Carmen smiled, and I did, too. Marco was so smooth it was a wonder he didn’t slide out of his chair.
“Could we have more cream, please?” one of the ladies asked impatiently, so I took off again, missing part of Carmen’s answer.
I brought a fresh pitcher in time to catch Carmen’s initial impression of Jonas. “. . . smart, handsome, rich, charming, and, as it turned out, a big jerk. At the mixer, he worked that room like a gigolo, which makes sense, considering he was looking for a good time, not Mrs. Right.”
That was a lot of information to get from observing one event.
“Did you match Jonas up with anyone ten months ago?” Marco asked, as I grabbed a wet cloth and started wiping down the other tables, trying to keep busy.
Carmen considered his question. “I believe so, but I’d have to look it up.”
She remembered the other details but not that?
“I’d be amazed if you didn’t have a match, given the way you described Jonas,” Marco said evenly.
“Again, how does this help your investigation?” Carmen asked.
“It plays into finding someone who might have wanted to get back at him.”
Carmen began to finger her mole, clearly growing nervous.
“Since you pegged Jonas as someone only looking for a good time,” Marco said, “I’ll bet you had reservations about matching him up with women who had come to meet their mate.”
“I don’t like to make judgment calls on my clients,” she replied. “Besides, I didn’t know Jonas was a jerk at the time. It wasn’t until—” She stopped, her face reddening, as though she had caught herself before divulging something she didn’t want known.
Marco leaned in, watching her carefully. “It wasn’t until what?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A
fiery blush spread from Carmen’s forehead to her neck. To mask her discomfort, she reached for her cup. After taking a sip and clearing her throat, she said, “What I was about to say was, it wasn’t until Jonas’s date complained about him that I found out what kind of man he really was.”
“So you
do
remember matching him to one of your clients?” Marco asked.
“But not the client’s name,” she was quick to add.
“Was Jonas’s behavior bad enough to file charges?”
Carmen was now tugging on the hairs in her mole, clearly stressed. “He didn’t physically hurt her or anything. What I remember was that the woman was upset because Jonas wasn’t the gentleman he pretended to be. He was more interested in someone who’d buy him things and show him a good time.”
Marco raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I was under the impression that Jonas was wealthy. Why would he want a woman to buy him things?”
Carmen’s lips thinned ever so subtly. “Jonas was a greedy man.”
“Will you look up the name of his date and get that information to me?” Marco asked.
Carmen hesitated, as though deciding how to answer. “I’ll see if I can find it. We didn’t keep good records back then.”
Back then? It was ten months ago.
“If you find it, would you fax or e-mail it to me?” Marco handed her his card.
Carmen slipped it into her purse without replying, then glanced nervously at her watch and scooted to the edge of the chair. “I really have to be going now.”
“I’m sorry if I’m keeping you,” Marco said. “I suppose you want to beat the rush-hour traffic back to Chicago.”
“Actually, I’m staying at the New Chapel Inn and Suites until Friday. I keep getting requests to hold an event here, so I thought I’d check out some of the local venues.”
“So you’re parked outside then? Tell you what: Answer a few more questions, and then I’ll walk you to your car.”
“If it won’t take long,” she said, checking her watch.
“It won’t. I promise,” Marco said. “So, then, can you remember whether Jonas argued with anyone last Thursday, male or female?”
“I don’t believe he did.”
“Did you match Jonas with anyone that night?”
She pondered it for a moment, tapping her long fingernails on the table. “There were two matches, I believe. We didn’t process them, of course, because Jonas . . . you know . . . died.”
“Did any of the women attending the event act as though they recognized him or had met him previously?”
She rubbed an eyebrow. “I can’t recall. The events all start to blur after a while.”
“I can appreciate that. Do you remember a woman by the name of Iris?”
Carmen rolled her eyes. “Iris Frey. What a nut job. Now, there’s someone who recognized Jonas . . . not only recognized him, but was hot for him. Iris even phoned me to ask if she could be put on his list.”
That was surprising news. I wouldn’t have guessed Iris to be that forward. Yet it did prove that she had a crush on Jonas.
“Did you put Iris on Jonas’s list?” Marco asked.
“As I told Iris, we don’t do that unless both parties request it. It’s against our policy.”
“How did Iris take the news?” Marco asked.
“She tried to convince me to give her a break. She said I could have free dry-cleaning service for a year if I’d put her name on Jonas’s list. I told her it wouldn’t do me any good, because I didn’t live in town, so then she had the gall to offer to pay me to put her on his list.”
Trying to bribe Carmen smacked of true desperation. I wondered if Iris’s mother knew to what lengths her daughter had gone to hook up with Jonas. Or maybe she did know and was embarrassed. That would explain her dirty looks when I was asking questions.
“Did Iris know Jonas would be attending that night before she called you?” Marco asked.
“Oh, yes,” Carmen said, checking her cup to see if any espresso was left.
“Did you see Iris converse with Jonas at any time during the evening?”
“Yes, during the mixer,” Carmen said. “Jonas was talking to someone at the bar, and Iris kept trying to get his attention, until finally he got annoyed and blew her off. She turned red in the face and went to sulk in a corner.”
“Excuse me?” one of the ladies called again, waving a hand in the air. “More tea?”
All that tea and not a single bathroom break? “I’ll be right over,” I called back.
“You know,” Carmen said to Marco, “if you’re looking for someone who might have wanted revenge against Jonas, I think you should take a close look at Iris. She obviously had a thing for Jonas, and after he embarrassed her in front of everyone at the bar, I could see her getting into a car and ramming that Ferrari. To tell you the truth, Iris struck me as bizarre right from that phone conversation I had with her. Here’s another thing to consider: I don’t ever see her type coming to these events, and I’m wondering now why she thought she had even a sliver of a chance with Jonas.”
“What do you mean by Iris’s type?” Marco asked.
“You saw her, Amy,” Carmen said, as I breezed past with more tea. “Was Iris the type to go to a speed-dating event?”
“It’s Abby,” I said, putting a fresh teapot on the ladies’ table. I turned my back on Carmen to say, “Anything else I can get for you?”
“Yes,” one said, “Grace.”
I felt my face redden. “I’ll send her right in.”
As I headed for the doorway, I heard Carmen tell Marco, “Iris Frey was ugh-oh-lee! I’ve seen bag ladies dress better. If she thought Jonas would put her name on
his
list, she’s seriously delusional. If she knew anything about Jonas at all, it was that he always went for the beautiful, wealthy women.”
How did she know that? Marco let her revealing comment pass, but I was certain he’d caught it.
“The ladies want you,” I told Grace, as she hung up the phone behind the cash counter.
“Thank you, dear.” She paused to whisper, “Your cousin returned, so I put her to work unpacking a new shipment of orchids and lilies,” then glided gracefully into the parlor.
I stood just outside the parlor to the left of the doorway, trying to hear Marco and Carmen’s conversation over the ladies’ buzzing.
“So what do you think Iris’s . . .
mumble, mumble
. . . the event?” Marco asked.
“Well,” Carmen said, “how about . . .
mumble, mumble
?”
“What are you doing?” Jillian asked, startling me.
“I’m rearranging,” I whispered, and quickly moved a pair of ceramic lovebirds to a different shelf. “Keep your voice down.”
“You’re eavesdropping.”
“Go away, Jill.”
She peered into the parlor, then took me by the shoulders and moved me to the other side of the doorway. “Stand here. You’ll catch more of their conversation. Want some coffee?”
“No!”
With a shrug, Jillian headed into the parlor.
“Do you recall where Iris was when Jonas’s car was hit?” I heard Marco ask Carmen.
How about that? I
could
hear better from the right side.
“No,” Carmen replied. “It got wild in the room after we heard the crash. Everyone was running for the door and screaming. . . .”
Running and screaming? That wasn’t how I remembered it.
“Seriously,” Carmen said, “I think you should take a look at Iris. I could totally see her as the hit-and-run driver. Couldn’t you, Amy? Oh, sorry. I thought you were Amy.”
“No prob. I’m Amy’s cousin Jillian, personal shopper and floral designer. And you are . . . ?”
I’d get Jill for that.
“It’s
Abby
,” I whispered, punching Jillian’s free arm as she came out of the parlor with her latte.
“Ouch! What happened to ‘the customer is always right’?” Jillian retorted smugly.
I turned back to hear Marco say to Carmen, “I’m curious about something. Considering your opinion of Jonas and the experience one of your clients had with him, when he registered for the event last Thursday night, why did you let him attend?”
“I had no idea he registered,” she said. “My assistant handles that.”
Hmm.
Her assistant wasn’t the one who handled
my
registration.
“When you saw Jonas Thursday night, did you consider sending him away?”
“Yes, of course, but I didn’t want him to cause a scene. It’s bad for business.”
“I can understand that. Have you ever dated a client?” Marco asked.
“I don’t mix business with pleasure,” was her curt reply. “I really have to run now. I have another engagement.”
Knowing they’d come through any moment, I dashed across to the cash register. “Have a nice day, Carmen,” I called, as Marco ushered her past.
“Mmm,” she replied, barely casting me a glance. “You, too, Amy.”
From behind the curtain, I heard Jillian snickering.
Marco returned five minutes later, blowing on his icy fingers, his cheeks red from the cold. “I was hoping to get a look at her car to check for recent repairs to the front or back end,” he said, shedding his jacket, “but Carmen is driving a rental.”
Seeing Jillian head for the parlor again, I motioned for Marco to follow me to the workroom. “Do you think Carmen might be the hit-and-run driver?”
He perched on a stool at the worktable. “I wouldn’t rule her out.”
“Wouldn’t the police have noticed the damage when they searched the restaurant parking lot after the accident?”
“Yes, if her car was still in the lot. But here’s another scenario: Do you remember seeing Carmen in the room when the restaurant manager made his announcement?”
“No, but I wasn’t looking for her.”
“Suppose she slipped out earlier, rammed Jonas’s car, hid her own at the shopping mall next door, then blended back into the crowd when the police arrived.”
“And caught a ride home later with her assistant?”
“Bingo. No one but her assistant would be the wiser.”
“It’s possible, if Carmen had a reason to want to damage his car.”
“She had a reason for giving him hostile looks, didn’t she? Maybe she decided those looks weren’t enough.”
I thought it over. “Maybe that’s why she’s sending funeral flowers—remorse. And that bit about him looking for a good time instead of Mrs. Right? And being greedy? And dating only beautiful, wealthy women? That smacked of personal experience.”
“I don’t know if you caught it, but Carmen got edgy when I mentioned looking for people who might want to damage his car.”
“I caught it. She sure was eager to point you toward Iris after that, wasn’t she?”
He held up his hand to give me a high five. “We’re on the same page, baby.”
Good. I liked being on Marco’s page. “Carmen also contradicted herself by saying she doesn’t mix business with pleasure. Before you arrived, she told me her father had started the company so she could find a husband. But how would she do that unless she dated clients?”
“Good point.”
“She also lied,” I said. “Carmen was the person who took my registration information, not her assistant, and there was no running and screaming when Jonas’s car was hit. It wasn’t until someone from the restaurant announced that a Ferrari had been hit, and Jonas ran out of the room, that people—including me—left the restaurant to take a look.”
“So why would she say that unless she wasn’t there and had to guess?”
“You know what else I found interesting? Carmen had an excellent memory of the details of that speed-dating event ten months ago, except when it came to recalling the name of Jonas’s date. But I’ll bet her assistant would know. And guess what? I have her name and phone number.” I slipped the card out of my pocket and put it in front of him. “It’s Pamela.”
He slid the card into his wallet. “What did you think about Carmen’s revelations about Iris Frey? You’ve met the woman. Do you think Carmen was telling the truth?”
“About Iris trying to bribe Carmen? That surprises me, but if it’s true, then my guess about Iris having a crush on Jonas was right. And when I think back, Iris definitely wasn’t pleased to see Jonas talking to Nikki, so who knows? Maybe her jealousy drove her to do something irrational. She might even be the anonymous tipster.”