Killer Wedding (20 page)

“I think your father does. Aren't these the rough emeralds you were searching for, Ralph, the night of Sara and Brent's wedding?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, in a soft voice.

“When Vivian Duncan came back to California after her years traveling to Rhodesia, she brought home several souvenirs. More than fifty of them, actually. It was by using these raw gems as collateral that she was able
to have enough cash to buy a house in Beverly Hills. It was also with this ready supply of cash she went into business. But surely, Ralph, your wife told you about the legendary emeralds she managed to bring back with her to America?”

Jack Gantree spoke up. “Is this true, Gentz? Did Vivian have the stones all along?” He was huffing a little, shocked.

“It appears to be so,” Zelli said, and then turned to me and asked, “May I?” before he reached for one of the large green stones on the table.

“Please do.”

Zelli pulled out a jeweler's loupe and held it in his eye as he lifted one of the largest stones from the table and examined it.

“I better go see what's happened to Brent,” Sara said, nervous perhaps to let her new husband out of her sight for too long.

“Wait just another minute,” I suggested.

“Daddy,” Beryl said, “you didn't go to Vivian's office that night. You didn't!”

“
You're
the one?” Whisper screeched, offended. “You dared to lift a finger to me? Why I ought to…” He raised his silver-tipped cane over his head.

Honnett helped Whisper settle down while we all looked on.

“Daddy!” Beryl grabbed her father's hand. “Don't say another word. Don't speak. I'm your attorney now, Daddy. You have done nothing wrong.”

I would have loved to have heard Whisper's reply, but I turned my attention back to the rest of my dinner guests.

Meanwhile, Arlo, who was the only one present who didn't have a stake in all the dramatic goings on, was mesmerized by the pile of rough stones on the table in front of him. He picked up one that was the size of a small olive and turned it around over the candle. It glinted dully from behind its wash of mineral soot.

“Man, these are amazing. I counted forty-five emer
alds. Are they the real deal?” Arlo asked Zelli.

But I answered for him. “Of course they are.” I looked over at Zelli and asked, “Are they as beautiful as you remember?”

His eyes lit up as they met mine. Zelli Gentz knew at that moment that I did truly understand him.

“Hey!” Arlo looked from Zelli back to me. “What's going on?”

“This is a story that goes back almost twenty-five years, Arlo. Vivian Duncan said she had been forced to give up fifty-two exceptional emeralds, eleven million dollars in raw gems, to corrupt Zimbabwe border guards. She said she barely escaped Zimbabwe with her life. A tragic story. But Zelli always suspected Vivian of running her own scam.

“Then, a few days ago, she had begun to change her tune. The timing was right. She was ready, perhaps, to cash out. She was planning to sell her wedding business. That's where I came in. Because it had become time to collect her big prize. She was prepared, finally, to admit to Zelli that seven of the rough emeralds might be available. That was, until she wound up dead before they could complete their new deal.”

I turned back to Zelli Gentz. “But it was only a minor setback for you, I think. You always expected to get another call about those gems. Perhaps,” I met his gaze, “you even thought
I
had them?”

Gentz smiled, his dark mustache emphasizing his beautiful white teeth. Everyone else at the table was silent.

“When we found the stones this morning,” I continued, “seven were missing. I knew they hadn't been found on Vivian. And I was certain Zelli didn't have them, yet. I expected whoever might have taken them would call you,” I said, turning back to Zelli, “possibly even today, offering to sell you those seven perfect stones.”

“Let us say for the moment,” Zelli commented, “that is true.”

“And Sara,” I said, turning to the bride, “don't you think now is the time to tell Detective Honnett just how you got the seven emeralds which you offered to Mr. Gentz?”

Sara looked up at me, startled. “Me? Why, I never…”

“The emeralds, Sara. That's why you killed Vivian Duncan. At your own wedding.” I shook my head. No party planner enjoys a hostess who sabotages her own affair. All that planning and painstaking hard work and then the bride doesn't have sense enough to restrain herself from committing murder!

Sara stood up, but then so did Wesley and Honnett.

Big Jack bellowed, “Sara child! What the hell is all this about?”

And Honnett, who had remained remarkably quiet all evening, said, “Let's just let Madeline finish what she wants to say. Settle down.”

“Somehow,” I continued, “that night at her wedding, Sara must have learned about the emeralds,” I explained. “She probably overheard a private conversation between Mr. Gentz and Vivian. Earlier, they had agreed to just such a meeting. Vivian planned to bring seven wonderfully matched rough emeralds, which Zelli intended to purchase, to the Museum that night. They set a price at near seven hundred thousand dollars. Perhaps Sara had even overheard Zelli suggesting the money was already deposited in a Swiss bank account that could easily be transferred to her name. Simple for a man from Zurich.”

Zelli nodded and I went on. “So much money. Right in front of her. And Sara needed money. She had just married a man who didn't have any. And from the way Brent had been behaving, he was just about through accepting the tokens and bribes that Big Jack kept at the end of his leash. How could Sara have the lifestyle she needed and the husband she wanted? I think she just took it.” I turned to Sara. “Didn't you?”

“Me? You are insane!” Sara looked at me through slits of eyes.

“And what made me realize you could have done it, Sara, was the videotape from your wedding reception. I checked the tape taken from the fixed camera that covered the bridal table. Your table. Funny thing. The bride wasn't there.”

“Yes, I was…”

“Sara,” I interrupted her. “The police have the tape.”

“So I couldn't eat that horrid food, okay? I was mingling with my guests and…I didn't kill anyone. That's just crazy!”

“When we saw you that night,” I said, staring her down. “When you came into the foyer, Sara, when Honnett and I had just discovered the body. You knew it was Vivian, didn't you?”

“No, I…”

“You knew she was dead.”

“I…”

“Sara,” I continued, “look around. Brent has ditched you. He must realize whom he has married by now. Perhaps he suspected you even then. And today, I had a sneaking suspicion that you asked him to drop off a package at the Four Seasons Hotel, so I checked with the front desk. Don't you think he's got to know you were using him to deliver the seven emeralds you took off of Vivian Duncan's dead body?”

Sara stared at me, biting her lower lip. She was cornered.

“You hated Vivian. You must have suspected she knew Brent very, very well.”

“She was a disgusting, old hag!” Sara shouted.

“So you cornered her outside, while she was having a smoke. You hit her with something hard and found her bag, found the stones.”

Sara stood up, her eyes wide.

“And before you attacked her, did she perhaps tell you who your real father was?”

“Shut up!” Sara yelled, her eyes filled with alarm. “How could you know? Who are you, anyway? Did Vivian tell you? That horrid old witch! Did she tell you
all
my secrets? How could she? How could she try to destroy me?”

Cool Sara had finally broken down.

“You stupid bitch!” screamed Beryl Duncan, startling us all with a breakdown of her own. “You killed my mother, you stupid little fool!” Beryl stood up, tipping her chair, and lunged for Sara's thick black curls.

“Ooh. Cat fight,” Arlo observed, grabbing his shot glass of tequila and stepping out of the way.

At that point, it seems just about everyone else jumped into action, all talking at once. Big Jack Gantree pulled Beryl back just as Honnett stepped up to Sara and slipped on a pair of handcuffs.

And all the while, Whisper Pettibone sat back in his chair and clapped.

I
had prepared a spectacularly light, three-layer high, lemon curd cake for the evening. Unfortunately, no one seemed especially interested in dessert.

Honnett, of course, was on the job. He had to take Sara, along with her shocked grandfather, to the police station to charge her with the murder of Vivian Duncan. A back-up patrol car, which had been stationed in my cul-de-sac, had rounded up Brent Bell as he had tried to make an early departure. The patrol officers now watched Sara as well, as Honnett returned to my house for one more thing.

He said we still had personal business he needed to finish up. He didn't require any prompting. He flat out told me that he had been wrong about Ralph Duncan. I asked him to speak loud enough for Beryl Duncan and Ralph to hear. And it did my heart good to see Honnett take responsibility, in front of everyone, for the sin of, well, of underestimating me.

He turned to go and pulled me aside.

“You have your own way of doing things,” he said.

“That I do.”

“Sorry if I came down on you too hard, before.”

“Don't mention it,” I said, happy to be the one who gets to be big enough to forgive.

“And I won't forget,” Honnett said, winking. “I'm your slave. You pick the day.”

“What?” Arlo said, coming into the entry just as Honnett left to go. “What was he saying?”

“He bet on the wrong horse and now he's going to have to pay up.”

“Hey,” Arlo said, taking my hand, “I sure hope that dweeb isn't calling my girlfriend a horse.”

“Arlo.”

“Wild night, Mad. You sure can throw a party.”

“Aren't you sticking around for cake?”

“I better take off,” he said, looking sheepish. “I should go home and work.”

“Arlo, your show is on hiatus. What work?”

“Oh, I've got scripts to read. You know.”

He left, and I was pretty sure I knew where he was headed. To McDonald's for a couple of Big Macs and a super-sized fries. Such are his epicurean standards, humble though they may be.

As I turned to go back to the dining room, Zelli Gentz came out, putting on a black leather jacket.

“Oh no, Zelli,” I said, suddenly sad. “Are you leaving?”

“I'm afraid I must,” he said. “I had a very exciting evening, Madeline. You are an excellent chef. Thank you especially for preparing such a fabulous North American dish. You knew I would enjoy it.”

“I'm glad.”

“And I must thank you for reuniting me with all those stones from so long ago. I had never expected to see them again, all together.”

“Perhaps not,” I said, “but you are quite worldly, Mr. Gentz, and I am certain you expected to come across those stones some day, didn't you?”

“You are wise. With such a rare commodity, it is true, we learn that every stone will eventually turn up one day. But what a treat that you would find them for me tonight. I shall never forget the sight when you sat at your dinner table and poured them out on the table, like a magician. You are truly an amazing woman.”

“Thank you. And you are pretty amazing yourself.”

Zelli put a hand through his hair and smiled a roguish smile.

“Would you like to visit Zurich, Madeline?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“We shall see. Alas, I have work to do that keeps me away. I now go to Colombia where I have my cutters.”

“To cut the seven emeralds for the sultan's rings?”

“Yes. The best emerald cutters in the world are in Colombia. They pass this skill down from father to son, working in the most primitive conditions imaginable. But they are artists. And an artist is what is called for.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Those emeralds. The ones you purchased from Sara Silver today. They will make you give them back. You don't expect you can just leave the country with them.”

“Ah, Madeline. You do not remember all that we discussed last night. Do you think those rough stones are still in the United States?”

“No?”

“They are gone, of course. Would I be so foolish to carry them on me? I expect I will be searched quite thoroughly this time when I leave your LAX tonight. But, of course, there is nothing to find.”

Of course. There wouldn't be. He was something.

“What will you do with the money? Will you pay it to Sara Silver?”

“Ah, yes. The seven hundred thousand. I suppose I have to think about this. Sara stole those stones, so it is not right that she should profit.”

“It certainly isn't,” I agreed.

Zelli put his arm around me, standing there at the front door, and thought.

“But when you stop to think, Vivian stole those emeralds, too. According to our agreement, ten percent belonged to Vivian, ten percent belonged to Gantree, and eighty percent belonged to me. So you see, I might as well claim that these seven stones were part of my eighty percent and pay no one.”

“Ah, but let's think a little bit further,” I said. “It seems to me that under the conditions you originally acquired those stones, it could be argued that you obtained them illegally yourself. Perhaps they really belong to the country of Zimbabwe.”

“Yes, I can see your point. So do you suggest I send the payment directly to their government?”

“Let me think about it, and I'll let you know.”

“Yes. I will do that. And now, since your Police Detective took the other forty-five stones away, I have no further business in the States. Goodbye, dear Madeline. Thank you so much for inviting me to your charming home for dinner.”

What manners. I would miss Zelli Gentz.

When I got back to the dining room, Wesley caught me up on what had been going on. Apparently, Beryl Duncan was brokering a settlement between Whisper Pettibone and her father, Ralph. If Whisper could convince the police to drop their assault case against Ralph Duncan, they were offering Whisper the chance to own Vivian Duncan Weddings outright. Whisper was a man who expected justice to be served, but on the other hand, what could be more just than for him to finally own the whole show?

Holly and Wes were clearing the dishes and told me that the three of them had gone out to my courtyard to discuss the details. That's where Esmeralda was napping, and Ralph had suddenly realized how much he missed her. The dog-Dad reconciliation was currently in progress.

I looked at the tower of lemon cake and turned to my friends.

“Holly?” I asked her, “A little slice?”

“I've been eating way too much.” She gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Wesley?” I looked at my friend.

“I couldn't eat a thing. My stomach is still doing the Macarena from the scene we just witnessed.”

“Maddie, why don't I cut you a piece of cake,” Holly
suggested, picking up the silver cake server.

“No, wait,” I said, stopping her. “Our guests are gone and I just don't feel in the party mood any more.”

“That will happen,” Wes said, philosophically, “when you invite a murderer to dine.”

The doorbell rang and I ran out to see if someone had come back. Instead, I found my dear lawyer Paul at the door, surprised to see all the cars parked in the street.

“Am I intruding on a party?” he asked, hesitant.

“Not at all,” I said. “Come right in.”

I showed him to the dining room where Wes and Holly had just finished clearing up the dishes.

“Paul,” I said, trying once more to be the hostess. “Would you care for a piece of cake?”

“Maybe later, Madeline. I'm too worked up right now. I just got back from downtown. Those poor bastards never knew what hit them.”

“What poor bastards?” Holly asked.

“The law. The cops.”

“What hit them?” I asked.

“Me,” Paul said, proud of himself. “I'm hitting them on every single charge they are holding Albert Nbutu on. The INS, I hope to stop cold. Mr. Nbutu is a political refugee seeking asylum in the United States.”

“Are they buying that?” asked Wesley, pouring cups of coffee.

“Actually, I don't think he will have a leg to stand on. The government of his country is much more stable than ever before. But this is a war of inches. They have to check it out, and while the paperwork gets filed, they cannot deport Albert.”

“But they'll keep him locked up,” Wes said, worried. “I don't know how he will be able to stand that.”

“What about the possession of stolen property charge?” I asked, sitting down at the table.

“Says he found those items,” Paul explained. “And since there is no one claiming those items were stolen, I'm telling them they have to let him go. Of course they
aren't ready to listen to me yet, but when we get before a judge I'm going to dazzle them.”

“But poor Albert stays locked up. Do you think that could be true?” Holly wondered. “Did he just find that stuff? I mean, if Sara Silver killed Vivian, how did this Albert guy get Vivian's jeweled lighter and lipstick?”

“I believe my client,” Paul said, with a bit of bluster.

“So do I,” I agreed. They all looked at me. “I think Sara followed Vivian outside, where Vivian was taking a break. She was smoking a cigarette and Sara started a conversation. That's when, I'm afraid, Vivian mentioned she knew who Sara's real father was. Sara had been thinking about how she might get her hands on the rough emeralds she knew Vivian had on her, but when Vivian began telling Sara the truth about her birth, she went totally nuts. Sara picked up something heavy, maybe one of the folding chairs that were stacked out there next to the building, and swung. I imagine Vivian went down easily. She was not very heavy. And then, perhaps because she didn't want Vivian ever to tell the story of her parentage, Sara swung again, this time breaking Vivian's neck and killing her.”

“It's awful. How do you know all this?” Holly asked.

“Honnett told me they got to the rental company and found the chair they believe may have been used. They're doing tests and whatever it is they do. But mostly because of what Sara said at dinner tonight. She admitted that Vivian taunted her about her real father.”

“Have you got any idea who Sara's real father was?” asked Wesley.

“Yes. I believe he is Paul's new client.”

“What?” Paul stopped sipping his coffee with a jerk. “Albert? Albert Nbutu?”

“Vivian knew that Sara's mother, Gazelle Gantree, was spending time with some of the younger people who played polo at their club in Rhodesia. That fall Gazelle met a young man who worked in the stable.”

“Oh my God,” Holly said. “How do you know?”

“This afternoon, when I was setting up this evening's
event with Honnett, he let me speak again with Albert. I told Albert I knew he traveled all the way to Los Angeles to find the daughter he had never known. Gazelle Gantree's daughter. He had spent a lifetime trying to get his life back and he desperately wanted to see this lost child.

“That's why Jack Gantree had Albert thrown in an African jail for years. After learning from Vivian that Albert Nbutu was the real father of his grandchild, Big Jack paid off some officer at the Ministry of Mines all those years ago to arrest Albert and make him disappear.”

“Holy shit.” Holly was dazed.

“So how did Albert finally meet his daughter?” Wesley asked.

“Albert asked his friend, Chef Reynoso, to contact Vivian and suggest she hire Albert to work on Sara's wedding. Albert said Vivian never recognized him from the old days. But at the wedding, he approached Vivian and told her the whole story. She claimed she never knew what became of him. That she and Gazelle had been told Nbutu was killed in the fighting.

“But Albert never believed her. He remembered seeing Vivian once when he was with Gazelle in the Polo Club. He had always known that she was the one who betrayed him. After he confronted Vivian, Albert planned to tell Sara the truth.”

“My goodness, Madeline,” Paul said, “Albert told you all that? Today?”

“Yes. You know that old technique they call good cop-bad cop? Well, Albert had just spent last night with a pack of really bad cops, and then he got to speak with me. I think he was so traumatized by being in a cell again, locked up, that he was ready to talk to anyone.”

“You underestimate yourself,” Paul said, seriously.

“She always does,” Wes agreed, and then turned back to the fascinating tale. “So did he tell Sara he was her father, face to face?”

“No. Vivian insisted she should be the one to tell Sara
first. She was a woman, she told him, and Sara would listen because Vivian had been in Africa with her mother.”

“But,” Wes picked up, figuring out the logic of what must have happened, “when Vivian told Sara the African ice sculptor was really her dad, she got hysterical.”

“Exactly what I think,” I agreed. “Whatever her mixed-up reasoning, she'd been brought up by a racist pig who had possibly passed his prejudice down to his granddaughter. Perhaps she couldn't absorb the news that her father was black.”

“That's sickening,” Holly said.

“Poor Albert,” Paul said.

“His whole life has been so tragic,” Wes said.

“I know,” I agreed. “And later, when he walked back outside to the area where he had been working, he discovered Vivian's body lying there. Dead.”

“Shit!” Holly shook her head. “What a shock.”

“He really didn't want to talk about this part. Maybe he figured out what had happened. Maybe he saw Sara walking away from the area. He wouldn't say yes or no to that. He's still protecting her.”

“So is he the one who moved the body?” Wes asked.

“Yes. He was scared to death. He didn't want the body to be found, especially so close to his work area, so he carried Vivian's body out to the foyer while all the guests were busy dining in the closed Hall of Small Mammals.”