Terror in Taffeta (22 page)

Tomorrow we'd have to resume our search for the impostor priest's true identity, but at the moment, there was nothing more I could do except sit back, relax, and speculate. We drained the pitcher, and there was vague talk of dessert.

What a cozy way to wrap up the evening. Being able to relax without any clients around. Yummy food. Fun conversation. I could feel the tension of the past week draining out of my limbs. I didn't even mind having to make nice with the scratchy kilim pillow. I was as content as I could possibly be.

“You ready for dessert?” Evan asked. He certainly knew the way to my heart.

I smiled up at him sleepily. “Oh, Evan, I just love you.”

Evan froze. You know how on TV shows they use the sound of a needle scratching off a record when everything comes to a sudden halt? That would have been the perfect sound effect to punctuate the way the mood in the room changed.

An expression I couldn't identify flickered across Evan's face. “Um, wow.”

Wait, had I just told him I loved him? No, no, no, no, no.

“You know what I mean. I love all of this.” I waved my hand around for emphasis. “Your house, the steaks, being away from Mrs. Abernathy.” Surely he didn't think I was professing my undying devotion to him?

Sensing the tension in the air, Brody stood abruptly. “Excuse me, I'm going to go visit the powder room,” he said, disappearing down the hall.

Evan picked up my feet and moved them to the floor. “Kelsey, I hope I haven't led you to believe that you and I were…”

“Jeez, Evan, no! I don't mean I
love you
love you. I meant it like ‘I love strawberries on my cheesecake,' or ‘I love skiing in Tahoe.'”

He stared at the coffee table, nodding but not relaxing his posture. We sat in silence for a few moments. I blamed the tequila. Evan finally spoke: “I guess I see how you meant it, and I'm probably just overreacting, but I just want to make sure we're on the same page here. I've really enjoyed having you around this past week, but I'm not looking for anything long-term.”

This was hardly news to me; I'd known that for as long as I'd known Evan. As soon as I'd told him I was a wedding planner, he'd made sure to slip into the conversation as often as he could that marriage wasn't on the table. And somehow, he'd never fully believed that that was okay with me.

How do you explain that the only reason you do what you do is because you love a great party and the money is good—not because you're secretly fantasizing about your own special day? Just because you work at the zoo doesn't mean you wish you were a giraffe.

I sighed. “Got it. No marriage. Now can we just relax and not worry about anything?”

Evan looked uncertain, but he at least leaned back against the couch cushions. “I suppose so.”

From down the hall, Brody casually whistled a song a little louder than necessary, breaking through the awkward silence. Subtle. He might as well have yelled, “I'm coming back!”

Brody didn't return to his chair but instead looked at Evan, who was chewing thoughtfully on one of his fingernails. “I was thinking about taking a shower, Evan. Do you have a towel I could use?”

Dang it! I was sure he meant well and that he was trying to give us some space, but I needed him to help me dissipate this weirdness.

“Sure,” Evan said, jumping up from the couch a little too eagerly. “I'll get it for you. I should probably also find you some sheets.” He disappeared down the hall and started thumping around in the linen closet.

I slunk off to the half bath across from the guest bedroom to brush my teeth. How drunk was Evan? Was there any chance he wouldn't remember this the next day?

Unfortunately, I had a feeling we'd all remember it the next day.

Brody knocked twice, then poked his head in. “You okay?”

I spit into the sink and held my toothbrush aloft. “Well, now I remember why he and I broke up.”

“Sorry. You wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Give me a minute. I'm still processing. You can go take your shower if you want.”

“Okay, but if you want to talk later, you know where I'll be.” I nodded and spat again, rinsing my toothbrush vigorously as he retreated down the hall.

After pulling my hair into a ponytail and washing my face, I returned to my room and sat on the edge of the bed, unsure what to do next. It was still too early to go to sleep. Should I try to talk to Evan? Or just leave him alone and hope it would blow over? I peeked down the hall to see that his bedroom door was shut, presumably with him on the other side of it.

Leave it alone.

I padded into the living room and waited for Brody on the freshly made foldout couch, flipping through a book about San Miguel's secret gardens. In the distance, a phone rang, and I could hear Evan's voice through his closed door. He might as well have been a world away.

His door opened. Was he looking for me? Had he realized it was just a big, stupid misunderstanding?

“Kelsey?”

“In here.” Oh, good. He was coming to talk to me. Maybe we could put it all behind us.

“Phone,” he said, holding out the handset to me. “It's for you.”

My heart sped up as I took the receiver. “Hello?”

“Kelsey, this is Marisol, from the house on Calle Recreo? I hope I'm not calling too late.”

“Oh, hi, Marisol.” I tried not to sound too disappointed. “What's wrong? Is it the cat? I told Mrs. Abernathy—”

“No, everything's fine at the house. It's about the flyer you left with me. You know that man you're looking for?”

My heart sped up again. “Yeah? What about him?”

“I think I just saw him.”

 

CHAPTER 22

Thank God for Brody. I really didn't want to go on my first stakeout ever without having some sort of backup, and I wasn't about to ask Evan for anything after our little miscommunication. Brody and I got dressed in a jiff, borrowed a flashlight from Evan, and headed out into the night.

“What are we going to do if it's really him?” I asked.

Brody shrugged. “Talk to him? Ask him to give us communion? I don't know. We didn't exactly have time to think all this through.”

“Yeah, I'd really pictured this being more of a broad-daylight scenario,” I mused. “God, I could use a doughnut right now.”

Marisol had been taking her dog for its nightly stroll when she saw a man who looked like the one in the picture going into a bar. Of course she couldn't be sure, but she'd thought she'd better call. I was glad she had. Even if it turned out to be a wild goose chase, it was a good excuse to escape the awkwardness at Evan's house.

We arrived at the address Marisol had given us and paused on the sidewalk. “Do we go in? Should we wait out here?”

“I don't know,” Brody said. “It's your stakeout.”

“C'mon, don't be that way. You're my partner. Just like in all those buddy-cop movies.”

“Let me guess: you're the loose cannon who almost gets the other one killed.”

“‘Almost' being the operative word,” I said. “They never actually end up getting killed. Come on.”

I tugged at his sleeve, dragging him through the front door. Every seat was taken, and the small dance floor was packed, the crowd raptly focused on a lively accordion band. I wondered how many of them were chamber music aficionados living on the edge, indulging in
conjunto
music after a long day of Debussy.

We made our way to the bar, and I only got stepped on twice in the process. “What are you having?” I yelled over the music. “I'm buying.”

“Club soda. And so are you. We can't get sloppy drunk in case we end up confronting this guy.”

Dammit, he had a point. “Can I at least have a Diet Coke?”

“Go nuts,” he replied.

Drinks in hand, we shimmied our way through the crowd and finally found a place to stand on the edge of the dance floor. I searched the room for our mystery priest. Was he still here? Was it even him?

I made the mistake of setting my drink down, which must have signaled that I wanted to dance, because a hunky Latino swooped in and pulled me onto the floor. Before my brain could even catch up to decide whether it was a good idea or not, he was spinning me around the floor in a complicated series of moves.

He pulled me close to him, breath laced with whiskey. “Are you sure your boyfriend won't mind me dancing with you?”

“Who, him?” I looked over toward Brody, who was waving mischievously at me. So much for my idea that he would cut in and save me. “No, he'll be fine. Just don't keep me away too long. He's very possessive.”

Maybe I could use this to my advantage. I could cover a lot more ground this way and look a whole lot less conspicuous doing it. I scanned the faces as they whirled past but didn't see anyone who looked familiar. I was getting dizzy with the effort, and my dance partner was starting to leer at me a little. How long was this song, anyway?

He leaned in toward me, and for one panicky moment I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead of my mouth, he went for my ear. “Do you want to go to the upstairs bar, where it's quieter?”

I looked up at him, surprised. “There's an upstairs bar?”

His face lit up, and he pointed toward some stairs. “Right over there.”

“It was nice meeting you!” I pulled out of his grasp and fled back to Brody's side. “There's an upstairs. Come on, let's go check it out.”

The narrow staircase was bathed in an eerie red light that was probably meant to add ambience, but it made me feel like I was walking into a horror movie—one with evil clowns.

We hovered at the top of the stairs, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the lower lighting. Groups lingered at tables, singles crowded around the bar, and couples canoodled in the dark corners of the room. I checked out the faces around me: no, no, no, no, no, maybe, no, no—wait, was that him? Toward the end of the bar stood a tall man with his back mostly to us, but the glimpse of profile I caught looked familiar. I elbowed Brody in the ribs and pointed.

He squinted into the dark room. “Hard to tell. But maybe, for sure.”

The man drained his drink and set the glass on the bar, then turned toward the stairs.

It was him.
At least I was pretty sure it was. And he was coming right toward us.

I had to do something, quick, before he spotted us. I grabbed Brody and kissed him right there on the spot.
Nothing to see here. Just a couple locked in a passionate embrace.

After the man passed, I let Brody go. He looked kind of dumbfounded as he wiped at his face with his sleeve. I hoped he was trying to wipe off my lipstick and that he wasn't afraid of girl cooties. “What was that for?” he asked.

“Sorry! I panicked. I didn't want him to recognize us.”

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“No problem. It was a little weird, but … you're not a bad kisser.” He looked as surprised to be saying it as I was to be hearing it.

“Thanks. You feel anything?”

“Nope, still gay. You?

“Nope, nothing. I mean, no offense…” He wasn't a bad kisser, either, but I've never been particularly attracted to people who aren't attracted to me. Brody had nothing to worry about.

“That's good. So we're all … good?” First Evan, now Brody—what was it with these boys?

“Jeez, Brody, I'm not going to propose or anything. Now let's go follow him!”

We scrambled down the scary red stairs and followed the man toward the door. With his extra height, it was easy to keep an eye on him as he traversed the crowd. A woman in a tight green dress stopped him, and we pulled back and watched as she introduced him to her friends. As he turned his head to greet each one, we got a good look at his face.

It was him all right.

I looked at Brody, and he nodded.

“So what now?” I asked.

Brody shrugged. “I say we go talk to him.”

“Here?” I squeaked. I hadn't meant for my response to sound so shrill, but I could feel the adrenaline starting to pump through my body.

“Better here, where it's crowded. If he leaves, we'll be out on the street with him alone.”

“Good point.” We pushed through the crowd until we were right behind him, and I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to greet me, not recognizing me at first.
“Hola,”
he said, a charming smile in place. He must've thought it was his lucky night.

“Father Villarreal?” Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't this. His face registered shock as he looked back and forth from me to Brody. Panic filled his eyes, and he turned and ran toward the door.

“Stop!” We dropped our drinks and ran after him.
“Alto! Ladrón!”
In addition to asking where the library was, my Spanish classes had taught me how to yell, “Stop! Thief!” and right now that was coming in way more handy.

Hearing my cries, a burly doorman grabbed the fleeing man and held him, giving us time to catch up.
“Hay problema?”
the bouncer asked.

“Please,” I said to the man who had so eloquently performed the wedding ceremony. “We just want to talk to you.” The man shrugged uneasily and nodded, saying something to the bouncer in Spanish a little
más rápido
than I could follow.

The bouncer released his grip as Brody took the impostor's other arm and led him out into the street.

“Don't run, okay? We just have a couple of questions. Obviously, you're not really Father Villarreal…”

“No.”

“Are you even a priest?”

He looked inside the bar, then back at me as if to say
Well, what do
you
think?

“No, I am not.” He wasn't exactly opening up. Maybe I should try not asking so many yes/no questions.