Dying on the Vine Read online

  I blew out a long breath. Leave it to Stefan to ruin a perfectly lovely reception.

  * * *

  I’d intended to go back to the office afterward, but Brody and Laurel outvoted me, suggesting instead that we’d all had enough for one day. Who was I to argue? I said goodbye, went up to my apartment, and immediately put on my favorite pair of pajamas while I boiled water for tea.

  Earl Grey or Jasmine Green? No, I was already wired enough. I grabbed a chamomile and ripped open the bag, then leaned against the granite counter and sighed. Did they still make Calgon? Because I was sure ready to have it take me away.

  I settled in with a book, but I couldn’t focus on it. How could Stefan really think that I could hurt anyone, much less Babs? I clicked on the TV and halfheartedly channel surfed for a while, catching the last half of a movie that would probably have been a whole lot better if I’d watched the first half.

  I must have dozed off at some point, because I awakened with a start when I heard the pounding on my front door. I tiptoed to the foyer and looked through the peephole.

  Cops. I peeked again and saw that it was the two police officers I’d met outside of Babs’ apartment: the one who’d taken me down to the station, Detective Ryan, and the older one, who had too many consonants in his name for me to remember. What were they doing here? And why hadn’t they called first?

  “Just a second!” I said as I frantically tried to smooth my mop of chestnut-brown bed head. I wanted to ask them to come back in twenty minutes, but I was pretty sure I already knew how that would go over.

  I swung the door open. “Hello, officers.” I tried to sound friendly, but there was no disguising the question mark in my tone: What are you doing here?

  The older policeman smirked as his eyes flicked down at my pajama pants. “Are we catching you at a bad time?”

  Oh, why had I picked the pink and purple ones with the cute cartoon owls? Were they adorable? Yes. Were they appropriate for meeting with the SFPD? Hardly.

  I could feel myself blush. “No, Detective”—I checked his nameplate on his uniform, which was little help: Blaszczyk. Darn it. I decided to go for it. Surely he’d appreciate it, like when you’re in a foreign country and you make an effort to speak the language. “Detective Blas … zec…”

  “I’m a homicide inspector, and it’s pronounced ‘Blay-chek.’” Okay, he didn’t look like he appreciated the effort.

  “Really? You don’t pronounce the z?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said with the kind of patience you usually reserve for a small child. “The z’s are silent.”

  “Wait, there are two z’s in there?” I squinted and read the nameplate again. “Wow, you don’t see that very often.”

  “Miss McKenna…,” began Detective Ryan, doubtlessly trying to save me from embarrassing myself further. It was a good call.

  I glanced up and caught him staring at me. “Please, call me Kelsey.”

  “Okay, Kelsey,” he said, a smile creeping across his lips.

  Wait, was he flirting? No, he was probably just embarrassed for me because of my owl pajamas and my inability to pronounce last names. “Can I get you some tea? Coffee?”

  Blaszczyk shook his head. “This isn’t a social visit, Ms. McKenna. We’re here on official business. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  I groaned silently. At least I hoped it was silent. I’m not always the best judge of such things. “Okay, why don’t you come in and sit down?”

  I gestured to the couch and took a seat in my favorite chair, wrapping my hands around my crossed knee in what I considered my professional listening posture, which was probably seriously undermined by the owls, but whatever.

  “We need to ask you about your relationship with Babs Norton,” said Blaszczyk.

  “I already told him everything I knew down at the station,” I said, gesturing to the younger officer.

  Ryan nodded. “You did, but some new information has come to our attention, and we wanted to follow up.”

  I took a deep breath and did my best impersonation of someone staying calm. “New information, huh? And did that happen to come from someone named Stefan Pierce?”

  “We can’t comment on that,” said Ryan. But the look on his face was comment enough. It was Stefan. I should’ve known he’d go to the police. He must have driven there straight from Margot’s house.

  “Never mind.” I waved my hand to withdraw the question. “You don’t have to tell me. He just accused me of killing Babs in front of sixty or so colleagues at the reception after the funeral.”

  The two policemen looked at each other. I could tell from the look on their faces that Stefan hadn’t mentioned our very public confrontation.

  Blaszczyk crossed his arms in front of his barrel chest. “There have been some pretty serious accusations against you, Miss McKenna.”

  “Look, I don’t know what Stefan’s beef with me is, but let me set the record straight: The thought that I could have killed Babs Norton is preposterous. I had absolutely nothing against her, and even if I did, I never could have done something like that.”

  “Be that as it may,” Blaszczyk said, “it seems like you might have left out a few details last time.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Like what?”

  “Like the fact that you didn’t tell us how you ended up with Ms. Norton’s clients in the first place.”

  “There was nothing to tell. They came to me. End of story.”

  “Why don’t you walk us through everything that happened one more time?” said Ryan.

  I recounted the whole story for them once again, making sure I went slow enough to keep all the details straight. I didn’t want them to doubt my version of events just because I said “bear claw” when I meant “cream puff.” I explained the whole situation with Haley and Christopher and assured the officers there was no contract worth killing over.

  “And where were you the night of the murder?” Blaszczyk asked.

  “We’ve already been over this!” I protested.

  “Humor us,” said Blaszczyk.

  “I was at home, watching TV.”

  “And there’s no one who can back up your story?” he asked.

  “It’s not a story! It’s the truth.” I told them I’d talked to Brody for about fifteen minutes and gave them the name of the Chinese restaurant I’d ordered takeout from in case they wanted to confirm my order of kung pao chicken. I wished I had a better alibi, but then again, I couldn’t believe I even needed one.

  Blaszczyk jotted something in his notepad and showed it to Ryan, who glanced at me and nodded. Blaszczyk stood and tucked the notepad into his back pocket. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Just like that? I mean, not that I was complaining, but I did wonder what Blaszczyk’s little note to Ryan had said.

  “In the meantime,” said Ryan, “I suggest you steer clear of Mr. Pierce.”

  “Oh, believe me, it’s my new goal in life.” I walked them to the door.

  Detective Ryan pulled a business card out of his pocket and scribbled something on the back. “If you think of anything, call me.” Blaszczyk shot him a look, and he quickly corrected himself. “Us. Call us. Either one of us. Day or night.” Did I dare hope he was on my side?

  “And in the meantime, stay out of trouble,” said Blaszczyk. His tone was more gruff than concerned. “You don’t want us to have to come back here.”

  After they left, I closed the door behind them and flipped the dead bolt into the locked position. It must have gone pretty well, as evidenced by the absence of handcuffs at the end of the conversation. Then again, all that meant was that they didn’t feel like they had enough evidence yet. It didn’t mean they wouldn’t keep digging.

  Thanks a lot, Stefan.

  I grabbed my phone and called Brody, and all it took to get him to come over was saying the magic words: “Stefan called the cops.” Half an hour later, Brody was in my kitchen, pouring us both a glass of wine.

  “Wait, slow down. S
o Stefan called the cops on you?”

  “Apparently. And since this is an active investigation, they have to take it seriously.”

  “What a jerk. I can’t believe he’d do that.”

  “Really? Because I can. I wouldn’t put anything past him after the scene he caused at the reception.”

  I munched thoughtfully on some Cheetos that I’d put out in a bowl. My refrigerator wasn’t really stocked for entertaining, but I was taught to always offer your guests a snack.

  “You’re right,” Brody said. “I guess I thought his little hissy fit would have tided him over for a day or two. Guess he didn’t get it out of his system.”

  I sighed. “I don’t know what to do. He seems to be fully committed to ruining my life instead of trying to find out what actually happened to Babs.”

  “Yeah, I agree. It’s like he’s waging a one-man anti-Kelsey campaign.”

  “He’s probably having T-shirts made.”

  Brody’s face brightened. “Oooh, I want one.”

  I opened my mouth wide in mock outrage. “Thanks a lot!”

  “Not to wear, just as a collector’s item. I’ll have one printed that says ‘Team McKenna’ if it makes you feel any better.”

  “A little. Can it have baby goats on it?”

  “Goats? Why goats?”

  “I just think they’re cute.”

  “Oh, I thought it’s because they eat everything. Which…” Brody paused to give me that up-and-down look he’d perfected so well, and I threw some Cheetos at him to express my displeasure.

  “Okay, forget the goats, you ruiner of dreams. Point is, I’ve got to do something. First he accused me in front of everybody, and then he got the police involved. I have a feeling he’s not going to let this drop.”

  Brody looked at me warily. “What exactly are you going to do, though? It seems like you’d be better off staying far away from him. Isn’t that what the detective said?”

  “I know, and I’m going to, but I still want to clear my name. I can’t stand thinking that anyone might think I had something to do with Babs’ death.”

  “I know it sucks being accused, but the police will figure it out eventually.”

  I stood up from the couch and started to pace. “I don’t know if I can wait that long. And in the meantime, Stefan could do a lot of damage. I mean, what if a potential client hears about this? It wouldn’t matter whether it’s true or not. You think they’re going to call me? And if those detectives start asking around about me, it’s just going to add fuel to the fire.”

  “You have a point,” Brody said. “It’s one thing for Stefan to say it, but it’s going to look really bad if the police are actually investigating you.”

  I was silent for a moment as I pondered my future as a person of interest. I didn’t want to wait around and hope for the best. That would be seriously bad for business, not to mention my own peace of mind. No, there was only one logical solution. “All right then, so you agree?”

  “With what?” Brody asked. “That being a murder suspect is bad for business? I said I did.”

  “No, that we should investigate!”

  “I don’t know, Kelsey. You of all people should know that getting involved in a murder investigation is a big decision.”

  “So is getting married, and people do that all the time.” I stared at Brody, my mind whirring with the possibilities. “I mean, we do have some experience in this area.”

  “Don’t you think we should leave this to the police to figure out? It’s kind of their job and all.”

  “I’m sure they’re on it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t help them out in the meantime.”

  “You’d better be careful you don’t piss them off. How would you feel if they showed up at one of your weddings and started telling people where to sit?”

  “Oh, right, like it’s that easy. Have you ever tried doing a seating chart? It’s a nightmare.”

  “So you think a seating chart is a nightmare, but a murder investigation is a piece of cake?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that we could help speed things along. And now I want cake. Thanks a lot.”

  I went to the refrigerator and got out the pink box I’d tried to hide from myself on one of the lower shelves. Inside was a beautifully decorated eight-inch cake a bakery had sent over to woo me into throwing some work their way. I’d been planning on saving it for breakfast, but I needed some white chocolate ganache filling to help me think.

  I returned with the cake and two forks and set them down on the table. Brody just stared at me.

  “What?”

  Sighing, he got up and went to the kitchen, returning with two plates and a knife. “Let me show you how adult humans eat.”

  “What? It’s not like I smushed it in your face or something.”

  Ignoring me, he sliced off two pieces, doled them out onto the plates, and handed me my individual serving complete with a napkin.

  “Anyway,” I said, sneaking in a bite mid-sentence, “it doesn’t have to be a big deal. We’ll just speed things along. We’ll ask around, see what we can find out, and pass the information on to San Francisco’s finest. I’m sure they’d appreciate the help.”

  Brody shot me a look. “Oh, yeah, cops love volunteer vigilantes.”

  “You know what I mean. They’re all understaffed. Don’t you watch the news? Tip lines and all that? We could just help point them in the right direction.”

  Brody took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “So you’re really doing this?”

  I paused and picked at a perfectly executed fondant flower. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The next morning, I hopped out of bed and got to the office early. I was eager to get going on my little extracurricular project, but first I had some business to tend to. After telling Laurel about the visit from the police—and reassuring her that I wasn’t going to be going to jail anytime soon—I settled in to clear my plate.

  Lucas Higgins had left me a message about the wedding at Higgins Estate, so I returned his call and set up a meeting for the next day. With any luck, he’d be able to fill in some of the blanks about what Babs had orchestrated for Haley and Christopher’s wedding, since Stefan was refusing to talk.

  By midafternoon, my mind was churning and my thoughts kept turning back to Babs. I had so many questions. What had happened to her? Who was responsible? And where was I even going to begin? I had just started making a list when my phone buzzed with a text from Brody:

  Are you in the office?

  I confirmed that I was.

  You with a client?

  Negatory. I told him I was just logging some expenses.

  Don’t go anywhere. I’m dropping off the DVD of the Bixby wedding and I have a surprise for you.

  Half an hour later, I heard a banging noise coming from the front door. I poked my head out of my office in time to see Brody entering with a large, rectangular something that I had yet to identify.

  “Brody, what on earth?”

  He came into my office and dropped a fresh, new whiteboard onto the floor, then dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a package of dry-erase markers.

  “What is that?” I asked. “Office supplies?”

  “What do you give the amateur sleuth who has everything?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, what?”

  He held out his arms in a presentational flourish. “A murder board!”

  “Excuse me? It just looks like a whiteboard to me.”

  “Remember that one night we watched that crime show you like? They put all the suspects up on a murder board. I thought it might help.”

  “That’s actually a really good idea. I think better when I can make lists.”

  “I know! I’m supersmart. Besides, I know last night it probably seemed like I wasn’t totally onboard with this, so I wanted to let you know that I get it.”

  “Seriously? You don’t think I’m nuts?”

 
“I didn’t say that. But I know you won’t be able to let this go until it’s resolved, and that’s one of the things I love about you.”

  “Awww, thanks. You’re the best, Brody Marx.”

  “I know. Now, where can we set it up?”

  “Not in here. I don’t want anyone thinking we’re opening a private eye firm. Oh!” I snapped my fingers. “We can put it down the hall. There’s an office down there that’s been sitting empty for months. No one ever goes down there.”

  Part of our office co-op, the room was at the back of the building and rarely stayed rented. It was too small, under-ventilated, and right next to the shared bathroom—which meant every time someone flushed, the office was filled with the racket of pipes clanging in protest.

  I poked my head out to see if anyone was around, then gave Brody the all clear.

  We carried it past the kitchen, me leading the way and Brody holding up the back end.

  “Hey, guys, whatcha doing with that whiteboard?” I was so startled to hear Laurel’s voice I nearly dropped the board.

  “Nothing!” I don’t know why I was acting so suspicious. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I mean, wasn’t that the point of the whole thing anyway? To prove that I hadn’t done anything wrong?

  She leaned over to get a better look. “What’s wrong with it? Are you throwing it out? I could use one of those in my office.”

  “No, it’s … Brody’s. He’s—” I fumbled for an explanation. I don’t know why I felt sheepish, except for the fact that I hadn’t told her yet that I was turning my attention to crime-fighting.

  “Working on a project,” Brody interjected. “I’m just going to—”

  “Use the empty office for a few days,” I said, pointing down the hall. “Just until—”

  “They finish painting in my office,” he finished.

  “Yeah,” I said, staring dumbly at her.

  She looked back and forth between us. “Oh, okay. We’re out of coffee, so I’m going to run down to the store. Anybody want anything?”

  “No!” I said, a little too loudly.

  “I’m good,” Brody said.

  “All right, then, see you in a few.” I listened as she walked down the hall, and sagged with relief when I heard the front door close behind her.