For Better or Hearse (2 page)

“A horrible crime has been committed!” Fern's shrieks carried across the room. Could he see across the room to where I stood in front of the dead, now dripping chef? “Where are you, Annabelle? My styling case has been stolen.”

“I'm on the other side,” I managed to call out. I could hear Fern's indignant footsteps, but I couldn't take my eyes off the impaled chef to turn around.

“Who do I speak to about lodging a complai…?” Fern's voice trailed off as he walked up beside me. “Oh dear. Tell me this isn't the chef you had a fight with.”

My mouth dropped open. “How did you know I had a fight with him?”

“Kate told me after you called her at the ceremony.” He cocked his head to the side. “He doesn't look very good, Annabelle. Is he dead?”

I nodded my head and took a deep breath to keep from getting sick. I usually felt faint when I had to get
my finger pricked at the doctor, and the sight of this much blood made my legs feel like cooked spaghetti.

“Poor fellow.” Fern's expression was somber, then he nudged me with one elbow. “I must admit, honey, I didn't think you had it in you.”

“I didn't do it!” I cried as I looked away from the body. “I found him like this.”

Fern put a hand to his temple and slumped against me. “Well, that's a relief. I was going to suggest some anger management courses, but if you're sure you didn't…”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I'm sure.”

“Of course I didn't really think you could do something like this. Even with all that stress you've got pent up from a severe lack of sex.” Fern shook his head. I knew my lackluster love life scandalized him more than the dead body. “It would take a lot of strength to kill someone this way. What kind of ice sculpture is this?”

“A tiger. The groom's sign from the Chinese zodiac.”

Fern walked close to the body. “So he's impaled on the tiger's arm?”

“The claws.” I motioned to the sculpture without looking. “You can't see them anymore, but the tiger had big claws.”

Fern raised an eyebrow. “That doesn't seem very safe.”

“We didn't expect anyone to fall on them,” I explained, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

“I hate to break it to you.” Fern put his hands on his hips. “I don't think he fell. He had to have been pushed.”

My head started to pound. “I need to sit down.” I
walked to the nearest table and pulled out a chair to collapse into. As unpleasant as Henri had been to me, I felt horrible that he had been murdered and a bit guilty for thinking such mean thoughts about him.

“Where is everyone?” Kate's voice carried from the doorway, and then I saw her blond head bobbing toward me. I nudged Fern to stand in front of the ice sculpture, so she wouldn't start screaming at the sight of the corpse.

Kate barely glanced up as she plopped down in the chair next to me and dropped her pink Kate Spade bag on the floor. She shrugged herself out of the jacket that covered the backless dress I'd forbidden her to wear. “Now don't get upset, Annabelle, but we might have to fly into the ointment.”

“You mean a fly in the ointment?” Kate's ability to mangle even the most common expression scared me. Lately some of her word concoctions had started to make sense, which scared me even more. “We already have one.”

“Why?” Kate's eyes widened. “Is Chef Henri still being impossible?”

Fern stepped away from the ice sculpture. “I wouldn't say that exactly.”

Kate saw the body and jumped up, promptly losing balance on her stiletto heels and stumbling to the side. She gave a yelp as she fell, and I lunged to catch her. Fern moved neatly out of the way as the two of us went down, arms flailing. I lay on my back, assessing the possibility of serious injury, until I heard a familiar Scottish accent.

“Should I ask what you're doing down there or assume that you have everything under control?” I looked up at the kilt-wearing band leader, who had one
eyebrow raised and appeared to be stifling a great deal of laughter. Fabulous. He was a smart-ass, too.

“You could give me a hand if you have nothing better to do,” I grumbled.

He winked at me as he pulled me up. “I can't think of anything that could be better.”

Did women really fall for this? Kate, still on the ground, cleared her throat loudly and stared at the Scottish equivalent of David Bowie. Apparently they did.

Fern ignored Kate's protests as he pulled her up, and then turned to me. “What's with the kilt? I thought you said this wedding had an Asian theme.”

“He's with the band,” I explained, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice. Fern gave me a knowing look and nodded.

“What's with the kilt?” Kate practically screamed. “How about what's with the dead guy?”

“That's the chef.” Fern put an arm around Kate. “The one Annabelle had the fight with, but she swears she didn't kill him. Between you and me, I don't think she has the strength to do it, anyway.”

“I'm still in the room, you know.” I rubbed my temples where my head had started to pound.

Kilt-boy inspected the corpse closely. “This isn't part of the decor?”

Fern gasped. “What kind of weddings do you have in Scotland?”

“American weddings are supposed to be really different and outrageous. Don't you have Renaissance themes and the like?”

“That's a very small, off-beat part of the population,” I explained. “We certainly don't have murder-themed weddings. Not in Washington, at least.”

“Can we continue this discussion somewhere away from Chef Henri?” Kate backed away, her voice trembling. “This is horrible. He's blue.”

Fern shuddered. “I'm sure the ice is cold.”

“I don't think frostbite is what got him.” Kate rubbed her arms as if trying to warm herself. “I can't believe he's dead, even if he was impossible to work with.”

I glanced at the pale lips and flat, expressionless eyes, then looked away and took a long breath. The man who had been such a terror to me earlier hardly seemed imposing now. Chef Henri had been far from beloved, but I wondered who hated him enough to do this.

“Annabelle, are you in here?”

“Richard?” I didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned. Richard usually didn't decrease the drama in a situation. “I'm on the other side of the gazebo.”

“My event doesn't start for another hour, so I came over to try to help you out with Chef Henri….” His words trailed off as he came into view of the spectacularly lit chef impaled on an ice tiger that was being inspected by a heavily tattooed Scotsman.

“Now, Richard,” I said, then stopped. I didn't know where to begin. In this case, it was as bad as it looked.

“Oh my God.” He put both hands to his head, without disturbing the dark, choppy hair that I knew he'd painstakingly arranged to look messy. “Can you explain this catastrophe?”

“Don't worry,” Fern reassured him. “He's with the band.”

Richard didn't take his eyes off the spectacle in front of him. “How long has he been here?”

Fern turned to me. “When did the band arrive?”

“I'm talking about the dead body hanging off that ice monstrosity.” Richard kept his voice level, but his face had started to turn an unpleasant shade of pink under his spray-on tan.

“I found him like this a few minutes ago,” I said. “I meant to call the police right away but Fern came in, then Kate got here, then the bandleader found all of us—”

Richard held up a hand to silence me. “So the police haven't been notified yet? Shall I help you move him onto the dance floor so guests could dance around him?”

Fern's eyes widened. “Oh, I don't think that's such a good idea.”

So much for sarcasm. Richard cast his eyes heaven-ward and muttered under his breath.

“I'm telling you, Richard, we just found him,” I insisted. “He can't have been dead very long.”

Richard walked up to the chef as he pulled out his cell phone. “Are you people out of your minds? He's melting. I'm going to call the police before there's nothing left but a body balancing on an ice cube.” He leaned in close to the corpse. “Is this Henri?”

“You mean the chef I had the big fight with that everyone seems to know about?” I glared at Kate, who began busily inspecting the carpet. “Yep. You can call me Miss Motive.”

Richard closed his phone and the color drained from his face. “I didn't recognize him.”

Fern gave a sad shake of his head. “He doesn't look his best, I'm sure. Which is a shame, because with the right haircut I'll bet he could look quite attractive.”

“I know he wasn't the most popular chef in town but I didn't know anyone hated him enough to do this.”
Richard's voice caught in his throat. “This is not good, Annabelle.”

“Thank you for noticing. At least no one from the wedding has seen him yet.”

“Um, Annabelle.” Kate tugged on my sleeve.

I turned around and found myself face-to-face with the bride. Crap. She let the cathedral-length veil that had been draped across her arm drop to the floor, and her dramatically made-up eyes were fixed on Chef Henri. I could be pretty sure this wasn't how she'd pictured her wedding day.

I opened my mouth to reassure her that everything would be fine, but I was too late. For such a petite, demure-looking girl, she could really scream. My hair stood on end as I clutched my hands over my ears, and I feared the glass walls of the room would shatter at any moment.

Richard jumped at the noise, and his phone flew straight up in the air. Reaching back to catch it, he stumbled into the corpse and the ice tiger teetered precariously on its base. As the massive sculpture began to lurch backward, Richard grabbed the chef to keep it from falling. The bride stopped screaming abruptly and her knees buckled as she sank to the floor. Fern caught her by the veil before she hit the ground.

“I think I might be sick.” Richard put one hand over his mouth as the other clung to the dark, wet strands of hair that were once part of the dead chef's tragic comb-over.

“Hold on and I'll push from the other side.” The bandleader took a few long strides around the ice sculpture.

“Stop right where you are,” a deep voice boomed from behind us. I spun on my heels and saw a uni
formed police officer with a hand above his holster. “Nobody move.”

I looked on helplessly as the bride's veil gave way and she hit the carpet face first with a soft thud, leaving Fern holding a handful of white tulle. Richard let out a barely audible squeak before Chef Henri's hair slipped through his fingers and the giant ice tiger crashed to the ground, corpse and all.

“I say we make a run for it,” Kate said under her breath. “I'll create a distraction and you guys sneak out the back.”

Kate, Fern, and I sat at a round cocktail table draped in an ivory hotel tablecloth while Richard paced in front of us. The walls of the basement meeting room had been upholstered in a silk cream damask to coordinate with the patterned carpet and match the linens. Hotels were big on neutrals.

We'd been stashed in the Imperial Room while we waited to be questioned, but it had been ages since they'd taken the bandleader to talk to a detective. The silver pitcher of water they'd set out had been empty for an hour, and my stomach had started to rumble.

“One problem with that plan,” I replied. “We don't know how to get out the back. I've never been in through the loading dock, have you?”

“What a splendid idea, Kate.” Richard's voice had a
tone of mild hysteria to it. “I, for one, am all up for adding ‘fugitive' to our résumés.”

“I'm sure we aren't really suspects.” Kate stretched her arms over her head, causing her dress to inch dangerously high up her thighs. Not that she cared. “This is just a formality because we found the body.”

“Don't you mean found the body, touched the body, ruined the crime scene, and destroyed evidence?” Richard counted off on his fingers.

She rolled her eyes. “If you want to get really technical about it…”

“We're staying right here until this mess is sorted out,” Richard said firmly. “Anyway, the four of us would get all of two blocks out of the city before being arrested.”

“What do you mean?” Fern protested. “We can blend in.”

Richard looked Fern up and down. “Are those Prada loafers?”

Fern nodded enthusiastically and held up his feet so we could all get a good look at his designer shoes. “Do you like them in red?”

Richard folded his arms across his chest. “I rest my case.”

Kate slumped back down in her chair. “I guess that plan is up the window.”

“
Out
the window,” Richard and I said in unison.

The door opened and the uniformed officer we'd met previously strode into the room. A dark-haired man wearing beige pants and a navy blazer followed, closing the door behind him. Detective Reese. He looked exactly as I remembered him, though a little more tan.

“Well, well, well.” He pulled a chair out and sat down facing us. “The gang's all here.”

Richard looked even more jumpy since Reese had entered the room and he gave a nervous giggle. “You're on this case?” The last time we'd encountered the detective, Richard's business had been shut down and he'd almost been arrested.

“Lucky me, right?” Reese gave me a quick glance then opened his small leather notebook. So much for the sight of me causing him to swoon. I wondered if he even recognized me.

“Would you like me to tell you what happened, Detective?” I felt a hint of irritation creep into my voice. “It might save you some valuable crime-solving minutes.”

He looked up and held my gaze with his deep hazel eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched up into a half smirk. “I'm glad to see you're as easygoing as ever, Miss Archer.”

I felt a flush begin to move up my neck. “I didn't know you remembered me, I mean, us.”

Reese looked from me to Kate to Fern and settled on Richard. “Vividly.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Richard burst out. “When I came in the room, they were all standing around the body.”

I shot him a look. “Thanks, Richard.”

Reese nodded and flipped to a page in his notebook. “So how did you end up holding the deceased ‘by the hair' and dropping him onto the floor?”

“I tried to catch him and ended up with a handful of hair.” Richard paled a few shades.

“That comb-over was the real crime,” Fern muttered.

Reese turned his attention to Fern, who shrunk back into his chair. “When did you enter the crime scene?”

“You see, I'd just realized that my equipment case was missing and went to find Annabelle so I could report it stolen.” He took a quick breath and leaned forward. “When I came into the Colonnade, I saw her in front of the ice sculpture.”

The detective wrote quickly in his pad. “Did you see anyone else in the room?”

“Well, the chef.” Fern shrugged. “But he was dead, so I don't think he counts.”

“No, he doesn't count.” Reese sighed and turned to Kate.

“I must have come in after that because Fern and Annie were both in the room, but I didn't notice the body at first.” Kate adjusted one of the spaghetti straps of her dress. “The band guy came in right after me. Probably not more than two minutes later.”

Reese asked the uniformed officer to bring in the lead singer, and then looked at his notes. “So if I have this right, Annabelle came in, followed by Fern, Kate, the band guy, then Richard.”

“Ian,” the kilt-clad Scotsman said from the doorway. “Not that I mind ‘band guy.'”

Reese gave Ian the once-over and turned to me. “This is the lead singer of the wedding band?”

I smiled and nodded. “They're supposed to be very good.”

“We're better than good, darling.” He came in and pulled up a chair next to me. “It's a shame you didn't get to check us out.” Ian didn't seem to be intimidated by the police presence, or even notice it, actually.

I tried not to blush more than I had already.

Reese looked between us for a second, and then
went back to his notes. “We're trying to piece together tonight's chain of events. When did you come into the room?”

“After I spoke to this lovely redhead in the lobby, I went to check on how the rest of the band was coming along.” Ian turned his gaze from me to the detective. “Maybe ten minutes later I went into the reception room and saw the two girls on the floor and the chap in the great jacket standing next to them. The high-strung fellow didn't come in until after that.”

Richard twitched visibly, and Fern puffed his chest out.

Reese raised an eyebrow at me. “What were you doing on the floor?”

“I got startled when I saw the body and stumbled over my shoes,” Kate said before I could explain. She held her legs out to show the detective the high heels. Clearly, Kate needed more male attention. “Annabelle tried to catch me, but we both ended up on the ground.”

Reese turned back to me. “It seems that you were the only person alone with the body, then.”

“Aside from the person who killed him, you mean?” I didn't like the way this seemed to be headed.

“Of course,” the detective said quickly. “Did you see anyone leaving the room?”

I shook my head. “But someone could have left through the kitchen and escaped through the back of the house without anyone seeing them. Anyone who worked in the hotel knows how to get around in the back corridors.”

Reese arched his eyebrows. “The back of the house?”

“Sorry.” I gave an apologetic smile. “That's the term we use for all the behind-the-scenes areas like the kitchen and the corridors that connect everything.”

“Have you ever been in back?”

“Sure,” I admitted. “I've gone into the kitchens and the employee cafeteria before. But I wouldn't know how to get around easily, if that's what you're getting at.”

“Were you in the back at all today?” Reese sounded casual, but red lights started going off in my head.

I sat up on the edge of my chair. “I went into the kitchen to check on things and discuss the setup with the chef.”

Reese didn't look me in the eyes. “When did this take place?”

“About half an hour before I found him murdered.” My mouth felt very dry. Did they think I killed Chef Henri? “But I stayed in the lobby from the time I left Henri in the kitchen to when I came back in the room. I'm sure lots of people saw me.”

“I can vouch for her being in the lobby.” Ian gave a firm nod of his head. He looked at Reese seriously and almost appeared fierce. “If you think this girl murdered someone, you're all wrong, mate.”

I gave Ian a grateful smile, and then glared at Reese. “See? What does my being in the kitchen have to do with Henri's death?”

“It seems that one of the other chefs overheard you having a huge fight with Henri earlier today and said that you left in a rage.” Reese snapped his notebook shut and stood up.

I cringed. “We had a disagreement over one of the food stations. Who said I left in a rage?”

“The same person who called us to report the murder.” Reese finally met my eyes. “And named you as the killer.”