The Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen

But things were definitely moving along.

And every set of eyes in the room was on me. I felt them. Some more than others. Dickhead, of course, was glaring at me. But I have to give him credit; he’d been quiet while I had my say. He might not know where this was going, but he wasn’t so stupid or vindictive as to stop me. Not when there was murder involved. Not even he would stoop so low as to let a killer go free just to bust my ass. And I could tell by the set of his jaw and the way he was listening to me, that he knew I was on to something.

As I stood taking a deep breath before continuing, I heard Ned’s mother mumbling. “I don’t know … I know that face from somewhere. Somewhere recent….”

Oh shit.

Jeremy Poole sat in the corner, so pale and still he could have been a wax statue. Elizabeth Bee sat perched on the edge of her chair, waiting to see what would happen next. Rochelle and Judge Stephanopoulos remained in the doorway, watching intently from the periphery, but not missing a thing.

Dylan was looking at me too, of course. I’d catch his eye every once in a while. I saw the encouraging nods. The hint of a smile. And I liked that. It felt good to be on top of my game while he watched. Strangely good. Weirdly good.

Cautiously good, Dix, I reminded myself. Cautiously good.

I let my gaze sweep again over the people assembled, each with their own agendas and fears and loves. Ah, yes, love. What a crazy thing it was. It could make us laugh or cry. It could scare the crap out of us or make us feel renewed. Make us feel stupid and brilliant all at once. It made old men pat their wives’ hands and call them ‘Dearest’. And as I knew all too well, love could break our hearts. It could turn us into romantic fools. And, yes, it could turn us into murderers.

+++

“Well!” It was Mrs. Presley’s voice that broke the silence. “If that don’t beat all! I had the secretary pegged for sure.” She nudged Dylan. “Just look at those beady eyes on her, will ya.” She opened her purse, turned toward Kenny Kent the baker, and handed him twenty bucks. “You won that bet, Baker Boy,” she said. “Double or nothing on Round Two?”

Swiftly pocketing the money, Kent replied, “I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

Luanne wasn’t my favorite person in the world, and Billy Star wasn’t topping my warm and fuzzy list either. But neither of them had killed Jennifer. I was sure of it. Despite his initial reasons for wooing Jennifer, Billy had loved her too much to hurt her, and Luanne loved Ned too much to hurt him.

I began again. “You’re all forgetting something here. Whoever killed Jennifer, also did a damn good job of covering their tracks. Arranged for a mysterious Flashing Fashion Queen to come to my office disguised as Jennifer, and ask me to tail Ned Weatherby for the week. And I had to wonder why.”

“To frame you!” an enthusiastic Mrs. P shouted.

“That’s exactly what I thought at first, Mrs. Presley. But then I thought maybe it was more. Maybe it was so that Ned’s whereabouts would be alibied very carefully. So that he couldn’t be blamed for the murder of his wife.”

Ned looked at me, clearly shocked. “Surely … surely you don’t think I hired someone to pose as Jennifer, then killed her myself?”

“Actually, Ned,” I said. “That very thought has crossed my mind.”

“Ms. Dodd!” Jeremy Poole leapt to Ned’s defense. “If you’re going to accuse my client of murder, I’d make damn sure that you know just what you’re getting yourself into here. With all the charges against you now criminally, I don’t think you really wish to add a civil suit to your legal woes. As Mr. Weatherby’s legal counsel I must advise him not to participate in any further discussions with you here today. In fact, I strongly suggest to Detective Head that this meeting is a sham, a travesty, and that this meeting should be over.”

“Oh, I’m not accusing Ned Weatherby of murdering Jennifer Weatherby, Mr. Poole. Not at all. As I said the thought crossed my mind, then kept on walking.” I turned and walked over to the lawyer. “I’m accusing you.”

“Yes!” Elizabeth Bee hissed, pumping her arm in the air. She held her hand out flat and Mrs. Presley grumblingly pressed a twenty-dollar bill into it, which Elizabeth quickly secreted into her bra.

“What the hell are you talking about, Dix?” Dickhead said. But he didn’t say it with quite so much of a snarl this time. He didn’t say it with a ha ha belly roar of a laugh. He said it like a man who wanted to hear what I had to say. I had his attention.

Hell, I had everyone’s attention.

Dylan handed me Jennifer’s journal. Or rather tried to, but with my hands cuffed behind my back, that wasn’t an easy task. I looked at Detective Head. “Things would go a lot easier from here detective if you’d let me out of these handcuffs.”

He stared at me hard for a long minute, then moved to unlock the handcuffs.

“Don’t make me regret this, Dix,” he said as he removed the bracelets. “Because if I do, I guarantee you will too.”

“Understood.”

More out of reflex than because of any soreness, I rubbed my wrists quickly before I held up Jennifer’s journal. I read from the homemade jacket of the book. “The Secret Life of the Bombay Dung Beetle, by Elizabeth Bee.”

Loudly, Elizabeth hmphed.

“This is Jennifer’s journal,” I explained. “Her secret journal.”

“I never knew she kept one,” Ned said.

“No, she hid it well. But as we already established, you knew she kept it, didn’t you, Luanne?”

“Once or twice a week I’d let myself in … when Ned and Jennifer were out of the house. Yes, I’d read it. I needed to know everything to protect Ned.” Guilt free, she answered. “That’s how I was able to inform Ned of the affair between Billy and Jennifer. Once I put all the notes and pieces together.”

“But you didn’t tell Ned how you came by that knowledge, did you?”

“No,” she admitted.

“And,” I continued, “usually you just read Jennifer’s journal, said nothing, did nothing and put it back where you found it. Right?”

She sucked in a breath. “Yes. But the last time … the last time Jennifer made an entry, I … accidentally did something.”

“Because the last entry Jennifer made angered you so greatly that you wrote a comment back. Didn’t you, Luanne?”

“Yes!” she shouted. “I couldn’t help myself.” She looked around the room, as if seeking an ally for her behavior. “Jennifer wrote ‘J cancelled caterer.’ After all Ned was doing for her, she was canceling the caterer and thus I assumed she was canceling the renewal of the vows. That she was going to hurt Ned all over again. I just lost my temper. I just snapped! That’s why I wrote what I did.”

Kenny Kent, really interested now, shifted from foot to foot.

“The ‘NO WAY IN HELL’ written in the journal, Luanne?” I asked. “That was yours, wasn’t it.”

“Yes.” She lowered her eyes. “I know it was stupid! Very stupid! But I was just so angry!”

“This is ridiculous,” Jeremy Poole said. “It proves nothing whatsoever about my guilt. If you ask me, it’s Luanne Laney you should be pointing a finger at.” He stretched his arm and shook a pointing finger himself for emphasis.

I pretended to mull that over. “Ummmmmmm … no,” I said. “You see it wasn’t the person who wrote the NO WAY IN HELL that killed Jennifer. It was the person who cancelled the caterer.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake!” Jeremy said. “It’s Jennifer’s journal. She cancelled the caterer. Obviously, her intention to renew with Ned was false. She was using him, again. Still.”

“No, Jennifer didn’t cancel the caterer. Jennifer always wrote in the future tense when she entered her plans; never what she’d done. Ever. This note was a done deal. This note wasn’t on her to-do list. This note was something else. This ‘J’ wasn’t for Jennifer.”

“I took that canceling call myself, and I was surprised to receive it,” Kenny spoke up nervously. “I always handle the Weatherby business personally.” He smoothed a nervous hand over his baker’s jacket. “Mr. Weatherby