a smile cracked her solemn expression. “That’s because I already did! I stopped in here two weeks ago and saw the dress. I tried it on then and fell in love with it just like that. It’s already been altered and it’s all ready to go. I swore Marie to secrecy about it. I knew you’d love it. I wanted to surprise you!”

  Surprise me she did, and I found out for sure that I would be able to move freely while wearing my dress. Since I was standing on the platform in the center of the room, I didn’t even have to reach up—at least not too much, anyway—to fold Eve into a hug. “You’re the best friend in the world,” I told her.

  She brushed off the compliment. “It’s easy to be a best friend in the world when you’ve got the best friend in the world to be best friends in the world with.”

  Semantics aside, we both knew we’d get all teary if we didn’t change the subject. I carefully slipped out of my wedding dress and back into my jeans and black T-shirt. While Marie herself—beaming a big smile and proud of herself for the part she’d played in Eve’s little deception—took both dresses to get them packaged and set to go, we sat in the dressing room and waited.

  “So back to that coaster,” I said, because honestly, I was beginning to feel as if we’d never get any further with the case if we didn’t talk about it every chance we had. “Why wouldn’t Michael mention that he’d been to Swallows? You’d think he’d tell the police.”

  “Unless he didn’t want them to know.”

  “And he didn’t want them to know because . . .” Here was the sticking point, and stick me, it did. Stuck, I propped my elbows on my knees and braced my head in my hands. “Maybe Edward wasn’t the only one Beth blabbed to. Maybe she told her husband that Vickie was going over to Swallows every week to meet Alex.”

  “That doesn’t seem likely, not when Beth was doing the same thing with that Jack guy. She had secrets, too, remember. I don’t think she’d want to give her husband any ideas.”

  Eve was right. I acknowledged it with a tip of my head. “Maybe Michael killed Vickie.” It was a bad idea; I knew that the moment the words left my lips. I tossed it out, anyway, for what it was worth and because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “You mean, maybe Michael and Vickie were having an affair?” Eve cocked her head, considering the suggestion. “And he knew Vickie was seeing Alex, too? And he went over there, and in a jealous rage he killed Vickie?”

  “And then he picked up a coaster as a souvenir.” My shoulders slumped. I saw where she was going with her argument, but hey, I knew the theory was weak from the moment I mentioned it, so I wasn’t too disappointed to watch it get shot down.

  As usual, I didn’t stay glum for long. “So let’s look at it another way. If the coaster didn’t belong to Michael, and it wasn’t Beth’s, maybe someone else left it there. That would be easy enough to do. Each of the friends knows where the others keep their hide-a-keys. And they’re together at least once a week for the wine tastings, and their husbands come, too. Maybe someone left the coaster there as a kind of message to Michael or Beth.”

  Eve liked the sound of this. Her eyes sparkled. “That’s brilliant, Annie! It’s a message. I like that. What does the message mean?”

  She had me there. Fortunately, I didn’t have a chance to try to explain my brilliant theory. Marie showed up with both our dresses in garment bags and made me promise to show her lots of pictures from the wedding. Of course I agreed, and we left to get back over to Bellywasher’s before the evening dinner crowd started to gather.

  Did I mention that the dress shop is in Old Town Alexandria, not far from Bellywasher’s? And that since it was a gorgeous spring day, the sidewalks were packed with tourists and locals out enjoying the sunshine? On our way back to the pub, we barely had a chance to walk next to each other, much less talk. When we stopped at a red light to cross a street, I waited for Eve to worm her way through the crowd to my side. Because I didn’t want to lose her in the press, I’d just missed the last light, and I toed the edge of the curb and tried not to get too annoyed when a lady behind me poked me with the corner of her very large purse.

  When Eve finally found her way to me, I picked up right where I’d left off and knew she wouldn’t miss a beat. That’s what being best friends is all about. It was one of the reasons I knew she’d understand when I explained, “All these people . . . Vickie and Celia and Glynis and Beth . . . they were all best friends. And their husband are best friends, too. They’ve known each other forever, some of them work together, their kids all play together. That means Michael probably didn’t kill Vickie. It just doesn’t make sense. And I don’t think Tyler’s right about Beth killing Vickie, either. For one thing, that doesn’t explain what happened to Beth.”

  Eve nodded. “So you think the same person killed them both.”

  “It makes sense.” It did. It was one of the few aspects of the case that did. “So if we solve one murder, we’ll solve the other. And I’d love to know why Edward fell for Beth’s blackmail if he wasn’t the one who killed Vickie, and if he is, I’d love to know how he did it in the first place when he was at that coaching meeting that night. And then there’s Michael saying that Beth wasn’t supposed to die yet. And Chip. He’s miserable and yeah, a couple of his wife’s friends have died, but that doesn’t explain why he’s so jumpy and—” Over to my left, across a side street from where we waited, a bus pulled away from the curb and, by force of habit, I took a step back.

  That was the exact moment somebody put a hand to the small of my back and gave me a rough push. My feet went out from under me and though there wasn’t anything for me to grab onto, my arms (and the garment bag with my wedding dress in it) flailed.

  I tried, but it was impossible for me to keep my balance. With a yelp of surprise, I stumbled into the street.

  And the only thing I saw when I did was that bus. It was coming straight at me.

  IT ALL HAPPENED IN SLOW MOTION AND WITH THE combined cacophony of Eve’s screams and the grinding gears of the bus as a sort of soundtrack to the scene.

  The bus got nearer. I saw the driver’s mouth drop open and his hands tighten around the wheel. I watched as a woman who’d just boarded the bus dropped her purse and put her hands over her eyes. That big ol’ bus grille got closer and closer, so close I could see the spots of road dirt splattered over it, and one big bug who’d made a wrong turn midflight and ended up flatter than a pancake.

  Just like I was about to do.

  My brain froze the way people’s do when they’re suddenly in dire straits and they find themselves acting on instinct and instinct alone. It wasn’t like I thought it would stop the bus or somehow ward off the thump I was about to feel when it hit me head-on, but I held up my hands.

  The bus got closer.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Then somebody grabbed my T-shirt and tugged me hard back onto the sidewalk.

  I felt the hot breeze as the bus whizzed past, shook myself, and
looked around. I was back up on the curb where I belonged, and Eve still had her hands bunched into the back of my T-shirt. The bus—

  “Oh, no!” I screamed because it wasn’t until the bus had already gone by that I realized that in the excitement, I’d dropped the garment bag and it had gotten caught under the wheels of the bus. Even as I watched, horrified, the garment bag containing my wedding dress got dragged down the street. My instincts took over again, and I took off after the bus. I never got very far. See above: Eve was hanging on for dear life, and there was no way she was going to let me get away.

  “It’s too late, Annie,” she said. “There’s too much traffic. And a dress isn’t worth getting run over for.”

  This? From Eve, the woman who would have gladly jumped in front of a bus—no matter how big—to save a vital fashion accessory?

  The fact that she was talking so much sense told me exactly how upset she was.

  Side by side, we stood and watched. At the next intersection, the garment bag pulled loose. Three cars ran over it. The bag ripped open, and I saw a brief flutter of fabric like a peachy surrender flag—right before a pickup truck whizzed past. When the truck turned the corner in front of us, there was a scrap of oil-stained, tire-marked, tattered satin hanging from his bumper.

  “My poor dress!” Tears sprang to my eyes, and I was buffeted by the crowds of people who, now that the excitement was over, hurried to get by us and get across the street. Had one of them pushed me? I looked around, anxious to see if there was a familiar face in the crowd, but by that time, it was already too late. If there was a person in the crowd with murderous intent, he—or she—was long gone.

  “Oh, my dress!” At my side, Eve wailed and I put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

  “It’s nice of you to take this so personally.” I patted her arm. “But really, Eve, it was my dress and—”

  “No! Really!” She grabbed me and swung me all around so that I could look to our right, to our left, up and down the street. “Now it’s my dress, too. I put my garment bag down to help you,” she wailed.

  And there was no sign of it. Not anywhere.

  I honestly can’t say what upset me more, my wedding dress getting run over, Eve’s bridesmaid’s dress getting stolen, or somebody trying to push me in front of a bus.

  OK, maybe I can. I guess in the great scheme of things, getting smashed to smithereens pretty much takes the cake.

  Fifteen

  IT WAS THE WHOLE BEST-FRIEND THING THAT GOT me thinking, and I had Eve to thank for that. After all, who else but a best friend would have been game enough to venture out into Old Town Alexandria traffic with me, weaving, bobbing, and dodging to retrieve all that was left of my wedding dress? Who else would have tenderly carried those pieces of fabric to the nearest bus stop bench, then sat down next to me and cried right along with me?

  Who else but Eve would have known that my disappointment was bound to morph into self-pity and chosen the exact right moment to vow (fist raised in the air like Scarlett O’Hara, but sans root vegetable) that, as God was her witness, she was going to do whatever it took to find me another dress in time for the wedding? And was there anyone else in the whole wide world who would move mountains to make sure it happened? Anyone but Eve? Absolutely not!

  On top of all that, she’d had her own dress literally swiped right out from under her because she’d gone above and beyond to save my life. Talk about a best friend!

  She insisted, so I left all my wedding worries in Eve’s capable hands and yes, I knew I was trusting a lot to a woman whose closet was filled with more froufrou then I’d ever owned or even knew existed. I had to. This was Eve, remember, and Eve had saved my life. She was my best friend.

  Naturally, the whole best-friend thing got me thinking about Vickie and Celia and Glynis and Beth. And it got me thinking about their husbands, too. All the rest of that day and all that night, my brain spun with possibilities. I kept legal pads around for just such occasions and I filled their pages with scrawled notes, names, dates, times, and alibis. By the time the next day dawned, the brain power I’d expelled on the problem was rewarded—

  I had a theory.

  It was crazy, sure, but it was the only thing that fit. In fact, it was so improbable and outlandish, I didn’t dare explain it to Jim, Eve, or Norman. Turns out, I didn’t have to. I was cryptic. They were still game to help me out. After that, we worked together like a well-oiled machine. We decided the hours of Beth’s funeral service were the safest to do a little undercover work, I told them where they’d find the women’s hide-a-keys, and we put my plan into action.

  Much to Norman’s dismay, we didn’t bring walkie-talkies. Instead, they each agreed to phone me during their searches. With any luck, it would be when they found what I hoped they’d find. I was already inside Vickie’s house and carefully poking around Edward’s study when the first call came in.

  “Are you OK, Annie?” It was Jim, of course. Leave it to the love of my life to worry about me more than about the case. He’s a sweetheart.

  “Of course I’m OK,” I whispered. Don’t ask me why. The family was at Beth’s funeral and the house was empty and quiet. Besides, Edward’s home office was straight out of every MBA candidate’s dreams, from the mahogany desk and bookshelves to the carpet so plush, I sank into it when I crossed the room. Even if there was someone around, I could probably talk at the top of my lungs, and I wouldn’t be heard. The place had that kind of Fortress of Solitude feel. Still, I wasn’t one to take chances, and I kept my voice down. “I’m just about to look through Edward’s desk.”

  “Well, I’ve already looked through this Michael fellow’s desk.” I’d sent Jim to Beth and Michael’s. He wasn’t happy about what he called trespassing, but I convinced him it was all in the name of clearing Alex’s reputation, and bringing a killer to justice. “It seems you were right, Annie. I found—”

  My phone beeped a call waiting. I told Jim I’d see him later. “Annie, you are the coolest PI since Mike Hammer!” It was Norman, who’d gone over to Celia and Scott’s. I knew from the tone of his voice that he’d found what I was looking for, too. “How did you know?” he asked. “I mean, really, Annie, you are the bomb! I’m thinking we’ll do an episode about you. You know, for the show. One night, it won’t be the Cooking Con, it will be the Cooking PI. You could do a special guest appearance and you could show people how to make—”

  Good thing Eve’s call beeped in. It saved me from telling Norman no way, no how. Eve was at Glynis and Chip’s, and as soon as she purred a cheery hello, I knew she’d had success, too. “I’ve got it, Annie!” Eve said. “It’s right here, just like you said it would be.”

  “Good. Now leave it there.” I didn’t have to mention this to Jim and Norman. They were conscientious enough not to forget that if we tampered with the evidence, it might affect the police case later. But it never hurt to give Eve a gentle reminder. “Get out of there,” I told her. “And don’t forget to lock the front door behind you. I’ll meet you back at Bellywasher’s.”

  Feeling far more encouraged than I had since the day Alex first called to tell us he’d been arrested, I opened Edward’s desk, careful not to disturb anything.

  But what I was looking for—what Jim, Norman, and Eve had already found—wasn’t there.

  Discouraged and bewildered, I plunked down into Edward’s desk chair. The leather was as soft as butter, so I should have felt like I was sitting on a cloud. Instead, when something stabbed my thigh, I squirmed. It reminded me of the poke I’d felt the day before when that woman on the crowded Old Town street jabbed me with her purse.

  Curious, I slid my hand down between the body of the chair and the cushion. My fingers traced the outline of an envelope. It was the corner of that envelope that had dug into my leg. I pulled out the envelope, examined it, and my mouth fell open. It was a greeting card addressed to Edward. Beth’s return address sticker, the one with her name printed right on it, was still stuck in the corner. />
  Two things occurred to me. One was that Beth had said she’d sent her blackmail letter to Edward inside a sympathy card. The other was something Tyler had told me—no one was stupid enough to keep a blackmail note, especially if that someone was planning to kill the blackmailer. But when I turned the envelope over in my hands, all was explained. At least all about why Edward had kept the card in the first place. It had never been opened. I pictured Edward bringing it into the office with the mountain of sympathy cards he must have received when Vickie died. He’d dropped this card, and it had slid down into the cushion and been forgotten.

  Which meant Edward didn’t know about Beth’s demands. Not about how she wanted Jeremy to play soccer. Not about how she wanted Michael to get that big, fat promotion.

  I tapped the card against my chin, thinking, and I should have been more confused than ever. Not so! Suddenly, everything made perfect sense. Now if I could only find what I’d come to find in the first place, I’d know I was on the right track.

  Reenergized, I scanned the room, wondering where Edward might tuck something so incriminating. Michael, Scott, and Chip weren’t as careful, which was why Jim, Norman, and Eve had found their copies of Sonny’s newsletter so easily. Edward, I suspected, had more to lose.

  After a couple minutes of thinking and a couple more of searching, I found it, finally, tucked under the desk blotter. Just as I expected, the newsletter was dog-eared and Sonny’s class schedule was circled in red. The words Saturdays only were underscored with heavy slashes.