The Iced Princess (17 page)

Pinky raised her eyebrows and shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe. Like I said, I would have paid better attention to him if I'd known what was about to go down.”

“He also looks a lot like that guy who was with Ramona Zimmer the other night. But I didn't get a close enough look at him and don't think I could pick him out of a lineup.”

“What I think is that you should call the police.”

“And tell them what? A man was in our shops, looked around, then left without saying a word?”

“I guess you're right.” She looked up at her clock. “Betty Boop says it's about time for you to get a move on.”

I looked at the clock, too. “I guess, and I have no idea if this will be a quick trip or what, so wish me luck, Pink.”

“All right, luck. But I think you're going to need more than that going into the lion's den. And Erin should be here by three thirty, so don't worry if you're there for a while. Just bring back all the juicy news you can gather from the rich and famous.”

I rolled my eyes then gathered my coat, hat, and gloves, and
left. Mrs. Ryland was waiting by the door when I pulled up. I got out of the car to assist her. I worried that if she fell, she'd break in a bunch of places. Her black cashmere wool coat, no doubt a gift from Molly, was buttoned up to her neck. It had a hood, which I pulled up over her head. “All set?”

Her shoulders lifted slightly. “Nothing in life really prepares you for this. You know, Will never called back, so I hope he got my message.”

I nodded and offered her my arm.

T
here was only a handful of vehicles parked in front of Will Dalton's home. Very, very expensive ones: a black Lexus SUV, a Bentley, a Porsche, an Aston Martin. I read the logo on one model and saw it was a Lamborghini. I considered parking my Subaru down the street a ways but chided myself for being silly. I owned it free and clear and knew that not everyone who drove top-of-the-line vehicles could afford them any more than I could.

“I haven't been here for quite some time,” Mrs. Ryland said.

I didn't ask her the reason why. Instead, I said, “I'm going to pull right into the driveway so we won't have far to walk.”

The more time I spent with Mrs. Ryland, the more questions I thought of to ask her. And the fact that Will did not consult his wife's mother about her final arrangements was
unheard of. The least he should have done was make sure she knew about the service, and then sent a car to pick her up. The Bentley would have been a nice, smooth ride for Mrs. Ryland.

Mrs. Ryland sucked in a breath that sounded to me like she was calling for the courage to go in, or maybe even to go on at all. Her hesitation gave me cold feet, and I considered telling her to go in without me. But that wouldn't have been fair, so I jumped out of the car before I changed my mind. She was partway out of her seat when I got to her side. Instead of taking my arm, she reached for my hand and held on tight all the way to the front door. I rang the bell, and a melodious series of perfectly pitched chimes sounded inside.

A few seconds later the door opened, and who but Will's young red-haired assistant stood there looking at us like we were yesterday's trash. Her eyebrows were nearly touching her hairline, and her pouty mouth was half open. “Yes?”

Something about her being there, coupled with her superior attitude, got my dander up. It's entirely possible I pressed back against the door just enough to throw her slightly off balance. Not on purpose, of course, but before she could regain her composure I said, “Surely, you know Molly's mother.” Yes, I sounded snotty and snooty, but Ms. Assistant needed to know Mrs. Ryland deserved respect, and she had to give it to her.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows shot up impossibly higher as I pushed past her, dragging Mrs. Ryland with me. I was feeling rather righteous until I came face-to-face with Will Dalton. His cold gaze released some butterflies in my stomach and at once reminded me he was not a person to taunt or toy with. I was a memorial service crasher, and the way he was staring
me down made it seem like the worst possible thing to be at that moment in time.

Then, as if a fairy godmother waved a magic wand, his icy, cold expression changed to a seemingly sincere, warm one. Will took his mother-in-law's hand and led her into an adjoining room. There was an urn on a pedestal table and some chairs in a circle around it. I counted eight others in the room besides the three of us. Ms. Assistant must have stayed back for door duty.

Will helped Mrs. Ryland out of her coat and onto a chair in the circle. He hadn't asked me to leave, so I stayed close then sat down next to Mrs. Ryland. Will walked over to a man in a high-priced suit and said something too quietly for me to hear. It couldn't have been the minister, because he wouldn't have that kind of money for clothes. The man glanced over at Mrs. Ryland and me and then said something back to Will. I thought for a moment that we'd met somewhere, but I dismissed that notion in a split second. We certainly did not run in the same circles.

None of the people there sought out Mrs. Ryland to express their sympathies, and I found that strange. Molly was her daughter, after all. Will was not the only one here who had suffered a loss. I leaned over to Mrs. Ryland's ear and whispered, “Do you know all of these people?”

“No, not a one. Except Will, of course.”

If no one from Will's family was there—and Mrs. Ryland would know them—who were these people?

“All right, I think everyone is here, so let's begin,” Will said.

The few invited mourners took their seats, except for the man Will had talked to. He had moved someplace behind
Mrs. Ryland and me, and I didn't want to turn around to see where. There were four men and three women. Thankfully, Ms. Assistant did not come in and join the group.

Will sat down across from us and directed his attention to Mrs. Ryland. “Irene, would you like to say a few words?”

She drew in a quick breath and thought for a minute. “I didn't prepare anything, so I'll just say Molly was a special person and the most caring and loving daughter a mother could hope for . . . And she didn't deserve to die like that.” Mrs. Ryland broke down, and the tears flowed freely. When I put an arm around her, she leaned into me.

Will looked down at his folded hands and nodded. His reaction struck me as off, and I wasn't sure why. After a while, he lifted his head and zeroed in on me. “Ms. Brooks?”

I was beyond surprised. What in the world could I come up with to say about Molly on the spot? I had worked on overcoming my fear of public speaking for many years, but this strange gathering did nothing to ease my anxiety. Plus, I figured it was best to keep my mouth shut, that way there was nothing that could be used against me in a court of law. I was more and more convinced that was where Will Dalton would drag us someday. I shrugged my shoulders slightly and shook my head.

“Anyone else?” Will asked of the small group. Several made nice comments, but nothing seemed heartfelt. Finally, it was Will's turn. He studied the urn holding Molly's ashes and opened his mouth, but instead of talking, he let out a wail that honestly scared me half out of my wits. Mrs. Ryland jumped right out of my half hug and sucked in a little gasp of air. Will pulled a hankie out of his front pocket and buried his face in it for a long time, crying silently.
When he finished, he wiped his nose then stuck the hankie in his pants pocket.

He stood up, and the rest of us followed suit. Will cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. There are refreshments in the dining room, but I'm going to have to excuse myself.” He left the room without another word. It was one of life's awkward moments when I, for one, had not a clue what to do next. I had already pushed the envelope being there without an invitation and felt it was up to Molly's mother to make the call.

“Should we go get something to eat?” I asked Mrs. Ryland, looking around to see if anyone else was heading in that direction.

She shook her head. “I'd like to go home.” I picked her coat up from the back of the chair Will had hung it on. I hadn't taken my own off, so that saved a step. No one paid much attention to us as we made our way out of the library and then through the front door. Ms. Assistant had left her post. Maybe her next duty was to serve whatever lunch Will had for his guests in the dining room.

When we were back in my car, I wanted to tell Mrs. Ryland that Molly's service was, hands down, the most bizarre gathering I had ever attended. But I didn't want to openly speak ill of her son-in-law, and it was not because I feared a lawsuit. A list of unkind words describing how I felt about Will Dalton's behavior came to mind, and at the top of the list was “insulting.” Molly's service was anything but respectful, not only to her memory, but also in the way her mother was treated.

After witnessing Will Dalton in action, it was easier for me to understand why Molly was lonely in her marriage.
Did he really care about anyone besides himself and his own interests?

Mrs. Ryland and I were both quiet all the way to her house. When we got there, I asked if it'd be all right if I came in for a bit. “Please do, Cami.” After we had settled down at the kitchen table, Mrs. Ryland looked me in the eyes. “I'm not sure Molly even still loved Will.”

That was unexpected. “Really? What makes you think that?”

“He's turned into . . . well, you saw how he acted. He's gotten himself too wrapped up in his legal practice and other business to have much of a family life. He didn't even plan a real funeral for his wife. What kind of a husband does that?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Molly's minister wasn't even there, like she would have wanted.”

“It was very unusual, that is for sure. And frankly, I would have expected that you'd be in on the planning. You know Molly better than anyone, even Will.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I know. She should have had a proper service, one that anyone could come to. Anyone that wanted to be there.”

I reached over and gently closed my hand over hers. “You can still have one, you know. And I think you should.”

She nodded. “I'll talk to the minister.”

“Mrs. Ryland, this is sort of a prying question, but did Molly ever talk about leaving Will, getting a divorce?”

“She didn't, but I suggested it when I saw how unhappy she was.”

“And what did she say about that?”

“She didn't want to even think about that. She thought maybe if they had children that would make them close again.
Molly wouldn't go into details, but I think she was either seeing a fertility doctor or looking into adoption. I wanted to tell her that children do not make a bad marriage better, but I kept that to myself because a baby would have brought her such joy.”

Her lips quivered, and I gave her a minute before I switched gears. “Okay, this is a change of subject, but there's something you need to know. I'm just going to come right out and say it. Emmy Anders was arrested for Molly's murder yesterday. That's why she's in jail.”

Mrs. Ryland stared at me for a while before she responded. “Emmy Anders? How could that be? I've talked to her at church a few times, and she seemed kind, hardly a violent type.”

I nodded. “I guess we don't always know.”

“But why on earth would the police think she killed Molly?” She was so matter-of-fact it was obvious the news hadn't sunk in.

“You'll have to talk to them, but let's just say the reason they're convinced is because of something she was charged with in the past, and because of some evidence they found at her house. Assistant Chief Lonsbury was planning to talk to you, but I wanted you to know before you heard it from someone else.”

Except Will Dalton, maybe. It would have been the natural thing for him to do before or after the service—take his mother-in-law aside to talk about Emmy's arrest. They were the two most invested in seeing that justice was served.

Mrs. Ryland nodded. “What an awful thing.”

“The police may be right, but I'm not convinced. And I
feel I owe it to Molly to find out the truth so she can rest in peace.”

Mrs. Ryland grabbed my hand in both of her bony ones and squeezed. I was surprised she had so much strength. “I want to help, so tell me what I can do.”

Oh boy. “Um, I don't know if that's such a good idea. I mean, the police would not be happy if they knew what I was up to in the first place, and if they found out I'd dragged you into it all, they would be doubly unhappy. I don't want to get you in any more trouble than you're already in.” I hadn't meant to bring up the crime she was charged with committing. “Sorry.”

Mrs. Ryland lifted a hand like it was all right. “Cami, Molly is my daughter. I let her down when I married her stepfather and didn't see what was going on. I have never been able to forgive myself for that.
I'm
the one who owes it to her to find out the truth. Then when I die we can both rest in peace. Together.”

Molly's mother's face held the most earnest, determined look, and I couldn't disappoint her. Mark would kill me and Clint would want to do something even worse if they knew what I was about to agree to. “All right, Mrs. Ryland, you're in.”

“Good.” She tapped her hands on the table.

“And there is something important you can do, when you're up to it, of course.”

“What's that?”

“Help me find your stepson. We need to locate Troy.”

She gave a single nod. “So you
do
think Troy . . . was involved in . . .”

“I honestly have no idea. But we know he blackmailed Molly, until she cut him off, that is.”

She let out a noisy breath of air. “I'll see what I can do, but I'm not even sure where to start.”

“His photo would be a good place to begin.”

She rubbed one hand with the other. “Molly may have missed one somehow. I'll see what I can find.”

“Thanks. Pinky mentioned someone who was in her shop shortly before Molly died. It was a man asking for a blonde who worked there. If Pinky saw a picture of Troy, she could tell us if it was him or not.”

“But Molly knows Troy, and if she had seen him, the least she would have done was to call me right away and tell me.”

That was a good point. “I have my doubts it was Troy, because like you said, Molly knew him. Whoever that man is, he probably had nothing to do with what happened. But it's good to eliminate all the people I have questions about.”

“That is a wise way to go about it.”

“We don't have the authority to go to the county and ask them to do one of those composite drawings, but . . .” I thought a moment. “I know of someone, an artist who's one of Pinky's regular customers. She might be talented at drawing faces or at least know someone who is. We'd need your help to do that, of course.”

Mrs. Ryland nodded. “Cami, you should go into police work.”

The suggestion made me smile. “No thanks, I'm way happier staying in the background.”

“I'll let you know if I happen to locate a picture of Troy. Or even his father, since Troy looked just like him.”

“If you find one, great. If not, we look for an artist.” I held out my hand for her. “We have a sort-of plan, Mrs. Ryland.” When she took my hand in hers, we shook on it.

“It's a place to start. And please, call me Irene.”

—

W
hen I got back to the shops, the looks on their faces told me Pinky and Erin were ready to hear the details about Molly's private service. There were no customers around, and they dragged me to a back table. “Spit it out, every single word,” Pinky said.