Wed or Alive Page 7

  “One question,” Reese said, eyeing the fountain that looked as if it had been plucked from the streets of Rome, “did they base the Italian theme around the house, or did they redecorate the house to go with the wedding?”

  “Not even my clients are crazy enough to remodel a house around a wedding,” I said.

  Fern sniffled. “I hate to think I must have missed them by seconds. I was probably walking from the kitchen when they were being taken out the front door.”

  “And you didn’t hear a thing?” Reese asked.

  “Who could hear anything over the opera singer rehearsing?” Fern asked, pantomiming putting his fingers in his ears.

  “Before you say anything,” I said, as Reese turned to me, “yes, we have an opera singer to serenade the guests during dinner and, yes, I know it’s ridiculously over-the-top.”

  Reese grinned at me. “I like that you’re starting to know what I think before I say anything.”

  “I don’t care what Richard says.” Fern whispered to me. “You and the detective aren’t nausea inducing.”

  I hoped Reese hadn’t heard that. I was used to Richard’s snark, but Reese might take it personally to have someone say he induced vomiting.

  “I don’t see any gummies.” I bent down to inspect the gray paving stones of the driveway and plucked a piece of white fluff from the ground.

  “We’re assuming she had any left,” Fern said. “You know Kate loves her gummies. She might have eaten all but that red one before she was taken.”

  It was a good point. Kate munched on her gummies in proportion to the difficulty level of the wedding day, and with this wedding, I was surprised she’d had any left by noon.

  Reese pointed to two small black orbs mounted over either side of the door. “Security cameras. We’ll need to get the footage if they’re recording and it’s not just a live feed.”

  “I can ask Mrs. Hamilton’s assistant,” I said. “She knows everything house related.”

  “So no more clues?” Fern sighed.

  I held up the white scrap of feather. “Unless you think she started molting.”

  Fern inspected it from multiple angles before shaking his head. “That’s not even blonde. It’s white, and thank heavens Kate hasn’t started coloring her hair white. I’m all for trends, but why girls want to look like old ladies by dyeing their hair gray or white is beyond me.”

  “You have clients who want to go gray?” I asked, shoving the feather into my pocket along with the gummy bear.

  Fern looked over his shoulder. “I don’t like to talk about it. I made a name for myself making my clients look younger. This trend could ruin me. If one of my clients insists on doing it, I make them swear they won’t tell a soul that I do their hair. Kind of like the agreement I have with you.”

  I touched a hand to my hair, which was pulled up into a high bun. “I’ve gotten a lot better about coming in for haircuts.”

  Fern crossed his arms over his black-and-white-striped chest. “Sweetie, you know I adore you, but hair maintenance is not where you shine. When do you not have your hair up in a bun or ponytail?”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but closed it again when I realized he was right.

  “I can name a few times,” Reese said under his breath.

  Fern’s eyes widened in delight. “Well, well, well. Now this is getting interesting.” Fern sidled up close to Reese. “Annabelle tells us nothing you know.”

  “I wonder why,” Reese said.

  Fern pressed a hand to his heart. “I hope you aren’t implying that I would breathe a word to anyone.” He lowered his voice. “I am the soul of discretion.”

  Reese did not look convinced. “Mmm-hmmm.”

  Reese had good reason to be suspicious. All of DC’s best gossip passed through Fern’s upscale Georgetown hair salon, sometimes passed along by Fern but, more often than not, made up by him. It wasn’t unusual for his own gossip to circle back around and for him to have forgotten he made it up and be as shocked as anyone to hear it.

  Before I could convince Fern there were no salacious details for him to ferret out, I heard the unmistakable sounds of creaking leather and heavy footsteps. I turned to see two massive stone urns approaching us from the side of the house with lush greenery and blooms bursting from the top and black leather-clad legs poking out of the bottom.

  “It’s like the S&M version of Birnam Wood approaching,” I said as I watched Buster and Mack stagger toward us with the massive floral arrangements.

  They made it to the front door where they lowered the urns onto empty pillars flanking the entrance, then backed up to assess the look.

  “Were there always pillars on either side of the doors?” I asked, trying to remember from my many site visits.

  “We brought them,” Mack said. “They usually have topiaries.”

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s right. The ones that are twisted into tall spirals.”

  “We moved those to the doors of the pool house,” Buster said.

  I stepped closer to the floral arrangement, reaching my hand out to touch a white plume arching from the top. “There are white feathers in a lot of the arrangements for today, aren’t there?”

  “White and black,” Mack said. “To go with the masks.”

  I pulled the bit of feather from my pocket and tugged the gummy bear off of it, reminding myself to put them back in separate pockets. “Does this look like one of yours?”

  Buster picked it up from my palm. “Could be, although it looks like this bit was pulled off a larger feather.”

  Mack leaned his head closer. “It’s like the fuzzy bit of feather at the base. Where did you find it?”

  “Out here on the ground. I thought maybe it came off one of the arrangements you brought inside.”

  Buster frowned. “If it is, our setup crew has some explaining to do. We’ve been loading in through the side all day so we wouldn’t be traipsing through the house.”

  “Some of the performers have used the front door though,” Mack said. “I saw one of them carrying an armful of feathered props.”

  Mack glanced at the gummy bear in my other hand. “I hope you aren’t planning to eat that.”

  “No, it’s one of Kate’s. We found it on the floor upstairs. We thought maybe she left it as a clue.”

  Mack drew in his breath. “Like a trail.”

  “Exactly,” Fern said.

  “Did you find any more?” Buster asked.

  I shook my head. “The phone outside the front door is the last trace of her.”

  Mack put a beefy arm around my shoulders. “We can help you search.”

  “I don’t think we’ll find any more physical evidence,” Reese said. “From everything I can see, the kidnappers managed to get Kate and the bride out of here without being noticed or leaving behind much of a trace. Nothing was broken or damaged. Our only clues are two phones, one under the bed and one by the front door, and a gummy bear.”

  When he put it like that, our evidence didn’t sound so impressive. I couldn’t help feeling deflated. “So what do we do now?”

  “Now we talk to people,” he said.

  “If you have anyone reluctant to talk, we can help with that.” Buster folded his arms over his barrel chest, and I noticed his biceps bulge.

  “You don’t mean . . .?” I’d never known my Christian biker friends to intentionally hurt a fly.

  “We ask nicely and people tell us things you wouldn’t believe,” Mack said.

  I wondered if he knew their intimidating presence made people spill their guts or if he genuinely believed it was their sparkling conversational skills.

  Reese gave them both the once-over. “I may take you up on that.”

  “Anything to help get Kate back,” Mack said. “As long as we don’t break the Golden Rule or the Ten Commandments.”

  Reese gave a small shake of his head and looked at me. “Why does anything about your job surprise me?”

  “I honestly have no id
ea.”

  Chapter 11

  “So who do we interrogate first?” Fern asked as we walked back inside the house, leaving Buster and Mack to finish the front-of-the-house decor. Reese had promised to find them as soon as he had someone he wanted them to intimidate or pray over.

  “I don’t think we start with interrogation,” I said.

  We crossed the foyer as the sounds of the singing tenor wafted down the hall, and we entered the large open kitchen and casual dining area. I could see out the wall of windows that setup in the tent continued, although I no longer heard the band doing sound checks.

  “Annabelle’s right,” Reese said, leaning both hands on the white-and-gray marble kitchen countertops. “We’ll get better information if people don’t know they’re being questioned.”

  “You know,” I said, “like the time we went to the drag queen’s wake to talk to witnesses.”

  Reese drummed his fingers on the counter. “You mean the time you insisted you were at the wake to give condolences.”

  Fern elbowed me. “You still need to work on your subterfuge.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “You get what I mean.”

  “Even though she’s completely in the wrong, Annabelle is right,” Reese said. “We want our conversations to be subtle.”

  Fern adjusted his red sash. “I can be subtle.”

  Reese hesitated briefly, no doubt wondering when Fern had ever been subtle. “I think we can all agree that Kate was not the intended target, so I want to focus on all the people connected to the victim. Especially the father, since his company seems to be the reason for the kidnapping in the first place.”

  “The bride’s father is in his study,” Fern said. “At least he was before we went upstairs.”

  “Perfect,” I said, facing Reese. “You can talk to him and try to find out more about the ransom.”

  Reese tapped his pen to his lips. “I doubt he’s going to talk to me. No police, remember? I’m not supposed to be here.”

  Fern snapped his fingers and crossed the room to the French doors leading outside. He opened one and leaned his head out. “Yoo hoo! Should we leave the lobster tails defrosting on the counter?”

  I heard a shriek in the distance, then saw Richard hurrying toward us, hand waving. Fern backed up to let him into the kitchen.

  “Lobster tails?” Richard said, his eyes darting around the kitchen. “Who brought lobster tails in here? What’s going on?”

  Fern put a hand on Richard’s arm. “Good news first. There are no lobster tails defrosting. Bad news. We need you to go undercover with the detective to get information from the father of the bride.”

  Richard backed away from him. “Have you taken complete leave of your senses? What do you mean ‘go undercover’?”

  Fern crossed his arms over his black-and-white-striped shirt. “You did tell everyone Reese was your sommelier, right?”

  Richard pressed his lips together.

  “Of course.” I clapped my hands together. “Fern, you’re a genius!”

  Fern fluttered his lashes at me. “Well of course I am, sweetie.”

  “You and Reese can have the dad taste tonight’s wines. Hopefully, that will get him to open up.” I looked from Richard to Reese, not feeling encouraged by either of their expressions.

  Richard cocked one eyebrow. “You really think the bride’s father will buy it? And proceed to spill his guts?”

  “Crazier things have happened,” I said.

  “And usually to us,” Fern added.

  I took Richard’s hand. “It could help us get Kate back safely.”

  Richard looked away from me as he let out his breath. “Fine.” His eyes met Reese’s for a moment. “Let me get the wines.”

  Richard left the room and Reese pulled me into a hug, planting a kiss on the top of my head. “You are the only person on the planet who could get me to pretend to be a wine expert in love with Richard.”

  I rested my head on his chest, comforted by how solid he felt. I breathed in his scent of soap and the faintest trace of aftershave. “I know.” I wrapped my arms around him. “Thank you.”

  “While those two are off with the dad, what should we be doing?” Fern asked once I’d reluctantly pulled away from Reese.

  “I, for one, want to know more about the groom,” I said. “I may have Googled the bride’s family since they were my clients, but I actually don’t know much about the groom.”

  “Aside from the fact he’s gorgeous?” Fern pretended to fan himself with his open palm.

  “I want to know if it’s true the bride’s family doesn’t like him and why. I feel like there must be a deeper story there.”

  “What’s your plan for getting this info?” Reese asked.

  I held up a finger. “There’s one person in this house who knows all the dirt on everyone—the mother’s personal assistant. She’s been with the family for years.”

  Richard reappeared holding three bottles of wine against his chest and a wine opener in one hand. “Let’s do this before I lose my nerve.” He gave a cursory glance at Reese and strode across the kitchen in the direction of the father’s study.

  Reese met my eyes and ran a finger down the side of my face. “Be careful. There’s a possibility someone on the inside was involved in this, and we still don’t know who that is.”

  My pulse quickened at his touch. “I’ll be fine.”

  “She’s not the one I’m worried about,” Fern said to Reese, rolling his eyes in the direction of Richard.

  Richard glanced over his shoulder. “Coming, Romeo?”

  Reese winked at me, and he followed Richard out of the room.

  Fern watched them go. “Two men go into a study.” He pantomimed playing an organ. “How many will emerge?”

  “It won’t be that bad,” I said, although I wasn’t so sure I believed my own words. “They aren’t two peas in a pod, but they’ll be fine.”

  “Two peas in a pod.” Fern put a hand to his lips. “I miss the way Kate would have said it.”

  “You mean mangled?” I asked. Kate was notorious for mixing up expressions just enough to make you scratch your head and wonder if you’d gone a little crazy.

  “Don’t worry.” I squeezed his shoulder. “She’ll be back before you know it talking about two peas in a pond.”

  He began dabbing his eyes with the ends of the red scarf tied around his neck. “See? Doesn’t that sound better?”

  “If I’m going to talk to the mother’s personal assistant, why don’t you tackle the mother herself?” I asked.

  Fern fluffed his red scarf. “She’ll be a nice break from the bridesmaids.”

  “You don’t think any of those girls have it in them to coordinate a kidnapping?” I said, remembering Reese saying the kidnappers might have had inside help and we couldn’t rule out anyone. Technically, that included the bridal party.

  Fern gave me the side-eye. “I wouldn’t say they’re a particularly loyal bunch, but I can’t imagine why any of them would have the motivation. From what I can tell, they aren’t a particularly socially conscious bunch. And political? Not unless there’s an inauguration ball to attend.”

  I’d had limited contact with the bridal party so far, which was fine by me, but I agreed with Fern’s assessment. Most of the bride’s friends came from the same ritzy neighborhood or went to the same high-priced college. Kidnapping—unless it was for a surprise bachelorette party—wasn’t their style.

  Fern picked up his champagne glass and drained it. “Back to work.”

  Fern left the kitchen, and I headed down the hall to the assistant’s office, knocking on the door before cracking it.

  “You’re back,” Sherry said from across the desk where she sat in her black swivel chair. “Are you here to escape from the family or have a drink?”

  I noticed the bottle of Jameson’s still sitting on the corner of the desk. “Taking a breather from the drama.” Not entirely untrue, although most of the drama was coming from my ow
n team.

  She motioned to the chair on my side of the desk. “Take Mrs. Hamilton’s chair. That’s where she sits when we go over the week’s schedule.”

  “She stays busy, doesn’t she?” I perched on the edge of the tufted chair.

  Sherry leaned back and interlocked her hands behind her head. “Some weeks she’s busier than her husband with all her volunteer positions and board meetings. Mrs. Hamilton likes to keep a packed schedule.”

  I thought back to the planning process and how challenging it had been to schedule meetings with her. Sherry and I had spent countless hours coordinating schedules so she could attend tastings and floral showings. I’d had an easier time setting up meetings with a bride who had been a top White House executive and on twenty-four-hour call to the president’s chief of staff.

  “Why do you think that is?” I asked. “It’s not like she needs to do it.”

  Sherry eyed the whiskey. “I think the busier she is, the less she has to think about her life.”

  “I can’t drink anymore, but don’t let me stop you.” I indicated the bottle with a tip of my head.

  “Maybe a bit.” Sherry filled one of the paper cups and took a drink. “You know I never used to drink before I came here to work. Well, not much at least.”

  “I’ve had clients who’ve driven me to drink before.” I didn’t tell her the wedding industry was filled with people who drank too much because the difficult clients never stopped. “Do you think she’s trying to take her mind off her marital problems with Mr. Hamilton?”

  “That and all the problems with her children.” Sherry’s eyes went heavenward. “Of course if she spent more time at home, she might not have so many problems.”

  “Problems with her children? I thought Veronica and her brother and sister went to the best private schools around here and ran with the society crowd.”