Terror in Taffeta (4 page)

“Something terrible. There's no easy way to say this, but Dana didn't just faint. She passed away.”

“She passed what?” Nicole asked, not comprehending what I'd said.

“Away. She passed on.”

“I don't understand.”

“She died, dear,” Mrs. Abernathy said.

“But that's not possible!” Nicole looked at me and then at her mother, trying to make sense of what we were telling her. “Are you sure she didn't just sleep in this morning?”

“No,” I said. “It happened last night.”

“What?! When? After you took her a plate?”

“There was no plate. I'm sorry, Nicole.”

Nicole shook her head forcefully, her eyes welling with tears. “No!”

“Are you sure?” Vince asked, knitting his eyebrows in concern. “I mean, what happened?”

“I don't know. After she passed out at the church, she didn't wake up again. I'm so sorry. I'll see what I can find out from the coroner's office.”

Nicole's tears began to flow in earnest as the truth sank in. “Why didn't anyone tell us?”

Well, now, there was a good question. I looked at Mrs. Abernathy for support.
A little help here?

“Yes, Kelsey, why didn't you tell us?” Mrs. Abernathy demanded, but not as sternly as if she'd meant it.

Count to ten before you speak,
I warned myself. Was she kidding me? I couldn't call her on her little deception, but what was I supposed to say? “I—I mean, well, we didn't think…”

“I suppose you didn't want to ruin the evening for Nicole,” Mrs. Abernathy continued. “I guess I can understand that. But still. How dreadful.”

But still?
But still?
Not only had she not told her daughter, she'd blamed the whole thing on me.

Nicole leapt up from the table and ran from the room. After an awkward pause, Vince drained his coffee cup, then stood. “I'm going to go make sure she's okay,” he said, gesturing across the courtyard.

As his footsteps receded in the distance, Mrs. Abernathy sighed. “Well, that went well, don't you think?”

I turned and gave her a tight smile. “So … I guess you decided to let me do the honors?”

“Well, you are the wedding planner. Isn't that part of your job?”

My job? She had to be kidding me. Coordinating bridal parties. Sourcing tent rentals. Picking the perfect venue.
Those
were parts of my job. Making sure that everything goes off without a hitch and that everyone lives happily freaking after, that was my job. Breaking it to the bride that a member of the wedding party was dead? No, that had never come up before.

I stared at her, dumbfounded.

“You're responsible for problem solving, Kelsey. Don't forget that your contract clearly stipulates that you will handle the regular list of duties plus any dreadful, unforeseen situations that might arise in connection to the wedding.”

Damn, it did say something like that, although I was pretty sure she was paraphrasing; I would never use the word “dreadful” in a contract.

“So what should I tell Fernando about brunch?” I asked. The villa came with a house staff, and the chef was already hard at work on the preparations. “Should I try to cancel it?”

“Oh, why create extra work for yourself, dear? Besides, I hear he's planning on making us his famous
huevos rancheros.
They're supposed to be just
divine
!”

“Okay, then, I'm going to go start packing. Don't forget that the driver is picking us up at four.”

“Yes, you'd better hurry, because we're going to need you to pack up Dana's things, too.”

“We
are
?”

“Well, certainly! You don't think I'm going to do it, do you? And surely you don't want poor Nicole to have to do it. That leaves you, of course. It's not as if Charles and I aren't paying you enough.”

I was starting to think that no amount of money was enough. Unfortunately, after six years of working out of my apartment in San Francisco, I had finally signed a lease on a sunny corner space in a renovated Victorian in Pacific Heights, and my increased financial responsibility meant that I could no longer afford to tell a client to stick it.

“Of course, Mrs. Abernathy. Anything else?”

“That is all. Oh, actually—could you be a dear and get me a refill on this coffee?”

*   *   *

Back in my room, I found Brody leaning over my vanity, spreading minty-green goo onto his face. “I see you found out my beauty secret,” I said.

“Oh, hey, this stuff is supposed to reduce pores, right? How fun! It tingles!”

“Brody, that woman…”

“Let me guess: Mrs. A?”

“Who else? She didn't tell Nicole. She left it for me to handle. And now I have to go pack up Dana's belongings, as if I didn't have ten thousand things to do before we leave.”

Brody peered into the mirror, trying to spread the facial masque evenly over his one-day scruff. “You can put me to work.”

“Really?” With his help, I might actually be ready to leave on time. “Oh, Brody, you're a lifesaver.”

“I know. Hey, look,” he said, fishing a cucumber from his glass of cucumber-lemon water and putting it over one eye. “I look like a pirate—at a spa!”

Yet another reason to love the man. He was always able to make me laugh.

I looked around the room. Not only did I have my personal belongings to pack, but my room had become the unofficial warehouse of all wedding-related items. I grabbed a tape gun and a box and handed both to Brody. “Okay, let's get my room packed first, then we'll go pack Dana's.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. Hey, did you call your new boyfriend?”

“Who, Evan? He's not my new boyfriend. He's an old … friend.”

“Whatever, Miss Picky. Did you call him? He seemed pretty into you.” A private pilot, Evan had flown me and Brody to San Miguel from Mexico City, saving us from the bus, and Brody had instantly picked up on our history—especially after Evan asked me to go to dinner with him while I was in town.

“Nope, never had time,” I replied, folding up some pants and tucking them neatly into my suitcase.

“What? Why not?” Brody sounded disappointed. He wanted me to find a great guy to settle down with as much as he wanted to find one himself.

“C'mon, Brody, Evan and I would never work. For one thing, he lives in another country.”

Evan and I had gone out a few years earlier, back when he lived in San Francisco. But after just a few dates, he'd announced that he'd quit his job as an airline pilot to pursue his dream of moving to Mexico, and our burgeoning romance had been cut short. We'd stayed in touch, and I'd even added him to my resources file. Knowing someone with his own plane came in handy when I had guests who needed shuttling around Mexico.

“Kelsey, has it ever occurred to you that that attitude is why it's ‘always the wedding planner, never the bride'?”

I picked up a box and scowled. “Less talking, more packing!”

“Jeez, excuse me for caring about your personal life.”

“I'm sorry, but it's just hard to take you seriously with that green stuff on your face. Now go rinse off and let's get out of here!”

He retreated into the bathroom, then came back a few minutes later. “Do my pores look smaller?” he asked.

“Microscopic,” I said. “Now, you take that pile over there, and I'll take this pile over here. Anything that's not clothes, shoes, or makeup needs to be boxed up so we can ship it back home.”

He scooped up a bag filled with custom-embroidered napkins. “What about these?”

“Well, they're not shoes or clothing, so what do you think?”

“In the box?”

“Yep, in the box they go.”

Brody stuffed the napkins into the box and began rummaging through the things on the dresser. Approximately twenty seconds passed before he interrupted again. “What about this guest book?”

“Focus, Brody, or no more beauty products for you.”

“Okay, okay, in the box.” Ten seconds elapsed. “But what about—”

“Brody,” I moaned, “if it's not mine, pack it.”

“But I don't know whether it's yours or not.”

I looked at the exquisitely wrapped package he was holding up in the air. “Actually, no. Sorry, that's for Nicole.”

“Can we open it?” he asked, shaking it next to his head and listening for clues as to what might be inside.

“No, I told you, it's for Nicole.”

“What'd you get her? Is it silverware?”

“It's not from me, silly. I found it in the rectory and brought it back with me last night.”

“Who's it from?” he asked, turning it over and examining the bottom of the box.

“I don't know,” I said. “Throw it here.”

Brody tossed me the box, and I carefully removed the gift card from its tiny ecru envelope. “‘With love, from Dana.'”

An awkward moment passed as we stared at the gift. “Well, that sucks,” Brody said at last. “You going to give it to her?”

“Yeah, but not right now. It'll only upset her more,” I said, shoving the package into a nearby tote bag.

After we finished packing, Brody and I headed down the breezeway toward Dana's room.

“Why do we have to pack her stuff anyway?” Brody asked. “It's not like she's going to need it.”

“True, but I'm sure her family will want it back. Besides, the rental agency will expect us to clear everything out before we leave.”

We paused outside the last door on the left. I stared at the knob for a second. This felt wrong.

“What's the matter, are you chicken?” Brody asked.

“No, it's creepy, that's all.”

“Oh, come on.” Brody reached past me and grabbed the wrought-iron doorknob. “I'll do it.”

The heavy door swung open. The room was a total mess.

“Jeez,” Brody said. “How embarrassing for her.”

Her clothes were all over the floor, belongings strewn everywhere. As we stared at the mess with our mouths agape, something occurred to me. This wasn't just a failure to tidy up while on vacation. Someone had been looking for something. And considering the enthusiasm with which they'd gutted the chair cushions and dumped the contents of the dresser drawers, they'd been none too happy.

We backed out of the room, pulling the heavy door closed behind us, and I looked at Brody, who for once was speechless.

“I think we'd better call the police.”

 

CHAPTER 4

As a wedding planner, you never know what you might be called upon to do. One day you're an A/V specialist; the next day you're a dove wrangler. My list of services was now growing to include “sneak police officers past unsuspecting brunch guests.”

Luckily, Officers Antonio Ortiz and Frank Nolasco hadn't eaten breakfast yet, so the promise of
huevos rancheros
was enough to divert them discreetly through the kitchen. That was about all my bribe got me, though. They took their plates and dismissed me with a single word in Spanish. I didn't recognize it, but I was pretty sure it meant “scram,” based on the accompanying hand motion.

After snapping some photos of the guests downstairs, Brody was free to join me in pacing the corridor outside Dana's room. What was going on in there? I was dying of curiosity, but the officers had closed the door firmly behind them. Though I tried to peek through the curtains, I didn't see anything except Officer Ortiz's scowling face before he came over and pulled them shut.

“What do you think is going on in there?” I asked.

“Calm down,” Brody said. “They're just doing their job.”

“I know, but finding out what happened is
my
job.”

“Oh, come on, this is way outside the wedding planner's jurisdiction.”

“No, I'm serious! Mrs. Abernathy has made it clear that dealing with this … situation is my responsibility. And I'm supposed to have us all out of here by four o'clock!”

Brody checked his watch and made a face. “We're going to be cutting it close.”

“That's what I'm saying! We have to get out of here.”

“I'm sure everything's going to be fine. They'll finish up, and then we can be on our way.”

I tried again to peek, but the curtains were shut tight. What was taking them so long? “Brody, something is seriously messed up here.”

“Yeah, you may be right.”

“I mean, a twenty-nine-year-old girl doesn't ransack her own room, then drop dead from natural causes.”

We leaned against the stucco wall in silence while I pondered everything that had happened. This couldn't be a coincidence; none of the other rooms had been touched. My hopes that Dana's death had been a tragic accident or the inevitable result of some obscure genetic defect had begun to seem fairly improbable—especially now that there were two uniformed officers involved.

I stood up. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

Brody's face brightened a little. “Breakfast?”

“What? No, murder.”

“I'd prefer breakfast,” he sighed. “But yeah, this looks pretty bad.”

“This is terrible! No one's ever going to hire me again.”

“That's not true. No one could possibly think this is your fault.”

“I know, but nobody wants to hire a wedding planner who can't even keep her wedding party alive.”

“There's absolutely nothing you could have done to prevent this. What you
can
do is what you do best: deal with the family. Does Nicole even know what's going on?”

She didn't. None of them did. Frankly, I'd been avoiding them. As helpless as I felt, Brody was right: I did need to tell them what had happened.

After letting the officers know where to find me and sending Brody back to my room, I headed for the newlyweds' suite, where I found Nicole, Vince, and Zoe. The fact that Mrs. Abernathy was off somewhere saying good-bye to the last of her brunch guests settled the butterflies in my stomach at least a little. Nicole and I seldom had a chance to talk without her mom hovering nearby.