It's Your Party, Die If You Want To Page 12

  Holly’s late husband had been an army general and they had frequently entertained military brass and government officials, as well as hosting charity events.

  “You’re right,” she said assertively. “I could make up my dream guest list for once.”

  “Who’d be on that list?”

  “Well, Tom Selleck, if he’s available,” she said with a sly smile. “And of course, you and Larry Joe, and your Mama and Earl . . .”

  “My mama. You’re hankering for drama, huh?”

  We both laughed.

  “I’m going to give this party idea some thought,” she said. “We’re too busy from now until New Year’s, but after that . . .”

  Holly and I finished our cheesecake and waddled back to the car. We had fun on the drive back to Dixie as we continued tossing around ideas about a hypothetical Roaring Twenties party.

  “Why don’t you and Larry Joe ever throw a big bash?” Holly said.

  “In our house, a big bash might turn into a big crash,” I said. “You know our decrepit house is actually more of a construction zone. It’s too unsafe and unsightly for guests. I guess I’m a little like that old saying about the cobbler’s kids not having any shoes. I’m a party planner who never has parties of her own.”

  By the time I dropped off Holly and made it home, I was feeling a little bummed out about the lack of progress on the house. I gave Larry Joe kind of a hard time about it over dinner. With a sheepish expression he promised to ramp up his efforts. He headed dutifully upstairs to work on the never-ending bathroom remodel—and no doubt to escape from his nagging wife.

  I called Di to see if she was up to my dropping by. I wanted to fill her in on what I had learned about Ted over lunch.

  * * *

  I took a seat on Di’s sofa and told her the gist of my conversation with the deputy.

  “So you didn’t find out anything about Ted, besides the fact he knows how to make bacon?” Di asked.

  “Sure, lots,” I said defensively. “Just nothing helpful. He can’t cook. He likes to fish. He hates to shop. His house is still furnished mostly with castoffs from his parents’ home. He doesn’t even own a suit. Oh, and his favorite movie is Scarface.”

  “I’ll grant you he doesn’t look good on paper,” she said.

  “On paper? He couldn’t place at the county fair if we put lipstick on him.”

  Di nodded and heaved a heavy sigh. “Actually, Ted may look like more of a catch than you think after you hear what I learned about Daisy.”

  “I find that hard to believe—unless she has hooves.”

  “Mrs. Roper followed me down the street today, telling me how Daisy gives her the creeps,” Di said. “She claims she’s spied Daisy on more than one occasion in the backyard picking up insects with her bare hands and putting them in a jar.”

  “What’s really creepy is the way Mrs. Roper spies on her neighbors,” I said. “But I’ll admit that does sound a little odd,” I said. “Maybe she has a hamster that eats insects.”

  “I’m pretty sure hamsters are vegetarians. Maybe it has something to do with her work,” Di mused.

  “Yeah. Hey, maybe she arranges little insect collections on boards, you know, like they did in Victorian times.”

  “I suppose that makes as much sense as anything else.”

  “Okay, look,” I said. “Maybe Ted isn’t exactly smooth, but we know him well enough to know he’s a good guy, really solid. Maybe we should try to find out a little more about Daisy before we throw her into Ted’s arms.”

  “It’s not like I haven’t been trying,” Di said. “I’ve tried to talk to her after yoga class, but she always rushes out. Last night she didn’t even show up.

  “So what now?”

  “Next week while she’s at yoga class I’m going to do a bit of investigating,” Di said. “I’m not saying I’ll actually break into Daisy’s house, but I’m at least going to take a peek through the windows to see what I can find out about our strange little wallflower.”

  “You’ll need an accomplice to keep a lookout,” I offered.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said. “We’ll leave my place next Wednesday about ten til six—and wear dark clothes.”

  Chapter 12

  I drove home from Di’s place and went upstairs to rummage through my closet. I needed to choose an appropriate outfit for breaking and entering, or at least something closely akin to it. I settled on black jeans and a black cotton turtleneck.

  I don’t know if it was the excitement of planning a spying foray at Daisy’s house, the romance of trying to bring two lonely hearts together, or the fact that I’d given Larry Joe such a rough time earlier, but I was feeling kind of amorous. I found Larry Joe stretched out on the sofa in the den. I guess we must have worked up an appetite. After our frisky bit of exercise, we ended up in the kitchen drinking hot chocolate and sharing a slice of pumpkin pie from the diner. Larry Joe and I decided to call it an early night and headed upstairs to bed.

  About two AM, the Newsoms’ car alarm started blaring—a much too common occurrence on our street. I got up and peeked through the curtains to see Mrs. Cleats, our neighborhood snoop and all-around pain in the patootie, padding out onto her front porch in slippers and a bathrobe. She started yelling for the Newsoms to turn off that “ding dang” racket before she called the sheriff. As if they could have somehow missed the earsplitting screech.

  I fell back into bed and clasped my hands over my ears.

  Mrs. Roper doesn’t know how good she has it, I thought. I could only wish my biggest problem was a neighbor who kept to herself and quietly picked up bugs in the backyard.

  After the alarm fell silent, Larry Joe rolled over and was out like a light. I went back to sleep almost as quickly. I woke up a little earlier than usual and even whipped up a batch of pancakes while Larry Joe was in the shower.

  My smiling, hungry husband ploughed through a stack drenched in sorghum molasses and hurried off to work. I took my time getting ready and still made it to the office by eight-thirty.

  * * *

  That Friday morning, there were plenty of odds and ends at the office that I needed to catch up on. But I was in reasonably good shape for the engagement party this weekend. It occurred to me that the best way to throw Nell and Sindhu off Lucinda’s scent would be to give them another suspect. After the snippets of gossip I’d heard about Astrid, I couldn’t help but wonder if Dave was paying as much attention to her as a suspect as he should. Maybe this was one thread I could help him unravel.

  I drove over to Hartville to check out Astrid’s shop. I pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall that houses the Cosmic Moon Cottage, sandwiched between a Chinese restaurant and a shoe store that specializes in orthopedics.

  A cloud of incense and tinkling bells greeted me as I entered. A woman dressed in a black print blouse and black broomstick skirt greeted me.

  “Peace. My name is Astrid. Can I help you find anything?”

  “I’m always looking for unique jewelry.”

  She led me to a case with a sign above it that said GODDESS JEWELRY. Several pieces looked like primitive fertility symbols, but others were pretty and featured female figures with an art deco vibe about them.

  We made small talk, as Southerners are wont to do, and Astrid explained the symbolism behind some of the jewelry. I couldn’t think of any way to ease into a conversation about Morgan, so I just took a shot.

  “Weren’t you with the group at St. Julian’s last week?”

  “Yes, I’m a member of the Sisters of the Full Moon. We held a gathering there recently. Were you there with the church group?”

  Since I didn’t have the requisite holy hairdo, I had a feeling she was just trying to be cute.

  “No, I was there with the businesswomen’s retreat. I believe you were the woman who came by to check on Miss Annabelle, the elderly lady who wandered off into the woods.”

  “Oh, yes. We were all pretty concerned about her after it
became clear she was a little confused. I just wanted to make sure she was safe. Is she okay?”

  “Yes, thank God. She really had us worried for a while.” I paused for a beat before continuing. “Not that our relief lasted for long. I’m sure you heard about the death of Morgan Robison.”

  “Of course,” she said. “The sheriff questioned all of us who were staying at Sparrow Lodge. But then I’m sure you already knew that,” she said, her tone suddenly turning chilly.

  “Yes, I had heard,” I said. “I also heard that you recently had a very loud and very public altercation with Morgan.”

  If eyes were daggers, I would have dropped dead on the spot.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “Look, you can’t honestly be surprised that under the circumstances people are gossiping about your run-in with Morgan. I knew Morgan well enough to know she wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. I’d be interested to hear your version of the argument, that’s all. I’ve heard the version that Morgan’s coworkers are putting out there.”

  “Fine. I have nothing to hide—and for the record I’ve already talked to the sheriff, who doesn’t seem to consider me a suspect,” she said. “Unlike you and the other Dixie businesswomen, I didn’t know Morgan personally. My dealings with her were purely business, and she acted in a completely unprofessional manner. Abusive, in fact, telling me that nobody around here was interested in my little ‘heathen baubles,’ as she put it.

  “I had signed a five-year lease on this place with Morgan’s uncle, Ward Robison. After his death earlier this year, Morgan came up with some kind of loophole and tried to oust me and the other tenants from this shopping center. She said she and her dad had plans to develop something else here—she didn’t share the details with me. But apparently she had pressured the restaurant and the shoe store owners into ending their leases early. Mr. Ling struggles with English and Mr. Brown is about ready to retire anyway. But this is my livelihood and I wasn’t willing to play along just because Morgan’s a spoiled brat who’s used to getting her way.

  “I was foolish enough to let her goad me into a shouting match at the bank. After that little episode I talked to Morgan’s dad—which is what I should have done in the first place. He assured me he would honor my lease, which has nearly two years left on it. He explained that they had discussed a possible development plan for this property, but it would be at least two years before anything happened with it. He apologized for Morgan, saying she was just ‘a little high strung.’ Since he was her daddy, I bit my tongue and didn’t tell him what she really is, or was.

  “That’s the truth. Everything was settled with Mr. Robison before Morgan’s death, so I had no motive to kill her,” she said. “Although I’m sure the inbred hicks over in Dixie would prefer to believe that someone from Hartville killed her.”

  She gave me a smug little smile, and I bared my teeth at her. I had considered buying a pair of goddess earrings I thought Mama might like, but after Astrid’s snippy little inbreeding remark I just turned and walked out.

  As I drove back to Dixie I wondered if everything really was settled with Mr. Robison before Morgan’s death, or if that conversation had happened afterward. I also wondered about those Baptists and Presbyterians who were among the participants at the Sisters of the Full Moon ritual. Maybe they weren’t lying to protect Astrid. Maybe they were lying to protect themselves. I strongly suspected that some of them would prefer that their church friends didn’t know about their extracurricular pagan activities.

  Against my better judgment I phoned Dave and shared my doubts about Astrid. Predictably, he told me to butt out. Although he did say he had confirmed with Mr. Robison what Astrid had said about the lease.

  I called Nell to encourage her to snoop on Astrid instead of Lucinda. Not that I really had a bone she could chew on, but I hoped Astrid’s derogatory remark about Dixie would be enough to stir up Nell’s ire.

  I did my best to make Astrid sound like a worthy suspect, but Nell wasn’t buying it.

  “Oh, please,” she said. “I shop at the Cosmic Moon Cottage all the time, and I can tell you Astrid’s just as harmless as Jasmine. She was just being snarky to you because you were getting all up in her business. Hon, you don’t have to worry about me chasing after Lucinda anymore. But mark my words, that woman’s a cold-blooded killer.”

  She hung up, and I decided maybe she was right. There was just as much evidence against Lucinda as there was Astrid, which was zero.

  On the way back to the office I stopped by the supermarket deli and picked up a chef’s salad to go. I ate lunch at my desk as I checked and double-checked with vendors for the Dodds’ engagement party.

  I phoned and confirmed times with the caterer for the food and the waitstaff. I confirmed delivery of the various game tables and for the specialty decorations and extra chairs. Everything was going smooth as silk until I hit a snag with the limousine service.

  “Let me see here, Mrs. McKay,” the vendor said over the phone. “Yep, it looks like we’re all squared away. That’s one limo picking up guests at the hotel in Dixie at 6:40 PM, two limos picking up guests at the Peabody in Memphis at 5:45 PM, and three limos picking up guests from the casino hotel in Tunica at 4:45 PM tonight.”

  I was nodding and playfully twirling a pen in my hand until he said the word tonight. Then my eyes flew open wide and I sat up ramrod straight.

  “Tonight?” I said. “You mean tomorrow night.”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “Your drivers are on the schedule for tonight.”

  “But that’s not possible,” I said, trying to breathe steadily. “The party is tomorrow. Double-check the date. You must be on the wrong page.”

  He argued with me until I demanded to speak to his supervisor. The supervisor put me on hold while he looked up the original files from when the party was first booked. After a tense few minutes, he returned to the phone and explained that they had limos booked for a party named “Dodge,” as well as for my party under the name “Dodd.” Somehow the scheduler for the limo service had transposed the two when he wrote them onto the drivers’ dispatch roster.

  “I’m really sorry about the mix-up, Mrs. McKay. But I’m awful glad you called and we discovered this snafu before our drivers showed up at the wrong addresses tonight for the Dodge party.”

  I went over the details with him one last time, just for my own peace of mind, and thanked him for his personal attention to the matter.

  My tense shoulders finally relaxed, coming down from my earlobes. This is why it’s always a good idea to check and recheck every detail of an event. Mix-ups happen.

  Holly and I were due at the Dodd’s house at three this afternoon to supervise a work crew.

  I drove to our clients’ home and spotted Holly’s car turning into the driveway just ahead of me. Over the next few hours, the movers hauled dozens of pieces of furniture into rooms that would be closed off during the party and rearranged tables and seating areas. With the heavy lifting taken care of, I could return with the party crew in the morning to oversee the unloading and placement of the game tables and furniture and do the final setup and decorations.

  * * *

  When I arrived a bit after nine Saturday morning, Harold, my go-to electrician, and Kenny, my go-to jack-of-all-trades, were already draping lights on the huge oak tree in front of the Dodds’ house. White lights dripping like luminescent moss would be the first sight to greet tonight’s guests.

  Harold and Kenny look like the odd couple. Harold: sixtyish, hefty, short, white and bald. Kenny: early twenties, slender, tall, and black, with a mop of short dreadlocks. But together they are an impressively capable and efficient team.

  The two men had already placed posts strung together with heavy rope flanking the porch steps to give the impression of a gangplank. We would also be placing a large ship’s wheel and steamer trunks on either side of the front door to establish the riverboat theme. The gambling aspect of the
party would come to life as soon as guests walked through the front door. The cake table was positioned in the center of the circular stairway in the expansive entry hall. Holly and I got to work right away hanging two large posters from the banister above the cake table—oversized king and queen of hearts cards.

  Away from the rest of the work crew downstairs, Holly asked me in a hushed voice, “Do you think that woman who makes the herbal products, the one Sheriff Davidson arrested, really killed Morgan? I’m not sure I’ve ever spoken to her. I’ve seen her around town, of course.”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “She’s a pleasant, kind-spoken person. It’s hard for me to imagine her actually killing somebody. But then that’s the kind of thing neighbors usually say about serial killers after they’ve been arrested.”

  “That’s true,” Holly said. “One of my father’s best friends was the nicest man you’d ever want to meet, a real Southern gentleman. I later learned that people believed he had murdered his first wife. She had drowned, but no charges were ever brought against him. I always did think it was odd that she had drowned in the kitchen sink,” Holly said as we finally got the king of hearts poster positioned exactly the way we wanted.

  The first floor of the Dodds’ 8,000-square-foot home was perfectly designed for entertaining on a grand scale, which was fortunate because seventy-five people were expected for the engagement party. To the right of the entry were the front and rear parlors, and just beyond the formal parlors were the dining room and kitchen. From the side porch off the dining room, it was just a few steps to Mr. Dodd’s office. To the other side of the entry hall were the library and family room, and just beyond those rooms on the left was a large guest bedroom.

  For the evening, the main floor would be transformed into a casino, except for the front parlor, where the buffet table would be set up, and the entry, which would showcase the desserts.

  After decorating the upstairs railing, Holly and I got to work on the buffet table. We overlaid white tablecloths with fishing net and attached buoys to the net across the front of the table.