What the Hatmaker Heard. Sandra Bretting
her home, but she froze the moment she saw me.
Slowly, she opened the door and leaned out. “Is something wrong, dear?”
Apparently, I’d make a terrible poker player, because my mood always showed up on my face. “Well, um…”
Lance saved me by stepping in between us.
“Hello.” He quickly withdrew his police badge from his front pocket. “I’m Lance LaPorte with the Louisiana PD. Could I speak with Lorelei Honeycutt, please?”
Mrs. Honeycutt stared hard at the badge, as if she’d never seen one before, which she probably hadn’t. When she glanced up again, her eyes looked even more troubled. “What’s this about, Officer?”
“I’d like to give everyone the news at once. Please find Lorelei and the rest of the wedding party. Is there a room we could use? Something private?”
“Yes. Of course.” She sounded reticent, although I couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t every day a police officer arrived on one’s doorstep. “Please come inside, Officer. Hello again, Missy.”
“Hello, Mrs. Honeycutt.” My smile felt strained as I returned her greeting.
“Please call me Nelle. And you can use the room at the end of the hall.” She pointed to the sunroom. “Missy, you know how to find it.”
“Thank you,” Lance said. “We’ll be waiting there.”
While Nelle left to gather the wedding party, I took Lance to the sunroom, with its massive windows and expansive view. By now, it looked completely different, though. Gone were the tables draped in linen and stocked with plates of biscuits, fruit, and whatnot. Instead, a set of white wicker furniture decorated the space, including a sofa, which wore a plaid cushion; several armchairs, with backs that fanned out from the seats; and a large glass coffee table. A worker had begun to dismantle the last of the buffet tables, and he stood amid a pile of serving utensils he’d placed on the ground.
“Excuse me.” Lance approached him. “We’re going to have a meeting here.” He pulled out his badge and held it up for the man’s benefit. “I need you to leave the room for an hour or so.”
The worker looked surprised, but he nodded and gathered up the utensils. Then he quickly headed down the hall and disappeared around a corner.
He was immediately replaced by someone new.
A young man in his twenties came ambling along, his penny loafers squeaking against the hardwoods. “Hello, there. I heard we’re going to have a little powwow in here.” The stranger extended his hand. “Name’s Buck Liddell. I get to be the best man at this little shindig.”
I cautiously placed my hand in his. He sounded awfully sunny for such a serious meeting, although he didn’t know why Lance was there.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Melissa DuBois, and this is Detective Lance LaPorte with the Louisiana Police Department.”
His mood instantly changed. “Whoa. To what do we owe the pleasure, Officer?”
Lance held up the badge again. “There’s been some news this morning.”
Buck carefully studied Lance’s ID. Unlike the rest of us, he was dressed to the nines this morning. He wore expensive linen trousers with knife-sharp pleats, a striped dress shirt cinched at the wrists with heirloom cuff links, and a Rolex diver’s watch as big as one of the biscuits put out for breakfast.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Liddell,” Lance said.
Since Buck was the first to arrive, he had his choice of chairs, and he selected the sofa placed front and center. He plopped onto the cushion and looked at Lance expectantly. “Can you give me a hint? I mean, c’mon. It has to be about the wedding, right? Why else would you be here?”
When Lance didn’t respond, Buck leaned forward. “Don’t tell me old Wesley finally got himself in trouble. I told him he was going to get in hot water if he stayed with that crowd.”
“That crowd?’ Lance calmly leveled his gaze at the man. By now, he’d heard everything there was to hear under the sun, so nothing caught him off guard.
“Yeah. The people down at the racetrack. They don’t take it lightly when you can’t cover a bet. Let me guess…he had to light out of town because his bookie was after him.”
“Mr. Liddell.” Lance spoke firmly this time. Apparently, he’d tired of Buck’s guessing game. “It’s even more serious than that. There’s been a death on the property.”
“Oh.” The words slapped the smirk right off Buck’s face. Instead of making a witty comeback, he flopped against the cushion, dumbfounded. “Holy s—”
Just then, someone new entered the room. It was a handsome Chinese man, who carried an empty vase and a roll of green florist’s tape. “What’s going on?” He approached Lance. “I was told to drop everything and get over here.”
The stranger wore a faux-fur vest that seemed wildly out of place for a house in the country, not to mention for the steamy weather.
“That’s right,” Lance said. “Please have a seat. And you are…”
“Jamison Lee. I own a flower shop in town. You can call me Jamie.”
I blinked at the name. I’d heard of him before…but where?
“Hello, there,” I said. “I’m Melissa DuBois. I think we both worked on the same wedding a while ago. It’s been months, but it took place in Las Vegas. I made the bride’s hat, and I heard she flew you in to make the centerpieces.”
“You must be talking about Stormie Lanai.” He rolled his eyes at the memory. “Now that was an interesting wedding.”
“You don’t say.” I smiled, despite the solemn occasion, because I knew exactly what he was talking about. “You’re very diplomatic. I also found her to be—as you put it—interesting.”
“I’m sure you did. You own Crowning Glory, right? Everyone’s talking about the great work you do at your shop.”
“Thank you.” Although this didn’t seem like the time, nor the place, for small talk, I couldn’t exactly ignore his compliment. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you, too.”
Lance cleared his throat, obviously ready to get down to business. “You can sit over there on the sofa, Mr. Lee.”
The florist shrugged and sank onto the small sofa, next to Buck Liddell. The best man barely acknowledged him, although I could tell they knew each other by their body language. Buck turned sideways, as if he didn’t want anything to do with the florist, while Jamie seemed amused by the snub.
Within a few minutes, the room had filled. Darryl walked in holding a pair of garden clippers, which he compulsively cleaned on the side of his coveralls. The bridesmaid from breakfast—the one who so graciously welcomed me to her table—inched into the space as if pulled along by a rope. The last to enter were Lorelei and Nelle, who linked arms as if they were facing a firing squad.
Jamie came to Lorelei’s rescue by indicating a spot next to him on the small sofa. She immediately left her mother’s side to join him on the sofa.
By now, everyone had found a place to sit, or they’d resigned themselves to standing against the wall. All in all, about twenty people milled around the sunroom, most of them looking extremely ill at ease.
“Thank you all for coming,” Lance began.
I noticed he carefully appraised each member of the wedding party as he spoke.
“Please don’t make us wait any longer, Officer.” Nelle’s voice was soft but firm. She’d moved behind the sofa, as if she could protect Lorelei that way.
“There’s no easy way to say this.” Lance weighed his words carefully. “I understand everyone’s been looking