The Truffle with Weddings Page 12

  Cassandra blushed and looked down. "Maxwell reached out to us before the holidays. Marcie wasn't available, so he ended up taking me to lunch."

  It didn't take much to figure out Maxwell had set his sights on one of the other editors when he'd had no luck with Marcie. I also felt sure this visit had taken place after the list came out and he’d been excluded again.

  "Something about Cassandra drew me to her." Maxwell brushed a lock of red hair off her face as he gazed down at her. "Our connection was electric."

  Kate shifted next to me, and I guessed she felt like as much of a voyeur as I did. I hoped Maxwell remembered we were still in the room.

  "Maxwell was telling us about his plan to wait until Marcie leaves the job," I said, taking a breath before making a stab in the dark. "I'm assuming the plan to scare her off with the dead roses was your idea, Cassandra?"

  She met Maxwell's eyes and her own held a look of betrayal. "You know that was your idea. I told you she wouldn't be spooked by something so silly."

  Maxwell's shoulder drooped, and he turned around to face me. "How clever of you." He stepped away from Cassandra, giving her a backward glance as he returned to the couch. "I never mentioned the roses to them."

  Pink blotches appeared on her fair cheeks. "It was harmless. Maxwell thought it would give Marcie the push she needed. She shouldn't have had that job anyway."

  "Why not?" Kate asked.

  "I was next in line for promotion. I've been working as an associate editor for three years. I know everything about the magazine. But they brought Marcie in and she's clueless. She doesn't know anything about weddings."

  Kate gave me a look. One of our constant complaints about Capital Weddings was the staff knew little about the actual ins and outs of wedding planning.

  "So Marcie stole your job, and when Maxwell came along as eager to get rid of her as you, it was easy to go along with it, right?" I asked.

  "Like I said, it was harmless. Dead roses didn't do anything but smell up the office and freak her out for a few minutes. Marcus convinced her it was nothing to worry about."

  "So you had to step it up?" Kate said. "Did you and Maxwell conspire to kill Marcie together?"

  Maxwell sat bolt upright. "Kill her? What are you talking about?"

  Cassandra shook her head so hard I thought her hair might fly off. "We never talked about killing her. That wasn't us. Besides, I ate one of those chocolates."

  "If you poisoned them, you'd know which one not to eat," I said. "Only the one Marcus ate was poisoned."

  She closed her eyes briefly as if absorbing the information. "Why would I want to kill Marcus? It's not like I want to be Marcie's assistant. I'd rather slit my own wrists than do that."

  It sounded like Cassandra really didn't like her boss. This painted quite a different picture than the one she'd given us of a devoted employee when we'd first met her.

  "You wouldn't have known that Marcie wouldn't eat the chocolates," I said. "Killing Marcus wasn't something you meant to do."

  Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. "Of course I would have known Marcie wouldn't touch those truffles. She was on a diet."

  I tried to think back to when Marcie had told us at the Capital Weddings office. Had Cassandra been there for that part of the conversation? "You knew about her diet?"

  "It's not a huge office space," she said. "No one can keep secrets for long around that place."

  That did poke a hole in my theory, along with both her and Maxwell's genuinely shocked expressions. I knew the photographer was a skilled seducer, but it was harder to fake actual shock.

  "So you're telling us you two teamed up to send the dead flowers, but you had nothing to do with the fact someone tried to knock off your boss for good?" Kate asked. "That seems hard to believe."

  "I swear," Cassandra made a criss cross over her chest. "I may have wanted her job, but I wouldn't have killed her to get it."

  Kate stared her down. "What about Marcie's broken lock? Was that part of the plan to freak her out too?"

  "No," Cassandra said. "That wasn't either of us. I don't know who did it."

  Kate made a noise in the back of her throat indicating she wasn't so sure.

  "And you wouldn't have killed to get back on the list?" I asked Maxwell.

  "Don't be absurd." Maxwell stroked his own chest hair as he spoke. "I am a lover of women. Not a killer of them."

  I kept my eyes on his, as much to avoid having to glimpse his exposed chest as to assess his honesty. I hated to admit it, but I didn't think he was lying. I also didn't think he had it in him to murder someone. Knowing Maxwell, he hadn't eliminated the chance he could get his claws into Marcie eventually.

  "You aren't going to tell Marcie are you?" Cassandra asked.

  "You're going to have to talk to the police," I said, not answering her original question. "Tell them everything you told us."

  Cassandra nodded. "I do want to help find out who killed Marcus. Like I told you earlier, he was always nice to me. Nicer than Marcie, especially when he let juicy tidbits about her slip out."

  "If you like to hear juicy gossip about bosses, you should come to the assistant happy hours," Kate said, then added quickly, “not that I ever share anything like that about my boss." She tapped a finger to her chin. "Actually, I've never had any juicy details to share until recently, but I'm hoping now that she has a hot boyfriend I'll . . ." Her words drifted off when she saw me eyeing her, and she slapped my knee. "Of course I'm kidding. My lips are sealed." She darted her eyes to Cassandra. "I'll text you the details later."

  "Was there anything else, ladies?" Maxwell stood. "I'm assuming this was all a ruse to interrogate me."

  I didn't attempt to convince him otherwise. He may be slimy, but he isn't stupid.

  "I hope this won't affect this weekend's wedding," I said. "I was being honest when I said Amelia wants to get it featured in a magazine."

  Maxwell didn't look back as he led us to the door. "I would never let anything come between me and creating beautiful images for my clients. Not even a wedding planner trying to frame me for murder."

  That wasn't comforting.

  "I wouldn't say we were trying to frame you for murder," Kate said. "You did a pretty neat job of incriminating yourself. You know what they say, if it walks like a schmuck . . ."

  Maxwell wrenched open the door and held it open for us without speaking. I flinched as he slammed it shut behind us. Not exactly the way I'd envisioned that meeting going, although I never could have anticipated a woman walking in wearing a trench coat and little else. I only hoped he was true to his word and wouldn't make our lives miserable at the wedding, although knowing divas the way I did, I couldn’t count on it.

  "I think you were right," I said as we started down the stairs. "Talking to him before the wedding wasn't the greatest idea."

  "Don't worry." Kate pulled off her heels at the first landing. "He wouldn't dare tick off a Potomac mother. Chances are he's sleeping with her."

  I laughed in spite of myself. "Thanks, Kate." I paused to wait for her. "FYI, it's 'walks like a duck' not 'walks like a schmuck'."

  Kate gave me a wicked smile. "Oh, I know."

  21

  "From the cheesiest person in town to the bubbliest," Kate said as we made our way down the corridor of The Wharf Intercontinental Hotel, the plush carpet making our walk nearly stealth.

  Amelia had checked in the day before the wedding so she could use the suite to get ready for her rehearsal dinner and not have to worry about unpacking on the wedding day. I'd made the mistake of telling her we'd check in on her once she was in her room, and I had gotten a text from the bride as soon as we’d driven away from Maxwell's studio.

  "I still find it odd he's shooting her wedding," Kate continued. "I felt sure she'd go for one of the natural light photographers.”

  "You might have been right about the mother. She was adamant about hiring him."

  Kate made a face. "Mrs. Abraham fits the Maxwell mold�
� Botoxed and bleached blond.”

  I put a finger to my lips as we approached the suite at the end of the hall. It wouldn't do to have our client overhear us refer to her as "Botoxed" even if her forehead hasn't moved in a decade.

  I rapped my knuckles on the door and was surprised when it wasn't the bride who opened it. "Fern? What are you doing here?"

  "What do you think, sweetie?" He waved us in. "Amelia decided she wanted her hair done up for the rehearsal dinner."

  His dark hair was pulled up into a high man bun, and he wore tailored white pants with a matching three-button jacket over a cherry red shirt. On anyone else I would have thought a white suit was a dangerous choice--especially since he did hair--but Fern managed to stay spotless no matter how much he snipped or how much product he spritzed. He held a hairbrush in one hand and a bottle of high-end styling product in the other. He waved the brush at us. “Nice coordination, lovelies.”

  I glanced at Kate and noticed for the first time that her blouse was lavender, which went with my purple dress. Leave it to Fern to notice something neither of us had all morning. “You know us,” I lied. “Always thinking ahead.”

  "Is she here?" Kate peered around the living room of the suite, her heels tapping on the pale wood floors.

  Fern shook his head and his bun bobbled. "She let me in then said she had to run out and get a latte before I started on her updo."

  Kate sat down onto the gray couch and leaned back against one of the cobalt-blue throw pillows. "I still think it's absurd that we're here. Why does the bride need us to watch her get ready? Won't we have enough togetherness tomorrow? We will be with her for about twelve hours."

  "I agreed to calm her down during one of her manic moments," I said. "We don't have to stay the whole time. We'll just get a little face time, make sure she doesn't have any changes to the timeline, and leave for The Hay-Adams."

  Fern leaned against a sleek, dark wood desk. "What's at The Hay-Adams? I thought the wedding was at a church and the reception was back here."

  "The groom's parents picked the rooftop of The Hay-Adams for the rehearsal dinner," Kate told him. "Annabelle thinks they were trying to outdo the bride's parents with an even better view than the Potomac River at sunset."

  "It's hard to beat the view of the White House from the Top of the Hay," I said.

  "How snarky." Fern arched a brow. "I love it. Any chance of a catfight between the families tomorrow?"

  "Nope," I said. "Both families have enough money to make all their aggression extremely passive."

  Fern poked out his lower lip. "Too bad. I haven't had any good gossip lately. At least nothing I hadn't started myself. I need something yummy to tell Leatrice when I visit her. You know how she loves my stories."

  "You're going to see her at the hospital?" I asked.

  "She got sent home." Fern swiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "The dear is apparently much better and wanted to recover at home. Sidney Allen is with her."

  I blinked away the tears of relief that welled up in my eyes. "That's great news."

  "I almost forgot. We do have something juicy for you," Kate said. "Maxwell Gray is the one who sent the dead roses to Marcie with help from Cassandra. They wanted to scare her out of the position because Cassandra wanted her job, and Maxwell wanted to get back on the list."

  “No!" Fern nearly dropped his brush then angled his head at us, tapping the bristles on his thigh. "Who's Cassandra?"

  "She works at Capital Weddings. She'd been vying for the head editor position before Marcie came along," I said. "Redhead."

  Fern's eyes narrowed. "Natural red or some burgundy crime against hair?"

  "Natural," Kate told him.

  Fern seemed satisfied with that answer. "I'm assuming she and Maxwell are . . .?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, although when talking about Maxwell that really wasn't necessary, and I told him so.

  "I don't want to be indiscreet, sweetie," he said, when we both knew indiscretion was his middle name.

  "I'm pretty sure he was using her to get back in the magazine's good graces," I said. "I feel a little sorry for her."

  "I feel sorry for anyone involved with Maxwell." Kate rubbed her arms and shivered. "He's so old."

  "Forget old," I said. "He's so cheesy. I can't believe anyone still falls for exposed chest hair and Fabio-style feathered bangs."

  "DC's a tough town for dating, Annabelle," Kate said. "Cassandra could do worse."

  I didn't see how, but I let it go. When it came to dating in DC, Kate was the expert.

  "So I assume Maxwell and this Cassandra woman are at the top of the suspect list now," Fern said. "Is anyone else on there with them?"

  I slapped my leg. "I almost forgot. Brianna was at the Capital Weddings offices when Richard dropped off the chocolates, so Reese questioned her."

  Fern took the spot next to Kate, his eyes wide, and dropped the brush and styling product onto the cushion beside him. "I'll bet she loved that."

  "It serves her right after the quotes she gave the newspaper about Richard," I said.

  Fern ping-ponged his head between us. "What quotes? What paper? Why did you not call me about all this?"

  "Brianna took it upon herself to tell the media Richard has a history of clients dying from poison," I said. "You can imagine how he reacted."

  Fern made tsk-ing noises in his throat. "I assume he’s applying for asylum in another country by now?"

  "Come to think of it, we're lucky Brianna didn't tell the paper we have a history of clients being poisoned," Kate said.

  "Don't be so sure she didn't," I said, “but the reporter would have cut it since it isn't relevant to this murder case."

  "She might not have wanted to come after you two after what happened the last time." Fern smiled and rested both hands on top of his knee.

  “I don’t know if you’ll be able to come up with anything as good as convincing the world she’s a madam,” I said.

  Fern rubbed his hands together. “Challenge accepted.”

  "It might be time for some fresh and freaky rumors, because it seems like she's gotten over any hesitation to come after us," Kate said. "After the police questioned her, she told everyone in her office she was going to ruin all of us."

  Fern pressed a hand to his heart. "Me included?"

  Kate nodded. "All of us. She thinks we're all behind the tables being turned on her and her becoming a suspect in Marcus's murder."

  "I wish I could take some credit for it, but this time I'm completely innocent," Fern said. "Do the police think she did it?"

  I sighed. "No. Reese thinks she's innocent, but not only did Brianna have opportunity, she had motive. She'd been trying to get on the list and still didn't make it this year."

  "As far as motives go, that isn't the strongest one I've heard." Fern stood and beckoned for us to follow him into the bathroom where his styling supplies were arranged on the ivory marble countertop. I stood in the doorway and admired the oval freestanding tub against the far wall and the glass shower next to it.

  "Way to burst our bubble," Kate said.

  "I'm just saying I know of a couple of people who have stronger motives." Fern patted the stool in front of the mirror and pointed at me. "You haven't touched your hair since I did it, have you?"

  "Which people?" I asked, sitting on the stool and making a point not to answer his question about my hair. "And don't you dare say Richard."

  "Really, sweetie." Fern shook his head at me as he began running his fingers through my hair. "Give me a little more credit. I meant her hairstylist and her ex-husband."

  "Her hairstylist?" Kate leaned over to examine Fern's serums and sprays arranged in a neat row, picking up one and reading the label. "The one who told you she'd been acting nervous?"

  Fern plucked the bottle from Kate's hand and squirted a white gel into his palm. "I dug a bit further and got the real story. Apparently Marcie had been getting free cuts for the past year with the promise she'd get her hairdresse
r on the ‘Best Of' list."

  "Let me guess," I said, "Marcie didn't come through."

  Fern rubbed his palms together and started working the gel through the back of my hair from the underneath. "No list. The stylist was fuming and making lots of loud threats in the salon once the magazine hit the stands."

  "Threats about killing her?" Kate asked, hopping up onto the counter to face us.

  Fern twitched one shoulder. "I don't know specifics of what was said, but let's just say you can add another name to people unhappy about the list."

  "And what's this about an ex-husband?" I asked as Fern fluffed my hair with both hands then fanned it out around my shoulders.

  "Any ex should always be suspect number one," Kate said with a serious nod. "I can't believe we didn't know she was married."

  Fern waved me up and motioned for Kate to sit on the stool. "That's why she came to DC in the first place. Following her husband's job."

  Kate rolled her eyes. "Reason five hundred I'm in no rush to get married."

  "How did you discover this?" I asked Fern, watching him apply a different product to his hands.

  He tilted his head at me. "The stylist network knows all, Annabelle." He moved his hands together briskly before running them through Kate's hair, scrunching them as he went. "From what I heard, the divorce wasn't pretty, and she ended up getting more alimony than her ex would have liked."

  "That's a pretty good motive," I said. "You don't have to pay alimony to a dead ex-wife."

  "Even more incriminating?" Fern leaned down so his face was even with Kate's as he examined her hair in the mirror. "The ex is a chef."

  "You're kidding." Kate swiveled her face to look at Fern and almost bumped his nose.

  "You know I never kid." Fern straightened up. "Gossip, yes. Joke about motives, no."

  I pulled my phone out of my bag. "I need to tell Reese. What's the name of the ex-husband?"

  Fern tapped a finger to his chin. "I think it was Symon with a 'y'."

  "And where does he work?" I asked.

  The door to the suite opened, and I could hear Amelia's high-pitched voice as she called out to tell Fern she was back.