Terror in Taffeta Page 5

  “I thought you’d approve.”

  “Of course I approve! Can I come with you?”

  “Brody!”

  “What? I want to make sure you two play nice. Then I’ll leave when it’s time for you to have sex.”

  “We’re not having sex. We’re just having dinner.”

  “Which is oftentimes a precursor to sex. I know you probably don’t remember how these things work…”

  “Fine, come along with us. What do I care? I’m being held date-hostage anyway.”

  “I’m just kidding. You kids have fun.” He ducked behind a chair just in time to deflect the bottle of water I threw at him.

  CHAPTER 6

  Despite my protestations, there really weren’t any good, solid reasons not to go out with Evan. Well, okay, there was the fact that he lived in another country and there was absolutely zero chance of it going anywhere, but who says all dates have to end in a destination wedding?

  People always assume that when you’re a wedding planner you want to get married really badly, when actually, nothing could be further from the truth. It’s like if you worked at an ice cream shop. For the first month, you’d eat ice cream every day and think, Wow, I’m super lucky; I can have ice cream whenever I want. Then you’d start gaining weight and getting bored with the ice cream. You’d start to eat it less often, and after a few months, you’d find that you preferred salty snacks.

  It’s like that with weddings. You see enough of them, see what they do to people, and it dulls your appetite for weddings altogether. All those flowers and pretty dresses and lovey-dovey stuff? For me, it’s just business.

  I guess I’m a pretty terrible spokesman for my company.

  Anyway, I’d finally agreed to go out with Evan, expecting nothing more than an evening away from the villa and maybe a nice glass of wine. He picked me up at seven, and we strolled toward the center of town.

  “So how are you liking it here?” I asked.

  “Can’t complain,” he said. “Everybody’s pretty laid back, food’s great … except now that San Miguel keeps making all those ‘Top Places to Travel’ lists, everyone wants to come visit me.”

  “Hard to blame them. It really is beautiful down here,” I said as we walked through the town plaza, known to everybody as the jardín. On nights like tonight, with the weather mild and tourist season in full swing, as many as three or four mariachi bands strolled the jardín to field the constant stream of requests, like a chaotic battle of the bands where everyone plays at the same time.

  We paused for a moment to sit on one of the park benches facing La Parroquia, a three-hundred-year-old church whose spires could be seen from almost anywhere in town. Even if you couldn’t see the church, you could usually hear it: it marked the passage of time by chiming every fifteen minutes and clanging enthusiastically every hour on the hour.

  I knew we’d stopped so I could appreciate the imposing building’s Gothic architecture, but I took the opportunity to sneak a peek at my date. Mexico clearly agreed with him. He’d traded in his clean-shaven pilot look for a three-day scruff and grown his thick, brown hair out to his collar. Had it always been this wavy? It had never been long enough for me to tell.

  He caught me studying him and smiled. “I’m glad I was able to lure you away for the evening.”

  I nodded. “I’ll be honest: it’s good to get out for a while. Mrs. Abernathy’s in a total snit about not being able to leave, and everyone else is pretty stunned by Dana’s death. The mood over there is pretty intense.”

  “I’ll bet,” he said, taking my hand. “I’m sure they need some time to process everything that’s happened.”

  “Yeah, that’s for sure. Anyway, the chef was cooking them something special tonight to try to cheer them up, so I know they’re in good hands. And I could use some downtime, too. It was nice of them to invite me to stay there with them, but it’s hard not to feel like I’m always on the clock.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing you agreed to my demands,” he said, squeezing my hand playfully. “You hungry?”

  “I’m starving, actually. All I’ve eaten today is what I was able to scavenge off the brunch buffet.” We’d passed several restaurants that I’d been meaning to try, including a Thai place that I was more than a little curious about. Not that Mexico wasn’t allowed to deviate from Mexican food, but I was intrigued by the idea of slurping down pad thai and tom yum in a town known more for barbacoa and albóndigas. Besides, it was usually packed.

  “Good,” Evan said, taking my hand. “I’m having my chef prepare us something.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “Your chef? You have a chef?”

  “Well, a part-time chef. He’s amazing.”

  “That must be nice. It’s also very crafty of you.”

  “How do you mean?” Evan asked.

  “None of that awkward ‘Do you want to come back to my place?’ business after dinner.”

  Evan blushed just a little. “When you put it that way, I am awfully clever. Besides, Raúl makes the best sautéed sea scallops in the whole state of Guanajuato.”

  “Sold,” I said, my stomach growling in a way that made it impossible to feign disinterest. “You had me at ‘sautéed.’”

  I was excited to get to see Evan’s house. Throughout the historic center of town, the residences are all hidden behind tall adobe walls that come right up to the sidewalk, and it’s impossible to tell what’s behind them without an invitation. Behind the heavy wooden doors could be an opulent villa or a modest casita, a luscious garden or a tiled courtyard, each one a secret waiting to be revealed.

  As Evan turned the key in his front gate, I couldn’t wait to see what would be on the other side. It was no villa, but it was straight out of a design magazine, with beautiful antique furniture, colorful folk art, and a garden-like courtyard lit by tin luminarias. Sure, your money goes further in Mexico, even in pricey San Miguel, but he had to be making some serious cash as a private pilot.

  It felt good to be hidden away for an Abernathy-free evening. A table was already set for two in the courtyard, and as we sat down, a middle-aged man appeared with a pitcher of sangria and two chilled glasses, right on cue.

  “Thank you, Raúl,” said Evan.

  House staff. Nice.

  Evan gently clinked his glass against mine. “Here’s to our fourth date, five years later.”

  “Better late than never.” I smiled, taking a sip of my fruit-laden beverage.

  “Maybe you’ll stick around long enough for a fifth date,” Evan said.

  “No offense, but God I hope not.”

  Evan looked a little hurt. “At least wait till you taste the ceviche before you make any hasty decisions.”

  No wonder I’m such a hit with the fellas.

  “I’m sorry. This is wonderful, and I’m glad I came. I’m just anxious to get back to San Francisco. Speaking of, sorry for canceling on you today.”

  “It’s no problem. I ended up booking a charter to Mexico City at the last minute, so it’s all the same to me. Besides, it gives us a chance to catch up.”

  And catch up we did.

  Raúl brought us a seemingly never-ending parade of antojitos, leading up to the grand finale, his famous scallops, which were every bit as fabulous as I’d been led to believe. It would have been easy to lose track of time altogether, were it not for the church bells ringing in the distance.

  “So, any word on when you’re flying back?”

  “No, the police are still investigating Dana’s death, and we’ve been instructed to stay put. I guess with the break-in, they’re assuming something suspicious happened, but there’s no way any of us had anything to do with it.”

  “I don’t know, though,” Evan said, sipping his drink. “Don’t you think it sounds a little suspicious?”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Did your room get broken into?”

  “No.”

  “Did anyone else’s room get broken into?

&
nbsp; “No.”

  “Just the dead girl’s?”

  “Well. Yeah.”

  “And you can’t think of one reason the police would be suspicious?”

  “Look, Evan, I can see how it looks bad, but I know these people. They’re annoying as can be, but they’re not murderers.” I fished some fruit out of my sangria and munched on it distractedly. “Couldn’t it be a coincidence? I mean, we don’t even know the cause of death. The stupid police wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “The nerve.”

  “I know, right? I even tried flirting with one of them, and he was completely nonresponsive.”

  “That I find hard to believe,” he said, leaning across the table and kissing me softly on the mouth.

  Swoon. Okay, just because he was the most charming man I’d encountered in, oh, five years, didn’t mean I was going to chuck it all and move to Mexico, but for one heated moment, I pondered what it would be like to be a kept woman. Nah, I’d be bored with nothing to do but order around the part-time house staff. Besides, I was booked solid for the next year and a half. But damn, he made it tempting. It would be nice to be taken care of for once, rather than doing all the caretaking. Not to mention the handholding, decision-making, t-crossing and i-dotting.

  “I admit it looks suspicious, but I’m sure everything will be fine. They’ll figure out that none of us has anything to do with this mess, and we can all go back to our lives.”

  “I have selfish reasons for hoping they drag it out,” Evan said, “but I’ll see what I can find out from my friends at the station.”

  Handsome and handy to have around. My kind of man.

  After dinner—and, to be fair, more kissing—we walked to the jardín to listen to the mariachis for a bit. After a group of tourists finished nodding their heads enthusiastically to “El Jarabe Tapatío”—also known as “The Mexican Hat Dance,” also known as “the only Mexican song some people can name when approached by a mariachi”—Evan pressed some pesos into the bandleader’s hand and whispered something in his ear. They began to play a romantic ballad as Evan slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. We danced for a few minutes while passersby smiled appreciatively. I could tell what they were thinking: Just two young people in love.

  As the song finished, an older woman patted me on the arm and said something in Spanish. My Spanish wasn’t good enough to catch what she’d said, but the twinkle in her eye made me blush.

  The date had been a good one, I had to admit. San Miguel was one of the most romantic towns in Mexico, maybe even North America, but I’d never really been able to enjoy it properly before now.

  We got to the gate of the villa, and Evan kissed me again as the bells of La Parroquia chimed midnight in the distance.

  “You know,” he said, leaning in for a kiss, “one of the benefits of dating a pilot is that distance isn’t really an issue.” Just as our lips were about to touch, the heavy wooden door to the villa suddenly swung open.

  “Kelsey!” Nicole cried, oblivious to the moment she had interrupted.

  “What?! Oh! Hi. Nicole. We were just—I was just—you remember Evan?”

  “Hi, Evan. Kelsey, where have you been?” She threw her arms around me and managed to get out a wobbly “Thank God you’re here” before completely bursting into tears.

  Maybe it was a mistake to have left her here with her mother. There’s no telling what Mrs. Abernathy had said to put her in this state. I knew it had to be stressful for the young couple, being cooped up when they should have been off somewhere consummating their marriage. From the looks of it, Mrs. Abernathy had badgered the poor girl to the breaking point.

  “What’s up?” I asked, self-consciously wiping at my mouth in case my lipstick was smeared.

  Nicole had yet to regain her composure, and my eyes met Evan’s over Nicole’s shoulder.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed silently, to which Evan shrugged good-naturedly. I was eager to finish my good-night kiss in private, but that seemed unlikely, especially when Mrs. Abernathy joined us on the sidewalk.

  “Kelsey, you mustn’t leave without telling us. We’ve been looking for you for hours. Now come inside, girls, so we can stop making spectacles of ourselves for all of San Miguel.”

  I felt peevish. I wasn’t on the clock. “Evan and I were just catching up.”

  “Catch up on your own time,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “Zoe has been arrested.”

  CHAPTER 7

  After being snatched from Evan’s arms, I bid him a hasty good night and followed the Abernathys into our walled compound. Fernando, the chef who had kept us well fed throughout our stay at the villa, had thoughtfully laid out a midnight snack to fuel our middle-of-the-night summit, and the family filled me in on the events of the evening. It was starting to feel increasingly like a hostage situation, except with really good snacks.

  It was hard to follow what had happened, since everyone was trying to talk at once. Their garbled cross talk came out sounding something like: “Kelsey Zoe police tonight Nicole interrogated because Dana and Zoe was accused and handcuffs jail … do something!”

  I couldn’t follow any given sentence, but all the words were there. Zoe was in jail, which was very, very bad.

  “That’s terrible!” I said when the hubbub had finally died down long enough for me to speak. “I can’t believe they think she did this. What I don’t understand—and if you can talk one at a time, that would be super helpful—is why?”

  Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Abernathy was the first to jump in. “They wouldn’t tell us! Can you imagine?”

  Actually, I found it pretty easy to imagine, but Mrs. Abernathy wasn’t used to dealing with people who didn’t have to do her bidding.

  Mrs. Abernathy, Nicole, and Vince all stared at me, waiting for my response, but I was at a loss for words. On what grounds could they have possibly arrested Zoe? “Did they tell you anything?”

  Nicole shook her head. “It all happened so quickly. The policemen—those two who were here earlier—came by while we were having dinner. They said Zoe had to go down to the station with them. We told them there had to be some mistake, but they wouldn’t listen.”

  Mrs. Abernathy nodded in agreement with her daughter’s description of the events. “It was like they were entirely unconcerned with our feelings.”

  I leaned over the table and put my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes, trying desperately to come up with some response. I wanted to go to bed so badly. Why had I let Mrs. Abernathy bully me into staying at the villa instead of in my own private hotel room? And how had Brody managed not to get roped into all of this? He was probably hiding in his room, the traitor.

  “I’ve called the consulate,” Mrs. Abernathy continued, “but no one will be in till ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Do you need me to get you the name of a lawyer?”

  “We have a lawyer, Kelsey.” Silly me. Of course they had a lawyer. He was probably part of the house staff.

  “Getting him on the phone—now, that’s a different story. But as soon as he calls me back, I’m going to get him on the next plane down here.”

  “Well, great, sounds like you’ve got it all under control,” I said. I felt terrible that Zoe had to spend the night in jail, but I was glad she was in capable hands.

  Mrs. Abernathy looked incredulous. “Kelsey, we need your help!”

  “Me? What can I do?”

  “Get Zoe out of jail, for starters!”

  I glanced over at Nicole and Vince for support, but Nicole just looked at me expectantly while Vince stared at the floor. What superpowers did these people think I possessed? “How am I supposed to do that, exactly?”

  “You’re the wedding planner!” said Mrs. Abernathy. “I’m sure you’ll think of something!”

  Was she serious?

  “Mrs. Abernathy, I can’t do anything! If she were trapped in a wedding cake, I might be able to get her out, but this is outside of my jurisdiction!”

  “But you know these p
eople. You work down here. Surely there’s something you can do, someone you can talk to. The thought of my baby in a Mexican prison…”

  Sure. I could probably just sashay into the station and explain that there’d been a huge mistake. I’m sure they’d let her out on my say-so. This midnight ambush coupled with the sangria was making it hard to think.

  “Mrs. Abernathy, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what to tell you right now. This is a lot to process, and I’m sure we’ll all feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

  Nicole and Vince looked like they were exhausted, too, and nodded with glassy-eyed stares.

  Mrs. Abernathy sighed and slumped in her chair. “Oh, all right. There’s probably nothing we can do at this time of night anyway.”

  Finally—she’d finally said something reasonable.

  “But first thing in the morning I want you to march down to that police station and tell them they’ve made a terrible mistake. And be sure to remind them that she’s an American!”

  So much for reasonable.

  I wasn’t sure what magical power she thought I could wield over the police, but the woman was clearly used to getting her way. She didn’t see me as the wedding planner—she saw me as staff, and she assumed I would do her bidding.

  “Look, Mrs. Abernathy, I don’t think—”

  “I’m not paying you to think! Just fix this. Now, I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that she stood, kissed her other daughter good night, and vanished down the hall.

  * * *

  Whoever had painted the ceiling of my bedroom had done an impeccable job. Top-notch, really. I knew, because I’d been staring at it for most of the night. I cocked one bleary eye open to check the time on the digital clock across the room. The glowing numbers read 4:18 A.M. I had the same feeling of sleepless despair that I’d experienced at 1:23, 2:47, and 3:05.

  I’d returned to my room around one o’clock and crawled into bed, hoping the next morning I’d wake up with a clear head and a brilliant plan. But to do that, I’d have to get a good night’s sleep—and to do that I’d actually have to fall asleep.

  What was I going to do about Zoe? I didn’t want her to sit in jail, but it really was beyond my particular skill set. Too bad Brody wasn’t awake. He always had good advice. Well, okay, maybe not good advice, but he’d let me talk until I figured it out for myself. I was tempted to wake him up, but that would be mean.