Terror in Taffeta (9 page)

“Key word being ‘agreed' to,” said Vince. “He never would have even considered it if it weren't for the baby.”

“Anyway, we were all busy trying to throw a wedding together in a month, because she wanted to do it before she started to show. But then Trevor started acting really weird. He said she didn't seem all that pregnant, but what would he know?”

“She never had morning sickness, and she didn't even have one of those, what do you call it? Baby lumps?” said Vince.

“Bump,” continued Nicole. “But every woman carries her pregnancy different.”

“That's right,” said Mrs. Abernathy, “and Dana was carrying hers in her head.”

“Anyway,” continued Nicole, “we were going shopping for bridesmaids' dresses, and Dana had a doctor's appointment later that afternoon. Trevor texted her, ‘I'm coming with you.' And she was all, ‘You want to shop for bridesmaids' dresses?' and he was all, ‘No, I'm coming with you to the doctor.'

“She said she didn't want him to come, but he made a big deal about it. At some point, she stopped texting back and turned off her phone. By then, we were at the bridal shop anyway. But then Trevor showed up and they had a big fight. He said if there was a baby in there, he wanted proof. They were yelling at each other right there in front of that nice dress lady and all the bridesmaids. It was pretty awful.”

“Wow, I can imagine. So what ended up happening?”

“He broke up with her,” said Vince. “There was no baby.”

“There
was
a baby,” insisted Nicole. “After he left, she told us she'd had a miscarriage, but she hadn't told him because she was afraid he'd call off the wedding.”

“Of course he'd have called off the wedding. That was the only reason he was marrying her,” said Vince. “There was never any baby.”

“But the miscarriage—”

“Oh, honey, don't be naïve,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “You know what I call a five-month-pregnant bride-to-be with no baby bump who suddenly loses the baby when her fiancé gets suspicious?”

Nicole shook her head.

“A manipulative little tramp, that's what.”

“Okay, good, that's very helpful,” I said, trying to break the tension. I put an asterisk next to Trevor's name. “What was his date's name?” I asked, checking the seating chart. “Oh, here it is. Naomi.”

“He hadn't been dating Naomi very long,” volunteered Vince. “But he knew Dana had been invited, so I think he wanted to make sure she knew he wasn't available. At least not to her.”

“Do we know anything about this Naomi person?” asked Mrs. Abernathy.

“Not really,” said Nicole. “She was just a plus-one. Seemed nice, though.”

“Whoever she is,” said Mrs. Abernathy, “I'm sure she's a significant improvement over Dana.”

“Yeah, especially with Dana being dead and all,” I said before I could catch myself. Oops. “Sorry, Nicole.”

“So, what now?” asked Mrs. Abernathy. “Do we take a vote or something?”

“I definitely think we should talk to Trevor,” I said. “He sure was asking a lot of questions about Dana at the reception.” I flipped to the tab in the binder marked “Travel Info” and scanned down to Trevor's name. “And luckily, he hasn't left town yet.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” asked Vince. “I've known him the longest. He might be more likely to open up to me.”

“I don't know,” said Nicole, looking up at her husband. “You can't come right out and accuse your friend of murder.”

“Besides, you shouldn't have to do that,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “You're on your honeymoon!”

Some honeymoon,
I thought
.
The couple hadn't even shared so much as a meal alone since the wedding.

Feeling sorry for Vince, I jumped in to volunteer. “Why don't I go? I'll come up with some reason to drop by and see if I can get him to talk. If I can't get anything out of him, you can always follow up later.”

“Okay, it's settled then,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “Kelsey will handle it.”

“But what if he didn't do it?” asked Nicole. “Who else do we have?”

I checked the seating chart to see where we'd ended up. “Well, there's Claire, Uncle Roy, Trevor, and I guess his date, Naomi. There's the San Francisco crowd, but most of them don't have any motive.”

“Don't forget the four of us,” said Nicole.

“Oh, darling, don't be ridiculous,” said Mrs. Abernathy.

I went ahead and added our names to the final list, just to be fair, eliciting a scowl from Mrs. Abernathy.

The door to the dining room swung open and Brody sauntered in, carrying a plate of food he'd managed to finagle from Fernando. “Hey, guys. What's going on?”

“Suspect list,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “Watch out or she'll put you on it, too.”

 

CHAPTER 9

It's funny what constitutes an emergency in some people's minds. While I was trying to decide how to approach a groomsman about the murder of a bridesmaid, I got a call from one of my clients who was having a full-blown panic attack over her “ruined” wedding programs.

Tamara Richardson's wedding was two weeks away, and the bride-to-be had opened the box for a sneak peek and discovered a misprint on page 3. I wished I could explain the relative gravity of having a bridesmaid sitting in a Mexican prison versus the last stanza missing from her favorite love poem, but that would have required getting a word in edgewise.

“Yes, Tamara, I'll try to—”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm sure they didn't mean—”

“Of course.”

“No, I don't think Rumi would—”

“Okay.”

“I agree, I think they can—”

“All right. I'll take care of it.”

Brody laughed at my one-sided conversation as I covered the receiver and mouthed the word “sorry” to him.

“Whew,” I said, hanging up the phone and sinking back into my chair. I was used to multitasking, but this was ridiculous. “Real detectives have no idea how easy they have it. All they have to do is question suspects and frisk people occasionally. I'd like to see them try to juggle a few brides while they're at it.”

“They'd crack under the pressure,” said Brody.

Nodding in agreement, I grabbed his fork and attacked what was left on his plate, realizing I hadn't eaten anything in way too long. You'd think I'd be too stressed to eat, but I usually have quite the opposite reaction.

“Help yourself,” he said, a little bit of sarcasm creeping into his voice.

“What? You were done.”

“No, I wasn't. Some people pause in between bites to chew their food. You should try it sometime.”

“Too bad. You shouldn't have set your fork down.”

He slid the plate toward me, dodging my fork as I aimed for the tamale. “Fine,” he said. “You owe me a street taco.”

Smart man. You should never argue with a hungry girl holding a pointy metal implement.

“By the way,” he said, “when you're done eating my lunch, you should call Evan. Not to add to your to-do list, but he stopped by earlier when you were visiting Zoe in the pokey.”

Oh, yeah—Evan
. I hadn't had time to think about it, but I did kind of owe him a call after last night's
datus interruptus
.

“Thanks for the message,” I said, reaching for the phone. “Now, please hold all my calls for the rest of the day. I have a wedding to plan and a murder to investigate.”

Brody got up from the table, scooped up his empty plate, and gave me a wave. “I'll be in my room if you need me.”

I licked the remaining chile sauce off my fingers before dialing Evan's number, but he caught me crunching on a stray piece of jicama when he answered.

“Bueno?”

I swallowed quickly. “Evan, hi! It's me.”

“Hi, yourself!” he answered. “That was quite a date last night. I would've loved to have seen how it ended.”

My stomach felt kind of funny, and my ears blushed a little.

“Yeah, sorry about that. We had a family emergency.”

“So I heard. Everything okay?”

“Not really, but thanks for asking. Looks like I'll be sticking around for a few days.”

“That's great news!” he said. I was glad he thought so. I had so many reasons to hurry back, but at least getting to spend some time with Evan was a little bit of a silver lining.

“So when can I see you?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, I'm going to be busy trying to get Zoe out of jail, but hopefully I can find a little downtime.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Evan asked.

Help? I hadn't really thought about Evan being able to help me with anything other than my dismal love life and short-hop flights, but come to think of it, having someone local on my side would be nothing short of amazing.

“Do you mean it?”

“Sure. All the quicker to get you all to myself.”

“Then you're hired! Um, let's see … did you say you knew someone at the police station?”

“Yes, I have some connections.”

“They don't seem to want to talk to me much.” I didn't mention that Officer Ortiz would probably arrest me if I tried again.

“Want me to see what I can find out?” he said.

That's what I love. A man who doesn't make me beg. “That would be the absolute best thing ever—or at least the best thing that I have any reasonable hope of actually happening. I'd really appreciate it, Evan.”

“Don't mention it. Dinner later?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “And I'm buying.”

*   *   *

Next on my list? Figuring out where Trevor was staying. He and Naomi had found their own accommodations at the last minute. I figured the two of them just wanted some privacy, especially with Mrs. Abernathy's not-too-subtle comments about unmarried people sharing a room, but now that I knew his history with Dana, I understood why he'd given up his place at the villa.

Luckily, I'd been the one to point them to a rental agency run by one of my contacts, so one phone call later, I had an address in hand and was headed out to see what I could find.

Funny, the receptionist hadn't even hesitated to give me the address. What if I were a killer?

Which led me to a startling realization:
What if Trevor were a killer?

He had a motive, but I couldn't really see him murdering someone, especially not with Naomi around. Face it: you don't bring a date when you're plotting revenge. Then again, maybe it wasn't planned. Maybe they'd gotten into an argument when Naomi was off somewhere shopping for local handicrafts. Maybe things had gotten out of hand and he hadn't meant to do it.

Wait, the officers seemed to think she'd been poisoned. How do you accidentally poison someone in a fit of rage? Okay, so it hadn't been an accident. And it could have been Trevor. I didn't know what I was walking into, and I had to be careful.

Their rental was only a few blocks away, so by the time I figured all that out I was already at their gate. I put my hand on the heavy brass knocker, then pulled it back quickly. What was I doing here? If he had killed Dana, he could kill me, too. Although, to be fair, he had absolutely no motive to kill me. Besides, Naomi would probably be there, and nothing would happen with her around. I decided to call Brody for backup, just in case, so I pulled my phone out of my bag. He wasn't doing anything important, and besides—

“Kelsey?” I hadn't noticed the door swinging open while I was searching for cell reception, but suddenly Trevor was standing in front of me.

“Um,
hola
!” I said, trying to sound casual.

Trevor didn't look very happy about the surprise visit. “What are you doing here?” You'd think I'd have gotten a warmer reception after helping him out with the tequila donkey.

I stalled. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute.”

“I was just heading out.”

“Oh, it will only take a minute. I wanted to ask you about … your tux.” I didn't want to blurt out the real reason for my visit. At least not until I'd had a chance to assess the situation.

“My tux? What about it?”

“Yes, I'm taking Vince's back, so I thought I'd return yours, too, and save you the trip.” That was plausible enough.

“Um, okay, I guess. Thanks.” He opened the door and motioned for me to follow him inside.

“Don't mention it. That's what I do. I'm a helper. It's my job—helping people. So, where's Naomi?”

Trevor froze for a second. “She's not here.”

“That's cool. I mean, I'm sure she's … doing something. And why shouldn't she be? I mean, you're on vacation. She probably—”

“Wait here,” he said, cutting off my rambling, which was actually sort of a relief. “I'll go get the tux.”

A real detective probably would have found an excuse to follow him inside the house to look for clues, but not me. I was happy to be left standing in the courtyard. At least the gate leading back out to the street was open, so I could run for it if necessary. But I was going to have to get him talking if I wanted to leave with some information and not just an errand involving rental clothing.

A moment later he returned, garment bag in hand. Trying to look casual, I pretended to be engrossed in a potted geranium plant, picking off some of the dead blossoms. “Oh! That was fast.”

“Thanks for taking this back,” he said.

“Don't mention it. I'm just trying to stay busy and help the Abernathys out however I can. Everyone's really upset about the whole Dana thing.”

“I'm sure.” His expression was unreadable, but there was a frosty undertone to his voice.

“In fact, I guess I should express my condolences. To you, I mean. I know you two were close once.”