Newlywed dead, p.8
Newlywed Dead, page 8
“Yeah, I think,” he said. “Apparently Ashley thought so, too?”
“I don’t know. Ashley didn’t speak to me about them,”
“I see,” he said. “When was the last time you spoke to Ashley?”
“Toward the end of the party,” I said. “She showed me how to make a couple more cocktails. Then her head still hurt so I suggested she drink some coffee and she poured herself a cup. I offered to meet with her another afternoon to talk about bartending for me. She agreed and I went to the ladies’ room. When I came out, she had collapsed.”
“I see.” He wrote down coffee on his notepad and sucked on his teeth. “Are you going back to the country club soon for anything like a luncheon or party?”
“There’s nothing planned, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be back at the club,” I said, and shrugged. “Warren’s family is big into that scene.”
“If you do go back, keep your ears open for me, will you?”
That got my curiosity up. “Why?”
Detective Murphy paused as if weighing how much to tell me. I bit my bottom lip. One thing I had learned was that if I kept quiet, he’d eventually tell me something. I was right.
“Ashley has a bit of a history,” he said.
“How so?”
“She attended Morduray College for two years.”
“Morduray College?”
“Yes, it’s a small, private school in Michigan. The country club has a high population of alumni from Morduray.”
“So are you suggesting that Ashley knew people from the country club?”
“Maybe, but she may not remember,” he said. “Ashley and another girl were attacked and sustained gunshot wounds on homecoming night of her junior year there.”
“That’s right,” I said. “She told me about the attack. She said she thought it was what caused her headaches. She also mentioned she couldn’t remember anything but waking up in the hospital. What happened?”
“The friend, Kiera, was killed instantly. Ashley was left for dead,” he said, his expression fierce. “Although she survived, Ashley was shot in the head and shoulder and spent weeks in a coma. The head shot looked bad but she was lucky. She survived it relatively intact. When she woke up from the coma, she had no memory of the incident. She didn’t know who’d shot them. She couldn’t even remember who they’d been with that night.”
“You know, she showed me the scar. Does that kind of memory loss happen a lot with gunshot wounds to the head?”
“It’s pretty common for an injury of that magnitude,” he said. “She’d suffered extensive brain damage from the gunshot wound. Her parents told me that the doctors feared she’d never remember completely. They were warned that a wound that bad could change her personality. Sadly, the prognosis proved to be true.
“Ashley eventually returned to Morduray after rehabilitation, but couldn’t concentrate anymore, couldn’t study. Her mom said she was frustrated and quit college. Without an eyewitness, there wasn’t any progress on finding the killer,” Detective Murphy said. “Ashley floated from job to job and racked up a small-time police record. She had a couple of disorderly conducts, an arrest for unlawfully discharging a weapon, plus a citation for the gun being unlicensed.”
“Oh, no, that doesn’t sound like the girl I met,” I said, and tapped my chin thoughtfully. “That said, if I had been shot and left for dead, I’d probably carry a gun, too—especially if I had no idea who did it. You never know when a killer will come back and attempt to finish the job.”
He nodded. “The judge took that into consideration. Ashley was fined and did community service for those crimes. But then she dies of an unintentional drug overdose?” He looked at me. “It just doesn’t add up. You say she didn’t appear high when you interacted with her.”
“No, she didn’t.”
He shook his head. “I don’t like it. I can’t put my finger on it, but something isn’t right. Anyway,” he said as a way of dismissing me, “the autopsy isn’t complete yet. I’ll keep digging. If you hear anything . . .”
“I’ll let you know,” I said.
“The thing is,” Murphy said, “she never had any drug convictions. Not even any drug arrests. Maybe she was lucky, but not likely, given her behavior issues. I believe she was clean.”
“I agree,” I said, and stood. “Like I said, I’ll keep an ear open. I can plan a country club proposal with the Fulcrums. Maybe I can learn a bit more.”
“Make sure you don’t get in over your head,” he said with a shake of his head. “Leave the heavy lifting to the professionals. All right?”
“Okay, well,” I paused, “you call before you pop over to my house and I’ll keep you abreast of anything I find out. Does that sound like a deal?”
“Deal,” he said. “Now get out of here.”
“I will,” I said, and turned on my heel. I left him to his musing. Ashley had been through a lot. No wonder she looked so much older than me. Maybe meeting with Clark and Samantha would help me get to the bottom of Ashley’s death. It seemed like the least I could do to help a woman who wanted to be a fast friend.
Chapter 8
“So, Pepper, what kinds of things do you suggest for a proposal?” Laura asked me. It was five o’clock and I had gone from the police station straight to Rosa’s where I’d promised Laura I’d meet her. She was waiting when I got there. We hugged and settled down in a comfortable booth, ordering coffee from an attentive waitress.
Laura had her dark brunette hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She wore a pale pink button-down shirt with a navy cardigan sweater and a pair of high-quality jeans. She rested the ankle of her long right leg on the knee of her left. Her manicured fingers were wrapped around her coffee cup. Her makeup was minimal and yet highlighted her almond-shaped eyes and bow-shaped mouth.
“The first thing I do is ask you a lot of personal questions,” I said, and dug out my notebook from the tote at my feet. I clicked on my pen and wrote Laura’s Proposal at the top of the page. “Are you up for the questions?”
“Sure,” Laura said, and shrugged.
I could tell she was a bit uncertain so I sent her an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. No one sees the notes but me. Privacy is very important. Wedding proposals are very personal and I want to get it right.”
“Oh, good,” Laura said, and relaxed her shoulders.
“I know you told me, but please explain again how you and Monica met?”
“It’s kind of a cute story,” Laura said with a soft smile. “My brother was visiting from New York and I wanted to impress him with this dish I saw online and thought I could make. You see, I’m not much of a cook. My brother always teased me that any time he visited all we did was get takeout. I wanted to prove that I was cool and hip now that I lived in Chicago.”
“I get that,” I said, and leaned in toward her. “I gave up on being cool or hip a few years ago. My ex-boyfriend didn’t care what I cooked as long as I had cold beer in the fridge.”
“Oh, wow.”
“It’s okay,” I said, and waved my hand. “We’re history and this is not about me. It’s about you and Monica. You were making a dish to impress your brother.”
“Yes, I was in the middle of making Kung Pao chicken when the recipe called for sugar.”
“Sugar?”
“I know, right? I mean, who knew you put sugar in a spicy Asian dish. Well, I didn’t and so I didn’t have any sugar on hand. I dug around and thought maybe I had some honey, but no. Then I contemplated using maple pancake syrup.”
I winced.
“I know, the last thing I wanted was to screw up my first homemade dinner. So I got desperate and started knocking on my neighbors’ doors. Monica was three doors down and the only one to answer. She opened the door and there was this gorgeous woman with soft caramel-colored hair and big green eyes, and my heart went to my feet.”
“What happened?” I asked when she slipped into a quiet memory.
“I forgot what I knocked for,” she said with a small laugh and sipped her coffee. “That’s what I said after a moment of just staring.” Her cheeks turned a gorgeous pink. “It was horrifyingly embarrassing. I mean, it’s hard sometimes. An instant crush can go sideways really fast. She could have had a big burly guy in the next room, you know?”
“It’s the same no matter who you are,” I said with a quiet smile. “When you fall fast for someone it can get awkward if they have a girlfriend or whatever.”
“So you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I know.” My thoughts turned to Gage. I had to drag them back to Laura. “What happened when you told her that you forgot why you knocked?”
“She was so sweet. She merely laughed. Then she said that she heard me knocking on other doors and figured I must need something sort of urgent. That brought me out of my attraction coma. I laughed and said, yes. I explained about the Kung Pao. She had sugar and went so far as to ask me for the recipe.”
“Nice.”
“It was,” she said with a soft smile. “I invited her to dinner with my brother, but she said no, of course.”
“Oh,” I said, my heart breaking a bit even though I knew it all worked out.
“No, no, she said the most amazing thing. She said, if I didn’t mind, she’d really like to have me to herself.”
“Ohhh.”
“So we made plans for lunch the next day.”
“And the Kung Pao?”
“Was awful,” she admitted with a laugh. “But Monica can cook. So she made this fabulous steak salad for lunch. We ate out on her tiny fire escape, which she had dressed up with a bistro table and chairs and filled with flower boxes full of blooming plants. She told me her story and I told her mine.”
“Story?”
“Of how we discovered we were gay and how difficult it was to tell our families. My family was very accepting,” Laura went on to say. “Her family, not so much.”
I frowned. “I plan an engagement party immediately following the proposal. Many times the family and friends want to be there to see it and so we combine both. It sounds like that might not be a good fit for you and Monica.”
“No,” Laura said. “No, we have friends and my family would like to celebrate. But if we could, I’d like keep it simple and beautiful and private.”
“I can do that,” I said. “This is all about what you want.”
Laura relaxed a bit. “Okay, good. Some people are good with the splashy, in-your-face wedding thing. I applaud them, but it’s not for me.”
“Okay,” I said. “What do you and Monica like to do when you’re together?”
“Besides cooking? We like to Rollerblade in the park. We like to bike with our pups, Harry and Sally.”
“Oh, you have puppies? What kind?”
“Harry is a corgi and Sally is a pomapoo.”
“So small dogs,” I said, and drew my eyebrows together. “How do you bike ride with them?” I tried to imagine their tiny legs keeping up with two women on bicycles.
“Oh,” Laura said, and chuckled. “We have picnic baskets on the front of our bikes and we pop the dogs inside. They love to ride with the wind in their hair.”
“Now that’s cute,” I said, and wrote down dogs in picnic baskets.
“You like outdoor things,” I stated. “Too bad it’s the middle of winter. I could do a sweet picnic proposal.”
“Oh, yes,” Laura said with a smile. “In Grant Park. How fun would that be?”
“We could still do it,” I said, my mind working through the idea. “It would certainly be a surprise.”
“A picnic in Grant Park in winter? She’d be surprised and frozen.”
“Right, maybe there is something else food related we could do.” I pursed my lips thoughtfully. “Listen, I know this chef who gives cooking lessons in her home. We could set it up to look like you are doing a cooking class date. We’ll re-create your Kung Pao dinner . . .”
“Hopefully better tasting,” she teased.
“Most certainly better tasting,” I said with a smile. “We can decorate with Monica’s favorite flowers.”
“She likes daisies.”
“Great,” I said, and wrote it down. “Her favorite color?”
“Yellow and green,” Laura said. “Not exactly winter colors.”
“Still, okay,” I said. “I’ll bring in other couples who Monica has never met to make it look like a real cooking class. We’ll set up a small party with your friends and family in the second of the two dining rooms the chef has available. That way you can do the proposal in the first dining room and then we’ll open the second and all your friends and family will be there for an engagement party. It will be a big surprise and a lot of fun. Are you up for it?”
“I do like the idea,” she said.
“Great, now, I’d like to meet Monica. I like to get a feel for both people in the couple. That way I’m sure it will be a fantastic event.”
Laura winced. “Do you mind if you don’t meet Monica? I really want to surprise her and I don’t want her to wonder why I’m introducing her to a proposal planner.”
“You could introduce me as a friend. After all, you know my aunts.”
Laura blushed. “I’d really like to keep it low key.”
“Oh, sure, no problem,” I said. “Is it okay if I secretly film the event? Even though it’s low-key, I’ve found people like to have professional video of the event. We can tell her the chef is filming a documentary. Is that okay?”
“Okay, I guess,” Laura said. “It would be nice to have it on film.”
“Great. I’ve already gone through as much of her Facebook page as I can without friending her. I don’t want to give it away by friending her. Does she have another website or blog so that I can sort of stalk her a bit and get a good feel for other things she may like?”
“Sure,” Laura said, and pulled out a business card. She wrote down a Web address. “You can find her here. Also, she’s a librarian.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Laura said with a laugh. “She works at the Schaumburg Library and collects cookbooks as a side hobby. It’s why I never have to worry about cooking.”
“Sounds like she’ll like the cooking class idea.”
Laura laughed. “Learning how to make Kung Pao chicken would be really funny.”
“I’m certain it will bring back warm memories of when you first met,” I said, and stood. I held out my hand and shook hers. “Let me do a little more research on Monica and put together a quote for you.”
“Great,” Laura said, her eyes sparkling. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The next day I got to the Pavilion fifteen minutes ahead of time. The hostess took me to a large table in the glass corner that looked out at the Chicago skyline from two sides. It was indeed the nicest table in the tearoom. At thirty stories up the views were spectacular. I had just enough time to look over my notes of things I thought might work for a high society proposal before the ladies arrived. Sugar Fulcrum was fashionably thin with brunette, shoulder length hair that was expertly cut and styled. Today she wore a silk blouse in cream, a Navy blue skirt, and black suede booties. She handed the hostess her coat and gloves. Behind her was Mrs. Thomson, who was also thin. Her blonde hair was styled in a conservative chin length blunt cut. She was dressed as impeccably as Mrs. Fulcrum. Behind them slumped Clark. He wore a leather bomber jacket, graphic T-shirt, and jeans and walked with his hands in his pockets looking bored.
I stood when the hostess brought them over. We said our hellos and the ladies gave me air kisses on both cheeks. I found the gesture affected, but did the same to make them comfortable. Clark simply flopped down in a chair and greeted me with a shrugged shoulder.
The waitstaff brought over teas and cakes.
“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for the table,” Mrs. Fulcrum said as she took a seat. “Now let’s talk proposals.”
“We want something so spectacular it will make the tabloids as well as the society pages,” Mrs. Thomson said. “We want this to be seen as elegant as JFK Junior’s wedding event.”
I looked at Clark. “What about you Clark? What do you want for Samantha Lyn?”
“I want her to say yes,” he said and called the waitress over to order a Pepsi.
“I usually get a description of what the potential bride wants, her likes, her dreams, what she and her friends think is wonderful.”
“Samantha Lyn wants over the top, glitter. Think diamonds are a girl’s best friend,” Mrs. Thomson said.
“Clark, are there any special moments when you were dating that you might want to recreate?” I ignored Mrs. Thomson and looked at the slouching boy.
“Whatever they want,” he said and thumbed through his phone. “Look, this has been real, but I have to go.”
“Don’t you want more input in the proposal?” I asked.
“I’m good with what Mom wants,” he said, stood and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. “Bye.”
“Whatever Mom wants,” Mrs. Thomson said with admiration in her tone. “You raised that boy right.”
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Fulcrum said. “Well, Pepper what are your suggestions?”
“I make it a policy not to make suggestions on the first meeting,” I lied. “I use the time to get to know the bride and groom and figure out what makes them special and create an event to suit them.”
“You’ve met the kids,” Mrs. Thomson said. “They make a gorgeous couple, don’t they?”
“Yes,” I said. “But I like to make it truly personal.”
“Samantha loves diamonds and all things that glitter,” Mrs. Thomson said. “Make it something romantic and dreamy like the season. Something that will look great on camera, I want this to hit all the morning shows.”
“I have a great cameraman,” Mrs. Fulcrum said and pulled out a card. “Call him. He knows what I like.”
