One trophy wife, whose handwriting suggested she was way beyond mere tipsiness, claimed she'd seen Jack Thatcher go in the room in a most 'furtive' manner, looking about to make sure no one saw him. But a great many of the other reports mentioned having spoken to Jack in the main room at one time or another. Jane wondered when he could have found time to skulk into the side room when he was so busy being the gracious host. She also wondered if the woman had a husband in a position to benefit financially if Jack Thatcher were arrested for murder.
Two people said they'd seen Layla go up the stairs to the second floor, another claimed to have seen Eden come down the stairs. Although their looks and dresses were really quite different, apparently the bridesmaids in their pink dresses were indistinguishable to the casual observer. One of the groomsmen claimed he'd been sitting on the second step talking to a pretty girl whose name he couldn't remember and that nobody went up or down the stairs.
Two people said they'd seen a seedy-looking groundskeeper-type hanging around the doorway, but none of them came right out and said they'd seen him go into the room. Jane assumed this was Uncle Joe.
Only one man had paid the least attention to time. He, a clock freak, asked for extra paper and outlined to the minute who he'd talked to, what they said, what they were wearing, but admitted he had his back to the side room the whole time and couldn't have seen anyone coming or going.
Oddly enough, no one, so far, had mentioned having seen Dwayne himself go into the side room. And he obviously had. There was a side door to the room, but it was stuck firmly shut, as Jane had discovered during the bridal shower when she tried to open it to get a little fresh air in. But if nobody noticed Dwayne enter, it might well be that nobody noticed the killer going in either.
There was eventually only a handful of disgruntled guests remaining and their accounts were being read and questioned. Jack was pacing the main room furiously, muttering about the general incompetence of the police. Marguerite had helped Livvy remove her wedding gown and the bride was now in pressed, creased jeans and a plaid shirt. She should have been in her pale blue 'going away' suit long since.
Livvy was sitting on a sofa, looking stunned. Errol was trying to get her to eat something. As Jane watched, Livvy waved away a plate of food and suddenly burst into tears. Errol put the plate down, sat next to her, and patted her shoulder rather awkwardly and ineffectually.
Mr. Willis was clearing away the food and Larkspur was dismantling the floral arrangements. Jane guessed that they felt, as she did, that the wedding paraphernalia was now in very bad taste, considering that the groom was dead. Perhaps at the hand of the bride, if Kitty's accusation was to be believed. But could Livvy, the centerpiece of the wedding, have sneaked away without being noticed? Wouldn't that big white dress have been a sort of beacon? And wouldn't it have shown blood?
The last guests handed in their reports and left. And a few minutes later a sheet-covered gurney took Dwayne away. Jane noticed that Errol made a point of standing in front of Livvy, blocking her view, as this terrible departure took place. He was a very considerate young man.
Jane went to the side room, tapped on the door, and handed the reports over to Mel. 'I've read a bunch of them. Practically nobody agrees on anything.”
Mel wasn't surprised. 'We do a public service class from time to time to show people how the law enforcement agencies work,' he said. 'In one of the sessions, the attendees are warned that a fake argument will take place during the hour and they are to observe closely. Later a man and woman enter the room, squabbling, and he drags her out the other door. When the attendees write up their impressions, they're almost always way, way wrong. Wrong color hair, heights, weights, clothing. And they've been
“Then what's the point of the reports here?' Jane asked.
“First, to get an impression of the people writing them…'
“That certainly works.'
“And sometimes they get things right, if you're patient enough to piece them all together.”
“Good luck,' Jane told him.
Shelley had been helping clear the tables, picking up glasses, dishes, ashtrays, and silverware and taking them to the kitchen. Now she joined Jane.
“We should pack up the gifts,' she said.
“The police are using the room to interview people,' Jane said.
“Yes, I know that, Jane. That's why I made the suggestion.'
“You think they'd let us eavesdrop?' Jane asked.
“Maybe. If we were very quiet and very busy and didn't appear to be listening.'
“There's nothing to lose by trying,' Jane said.
They went to the door with armloads of boxes. Jane banged on the door with her elbow. 'May we leave these in here?' she asked when Mel opened the door.
He grinned. 'Just leave them?'
“Well, pack a few things, maybe,' Jane said with a straight face.
Jane could see Kitty sitting on one of the rental chairs, twisting a handkerchief in her hands as John Smith sat across from her, asking questions.
“I told you already. Over and over,' Kitty was saying in a weak, tear-ravaged voice. 'You ought to be talking to Livvy instead of me. I only came in here to look at the cake. I saw Dwayne lying on the floor. I thought he'd had too much to drink and passed out or something and went to him. Then I saw the knife and I pulled it out. I wasn't thinking. I guess something told me I could make it better that way. It was stupid, I know…'
“We'll move to another room pretty soon, Jane. Just leave the boxes by the door,' Mel said.
“Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,' Shelley said with a shrug.
“Don't you hate it when trite things are true?' Jane commented, unloading her boxes onto the floor.
The phone rang and Jane, who was closest to it, picked it up reluctantly. 'Thatcher Lodge,' she said.
A harried-sounding voice came over the line. 'Yes, she's here,' Jane said, 'but she's not able to come to the phone right now. May I take a message?' Jane listened for a moment, perplexed, then started making frantic 'pencil and paper' motions at Shelley.
“I'm sorry. I'm not authorized to give that information without permission. Let me call you back in a moment.”
She scribbled a woman's name, a newspaper name, and a telephone number, and said, 'I'll get back to you as soon as I can.'
“A reporter?' Shelley sneered.
“Not exactly,' Jane said, staring at the paper. 'The society editor of a Chicago paper. Wanting to confirm a wedding announcement.'
“I thought you'd already taken care of that,' Shelley said.
“I have. It's to appear this Sunday in a different paper. And with a different bride.'
“What on earth are you talking about?'
“The editor wanted to confirm the details and spelling of the names of the bride and groom: Katherine Louise Wilson and Dwayne Hessling.'
“What? Who's this Katherine person?'
“Kitty.'
“Oh, Jane, they just mixed up the bridesmaid with the bride.”
Jane shook her head. 'No, Shelley. I was in charge of the announcements and I never turned one in to this paper. Somebody
Twenty-one
“I've learned something you really should know.”
He didn't look heavenward, but it was a near thing. 'Okay, let me have it,' he said.
But when Jane was through explaining about the phone call, he lost his impatience. 'You're certain you didn't call this in wrong?'
“It's just a little local suburban paper. Almost a shopper. I had no reason to contact them.' She gave him the
