After the floral designer left, Frannie asked, “What was that all about?”
“I wish I knew,” Skye murmured to herself, then said to Frannie, “I’m sure it’s nothing. Let’s get to work. We have a lot to do today.”
“Okay. If you want to be that way.” Frannie shrugged. “But if you let me, I could help you with the investigation
and
get a terrific story for my portfolio.”
They worked in silence, speaking only when they had to figure out on which table a strange piece belonged.
They were down to the last row of cartons when Frannie held up a silver conical object. “Ms. D., what do you think this is?” The teen put it on her head. “A party hat?”
Skye giggled, then plucked the odd item off Frannie’s skull and looked it over. It was heavier than she expected. After checking both the pages Iris had left and the inventory, she said, “I don’t see it on either of these lists.”
“What in the heck is it for?” Frannie asked.
“I have no idea. It looks like an antique. Or at least a collectible.” Skye examined the object more closely, running her finger over the intricate design of flowers and vines embossed into the metal, but stopped when she felt a depression. “Anyway, it’s damaged.” She showed it to Frannie. “See the dent right here?”
“Yeah, it’s a big one. That must be why someone tossed it behind the boxes.” Frannie held out her hand. “Give it to me and I’ll put it in the trash.”
Skye was about to pass it to Frannie when she paused. Something was nagging at her. Something she’d heard recently.
It came to her in a flash. Wally had said to watch out for an object with a raised pattern that was shaped like an oversize ice cream cone.
Holy mother of God!
She was holding the weapon used to knock out Belle.
Skye left Frannie to finish the unpacking with the excuse that she needed to use the facilities. The teen nodded but raised her brows when Skye took the unidentified item with her. Once inside the bathroom, Skye put it carefully on the floor, then dialed Wally’s cell.
He answered on the first ring. “Hello, sugar. I hope you’re calling to ask me to lunch.”
“I wish I was, but I’m too busy to eat.” Skye relaxed at the calming sound of his voice. “Still, I think you’ll be happy I phoned.”
“I’m always happy to hear from you.” Wally’s tone was light, but Skye could hear the underlying tension. “I’d be euphoric if you said you’d figured out who murdered Belle Canfield.”
“Well, I haven’t done that, but I might have found the murder weapon.”
“The actual murder weapon was the refrigerator. Do you mean the thing she was knocked out with?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.” Skye smiled. “Frannie and I were unpacking the floral materials in cabin three today, and she found a metal cone-shaped object with a dent.”
“I’ll be right there.” Wally hung up before Skye could respond.
Frannie was flattening empty boxes when Skye returned to the main room of the cottage. As soon as Skye appeared she said, “I’m almost through here. Do you want to go to the country club now?”
“It’s eleven thirty. I’ll do the rest of the cartons. You go get some lunch. Meet me back here in half an hour.”
The girl looked at her suspiciously but shrugged. “Okay. Do you want me to bring you anything?”
“No.” Skye shook her head, wanting Frannie gone before Wally arrived. “I’m fine.”
Frannie had barely driven away when Wally pulled into the parking lot. He left the squad car running when he got out and strode swiftly over to where Skye was standing on the cottage’s top step. “Put it in this.” He held a large plastic evidence bag toward her.
“Here you go.”
He sealed the top, then dated and signed the front. Once he was finished, he asked, “Where’s Frannie?”
“I sent her to lunch.”
“Does she know this might be a weapon connected with the murder?”
“No. That’s why I sent her away.” Skye explained, “Kathryn Steele wants her and Justin to write an article about the murder for the paper.”
“Son of a b—” Wally cut himself off. “That woman is a thorn in my butt.”
“She’s just doing her job.”
“Too bad hers makes mine harder.” Wally shook his head. “Okay. Show me where you found the thing.”
Skye led him into the cabin. “It was there between a box and the wall.” She pointed to the right of the door. “How did the evidence techs miss it?”
“They only searched number four; none of the other cabins appeared to have been disturbed.”
“That makes sense.” Skye nodded. “We didn’t see it until we had nearly all the cartons unpacked. They were five deep.”
“Where’s the box?”
She gestured to a lone carton in the middle of the room. “This one. I was able to stop Frannie before she dismantled it.”
“Good. I’ll take it and the possible weapon over to Laurel so the techs can test them.” Wally ran his fingers through his hair. “We have your prints on file, but we’ll have to get Frannie’s since she handled it too.”
“What are you going to tell her?”
“I’ll think of something.” Wally walked back to the police car. “Who besides you and Belle had access to this cabin?”
“Iris Yee.” Skye trailed after him and leaned against the fender, watching him lock the evidence bag in the trunk and pull on a pair of rubber gloves.
“Didn’t Tabitha Urick mention Iris as someone who didn’t get along with Belle?”
“Yes.” Skye drummed her fingers on the hood of the cruiser. “And Iris let something slip today. When I talked to her right after the murder, she claimed she and Belle were the best of friends, but this morning she said something about Belle being a pain to work with.”
“If this thing turns out to be the weapon the perp used to knock Belle out, I think that comment and Iris’s access to the cottage where it was found win her an all-expense-paid trip to the PD’s interrogation room.”
“Shoot.” Skye slammed the door of the squad before following him back to the cottage. “If she’s the killer, what am I going to do with fifty thousand dollars’ worth of flowers and no one to arrange them?”
“Sorry.” Wally carefully picked up the carton by one flap and carried it to the police car. “Solving a murder trumps putting on a wedding.”
“That depends on who you’re talking to.” Skye cringed at the thought of informing Riley and Anita that they would need another floral designer. “When will you know if that thing is the weapon?”
“Probably later today or tomorrow at the latest.” Wally slid into the driver’s seat. “It’s not as if the county crime lab has any other murders ahead of ours.” He put the squad in reverse. “I’ll call your cell when I have some news. Meanwhile, mum’s the word.”
“Yeah. Right,” Skye muttered. “That’s one of the few flowers that isn’t being delivered here in the next twenty-four hours.”
Riley’s wedding and reception were being held at the Thistle Creek Country Club located halfway between Scumble River and Laurel. When Frannie turned into the long drive, she pointed to a man pounding the ground with a five iron and said, “Will you look at that?”
“Well, long ago when men cursed and beat the earth with sticks, it was called witchcraft.” Skye snickered. “Nowadays we call it golf.”
“You are so not funny.” Frannie shook her head.
Skye shrugged. Trying to make a teenager laugh was like trying to amuse a cat—you never got the result you were hoping for.
As they continued down the winding road, Skye was astonished by the number of golfers present. How come there were so many people able to take off from work on a Tuesday in the middle of June? Then again, the lush, green, gently rolling hills spoke of privilege, not laboring at a nine-to-five job.
Frannie broke into Skye’s thoughts. “What are you smirking at, Ms. D.?”
“Just trying to picture my father or cousins dressed in lime green plaid pants and pink polo shirts, hitting a little ball from hole to hole.”
“Not going to happen. Unless they can shoot it, gut it, and have it for dinner, no way will your relatives waste their time on it.” Frannie parked in front of the clubhouse, a cream-colored brick building with huge floor-to-ceiling windows. “Who do you need to talk to here?”
“The events manager.” Skye got out of the car. “You can go hang around the pool if you want. I’ll find you when I’m ready to go back.”
“Okay.” Frannie headed toward the back of the structure. “Take your time. I’ve got a book in my purse.”
Skye waved and went inside. To the right were the golf shop and offices, and to the left was the ballroom where the ceremony would be held.
A woman dressed in a blue linen suit approached her immediately. “Ms. Denison?”
“Yes. Please call me Skye.”
The woman held out her hand, and Skye noticed that her put-together image was ruined by nails bitten down to the quick. “Good afternoon, I’m Allison Waggoner, the events coordinator for Thistle Creek.”
“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”
“No problem. The Erickson-Jordan wedding is my top priority. Normally we don’t allow bridal parties to start setting up until the day before the wedding. But Mr. Jordan agreed to pay us for an entire week.” Allison motioned down the hall. “Would you like to see what’s been done so far?”
“That would be great.”
“I was sorry to hear about Ms. Canfield’s death,” Allison said after she and Skye entered the ballroom.
Although no formal announcement about Belle’s murder had been made, by Monday morning the news had leaked out through the Scumble River grapevine. They were just lucky that no one had connected the wedding planner to the famous Mickey Canfield.
“It was a shock.” Skye scanned the woman’s face, trying to read her expression. Was she truly sorry that Belle was dead, or was she relieved not to have to deal with the difficult wedding planner anymore?
“Do they have any leads?”
Skye shrugged. “Not that they’re sharing with me.” Was Allison’s question idle curiosity, or was she asking because she was the killer?
“But you consult with the police, don’t you? And, of course, you’re dating the chief, so I’m sure if anyone knows what’s going on, you do.”
“Are you from around here?” Skye asked, ignoring Allison’s comment.
“I’m from Laurel, but my mom lives in one of the new senior apartments in Scumble River.”
“Oh.” That explained why Allison knew so much. She could tap into the small-town gossip network. “Does she like it there?”
“Loves it.” Changing the subject, Allison swept her arm around the room. “What do you think?”
Although they still had a long way to go, the chairs had been set up, as had a partially constructed colonnade of ten-foot-tall Corinthian columns against a fairy castle backdrop. “So far, so good.” Skye consulted her binder. “Are those Chaivari chairs?”
“Yes. Just as Ms. Canfield specified.”
“Great.” To Skye they looked like a version of the ladder-backs in her own dining room—except these were smaller and painted gold. But Belle’s notes indicated that Riley had specifically requested all the chairs used in her wedding be Chaivari. Considering the ones for the reception would be covered in fabric and no one would see them, Skye was baffled as to why having this particular kind was so important.
“It was hard to locate so many since the tent-and-rental company you’ve hired is our usual source, and they’re using their supply for the five hundred needed for the dinner. But as I said, this event is my top priority.”
“I appreciate your efforts on our behalf.” Skye was an advocate of positive reinforcement. Also, considering she had already received one threatening phone call, she wasn’t taking any chances of being next on the murderer’s hit list. “When will the rest of the room be completed?”
“The structure will be done this afternoon. The carpenter is at lunch right now, but he’ll be back any minute to finish the crown top.”
“Terrific.” Skye checked her binder again. “And the fabric people are scheduled for tomorrow?” Nine hundred yards of white silk and chiffon would be swathing the reception tent from ceiling to floor. The colonnade would be framed with pink voile, and Iris would fill the top with clusters of roses, hydrangea, and golden branches. “I understand our caterer is using your facilities and waitstaff; is that correct?”
“Yes. That’s all taken care of.” Allison consulted a notebook she pulled from her blazer pocket. “Although the catering company is from Chicago and has a mobile kitchen, so they only need ours as a staging area.”
“Can you show me where the bride and her party will get ready?”
“This way.” Allison led Skye toward the other end of the building. “We’ve equipped two of the empty meeting rooms—one for the bride and the other for her attendants—with mirrored vanity tables, chairs, comfy sofas, and a small fridge.”
After Skye inspected the two dressing rooms, she and Allison went outside, where several workmen were laying Plexiglas over the pool to create a dance floor, and a gigantic tent was being constructed next to the patio. The plan was for the ceremony to take place in the ballroom; then everyone would move to the patio for the cocktail party, then on to the tent for dinner, and back to the pool and patio area for dancing.
Skye spotted Brian Cowden directing the men and called, “Hello.”
He waved but didn’t join her.
“Wow.” Skye glanced around. “This is truly amazing.”
“It’s the biggest, most elaborate event we’ve ever hosted.” Allison nibbled on a fingernail. “This is our chance to really get the club on its feet financially.”
“Oh?” Skye questioned. “I hadn’t realized Thistle Creek wasn’t doing well.”
“It’s doing fine, but an enterprise like a country club is a huge investment and takes a while to show a profit.”
“And this wedding could push the club into the black?”
“Exactly.” Allison’s eyes held a mixture of hope and fear. “But it’s a lot of responsibility, especially since there are so many details.”