Terror in Taffeta (28 page)

“Okay,” I said as I gathered up my bag and stood to go. “If you're not going to tell me—”

“Wait!” he pleaded, jumping up after me. “They had someone keeping tabs on her, someone who could get close to the wedding party.”

“Ooh, a spy?” asked Brody. “This is getting good.”

Suddenly, a piece of the puzzle fell into place. “Ryan, who was the spy?”

“Just … someone.”

I jumped out of my chair, propelled by a vision of Leo the actor dressed as a Mexican priest. “It was Father Villarreal, wasn't it! They wanted someone who everyone would trust, someone they'd open up to.”

Ryan didn't have to answer; his look said it all as he sank back down into his chair and rubbed the side of his head in what must have been a major Excedrin moment.

Damn.

If LionFish's security team had sent a fake priest to perform a wedding ceremony, then was it such a stretch to believe they could have killed Dana? Because, come on, who screws with a wedding? Okay, maybe that was just the wedding planner in me talking. Clearly I was taking the deception kind of personally.

I fished through my bag for a notepad and pen. “Ryan, we're going to need some names.”

He sighed, looking defeated. “Sam Fortney and Naomi Cutts.”

“Naomi Cutts? Why does that name sound familiar?” Before he had a chance to reply, I remembered. “You mean the same Naomi who was Trevor's date?”

“Yep,” Ryan said.

“But she's missing!” I exclaimed.

“She's not missing. She e-mailed me this morning.”

“But when I asked Trevor about her, he clammed up. He was acting really suspicious and we thought—”

Ryan held his hand up to stop me. “That's because she wasn't really his date. He needed someone to keep Dana away from him, and she needed a cover. I set the whole thing up.”

“Wait, so you're telling me Naomi was from LionFish?”

“Yep.”

“And she and this Sam guy were the ones who tossed Dana's room?”

“I'm sorry. I should have said something earlier. I thought maybe if I kept my mouth shut, no one would find out. But if they really did this, our financial data is going to be the least of my worries.”

Well, that was a relief. Everything was starting to make sense. LionFish was in trouble, Dana was blackmailing them, Ryan wanted to pay up, someone else wanted to shut her up, and the company had sent a security team to finish the job.

Naomi was no missing person; she was a suspect. Everything was falling into place, and I couldn't wait to go hand over her and Sam's names to the police. This was news I was going to enjoy delivering in person—even if it did mean flying back to Mexico one last time.

 

CHAPTER 28

“Taxi?” the doorman said, as we planted ourselves near the hotel's revolving doors to wait for Evan.

“God, I wish.” I smiled. “I mean, no, thank you.”

It was tempting to jump into a Yellow Cab and hop the next flight to San Francisco, but I still had one piece of business left: turning over the information Ryan had given me to Zoe and Mrs. Abernathy and washing my hands of this business once and for all.

I paced back and forth, borderline giddy, clutching the notebook containing the names of my two prime suspects. The team from LionFish had had plenty of opportunity, more than ample motive, and, well, I didn't know about the means, but I was sure someone more experienced than me could figure that one out. Mrs. Abernathy could take the information to the police or she could pass it on to her attorneys, but my work here was done.

After an excruciatingly long wait—in reality probably no more than seven or eight minutes—Evan rounded the corner in the rental car and Brody and I piled in.

“How'd it go?” Evan asked.

“It went well,” I answered. “I'll fill you in on the way back, but do you mind if we drop Brody off at the main airport first? He's going to go ahead and fly back to San Francisco.”

“Sure,” Evan said. “Does that mean you're coming back with me?”

“Yeah. Call me old-fashioned, but I want to deliver the news in person.”

We pulled up to Terminal 2, and Brody and I got out of the car.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Brody asked, pulling his luggage out of the trunk.

“Of course! Go, go. I'll be fine. I'll be right behind you, as soon as I retire from my accidental career in law enforcement.”

“Okay,” he said, scooping me up in a big hug and planting a peck on my cheek. “Let me know when you get a flight. I can pick you up from the airport.”

“You mean you haven't had enough of me yet?” I punched him playfully on the arm.

“Almost, but not quite,” he joked.

“Well, you should get a medal,” I said, handing him his camera bag. “Thanks again for everything. I really don't know what I would have done without you.”

We finished saying good-bye, and I climbed back into the car with Evan and rolled down the window. “Don't forget to bill your return flight to Mrs. Abernathy,” I called after Brody as he walked away.

“Oh, don't worry!” he exclaimed, smiling broadly. “I even booked myself in first class!”

I buckled my seat belt as we exited Lindbergh Field and headed toward the private airstrip where Evan's plane was waiting.

“You hungry?” Evan asked. “We could stop at In-N-Out Burger.”

I shrugged in response. My stomach was starting to grumble, but I wasn't eager to spend any more time with Evan than I had to.

“C'mon, it's not like the plane can leave without us.” He smiled winningly. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought he was trying to charm me into forgetting about the other night. It didn't matter. I was still miffed.

“I can wait till later,” I replied. “I want to get back to San Miguel and wrap things up.”

Evan looked hurt, but he left it at that.

After riding in silence for a bit, I flipped on the radio, trying to find something to fill the void in the conversation. Why was there nothing but Spanish-language stations? Probably because we were only fifteen miles from Tijuana. After the last couple of weeks, I was ready for a break from all things Mexican. I scowled and turned the radio back off.

“What are you thinking about?” Evan asked. He never had been comfortable with silence, even if he'd caused it himself.

“Just that I can't wait to be back in my own bed.”

He sighed, then pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall and turned off the ignition.

“Look, Kelsey, can we talk about the other night?”

“There's nothing to talk about.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest and stared out the window at a pawn shop next to a Chinese restaurant.

“I'm sorry about what I said.” He reached out to take my hand, but I refused to unfold myself.

“I don't care that you said it. I'm just upset that you seem to believe it.”

“Well, I mean, c'mon…” He wasn't exactly leaping in with a well-articulated explanation. “You're around weddings all the time. I assumed … I mean, surely you must want to get married yourself.”

I kind of wanted to smack him. Good thing we were having this conversation in a parked car and not in midair, in case I decided to act on the urge.

“Maybe,” I said, “someday, but not right now. Weddings are my job, not my
goal
. I'm not acting out some secret fantasy I doodled in my spiral notebook in eighth grade.”

“But you can understand how a guy might feel pressured, right?”

“What?” I turned in my seat to look at him. “No, I really can't.”

“It sets an impossible standard. All day long you're immersed in true love and long-term commitments and all that fairy-tale, happily-ever-after crap.”

“Well, sorry, but I can't exactly be a wedding planner without going to some weddings, and I'm not going to change careers simply because it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

He sighed and stared out the window. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

I grunted noncommittally. It wasn't that I didn't forgive him. I did.

But it didn't change anything.

He reached over and took my hand, and we sat in awkward silence for a moment. “Can't we forget that this whole thing ever happened? Believe it or not, I've really enjoyed getting to spend time with you again.”

I wanted to say yes. But that was exactly what had gotten me into this predicament: I had conveniently chosen to forget everything that had happened the last time we were together, back in San Francisco, and now the same old problems were popping up all over again.

I sighed. “I think we both know this isn't going to work out. We should have just left it alone.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and he shook his head instead.

“Besides,” I said, “let's be realistic. We live in different countries. I mean, what's the point?”

As a rebuttal, he pulled me toward him and kissed me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't still swoon a little at the feel of his lips on mine. He wound his fingers through my hair, and for a moment I forgot where I was—but then I remembered we were in the parking lot of a pawn shop and I pulled away from him, breaking the spell.

“Kelsey, we're so good together,” he murmured. “Don't you want to see where this goes?”

“Right now the only place I want this to go is to the airport,” I said impatiently. I checked the passenger mirror for smudged lipstick and wiped at my mouth with my hand.

He looked dejected as he started the car; then his face brightened momentarily.

“Hey, ever wanted to join the mile-high club?”

I turned and looked at him, scrunching up my eyebrows in bewilderment. Was he really hitting on me? I had a list of things to do, but having a midair farewell quickie wasn't one of them.

“I'm kidding,” he retracted. “I mean, unless you really wanted to…”

Any doubt I'd had about my decision evaporated. “Just drive.”

*   *   *

It was late afternoon by the time we got back to San Miguel, and I couldn't wait to tell the newlyweds and Mrs. Abernathy what I'd learned about the security team from LionFish. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure that they'd killed Dana. They'd been sent to protect the company's interests, and Dana had been in direct conflict with those interests. Even if she'd turned over the data, she still could have blabbed to someone that the company was in trouble. What better way to keep her from talking than to silence her permanently?

The only thing I couldn't figure out was, how had the real Father Villarreal played into all of this? Whatever had happened, I felt terrible about it. To some degree, Dana had been responsible for her own death, but Father Villarreal had never been anything more than an innocent bystander.

I tried calling Mrs. Abernathy and the newlyweds, but all I got was voice mails, so I decided to swing by the jail to see if I could find them there. At the very least, I could report what I'd learned to Zoe, who no doubt would be thrilled at the news. On the way, I stopped at the coffee stand near the
jardín
for a midafternoon pick-me-up. Not that I needed the caffeine—I was too excited for that—but I had to have one more
café
con leche
before I left town. Who knew when I might be back this way again?

As if in answer, my cell phone buzzed with an incoming text from Jacinda Rivera, whom I hadn't seen since that day at the church when she had practically fled after learning that Father Villarreal was dead.

Are you still in town? Have time to meet?

I did a little happy dance in spite of myself. As much as I was ready to spend some quality time apart from San Miguel, I couldn't bear the thought of missing out on a potential client, especially since I had already hit it off with the bride-to-be. I eagerly texted her back, making plans to meet a little later.

What can I say? I love my job.

I slurped down the rest of the coffee as I made my way back toward the center of town. I pondered stopping by and talking to the two detectives, Ortiz and Nolasco, but I'd had enough of them. Nope, best to leave it in the hands of Mrs. Abernathy. She could tell the lawyers, and they could take it from there. The suspects—or soon-to-be suspects—were surely back in the States by now. I had no idea how that all worked, but luckily I didn't need to. This job was officially out of my hands.

At the jail, a guard buzzed me in, and I hurried into the visitation room to see Zoe.

“You came back!” she exclaimed. “Does that mean you have good news?”

“I think I might,” I replied, sitting across from her. “So I talked to Ryan.”

She sat a little straighter in her seat and looked at me expectantly. “Yeah?”

“And I think I have a really solid lead on who killed Dana.”

Her eyes welled up at the news and she swiped at them with her right hand, the handcuffs dragging her left hand along, too. “Oh my God, Kelsey, that's amazing. Who? How? Tell me everything!”

I filled her in on what I'd learned from Ryan, and her smile grew bigger and bigger.

“Have you told Mom yet?” she asked.

“No, I called but they didn't answer, so I came straight to you.”

She bounced up and down in her chair a little. “Oh, I can't wait to tell them. Or for you to tell them. I don't care—I just want this to be over with.”

Poor Zoe. She'd gone from being a maid of honor to a murder suspect in just one day, and I could tell her incarceration had really started to wear on her. Despite the fact that Mrs. Abernathy had bullied me into this job, the reason I'd stuck with it was sitting right in front of me. I was as happy for Zoe's impending freedom as I was for my own.

“Don't worry, Zoe,” I said, reaching across the worn wooden table and taking her shackled hands in mine. “We'll get you out of here in no time.”