Ultraviolet. Nancy Bush
of Ray-Bans. He glanced toward the heavens, but the rain had briefly abated and rays of sunlight stabbed downward through black-bottomed clouds. Emmett was lean and dark like Gigi, and I watched him run a hand slowly alongside his hair, then do it again, a narcissistic habit that said a lot about him. Then he tucked his hands together in that way golfers do, as if they have an actual club in their palms, swept his arms back and made a deep swing. He finished, arms upward, staring in the direction the “ball” had gone. His clothes were golfers’ togs: tan chinos, collared black T-shirt with three-button placket.
“There were just a few of us at the end,” Gigi went on distractedly. She, too, was watching Emmett’s swing. “I remember Melinda making a point to try to be nice to my mom even though she’d been such a bitch the night before. Renee was really quiet. I think she was scared. Like she knew something really bad had happened. I guess we all knew, just didn’t want to face it.”
Emmett entered the house and Gigi suddenly broke into action, running to him, juggling her wine. She managed to keep from sloshing, but after planting a smack on his mouth, she slurped some more from her glass. Emmett regarded her with a look threaded with both indulgence and annoyance, as if she were a bratty child, which wasn’t that far from the truth. “Watch the wine,” he said.
“Oh, pooh. Let me get you a glass.” Gigi twirled back into the kitchen and grabbed another Lismore. She filled it full, saw that the bottle was empty, and after placing the stemware in Emmett’s somewhat reluctant hand, plucked a new bottle from the fridge.
Emmett clearly hadn’t expected visitors and his expression was long-suffering.
I stuck out a hand. “Jane Kelly.”
“Emmett Popparockskill.”
What a mouthful. He shook my hand and it was a decent handshake.
“She’s here ’cause I invited her,” Gigi said quickly. I shot her a look, not sure if she was hiding my true agenda for reasons of her own or not. “Have some cheese.”
Emmett popped a couple of squares of pepper jack into his mouth and started drinking with more enthusiasm. “I quit my job today,” he said.
Gigi’s mouth dropped open, then shut, then dropped open again. She looked like a beached fish. “What? Why?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” Which was couple-speak for “after the guest leaves.”
But Gigi was having none of it. “How’re we supposed to pay our bills? Oh my God. You’re kidding, right?”
“It’ll all be okay.”
“Oh my God…”
“Nobody knows what they’re doing there. The other salesmen don’t know fuel injectors from wiper blades.” He flicked a look my way. “I work—worked—at Miller-Kennedy, the Mercedes dealership. Mike Miller’s my uncle and there is no Kennedy anymore.”
“A family-owned business,” I said politely.
“You got that right. My dad’s the account manager.” Something about his tone suggested he thought his father wasn’t much of an employee, either. I got the feeling Emmett thought the place would fall apart without him.
Gigi was going through a rapid thought process. “She’s still there, I take it.”
“Everybody’s still there. Except me.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
I wondered who “she” was. Emmett’s mother?
“Well, you can’t quit now, Emmett! My dad’s estate isn’t even close to being settled. We gotta wait.”
“Too late. I walked. Mike was yelling and screaming. I think he scared two customers out of the showroom.”
“You should have that dealership,” Gigi stated flatly. “But Mike’ll leave it to those morons, you know he will.”
“His sons,” Emmett said for my benefit.
“But you’re the only one who knows anything. Y’see?” she said, turning to me. “And then there’s Violet. She gets her family’s money? And she’s awful. It’s just not fair. Unbelievable! She hit Daddy with that tray and killed him and it’s like it never happened! Why haven’t they arrested her?”
Emmett gave me an assessing look. “You know Violet?”
Gigi apparently decided to come clean, saying, “She’s working for her,” then proceeded to put her spin on my role in searching for Roland’s murderer, making me sound like I was just using his death as a means to suck off some of Violet’s money.
“Violet’s paying me,” I admitted. “She’s fully aware that if I find out she’s at fault, I’ll turn her in.”
He looked skeptical. “She’s a liar,” he told me.
“Daddy used to call her Ultra-Violet, like it was a pet name,” Gigi revealed. “Made me want to puke! She always tried to be so nice to us. I never liked her. I just know she slithered back into Daddy’s bed.” She shivered all over. “They were probably screwing while I was supposed to be walking down the aisle.” Her face was suffused with color.
“She killed him,” Emmett said.
“I’d like some proof, before I go there,” I said.
“She hit him with a silver tray in the head and he died. What I wonder is, why aren’t the police doing their job? She should be in jail.”
His sentiments and Gigi’s were one and the same. “She says he was alive when she left.”
“But she admits she hit him.” Gigi pounced on that one. “Who says he was alive? Emmett’s right. Violet is a liar!”
“Can you think of anyone else who might have a reason to want him dead?”
“Violet hit him,” Gigi repeated stubbornly. “That’s a fact.”
“The Wedding Bandits were there, too,” I reminded her.
“Who says? Violet?” Gigi crossed her arms over her chest. “She could have stolen those things.”
“The police are pretty sure the bandits were interrupted.” I didn’t feel I needed to go over all the particulars. The fact that items had been scattered around the house and yard was well documented.
“I found the body,” Emmett reminded me soberly. “I know the crime scene.”
Gigi tossed her head. “I don’t care what anybody says. Violet killed Daddy. I hope she goes to jail forever. I hate her.” She turned to Emmett, her nose turning red, angry tears welling. “It’s so awful!” Emmett cuddled her into his arms, but Gigi turned her head toward me, her cheek pressed up against his shirt. “You’re going to find Daddy’s killer?”
“I’m gonna try.”
“Good luck.” Emmett didn’t sound convinced of my abilities and I didn’t blame him. They thought I was wasting my time. Neither of them liked Violet. And both of them thought she was guilty.
Hell, she probably was.
CHAPTER FOUR
I spent the next several days making phone calls, going down the list Sean had given me, trying to connect, or reconnect as the case might be, with various wedding guests. Big Jim answered his phone straightaway and this time, when I told him Sean and Gigi had okayed talking to me, he became garrulous to the point of mind-screaming. And he had nothing to contribute. I finally laid my head down on my kitchen table, the phone to my ear, mumbling an occasional “Oh,” “huh,” and “I see.” I was practically in a coma by the time he finally wound down. The other bridesmaids, groomsmen and assorted guests I reached couldn’t offer any further information or insight, either, so I was left knowing little more than I had before. I never reached Deenie but I left her a message, and I put