It's Your Party, Die If You Want To Page 9

  “I’m sure Dave wouldn’t arrest Jasmine unless he had evidence against her, but I’m still having a hard time believing Jasmine could have killed Morgan. Maybe I’m just as crazy as Nell and Sindhu,” I said.

  “Nell’s definitely a nut, but Sindhu strikes me as reasonably sane by Dixie standards,” Di said. “What craziness do they have in common?”

  “They’re convinced Lucinda killed Morgan. They may even believe she used her psychic energies or ghost connections to do the deed,” I said.

  “That’s pretty crazy, all right.”

  I filled Di in on the stalkers, which until her arrest included Jasmine.

  “I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Di said, “because Dave obviously thinks Jasmine is his prime suspect. But they did run across a connection between Morgan and one of those Sisters of the Full Moon who were staying at the neighboring lodge the night Morgan got killed.”

  “Really? What’s the deal?”

  “It seems one of them had a very public altercation with Morgan a couple of weeks ago.”

  “What was it about?”

  “Dave didn’t say,” Di said. “But I mentioned it to Trudy, who works at the bank. She goes home on her lunch break a lot, and sometimes I chat with her for a minute as I’m passing through her neighborhood. Anyway, she said she didn’t know the details, but it sounded like maybe the bank was going to foreclose on Astrid’s house or business or whatever. Morgan said something like, ‘You better start packing, or you’ll be out on the street by the end of the year.’ And Astrid was yelling, ‘You can’t throw me out and you better not try it.’

  “According to Trudy, Astrid got all up in Morgan’s face and threatened to do her bodily harm. Her name is Astrid Caine. She lives over in Hartville and runs a little gift shop of some kind.”

  “Did Trudy actually witness this argument?” I asked.

  “Apparently everybody who was in the bank at the time witnessed it,” Di said.

  “Oh, speaking of the bank,” I said, “I went to the bank today to make a deposit and talked to Naomi Mawbry. She wasn’t at the retreat because she got a phone call Friday afternoon telling her that her sister had passed away.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Di said.

  “The thing is,” I continued, “it turns out her sister isn’t dead. Apparently, it was a huge mix-up or someone’s sick idea of a prank call. Can you imagine?”

  “That’s awful,” Di said.

  “Anyway, back to this Astrid person, she could have lured Miss Annabelle away to create a distraction. That would have given her the perfect opportunity to kill Morgan,” I said.

  “Or it could be a complete coincidence that the two groups were at St. Julian’s at the same time. At least, that’s what Dave seems to think. He pointed out it was a full moon Friday night and that PWAD holds its retreat on the same weekend every year,” Di said. “Of course, Dave also admitted that, as a cop, coincidences give him indigestion.”

  I offered Di a glass of wine and poured myself one, as well. Since Larry Joe was camped out in the den, we walked through to the living room and sat down on the drop-cloth-draped sofa.

  Di stood and peeked through to the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Making sure Larry Joe isn’t within earshot,” she said quietly. “This is for your ears only.”

  After making sure the coast was clear, she continued, “I managed to glean a bit of information today about Ted’s potential soul mate.”

  What’s her name, anyway?”

  “Daisy,” Di said.

  “That’s a good name for a wallflower, I suppose. What did you find out?”

  “Either she works from home or she’s independently wealthy,” Di said. “I’m guessing the former, because she rarely leaves the house. That’s according to her neighbor, Mrs. Roper, who doesn’t exactly have to be coaxed into sharing gossip.

  “Doug, the UPS guy, said she sends and/or receives small, lightweight packages two or three times a week. And he says he’s never seen her wearing anything other than yoga pants. Actually he said pajamas, so I’m drawing my own conclusions.”

  “The boxes must be related to her work,” I said. “Maybe she buys and sells on eBay or makes jewelry. Did Doug have any idea what’s in the boxes?”

  “No, just that they’re all about the same size,” Di said. “A lot of them come from Florida, but she ships them all over the country.”

  “Florida, huh? Do you think it could be drugs?”

  “Not unless she’s running the most inefficient smuggling network in the world,” Di said.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “So . . . what’s the next step in our little matchmaking enterprise?” I said.

  “I guess I’ll try to grab a spot next to Daisy at our yoga class tomorrow night. I’ll try to make conversation and mention something nice about Ted, while I’m at it.”

  “Which of his stellar attributes do you plan to point out?” I asked.

  “He is tall,” Di said.

  “There’s always that, I guess.”

  After Di left, I went upstairs and washed my face. I couldn’t help thinking about Jasmine’s arrest. I changed into a nightshirt, switched off the overhead light, and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. I had just flopped back onto the bed pillows when Larry Joe walked in.

  I’ve never been very good at putting on a poker face, so Larry Joe could tell I was worried about something.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” he said. “I thought you’d be relieved now that Dave’s arrested someone. Maybe things will start to settle down a bit.”

  “I am relieved, sort of. I’m just having a hard time believing that Jasmine actually killed Morgan.”

  “Would you rather believe it was one of the other members of PWAD?”

  “No,” I said with a sigh. “I guess not. At any rate, I’ve got too much on my plate right now to keep thinking about it. I’ve got a big engagement party this weekend and the Halloween fund-raiser the next weekend.”

  “Both parties will come off without a hitch,” Larry Joe said as he stripped down to his boxers. “They always do, but still you worry yourself.”

  He kissed me good night and turned off the lamp.

  I was concerned about getting everything done in time for the party and the fund-raiser, but my uneasy feeling was really because Nell and Sindhu might ramp up their Lucinda investigation now that Jasmine had been arrested. I hoped they wouldn’t do anything stupid or dangerous.

  I’m not sure if it was worry or my taco supper keeping me up, but it took me quite a while to fall asleep. About three AM I was suddenly wide-awake.

  What if Naomi’s prank phone call was somehow related to Morgan’s murder?

  That thought tortured my dreams for the rest of the night.

  Chapter 9

  On my way to the office Wednesday morning, I stopped at the hotel to see if Nell and Sindhu had backed off their surveillance of Lucinda now that Jasmine had been arrested. I didn’t even have to go inside to get my answer.

  They were sitting in a car in the hotel parking lot trying, I think, to be incognito. They were both wearing sunglasses on an overcast day.

  I pulled up beside them, rolled down my window, and tapped on the passenger side door. Nell was riding shotgun. She rolled down her window.

  “Don’t you two have businesses to run?” I said.

  “I don’t have any appointments until this afternoon,” Nell said.

  Sindhu leaned around Nell. “The desk will buzz me if I am needed.”

  “As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, Dave has arrested your compadre for Morgan’s murder. So why are you still keeping Lucinda under surveillance?”

  “I didn’t know Jasmine very well before,” Nell said. “But we’ve spent a good bit of time together the last few days and I know for dang sure she didn’t kill Morgan.”

  “Be that as it may, this is crazy. You know Lucinda could have you arrested for
stalking, don’t you?”

  “You won’t think it’s so crazy once we tell you all the weird stuff that’s been going on,” Nell said.

  “Well, why don’t you two jump in the backseat and fill me in. I’ll pull in across the street. At least maybe Lucinda and her team won’t spot you so easily.”

  I parked a block away in a position where they could still see the front entrance and driveway, at their insistence.

  “So what’s going on?” I asked, turning sideways on the seat so I could see them.

  They looked at each other before Nell nodded at Sindhu.

  “There have been many strange things happening at the hotel since Lucinda arrived,” Sindhu said.

  “Like what?”

  “You know how hangers in hotel closets have two pieces, with the top affixed and the bottom part that is removable? Well, a bunch of the removable parts have gone missing,” she said, looking at me as if she held the smoking gun to an obvious crime.

  “That means somebody stole them,” I said, trying to interject a note of sanity.

  “Why the heck would anybody steal a hanger that won’t hang?” Nell said incredulously.

  She had a point.

  “Maybe some kids stole them as a prank. Maybe some teenagers thought it would be funny. I don’t know,” I said. “But one thing I do know is that they did not disappear into thin air.”

  “Okay,” Sindhu said. “There have been other upsetting occurrences. One of our maids, who has never before acted strangely, now refuses to go into one of the third-floor rooms where Lucinda and her staff are staying. She insists that an unseen force growled at her viciously. She was most definitely frightened when she talked to me.”

  I looked to Nell, and she was nodding in agreement.

  “Pets are not allowed in the hotel, right?”

  “Right,” Sindhu said.

  “Then someone sneaked a dog in and was trying to keep it hidden. The maid heard the dog growling, but didn’t see it. I’m sure that was unsettling for her, but it doesn’t mean it was anything other than a dog.”

  They sat silent for a moment.

  “If that’s all you’ve got . . .”

  “That’s all we’ve got so far,” Nell said. “Bryn told me that PWAD didn’t pay for Lucinda to come talk to our group, and I’m certain Lucinda is not the sort to do anything out of the kindness of her heart. I’m convinced she came to Dixie to settle an old score. And I intend to find proof of it before the sheriff ends up prosecuting Jasmine, who is innocent, or arresting someone else from the retreat—like one of us.”

  I gave up on trying to talk any sense into them, dropped them off at the parking lot, and drove to my office. Everyone’s nerves were on edge. And chances were that Nell and Sindhu knew the rumors about their husbands’ involvement with Morgan, since just about everyone else in town did.

  Dealing with the lunacy that Morgan’s murder had stirred up, especially with Sindhu and Nell, had really sucked the wind out of my sails. Unfortunately, downtime was not a luxury I could afford at the moment. As soon as I got to the office, I decided to call in reinforcements. I phoned Holly to ask if she’d be willing to run some errands and make follow-up phone calls for me.

  “Holly, if you wouldn’t mind taking on some extra hours I could really use your help this week. I feel as if I’m meeting myself coming and going, trying to get ready for the engagement party and the Halloween fund-raiser and dealing with some high-maintenance friends . . .”

  “It’s awlright, darlin’. Of course, I’ll be glad to take a few things off your plate,” she said. “I do believe you’ve been a glutton at the buffet of good intentions. I’ll drive down to the office just as soon as my pedicure dries.”

  As I hung up I felt my shoulders relax. Just talking to Holly was medicine for my mania. She seemed to maintain an enthusiastic yet calm demeanor, even under the heavy thumb of deadline pressure.

  Holly arrived about twenty minutes after our phone call, just as I finished up to-do lists—one for her and one for me. She was decked out in a hip-skimming, belted tunic in bright orange, with off-white, wide-legged pants. Bright orange, freshly manicured toes shone from her designer sandals to complete her 1960s-inspired look. Her platinum hairstyle usually alternates between a slightly teased pageboy and a Karl Lagerfeld ponytail. Today it was Karl, pulled back with a black ribbon.

  Feeling more organized and less stressed, I drove out to the country club to go over details with the chef who was catering the engagement party at the Dodds’ home this weekend. The bride and her mom had decided on a buffet with a Creole flair for the riverboat gambler–themed event. Chef Felix Boudreaux, originally from New Orleans, was obviously reveling in the assignment. It’s a bit of a mystery how a chef with Felix’s talent and training ended up in Dixie, but he’s been a godsend for my clients and me. I’ve heard rumors that the wealthier members of the country club pay out of their own pockets to boost his salary to a level that makes it attractive for Felix to stay.

  He had already held a menu sampling with the Dodds, who had signed off on a large buffet that included fried catfish bites with Creole tartar sauce, grilled quail legs, a fried oyster salad with spinach and arugula, and spiced apples with cinnamon.

  Today he was presenting samples of spice cookies iced to resemble poker chips. They looked perfect and tasted even better. His pastry chef, Mick, made the cookies and would be making the cake, the star of the desserts table. We went over the schedule for the day of the party, and he gave me a small box of cookies for Rachel and her mom to sample.

  Next up, I had a meeting with Dana Cooley, the drama teacher at the high school, about the script for the murder mystery dinner, which her students would be performing at the fund-raiser.

  I signed the visitors’ log in the school office and waited for one of the drama students to escort me to the theater. Although I knew the way, the escort system is a protocol to prevent strangers from wandering through the school halls, and I completely support any measures that ensure student safety.

  Caitlin, a chatty, giggling sophomore, was my escort du jour. She told me how excited the students were to be doing the murder mystery play and how some of the dialogue was LOL—yes, she actually said the letters LOL—and how the costumes were perfect for that retro thing Mrs. Cooley wanted and how she thinks she might be an actress when she grows up, or maybe a veterinarian, she’s not sure yet. Caitlin was still in the middle of a run-on sentence when we arrived at the theater. I patted her on the shoulder, thanked her, and walked over to Mrs. Cooley, who was sitting in the front row.

  She invited me to take a seat and watch a run-through of a scene set in the library.

  The flat panel depicting the library wasn’t completely painted yet, but the finished portion of a large door flanked by book-lined shelves on either side was impressive. Mrs. Cooley told me that while the theater students painted the large portions of the sets, art students were helping to fill in the details.

  Mrs. Cooley called for the scene to start. Four actors were standing in front of the library flat, gathered around a small table adorned with a stack of books and a candlestick.

  “I blame you for this, Professor!” said a beefy, football jersey-clad actor.

  “Me? Why?” said a diminutive Professor Plum, wearing a baggy tweed suit with a purple bowtie and holding an unlit pipe.

  “If you hadn’t been blathering on and on at dinner, I might have heard what that idiot butler was trying to say.”

  “I beg your pardon, Colonel Mustard, but I don’t believe I was speaking out of turn. As I remember, you were diligently trying to impress Miss Scarlet with your medals and bragging about your prowess under fire.”

  “I did nothing of the sort. If you had stopped talking for just one minute, you . . .”

  “Aw, cut it out, you two.” I assumed the woman speaking was Mrs. Peacock, because she was wearing a crazy-looking hat with feathers protruding from it.

  “For pity’s sake,” she continued,
“we have a dead body in the kitchen. What difference does it make who said what to who at dinner?

  “That’s ‘whom,’” Professor Plum interrupted. “Who said what to whom.”

  “Grammar? You’re worried about grammar? There’s a murderer in this house and any one of us could be his next victim!” she shot back.

  “Just cool it, will ya? If we all stick together, nobody’s going to get iced,” said an actress I presumed to be Miss Scarlett. She had a red boa draped over her cheerleading uniform.

  “Speaking of sticking together, where are the other gentlemen and Mrs. White?” Professor Plum asked.

  Right on cue a young man in a green fedora, another in a butler’s getup, and a tall, slender girl wearing elbow-length white gloves entered from stage left.

  “Cut. Our time’s about up for today,” Mrs. Cooley called out. “Those of you who have costumes still out for alterations, don’t forget to go by the Home Ec class tomorrow during your free period. Sophie, you and Taylor better head on out to the bus. You don’t want to be late to the game. Everyone else, tidy up your area before you leave.”

  The cheerleader took off her boa, and she and the husky Colonel Mustard headed for the door.

  “The costumes and sets look great,” I told Mrs. Cooley. “Are the students going to be able to finish painting the sets, or do you need me to call in reinforcements?”

  “No. We’re in good shape,” she said. “Most of the students are coming for a work day on Saturday—they’ll get extra credit,” she said with a smile. “We should finish up most everything then. Whatever odds and ends are left we can get done next week. The only costumes we still have out for alterations are Miss Scarlett, Mrs. Peacock, and Colonel Mustard. I swear he’s shot up an inch and put on ten pounds since the first fitting!”

  “I suppose that’s a hazard when working with teenage boys,” I said. “You’re doing a wonderful job, Mrs. Cooley. I can’t thank you enough for all the time you’ve put into this.”

  “I know you and Winette are taking a lot of hours away from your own businesses to put this together, too. We’re all happy to help.”