It was pathetic how quickly I got hooked on Olivia’s show. Though I had pangs of guilt for enjoying it so much, I told myself I was viewing it all in the name of research. My butt didn’t shift so much as a hair for a solid hour after Brian left, not until my stomach growled in protest.
Reluctantly, between the fifth and sixth episodes of The Wedding Belle, I put the thing on pause and grabbed a banana and tub of yogurt for sustenance. Olivia had already fired five assistants—one per episode—and I’d lost count of how many other folks she’d dressed down behind the scenes. It was a wonder anyone kept working with her at all . . . except out of fear. It confirmed my suspicions that she hadn’t changed an iota from the girl she’d been at Hockaday. Even as an adult, she’d still bullied her way through life. I can’t imagine how such behavior could have ended anything but badly.
When my phone rang, playing a burst of AC/DC’s Highway to Hell, I knew it wasn’t Brian. So I let out an annoyed sigh and put the show on pause. My mouth full of banana, I picked up.
“Hello?” I said, though it sounded like, “Uh-oh.”
“Andy Kendricks? It’s Terra Smith.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Oh, hey,” I replied, swallowing down the mush in my mouth. “Thanks for calling me back so fast.”
“I was pretty surprised to hear from you,” she admitted. “You must know about Olivia by now.”
I guess she hadn’t heard that I’d been at Olivia’s office that morning and was the one who’d called 911. Maybe it was better not to bring it up.
“Yeah, I know. It’s all over the news,” I told her, because it was. A local celebrity being murdered in Highland Park was a big flipping deal. Heck, a missing dog in Highland Park made headlines. It was one of the richest zip codes in the country. Not exactly a cesspool of crime. I tried to choose my words carefully. “What happened to Olivia was awful.”
“It’s so bizarre. I mean, I’d just talked to her late last night, going over the to-do list for today.” Terra sighed. “We’re deep into spring weddings and June’s coming up fast. We have so much going on that things are kind of chaotic right now, as you can imagine,” she went on, and I was afraid she was going to tell me she couldn’t meet. “I’ve got the onerous task of contacting all of Olivia’s current clients to see if they want to continue with me, but a lot of them are running scared.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, wondering not for the first time what would happen to Olivia’s business. And I wondered, too, if there was more to Terra Smith than met the eye. Who used the phrase “onerous task” these days? There was definitely a brain behind the two-toned hair and bad makeup.
“I just never figured things would end up like this, not in a million years,” Terra told me, sounding frustrated. “Without Olivia steering the ship, well, there’s no Wedding Belle. I guess I’ll keep whichever clients want to stick with me if there are any.”
“There’s no one else with a stake in Olivia’s company? She didn’t have a partner?” I dared to ask.
“No,” Terra insisted. “Olivia would never have gone for that. She liked to run things herself. She did a lot of contract hiring rather than keep a big staff. She was kind of a control freak.”
Kind of?
“I want to work with you, Terra,” I said, feeling sorry for her. “I haven’t even begun to think about my wedding, and the clock is ticking. I don’t even know where to start, and it’s making me sick to my stomach,” I added, and it wasn’t a total lie.
“What date have you set?”
“Um”—the fact was, Brian and I hadn’t gotten around to that yet, so I did a bit of spur-of-the-moment fudging—“we’re thinking this fall, October maybe?”
“Ah, six months is pretty tight, but I think I can pull it off,” Terra told me, and I had a sense she was taking notes. “Anything less than six months would basically be a mad dash to the altar. Do you have ideas for a reception venue, caterer, music, flowers . . . ?”
“No,” I said, and laughed nervously. “I’m horrible, aren’t I?”
“You’re hardly horrible. Some brides are just more into this stuff than others,” Terra remarked, and I found myself warming up to her, skunk hair and all.
“So I guess we should meet soon, huh?” My heart thudded in my chest. “I feel so far behind already.”
“Are you busy right now?” Terra asked, taking me by surprise. “I’ve got a couple hours to kill before a wedding and reception later today at the Adolphus. The bride’s totally pissed that Olivia won’t be there, like she up and died on purpose.” Terra’s voice caught but she quickly regained her composure. “The police are still at the office. They can’t seem to find her computer or her iPhone, so they’ve taken a bunch of paper files, and they asked me to surrender my laptop, too, since it’s networked to Olivia’s. It’s a pain, but don’t worry. I have everything important backed up on a spare that I use for personal stuff. It’s my insurance policy,” she said. “You can’t be too careful these days.”
“That’s smart,” I told her.
“I would ask you to come to my place,” she went on, “but I’ve been staying with a relative since I moved to town. Maybe we could do a coffee shop? I work out of those a lot.”
I wasn’t sure the public atmosphere of a coffee shop would be the best place to discuss wedding plans—even fake ones—or elicit any kind of information from Terra about her dead boss. So I decided to go for broke.
“Could you come here?” I asked, my palms sweating. “My mother wants to join us so it’d probably be better if we had some privacy. Besides, I’d prefer if we kept Cissy away from hot beverages while I’m disagreeing with her about the dress and the venue and linens . . . well, everything.”
Terra chuckled. “Oh, yeah, it’s much safer to keep the mother of the bride away from burning liquids and sharp objects.”
“Give me half an hour to alert my mom and tidy up,” I said and gave her the address of my condo.
“That’ll work,” she told me and said good-bye.
I hung up and immediately dialed Mother.
“The Eagle has landed,” I said, only to hear her pregnant pause.
“What eagle?” she sputtered. “What on earth are you talking about, Andrea? You haven’t been drinking, have you?”
For Pete’s sake.
“No, I haven’t been drinking!” I told her, and I took a deep breath. “I talked to Terra Smith, Olivia’s assistant,” I said. “You know, mission accomplished.”
“Ah,” she murmured, “I see. You were being cryptic, like a spy.”
My eyes rolled involuntarily.
“Look, she’s coming over to my place in thirty minutes. If you want to play the part of the obsessive mother of the bride”—which would hardly be a stretch—“you’re welcome to join us. If not, no worries. I can handle this myself. It’s not like I’m meeting her in a dark alley.”
“Is Mr. Malone there, or are you alone?”
“Brian had to go into the office,” I said stiffly, trying to stop further images of him and perky Allie cozying up over paperwork. “He’s got to prepare all sorts of motions and stuff on Millie’s behalf so they’re ready when the police file charges.” Speaking of, I wondered if it was a good idea for Cissy to leave Millie alone so soon after being grilled by the Highland Park police. “Maybe you should stay home for Millie’s sake,” I told her, biting my tongue before I tacked on and for mine.
“Oh, the poor dear’s fast asleep,” she told me. “She’ll be out for at least an hour, maybe two.”
My voice went up right along with my pulse rate. “Mother, what did you do to her? Did you spike her tea?”
“Well, I might have given her a little something. She needed to rest, Andrea, and she wasn’t going to get it unless I helped.”
“You gave her a little of what exactly?” I asked, hoping she hadn’t ground up an Ambien, or Millie might end up sleepwalking around Highland Park in her underwear.
“She’s fine,” Cissy assured me without doling out further details. “As we speak, I’m writing her a note with my cell number in case she wakes up before I’m back.”
“I can do this alone,” I told her, but she brushed me off.
“No need,” Mother replied, “when I’m already on my way out the door. See you in a few,” she cooed before ending the call.
Oh, Lord. I hung my head and groaned. What had I done? I’d invited my mother to come talk wedding plans at my condo. I hadn’t debuted. I hadn’t pledged a sorority. But I was getting married, and she would have her say, even if this meeting was nothing but subterfuge. Terra would probably not make it out of here alive, and I had doubts I would survive the meeting either. It was akin to unleashing Frankenstein’s monster on a bunch of villagers who’d given up pitchforks for Lent.
Well, fake as the appointment might be, I didn’t want my condo looking like a mess when Mother arrived.
For the next fifteen minutes, I ran around the space, picking up random socks, shoes, books, and whatever else I found littering the kitchen and living area. Before I’d met Malone, I’d been obsessively neat. Funny how his presence made me worry less about how often I picked up and more about how often we laughed together. Once I’d tossed the detritus into the bedroom and shut the door, the place looked pretty good, definitely presentable enough for both my mother and Terra.
I even ran a brush through my still-damp hair so Terra wouldn’t have cause to tell me it looked like a rat’s nest; though something told me that Terra didn’t care as much about appearances as her dead boss.
The hum of an engine propelled me to the window, and I peered through the blinds to see Mother’s Lexus pulling into the spot belonging to my nosy neighbor, Mrs. George, a fact I reminded her of when she walked in the door.
“Oh, pooh, I’m sure she won’t mind,” Cissy said as she dropped her keys and kelly-green Birkin bag on the kitchen counter.
I guess she figured if she could take the Highland Park police chief’s spot, using my neighbor’s was no biggie. Besides, Mother and Mrs. George were practically buddies. They used to do Bible study together at Highland Park Presbyterian, and I knew Cissy had enlisted the snoop upstairs to spy on me in the past. Although it seemed that since Malone and I had gotten engaged, Mrs. George had lost interest. I guess the ring on my finger made all the difference in the world.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked and faced me with hands on hips. “Should I be the good cop or the bad cop?”
Good cop, bad cop? Did she think we were Starsky and Hutch?
“Just be yourself,” I said and heard a knock on the door. “Pretend we’re doing this for real, okay? Follow my lead, and you’ll be fine.”
“Pretend it’s for real, yes”—Cissy nodded—“I can do that.” Then she drew in a deep breath, scooping her hands up in front of her as though gathering air for her lungs before an opera debut.
Talk about a drama queen.
Oh, boy.
I went to the door and opened it to find Terra standing on the welcome mat. She had a big hobo bag slung over a shoulder and a hesitant smile on her glossy red lips.
“Sorry I’m a little slow,” she said, “but my old Honda crapped out and I had to borrow a ride.”
“It’s okay,” I told her. I hadn’t even realized she was late.
“So are you ready for me?”
I nodded. “As I’ll ever be,” I told her, and I smiled nervously. “Come on in.”