The Bride Wore Crimson Page 17

  Turns out my day job isn’t much different than that of being maid of honor. Keep the bride calm. And smiling.

  For the most part, I’d managed that today. But now the shop was closed, the customers gone, and my feet hurt. On the downside, I’d wrestled jealous best friends, skinflint fathers, spoiled mama’s girls, and one ornery grandmother. The latter was my own. Billie could slice a tiara in half with the glare she was giving me. I’d caught her hand stitching seed pearls onto a special order gown. A definite no-no. The doctor had forbidden any handwork, as it would hamper the healing process of her wrist.

  She lifted her chin, defiance in the set of her shoulders. “If I can’t do this, Daryl Anne, you might as well put me out to pasture. I can’t sit around this shop twiddling my thumbs.” She shook her head. “Nope. I’m not allowed to do that either. I’m not allowed to do anything. I can’t use the computer, so I can’t do the bookwork. I can’t lift the gowns from the racks. I can’t log in the gowns in the storeroom, freeing up Hannah to work with shoppers. I’m just a worthless old woman without any purpose.”

  Now my heart hurt as well as my feet. My earliest memories were of Billie buried in a pile of snowy lace, stitching sequins onto a princess ball gown that seemed to have stepped from the pages of my bedtime storybook. That day I’d imagined my grammy was a fairy godmother with magic wand fingers. She could transform a plain dress into one fit for a queen. I knew then that I wanted to do the same. And so she taught me.

  I pulled her into a bear hug. “Oh, Gram, I’m sorry, darling. I know this is frustrating, but you’re the strongest woman I know. My all-time hero. The wrist needs a vacation, and you could use one, too. The expo will be over in a couple more days and—”

  “I can’t take a vacation.” She stepped back, eyeing me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “Then a night out with some of your gal pals. Isn’t it bingo night at the casino?”

  “Yes,” she conceded, the sadness filling her eyes again. “But they’ve left by now.”

  “I’ll drop you off, Billie,” Seth said, coming into alterations, no doubt drawn there by the sound of our voices. “I’m doing a wedding tonight in Tacoma. I’ll be passing right by the casino.”

  She brightened at that. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble?”

  “No trouble at all,” he assured her.

  “I need time to change my top and freshen my hair and makeup. Ten minutes tops.”

  “Perfect,” Seth grinned as she hustled off to the elevator with a new lightness in her step.

  I moved toward him, smiling, wondering what I’d done to deserve such a great, caring guy. “Thank you for that. She’s really struggling with the thought of another surgery and more time off to heal again.”

  “Yeah, I could tell. And I am going that way. In fact, Blessing”—he touched my cheek—“the offer still stands for you, if you want to tag along.”

  “I’m sorry.” As much as I wanted to accept, I couldn’t. Meg had wrangled us a visitation with Lisa Marie at the jail. “I have a meet-up with my own gal pal that can’t be canceled.”

  “Next time, then.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed me, and I admit to seriously considering canceling on Meg. Seth eased back, peering at me. “But I’ll be thinking about you all evening.”

  “I won’t be with Meg all night, you know.”

  His laugh was throaty and sexy and sent shivers of want through me. He said, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  * * *

  Last time I’d been to the jail, I was almost tossed into a cell for screaming at Sheriff Gooden. Okay, maybe it was almost an assault on a police officer. Meg saved me from incarceration, so it was probably good that she was with me now. Just in case.

  “Are you sure we have to go to the police station to see Lisa Marie? Maybe we could wait until she makes bail?” I asked.

  “Apparently she’s waiting for her mother to get home and handle that. Priscilla is bringing some big-deal legal eagle to take over the case from the court-appointed guy.”

  “What’s our hurry, then?”

  She arched a pointed brow that spoke volumes of silent reprimand. “Daryl Anne Blessing, she wants to tell us something ASAP.”

  I still didn’t want to go into the jail, but curiosity overcame my reluctance. “Okay.”

  “We won’t have much time with her,” she warned.

  “We should figure out what to ask her now, then,” I said.

  “I want to know why she took my ring.” Meg’s lips were a flat line of disapproval. “If she hadn’t, it wouldn’t be sitting in the evidence room but on my finger where it belongs. I mean, just because her engagement didn’t work out doesn’t mean she has a right to ruin others’ weddings.”

  I think my eyebrows might have disappeared into the stratosphere. “I didn’t know she’d been identified as the Weddingville thief. Were the stolen items found at her place? Did Troy tell you that?”

  Meg blinked. “Well, no, but it’s what everyone is saying.”

  “Everyone?” Exasperation spiked through me. “Gossips, you mean?”

  “I guess.” She had the decency to look ashamed of herself. Meg bit her bottom lip and blinked again. “I just assumed…”

  “I think half the town is assuming, but remember what happened when Mom was arrested. Everyone jumped to conclusions, believing that an arrest is all the proof needed to convict. Condemning her without all the facts. I’m not sure we have all the facts now either.”

  “Okay, then we’ll only ask Lisa Marie about the murder.”

  “Agreed.” I reached for the door and minutes later, we were seated in a tiny visitor room about the size of a walk-in closet, a guard standing rigid at the door.

  Truth be told, I’d rather be anywhere but here. One look at Lisa Marie convinced me that she felt the same. The bubbly, smart-mouthed young woman we knew resembled a bedraggled street person, her hair flat and matted, wearing a shapeless jumpsuit, no makeup or jewelry, and desperation her new perfume. My heart went out to her. Although I still wasn’t sure why she wanted to see us. Or me.

  “Thank you for coming.” Her voice was scratchy, her eyes puffy, as if she’d been nonstop crying.

  Keeping in mind the time limit, Meg charged ahead. “We talked to Dillon.”

  “Then you know.” Lisa Marie’s shoulders slumped as if in relief.

  I wasn’t sure how Lisa Marie had leaped to that conclusion, but Meg and I exchanged a confused glance. I shook my head. “No, we don’t.”

  “I didn’t kill that woman. Didn’t he tell you that? I had no reason.”

  “Was, ah, is Dillon trying to get back together with you?” Meg asked, leading me to wonder what this had to do with the murder.

  “God, is that what he told you?” Lisa Marie twisted her hands, emitting a sound like a small animal growl. “Yes, yes, he is. But I’m not interested. Willa did me a favor.”

  “Favor?” I asked before Meg cut off the opportunity. “I thought you and Dillon were in love.”

  She shook her head. “The only reason we started dating was because our moms are friends. They both belong to the King Sisters, you know? They’ve told us since we were kids how cool it would be if Dillon and I ended up married. I like Dillon. He’s a fun guy. And we were young, so we drank our Mom’s Kool-Aid. When he decided to become an Elvis impersonator and started playing gigs, it was exciting. It was also like an extension of my mom’s obsession. The relationship became reliable.”

  Familiar, I thought.

  “Safe,” Meg said.

  “Exactly.” Lisa Marie nodded. “After he dumped me for Willa, though, I realized I didn’t miss him all that much. Or at all, really. In fact, while Mom’s been away, I started dating this other guy, who doesn’t even like Elvis, and he’s pretty wonderful.”

  Meg pursed her lips. “Why didn’t you tell Willa that before tossing strawberries at her?”

  “Would you have told her anything if she came at you like that? She threw coffee in m
y face. And she wouldn’t stop shrieking.”

  I had to admit the coffee in the face was over the top and uncalled for. There was no denying Willa’s inflated sense of entitlement. The question was, had it gotten her killed?

  Lisa Marie twisted her hands tighter. “After I cooled down, I decided it would be safest for the coffee shop and my well-being if I just told her that I wasn’t out to destroy her wedding. Or break up her engagement. I wish now that I’d decided not to tell her in person.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I, er, I saw her go into the Flower Girl that morning. I caught up with her inside and told her that she could have Dillon. I was glad he was marrying her. I didn’t want him. Instead of making her happy, this seemed to upset her. She turned red in the face, called me a couple of names, and waved her hands. I left before she started throwing plants at me. I swear, the last I saw of her, she was still alive and standing. I didn’t have any reason to kill her.”

  My stomach sank. We only had Lisa Marie’s word that she had no motive for murder, and she could be lying. She’d just given us means and opportunity and supplied the reason for her arrest.

  Meg asked, “Did anyone see you with Willa at the flower shop?”

  “A witness, you mean?” Lisa Marie shrugged. “I didn’t notice anybody watching us. But there were a lot of shoppers in the store. If there was a witness, surely they’d have seen that I didn’t touch Willa.”

  “But if there were no witnesses, how did the police jump to you as the prime suspect?” Someone must have seen them together; otherwise the cops wouldn’t have arrested her on supposition.

  “I don’t know,” Lisa Marie said. “Maybe Velda or Jeanette told them about what happened at the coffee shop.”

  “If that was the reason you were arrested, Troy would’ve questioned Daryl Anne and me,” Meg said. “But he didn’t.”

  Lisa Marie sighed. “But if someone witnessed me and Willa arguing in the floral shop, wouldn’t the police need to tell my lawyer that?”

  I nodded. Full disclosure is a thing, right? “I think it’s a law.”

  “Well, they didn’t.”

  “They must have something connecting you to the murder, Lisa Marie, or you wouldn’t be in a cell. The DA needs actual evidence to go to trial. A witness or DNA or something else tangible.” You only need to watch an episode of Law & Order to know that. “My attorney said they found part of my name tag on the body.”

  I blanched, recalling the fisted hand rising from the flowers. So that’s what she’d been clutching.

  Meg’s eyes were as huge as saucers. “Did she rip it off you during the struggle?”

  “What struggle?” Lisa Marie frowned, her voice rising. “I told you we didn’t fight. She just started making threats about alienation of affection, and I got the hell away from her.”

  “She was hardly in a position to sue you for alienation of affection.” Meg looked indignant. “She stole Dillon from you first.”

  “I didn’t steal him back. I don’t want him back.”

  “If Willa didn’t rip the name tag from you, how did it end up with her body?” Meg said.

  “The name tag the police have is one I tossed out last week. The clasp broke. I didn’t notice that it had dropped to the floor, and I stepped on it, snapping it in two. I tossed it in the garbage at the coffee shop.”

  “Then how did it end up with Willa?” Clutched in her tiny fist?

  Lisa Marie flopped back against the chair, her head moving slightly from side to side, a lost, helpless expression on her face. “I don’t know.”

  “How would anyone even know you’d tossed it out?” Meg scrunched her face and lifted her hands toward the ceiling, as if seeking an answer from the divine. And apparently coming up with an idea. “Did you mention it to a customer at the time, or did a customer see it happen?”

  Lisa Marie sat a little straighter, grasping at this lifeline, thin as it might be. Chances were good someone had been in the shop at the time. Her business had a pretty steady stream of coffee drinkers. She said, “You think the killer took the name tag from the garbage when I wasn’t paying attention?”

  “Isn’t that possible?” I asked, knowing she didn’t stay behind the counter all the time but often visited with her customers at their tables.

  She tilted her head, considering it. “I suppose.”

  Meg said, “Who was there that day?”

  Lisa Marie groaned. “Who’s there every day? Regulars. One day runs into another. You know how that goes.”

  Meg might be able to relate to that. She practically grew up in her dad’s café with regular customers day in and day out. But I couldn’t. The bridal shop didn’t have daily repeat clientele. It was pretty easy for me to recall which customer had come in on which day.

  “Think,” I said, recalling something I’d seen on one of my favorite crime shows. “Let your mind clear and picture yourself in the coffee shop, walk yourself through your routine, then stop at the point when you step on the name tag. You feel that plastic snap beneath your shoe. Now look around the coffee shop. Who’s there?”

  Lisa Marie closed her eyes, silently following my instructions, but the door to the visitor room bumped open, startling us all, stealing the moment.

  Sheriff Gooden stood there, his scowl as dark as midnight. “Who authorized this visit?”

  Once again, Meg had to drag me out of the police station before I shamed the name of Blessing.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Last Fling was packed; the only seating left was two stools at the bar. Meg and I grabbed them. Her phone went off as we sat down. I eyed her with surprise and then realized this was another sign that she was regaining control of her life. She pulled the phone from her purse and read the screen. “It’s a text from Troy.”

  I settled on the bar stool and ordered our drinks, thinking to give her some privacy, but she said, “I texted him about Lisa Marie.”

  “Did you tell him what she told us?” We weren’t attorneys sworn to confidentiality by law, but still it felt disloyal to disclose the conversation to the people trying to pin a murder charge on her.

  “No. Although, what harm could it do? All she told us was that she’s innocent.”

  “True.”

  “I asked Troy if he, the sheriff, or the DA thought Lisa Marie was the Weddingville thief.”

  I paid for our drinks and slid hers toward her. “And you actually think he’ll tell you that?”

  “Why not, if they don’t?”

  Why not? Because it was an official police investigation. “I bet I know exactly how he responded to that. ‘Keep your nosy little nose out of my case,’ right?”

  “Actually, it was ‘pretty little nose.’” She laughed. “But I texted back that I had a victim’s right to know and that I wouldn’t tell anyone else. Not even you. So you didn’t hear this from me, okay? Promise.”

  “I swear on my daddy’s grave.”

  She leaned closer, glancing right and left, and held her phone for me to read Troy’s response: None of the still missing, stolen items were found at the coffee shop or at her apartment or her mom’s house.

  I met Meg’s gaze. She said, “You were right.”

  She deleted the message from her phone.

  “I just never pegged Lisa Marie as a thief. Burglar. Robber. Whichever it is.”

  “None of the above.” Meg chuckled.

  A tiny stone of concern seemed to lift from my heart, and I realized I believed Lisa Marie was innocent of murder, too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be worrying about her. Or thinking that there had to be something I could do to help her. But what? And then I had an idea.

  “If I’m brave enough to dish out advice, I should be strong enough to take it, right?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Meg said, scooting her stool closer to the bar and sipping her drink, a Honeymoon Sweet Irish Coffee, light on the Irish and heavy on the whipped cream. “What advice is that?”

  I’d needed something strong
er than what she was having. It was the first time I’d tried a Blue Diamond, some concoction with gin, champagne, and Curaçao, a liqueur that tasted a bit like oranges and gave the cocktail its royal hue. It was refreshing with a kick and was probably turning my tongue and gums blue. “Remember I asked Lisa Marie to close her eyes and walk through the moment when she’d stepped on the name tag, to stop and look, to see what she hadn’t noticed or noted at the time?”

  “I thought that was really clever. It might’ve worked, too, if Sheriff Gooden hadn’t butted in.”

  Just his name raised my hackles. I tamped down the irritation, concentrating on what I was saying. “I should do the same thing with the crime scene. You know, walk myself through without any emotion. Maybe I’ll recall something important. Something that might point to another suspect.”

  “You think she’s innocent?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I no longer trust my bullshit meter.” Meg lifted her thick hair off her neck. “But I still trust yours. She seemed believable. But I got the impression that Dillon thought she was going to take him back. So that bit about some new guy she’s dating kind of threw me.”

  “That’s something that can be checked out,” I said. Once Lisa Marie was bailed out of jail and we could get the man’s name. I wasn’t risking another visit to the police station. “It seems to me, at the moment, that Dillon had more reason than anyone to kill Willa.”

  Meg shook her head. “I’ve known him forever. He’s not hotheaded or violent.”

  “Anyone pushed hard enough will push back at some point. And Willa and her father were human bulldozers backing him to the edge of a cliff.” Could Dillon have snapped under the pressure and killed Willa? I kept coming back to the same stumbling block. “It would really help if we knew how she’d been murdered.”