Terror in Taffeta (20 page)

I dropped my bag and joined him on the floor, sitting cross-legged among the vacation necessities. Poor guy. I'd meant to check in with him to see if he needed any help getting Dana's affairs sorted out, but I'd been too busy solving everyone else's problems.

He looked at me with the saddest expression on his face. “I wasn't ready to let go of her things. I promised Dana's parents I'd send them, but then I realized I'd never see any of this stuff, or her, ever again.” He thrust the silky fabric toward me. “See? It still smells like her.”

I politely pretended to inhale in the pashmina's general vicinity, but it just didn't have the same effect on me it seemed to be having on him.

He hugged the soft fabric to his chest and closed his eyes. “I just wanted to feel close to her one last time.”

“Why don't you keep the pashmina?” I suggested, with a gentle tone that I hoped would mask my urgent need to start packing my own belongings. “I'm sure her parents won't mind. If they do, we can tell them she left it at the church.”

He nodded somberly, folding it in his lap.

I had a sudden instinct to tell him everything—including the fact that his fiancée wasn't the person he thought she was. I knew he'd be shocked to hear about the blackmail, the one-way ticket, and the condoms, but maybe learning the truth would help ease his suffering.
Or cause more of it.
Not knowing which reaction was more likely, I went for a good old-fashioned subject change instead.

“Meanwhile, I've got good news. I mean, better news, at least. I found a rental house for Mrs. Abernathy and the newlyweds, and since Brody and I will be staying with a friend, there's enough room for you, too, if you want. I mean, I'm not sure when they'll release the body to you—” His face blanched at my reference to his girlfriend as “the body.” Oops. I decided to keep going rather than dwell on the moment. “But there's plenty of room if you're sticking around.”

“That's awfully nice of you, Kelsey.”

“No worries. You need me to help you pack these things back up? Maybe we could swing by the post office in the morning and get them in the mail.”

“I can do it,” he said with a sigh. “I'm sorry. I'm sure this seems pretty maudlin.”

I shook my head. “No worries. I know this has been a shock. You take all the time you need.” I caught myself and amended my statement: “Okay, well, all the time you need between now and ten
A.M
. tomorrow.”

 

CHAPTER 20

The next morning, Brody and I made it down to breakfast early and got a head start on the
chilaquiles
Fernando had prepared. No way was I going to miss my last opportunity to enjoy his cooking before relocating to Evan's house.

“Oh, Fernando, I wish I could take you with me,” I said, shoveling the egg-and-tortilla mixture into my mouth. “I'm sure going to miss this.”

He smiled and ducked his head, obviously pleased by the compliment. “If you would like, I will send some tamales with you.”

I nodded my head in agreement, mouth too full too speak.

Brody laughed. “You'll be lucky if she doesn't try to sneak back into your kitchen every time she's hungry. Be sure she gives you the keys before she goes.”

The others trickled in gradually, having spent the morning getting ready to move out. Kirk seemed to be in better spirits than the night before. He thanked Mrs. Abernathy for the invitation to stay with them in the rental house on Calle Recreo, but he'd lucked out and found a last-minute cancellation on a single room in a small guesthouse nearby.

Too bad for him. He doesn't know what he's missing. Then again, maybe he suspects.

“All right, everyone,” I said. “I hope you're all packed. I have cars coming to get us at ten o'clock.”

Nicole sighed dejectedly. “I can't believe we're stuck in San Miguel,” she said. “We're supposed to be on our honeymoon right now.”

“Darling, your sister needs you right now,” said Mrs. Abernathy, patting her daughter's arm.

“I know,” Nicole said. “It's just so frustrating.” I had no doubt that both she and Vince were frustrated, in every sense of the word. It was bad enough that they couldn't go on their honeymoon, but here they were stuck with Mrs. Abernathy and they couldn't even sneak off to a hotel for the night. Definitely a mood killer.

“Maybe we could just go for a day or two,” Vince suggested, looking hopeful.

Nicole bit her lip and looked at her mom. “It does seem like a shame to have that hotel room on the Riviera Maya going to waste…”

“I could have her back by Monday,” Vince said, sitting up in his seat.

Mrs. Abernathy shook her head. “No one's leaving here until Zoe can leave, too.”

“I'm not talking about just abandoning her,” Nicole said. “We'd come right back.”

Mrs. Abernathy sighed. “Your father will return in a couple of days, and maybe then we'll talk about it. But I need you here right now.”

“It's not like we're even helping,” Nicole said. “We're just sitting around.”

Mrs. Abernathy looked incredulous. “Don't you think that's a bit selfish, considering your sister is in jail?”

Vince jumped to his bride's defense: “Mrs. Abernathy, all Nicole's trying to say is that there's nothing we can do for Zoe. If there were, you know we wouldn't even consider it.”

“Be that as it may,” Mrs. Abernathy said, “it is partially Nicole's fault. The least she can do is stand by her sister.”

“My fault?” Nicole stared at her mother in amazement.

“Yes. If you hadn't invited Dana to be in your wedding, none of this would have happened.”

Ah, how I was going to miss these delightful family get-togethers.

“So,” I said, dropping my napkin onto my plate. “Shall we go get packed up?”

Brody followed my lead. “Yes, look at the time,” he said, pushing back his chair.

We hastily retreated to our rooms, where I did my checkout ritual: put my bags by the door, looked under the bed for loose items, inspected the closet, opened each drawer, then double-checked under the bed again. Granted, it was a little neurotic, but one time I left behind my favorite pair of shoes, and I've never quite gotten over it.

Satisfied that I hadn't forgotten anything, I closed the door behind myself and joined the rest of the group by the front doors right as the church bells struck ten. Packing Mrs. Abernathy, Nicole, Vince, and Kirk off into their shiny black town car was the most satisfying thing I'd done in days.

Feeling the thrill of independence, we dove into the other vehicle—me with a box of fresh tamales warming my lap—and gave the driver directions to Evan's house. I felt slightly giddy with my escape. Even though I still had a job to do, I wasn't going to be under the same roof as Mrs. Abernathy anymore, and that lifted my spirits considerably.

When we reached our destination, Evan met us at the car and greeted me with a kiss. “Here,” he said, “let me help you with your bags.”

Brody followed us inside, dropped his bags on the floor, and shook Evan's hand. “Hey, thanks for letting me stay here.”

“No problem,” Evan said. “I've never hosted a crime-fighting duo before. Should be fun.”

“It is,” I said. “It's a laugh a minute. Now, about that cocktail…”

“Cocktail?” Evan said. “Who said anything about cocktails?”

“I did. Just now.” Sheesh. Men. They never listen.

“I think I've got some wine around here somewhere,” Evan said.

“I'm kidding,” I said. “It's too early. However, I do have a long-running fantasy about being greeted at the door with a pitcher of margaritas after a hard day, so, you know, something to keep in mind.”

“Ha. Okay, I'll see what I can work out,” Evan said. “Raúl is off for a few days, but I was thinking maybe I'd cook us up some steaks tonight.”

Who was I to argue with that logic?

“Sounds great.” Brody nodded in agreement.

“Meanwhile,” I said, “we're going to go rustle up an appetite at the police station.”

We hadn't told them about Father Villarreal yet, and we needed to follow up on the LionFish data Brody had dropped off. I didn't know if they'd bothered to look at it, and I wanted to light a little
fuego
under them if they hadn't. I also wanted to check in on Zoe and see how she was holding up—not to mention remind myself of why I was doing all of this.

At the station, Officer Ortiz—having been summoned by a bored-looking receptionist whom we'd interrupted from the important task of painting her nails—met us at the front desk and led us back into the office he shared with Officer Nolasco.

“Hola,”
I said, giving a wave to the older cop. He responded by snapping a folder shut and shoving it in a desk drawer, then turning the notepad he'd been writing on facedown so we couldn't see it.

“What do you want?” Officer Ortiz asked, plopping down in his desk chair. We'd interrupted his lunch, from the looks of it, and I couldn't help but notice that he was more interested in his sandwich than he was in us.

Officer Nolasco mumbled something in Spanish, which Officer Ortiz helpfully translated for us: “Make it quick. We have work to do.”

“Well, first of all—
primero,
” I said, looking hopefully at Nolasco to demonstrate that I was trying, “we wanted to show you this.
Una fotografía.
” I pulled out a picture of the mystery priest and handed it to Ortiz.

“What is this?” he asked. “Who is this man?”

“That man impersonated a priest and performed my client's wedding ceremony,” I said, stabbing the picture with my finger for emphasis.

“So?” Ortiz shrugged.

“So he claimed to be Father Villarreal!”

“You must have misunderstood him,” Ortiz said. “Your Spanish, it is not so good.”

I gritted my teeth as I laid out the whole story for them. When I was finished, the officers exchanged looks and shrugged. I don't know why I'd expected my announcement to be a big, dramatic moment—too many reruns of
Law & Order,
maybe—but the men were unimpressed.

Ortiz stood as if to dismiss me. “I cannot see any crime that has taken place here.”

“Isn't it possible that this guy, whoever he was, had something to do with Dana's murder?” I asked.

“Anything is possible,” Ortiz said. “But we don't even know who he is.”

“That's what I was hoping you could help me find out.” Exasperation was beginning to seep into my voice. “And what about the computer files we gave you?” I asked. “Did you even look at them?”

“We did,” said Ortiz. “However, we found nothing that would exonerate your friend.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “Those files clearly prove that Dana was blackmailing Ryan McGuire.”

“They prove nothing,” Ortiz pronounced with an air of finality.

I could feel my face starting to flush like it does when I'm flustered. “I'm telling you, you've got the wrong person. I don't know who did it, but I'm sure it wasn't Zoe, and I've given you two viable suspects.”

The officers resumed their conversation in Spanish, most of which I couldn't follow. Ortiz was right: my Spanish did suck. After a moment or two, he turned back to me. “We appreciate your thoughts on the case,” he said, “but we are sure we have the right person.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “Aren't you going to even look at the other two suspects?”

“I don't think that will be necessary,” he said. “However, you are free to go. The family, they can go, too, if they would like.”

I should've known they wouldn't just toss me the keys to Zoe's cell, along with a medal of commendation for excellence in detective work, but a girl can dream.

“But what about Zoe?” I asked. “We can't leave if she can't leave.”

Officer Ortiz stood from his desk. “That's your decision to make.”

I'd been trying to keep my cool, but their refusal to consider any other suspects was starting to annoy me. Did they really just not want to do their job? Was tracking down the impostor too much to ask? Was hunting down Ryan and questioning him about the blackmail outside of their comfort zone?

Brody could see the ire building in me and shook his head imperceptibly, hoping I would leave it alone, but it was too late.

“Look, you two, no disrespect, but you're as bad at police work as I am at Spanish. There's an innocent girl sitting in a jail cell, and I won't stand for it. Now you need to get off your butts and look into these other suspects, because I can guarantee you, you are wrong about this.”

I could feel my face flushing again, and the two policemen stared at me, wide-eyed.

No one spoke right away, so I kept talking: “I don't know why you have this vendetta against Zoe, but you can't prove she did this. You know why? Because she didn't. So why don't you stop acting like Barney Fife and start doing your job—pronto!”

I was pretty sure they hadn't caught half of what I'd said, but my tone was unmistakable. I was pissed.

“
Quién es
Barney Fife?” Nolasco asked.

Ortiz glowered at me as he drew himself up to his full height, which beat mine by almost a foot. “We got the autopsy report, and the dead girl was poisoned with the same substance we found in your friend's bedroom. So if you want to play detective, maybe you could ask your friend about that. In the meantime, we'd appreciate it if you would let us do our job while you go back to whatever it is you do.”

“Lo siento,”
Brody said, grabbing my shoulders. “C'mon, Kelsey, let's go.”

Stunned, I allowed Brody to steer me out of the police station. I'd been sure the autopsy report would clear Zoe and that whatever they'd found would turn out to be nothing, but this new development looked bad. Really bad. No matter what theories I had about the other two suspects, they weren't going to trump possession of the murder weapon.