For Better or Worsted Page 2

  Instinctively, I reached for it and picked it up. It was wet and slippery. When I held it up, there was enough light reflecting from the streetlight to see it was a shirt, and it was splattered with something dark. I couldn’t see colors in the darkness, but something told me the splatters were red.

  CHAPTER 2

  SOME PEOPLE THINK SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA HAS NO seasons. We do, they’re just different from the ones most of the country is used to. September brings hot, dry weather and the beginning of the Santa Ana winds, or as some people call them, the devil winds. They stir up the wrong kind of ions and would have made Thursday and me feel edgy even if we hadn’t just slipped out of her wedding disaster. Still getting out into the dark street was a relief. All the newspeople and exiting guests were around the corner in front of her father’s house.

  We stopped along the row of deserted catering trucks parked on the side street, and I said something about wondering how I was going to get my car because I’d left it with a valet. A moment later, we were bathed in the headlights of the greenmobile, as I called my old teal green Mercedes. It had come around the corner and pulled up next to us, and Barry got out, leaving the motor running.

  “Thank you,” I said with grateful relief. I reached out as if to hug him and leaned in close. “There’s a white shirt in the yard. I think it has blood on it.” I kept my voice to a whisper while Thursday went around to the passenger side.

  He seemed a little disappointed when I didn’t follow through with the hug. “I’ll check it out,” Barry said, going back to his detective persona. “I’m going to be lead detective on this case,” he added, making a triumphant gesture.

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly understanding his manner. In the past, Barry had had to step down from a number of homicides because of a personal relationship with someone involved with the case, usually me. But that was when we were a couple. Maybe now that we were just friends, it didn’t matter that I was a guest at the wedding.

  “If it’s okay, I’ll call you later. I’m sure you’ll want to know what happens,” he said. I was stunned. In all the time Barry and I had been a couple, he’d never asked for permission to call me or come by my house. He’d always just shown up whenever and left the same way. I told him it was fine. Barry looked down at my bare feet and insisted I wear shoes to drive. I dropped the heels in the backseat and retrieved a pair of sneakers I had left on the floor.

  “Nice outfit, huh?” I joked, doing a twirl in my ruffly dress and sport shoes.

  He cracked a smile. “I’m sure it will be fine for the ride home.” He started to leave it at that, but took a step closer. “I meant to mention before that you look really nice, even with the sneakers.” He held the door until I got in and had my seat belt on, then he shut it, not stepping away until he’d made sure I’d locked it.

  Thursday had crushed herself into the passenger seat and somehow managed to get her seat belt over the elaborate wedding dress. With its full skirt and train, it definitely wasn’t meant for riding around in a car. As she adjusted herself in the seat, I heard the sound of fabric ripping and buttons popping off. Not that she seemed to care.

  I put the car in gear and continued down the dark side street. For a moment I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. What if Thursday was like Mason’s ex? Weren’t daughters usually like their mothers? The thought of dealing with a junior Jaimee filled me with dread. Let’s just say I could understand why Mason divorced her.

  But Thursday didn’t look like her mother. Even with her extravagant dress, professional makeup and flower petals twisted into her short hair, she was cute rather than pretty. I wasn’t sure if it was the events of the evening or just the way she always sounded, but there was a little rasp to her voice that pulled at my heartstrings as she thanked me for helping her escape.

  As I finally turned onto Ventura Boulevard and headed west for the short drive from Encino to Tarzana, I wondered how to make conversation. First I considered what I knew about her, which wasn’t that much. All that Mason had told me was that she taught second grade at Wilbur Elementary, which was a few blocks from the bookstore where I worked. Mason had said little about the groom, other than he wondered if anyone would seem good enough for her. It seemed like a pretty common sentiment among parents, so I didn’t take it to mean much.

  I really wanted to ask Thursday about Jonah. If the cops hadn’t asked her yet who might have wanted to kill him, they would soon, and probably again and again. Even though I wondered what kind of person her late groom was, I didn’t have the heart to ask her while everything was so raw and fresh. And I certainly didn’t want to let on that she would probably be viewed as a suspect or a person of interest, the toned-down term common nowadays that really meant the same thing as suspect. Instead I asked her about her job.

  “Jonah wanted me to quit,” she said, sounding amazingly calm. “I’m glad I didn’t. I just took off the time for our honeymoon.” Her voice didn’t falter, and for a moment I wondered if she understood what had happened or was simply in some la-la land of shock. There was nothing to do but let her talk and be ready to catch her when she finally fell. She turned to me. “My dad was very vague about your relationship.”

  When I hesitated, she kept talking and seemed relieved to be talking about something other than the wedding. “I know he tried to keep his social life separate from us. But who did he think he was kidding? Both my sister and I knew he was seeing somebody. And then when he kept talking about you . . .”

  “What did he say?” I asked, curious.

  “He said you worked at a bookstore and were in some kind of handicraft group, and that you were some kind of amateur investigator, and that he helped you out sometimes. It sounded like he had a lot of fun.”

  “And you don’t mind if your father sees someone?” I said, still surprised by the line of conversation.

  She chuckled just like her father, then caught herself. “I hope you don’t think it’s odd that I’m talking about my father’s social life.” She looked down at her dress. “I’m still processing everything.”

  I let out a breath of relief before she continued. At least it showed she had some recognition about what had happened and might be letting the pressure out a little at a time, like when you dropped a bottle of soda on the floor and all the fizz built up inside. If you opened the top quickly, it erupted like a volcano, but if you loosened the top slowly and let the pressure out in little bits, there’s no Vesuvius of drink. I told her whatever she did was fine with me.

  “Okay then, no, I don’t mind if my father sees someone. In fact I want him to. I wish he’d get married again. Anything so he’d be happy.” She looked at me. “So?”

  What could I say to her? Should I tell her that her father and I were just friends, that he wanted it to be more than that, but I was trying to keep my life from being so complicated for a while? I had been married for just about all of my adult life when my husband, Charlie, died. I’d been a wife and a mother and never just me. This was my chance to try my wings and fly solo.

  The truth was that Mason claimed to want just a casual relationship, but for now, I was glad to keep both Barry and Mason at arm’s length. I really cared about both of them. Maybe even the L word, but I wanted some space. But that was too much to lay on her at the moment. Besides, I viewed our whole conversation as just nervous chatter, avoiding the pink elephant in the car with us.

  Thursday had grown quiet as I pulled into my driveway, and I wondered if this was going to be the moment her emotions erupted. Instead she just got out and walked across my backyard, waiting while I unlocked the kitchen door.

  “I hope you don’t mind cats and dogs,” I said, seeing that my two dogs and two cats were waiting by the door. As soon as I opened it a crack, Cosmo, the small black mutt of indeterminate breed, ran outside. He screeched to a stop at Thursday’s billowing white dress and began to sniff. Blondie was a terrier mix in name only and
made a more hesitant move outside. She was one of a kind, a terrier with the aloof personality usually attributed to cats. She didn’t even bark much.

  I stopped the two cats before they walked outside. They’d come with my son Samuel when he moved back home. We only let Cat Woman and Holstein outside with supervision, and never at night.

  Thursday seemed taken aback by the menagerie. She looked down at the black dog making his way around the base of her dress. “Can I pet him?” she asked.

  I was surprised by her manner until she explained. “I’ve never had a dog,” she said, still seeming hesitant about how to proceed.

  “What about Spike?” I said, referring to her father’s toy fox terrier, who was all terrier in the personality department.

  “The first thing my father did after my parents separated was get Spike. My mother doesn’t like dogs, or cats, or birds, or fish,” she said with a shrug. She finally crouched down and offered her hand for Cosmo to sniff, and then he moved in and offered his head to pet.

  I suggested we go inside, looking at her dress. “I’m sure you’d like to change.” I said it half as a question, and she nodded.

  I took her across the house, and I offered her a pair of cargo capris and a T-shirt, which was my summer uniform when I wasn’t at work. Our builds were a little different, and the outfit hung on her like she was a hanger. But just getting out of the dress seemed to take a load off her mind. I changed into cargo capris and a T-shirt, too. They were a lot snugger on me, but definitely went with the sneakers better than the fluffy dress. Still, she hadn’t said anything about what had happened.

  “I know I haven’t eaten, and I imagine you probably haven’t, either.” She followed me back into the kitchen.

  Thursday started to shake her head and then looked down toward her stomach as it let out a rumble of protest. “Can I really be hungry after everything?” she said. I waited to see if she was going to say anything more about “everything,” but she let it drop and said some food would be welcome.

  I started to take out some cold cuts from the refrigerator until I noticed she looked uncomfortable. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Do you have peanut butter?” she asked. When I nodded, she said she could make herself a sandwich.

  “That’s not much of a meal.” I went to get the peanut butter for her, but something didn’t feel right, and then I had a thought. “Are you a vegetarian?” I asked. She nodded, seeming relieved.

  “I don’t like to mention it. It’s easier just to eat around stuff than answer people’s questions or listen to their lectures about why they don’t think it’s healthy.”

  “How about eggs?” I asked, putting the peanut butter back in the refrigerator. When she nodded, I decided to make us both omelets with some salad on the side, along with toasted bagels. She wanted to help, but I urged her to sit at the built-in kitchen table. Exhaustion was beginning to show in her face.

  I was back to having trouble starting a conversation again. Everything I thought of saying sounded wrong. But silence made me feel tense, so I chatted about the animals and how they’d come to live with me. I whipped up the food and set it in front of her. She ate everything on her plate, and I could tell she was still hungry, though too polite to say anything. “How about some ice cream?” She agreed without even asking what kind.

  I took out my stash of McConnell’s Bordeaux strawberry. It was my personal favorite, and I’d been known to make a dinner of it. She scraped the bottom of the bowl, but when I offered seconds, she said she was full.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “For everything.” I heard the front door open and close. My son Samuel came into the kitchen a moment later.

  “Do you know what happened?” he said before he was fully in the room. When he saw Thursday, he almost swallowed his tongue. My sandy-haired younger son was a barista by day and a musician by night. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten that he and his group were supposed to have been the after-dinner band at the wedding.

  “Do you know Thursday?” I said, faltering when I got to her last name. I supposed it was Kingsley, even if Jonah was dead and she’d only been married for an hour or so. Obviously Samuel had recognized her, and before he could say the wrong thing, I got up and escorted him into the hall. He was already asking what she was doing there. “Mason asked me to get her out of there,” I said.

  Samuel said when they arrived at the reception, the cops had stopped them from bringing in their instruments and told them everything was canceled. He took a deep breath. “Is it true that her mother stabbed the groom?”

  I gestured for him to keep his voice down and told him about my entrance into the wedding and how I’d seen Jaimee Fields sitting in the cake holding the knife, but that didn’t necessarily mean she’d stabbed him. Samuel started to laugh at the image, but I nudged him and he swallowed it.

  “I’m just changing, and then I’m going out to meet some friends,” he said. He shook his head as he headed down the hall to his room at the end. “When stuff like that happens, it makes you want to live every day.” He stopped and looked back. “You don’t think ending up at crime scenes is hereditary, do you?” he asked. I rolled my eyes, knowing he was referring to the title Crime Scene Groupie a channel 3 news reporter had given me. It wasn’t my plan. It just seemed to happen. I told him not to worry.

  Thursday helped me clean up, but I could see she still had some nervous energy. I didn’t know what else to do with her, so I took her into the room I used for crocheting and keeping all my yarn. “This is where you made the hankie you gave me to carry in the wedding,” she said with understanding, as she picked up an orb of white crochet thread. It turned out that along with never having a pet, Thursday had never learned any sort of handicrafts. When I offered to teach her, she quickly agreed.

  It was embarrassing how quickly she picked it up, compared to how long it had taken me. I just had to show her once, and she was off and running. After making a swatch, she wanted to make something, so I showed her how to make a coaster. The one coaster became several, and I was surprised when I looked at the clock and realized it was after midnight. The phone rang, startling both of us.

  “I know it’s late, but I thought you’d want to know what was going on,” Barry said after we exchanged hellos.

  “Yes, I do,” I answered, stepping into the living room to be out of Thursday’s earshot.

  “The first thing is we released Jaimee Fields,” Barry said. “The consensus was, there wasn’t enough cause to arrest her. Not that any of us were sorry to see her go. What a ruckus that woman made. She used her one phone call to call the producer of some ridiculous reality show, Housewives of Mulholland Drive or something. They sent a camera crew down to the station.” Barry made an incredulous grumbling noise. “I was actually glad to see Mason show up and take over.”

  There was a knock at the kitchen door, and I took the phone with me as I went to answer it. Through the glass door I saw Mason standing outside. Barry heard the sound of the door opening and asked what was going on. When he heard it was Mason, he asked if Mason had called first.

  “Why do you ask?” I said. Barry reminded me that I’d been upset by his just showing up when we’d been a couple and wondered why it was okay for Mason to just show up.

  I let out a groan. “I wouldn’t call this a regular night for him,” I said, which was the understatement of the century.

  I let Mason in and pointed toward my crochet room and then took the phone outside. I thought it would be easier now that Barry and I were just friends, but he went on making a point of how he’d called instead of just knocking at the door unannounced. I got a funny feeling when he said that.

  “Where exactly are you?” I asked.

  There was a moment of silence before Barry muttered that he was at the front door. I went back inside and heard Mason and Thursday talking as I went to the front door and let
Barry in. He glanced toward the sound of their voices, but I had him follow me outside into the backyard.

  “Did the bride say anything?” he said, gesturing toward the house. I was in mid-shrug as an answer when Barry continued. “She probably knows more than she told us.”

  “You’ve decided that she’s a suspect?” I said, thinking of the person I’d sat crocheting with. I didn’t buy it and thought of trying to talk him out of it. But I knew he would say that just because you liked somebody didn’t mean they hadn’t killed somebody.

  He hesitated and then said, “Maybe.” I reminded him of the shirt I’d found.

  “Thanks for that. The lab people have it. We’re pretty sure there is blood on it, but there’s other stuff, too. Maybe wine and food and some dirt, which will make finding evidence somewhere between hard and impossible. The scenario we came up with was someone could have come in dressed as one of the servers, stabbed Jonah Kingsley and went out through the yard before anyone realized what had happened. And Heather thinks the stabbing makes it seem like revenge as a motive.” He made eye contact. “You know, stabbed in the back.”

  I was surprised—Barry didn’t usually share this much about cases with me.

  The door clicked open and Mason joined us. There was always tension between Barry and Mason. It was partly due to the fact that Barry was a homicide detective, and Mason was a criminal attorney. And it was partly due to me. They were still competing for my attention, even though my relationship with both of them was described as just friends. And as much as they claimed to accept that designation, I wondered if they really did.