For Whom the Bluebell Tolls (21 page)

The room was cool after being outside. I’d never been in the back room of Olé. It was kitschy Mexico, in a somewhat charming way. The staff had pushed together the tables to make one long one, and had already lit the flickering candles placed between bud vases holding red roses (their weekly Rose in Bloom purchase) that charmed the dim room. Acoustic guitar music streamed through the speakers. Bright serapes and red clay pots decorated the burlap-covered walls. A big-eyed glass lizard sat on a high shelf. And thankfully there were no jalapeño pepper lights, inflatable cacti, or bleached bull skulls.

The waitress dropped baskets of homemade chips and three kinds of salsa onto the long table. Suzy sat at the head, with Jackie and her crew at the other end. Marco took a spot opposite Liv and me near the middle of the table, probably hopeful like we were that from there he could hear conversations at either end.

“Aren’t you filming?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “I’m not here, remember.”

But the only word we were hearing was “margarita,” repeated enthusiastically around the table. When the waitress got to us, Liv patted her belly and said, “Virgin. Frozen.”

I said the same, feeling the need to inform the waitress that I was a designated driver.

“Relax,” Liv said. “She doesn’t care what you drink or don’t drink. Only that she gets her tips at the end of the night.”

Within minutes, the waitress was carrying in a huge tray of colorful citrus drinks. I took a sip. I wasn’t so sure about the salt around the rim of the glass, but the frozen margarita itself was crisp and refreshing, especially after the time I’d spent sitting in the hot church.

As the rest of the women chatted happily, I leaned closer to Liv. “I’m not sure I’m all that comfortable with Jackie being here.”

“Oh,” Liv said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I did look her up on that FMW message board.”

“And?”

“I suppose she has a right to be a little bitter. Fans were so cruel. I guess they don’t realize that the people they see on the screen are real people.”

“How did she respond?”

“At first, loud and clear. Lately, not so much. Maybe pretending that she wasn’t reading it.”

“Maybe she wasn’t.”

“But I checked her screen name, and she still logs in regularly, even if she doesn’t post.”

“That doesn’t reassure me.” I glanced around the rest of the table. “I don’t suppose any of the bridesmaids surfaced in your research of Gary’s investigative reports.”

Liv scanned the faces in the room. “They would all be too young. Remember, those tapes of Gary’s were over twenty years old.”

I nodded.

“But I did find something interesting. Most of the files on that disc had to do with the Logan kidnapping.”

“The case that got him fired.”

“Yep. He seemed to be a bit obsessed.”

“What about the interviews with Suzy?”

“I promised you I wouldn’t listen to them until the flowers were complete.”

I stared at her.

“Okay, you know me too well. They were pretty in-depth. But you didn’t have to worry. Nothing in there would have changed our design on the flowers.”

“What kinds of things did Gary ask her?”

“Some basic stuff about the kind of wedding she wanted. I’m not even sure she knew there was a recorder running. Kept telling her that he found her to be a fascinating person.”

“I believe it.”

“Suzy?” Liv said.

I nodded and brushed some of the salt from the side of the glass before sipping my margarita. “Suzy is not exactly what she appears to be. She’s an admitted attention hog who plays dumb because she thinks that will make the show more entertaining.”

“Well, if she’s playing at it, that’s how she played the interview, too. Spent half the time almost flirting with Gary, asking him what kind of dress he thought would best show off her assets—my words, not hers.”

“How did Gary respond to that?”

“He seemed taken with her. They spent hours together while he just kind of schmoozed her whole life story out of her.”

“Could Gary have been interested in Suzy romantically?”

“I guess. Or maybe he treated all the brides that way.” Liv set down her menu.

I leaned across the table to where Jackie and her bridesmaids sat. “Hey, Jackie,” I said. “I have a quick question for you.”

“I’m not doing questions.” She threw back the rest of her margarita and raised her empty glass to attract the waitress.

A new round of margaritas soon followed. Only then did we order food.

The videographer looked satisfied as he sipped his Coke. “This should loosen things up.” He pulled his camera out of the bag.

Down at Suzy’s end, gift bags were ripped open and loud cackling giggles erupted.

Jackie banged the table. “Hey, let’s see that.”

Soon lingerie and naughty toys were being passed back and forth down the table.

“Yep, I was right,” I said. “Bad idea.” I passed the latest novelty item from the giggling bride and bridesmaids to the old regime, tossing it like the hot potato in the game we used to play in elementary school. Only then we used a chalkboard eraser, and the boys liked to whip it at you, sending clouds of chalk dust into the air.

“You’re blushing,” Liv said. “You need to loosen up. Have more of your margarita.”

“There’s no alcohol in it.”

“Yeah, but the sugar might do you some good.”

I dutifully tilted my head back and downed the rest of my drink in one gulp. Then I closed my eyes and exhaled as the ice hit the roof of my mouth, causing that brief but excruciating headache. When I looked up, the camera across the table was not only running, but focused on me.

I squinted at Marco. “I thought you weren’t here.”

He chuckled.

Heaping platters of food arrived, along with more drinks. The girls at the bachelorette party doused their spicy food with still more alcohol. Marco looked even more pleased.

“Shouldn’t we try to slow down the booze?” I asked him. “Brad told me I was here to keep them out of trouble.”

He shook his head. “Just get them back to the inn within an hour of curfew. That’s all Gigi ever did. Besides, I think we have some good footage coming up.” He pointed to Suzy, who was swaying to the Latin beat coming over the sound system.

I wondered if Jackie was similarly primed and ready to talk. I turned to her.

She belched. “I have to hit the little girls’ room.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said.

I followed a wobblier Jackie back into the main part of the restaurant, passing the manager, who was removing the glass lizard from his perch in the room. “It’s his bedtime,” he quipped. I couldn’t blame him. The room had gotten louder, mostly with laughter at this point, but you never knew.

While Jackie was in the bathroom stall, I texted Brad. “You are so dead.”

When she came out, she washed her hands, then splashed cold water on her face. She addressed her reflection in the mirror. “I swore I would never do this again.”

“Must bring back memories.”

“I don’t know if I even remember my bachelorette party, except for what I saw on the video. Japanese food? I don’t even like Japanese food. And I don’t know if I would have drunk as much of that sake
stuff if I knew how much of a kick it had.”

“You didn’t mention you liked Japanese on your preshow interviews with Gary?”

“What interviews? All I did was fill out a bunch of forms and send in a brief home video.”

“You didn’t sit down with Gary and discuss your wedding at length?”

“No, why should I?”

“I know Suzy did. I was wondering if it was typical.”

“No, I barely talked to the man. I don’t know why he would have spent so much time with her . . . Wait. Do you think Gary was hitting on Suzy? Maybe she knocked him off?”

The question took me aback. Could Gary have brought Suzy up to the bell tower for a romantic tryst? An old dusty bell tower that had to be more than a hundred degrees? I wouldn’t do it, but I could picture her enthralled with the bells, Gary playing on her fascination. And then he’d make a move. But what if Suzy wasn’t willing? I couldn’t imagine her overpowering him, but what if Gary got tangled in the ropes somehow? Could his death have been accidental after all?

I quickly dismissed that idea. Mrs. June had said that the rope was tied after Gary’s death. Was Suzy strong enough to strangle Gary with her hands? And why would Gary have texted Brad to come to the bell tower—if indeed the text did come from Gary—if he were there for a romantic tryst? Or did someone kill Gary, text Brad to lure him to the bell tower to frame him, then string Gary up?

By the time I exited the bathroom, the party had heated up even more. Someone had cranked up the music, and Suzy was dancing around the room with a rose in her teeth, doing what looked like a strange cross between a tango, a flamenco, and a line dance as her bridesmaids imitated her movements.

Liv had collected our purses and was standing out of harm’s way, leaning against the door frame. Smart woman.

As the intensity of the music increased, the dance degenerated into lots of foot-pounding. Most of the women wore stilettos, and I hoped the spiky heels weren’t puncturing holes into the wood floor.

Suzy hopped onto a chair, and the foot-pounding continued as she ripped off her veil and ran her hands through her hair in the same sultry manner used to sell shampoo on television.

Marco had his camera trained on her.

The other women hopped onto their chairs, which swayed as the pounding continued.

Then Suzy moved to the table, dancing across it. Glasses tipped over, and silverware and plates vibrated, as she crossed the long table in her impromptu flamenco. Her bridesmaids followed, shouting out Spanglish exclamations probably learned from watching Speedy Gonzales cartoons. Jackie and her crew pulled up the rear.

The waitress rushed in and rescued an overturned candle, then extinguished the rest, causing swirls of candle smoke to dance around the women. “Someone, stop it.”

“No, don’t stop!” Marco had moved to the end of the table to film them coming toward him.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Nick asked, just behind me.

I whirled around. “What are you doing here?”

“Someone ordered an emergency cake for a Latin-themed party. I take emergency cake orders very seriously.” He opened the lid of a white bakery box. “Tres leches cake. Muy auténtico.” He looked at the group of women dancing on the table. “Not that any of them will notice or remember it in the morning.”

“No! No!” The manager pushed past us and rushed into the room. “My insurance!”

But he pushed a little too hard, sending me off balance. I refused to fall into Liv, so I clutched at Nick’s sleeve. The next thing I knew, Nick and I were on the floor, the cake smooshed between us.

The music stopped, and I could hear Suzy over them all. “Oooh, kinky. Way to go, Audrey!”

I looked up to find her still standing on the table, but pointing at me. As was the camera.

A loud creak sounded, then the table collapsed, sending all the women into a heap of long legs, short dresses, nachos, salsa, and margaritas.

Marco focused his camera on the aftermath, a huge smile on his face.

Warm flesh kneaded the taut muscles of my back. I pulled my pillow closer and moaned. It wasn’t often I got a massage, and I was determined to enjoy it. I opened one eye partway to glance at the alarm clock.

Five a.m. Just a few scant hours since I’d delivered the bride and her party safe and sound, although smelling like a bag of Doritos, back to the Ashbury.

And today was wedding day. Yes, there were still reception flowers to place and a wedding and reception to attend.

And a killer still roamed the town, but would leave soon. Tonight? Tomorrow? And according to Bixby’s dire prediction, that would mean he would likely never be brought to justice.

Chester stopped his kneading, curling into a ball in the small of my back. “Sorry, bud,” I said. Despite his contented purrs, I had more pressing matters that precluded me from functioning as a heated kitty bed for the day, as pleasant as that sounded. Was I really only a few hours ago rolling around on the floor with Nick Maxwell, both of us covered in cake? Talk about bringing fantasies to life—but I had no time to go there, either.

I slowly rolled to the side, giving Chester an opportunity to jump off. Instead, claws dug in.

“Yow!” I think the same sound came from both of us. I jumped up to get his claws out of my skin. Startled, he started running, but he only made it to the edge of the bed—his claws tangled in my hair. Which, I have to admit, was still matted with tres leches. I’d been too exhausted to wash it out when I’d finally made it home.

Every attempt he made to free himself from my hair only caused me to scream louder—which made him pull more furiously. Ears back, he hissed at the hair lodged in his paws. Some of it, but not all, was still attached to my scalp.

Pounding came from the wall next door.

I clamped my mouth shut, to stop the screaming.

Chester’s ears slowly went back into place.

“It’s all right, bud,” I said, in that high-pitched, syrupy voice reserved for pets, small children, and complete idiots. Using soothing tones and slow, deliberate motions, I was able to disentangle myself from Chester’s claws, while he only scratched my hand once. As he hopped to the edge of the bed to lick the remains of tres leches and a clump of my hair from his paws, I rubbed my scalp and headed to the shower.

The steamy shower smelled faintly of sour milk as the hot water loosened the remnants of frosting and started pulling my mind back to fully functioning mode. There were a wealth of suspects to choose from, for sure. Gigi had motive to kill Gary, financial and otherwise, if their secret marriage was on the rocks. The grief-stricken Nevena and Gigi’s personal lighting guy could be added to those who might have been spurred on by jealousy. Brad wanted out of his contract—and maybe he wasn’t the only one—while Henry Easton wanted in. All of these people had ready access to the Ashbury to deliver the threatening notes and damage the wedding dresses.

And after my conversations at the bachelorette party, I added Suzy to the list. If Gary’s interests toward her were more than those of a wedding consultant, might she have resented his attentions? Fought him?

Other candidates included Tacky Jackie and ultimate fan Dennis Pinkleman. Both struck me as unstable enough to have killed Gary, and I guess, in their own minds, each would have had motive. But did they have access to the Ashbury to deliver the threats? Still, since it couldn’t be proven that the threats were sent by the same person who’d strung up Gary, they remained on the suspect list.

And what about the files that Gary had kept? And the tapes of his reports and his statement that he had found a way back into the world of serious journalism? Was Gary onto some kind of story? Still, none of the bridal party would have been old enough to feature in his twenty-year-old investigative reports. And Liv had said nothing about a new story on the disk, only more files relating to old cases. But why the facination with Suzy Weber?

I slammed my shampoo bottle back onto the ledge, sending tiny bubbles aloft, carried by the steamy air. I sure hoped Chief Bixby had more than a wad of tissues to pull out of his sleeve, because except for those who were seen at the Ashbury at the time of Gary’s death, I’d not been able to eliminate anybody. Gary’s killer could have been anyone in the cast and crew who came to town to film the wedding.

*   *   *

I drove by the church first, relieved to see no sign of Jackie’s group and their protest signs. Probably back in their rooms sleeping off those margaritas.

Amber Lee and our crew had finished putting the flowers in place last night, leaving time this morning for us to concentrate on delivering and placing the arrangements for the reception space. Festoons surrounded the door, and cheerful swags of bellflowers and calla lilies hung from the wrought iron railings. The door was locked, but like most residents of Ramble, at least those who attend church, I had a key.

Liv had been right. Amber Lee could handle the church. The flowers were all placed perfectly, from the pew markers to the large altar piece to the swags hanging from the rafters to the small arrangements sitting in each window. And the smell—I should say fragrance. A brief explosion of floral scent intermingled with the steady, moldering smell of an old church. Bixby was going to have a cow.

I locked the church as I left, then drove the slowly wakening Main Street to the Rose in Bloom. The air had not yet grown hot, but it was sticky nonetheless, warning of soaring temperatures to follow. It was a good idea to have placed the flowers in the old church late at night. The reception flowers were done and ready for transport, and the Ashbury would be air-conditioned and comfortable to work in. I mentally patted myself on the back that at least I had planned something right.

I pulled down the alley to the shop just behind Larry’s truck, here for our morning delivery.

The weathered older gentleman climbed out of the cab, greeting me with his Kewpie-doll smile.

“I didn’t know Liv had ordered anything,” I said.

“She called me last night. Said you used up about everything you had and wanted me to replenish the coolers.”

I placed my key in the door to unlock it, but it already was unlocked. “That’s odd.” There were no other cars in the alley. “Maybe Amber Lee walked in today.” I pulled open the door, but only a thin opening showed that the person to open up the shop wasn’t Amber Lee.

I rushed inside. Petals and ribbon were strewn everywhere. Floral foam was ripped to bits. Vases were in shards on the floor. The cooler door was left open and hanging at an odd angle, as if some gorilla had tried to tear it off.

“No, no, no!” I cried. “Who would do . . .” And then I saw the note, not on paper, but scrawled with spray glitter on the door to the cooler. The word “wedding,” crossed through and with a circle around it.

Larry followed me in. He grabbed a stool, holding it over his head. “They’re not still here, are they?”

A thought that hadn’t occurred to me. I followed as he made his way through the shop, checking in the cooler and behind the furniture we used as display pieces.

He shook his head when our search turned up nothing. “Better call Bixby.”

“Oh, he’s going to love this.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Larry said. “Kids?”

I shook my head and, with trembling fingers, speed-dialed the Ramble Police Department. I had no idea which emotion was fueling the trembling. Fear? Anger? Panic? But I had enough adrenaline flowing through me to keep me up for about a week. A week and a half if I added coffee.

Liv was the next to arrive. She walked in the back door and stared, the color drained from her face.

“The police are on the way,” I said.

Amber Lee opened the door a minute later. Her ready smile transformed immediately to shocked seriousness. “Good heavens!”

Bixby was next to arrive. “You had a break-in, you said? Was anything taken?”

I looked around the shop. Crushed and bent flowers, loose petals, pottery shards. “No idea. Hundreds of dollars of damage, though. Maybe thousands.”

Amber Lee crossed over to the cash register and opened it. “Money’s still here.”

Bixby pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and started wiping his nose while he stared at the message scrawled on the cooler door. “So whoever broke in wanted to stop the wedding.”

“The TV’s gone,” Liv said. “And the videotapes.”

“Videotapes?” Bixby sniffled. “Who steals videotapes?”

I bit my bottom lip.

“Gary’s videotapes,” Amber Lee said. “Old news footage, from back when he was a serious reporter in Boston. We sent you the pictures . . .”

Bixby nodded, then sniffed. “And you’d have those because . . .”

“Gigi told us we could take a look at them,” Liv said. “Call it curiosity.”

“Snooping,” Bixby said. “So that muddies this up. Whoever did this—who may or may not be the killer—came to get the videotapes and decided to tear up the place for good measure. Or they came to tear up the place, hoping to stop the wedding, and happened upon the videotapes. Who knew you had them?”

“Gigi,” I said. “And everyone who works at the shop. And whomever they might have told.”

Bixby looked at Amber Lee. “Which could be half the town. Don’t touch anything else. I’ll get someone down here to take photos and prints.”

“But we’ve got a wedding to do.” Liv raked her hand through her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Bixby said. “I don’t see how that’s going to happen.”

“Then the killer wins,” I said. “Or whoever is trying to stop the wedding.”

“Surely they can have a wedding without flowers,” Bixby said.

“Yes, and the church is all ready. These are only for the reception. But without the flowers, they’d have a hard time filming the reception. It’s supposed to be a wonderland, Gigi’s masterpiece, and without the flowers . . .”

Bixby sniffed, then ran a tissue under his nose. “So what you’re saying is, if there are no flowers for the wedding reception, the wedding may go on, but the show will likely never air.”

“Unless they decide to delay the wedding,” I said. “I don’t know. But someone is still desperate to stop the filming or stop the wedding. And the best chance of catching him—”

“Would be to let the wedding take place as scheduled,” Bixby said, “hoping to draw him out.”

“If nobody gets killed in the process,” Amber Lee added.

Bixby put his hands on his hips and scanned the room.”If I get the prints and pics done in the next hour, can you still pull off the flowers?”

“Can we?” I turned to Liv.

I could practically see the numbers crunching in Liv’s eyeballs. “If I called in a few favors. Maybe we could get some of the centerpieces made in nearby shops and rushed in.”

“I took pictures of the completed ones,” Amber Lee said. “They’re still on my phone.”

Liv picked up a calla lily that looked undamaged. “And if we can salvage anything in here.”

Bixby hit his radio about the same time Liv hit her cell phone, the former rushing one of his men to come with a print kit, the latter calling all the neighboring florists on her speed dial.

Bixby ushered us out when his man arrived, and Liv, Amber Lee, and I walked down to the Brew-Ha-Ha. Amber Lee forwarded her cell phone photographs to the handful of florists that Liv had subcontracted. Before my coffee was cold, Liv set the cell phone down and sighed.

“Done. And the rest of the crew is on their way in, but it’s going to set us back a pretty penny. We’re going to have to file an insurance claim against the damages from the break-in if we’re going to come out ahead on this thing.”

I nodded. I had a down payment for a certain cottage riding on this wedding, and no killer or vandal was going to stop me.