A Wedding To Die For

pleasant about her patronizing attitude. “Provisionally,” I replied evenly. “But I specialize in adoption searches for someone who is licensed.”

“And your supervising PI’s name?” she asked, pen poised.

“Angel Molina,” I said. “But what does—”

Jeff placed a gentle hand on my knee. “Bear with Quinn. She’s just doing her job.”

“And this Molina has an agency in Houston?” Fielder went on.

“He does,” I answered. “Is that important?”

“This is all routine, Abby,” Jeff said.

Fielder glanced at Jeff’s hand, which had moved up to my thigh. “I’ll check out the agency later.” I saw her fingers flex several times, saw her nostrils flare a little when she took in some extra air.

Jeff, good detective that he is, noted these subtle indicators, too. He promptly assumed a less intimate posture by leaning back, his arms spanning the sofa’s arched back.

So he wanted her to feel more comfortable, huh? He cared about her. Oh, I was picking up on the signals, all right. These two probably had a history that was more than just professional—and from the way she kept looking at him, she wished it wasn’t history.

“Tell me exactly what you saw when you walked in on Megan and her father,” she said.

“I saw a very distraught young woman with her father’s bloody head in her lap.”

She laid the pad and pen down. “Sorry. Guess I should be more specific.”

“Guess you should.”

“You, Ms. Rose, do not have an emotional wall to climb when it comes to remembering what you saw in that room. After all, you hardly knew the dead man. I consider that rational distance important in reconstructing a crime scene that was seriously compromised by several factors.”

“You mean those gung-ho paramedics doing CPR on an obviously dead body? Why did they do that, by the way?”

“Wouldn’t you want them to do everything possible if it were your father?” she replied.

“Not if his skull was exposed and gray matter was in my lap,” I shot back. “Besides, my father’s already dead.”

Jeff rested a hand on my back. “Abby, it’s okay.” He addressed Quinn. “Abby’s father had a heart attack and the paramedics were called and... well, you understand.”

I stared hard at him, saying nothing. What the hell did he think he was doing telling her my personal business?

“I’m sorry if I upset you, Ms. Rose,” Fielder said.

“You didn’t upset me,” I said evenly, summoning a calmness I did not feel.

“Good. Now, can you tell me the exact position of the body and where Megan Beadford was sitting? I also need to know which direction her father’s feet were pointing and where the broken glass was in relationship to them.”

“Can I draw it for you?” I said.

She picked up the pad, tore off a clean sheet of paper and offered it to me along with her pen. I made the sketch, indicating that Beadford’s head had been parallel to the fireplace on the left wall, his feet toward the back of the room. Megan was sitting on the dead man’s right side facing the fireplace. “You want my impression on how they came to those positions? See, I’ve had plenty of time to think about exactly that.”

“Okay, sure,” she glanced at Jeff. “I’m always up for impressions.”

Was that a smirk? Maybe I should clam up and let her go with her own assumptions. But since the last thing I wanted Jeff to think was that I was selfish and immature, I stifled the urge to rebel.

“I saw blood on the corner of the fireplace hearth, here.” I circled the spot. “I think he hit those bricks when he went down after getting smashed from behind with the vase. He was probably facedown and Megan simply rolled him over onto her lap.”

“Thank you for your astute observations, Ms. Rose.” She took the paper and slipped it to the back of the pad behind the unfinished pages.

“So there was more than one wound?” Jeff asked, looking at Fielder, not me.

I answered anyway. “He had a nasty mess at the back of his head. I saw a paramedic take a big shard out of his hair when they were moving him onto the backboard to do CPR.”

“You really saw quite a bit.” She nodded her approval. “Jeff said you’d be a tremendous witness.”

Smug bitch. If I ever needed an artificial heart I’d be sure and call her up. “Thanks so much,” I replied, pasting on my best fake smile.

“And who else entered the room aside from the professionals?” she asked.

“My sister... Travis... and Graham Beadford came in with the paramedics. Holt McNabb—he was the best man—”

“I know who he is.”

And please make sure I know you know. “Anyway, he was around,” I said. “The cousins—you’ve met them, right? Courtney and Roxanne? They wanted in to see their uncle, but their father kept them out.”

“And Mrs. Beadford never entered?”

“No. She’d passed out,” I said impatiently. “But I’m sure you know that, too.”

Jeff squeezed my shoulder in a reassuring gesture before placing his elbows on his knees and leaning toward Fielder. I might have liked this tiny bit of support an hour ago, but not now. It was obvious he was uncomfortable showing affection toward me in front of her.

“What else about the room?” Fielder asked. “Anything strike you as out of the ordinary?”

I closed my eyes, picturing the scene. “Glass on the floor. Big chunks. And tiny pieces crunching underfoot. Wood floor with several Oriental rugs. Plenty of gifts on display—china, silver, candleholders, picture frames—and lots of unopened gifts, too.”

“Anything else?”

I held up a palm in her direction, my eyes still closed. “Two tapestry wing chairs with a table between them over by the bookshelves on the right side of the room. And glasses on the little table. Three, maybe four?” I opened my eyes and gave Fielder a questioning look, wondering if this jibed with what she knew.

She just said, “Is that all?”

“A beer bottle, maybe? Or two? One on the gift table and—”

“You sure?”

Was I? “Maybe not. A lot went down in a few short minutes.”

“Now about this wedding book,” she said. “That could prove helpful since we believe some guests left the reception prior to the discovery of the body. Where did you put it?”

“Mrs. Beadford took it from me when I came in.”

Fielder pursed her glossed lips. “We haven’t found it.”

Did she think I stashed the stupid thing somewhere to make her life more difficult? My neck muscles knotted up again. “So ask her where she put it,” I said, hoping I sounded civil.

“Can’t ask her. She’s under sedation at the hospital.” Fielder sighed. “Okay, describe this book. Exactly what are we looking for?”

As I told her, I couldn’t help but think about the woman in the brown hat. “There was at least one guest at the church who didn’t sign it. And who knows how many people only attended the reception and had to sign it at the house. If Mrs. Beadford didn’t get their names, there’s no way of knowing who all came and went.”

“We have hundreds of pictures, Ms. Rose, and more to come, so we’ll eventually know who was here. If I showed you some photos, would you remember who signed the book and who didn’t?”

Jeff, who had been chewing his gum and making sure he kept his hands off me, spoke. “Seems like the long way around, Quinn. Are there any obvious suspects you could zero in on and—”

“You know I can’t discuss how to handle the case in front of her.” She said her like I was a piece of roadkill stuck to her shoe.

Okay, that does it. I rose. “Maybe I’ll just leave you two alone.”

Jeff touched my elbow. “Abby, I’m sure Quinn didn’t mean—”

“Actually, Jeff,” Fielder said sweetly, “I think Ms. Rose has had enough questions for one day. But I could use