Untitled (24 page)

   "You're closing Bellywasher's?" I guess I'd never realized how much the restaurant had come to mean to me. The very idea made my stomach sour. Tears filled my eyes. "You can't," I said. "We're turning a profit. Not much of one, of course, but the bills are getting paid and the salaries are getting paid and—"

   "Not closing it." Jim gave my hand a squeeze. "Changing it. I'd rather have the likes of Larry and Hank and Charlie in here any day than the variety of people we've been attracting. It looks like I'm meant to be an old-fashioned pub keeper. Not a newfangled fusion cooking restaurateur."

   "That's why you've been hanging Angus's things back on the walls!" The revelation came to me in a flash. I knew I was right, because Jim smiled sheepishly. "You're more comfortable with homey than high style."

   "Aye." Jim nodded. His expression was solemn. "And it's sorry I am to disappoint you."

   It was my turn to laugh. With my free hand, I caressed Jim's cheek. "I'm not disappointed. If it will make you happy . . ." I thought of how strained our relationship had been of late. It had happened so gradually, I hadn't even realized how much I missed our easy friendship until it was gone completely. "No wonder you've been cranky."

   Jim's spine stiffened, but he didn't look offended. At least not too much. "Cranky, is it? Well, if I've been cranky, you've been preoccupied."

   I couldn't deny it. It was my turn to look sheepish. "You were right the night of the drive-by. I still don't know if the shooting had any connection to our investigation into Sarah's death, but you were right about us investigating. I took your comments too personally."

   "And I didn't take your special talents personally enough. This investigation is important to you. I'm sorry, Annie. I shouldn't browbeat you because of it or try to stand in your way. You're good at this sort of thing. You proved that when you solved Drago's murder. It's just that I dunna want to see you get hurt."

   "And I have no intention of getting hurt. That's the absolute truth!" To prove it, I crossed my heart with one finger. "But there's something that's not right about the way Sarah died. Eve and I are sure of it. You understand, don't you? You understand how I have to keep searching for the truth? To make things right for Sarah."

   "I understand that if you have questions and you don't try to find the answers to them, you wouldn't be the special person you are." Jim leaned in and brushed my lips with a kiss. "I will back off, totally and completely, if that's what you want."

   I could have taken the comment to mean back off from our relationship, but honestly, when Jim was looking at me that way—a tiny smile on his lips and a spark in his eyes—I knew that couldn't be true.

   "You mean about the investigation." I nodded, sure that was what he'd meant. "I don't want you to back off; I just want you to stop worrying. We're being careful."

   "We?" He looked at me with a gleam in his eyes that reminded me of the way he used to watch me back in cooking school. As I burned and scorched and seared my food to death and beyond, Jim didn't look disgusted or like he was going to throw in the towel. He simply looked fascinated and slightly amused.

   "As far as I can tell," he said, "there isn't much
we
in your investigation. Not these days. Eve's abandoned you."

   I knew he didn't mean it to sound harsh, but I have to admit, I was feeling a little sensitive. I tamped back my hurt feelings. "She's been spending an awful lot of time with Senator Mercy these last couple weeks."

   "That's for certain."

   As one, we glanced at my guest chair and the pile of newspapers that had been brought in by well-meaning customers. It seemed like every day, another one was added to the stack. The front page of that day's W
ashington Post
featured a photo of the senator at a Kennedy Center concert with Eve on his arm. The Style section of the B
altimore Sun
showed a picture of Eve and the senator at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a children's health clinic. The local Alexandria paper had gotten caught up in the frenzy. Eve was front page news there, too.

   As for the tabloids . . .

   I looked over the array of yellow journalism rags that had

been dropped off by Monsieur Lavoie, who seemed to be getting a real kick out of Eve's newfound celebrity. I shook my head, honestly amazed that word could spread so far, so fast. "The Bureaucrat and the Beauty Queen" one headline screamed. "Could She Be Our First Lady Someday?" asked another.

   "I'm glad Eve is having the time of her life," I said, and I meant it. "But I miss having her around. I miss having her with me when I investigate. It's always easier for me to think out loud, you know? Without her here to listen to me, I feel like I'm getting nowhere fast with this investigation."

   "Then tell me."

   I guess my expression must have said it all.

   "No, I mean it," Jim said. "Come on."

   Before I could protest, he had me by the hand and was leading me into the kitchen. He draped an apron over my head, tied it behind my back, and walked me to the stove.

   "Oh, no!" I locked my knees. "Been here, done that. Remember?"

   "I do." Jim's smile was bright. "That's why I'm going to do the cooking." He reached for one of the carrots sitting near the cutting board and pointed at me with it. "You," he said, "are going to do the talking. Go ahead, Annie." He turned and got to work, chopping carrots and quartering heads of cabbage. "Tell me what you've found out. Run your theories by me the way I run my menu ideas by you. Maybe if I understood more about what you're doing and how you're doing it, I'd worry less that it's going to get you in trouble."

   "That's sweet." It was, and I didn't mean to downplay the offer. "But if I stand here and talk, I'm going to slow you down. There are plenty of people waiting for drinks and dinner."

   "Aye, and one of them is none other than Jacques Lavoie himself. When I went to your office to talk to you, I asked him to take over for me behind the bar."

   "Are you sure?"

   "There are some things more important even than Bellywasher's." Jim finished with the carrots and whisked the chopped pieces into a pot. "You're one of them. And if you're hell-bent on being a detective, who am I to stop you? Tell me, Annie. Tell me everything."

   I did, up to and including the e-mail message from Dylan threatening Sarah.

   By the time I was done, Jim had already added chicken breasts and seasoning to the pot where he'd put the carrots. He carried it over to the stove and turned it on to simmer.

   "That's serious, no doubt of that," he said when he turned back to me. "Do you think that message from Dylan means he might have killed her?"

   I shook my head. "I honestly don't know. But it could mean he was jealous, and if he was, it could mean that he knew about Sarah's relationship with Dougy Mercy. And if Dylan knew about Sarah and Dougy, I bet that means other people did, too. Like maybe Lorraine Mercy."

   "And there's another bit of jealousy we have on our hands."

   I liked the way Jim said
we
. Just knowing he was on my side made me feel better about succeeding with my investigation. "That gives both Dylan and Lorraine motive," I said. "Of course, we don't know if either one of them had opportunity. And we don't know anything about the money, either."

   Jim had been paying attention as I talked. He nodded. "You mean the money Sarah must have needed to live the lifestyle she did. And to buy that little yapper of hers a diamond collar."

   I remembered the trip I'd taken to the groomer with Eve and Doc. "A diamond collar engraved with his initials. And—"

   When I stopped talking in the middle of a sentence, Jim was immediately concerned. "Annie?" He reached for my hand. "Are you all right?"

   "I'm fine. Really. I was just thinking. About the diamond collar. It had Doc's initials inside."

"And?"

   "And I've been such an idiot! They're Doc's initials, all right, but they aren't only Doc's initials. DM. That could mean Doctor Masakazu. It could also mean Dylan Monroe. Or Dougy Mercy."

   "Or Douglas Mercy."

   "Do you think one of them gave her the money to buy that collar?"

   Thinking, Jim pursed his lips. "It's most likely to be Dougy. They were having an affair, after all."

   "But Renee doesn't seem to think he could slip the money past Lorraine."

   "Which leaves us with the other two to consider."

   "Or the fact that DM really does stand for Doctor Masakazu."

   Jim tapped a finger against his chin. "This detective business, it's not as easy as it looks on TV. I'm impressed. I, for one, could never make sense of it all."

   I wasn't sure I could, either, but I was too busy basking in the glow of that "I'm impressed" to point it out. "What we need is a break in our case," I said.

   "Be careful. When the cops on TV say that, someone else dies."

   I cringed. "Not what I meant at all. I mean another clue. Something to point us in the right direction. Either Dylan or Lorraine could be our killer. If this was TV, we'd find a letter written by one of them."

   "Or blood on their clothing."

   "Or we'd be invited to an island with all the suspects."

   "Or a spooky old castle."

   "Or a—"

   "Fabulous, beautiful, glamorous ball!"

   Do I need to point out that neither Jim nor I made that last comment? It came from Eve as she threw open the door and bounded into the kitchen. "I feel like Cinderella," she said, and she twirled around in the center of the room. No mean feat, considering that we were surrounded by racks of pots and pans, and that both the grill and the stove were in use. She stopped when she realized she was going to do one of us—or herself—some serious harm.

   Her cheeks glowed. Her eyes gleamed. "I'm going to a real, live, honest-to-goodness black-tie, formal ball," she said. "It's a fund-raiser. Well, it's
the fu
nd-raiser of the year. And you . . ." She reached into her Kate Spade bag, produced two tickets, and handed them to me with a flourish. "You two are coming along."

       literally a dime a dozen. Pick a night—any night in any week—and my guess is you can find at least three worthy causes holding three different functions in three separate places around town. More on weekends.

   What made the one Eve invited us to different? Well, a couple things.

   Number one, Eve was right. This was the real deal. A black-tie affair where the vice president was going to be the guest of honor and the featured speaker.

   The political connection, of course, explained how Eve got invited and how she had snagged Jim and me a couple of the coveted tickets, but it wasn't the only reason I was excited. As she did only once each year, Lorraine Mercy was sponsoring the event, a black-and-white ball, as a way to raise awareness and funds for a breast cancer survivors' group. Any event Lorraine associated her name with was bound to be not only successful but classy as well.

   We might be from the almost-seedy side of Alexandria, but suddenly we were A-list all the way.

   I was jazzed, all right, because along with Eve and the senator, Jim and I were to be seated at Lorraine's table.

   I wondered how Lorraine would feel if she knew that someone she was set to break bread with was planning to use the opportunity to find out if she knew about Sarah's affair with Dougy. And if she did, was she mad enough about it to kill?

   As we got ready for the big event in my apartment, I mentioned that fact to Eve. She was just slipping into her gown, a white silk sheath that clung to every curve and in the front was cut down nearly to her navel. She poked her head out of what there was of a neckline and made a face at me.

   "No way," Eve said. "You can't possibly suspect Lorraine."

   In logic-be-damned mode, I had bought a gown for the occasion. I was just unzipping the garment bag from the tailor's where I'd taken it to be hemmed when Eve made her comment I glanced over my shoulder. "What do you mean, we can't suspect Lorraine? Lorraine and Dylan, I thought they were our two best suspects?"

   "That was before." Eve fluffed her hair and skimmed a hand over her hips. She looked like a million bucks, and she knew it. "Before I got to know Lorraine so well. I told you, Annie, when we were at Doug's horse farm for Thanksgiving, I helped Lorraine with some of the grunt work for the fund-raiser. You know, special invitations and all. And I've been at the hotel a couple times this week with her, too, helping with the final stage setup and the flowers and the centerpieces. Oooo!" Eve's eyes glowed. "Wait until you see those centerpieces. Black-and-white, of course. Like the rest of the party. And these huge candelabra and twinkly stuff and flowers and . . ." The mere idea of it was enough to make her sigh. I reminded myself to tell her not to do that too often or too quickly at the ball. Her dress was not designed for it.

   "Lorraine is a loving and caring person," Eve said. "She dedicates herself to all kinds of good causes. And she runs that sleep clinic, too. Really, she runs it, she's not just a figurehead. She's terrific. You'll see. You'll talk to her tonight. If you want, you can help us backstage, too. I promised her I'd do a final walk-through with her right before the festivities start. You'll see that there's no way she could have had anything to do with Sarah's death."

   "I hope you're right." I took my gown out of the bag. I have to admit, when I did, my hands shook. Aside from my wedding gown, I'd never owned anything as beautiful. Or as expensive.

   Because I knew Eve would be wearing white, I decided it didn't make any sense to try to compete. I'd only come out looking like an also-ran and besides, white was bound to make my complexion look pasty. I'd chosen floor-length black chiffon with a belted waist and a sprinkling of rhinestones on the skirt and across the bodice. Of course, when it came to necklines, mine wasn't anywhere near as daring as Eve's. The neckline was high enough to be modest and just low enough to show off a little décolletage. As Eve had told me when we shopped for the gown, "If you've got it, honey, you might as well flaunt it."