Veil of Night: A Novel Read online

  “What did you do after you left Claire’s?”

  “I came home. I had a pile of laundry to do.”

  “Did you see anyone, talk to anyone?”

  “No, not until Bishop called to tell me someone had been murdered at the reception hall.”

  “Did you go back to the reception hall?”

  “No, why would I?” she asked blankly.

  “Your briefcase was found on the floor. Maybe you went back to retrieve it, found that Ms. Edwards was still there, and the two of you had another altercation.”

  “My br—” Jaclyn stopped, blinking in astonishment. How could she have forgotten her briefcase? Why hadn’t she noticed it before now? Having it in her hand was as natural as having on clothes. She looked around, as if it might magically appear, but he was right: no briefcase.

  She stared into the middle distance as she mentally reconstructed what had happened. “I’d put my briefcase on the table, but Carrie must have moved it. I’d taken my appointment book out, though, because I’d had a couple of calls from my assistant about scheduling, and it was on the table. When Carrie threw her temper tantrum and knocked everything off the table, Melissa picked up my appointment book and handed it to me before she went to her office. I had it in my hand when I left, so I never missed the briefcase.”

  Oh, God, the briefcase was bad news. It gave her a reason for going back, and she had no witnesses otherwise.

  “What clothes were you wearing today?”

  The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Surprised, Jaclyn almost looked at him before catching herself and instead focusing on the coffee table. It took her a minute to remember what she’d had on, and in that minute she realized that they already knew what she’d been wearing, that they had already interviewed Melissa and probably gotten a description of her clothes. A chill ran down her spine.

  “Black capri pants, and a black top.”

  “May we see them?”

  This wasn’t good either. She bit her lip. “They’re in the laundry.”

  “Laundry? You washed them?”

  Suddenly she’d had enough, temper flaring and pushing out the shock and hurt. “That’s what one does with dirty clothes,” she said curtly. “Though maybe you don’t know that.” The instant the words left her mouth she knew she shouldn’t have said them, shouldn’t have made the conversation personal. She made an abrupt gesture. “Sorry, that was uncalled-for. The clothes are still in the washer, I haven’t dried them yet.”

  “May we see them?”

  “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

  She went with them to the small laundry room, watched as they removed her wet clothing and sorted out the capri pants and top. “Did you use bleach?” Eric asked.

  “On black clothes? That would ruin them.” He was asking her about laundry? He was a bachelor, so surely he did some laundry; he had to know about bleach.

  “So you didn’t use bleach?”

  “No, of course not! Do they look gray now?”

  “No, they don’t.” Was that amusement she heard in his voice? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but she wanted to kick him anyway. “I’d like to take these clothes, if you don’t mind. If you do mind, I can always get a warrant.”

  “Go ahead, take them,” she said wearily. She minded, but she’d go along with anything to get this over. What she hadn’t planned on was that they would take everything that had been in the washer, which put a serious dent in her wardrobe. She stood in mute shock as they took her clothing into custody. They were thorough, all right. Then she caught Eric eyeing the pile of sheets on the floor, and the thought that he might be getting some pleasure from remembering the night before sent a rush of anger through her that almost took off the top of her head.

  “I’m sorry about the smell in here,” she said sweetly. “A skunk must have peed on those sheets. I’ll have to burn them, because no way do I want them now.”

  They were in the car before Garvey broke out in a broad grin. “Wilder, I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think she’s very happy with you right now.”

  Eric grunted. “I kind of noticed.” Not only had she looked everywhere but at him, but the crack about the skunk and the sheets had been a dead giveaway.

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t get the vibe off her. I think she’s probably clean.”

  “I know.” Her shock had been too profound; not even the best actress in the world could make herself go pale, or change the size of her pupils. Everything she’d said had jibed with what Mrs. DeWitt had told them, too. She had washed her clothes, but that in itself wasn’t suspicious, and if there was any blood on them it would show up in examination. She hadn’t used bleach, which would have destroyed trace evidence, but as she’d said, who used bleach on dark clothes?

  She wouldn’t have gone to meet her mother at Claire’s if there had been blood on her clothing. She wasn’t in the clear, though. She could have left Claire’s, gone back to the reception hall to fetch her briefcase, and had another confrontation with Carrie Edwards, one that had ended with her stabbing Carrie with the kabob skewers.

  Knowing her briefcase was there, though, would she have left it a second time? She struck him as too organized and together for that, but if she’d killed Carrie in a fit of rage she’d have been in shock at what she’d done, and her most likely response would have been to run.

  The trouble with that scenario would be that it would have required Carrie to hang around the empty reception hall for about an hour, doing nothing and seeing no one.

  Then there was the unknown man Jaclyn had seen arrive. Mrs. DeWitt hadn’t mentioned anyone else being there, but she’d been in her office the whole time, so it was possible.

  He concentrated on the myriad details they had to run down: the other vendors, two of whom had had their own problems with Ms. Edwards; the unknown man; the previous calls on Carrie’s cell phone, logs to get from the cell carriers to make certain no calls had been deleted from the phone’s memory. Jaclyn wasn’t clear, but neither did he think she was guilty. As Garvey had said, the vibe just wasn’t there. Until she was definitely cleared, though, he had to treat this as he would any other case.

  She’d said she was going to burn the sheets, the ones they’d slept on. He’d recognized them, gold with white dots. She probably would, too, because she’d been fuming.

  Fuck. She’d probably never speak to him again.

  Chapter Eleven

  MADELYN SMILED ACROSS THE ROOM AT THE BRIDE’S mother, a sweet woman who’d been on pins and needles for the past two weeks and was now enjoying some liquid help in unwinding. Between them stretched a crowded dance floor where most of the recently fed friends and family danced to a live band—a good one, too. Everyone was dressed to the nines, and quite a few of them were more than a little tipsy. From her point of view, that was a mixed blessing. The good thing was, they were having a good time. The bad thing was, when people were tipsy, Things Could Happen that could result in people being injured, embarrassed, or arrested. At this point, though, it was out of her hands; all she could do was cross her fingers and hope everyone simply had a good time.

  The wedding had gone off without a hitch, the bridal pictures had been taken, and the reception was in full swing. Thanks to Peach’s makeup-wizard friend, the bridesmaid with the black eye looked as beautiful and unblemished as all the others. Currently the bridesmaids—all pretty blondes in sleek black satin—were posing for an informal photo, champagne glasses in hand. They were a striking contrast to the brunette bride in a cascade of white. Madelyn knew for certain at least one of the bridesmaids hadn’t been a blonde before, but had bleached her hair at the bride’s request. After all, the visual impact was important.

  There was plenty of visual impact in the gown alone. For a relatively small wedding, the bride had gone all out with her gown. She could fit the groom and the best man under the full ballroom skirt, and no one would be the wiser, except maybe the devilish five-year-old ring-bearer, who had decided