I sauntered across the hallway to rejoin the Mayflower Society. A beautiful spread of breakfast foods had been arranged as a buffet. Fruits, eggs, pancakes, bakery items, and oatmeal called my name. I spotted Doug in the center of the room, deep in conversation with his parents. Best to fill my plate first and then head over for a potentially riveting convo with my future in-laws. Wedding chatter annoyed me, and I was no fan of high society protocol. However, while stacking my plate with a delectable array of smoked salmon, cream cheese, and a bulky New York bagel, I silently hoped that my father-in-law wouldn’t be clad in a prison jumpsuit when Doug and I eventually said our ‘I dos.’
Judging by the hardly touched food on the plates of the Hollingsworths, they’d lost their appetites. Etiquette dictated that I restrain myself since they weren’t eating. But then the salty salmon aroma wafted up to my nose. No point in resisting. Besides, leaving so much tasty food on my plate would be wasteful. My parents would not approve.
The volume of their voices barely exceeded a whisper. I leaned in closer so I could follow the conversation. Buffy was saying, “Are you sure we shouldn’t just throw the syringes out? We can put them in the Dumpster behind the club.”
Doug shook his head vehemently. “That won’t work, Mother. The police will search this entire city block.”
Winston agreed. “Remember how I make my living, dear. I’m a member of the Massachusetts state bar. If I tamper with evidence, I’ll be tossed out immediately.”
Buffy wasn’t convinced. “Better to be disbarred than in prison.”
After swallowing a piece of bagel and clearing my throat, I interjected, “Sorry I wasn’t here for the whole conversation, but why are you talking about throwing out the syringes? You have a perfectly good reason to have them. There’s no need to contemplate discarding them,” I took a sip of my coffee, “unless, of course, you killed Grayson Bancroft.”
I’d meant the last sentence as a wry joke. Three pairs of eyes stared at me in stony silence. Obviously, my attempt to lighten the mood had failed. I should have known. Joviality wasn’t high on the list for Buffy and Winston.
Doug broke the hush. “You’re going to have to comply with the police’s requests. Kit’s right. Doing something rash will only make them suspect you more.”
At that moment, Detective Glass introduced herself to the Mayflower Society attendees and explained that everyone was now part of an ongoing suspicious death investigation.
Lola Valdez raised her hand and Glass acknowledged her. “We are heartbroken over Grayson’s death. However, many attendees want to know if today’s events will be allowed to continue as planned.”
The detective’s lips twitched. She’d been expecting this question. “This morning’s lecture has been cancelled since we will be conducting room searches and interviews with each of you about your whereabouts last night. However, barring any big breaks in the case, the afternoon trip to Mount Vernon will proceed as scheduled.”
A murmur broke out within the room. The chatter indicated people were annoyed, but most seemed satisfied that the excursion to George Washington’s mansion was still on.
Buffy Hollingsworth raised her hand. “Excuse me, Detective. But my future daughter-in-law and I have an important appointment with a wedding planner this morning at the Continental Club. We will need to keep that commitment.”
Had Buffy lost her mind? Her husband was about to become the prime suspect in the murder of one of the wealthiest men in the United States, and she was concerned about sealing the deal for our wedding? I clenched my fists underneath the table and shot Doug an incredulous glare.
He shook his head slowly but said nothing. Glass raised her eyebrows but kept her voice even. “I understand, ma’am. Talk to one of our officers, and we’ll see what we can do.”
Buffy made an immediate beeline for the cop standing closest to the detective. Her gesticulations indicated she was intent on keeping our appointment.
“Doug,” I hissed, “wouldn’t it make more sense if I could listen to the questions the detective asked your parents? Particularly your father.”
His features tight with resignation, Doug said, “I agree with you, but it’s best not to agitate Mother now. She’s already annoyed with the whole situation.”
“I can’t wait to see her at the murder trial,” I mumbled.
Buffy rejoined us, sporting a confident smile. “We’re all set. Let’s go, Kit. We don’t want to be late.” She pointed toward the door.
“Wait a second. Don’t you need to talk to the police?” I asked.
“Of course. Despite our station in life, I can’t expect different treatment. I’ll talk with them after our meeting.”
Clearly Buffy Hollingsworth believed the concept of ‘equality’ offered a little wiggle room. Doug pursed his lips but said nothing. In a forced voice, Winston said, “You and Kit should enjoy yourselves. I’ll be fine.”
At least Doug could provide moral support. “Be sure to stay with your father when the police search the room and ask him questions,” I said.
“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” Doug promised.
Buffy gently put her hand under my elbow and steered me toward the door. It took considerable inner fortitude to resist jerking my arm back and telling Buffy to stuff her wedding meeting where the sun doesn’t shine. Instead, I willed my fists to unclench as we headed down the hallway. Hopefully, Doug had picked up a few of my sleuthing tricks, and he’d figure out if the police considered Winston a credible suspect.
We ended up in a small business office. No surprise, Bonnie greeted us. I’d already figured this whole Mayflower Society sojourn had been one big setup to facilitate a firm plan for our wedding. I remembered my “play nice” pledge to Doug yesterday evening, although now that a murder was in the mix, I had my doubts about its lasting wisdom.
Bonnie soon passed us off to a middle-aged woman dressed in a spring crepe pantsuit. A designer scarf, which she’d twisted into a fancy knot, complemented her outfit. How did women manage to contort scarves into elaborate masterpieces? She looked like someone who had perfected at least thirty specialty knots on her vast neckwear collection. French knot, double-sided twist? Not a problem.
Our host spoke first. “My name is Tammy, and I’m an event planner at the Continental Club.” Turning to me, she added, “Congratulations on your engagement, Kit. What an exciting time.”
Almost as exciting as a dead body showing up in the upstairs library. But I stifled my inner snark and kept it simple. “Thanks, Tammy.”
She pulled out a folder with several brochures inside. “The Continental Club is one of the premiere venues for a Washington D.C. wedding. Do you have a date in mind?”
Before I could speak, Buffy answered, “A fall wedding is ideal, isn’t it? Especially with the weather around here.”
Tammy perked up. “Absolutely. Autumn is the perfect choice. It gives you all the advantages of a shoulder season but it’s not as demanding as the springtime.”
Buffy added, “Plus, the fall colors are lovely.” She turned her head in my direction. “Kit’s brown hair and coloring might look best with those hues. Blondes have the advantage in the springtime.”
Tammy listened intently. “I like your thinking, Mrs. Hollingsworth. After all, this is the bride’s day.”
I slumped in my chair, at a loss for words. Where was Meg when I needed her? Thank goodness I’d invited her along for dinner tonight.
Tammy and Buffy embarked on an extended discussion covering food and drink options, overnight accommodations for guests, string quartets, seating arrangements, chefs, and cakes. I listened halfheartedly. No one directly asked my opinion, which was fortunate, since I had none to offer. My mind wandered to other topics, namely Grayson Bancroft’s murder. The trip to Mount Vernon would be a good opportunity to talk to others who knew Grayson and could be considered suspects. The police would need to pursue top leads, but that didn’t mean Doug and I couldn’t spring into action and develop our own theories.
Buffy interrupted my contemplation. “Kit, Kit. Are you listening? Do you plan to buy a dress with a long train? That will affect the setup of the aisle for the ceremony.”
Enough was enough. I’d held my tongue and played along with the charade of a high society wedding. It wasn’t fair to Tammy, or Buffy for that matter, to believe I was interested in all the fancy trappings they were debating.
I took a deep breath. “I have no idea what type of dress I’ll wear on my wedding day. In fact, the only thing I’m certain about is marrying Doug. Nothing else matters, quite frankly.”
Two faces slack with utter astonishment stared back at me. I’d managed to silence both Tammy and Buffy, an almost impossible feat. Our most skilled CIA interrogators would have failed where I’d succeeded. They didn’t know the right pressure point.
Tammy straightened in her chair. “It’s quite normal to feel overwhelmed as a bride.” She whispered to Buffy, “I see this all the time.”
“I do feel overwhelmed, Tammy. As you must know, a man was found murdered this morning. I discovered the body.”
Tammy gasped. “I had no idea! You poor girl!” She reached across the table and gave me a shoulder hug.
I felt the tide changing in my favor. “It’s very hard to focus.” For dramatic effect, I fished a Kleenex out of my purse and dabbed my eyes. I sneaked a peek at Buffy. She was fuming.
“Perhaps we should postpone this meeting until our bride is in a more festive mood.” Tammy closed her numerous binders filled with sample menus, table decorations, and floral arrangements.
“Thank you for being so considerate.” I clasped Tammy’s hand and shook it politely.
Buffy glared. “We appreciate your time. The Continental Club remains a top choice for this wedding.” Buffy pronounced the last sentence with defiance comparable to Martin Luther nailing the Ninety-Five Theses to the church door in Wittenberg.
Buffy didn’t speak until we entered the Continental Club lobby. Then she unleashed. “Kit, I need to ask you an important question. Do you want to marry my son?”
A direct question deserved a direct answer. “I do, Mrs. Hollingsworth.”
“Then why aren’t you showing more enthusiasm about planning this wedding?” Buffy sounded more hurt than angry.
“You’re confusing the wedding planning with my excitement about marrying Doug.”
“Why aren’t you interested in both, Kit?”
“I wasn’t lying to Tammy. I’m overwhelmed.” I lowered my eyes. Surely I’d made my point of view clear.
Buffy studied me carefully. “Well, my dear, you’d better get over it.”
I leveled my gaze. “What do you mean?”
“You’re marrying a Hollingsworth. We’re in our fifth century of residence in North America. That lineage brings with it a certain station in life and participation in societal events.”
I pursed my lips. “Doug usually runs away from those types of functions. He doesn’t even like going to his department’s holiday party.”
“We all know Doug’s proclivities. But one day, he and his brothers will be expected to lead this family and uphold the Hollingsworth name.”
“What does that have to do with my wedding?”
Buffy sighed. She was the dame of the American gentry, and I was her lost cause. “It will introduce you and Doug as a couple to the people who matter, Kit.”
Buffy’s choice of words stung. I doubted we agreed on who belonged in the group of “people who matter.” I’d said enough already. It was best to end the conversation. “Mrs. Hollingsworth, I need to use my phone, so please excuse me.”
As I darted inside the adjacent room, I heard her voice behind me, “Call me Buffy, darling. We’ll chat more later!”
I had to credit Buffy with persistence. The woman didn’t take no for an answer. Thank goodness cell use was restricted inside the club. It had been a convenient excuse for escape. I whipped out my phone to text Doug.
Where are you?
My parents’ room
Which is?
401
On my way
I ran up three flights of stairs, taking two at a time. Missing my morning jog wouldn’t matter if this mystery forced me to run between floors all day long.
Located at the end of the hallway, Room 401 was right next to the stairwell. The door was wide open so I walked inside. Apparently, my timing could not have been better. Wearing gloves, a police officer held a package of Winston’s diabetic syringes. Detective Glass leaned in to inspect her colleague’s discovery.
Indulging in an old habit he couldn’t quite break, Doug was chewing on one of his fingernails. Winston stood next to him, sporting a surprisingly placid expression for a man who had just moved to the top of the suspect list for murder.
Glass pointed to the box. “Bag it. Continue to search the room for other pieces of evidence.”
Over her shoulder, she spotted me. “Well, well. The whole family is here now.” In a voice dripping with sarcasm, she asked, “How was the wedding planning?”
“We decided to table it, given the circumstances.”
Doug perked up. “My mother agreed to a postponement?”
“It was best for all involved,” I said wryly.
Winston guffawed and slapped a hand on his leg. “I would have paid a thousand dollars to be a fly on the wall.”
Doug glared at his father’s incongruous comment. Didn’t Winston care that the police had discovered what they believed was the murder weapon?
“I hate to break up this party, but I’d like to question Mr. Hollingsworth again,” said Detective Glass. She pointed to the syringes. “In light of our discovery.”
“Father, perhaps you should call an attorney?” Doug’s face had turned red faster than a traffic light on Pennsylvania Avenue.
“Hogwash. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Winston directed his response to Detective Glass. “I’d be happy to answer your questions.”
“This room is getting a little crowded. Do you mind coming downstairs with me?” she asked.
“Certainly, Detective.” Winston grabbed a pen and the pad of paper provided by the Continental Club and inserted it inside his coat pocket. At least he was smart enough to know he should take notes about the questions she asked.
“Perhaps I should join you,” said Doug.
Detective Glass replied quickly. “No need. This won’t take long.”
Winston motioned for Doug to stay put. Without protest, Doug sat in an overstuffed armchair. I went over to join him.
In a low voice, I said, “Don’t worry. The evidence is circumstantial.”
“I’m not worried about what Father will say. He’s smart. But Detective Glass has been talking to the other Mayflower Society members.”
“And …?” I pressed.
“No one despised Grayson Bancroft more than my father. He made no bones about it, Kit.”
I sat on the side of the chair and put my arm around Doug’s shoulder. “You’re wrong, Doug. Someone hated him more than your father. When we figure out who that person is, we’ll know who killed Grayson Bancroft.”