I rode the bus to the town square and got things up and running for the afternoon. When I spotted Reva across the way at the kettle-corn stand I asked Kelly to hold down the fort and hurried over ‘Hello, Reva. Have you got a minute?’
She plucked a couple of fingers’ worth of kettle corn from her bag and popped them in her mouth. ‘What for?’ She wore a loose pink frock and a matching kerchief knotted in her hair. I couldn’t see her eyes because of the dark sunglasses.
‘I wanted to ask you about Lisa Willoughby.’
Reva’s nose wrinkled up. ‘What’s with you anyway? I told you everything I know.’ She shoved a fistful of kettle corn into her mouth. ‘Which is nothing. How about letting the police handle things? That’s what they get paid to do.’ She pointed to my shirt. ‘You get paid to deep fry beignets, as I recall.’
My face heated up. ‘Don’t you care what happened to your colleague? Your friend?’
Reva formed a smile. ‘Lisa was no friend of mine.’
‘Mind telling me why?’
‘Because I left Reva for Lisa,’ interjected Ben, coming up behind Reva and wrapping an arm around her waist.
Reva smiled up at him.
‘You mean you two—’
Ben nodded. ‘We are now. We were before, too.’ Ben dropped his head. ‘Until I got stupid.’
‘That’s OK, sugar bear.’ Reva pecked his cheek. ‘I forgive you.’ She gave his cheek a pinch with kettle corn sticky fingers. ‘Only don’t let it happen again.’
Ben blushed. ‘No way. I’ve learned my lesson.’
I studied them both for a second, my mind racing. If they were a couple and Lisa had broken them up, wouldn’t that have given Reva a reason to want something bad to happen to Lisa? Like death, perhaps?
I bit my cheek. The problem wasn’t trying to figure out who might want Lisa Willoughby dead, the problem was trying to whittle down the vast list of people who might have wanted her dead. That list now included Reva, Ben, the janitor and his daughter, and, of course, Houston and Irwin. The only one I could definitely cross off my list was Cody Ryan, which was no big loss since he’d had no motive in the first place.
‘When was the last time you each saw Lisa?’
Ben shrugged. ‘When I got to the bakery. She was there before me.’
‘Who else was there?’
‘Markie and a couple of the assistant bakers in back. They usually come in around five or six a.m. depending on the orders going out for the day. I got in at eight.’ Ben snatched a handful of kettle corn from Reva’s bag.
‘Figures,’ Reva said. Clearly there had been no love lost between her and the dead woman.
Ben nodded. ‘Yeah, Lisa was supposed to finish the cake yesterday but she only got around to painting on those birds that morning. Typical of her to put things off to the end.’
‘Same here, timewise,’ coughed Reva, choking on a kernel of kettle corn. Ben handed her an open bottle of water and she sipped. ‘Thanks.’ She wiped her lips. ‘I got in just after eight and got to work. Like Ben said, Lisa was there then putting the finishing touches on that bird cake that had to go out first thing. The one that,’ she hesitated, ‘well, you know …’
I knew. ‘What about Mr Aronez?’
‘Who?’ They asked in unison.
‘Mr Aronez,’ I repeated. ‘He’s the daytime maintenance man at the Entronque.’
Both shrugged. ‘Never heard of him,’ answered Reva.
‘Never noticed him,’ said Ben.
Apparently Mr Aronez was right – he went about his job relatively unseen by many of the building’s occupants. There was a good chance he could have noticed Lisa Willoughby filching goods and money from shop owners without her ever paying him any attention.
‘Mr Aronez claims his daughter, Maria, was a cleaner there. He says Lisa got her fired. Claimed she was stealing things from the offices and shops.’
Reva sucked on a kernel of corn then popped it in her mouth. Her head bobbed up and down. ‘I remember that.’
‘Me, too,’ said Ben. ‘Markie had several toys stolen.’
‘Collectibles,’ corrected Reva.
Ben rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, collectibles.’
‘Do you think she was stealing?’
‘Who?’ Reva asked.
‘Maria Aronez.’
The cake artist shrugged. ‘I have no idea. If she wasn’t and got fired for it I am sorry, though.’
‘Yeah,’ added Ben. ‘Not to speak ill of the dead, but what you say doesn’t surprise me. Lisa always seemed to be getting in trouble. She couldn’t help herself.’
And maybe one time she went too far or crossed the wrong person. But who?
Ben hugged Reva. ‘If a cake ever falls on me and kills me, I hope it’s something manly, like a giant grizzly bear cake or a giant boulder. Preferably chocolate with chocolate ganache filling.’
Reva giggled.
‘Anything but a cake covered with tropical birds and flowers,’ he quipped. ‘I mean, that’s just flighty.’
Reva groaned at the horrible pun.
I didn’t. Alarms went off in my head. ‘Say that again.’
‘Huh?’ Ben scratched the side of his face.
‘About the birds.’ Birds, there was something about birds.
‘I said if I ever got killed I wouldn’t want—’
I waved impatiently. ‘Never mind.’
I went in search of Detective Highsmith but there was no sign of him. I dug my phone from my purse and dialed Aubrey’s number. ‘Answer, please, answer,’ I muttered with each ring. She did. ‘Aubrey!’ I cried. ‘Where are you? You’re at the wedding, right?’
‘I’m at the reception,’ she replied. ‘Why? What’s wrong, Maggie?’
‘I know who killed Lisa Willoughby and I have to get in that reception.’
There was a pregnant pause. ‘Wow, that’s great but, I mean, this is invitation only and I didn’t issue the invitations.’
I sighed into the phone. ‘Fine, tell me where it is. I’ll figure out the rest.’ Aubrey gave me the name of the hotel and told me the reception was being held out-of-doors in the hotel garden. I fished Highsmith’s card out of my wallet and dialed. It went straight to voicemail. I cursed the man telepathically. Probably out canoodling with darling VV.
That was OK. I’d solve this crime myself. I grabbed the Schwinn and pedaled as if my life depended on it. The wedding reception was being held at the Table Rock Hotel and Convention Center, not surprising as it was probably the biggest, flashiest and priciest place around. Aubrey had told me Cody’s family was rolling in money and Sabrina’s parents appeared to be well-heeled, too. Must be nice to be young and in love. And rich.
I handed the pink bike off to the burgundy-and-gold-liveried valet who looked at me like I was crazy. What? He’d never seen a Schwinn before? I found Detective Highsmith manning the entrance to the garden. He looked mighty fine in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. ‘Detective!’ I shouted. ‘How come you aren’t answering your phone?’
His lips barely moved. ‘I didn’t think it was important.’
‘It was me.’
He blinked once. ‘I know.’
Did this guy wake up dreaming of ways to be annoying or did it come naturally to him? ‘You’re here for the wedding?’ I inquired. It even looked like he’d put some sort of gel in his hair, giving it a wet look. Not bad. I could get used to it.
Highsmith nodded. ‘They hired me to work security.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Security? At a wedding? They’re afraid of party crashers?’ I stepped past him. ‘This is Table Rock. What kind of wedding crashers could they get? An alien or two?’ Heck, aliens could well be on the guest list.
He blocked my way. ‘Sorry, invitation only.’
‘You have to let me in,’ I said. ‘I know who killed Lisa Willoughby and I can prove it.’
Highsmith sighed. ‘Come on, Ms Miller. You always think you know who did it. You’re not Miss Marple and this is no story book crime. Go home. Leave finding Lisa Willoughby’s killer to me.’
‘But I’m telling you—’
He pressed closer and looked down his nose at me. ‘No,’ he said sternly. ‘I’m telling you. Go home.’
I opened my mouth to protest and he stuck out his hand. ‘This is a wedding, for crying out loud. A joyous occasion.’ He gave me a gentle shove toward the exit. ‘Let’s let the happy young couple enjoy the evening.’
I fumed as he guided me out of the hotel entrance. There was no sign of the Schwinn. I guess my bike wasn’t high class enough to be seen directly in front of the hotel with the Cadillacs and Mercedes. No matter. I was getting into that wedding reception and nothing was going to stop me.
There was a flagstone path along the right side of the hotel that ran beside an eight-foot-tall adobe wall. The gardens were on the opposite side. Lights spilled over and the sounds of sixties bubblegum music, laughter and conversation filled the night air. I followed the path as it wound around the corner and came to a wrought-iron door cut into the side of the wall. Bushes flanked either side of the entrance.
There was no sign of any security. I stepped toward the entrance. Ellen Collins, the officer I’d met at the Entronque the morning of Lisa’s murder was pacing back and forth on the inside. She was wearing a simple navy pantsuit, but nonetheless looked all business. I moved back into the shrubs.
I pressed my back to the wall, wondering how would I get past her. Then it came to me. I picked up a small rock and heaved it gently over the wall. A little noise would distract Collins long enough for me to get inside. After that, if anybody spotted me I’d claim I was working for the caterers. Dressed in my work clothes, no one would ever believe I was a guest of the reception.
A moment later, I heard a small crash. It sounded like the rock had hit some dinnerware. I peeked around the wall. My rock rested atop one of the banquet tables among some broken dishes. Voices were chattering and pointing in all directions. Officer Collins was surveying the damage. Maybe they’d take it for a meteorite and let it go at that.
This was my chance. I pushed open the gate and closed it silently behind me. The band hadn’t stopped playing. I recognized the orangutan-looking man – no offense to orangutans everywhere – behind the mike. It was Morris McNulty. He was belting out a tune and had an electric red guitar strapped around his neck. The big bass drum was emblazoned with silver letters bearing the name of the band, Morris and the Moonglows. So Cody had been telling the truth. I was embarrassed to think I had once thought he was a murderer.
I hated being proven wrong and it was happening all too much lately. I was determined not to let it happen again. I slinked past the table holding the wedding cake. I counted seven immaculate snow-white fondant-covered tiers. Was this Ben’s work? A spiral column of perfect pink sugar flowers gently climbed its side. I resisted the urge to pluck a petal for myself though I had skipped dinner.
There was no sign of Samantha Higgins. Sabrina Higgins, her daughter, was out on the dance floor with an older gentleman I imagined to be her father. She’d chosen a princess gown and it suited her – in more ways than one. I also saw Aubrey and Keith and only stopped myself from waving in the nick of time. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.
I continued the search for Mrs Higgins among the dozens of tables in the garden. Highsmith spotted me across the sea of people and I saw his jaw tense. He quickly stepped toward me. I dodged down a side path and suddenly found myself hopelessly lost.
A strong hand grabbed my shoulder from behind. ‘Come on, Ms Miller.’ I recognized the detective’s voice before I saw him. ‘It’s time to go home.’
I leapt from his grip. ‘No! I can’t.’ I heard his steps behind me as I ran. ‘Samantha Higgins is the killer.’
Highsmith laughed as he loped after me and pulled me to a stop. He folded his arms across his chest and curled his fingers in a gesture for me to speak. ‘OK, spill it.’
I caught my breath then said, ‘It’s the cake.’
‘The cake?’
I nodded. ‘The wedding cake that Lisa Willoughby was taking to the vow renewal on the morning she was killed,’ I explained. ‘It was the birds.’
Highsmith frowned. ‘First you tell me it’s the cake and now you tell me it’s the birds. Which is it, Ms Miller?’
‘Both,’ I said. ‘It’s the birds and it’s the cake. ‘The cake the Robinsons ordered for their vow renewal had birds on it.’
‘Who?’
‘The Robinsons,’ I said with growing exasperation. ‘They own the bird supply store on Smile and Main – Robinsons’ Nest.’
He looked at me blankly.
‘It was their cake that Lisa was supposed to be delivering when she was killed.’
‘Yeah,’ Highsmith answered. ‘I interviewed them myself. They were surrounded by guests and family. There’s no way they had anything to do with Lisa Willoughby’s death.’
‘I know that.’ I waved my hand at him, unable to hide my annoyance. ‘But their cake held the key to the murder. The identity of the murderer.’
‘I’m listening,’ Highsmith replied. He rubbed the band of his watch. ‘Though why I don’t know.’
I chose to ignore that remark. ‘The Robinsons’ cake was decorated with birds.’
‘You’re repeating yourself, Ms Miller.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have to if you’d just—’ I stopped myself before I said something I might come to regret. Like a night behind bars for insulting an officer of the law. I took a breath and started slowly. ‘Reva and Ben from the bakery told me that Lisa only added the birds at the last minute the morning she was killed.’
‘So?’ Highsmith looked bored.
‘So,’ I answered smugly, ‘Mrs Higgins told me that Lisa was found under a bird cake.’ I waited for the detective to congratulate me but it looked like it was going to be a long wait. ‘How did she know?’ I cocked my brows at him. ‘It wasn’t in the newspaper. And the cake was such a mess that you could hardly tell by looking at the cake anyway. I know, I was there. That cake was a trail of cake and frosting and one big pile of mush on the bottom of the stairwell.’
‘You forget – I saw it too.’
‘OK, then. How did she know?’
Highsmith pulled at his chin. ‘I don’t know, Ms Miller. Your theory’s got a lot of holes in it.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like lack of motive for one. Like maybe she heard from someone at the bakery what the cake was going to look like. Like maybe she knows the Robinsons and they told her.’
I had no answer to any of that so I asked him a question. ‘Where is Mrs Higgins? Have you seen her tonight?’
‘Of course I’ve seen her. She and her husband toasted the bride not half an hour ago.’ The detective sighed. ‘Why don’t you head home? Get some rest. I’ll talk to Mrs Higgins again if it makes you feel better.’
If he wasn’t bigger, stronger and an officer of the law I’d have kicked him in the shin for his patronizing tone. But since he was all of the above … I ran down a small path.
‘Hey!’ Highsmith shouted and chased.
I dodged through a thorny hedge, wincing in pain as the sharp sticks scratched my arms and legs. I stumbled out the other side into a modest clearing, lit by nothing but the stars and the moon. A small adobe brick wishing well sat in the center of a circle of small black stones.
And a figure in a slinky white gown and red heels lay face down beside the wishing well.