copyright Lisa J Lickel
Ivy Preston has waited a long time to get married. This time she plans to do more than make it to the altar. But when Ivy tries to do a good deed and stumbles over a body, she and her former fiancé, Stanley, are accused of the crime. Ivy hopes she’s not the only one who believes in their innocence.
Worse than being framed for murder, when one of her beloved kittens falls ill, Ivy must face her greatest fears. How will she ever parent a child if she can’t even take care of a cat. . .and for that matter, how will she be the type of wife her devoted fiancé needs?
Through the love and support of her mom, fiancé, and friends, Ivy is determined to clear Stanley's good name, and her own. With nuptials looming, Ivy hopes not only to find a killer, but to make it to her own wedding.
Chapter 1
“This is Ivanna in
the morning,” the throaty voice from my car radio chanted. “Ready to sign off.
Remember, North Star Candies…the way to enjoy the day. Who doesn’t adore North
Star mocha fudge? Treats so light they’ll take you beyond the moon!”
“Hmm, North Star might
have been the best around here,” I told my car radio. “Before Featherlight
Confectioneries made caramel cashew with sea salt.” I pulled into my driveway,
the cool sunny breeze whipping my hair when I opened the car door. Yippee! Not
only was March arriving like a lamb, I had presents. My mail carrier Janie knew
I’d stop in at home at lunchtime to check on the kittens, so she’d left the
beautiful box from Emblem Paper Works on my front stoop next to my still
tightly budded tulips. Sigh.
I put my hand over
my fluttering heart and drooled once again over the wonderful, fabulous hunk of
man who was going to marry me. The box of wedding invitations sitting there
pushed me one step closer to the altar, which I vowed I was actually going to
make stick this time. When I could touch the scrumptious, thick, silky paper
and read the words, I was sure the wedding would finally feel real, and everything
would be perfect this time. Adam Truegood Thompson, the man who loved cats and
children, fed me gourmet coffee and chocolate, would take me, Ivy Amanda
Preston, as his lawfully wedded wife. Mmhmm.
OK, quit dawdling,
grab the box of invites, which technically wasn’t a present since I paid for
them, and check on the man’s kittens which were currently in residence at my
house so their father wouldn’t be tempted to harm a hair on their little heads.
Sadly, the darling fluffballs broke the line of pure-bred Egyptian Mau cats
when my silver, Memnet, got to, um, know his cat Isis, a smoke, a little better
than we’d anticipated last fall. Mem and Adam were currently batching it at his
place downtown.
I called “kitty,
kitty,” as I dumped the box on my kitchen table, even though Isis always gave
me the eye, like what was this crazy woman doing? when I tried to get her to
come. She would appear when she needed me. Which was rarely. The four kittens,
on the other hand, bumbled over. I squatted to play with them.
The invitations called
to me during the time I created a peanut butter and rhubarb jam sandwich and
ate. I studied the siren carton while I jingled my car keys and dithered
whether to open it now or wait for Adam so we could look at them together.
Guess which side
won?
I used the
handy-dandy key I happened to be holding to slice through the packing tape. Uh-oh,
that color blue edging wasn’t what I remembered in my order. Flutter went thunk
in my chest. I reached with a quivering hand and matching lip to lift out the
sample invitation left open on top of the neatly sealed packages.
“You are cordially
invited to attend the nuptials of Miss Ivanna Lynn Pressman and Mr. Jason
Albert Carter…”
Oh, no.
I double-checked the
address on the box. Yup, my name, Ivy Preston, and my address, 312 Marigold
Street, Apple Grove, Illinois.
I picked up the
sealed package of invitations and turned it over. From the outside they looked
the same as the open one. I guessed our names were close enough to confuse, but
I still felt wounded and anonymous. Ivanna, hmm? Exotic, nothing like me. It
couldn’t be…seriously? Ivanna from the radio show? I looked again at the
invitation. Their wedding was the weekend before mine. Ours. At Ethereal
Events, the same venue Adam and I had booked for the last Sunday in June. I
know, a Sunday, but it was the closest we could get to the end of May, Mother’s
preferred date.
Fortunately, the
invoice had Ivanna’s correct address—on the south edge of Apple Grove—and I
thought I’d do the neighborly thing and take them over to her after work rather
than waste time sending them back through the mail. Besides, ouch, those things
were expensive enough already. I grabbed some tape from the drawer and quickly
slapped it across my key slash, called “farewell and behave” to the cats and
rushed back out the door.
As I started my
car’s engine, I reached for the radio button, ready to catch a little of the
afternoon show on WWAG, Apple’s Grove’s little radio station. Ivanna could be home
when I went there. Hmm…I might get to meet a celebrity. Anticipation would make
the afternoon wing by.
I drove the few
blocks downtown to Mea Cuppa, the coffee and book store Adam owned and at which
I now helped. The Apple Grove store was one of a small chain based in Chicago.
Pushing the back door open, I called, “Martha, I’m back,” to our shop assistant
and my neighbor who worked three days a week. “Anything exciting happen?”
She was a bouncy mom
of twin kindergarteners who was overjoyed to let her mother and her husband’s
parents share grandparent duties while she earned some needed money.
“When does anything
exciting happen around here?” she said with a little toss of her reddish-blond
hair nicely shaped to her head. I envied anyone who had such control of her
hair. Mine tended toward the wild musk ox side. “Just that new order from the
book distributor. I had them set it by the office door.”
“Thanks! I had a
special delivery at home, too.”
“Do tell!” She
rubbed her hands together.
“Of course! Be right
back.” I went to put my purse away in my office desk and returned to the wide
open, high-ceilinged room with narrow creaky wooden floorboards to help her
prep for the afternoon coffee rush. Today’s coffee special was mocha mint, and
of course I needed to sample some so I could eagerly explain its engaging qualities
to our clientele. The hot mugful went down smoothly and I regretfully decided
against seconds. I told Martha about the invitations instead, to keep my mouth too
busy to stuff in more calories. “So, if that’s OK with your schedule, I want to
take off fifteen minutes early so I can still meet Adam at Tiny’s for a quick
supper after I drop off the box at Ivanna’s house. Can you lock up?”
“Sure, boss.” Martha
grinned and popped a square of chocolate fudge from Featherlight
Confectionaries in her mouth. “I’ll just ask Mom if she can get supper ready.”
I ordered myself to
stop mentally drooling over fudge and a mom who would cook dinner at the drop
of a hat and think of my upcoming wedding dress fitting. “I can’t imagine what
it would be like, having parents so close.”
The bell on the door
played, “Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day,” as customers
entered. Much as I wished my mom lived physically closer, having a two-hour warning,
the drive from Maplewood where I’d grown up in northern Illinois south to Apple
Grove, was a relief before her tornadic visits. Adam’s father had passed away
years ago and his mother had Alzheimer’s. Sad.
At five forty-five,
Colleen Bailey, our after-school helper, and Martha were ably handling
customers so I breezed back into the late afternoon light. Sunset was five
minutes away and would be romantic by the time Adam and I held hands at the
buffet for our too-brief connection of the day. He had an evening meeting—when
didn’t he?—with some committee or other of the city council. Part time mayor
was really time and a half, but he was happy and I was proud of him.
I needed sunglasses
for the drive west and south, the approximate direction of Ivanna’s
neighborhood. New townhouses clashed with the gentility of Apple Grove’s
historic center. Progress, though, trumped desperate clinging to the past,
something Adam was attempting to work on by bringing new businesses and life to
our little adopted city.
There it was—Ivanna’s
address, the right hand of a two-story dark-sided and narrow-windowed building.
I supposed it was modern classic, but I frowned at its bleakness. The tree in
the front yard was spindly, with its “I’m new and insured the first year” store
tag fluttering in the breeze. I knocked and rang the bell before depositing the
box on the rubber welcome mat. Weatherman Bob at WWAG reported possible showers
in the early morning hours, so I hesitated leaving it exposed. As I reached to
test the knob, I noticed the interior door was ajar. Maybe I should push it
open and shove the box inside. I didn’t even have to set foot in the entry.
With a peek up and
down the street, deserted for the dinner hour, I gingerly eased the glass storm
door toward me, then tentatively pushed the black-painted interior door inward.
Not even a squeak added to the spooky tension. I grinned. I’d been reading way
too many mysteries and detective dramas lately. “Hello! Just dropping this
off!” I called as I slid the box forward, though I was certain no one was home.
Except the
outstretched fingers on the floor I happened to see looked too real to spring
from an overactive imagination.
I swallowed and
pulled back, still on my knees on Ivanna’s stoop. If it was a crime scene, I
shouldn’t go in. My heart raced and a sweat on my brow was going to make my
hair frizzier.
But what if she was
hurt or sick?
What if an assailant
was lurking?
What if I was lying
there and someone saw me on the floor?
What if it wasn’t
her?
Apple Grove’s
semi-warm and fuzzy almost detective Officer Ripple could reprimand me later. I
pushed the door wider—it was already open, not locked, so I couldn’t be accused
of breaking and entering—I hoped—and crawled one knee inside. “Hi! Just making
a delivery!”
My caution blew back
in my face. I’d never seen Ivanna from the radio show, but I recognized her as
a former waitress at Tiny’s. She was mostly on her stomach with her legs
slightly bent, splayed across her Italian green and gold marble-tiled foyer,
red hair partially covering the white skin of her face. Under her pale gold
silk blouse her abundant cleavage was kind of pushed up toward her throat and
her cheek rested on the floor. I was so glad her eyes were closed. That meant
she could be…
“Um, Ivanna? Miss
Pressman? Are you all right?” I figured I’d better ask before I checked for a
pulse. I didn’t see any blood. As I leaned across her outstretched arm to see
if I could put a finger on her neck without touching anything else, I planted
my left hand near hers. My skin prickled and I pulled back. A piece of candy,
partially unwrapped, lay near her wrist. I reached for it, but stopped before
my fingers left prints. Ripple’s stern cop voice sounded in my mind: “You
didn’t touch anything, did you?”
I refocused on the very
still body. Well, technically I didn’t know if it was—oh, just check for a
pulse, Ivy, so you have something to tell the police. “Ivanna? I’m just going
to…put my finger here…under your ear…”
There was plenty of
time for her to open her eyes or start breathing before I made contact. But,
no. Just as I figured…her icy cold skin did not thrum with any beat of life.
WWAG was going to have to find a new morning show host.
I sat back and
fumbled for my phone. While I dialed 911 and waited for the response, I studied
Ivanna. Her mouth looked a little pinched, even in death. A slash of crimson
red lipstick and matching polish on her long nails should have clashed with
that shade of brassy hair, yet some blondish highlights kept the color from
being gauche. The engagement ring on her outstretched hand had a positively
vulgar two-carat diamond in an ornate swirly gold setting, posed like it was on
display.
“What is your
emergency?” the voice on my phone asked.
I explained with the
fewest words possible and was directed to remain on the scene until officers
arrived. “Sure, I will,” I said and hung up. The adrenalin rush wore off when I
realized I’d be late to meet Adam and probably wouldn’t get to see him at all
today. I held up my phone again, about to speed dial him, when I was distracted
by the piece of candy on the floor. The wrapper bore the unmistakable winged
design of Featherlight Confectionaries—the same kind my ex-fiancé Stanley
Brewer sold since he’d switched companies. I stopped in mid-reach once again. I
didn’t recognize this style of chocolate cube. This had a slightly bumpy
texture, as if stuffed with delicacies. I knew them all since we sold that
brand at Mea Cuppa, and this one didn’t belong.
Right—Adam. I got to
my feet and stepped away from Ivanna. I was a little shaky and didn’t want to
upset him if my voice quivered while explaining my peculiar situation so I sent
him a text saying I was all right, but had run into a problem and wouldn’t make
it. Plz call me l8r.
I didn’t hear any
sirens yet so I looked around. The foyer was formal—opulent. Toward the far end
a pass way opened to a large room. On the opposite side a door to a probable
powder room stood ajar. Beyond the door was a shadowy passage—probably a hall.
I tiptoed toward the living room. Just to see if anyone was lurking. Oh—all
right, I was curious. My attention was immediately nabbed by a long off-white
dress hanging from a sconce. It practically waved at me. I might have even felt
a waft of moving air. The wedding dress, obviously. It was beautiful in a
creamy, old-fashioned way, with pleated straps and delicate pearls sewn around
the bodice and skirt. I couldn’t help comparing hers to mine. I had a few
layers of under skirting to make my dress puff, so as to draw attention away
from my not-exactly-hourglass-shaped figure. Hers was sleek.
Still no sign of the
police. Near the dress an open folder rested on an end table. Yup—as I suspected,
paperwork for the wedding reception. Menu plans, and…optional guest favors with
surprise Featherlight Confectionaries candy samples apparently not available to
the general public and new to Ethereal Events, the wedding venue.
I decided to text
Stanley next. Why? Hmm…got me, except I wondered if I could find out more about
the private candy.
What was keeping the
police? I wandered closer to Ivanna’s wedding dress, which would sadly go
unworn. I poked at the beadwork.
“Ahem…hey, Vanna?”
The male voice behind
made me jump and twirl. A computer screen on a small coffee table behind me
showed a headshot of a very attractive man with dark, thick wavy hair over totally
cliché, I know, bedroom eyes and a four o’clock shadow.
“Who are you?” the
man demanded, bedroom eyes turning six a.m. alert and alarming, practically
shooting sparks of anger. “Where’s Ivanna?”
Thankfully the front
door burst open at that moment. “Uh, excuse me, please,” I told the computer
screen and rushed back to the foyer. Petite, blonde Officer Ann Dow was a
straight-laced professional who I’d gotten to know when mystery boxes of
chocolate appeared on my doorstep several months ago. Stanley had been trying
to wiggle back into my life after leaving me at the altar, but his tactics were
on the stalker side and made me nervous, so I called the police. Apple Grove
was too small to need partner police patrols, though under the present circumstances
I was not surprised to see Tim Ripple follow her in.
“Miss Preston,”
Ripple said in my direction. He had initially been unappreciative of my help
finding the former mayor’s killer last fall, although it wasn’t as if I
obstructed justice. It wasn’t my fault if our cats hadn’t trusted him at first.
Officer Dow studied Ivanna’s position and the room, reading the scene like a
procedural. She checked for a pulse and grimly shook her head at Ripple. She
also snapped a few photos while Ripple started in on me.
“Why were you in
that room?” Ripple asked. He sighed dramatically with every fiber of his muscly
five-ten, shorn brown-haired physique. “What all did you touch?”
“Nothing!” I held up
my hands. “Really! Except the floor, the door frame, and uh…” I swiveled toward
angry tones sounding from the living room I’d just exited.
Ripple nodded at Dow
and both drew weapons. He frowned. “Who’s in there? Who were you talking to?
Stay here.”
Dow eyed me and took
up a position at the side of the entry to the living room while he bent low and
duck-waddled in.
I followed, despite
the warning, and Dow pulled me back.
“It’s her computer,”
I whispered. “Somebody calling Ivanna.”
Dow scrunched her
brows.
“VOIP,” I said,
trying not to get too technical about my area of expertise, electronic
communications. At her even more puzzled expression, I said quietly, “Voice Over
Internet Protocol—Ivanna uses her computer like a phone.”
“Oh,” she whispered,
cocking her head to listen to Ripple who was attempting to get information from
the man on the computer without giving anything else away.
In any event, I was
going to have to do a lot of explaining to a lot of people about a great many
things. I shivered at another waft of cool air and turned back to stare
absently at Ivanna’s body, keeping a healthy distance. Dow sent me a
sympathetic glance and stood down from her ready position. Jason Clark, the man
on the computer, as he finally admitted to Ripple, was poor Ivanna’s fiancé.
Former fiancé. We listened to Ripple ask Jason questions. What did he know
about Ivanna’s schedule today? Where had Jason been all day?
Even after Ripple
convinced him to cooperate, I wondered about the legality of investigation by
computer call. Short of the video court appearances from prisoners, such things
weren’t always admissible evidence in court. I loved those procedural dramas.
“Sir, please come to
the police station. Officer Dow will meet you there in thirty minutes to take a
statement,” Ripple said.
“Statement about
what? That sounds official. What’s going on? Why can’t you tell me now?” Jason
asked, agitated all over again. I felt sorry for him.
“Don’t you have to
notify next of kin first?” I whispered, and received a shush from Dow.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?
I’m calling my attorney,” Jason’s voice said. The rest of his statement faded
and squawked, then was gone. Ivanna’s computer probably needed to recharge.
Ripple reappeared as
the front door swung wide to admit emergency medical techs with a stretcher.
Dow took more photos, then Detective Reyes showed up with a toolbox. He spent a
few minutes collecting samples around Ivanna’s body and the doors. Eventually Ripple
allowed the EMTs to remove Ivanna’s body.
I glanced at the
time on my phone and sighed.
“In a hurry?” Ripple
asked, amusement dripping.
I drew myself up and
acted like the drama queen he assumed I was after I called to report my friend
Donald, the former mayor, had been kidnapped. Anyway, Ripple hadn’t believed me
at first. We had since developed a friendly but professional relationship laced
with mutual respect, especially since I’d been correct. Though I sincerely
hoped meeting over dead bodies was not going to become normal routine for us.
“I had planned to
meet Adam for supper,” I told him. “The mayor,” I added, mostly for my
self-esteem.
Ripple gestured for
me to precede him from the premises. “I’m sorry you had to find Miss Pressman
like this.”
“Me, too. You think
it might be some kind of accident, or natural—”
“Let’s not
speculate. Do you want to give me your statement now? While Officer Dow meets
Mr. Clark?”
Dow brushed past me
out of the house. “That might be better, you know, while your memory is fresh.”
“You’re right.” I
twisted my lips and patted at the embarrassing gurgles from my stomach, hunger
resurfacing after the fright and sadness of the last hour.
“Come to my office,”
Ripple said. “I’ll order sandwiches.”
How could I resist?