Bodice of Evidence Read online

  “You are absolutely right, Officer,” I said, and put Felicity’s arm through Mom’s and waved for her to take Mom on down the street. “How much is the ticket?” I asked, and pulled my tan wallet out of my own black leather crossbody bag. “I’ll pay it right now.”

  “You’ll have to go down to the county courthouse to make a payment,” he said, and barely looked up. “I’m not authorized to take payments.”

  “Oh, come on, what is it? A twenty-dollar fine?” I riffled through my bills.

  “It’s a one-hundred-dollar fine.” He ripped the ticket off his pad and placed it under the passenger-side wiper blade. “Keep your money,” he said as I dug out the bills needed. “I don’t take bribes.”

  “I’m not trying to bribe you,” I said, and drew my eyebrows together in confusion. “I want to pay the meter and the ticket.”

  “Go down to the courthouse,” he said as he walked over to his motorcycle. “There’s a cashier there.” He got on and rode off without a look back.

  I took the ticket off the car and stuffed it in my purse along with my wallet. Mom didn’t need to see the ticket or know how much it was going to cost.

  “I can’t believe he gave me a ticket. He saw me coming. The meter had just flipped and he completely ignored my attempts to pay it.” Mom’s full face was a little pink around the edges and she was hopping mad.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said, and put my arms through Felicity’s and Mom’s. “Come on. Let’s take a break. There’s a sweet little coffee and pie shop three blocks from here.” I pulled them in the right direction.

  “I can’t eat,” Felicity said. “And we’re going to be late for the appointment at Bridal Dreams.”

  “You both need a break. In fact, I need a break. Let’s go to the coffee shop and concentrate on pie and warm foamy drinks. Things will look better once you’ve stopped and rested.”

  “I never thought it would be this hard to find the perfect dress,” Felicity said as I pulled them down the street.

  “A few minutes and some coffee will help that,” I said. “Right, Mom?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Mom said, and fanned her face. “I do need a break. That ticket got me all worked up.”

  We walked into the crowded coffee and pie shop. It was teeming with Chicago urbanites. You could tell most of the clientele were local. Their clothes were casual but put together and the women all looked as if they came straight from a salon blowout.

  I tugged at my flyaway red hair in a poor attempt to stop the riot of curls. “There’s a park across the street. Why don’t you two go and find us a seat while I get the beverages.”

  “Good idea,” Mom said, and walked Felicity out the door. “I hate long lines. Ridiculous. They need to hire more people to prevent the lines from being longer than three deep.”

  Being a small-business owner, Mom had very distinct opinions on how to treat customers. I watched as Felicity and Mom moved across the street. Then I faced forward and shuffled in line. Even though it was autumn, there were so many bodies in the small coffee shop that it was warm enough to need air-conditioning, or at the very least a fan. I perspired as I took tiny steps forward toward the goal of coffee and pastries. I fanned my face and decided it wouldn’t hurt anyone if I got three iced coffees and a half-dozen mini blueberry scones.

  The scent of fresh-ground coffee and warm berry pie filled the air. People talked, chatting and laughing while we inched closer to the counter. After what might have been a twenty-minute wait in line, I got what I needed. I headed toward the park across the street with a paper cup holder in one hand and a wax paper baggie full of scones in the other.

  Mom and Felicity sat talking on a bench next to a small fountain as I crossed the street toward them.

  “I know you want the fairy-tale dress,” Mom said. “But you really need to be more realistic. Think about the venue and the weather on your date.”

  “I haven’t picked a venue yet.” Felicity was near tears. “I know you are supposed to have that first, but it takes so much work to decide on a venue. Is it big enough? Is it inside or outside? If it’s outside, what happens if it rains or snows or we have severe weather?”

  “What kind of severe weather are you worried about?” I asked as I handed out ice coffees.

  “I don’t know.” Felicity wrapped her hands around the cool cup. “Freak blizzards, the odd hailstorm, or a hurricane. It can all happen.”

  “Then just plan to have an indoor wedding.” Mom took a scone with her coffee. “St. Agnes has a nice reception hall.”

  Felicity actually shuddered at the thought. “No.” She was firm. “I don’t want streamers and a tile floor. My wedding should be elegant, not like a bad school prom.”

  “Fine. I have terrible taste. Heaven help the poor girl who gets married in a church like her mother.”

  “Mom . . .” Felicity said. “You know I appreciate you trying to help.”

  “Sure you do.” Mom took the coffee from me. “That’s why you’ve pooh-poohed all of my suggestions.”

  “Mom,” I said, and opened the wax paper baggie. “Why don’t you have a scone? They’re blueberry, your favorite.”

  “I don’t need a scone,” she said as she reached in and pulled out the top one. “Let Pepper find you the perfect venue if the place where your mother had her wedding reception isn’t good enough,” Mom said, and saluted me with her drink. “She’s your maid of honor. Plus she has an event-planning business.”

  “Not event planning, Mom,” I corrected her, and sat down on the bench next to Felicity. “I plan wedding proposals and engagement parties.”

  “See, no matter what I say, I’m wrong,” she grumbled. “You two realize that I have learned a thing or two in my old age.”

  “Mom.” I patted her knee. “We do appreciate you. But right now this is about Felicity.”

  “Exactly,” Mom said. “There’s no reason you can’t get your sister the perfect venue for her big day.”

  “Of course, I could do whatever Felicity wants,” I said. “I have connections.” Okay, so I had one connection. The brother of the last guy whose proposal I planned had a friend who worked in the Ritz-Carlton hotel in downtown Chicago. Then there was the cousin of the sister of another guy who worked at the Doubletree in Deerfield.

  “Oh, would you?” Felicity turned her big blue gaze on me. “I didn’t want to ask because proposal planning is your business and I think it’s awful to ask someone to do something for you for free when it’s their profession. It’s like asking a lawyer to look at contracts pro bono.”

  “Felicity, you’re my only sister,” I said. “I don’t mind helping you. Later tonight we can schedule a time to discuss what kind of venue you’re looking for.”

  “Oh, my gosh, that would be perfect.” Felicity seemed to come back to life. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” I pulled out my cell phone and noted the time. A quick double check told me we were fifteen minutes late to the final appointment. “I’m going to make a quick phone call and let them know we’re running a bit late, but we’ll be there. I’m certain this happens all the time.”

  Felicity bit her bottom lip and started to look worried again.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Seriously, you’re the customer and the customer is always right. Besides, they want you in a shopping frame of mind, not a frustrated state of mind.”

  “Okay,” Felicity relaxed.

  The phone picked up but went to voice mail. I figured they were on the phone so I left a short message explaining we were on the way. Task done, I hung up the phone. “Okay, how are you feeling? Are you up to making the last dress appointment?”

  “Yes.” Felicity finished off her coffee and finally smiled. “I’m much better now.”

  “Good,” I said, and stuffed the remaining scones in Mom’s big red tote. It was sat
chel shaped with three zippered pockets to hold just about anything anyone needed to carry, including food, a water bottle, and a selection of first-aid sundries, sunglasses, and an SPF 50 sunscreen. Mom should have been a Boy Scout. She was always prepared as long as someone else carried the tote.

  “Let’s walk,” Mom said. “I’ve already gotten a ticket and paid for three more hours of parking.”

  We agreed that the weather was perfect and chatted as we walked the few blocks to the shop. The boutique was a tiny place tucked in between two tall brownstone buildings in an area of Chicago that was in the midst of gentrification. About three quarters of a mile off Michigan Avenue, the shop sat between slummy areas and high-end boutiques.

  “Let me go in first and do the talking,” I said as I pulled the glass door open and the bells fastened to it announced our arrival.

  “Wait, I thought you said it wouldn’t matter if I was late,” Felicity said with some alarm in her voice.

  “You’re just fine.” Mom patted Felicity’s shoulder. “Let your sister do the talking. She’s had more practice at arriving late.”

  Thanks, Mom.

  I put on my best event-planner face and stepped into the cool quiet of the salon. If nothing else, I would use my professional calm to soothe any ruffled feathers about our being late. The door slammed behind us as we entered.

  “Weird, they must have a window open or something,” I muttered, surprised by the wind tunnel effect. “Hello?”

  Soft music piped in the space along with the scent of rose and a hint of cinnamon. The waiting room was empty. I went up to the elegant mahogany desk that sat in the far corner. Two gorgeous portraits of brides flanked the wall behind it. A quick peek around the desk told me that the person who usually sat there liked elegant things. The desk had an inkblot pad and sterling silver accessories. A bouquet of fall blooms filled a rose glass vase.

  “Hello?” I called again and reached for the silver bell that rested on the desk beside the flowers. I rang the bell. Its tinkling sound echoed through the quiet. “Eva? Hello?”

  Eva was the woman we had the appointment with. Most of these salons had two to four consultants working. I figured it must be their break time because the place seemed to be deserted.

  “Do you think they gave up and went home?” Felicity asked. She and Mom had taken seats on the twin fainting couches upholstered in pale pink and white stripes.

  “Of course not, the door was unlocked and look.” Mom turned and pointed at the entrance. “The Open sign is still facing the street.”

  “The front door slammed. Maybe they’re in the back taking a break with the door open and don’t realize we’re here,” I said. “Sit tight. I’ll go check it out.” I walked down the adjacent hallway. “Hello? Eva? It’s the Pomeroy party. We’re sorry we’re late.”

  My words echoed strangely down the silk-papered hall walls. There were four doors. The first door on my right was open and showed a large styling room with a three-way mirror, racks for dresses, and carefully placed seats for the bride’s entourage. “Hello?”

  The room was empty. I walked down to the next door. This one was on the left and closed. I knocked as I reached for the doorknob. “Eva?”

  I opened the door and it was a mirror image of the first room. Two sample gowns hung on the rack near the mirror but it too was empty.

  Frowning, I continued down the hall. The next room on the right was also empty. “Hello? Anyone? It’s Pepper Pomeroy. I’m here with my sister and my mother. We’re sorry we’re a little late.” I frowned when the hall emptied into a final room with some cabinets, a refrigerator, a sink, a microwave, and a table and chair set.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Startled I jumped and glanced over my shoulder to see that my mother had come down the hall behind me, Felicity behind her. My heart raced and I put my hand on my chest. “Goodness, Mom, you scared me.”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t mean to scare you.” Mom put her hands on her hips. “What is going on here? Where is everyone?”

  “I hope they didn’t leave because we’re late.” Felicity hugged her pale blue sweater closer around her waist.

  “Ridiculous,” Mom said with a shake of her head. “What kind of business is this that no one is here and they have customers with appointment times.” She went over to the cabinets and opened them.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  “Evidence,” Mom griped.

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “That they are irresponsible owners.”

  “Mom, stop,” Felicity said, and tugged on Mom’s arm. “What if they come back here and find you going through their cabinets?”

  “Well, then they’ll know they shouldn’t abandon the shop, now won’t they?”

  It was about that time that I noticed the back door was ajar. “Maybe the receptionist has stepped outside for a smoke.” I pushed the door open and scanned the back alley for anyone who might look like they worked in a bridal shop. At first glance I didn’t see anyone—only a typical big metal Dumpster. “Hello?”

  I stepped out to see if maybe they were hiding on the opposite side of the Dumpster. After all, there was a law about smoking within fifteen feet of an entrance. “Eva?”

  That’s when I saw her.

  Felicity screamed behind me.

  “Oh, poor thing,” Mom said.

  An older woman in a white blouse and black skirt—the typical uniform of a bridal shop employee—sat with her back against the side of the Dumpster. She had one shoe on and one shoe off. Her legs were splayed wide. Her head was tilted to one side and the ends of her champagne blond hair swayed in the slight breeze. Her mouth hung open and her lips were tinged blue.

  There was a large knife handle sticking out of her chest.

  “Call 911,” I said, and took a final look up and down the alley, but it was empty. I stepped toward the woman.

  “Pepper, don’t!” Felicity insisted.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Mom ordered with her cell phone near her ear. “Yes, hello, I need to report a murder. At least I’m pretty sure it’s a murder.”

  I forced myself to pick up the woman’s wrist and feel for a pulse. The heat of her skin startled me. Maybe she was still alive, although how I didn’t know. Her eyes were vacant. As best I could tell, she didn’t have a pulse. I reached into my purse and pulled out a small mirror compact and held the mirror close to her nose and mouth. Nothing.

  “She’s dead,” I said, and sent my mom a troubled look as she relayed the news to the operator.

  Felicity stumbled back against the brick wall of the building. Her delicate hands covered her mouth and her eyes were wide. I got up and made a beeline to my sister.

  I managed to catch her as she passed out.

  Chapter 2

  “What happened?” asked a young officer in a blue uniform with the square-shaped chest of a man wearing a bulletproof vest. He had a gun on his hip and a notebook in his hands.

  “We had an appointment—” I said.

  “There was no one in the shop,” Mom interrupted. “Who leaves a store without any employees in this neighborhood? I mean, seriously, who does that?”

  “We’re going to find out, ma’am,” the police officer said. I noticed he had nice strong hands, broad shoulders, and short dark blond hair. He turned his bright blue eyes on me. “When did you arrive?”

  “Our appointment was at four, but we were running about fifteen minutes late,” I told him.

  “So, four fifteen P.M.”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “When we got here, there was no one inside.”

  “Did you find that odd?”

  “Of course, it’s odd,” Mom interjected again. “What kind of question is that?”

  “It’s just a question,” the officer said, and turned back to me. I admired how calm h
e was in comparison to my mother, who hugged Felicity and gave him the squint eye. “You arrived at four fifteen for a four o’clock appointment. Then what happened?”

  “Mom and Felicity sat down on the couches while I rang the desk bell to let the store owners know we were there.”

  A commotion from inside the shop caught my attention. A small, thin woman who couldn’t have been much older than me pushed through the police. Her brown eyes glittered with concern, and in her hands was a forgotten paper tray with three cups of coffee from the coffee shop. “What is going on? Where’s my mom? Why are the police here?”

  “There’s been an incident,” Detective Murphy’s voice answered. I turned and spotted my favorite homicide detective coming down the alley toward us.

  “An incident?” The girl clutched the tray in front of her. “What kind of incident? I was only gone for a few minutes.” We all knew the moment she spotted the feet sticking out from the side of the Dumpster. Her face went as white as a sheet and she dropped the tray. The coffee cups hit the concrete alley, causing the lids to pop off and coffee to splatter everywhere.

  I took a quick step back to avoid the splash.

  She took off toward the body. “No!”

  A policeman stepped between her and the Dumpster.

  “No, no, no . . . Mom?” she screamed as he pulled her away.

  “Get her inside,” Detective Murphy ordered. The young, burly cop nodded and tugged the frantic woman into the building.

  An ambulance pulled up to the mouth of the alley. Two medics got out, opened the back of the vehicle, and pulled out a stretcher.

  “Pepper.” Detective Murphy drew my attention. “Take your family inside.”

  “Yes, of course.” I nodded, comforted by his sincere brown gaze. Detective Murphy was about ten years younger than my father, and he wasn’t unattractive. He had that older Humphrey Bogart kind of look. You know, the kind of man that you knew instinctively stood between you and the bad guys. He wore a black, slightly rumpled suit with a blue dress shirt. A navy and white tie finished the look.