Engaged in Murder (Perfect Proposals Mystery) (6 page)

Two days later I was at my parents’ home helping Mom with Sunday dinner.

“What’s with the china?” my dad, Frank Pomeroy, asked as he passed through the dining room of the brick bungalow my parents had lived in my entire life.

“We’re celebrating,” my mom, Abigail, said without a blink. She carefully folded her best linen napkins into tiny pockets for the silverware.

“What?” Dad asked. “Did I forget an anniversary?”

“Felicity and Warren are flying home this afternoon,” I said as I put out the silverware.

“I made my famous pot roast,” Mom stated. “I thought you could smell it.”

“I can.” Dad shoved his big workman’s hands in his pockets. Dad was tall, around six feet three inches. He used to be six feet four, but he had started to shrink with age. He didn’t look bad for a man in his late fifties. He still had a full head of hair, although it had gone from red to white pretty early. His blue eyes sparkled with intelligence. Today he wore a light blue denim work shirt and dark blue jeans. My whole life Dad had been a plumber. He was proud of his profession and belonged to the local plumbers’ union. His favorite television show was
Ghost Hunters
because the two main guys were also plumbers.

“I figured there was a sale on roast or something,” he said.

“You did not,” I teased. “I saw you run out of the house the minute you realized it was pot roast.”

“What is she talking about, Frank?” Mom straightened and studied my dad.

He shrugged. “Like I said, I thought it was an anniversary or something.”

“Oh, he bought you a present,” I said then clamped my hand over my mouth when my father glared at me.

“Frank, you didn’t.” Mom’s green eyes twinkled.

“He did,” I said and then bit my lip as my dad narrowed his gaze at me.

Mom came around the table. “You bought me a present?”

“It can wait.” Dad blushed. Like me, he could never hide a blush. His ears turned bright pink whenever he was embarrassed or put on the spot. Even though his hair was completely white, he still had the skin of a redhead. It showed emotions like the colors of an octopus.

“It most certainly cannot.” Mom held out her hand. “Give it to me . . . please.”

“Fine.” Dad pulled a long box out of his pocket. “Think of it as a mother-of-the-bride gift.”

Mom opened the box and took out a silver charm bracelet. There were three starter beads on it. One was a piano. Mom was a part-time piano teacher and spent her Saturdays teaching students at one of two pianos in the music room. The music room was actually our basement, which Dad had finished on his own. He’d put in a drop ceiling and painted the cinder block walls. A Berber carpet and two upright pianos had given Mom the space she needed to teach her lessons without impinging on his football games.

The second bead was a silver bride, and the third charm was . . . “Is that a cuckoo bird?” I had to ask because I hoped for something better to represent me.

“What a cute cuckoo bird it is, too.” Mom brushed a kiss on Dad’s lips. “You’ll get your reward later, even if it isn’t an anniversary.”

Dad grinned.

Mom might be described as curvy, but Dad didn’t seem to mind the extra bits of her. She was the shortest in the family at five feet two inches tall. She wore a size fourteen and tended to be a progressive dresser. Today she had on a pair of dark slacks and a light green sweater set that played up the color in her eyes. She kept her hair dyed a dark brown and cut short so that it curled like a pixie around her face.

“Pepper, help me with this clasp, will you, honey?” She held out her wrist and I clasped the charm bracelet. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely,” I said. “But I’m still not certain what the cuckoo bird represents.”

“Oh, probably the passing of time, dear.” Mom went back to folding napkins as if I wouldn’t know she was lying. “Put the crystal champagne glasses out,” she said. “It’s not every day we get to have champagne.”

Mom had pink-toned Irish crystal champagne glasses that I’d only seen her use a handful of times. The last time was on my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary.

I pulled the glasses out of the china cabinet and wiped them off with a soft cloth before I placed them on the table.

“There, isn’t the table lovely?” Mom asked, admiring our handiwork.

“I do know how to set a table,” I said and put my hands on my hips. “It was part of event planning 101.”

“I know, dear.” Mom patted my arm as she moved to the kitchen. “It’s nice to see you use your degree.”

“I use my degree a lot.” I followed her into the kitchen.

She grabbed kitchen mitts decorated with red and green roosters and opened the oven to check the roast. The rich scent of roasted meat and onion filled the air. “I’m sure you do. Now if only you found a way to get paid for it.”

I sat down at the small kitchen table. It was mid-century modern with a red Formica top with chrome trim and legs. The chairs were silver pipe with red vinyl cushions. I think the set had been my grandma’s and she had given it to my parents when they first got married. I could admire the style in the piece. It fit perfectly in mom’s tiny kitchen, tucked under the window.

The rest of the kitchen was straight out of the sixties with tall maple cabinets and white Formica countertops trimmed in stainless steel. The sink was deep and had been installed by the previous owner. To give you an idea of the age of the décor, my parents had bought the house in 1980. They loved vintage and had used that as an excuse not to update anything in the house.

The floors were wood from when the house was built in the 1920s. The walls were plaster and the doorways were arched. The house was a basic bungalow. It had a porch that ran the width of the front of the house. The front door opened into the living room. To the right was the guest bedroom. It had been my room growing up.

Straight back from the living room and separated by a wide archway was the dining room. Behind that was the kitchen, which opened to the stairs to the basement and a tiny back porch, where Mom’s students would take off their shoes before they entered.

To the right of the kitchen was a small hall that led straight into the only bathroom. To the left of the bath was my parents’ room. To the right of the bath was Felicity’s old room. My sister had her own apartment as well, and my parents now used her room for storage. My mother had considered making her room the new music room, but Dad refused to pull those pianos upstairs. So instead she used it as a place to keep her sewing machines and Dad’s desk, where he had his computer and did his accounts.

I snatched a carrot slice off the veggie tray Mom had put on the kitchen table. “I can’t wait to see the video of their engagement.” I tapped my fingertips on the DVD that sat on the table. “Cesar assured me it was romantic. Then you can see what all went into planning the event.”

“There had better not be any sign of that poor dead fellow in the video.” Mom closed the open door. “That would be terrible, just terrible for your sister.”

“There isn’t,” I said. “I checked. Besides Cesar gave a copy of the video to Detective Murphy. I’m certain the detective on the case would not have let us keep a copy if there was any evidence on it.”

“What an awful thing, finding a dead man in the ladies’ room.” My mom tsked her tongue and pulled out a package of brown-and-serve rolls and placed them in a pan. “Did you ever find out who he was?”

“There was no identification on him,” I said. “Last I heard, they were going to check missing persons and see if anyone fit his description.”

“Will they tell you when they find out?”

“I don’t suppose they will.” I shrugged and grabbed another carrot. “There would be no reason to tell me.”

“But aren’t you a witness or something?” Mom asked.

“I found the body, but I didn’t see anyone or anything unusual.” I sat back and studied my mom. She had her own small business. Maybe she would appreciate my idea. I’d been thinking about my business plan all weekend. But it would have to pass my parents’ sniff test before I could even consider it. “So, Mom, Warren said I should go into business for myself.”

“Really? What would you do?” Mom wiped her hands on a dish towel.

“I’m thinking of event planning in a niche market,” I said and rested my head against the orange-and-yellow-floral-wallpaper-covered wall. She looked at me blankly. “I could do proposal events. Warren said I did a great job helping him plan Felicity’s proposal.”

“I don’t understand how you can make a living at that,” Mom said carefully. “A gentleman in love buys a ring, takes his lady to a nice restaurant and gets down on one knee. What’s to plan? Speaking of gentlemen, where’s Bobby? It’s not like him not to come to a family dinner—especially when there’s free food.”

“We broke up.” I reached for a piece of celery.

“You broke up?” Mom scrunched her brows. “Why? When? Are you okay?”

“What happened?” Dad asked as he strolled back into the kitchen and pinched a cookie off the dessert tray Mom had on the counter.

“Pepper and Bobby broke up.” Mom slapped Dad’s hand when he reached for a second cookie. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Dad pretended nothing happened and pulled a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the fridge. “It’s about time,” he said. “That guy was a deadbeat.”

“I thought you liked Bobby,” I said. The celery suddenly tasted like cardboard.

“Oh, honey, that was high school. We thought you’d lose interest in him when you went away to college.”

“Why else would we let you go off to DePauw when there are a number of good schools right here in Chicago?” Dad said.

“But I thought . . .” I frowned and shook my head. “Never mind.”

“At least you weren’t living with him,” Dad said. He gave me the evil eye. “You weren’t, were you?”

“No.” I glared back at him. “Bobby likes his own space.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t marry him.” Mom hung the towel on the oven door.

“Did he break up with you?” Dad asked. “Because if he did, I may have to go teach him a lesson.”

“No, Dad.” I tried hard not to roll my eyes. “I broke up with him.”

“That’s my smart girl.” He planted a kiss on my forehead as he headed toward the dining room.

The front door opened, Felicity and Warren stepped inside, and all talk of me and my love life ended. Mom rushed to greet my sister with a hug and a kiss and squeals. I hugged my waist and smiled at the joy on their faces. Dad shook hands with Warren and patted him on the back.

“Welcome to the family, son.” Dad had always wanted a boy. Living in a houseful of women, he often felt outnumbered.

I stepped in and gave my sister a kiss and a hug. Then I hugged Warren. Mom took their coats, putting them on the bed in the front bedroom, and went to the kitchen to serve appetizers.

Mom and Dad’s living room was classic in design with pale green walls and darker green carpeting. One wall of windows was covered with green and cream patterned drapery. The overstuffed couch sat in front of it. Across from the couch were two stuffed chairs with a tiny table between them. The couch was dark green with bright poppy red pillows.

Mom had a neutral area rug on top of the carpet to define the space. I would call her decorating taste seventies chic. What really made it were the eagle lamps in a bronze tone.

“How was your trip?” Dad asked as Felicity and Warren sat down on the couch. “Where’d you go?” Dad took his favorite chair across from them.

“Oh, it was so wonderful,” Felicity said, her eyes sparkling. “Warren took me to New York City. We stayed in a hotel downtown, went to a Broadway show, and had dinner at this French bistro named Beloit. The next morning we went ring shopping.” Felicity held out her hand to show off a large marquise-cut diamond.

“Oh, my word.” My mother went breathless at the sight. She handed me the platter she’d brought in from the kitchen and grabbed my sister’s hand. “Pepper, look at this.”

“Wow,” I said. “It’s lovely.”

“That had to set you back.” Dad frowned. “You should have saved your money for a down payment on a house.”

“Actually, there are a couple of things we need to tell you,” Warren said.

“What kind of things?” Dad narrowed his eyes.

I had a funny feeling something was up. Seriously, the rock on my sister’s finger had to have cost in the tens of thousands of dollars. How could Warren afford it on an accountant’s salary?

My thoughts went to the cost of the private jet and the trip. This was Chicago. There was money around and not all of it good. Exactly who did Warren work for?

“Bad things?” Mom asked as she took the tray from me and passed around her famous canapés. I found myself standing in concern as my sister stared lovingly at her fiancé.

“There’s good news and bad news,” Felicity said, her gaze never leaving Warren’s face.

“Did you rob a bank or something?” My father joked then his face grew solemn. “Better not have.”

Warren’s grin widened. “No, no, nothing like that.”

“Good.” Dad nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Does it have to do with the dead man at the airport?” I blurted out.

I noticed a tick in Warren’s jaw at my question.

“Pepper!” Felicity scolded.

“It does, doesn’t it?” I went in for the kill. I could always tell when my sister was hiding something, and today’s something had to be a doozy.

“Actually, that’s the bad news.” Warren patted Felicity’s hand. “We’re late because the police wanted to question us both the minute we got back.”

“Both of yooze?” Dad’s expression grew concerned. His eyebrows veed and his mouth tightened. “Felicity, tell me you did not let them question you without a lawyer present.”

“Don’t worry,” Warren said. “I called my lawyers.”

“You called your lawyers? What does an accountant need with lawyers? Or are they your boss’s lawyers?” I found myself planting my feet wide and putting my fisted hands on my hips. I was ready to punch this guy. How could Felicity say yes to a man who acted so out of character?

“Warren’s really rich,” Felicity blurted out.

“What?” Mom and I asked at the same time.

How could Warren be rich? He didn’t wear fancy clothes. He wore suits from chain department stores. He drove a Volvo, for crying out loud.

“How can he be rich?” I asked. How well did Felicity know Warren anyway?

“I have a trust fund,” Warren said. “I’m worth half a billion dollars. My grandfather was an oilman in Texas. My father took his trust money and made a killing in stocks.”

“Why did we not know this?” Mom asked. “Felicity? Did you know and not tell us?”

It hit me suddenly that the reason for his large check was because he could afford to pay me. It all seemed so odd. We were comfortably middle class. Our family didn’t know the first thing about trust funds or lawyers or private jets, for that matter.

“I only found out this weekend,” Felicity said. “The jet is Warren’s private business jet. Daniel and Laura work for Warren.”

“You own the jet?” I couldn’t believe it. Who owns a jet?

“I don’t like to talk about my money,” Warren said. “I’ve had some really bad experiences dating women who only saw dollar signs when they looked at me. I wanted a woman who loved me for me, not for my fortune.” He turned to Felicity. “So when I met Felicity, I told her the truth. I am an accountant—who happens to also have millions in trust.”

“You lied to her?” Dad growled.

“No, sir,” Warren said. “I simply left off the part about my trust fund.”

“Warren studied accounting so that he could best manage his money,” Felicity said. “He runs a charity foundation. He told me about it, but I thought he volunteered there. I had no idea he actually ran it.”

“You run a charity foundation?” Mom asked and fanned herself. “Oh, my.”

“The plane is simply one of a number of diverse investments I own. I bought it to help the foundation. I promise you, sir. I will take good care of your daughter. I set out to find someone who loves me for me. I found her.”

“I think it’s time for the champagne,” Dad said. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s the cheaper stuff.”

“Warren doesn’t mind.” Felicity patted his knee. “Don’t treat him like he’s any different than us. He’s an accountant who just happens to own a private jet and a couple of homes in Europe.”

Oh, man, I thought. How could Warren keep a secret as big as this from Felicity?

“It’s why the police wanted to question us,” Warren said. I watched as he squeezed my sister’s hand. “I’m connected to the airport and the dead man.”

“You are? How?” I asked and had to restrain myself from yanking my sister away from the suspicious man beside her. “As far as I know, they haven’t released the man’s identity yet.”

“His name was Randy Stromer,” Warren said. “He worked as a janitor at the airport. Since I own a forty-nine percent share of the airport and rent out hangar four, the police had to question me. It happened on my property.”

“Why did they question Felicity?” I asked.

“They were simply covering all their bases. I explained to them that Felicity didn’t know about my ownership in the airport or about who worked there. They were fine with my answer.”

“Felicity, is this true?” Mom asked. I noted how she wrung her hands. It was a nervous tick she had whenever one of her babies was threatened.

“Yes, of course, Mama.” Felicity kissed Mom on the cheek. “I’m fine, really. Warren’s lawyers did a great job. The police will have to get a warrant and offer just cause to interview us again.”

“If it didn’t mean anything, why was it bad news?” Mom asked.

“When we went to leave, the detective in charge . . . what was his name?”

“Murphy,” I answered my sister. Everyone looked at me funny. “What? He was the guy at the crime scene.”

“You found the body, right?” Warren asked me.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Then you know there is no way Felicity or I was involved. Did you tell the police that?”

“Of course I did,” I answered and crossed my arms in front of me.

“I’m going to get the champagne.” Mom went back into the kitchen.

“Are you going to make her sign one of those prenups?” Dad asked while Mom was in the kitchen. “Because we don’t believe in those things.”

“No, we talked it over.” Warren and Felicity looked at each other with devotion. “Felicity will be my wife. I love her and will support her my entire life no matter what happens.”

“Good!” Dad slapped Warren on the back. “Again, welcome to the family.”

“Champagne!” Mom came in with a tray loaded down with her crystal flutes.

I took my glass after Felicity and Warren. Mom handed Dad his glass and, tucking the tray under her arm, raised hers. “To the happy couple.”

“Hear, hear!”

“Cheers!”

I watched as my family saluted the happy couple. When I took a small sip of my champagne, I noted the starry-eyed look on Felicity’s face and couldn’t help wondering. If Warren had kept something as big as a multimillion-dollar trust fund from my sister, what else was he keeping from her?