Say Yes to the Death (13 page)

Chapter 17

I
t was pathetic how quickly I got hooked on Olivia's show. Though I had pangs of guilt for enjoying it so much, I told myself I was viewing it all in the name of research. My butt didn't shift so much as a hair for a solid hour after Brian left, not until my stomach growled in protest.

Reluctantly, between the fifth and sixth episodes of
The Wedding Belle,
I put the thing on pause and grabbed a banana and tub of yogurt for sustenance. Olivia had already fired five assistants—­one per episode—­and I'd lost count of how many other folks she'd dressed down behind the scenes. It was a wonder anyone kept working with her at all . . . except out of fear. It confirmed my suspicions that she hadn't changed an iota from the girl she'd been at Hockaday. Even as an adult, she'd still bullied her way through life. I can't imagine how such behavior could have ended anything but badly.

When my phone rang, playing a burst of AC/DC's
Highway to Hell,
I knew it wasn't Brian. So I let out an annoyed sigh and put the show on pause. My mouth full of banana, I picked up.

“Hello?” I said, though it sounded like, “Uh-­oh.”

“Andy Kendricks? It's Terra Smith.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Oh, hey,” I replied, swallowing down the mush in my mouth. “Thanks for calling me back so fast.”

“I was pretty surprised to hear from you,” she admitted. “You must know about Olivia by now.”

I guess she hadn't heard that I'd been at Olivia's office that morning and was the one who'd called 911. Maybe it was better not to bring it up.

“Yeah, I know. It's all over the news,” I told her, because it was. A local celebrity being murdered in Highland Park was a big flipping deal. Heck, a missing dog in Highland Park made headlines. It was one of the richest zip codes in the country. Not exactly a cesspool of crime. I tried to choose my words carefully. “What happened to Olivia was awful.”

“It's so bizarre. I mean, I'd just talked to her late last night, going over the to-­do list for today.” Terra sighed. “We're deep into spring weddings and June's coming up fast. We have so much going on that things are kind of chaotic right now, as you can imagine,” she went on, and I was afraid she was going to tell me she couldn't meet. “I've got the onerous task of contacting all of Olivia's current clients to see if they want to continue with me, but a lot of them are running scared.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, wondering not for the first time what would happen to Olivia's business. And I wondered, too, if there was more to Terra Smith than met the eye. Who used the phrase “onerous task” these days? There was definitely a brain behind the two-­toned hair and bad makeup.

“I just never figured things would end up like this, not in a million years,” Terra told me, sounding frustrated. “Without Olivia steering the ship, well, there's no Wedding Belle. I guess I'll keep whichever clients want to stick with me if there are any.”

“There's no one else with a stake in Olivia's company? She didn't have a partner?” I dared to ask.

“No,” Terra insisted. “Olivia would never have gone for that. She liked to run things herself. She did a lot of contract hiring rather than keep a big staff. She was kind of a control freak.”

Kind of?

“I want to work with you, Terra,” I said, feeling sorry for her. “I haven't even begun to think about my wedding, and the clock is ticking. I don't even know where to start, and it's making me sick to my stomach,” I added, and it wasn't a total lie.

“What date have you set?”

“Um”—­the fact was, Brian and I hadn't gotten around to that yet, so I did a bit of spur-­of-­the-­moment fudging—­“we're thinking this fall, October maybe?”

“Ah, six months is pretty tight, but I think I can pull it off,” Terra told me, and I had a sense she was taking notes. “Anything less than six months would basically be a mad dash to the altar. Do you have ideas for a reception venue, caterer, music, flowers . . . ?”

“No,” I said, and laughed nervously. “I'm horrible, aren't I?”

“You're hardly horrible. Some brides are just more into this stuff than others,” Terra remarked, and I found myself warming up to her, skunk hair and all.

“So I guess we should meet soon, huh?” My heart thudded in my chest. “I feel so far behind already.”

“Are you busy right now?” Terra asked, taking me by surprise. “I've got a couple hours to kill before a wedding and reception later today at the Adolphus. The bride's totally pissed that Olivia won't be there, like she up and died on purpose.” Terra's voice caught but she quickly regained her composure. “The police are still at the office. They can't seem to find her computer or her iPhone, so they've taken a bunch of paper files, and they asked me to surrender my laptop, too, since it's networked to Olivia's. It's a pain, but don't worry. I have everything important backed up on a spare that I use for personal stuff. It's my insurance policy,” she said. “You can't be too careful these days.”

“That's smart,” I told her.

“I would ask you to come to my place,” she went on, “but I've been staying with a relative since I moved to town. Maybe we could do a coffee shop? I work out of those a lot.”

I wasn't sure the public atmosphere of a coffee shop would be the best place to discuss wedding plans—­even fake ones—­or elicit any kind of information from Terra about her dead boss. So I decided to go for broke.

“Could you come here?” I asked, my palms sweating. “My mother wants to join us so it'd probably be better if we had some privacy. Besides, I'd prefer if we kept Cissy away from hot beverages while I'm disagreeing with her about the dress and the venue and linens . . . well, everything.”

Terra chuckled. “Oh, yeah, it's much safer to keep the mother of the bride away from burning liquids and sharp objects.”

“Give me half an hour to alert my mom and tidy up,” I said and gave her the address of my condo.

“That'll work,” she told me and said good-­bye.

I hung up and immediately dialed Mother.

“The Eagle has landed,” I said, only to hear her pregnant pause.

“What eagle?” she sputtered. “What on earth are you talking about, Andrea? You haven't been drinking, have you?”

For Pete's sake.

“No, I haven't been drinking!” I told her, and I took a deep breath. “I talked to Terra Smith, Olivia's assistant,” I said. “You know, mission accomplished.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “I see. You were being cryptic, like a spy.”

My eyes rolled involuntarily.

“Look, she's coming over to my place in thirty minutes. If you want to play the part of the obsessive mother of the bride”—­which would hardly be a stretch—­“you're welcome to join us. If not, no worries. I can handle this myself. It's not like I'm meeting her in a dark alley.”

“Is Mr. Malone there, or are you alone?”

“Brian had to go into the office,” I said stiffly, trying to stop further images of him and perky Allie cozying up over paperwork. “He's got to prepare all sorts of motions and stuff on Millie's behalf so they're ready when the police file charges.” Speaking of, I wondered if it was a good idea for Cissy to leave Millie alone so soon after being grilled by the Highland Park police. “Maybe you should stay home for Millie's sake,” I told her, biting my tongue before I tacked on
and for mine.

“Oh, the poor dear's fast asleep,” she told me. “She'll be out for at least an hour, maybe two.”

My voice went up right along with my pulse rate. “Mother, what did you do to her? Did you spike her tea?”

“Well, I might have given her a little something. She needed to rest, Andrea, and she wasn't going to get it unless I helped.”

“You gave her a little of what exactly?” I asked, hoping she hadn't ground up an Ambien, or Millie might end up sleepwalking around Highland Park in her underwear.

“She's fine,” Cissy assured me without doling out further details. “As we speak, I'm writing her a note with my cell number in case she wakes up before I'm back.”

“I can do this alone,” I told her, but she brushed me off.

“No need,” Mother replied, “when I'm already on my way out the door. See you in a few,” she cooed before ending the call.

Oh, Lord. I hung my head and groaned. What had I done? I'd invited my mother to come talk wedding plans at my condo. I hadn't debuted. I hadn't pledged a sorority. But I was getting married, and she would have her say, even if this meeting was nothing but subterfuge. Terra would probably not make it out of here alive, and I had doubts I would survive the meeting either. It was akin to unleashing Frankenstein's monster on a bunch of villagers who'd given up pitchforks for Lent.

Well, fake as the appointment might be, I didn't want my condo looking like a mess when Mother arrived.

For the next fifteen minutes, I ran around the space, picking up random socks, shoes, books, and whatever else I found littering the kitchen and living area. Before I'd met Malone, I'd been obsessively neat. Funny how his presence made me worry less about how often I picked up and more about how often we laughed together. Once I'd tossed the detritus into the bedroom and shut the door, the place looked pretty good, definitely presentable enough for both my mother and Terra.

I even ran a brush through my still-­damp hair so Terra wouldn't have cause to tell me it looked like a rat's nest; though something told me that Terra didn't care as much about appearances as her dead boss.

The hum of an engine propelled me to the window, and I peered through the blinds to see Mother's Lexus pulling into the spot belonging to my nosy neighbor, Mrs. George, a fact I reminded her of when she walked in the door.

“Oh, pooh, I'm sure she won't mind,” Cissy said as she dropped her keys and kelly-­green Birkin bag on the kitchen counter.

I guess she figured if she could take the Highland Park police chief's spot, using my neighbor's was no biggie. Besides, Mother and Mrs. George were practically buddies. They used to do Bible study together at Highland Park Presbyterian, and I knew Cissy had enlisted the snoop upstairs to spy on me in the past. Although it seemed that since Malone and I had gotten engaged, Mrs. George had lost interest. I guess the ring on my finger made all the difference in the world.

“So what's the plan?” she asked and faced me with hands on hips. “Should I be the good cop or the bad cop?”

Good cop, bad cop? Did she think we were Starsky and Hutch?

“Just be yourself,” I said and heard a knock on the door. “Pretend we're doing this for real, okay? Follow my lead, and you'll be fine.”

“Pretend it's for real, yes”—­Cissy nodded—­“I can do that.” Then she drew in a deep breath, scooping her hands up in front of her as though gathering air for her lungs before an opera debut.

Talk about a drama queen.

Oh, boy.

I went to the door and opened it to find Terra standing on the welcome mat. She had a big hobo bag slung over a shoulder and a hesitant smile on her glossy red lips.

“Sorry I'm a little slow,” she said, “but my old Honda crapped out and I had to borrow a ride.”

“It's okay,” I told her. I hadn't even realized she was late.

“So are you ready for me?”

I nodded. “As I'll ever be,” I told her, and I smiled nervously. “Come on in.”

Chapter 18

B
efore I had a chance to introduce Terra to my mother, Cissy stepped forward, clasping her hands between her breasts. “What a pleasure it is to meet you, my dear,” she drawled with cheerleader enthusiasm. “I saw you at Penny Ryan's wedding yesterday but we never had the chance to chat. I'm Andy's mom, Cissy Kendricks.”

“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Kendricks,” Terra said, looking pleased as punch. “I've heard your name mentioned so often that I feel like I know you already. You do so much for area charities.”

“How kind of you to say.” My mother smiled, her ego stroked. Then as quickly, Cissy turned sober, touching Terra's arm and telling her, “I'm sorry to hear about Olivia. It's such a shame to see a young life cut short.”

I cringed though I realized Mother bringing up Olivia's death couldn't be avoided. That particular pink elephant couldn't have hidden in my tiny condo if he'd wanted to.

“Yes, it's a shame that she had to go like that. The world is a harsh place. Sometimes I wonder how anyone survives without a lot of scars,” Terra said quietly. “Life can be so twisted.”

Wow. I didn't know what to say to that.

“It can be twisted, indeed,” Cissy said and looked right at me, as if proving a point. “But we must march forward as best we can.”

“I just wish things would get back to normal,” Terra remarked with a sigh. “My life hasn't been the same since I met Olivia, and now . . .” She let the thought trail off with a shrug, and she began biting her lip.

Oh, God, this was turning rather maudlin.

Mother's pale eyes met mine.

“Hey, let's talk about happy stuff,” I said, “like getting married.”

Terra stopped gnawing her lip. She perked up and reached for my left hand. “Where's your ring? I have to see!” She held my hand up, turning it in the light. “Eyeing the bling is an occupational hazard.”

“I'm not sure this qualifies as bling,” I joked as she studied my engagement ring, which was at best a carat. “Brian, my fiancé . . . he got it from an antiques dealer in town,” I told her. “He was told it's from the twenties. He knows how I love old things, and the setting's so cool. It's very Deco. But it's hardly the kind of rock you're probably used to seeing on your clients' fingers.”

“It could have been a wee bit bigger,” my mother murmured, and I was about to jump on her when Terra stepped in.

“No, it's perfect, very understated and cool,” she said, bravely contradicting Highland Park's resident Queen Bee. “Not many fiancés think to get something so meaningful.” She let go of my hand and smiled. “Good for Brian for not going overboard. I'm used to seeing sparklers so large I wonder how long it'll take the poor groom to pay it off. You don't know how many couples start off their marriage in serious debt.”

“It
is
the American way,” Cissy said with a lift of her penciled-­in eyebrows.

“Thank God, it's not my way,” I stated, because I hadn't wanted Brian to feel financially bogged down by a piece of jewelry. Like Baby Bear's porridge, my ring was just right. I loved that it was true to my taste—­and to me—­and it showed that Brian knew exactly what I wanted. I would never have felt comfortable wearing a huge stone from Tiffany that cost more than my Jeep. I would have been too scared to leave the house with it on my finger.

“Terra darlin', you should hear the story of how I interrupted Mr. Malone proposing. Why, he was down on one knee when I burst in with news of my own—­” my mother began, and I cut her off with a loud cough.

“Save it, Mumsy,” I said under my breath.

Terra glanced around my little condo, and her gaze stopped on the easel perched in the corner by the picture window. “Andrea, do you paint?” she asked, artfully changing the subject.

“I dabble,” I admitted, liking that she'd noticed. “I do abstracts mostly. I've tried still lifes and landscapes, but I'm better when I don't go for any kind of realism.”

She walked nearer, inspecting my work in progress, which pretty much looked like a crazy quilt of brushstrokes.

“So you use acrylics not oils?”

“Yeah,” I said, intrigued that she knew something about the process. “I like acrylics better for creating texture and depth. They dry faster, too.”

“I love art,” Terra told me. “I started out wanting to be an interior designer. I even went to the Art Institute of Indianapolis for a while. Then I came here with a friend who knew Olivia and heard she was hiring. Not sure we were the best match but I ended up really loving the business. So despite everything, I guess I should thank her for that.”

That was hardly a ringing endorsement.

“I went to Columbia College in Chicago,” I told her. “I studied Web design but I love art in all its forms.”

“I've dabbled in Web design,” Terra said, seeming more interested in me suddenly. “I'm working on something new, as a matter of fact.”

We ended up chatting for a bit about my Web design business. While we talked, I noticed my mother doing a little surveillance of her own, checking out Terra's two-­tone hair, squinting at the overdone makeup and the mix-­and-­match attire complete with teetering heels. I prayed Cissy wouldn't say something rude, like, “Hello! The eighties called and they want your whole look back.”

Fortunately, Mother kept her lips zipped.

I caught the faint tightening of her mouth, a sure sign of disapproval, but I figured Terra hadn't seen it. Besides, what did Cissy expect? That Olivia's assistant would sashay in looking like a page out of
Vogue
? Maybe Olivia could afford to dress like the socialites she worked for, but I doubted Terra could. From what I'd learned by watching those episodes of
The Wedding Belle,
Olivia had practically made her assistants work for free.

Personally, I appreciated the fact that Terra had her own sense of style and hadn't tried to copy Olivia. It seemed that most of Terra's predecessors on
The Wedding Belle
had desperately attempted to dress like their boss, act like her, and try to
be
her, down to her dyed-­blond roots. It made me respect Terra Smith in a way I hadn't upon first meeting her yesterday when I'd thought she was clueless.

“I can tell you're artistic just by looking around,” Terra said, taking note of the rest of my space, just as Mother had taken note of her. “The place is so cozy and homey. I like shabby-­chic.”

“Thanks,” I said, tempted to remark that my decorating style was more shabby than chic, but I wasn't sure if Terra needed to hear about my penchant for hunting down finds at local flea markets and estate sales. Maybe she'd already figured that out.

Mother cleared her throat and gave me a pointed glance. “Could we get started? I have a guest staying with me, and I'll need to get back to her shortly.”

“Yes, let's sit down,” I suggested, gesturing toward the kitchen table with the four chairs I'd bought at the Junior League rummage sale in Richardson and painted black. “You need anything to drink?” I asked, looking at Terra. “I have water, juice, and green tea.”

“I'd love a Perrier,” Mother replied, though I wasn't talking to her.

“I've got tap water and ice,” I said.

She winced. “Thanks, sweet pea, but I'm fine.”

“I'm fine, too,” Terra replied. “I've already sucked down too much coffee this morning. I can feel my stomach sloshing. I had to talk to the police before I came here. I think they need to invest in a Keurig.”

I was tempted to say something more about Olivia. But I couldn't just barrel ahead and ask,
So, who hated her enough to stick her with a cake knife?
I doubted that would go over very well. I was going to have to ease into things.

“If no one needs their whistle wet”—­I rubbed my hands together—­“then let's do this.”

I let my mother and Terra settle down at the table before I pulled up a chair. I ended up across from Terra and next to Cissy.

“On the phone, you said the date is October, right?” Terra remarked as she propped her laptop on the table and opened it. I admired the hot pink smiley face sticker she'd slapped over the Dell logo. “We'll need to move quickly,” she said and started clicking away at the keys. “We have to get your venues booked, lock in a caterer, and find the perfect dress ASAP.”

“The wedding is
this
October?” Cissy repeated and looked at me. To call her expression delighted was an understatement. “That's a mere six months away!”

“So it is,” I replied, hoping my eyes conveyed the message that this was just for show because Brian and I hadn't set any firm date yet. But even if I'd actually uttered the words, I wasn't sure she'd believe them. She was going to enjoy this mission far too much, I could tell that already.

“Here we go. The new site I've been playing with,” Terra said, she and swiveled the laptop screen so Mother and I could see it.

A hot pink logo floated boldly across the screen.
PLANET WEDDING
, it read, in a circle like a ring. Beneath that,
Make All Your Bridal Dreams Come True with One Click.
I noticed there were buttons labeled Dresses, Floral, Venue, Music, and so on.

“Planet Wedding, huh,” I said, because it definitely wasn't the Wedding Belle. “It's catchy.”

Terra blushed. “It's just a beta test,” she replied. “I'm sure Olivia's lawyers won't let me use her brand much longer, and it's time I struck out on my own anyway. So”—­she gave me a look, like a puppy begging for approval—­“what do you think?”

“It's very inventive,” I told her, wanting to sound enthusiastic.

But I had to wonder if Terra hadn't been making other plans even before Olivia's murder. Or else she was fast on the draw and had whipped up the graphics for her Web site since this morning.

“Thanks,” Terra said, smiling. “I'm trying to move forward, like you said.” She nodded at my mother.

“You're a wise young woman,” Cissy remarked, and Terra blushed. “But, by chance, do you have a book I can hold in my hands? I'm not as fond of computers as Andrea.”

“Of course,” Terra said. Grabbing up her bulky purse from the floor, she reached a hand in and pulled out a big pink binder. With a push, she slid it across the table.

“Great.” I reached for it first and opened it wide as Mother craned her neck, peering at the pages as I flipped through them.

“It's got a bunch of ideas for pinning down your wedding style,” Terra said, “and images of every gown you can imagine, plus floral arrangements, venues for the wedding and reception, photographers, caterers, musicians, everything you'll want. I'll leave the book with you if you'd like.”

“Yes, please,” I said. As I skimmed the pages, my brain felt overloaded by all the pictures. It was like looking at the Cheesecake Factory menu. There were so many options it was overwhelming, especially since I'd barely begun to consider what I wanted. I must have looked particularly bug-­eyed as Terra cocked her head in my direction.

“I know, I know,” she said. “There's a lot to think about. It's an important day.”

“
The
most important,” Cissy drawled and batted her lashes at the young woman. “It's right up there with having a baby,” she added. “That's why it's so helpful to have a true professional on our side.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kendricks,” Terra said and blushed again.

I nudged Mother with a toe under the table. Overkill, I was thinking, but she merely grinned.