To Love and To Perish (4 page)

“Go away,” I yelled from underneath my down comforter. Someone had been knocking on my door for the past five minutes despite my best attempts to ignore them.

I poked my head out from under the covers and turned the retro metal alarm clock on my nightstand toward me. Eleven o'clock. What kind of person would bang on a wedding planner's door on a Sunday morning? Anyone who knew me knew that Sunday mornings were strictly for recuperation. I never got out of bed before noon and then only for brunch. I usually missed breakfast by hours.

Breakfast! I sat up in bed. Hadn't Ian said he would bring over bagels this morning? Since he was the lead singer of the eighties cover band The Breakfast Club and traveled most of the time, and I'd become an in-demand wedding planner who worked almost every evening and weekend, finding times to get together had proven to be
tricky. I clearly had been out of my mind when I'd suggested Sunday morning, though.

The knocking continued. I leapt out of bed and pulled off the
WEDDINGS ARE MURDER
T-shirt I usually slept in.

“I'm coming,” I yelled, pawing through my closet for something presentable. I tugged on my Seven jeans, a gift from Kate in one of her many attempts to make me more hip, and topped it with a form-fitting pink chenille sweater. I ran into the bathroom and took a swig of mouthwash and splashed cold water on my face. I spit out the mouthwash and looked at myself in the mirror.

Great. I looked exactly like I'd rolled out of bed after working for twelve hours straight on a grueling wedding. I put on some mascara and lip gloss. Not much of an improvement, but it would have to do.

I ran to the front door and threw it open in mid-apology. “I am so sorry—”

“Don't worry, dearie.” My downstairs neighbor, Leatrice Butters, swept past me into the apartment, giving me the once-over as she passed. “I'm glad you're dressed already. I thought I might have woken you up.”

I glared at Leatrice, who could have passed for Mary Tyler Moore if Mary had been in her eighties, under five feet, and a fan of clothes that either lit up or made noise. Today, Leatrice wore a bright yellow jogging suit and a pair of green slippers with claws that roared as she walked.

“You mean because you were pounding on my door for ten minutes?”

“Well, I knew you must be in here because you're expecting company.” Leatrice glanced around my living room and craned her neck to look down the hall. “Is he here yet?”

“How did you know that Ian is coming over this morning?”

Leatrice patted her black flipped-up bob. Leatrice and Wayne Newton were the only people I knew of over sixty who had jet black hair. “He helped me hang a new shower curtain last week.”

I wasn't sure how thrilled I was that Leatrice and Ian had become buddies, although I was happy that she'd found someone else to focus her attention on. I hated to think how she would take it if things didn't work out between us.

“Thanks for checking on me, Leatrice,” I said through clenched teeth. “But Ian and I were kind of hoping to have some time alone.”

Leatrice went over to my couch, her feet roaring as she walked, and began fluffing the pillows. “I don't plan to stay long. I came to see if you needed any help.”

“Well, Ian's bringing food and I've got orange juice and coffee, so we're all set.” I tapped my foot impatiently and stood holding the door open so she would get the hint.

Leatrice swept the loose papers and magazines on my coffee table into her arms. “Why don't I put on the coffee while you finish getting ready? Unless you did your hair like that on purpose. I never can tell what's fashionable with young people these days.”

“Fine.” I closed the door and headed back down
the hall to my bathroom. “I'll be two seconds.”

“Take your time, dearie. I know my way around.”

That's what I was afraid of. I brushed my hair and pulled it half up in a clip, then put on base, powder, blush, and three different shades of brown eye shadow. I hadn't put on this much makeup since my senior prom. I rubbed off some of the blush as I walked back to the kitchen.

Leatrice had indeed started boiling water for coffee and had my French press cleaned and filled with coffee grounds. She'd found two matching ceramic mugs and arranged them on a wooden tray with a couple of pale pink cocktail napkins with a former bride and groom's names imprinted in white.

“Goodness.” Leatrice's eyes widened when she saw me. “I've never seen you all made up. See how lovely you can look with a little effort?”

“Thanks, Leatrice.” I managed not to roll my eyes. “And for helping me get ready. I'm pretty worn-out after yesterday's catastrophe of a wedding.”

“Bad bride?” she asked, taking the tray and heading out to the living room.

I hesitated to tell her about the murder since Leatrice considered herself a cross between an undercover spy and an amateur crime solver, but I knew she would find out eventually.

“I'm surprised you didn't hear about it already.” I followed her roaring feet to the living room. “Don't you keep your police scanner on all the time?”

Leatrice spun around and nearly dropped the
tray. “Something happened at your wedding?”

“Don't get so excited.” I took the tray from her and placed it carefully on the coffee table. “Another wedding planner was murdered. Hung with a veil, to be exact.”

“What was another wedding planner doing at your wedding?”

“It's a big hotel. They can handle more than one event at a time. We wouldn't have even crossed paths if she hadn't threatened me and then ended up hanging from a balcony in our ballroom.”

Leatrice perched on the edge of my couch. “So she wasn't one of the wedding planners that you're friends with?”

I gave a little laugh. “No, I wouldn't say that I was close to Carolyn Crabbe. She considered herself the Queen of Wedding Planning in D.C. and wasn't too crazy about newcomers.”

“Why did she threaten you?” I could see that Leatrice fought the urge to take notes.

“Escort cards.”

Leatrice's eyes widened. “Escort cards? As in escort service?” She lowered her voice. “Is this wedding planner business a cover?”

I groaned. “No, it's not what you think. Escort cards are just the cards that assign wedding guests to a table for dinner. They're nothing to get worked up about. It was her style to bully other people. I didn't take it personally.”

“If she ended up murdered, it sounds like someone took something personally.” Leatrice tapped her fingertips together. “Do the police think you're a suspect?”

I shook my head. “Luckily, I wasn't near the
crime scene when the murder took place, and plenty of people saw me in the hotel lobby. The fact that I found the body was purely coincidental.”

“You found the body?” Leatrice's face lit up. “You really do have all the luck, dear.”

Sometimes I found Leatrice's interest in real life mysteries a bit disturbing.

“I'd hardly call it lucky.” I winced as I remembered Carolyn's limp body dangling from the balcony. “Creepy is more like it. I'm glad it's over and I can put the whole incident behind me.”

The doorbell rang, and my heart began to pound. Leatrice leapt up and clapped her hands together.

“Don't worry, dearie. I'll make myself scarce so you two kids can finally be alone.”

I smoothed my hair back and took a deep breath to steady myself before I opened the door.

It wasn't Ian. Detective Reese and another official-looking man stood on my doorstep. Both wore blazers and serious expressions.

“I'm sorry to bother you on a Sunday, Miss Archer,” Reese said. “But we have a few more questions about yesterday's murder that couldn't wait.”

So much for putting the whole thing behind me.

“I thought you weren't a suspect,” Leatrice said as I waved the two men into the room.

“She's not.” Reese grinned at her and held out his hand. “It's nice to see you again.”

Leatrice shook his hand but didn't return his smile. “Are you sure you aren't here for another reason?”

I groaned. I didn't like where this was headed.

Reese paused and exchanged a glance with his colleague. “Detective Hobbes will be working the case with me and wanted to ask Miss Archer about some of the other wedding planners who were at the hotel. We promise not to take up too much of your time.”

Detective Hobbes looked shorter and softer around the middle than Reese. His wore his thinning ashy blond hair smoothed neatly to the side in an unmistakable comb-over. I wondered if he really thought that the style made him look like he had a full head of hair. At least he didn't wrap
one long piece around his head like a braided rug. Reese's dark good looks and full head of hair stood out even more next to his pasty partner.

“Good,” Leatrice said. “Because you're too late for anything else, Detective. Annabelle has been spoken for and has a date that should be arriving any minute now.”

Detective Hobbes looked puzzled, but Leatrice barreled on. “You didn't expect her to wait forever, did you?”

“I'm sure that's not why the detectives are here, Leatrice.” I shot her a look. “And I doubt they have any interest in my personal life. Please have a seat, guys.”

Detective Hobbes sat down next to Leatrice on the couch and his eyebrows shot up when he saw her claw slippers.

She winked at him. “They roar when I walk.”

Detective Reese took a seat in the armchair across from the couch and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We'll be quick since you have a hot date.” He looked at his watch. “On a Sunday morning.”

I gave him my most sugary smile and sat on the arm of the couch. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “I'm familiar with the expression.”

“You really should find yourself a nice girl, Detective.” Leatrice seemed to be warming up to Reese again. “Annabelle's taken, but maybe her assistant, Kate, would be interested.”

I could bet she would be. Kate was always interested.

Leatrice turned to Hobbes. “Are you married yet?”

“No,” he stammered, and looked to Reese for help.

Leatrice rubbed her hands together. “Well, then. I have my work cut out for me, don't I?”

Before I could decide whether to save the detectives or not, a loud pounding came from the front door.

Leatrice jumped up and pushed by me on her way to the door. “That must be your Prince Charming, dear. Don't get up.”

She threw open the door and her face fell. Richard breezed into the room past Leatrice and headed straight for the kitchen.

“If I have ever needed a drink, now is the time,” he called over his shoulder. “You'll never guess where I escaped from.”

I heard him pawing through my refrigerator. “I don't think I have much in there.”

“What have I told you about keeping an emergency bottle of champagne, Annabelle?” I heard a gasp from the kitchen. “Please tell me this is not pink wine.”

I felt my cheeks flush, and I didn't dare look at Reese. I tried to change the subject from my embarrassing fondness for girly sweet wine. “So where were you?” I asked.

“I just finished setting up a baby shower. Can you imagine me at a baby shower?”

I couldn't.

“I guess this wine will have to do,” Richard sighed. “One of my best corporate clients is having a baby so I couldn't say no. The room looked
stunning, of course. Butterflies everywhere. And I did a fabulous menu full of pregnancy friendly food, although it pained me not to use any brie or goat cheese whatsoever.”

“That doesn't sound so bad,” I said.

“Imagine not eating brie for nine months. Perish the thought.” The refrigerator door opened and closed again. “Everything was fine until a few guests arrived and started talking about childbirth. I think I'm scarred for life. I mean, really. There's a reason why I don't have children.”

“Only one?” I muttered, and gave Reese an apologetic smile.

“What was that, Annabelle?” Richard walked back into the living room holding a goblet full of white zinfandel in front of him. “I feel like Prissy in
Gone With the Wind
. I don't know nothing about birthing no…
Aaaah!
” He saw the two detectives and shrieked, sending his wine sloshing over his wrist.

“Don't worry, I'm not in trouble,” I explained before he could bolt for the door. “They came by to ask about the other planners at the Mayflower.”

Richard wiped his sleeve and nodded an acknowledgment to the detectives. He shuffled over to stand next to me and elbowed me in the ribs. “You could have told me they were here before I rambled on like that.”

“I take it this isn't your date?” Reese asked with a grin.

“Oh, no.” Leatrice took her seat on the couch. “These two are just friends. I gave up on them ever getting together ages ago.”

“You don't say?” Reese raised an eyebrow.

“You have a date?” Richard asked, making a point to ignore Leatrice's comment. “You didn't tell me this. Do I know him?”

I turned my attention back to Detective Hobbes. “You were asking about the other planners at the Mayflower Hotel?”

Detective Hobbes produced a notepad from his pocket. “We're interested in knowing how they might have been tied to the victim. Take Byron Wolfe, for instance.”

“Don't tell me you're dating Kilt Boy,” Richard hissed at me.

“I saw him yesterday with Gail Gordan.” I pretended not to hear Richard. “I think they do events together every so often. Their wedding wasn't at the Mayflower, though. The bride only got ready there.”

Richard sucked in his breath. “You are!” he whispered. “You and I need to have a little chat, Annabelle. What have I told you about dating men who wear leather?”

“You should know,” I shot back.

Detective Hobbes looked back and forth between me and Richard. “Did Byron and Gail get along with the victim?”

“Let me clarify,” Richard said. “Straight men who wear leather. It's entirely different.”

“He hardly ever wears leather,” I said, then turned to the detective. “I didn't know them very well.”

“The rest of the time he's wearing kilts and Captain America boots,” Richard said. “Do I even have to mention the tattoos?”

“Tattoos aren't out of the ordinary anymore.”
I pointed at my neighbor. “Leatrice almost got one.”

Both detectives stared at the elderly lady.

“I changed my mind when I found out that I could only choose one picture,” Leatrice said. “I like a little more variety. And they don't make noise or blink or anything.”

“Can you tell us anything else about the other wedding planners?” Hobbes asked after he'd stopped staring at Leatrice.

“I can.” Richard gave me a look that told me we weren't finished discussing Ian, then turned away from me and focused his attention on Detective Hobbes. “Byron is the biggest brown-noser in the business. He sucks up to all the female planners in town and they all love him. Some of them, literally.”

Leatrice's eyes widened.

“What about Gail?” Reese asked.

“She's a female version of Byron,” Richard said. “She's had a series of rich husbands and stays in the business as an excuse to party all the time. She's a huge gossip and one of the industry's power brokers.”

“Were she and Byron involved?” I asked, and wondered why Richard had never shared this gossip before.

“There have been rumors,” Richard said. “I wouldn't put it past either one of them.”

The doorbell rang loudly, and I jumped up to answer the door before Leatrice could. Ian stood in the doorway in jeans and a black leather jacket. His wore his blond hair short and spiky, and his grin fell somewhere between dangerous and sexy.
My pulse quickened until I heard Richard clear his throat loudly, then I felt my cheeks flush.

Ian looked around me into the room. “Looks like you have a full house.”

Leatrice joined us at the door. “Don't worry. Everyone will be leaving soon. Even me.”

I knew this to be a supreme sacrifice on Leatrice's part and couldn't help smiling.

“We only have a few more questions, Annabelle, I mean Miss Archer,” Reese called from inside the room.

I saw recognition cross Ian's face when he spotted Reese in my living room, and the two men nodded at each other almost imperceptibly. I couldn't help feeling awkward since I'd had feelings for both of them at one point and I think they both knew it.

Hobbes wrote furiously in his notepad without looking up. He directed his questioning to Richard. “So Gail and Byron have a lot in common, then.”

Ian, standing next to me, leaned in and whispered, “It's nice to see you.”

I could see Reese turn away out of the corner of my eye.

“And one other thing,” Richard said. “They both started off in this industry working for Carolyn, and they both hated her with a passion.”

“Why?” Hobbes and I asked simultaneously.

Richard folded his arms in front of him. “Because she ruined their lives, of course.”

I gulped. Things were really starting to get interesting.