Newlywed Dead (10 page)

“Thanks, I guess,” I said, and hung up. I stared out my windshield. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that Ashely would be the victim of an accidental overdose. She seemed too aware, too nice.

I decided then and there to dig a little into Ashley's story, if for no other reason than to help Samantha Lyn understand the loss of a person she thought could be a real friend.

I stopped home and hopped on my computer. A quick Google search brought up Ashely's Facebook page. Like most kids she left it public. Ashley's family and friends were writing on her Facebook page about their memories of the happy girl she had once been. The stories from friends and family told the tale of a middle-class sorority girl with good grades. There were several pictures of her and her best friend, Kiera.

“Such a terrible loss,” a woman named Blake wrote on Ashley's page. “It is hard to imagine the Ashley I knew ever doing drugs and drinking. When we were in college she was so health conscious. But then when Kiera was murdered, it seems Ashley fell apart and never recovered.”

“I know, sad,” a girl named Clarissa added in a
comment. “Kiera's death and the horrible incident really scarred Ashley. It is so tragic to have to bury both of these beautiful, caring women.”

“I agree,” Blake went on to say. “Hard to connect the story of Ashley's death with the hard-working, straight-A girl we all knew.”

“Remember the pranks she and Kiera used to pull?” a girl named Deirdre wrote on the page. “When they took Dean Ordant's moped and ran it up the flag pole? That was so funny.”

“I remember that,” Clarissa commented. “Kiera painted it to resemble the American flag and then they pulled it up the flag pole with ropes. The look on Dean Ordant's face was priceless.”

“I miss them both,” a girl named Angela wrote. “It's a terrible loss.”

“I agree,” I muttered and glanced at the time on my computer. I had to shut down right now or I would be late meeting Toby.

“Hey, Pepper,” Toby said as I hurried toward his table at the local coffee shop. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem,” I said, and kissed his cheek in a welcome. I put down my tote and unzipped my coat. “The weather is good.”

“Thirty-five degrees and clear is a decent day for Chicagoland in December,” Toby agreed. “I bought you a coffee just the way you like it.” He pushed the cup toward me.

“Thanks,” I said, and took off my coat, hanging it on the back of my chair. “So you have a new girl?”

“Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I found her on an online dating site. I have the profile right here.” He pulled out his cell phone and brought up the website. “Her name is Greta. She has a PhD in physics and works for a tech company.” He gave me his phone.

I didn't know exactly how old Toby was but he looked to be in his mid to late forties. A man of average build and height, he had a full head of dark, wavy hair, and an ever-present five-o'clock shadow. I wasn't sure if he merely forgot to shave most days or if he was intentionally clipping his beard at that level. In the last few months Toby had become a dear friend. When I first met him I thought he could be good-looking in an older George Clooney kind of way. Unfortunately, despite his vast wealth, he was always as rumpled as that funny old television detective Colombo. Today he wore a stained T-shirt, droopy jeans with completely frayed hems, and his favorite ripped white skateboarder shoes.

I took his phone and looked at the site he'd brought up. The picture was of a girl who looked like she was a natural for a model, not a PhD in physics. But I wasn't going to judge. Not when Toby seemed so happy. “She's pretty,” I said.

“And smart,” he said. “She says she is looking for intelligent geeky guys. That would be me.”

“Yes,” I agreed as I handed him the phone. “That would be you. Still . . .”

“What?” he asked as he took the phone back and perused her profile.

“Nothing,” I said, and chewed on my bottom lip.

“It's not nothing,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You are the expert in matters of the heart. I appreciate your opinion.”

“I'm not sure,” I dodged. “But she could be phishing.”

“What do you mean?”

“This profile seems too good to be true,” I pointed out.

“Are you saying a girl can't be pretty and smart? Because I disagree. You are living proof that they can.”

I felt the heat of a blush rush up my neck and into my cheeks. “Thanks, Toby. But the problem with websites like this is that you don't really know who this person is. I mean, she could be a guy looking for a nerd with a fat wallet.”

“A guy?” Toby looked at his phone. “She does not look like any guy I've ever met.”

“That's just it,” I said. “The picture could be of any random model. People do that. They put pictures up on the Internet trying to snare an unsuspecting guy. They get close to you via e-mail and such and then get you to rescue them by sending money. Or worse, they come to your house, plant some scene, and then blackmail you.”

“So, you're saying she could be looking for marks. You know, people to scam.”

“Yes,” I said with a nod. “It could be a guy looking for marks.”

“Hmmm,” Toby said, and put the phone down. “I could vet them through my sources.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “You could vet them. But it's always better to meet someone through your friends. I mean, friends tend to set people up with people they know. A
girl who has already been vetted by your friends is a wiser choice.”

“I don't have that many friends, Pepper,” Toby said bluntly. “You and one guy are it, and Harold isn't exactly a social butterfly.”

“I see,” I said, and sipped my coffee. He was right. He had ordered me the exact flavor I preferred with just the right amount of creamer.

“That leaves me with very few options, unless you are willing to vet women for me,” Toby said. He looked away as if he really didn't want me to find him a girl. Was Gage right? Did Toby have a crush on me? Would he say no to every woman I mentioned just to keep me in his life?

“I'm not a professional matchmaker,” I said. “I'm more of an after-the-relationship-works kind of girl.”

“Yeah,” he said, and sipped his coffee. “I know. How's the business going?”

“Pretty good,” I said. “I've got four projects going right now.”

“Anything I can help with?” His tone was hopeful.

“Maybe,” I said. “I have this one woman who demands that I surprise her.”

“Okay, well, you surprise all your clients.”

“The catch is that she feels like she needs to be involved in every stage of the planning,” I said. “She wants her experience to be perfect, and the only way to do that, according to her, is that she plan the entire thing.”

“I see,” he said, and put his coffee cup down. “There is one small issue with that.”

“The surprise,” I said. “I know. I don't know what I'm going to do. I thought maybe I could plan a pseudo-event and then have you help with the real event. That way she wouldn't see it coming.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” he said. “Why don't you just do what you did with me? Tell her she's going to observe a few events and then have one of those events be her proposal.”

“You are brilliant!” I stood up and hugged him. “That is much easier. Of course, I'll have to ask the other clients if Brad and Jen can tag along, but I don't think they will mind.”

“You can use me as the guy who you are planning the proposal for,” he said. “I'm sure you know someone you can use as the ‘girlfriend.'” He said the term with air quotes. “That way I'm helping but you don't have to do everything twice.”

I sat back down and ignored the slight panic in my gut at the idea that I might be planning another proposal event for Toby and a woman who didn't love him. I would have to walk a very careful line with this.

“What else has been going on?” he asked.

“There's this bartender who died at Felicity's reception.”

“What?” He leaned forward. “Another death? If I were your sister I'd begin to wonder what kind of death karma was following me around.”

“She doesn't know,” I said. “We did our best to shield her from it until she and Warren get back from their honeymoon.”

“How can you not know someone died at your own
wedding reception?” he asked. “That's kind of a big thing. I'm sure the police were called as well as an ambulance. You can't miss that.”

“They were,” I said. “But Ashley—the girl who died—didn't pass out until the end of the reception. Felicity and Warren were long gone.” I shook my head at the memory of Ashley lying there hopeless on the ground. “I tried to perform CPR, but I wasn't able to revive her. In fact, the paramedics took over and pretty much called her time of death right then and there.”

“What happened?” He leaned forward, his gaze filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, no, I don't know,” I answered honestly. “She was a nice girl. We sort of bonded about being misfits at the country club.” I shrugged. “I spent some time talking with her about 1950s cocktails and life in general. She seemed like one of those people you meet and know right away you are meant to be friends. The last thing I talked to her about was getting together some afternoon. Then she was gone.”

“That is a testament to what a nice person you are,” Toby said, and patted my hand. “You took me under your wing pretty quickly, too. So, what happened? Did she slip and fall? Get accidentally electrocuted?”

“What?” I pulled my hand away from him. “No, no.”

“Gunshot? Stabbing?”

“No.” I shook my head at the absurdity of his suggestions. “No, she passed out and never came to,” I said. “She had complained of a headache when I was with her.
Detective Murphy told me the autopsy suggests she overdosed on Xanax and alcohol.”

“Terrible,” he said with a shake of his head. “How could the country club hire a drug user to work the bar? I will lodge a complaint.”

“You're a country club member?” I asked. “Oh, wait, don't answer that.” I put my hand up in a stop-sign palm toward him. “Let me guess, you joined the club after you earned your first million dollars.”

“Yes,” he said, and nodded. “It's—”

“What you do,” I finished the sentence for him. Then I leaned in. “So, Toby, the country club is a perfect place to meet the appropriate woman for you.”

He frowned. “Do you really think so?”

“It can't hurt,” I said, and sat back. “It would seem to me that people of the appropriate income level would be members of the club, right?”

“Yes,” he said. “I do suppose that's true.”

“The club membership board would rule out anyone inappropriate, therefore there would be no chance of phishing.”

“There may be some gold digging,” he said, and glanced at me. “That is a possibility.”

“Yes, I suppose that's true,” I said with a shrug. “But for the most part you'll be in a place ripe with women of the proper socioeconomic status. You should get to know the other members of the club. Then you can eventually vet your potential dates through them.”

“It's an idea,” he said. “I could go tomorrow afternoon. They serve a nice two-martini lunch there.”

I chewed my bottom lip and tried not to wince at the idea of Toby showing up for lunch at the country club dressed like a forty-year-old skater boy. “Yes, yes, you most certainly can, but before you go, perhaps you should step up on the grooming. You know, so that people get the right impression of you.”

“What do you mean, my grooming?” he asked and looked down at his T-shirt and jeans. “I wear this to the club all the time. They don't judge me there. They like my money.”

“Yes, I'm sure they do, but if you are looking for a suitable wife there, you should wear a nice dress shirt. Perhaps put a clean white T-shirt under it to give it a nice finish. Then I'd replace the shoes with something more appropriate.”

“Good god, do I need to wear a tie and jacket?”

“I don't think they are necessary for making an impression at lunch,” I said, and pursed my lips as I contemplated him. “But you could comb your hair a bit.”

“Fine.” His tone clued me in to the fact that he wasn't at all fine with my thoughts on his grooming.

“Think of it as setting the stage,” I said, and patted his hand. “If you want a beautiful, intelligent woman, you have to give them what they want—a smart, well-groomed man.”

He blew out a long breath. “I suppose that's true.”

“If you want, I'll go with you,” I offered. “I don't have a membership to the club so I'll have to go as your guest.”

“You know, that's not a bad idea,” Toby said. “I'll be more approachable with you there. I've discovered that a single man alone is a bit intimidating to women.”

I smiled at the idea that anyone would be intimidated by Toby. “If it's okay with you, there may be some people who were at the country club the night Ashley died. I would really like to talk to them and see if they thought she was on drugs.”

“You want to validate your hypothesis,” he said with a nod. “I can understand that. Let's go, then. I can help you with your new investigation and you can help me sort through eligible women.”