Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,26
I don’t remember?”
“It might. It might also explain why you passed out, and why when you did, the killer was able to put that knife in your hands.”
“But there’s no way to prove it?”
I knew my expression gave Alex all the answer he needed.
Since he was already in a bad mood, I didn’t feel guilty bringing up my visit to Swallows. “The girl who waited on you—”
“Jennifer.”
“That’s right. I don’t know if the police have spoken to her yet, but I’ll bet they have. And I bet she told them what she told me. Alex, according to Jennifer, you threatened Vickie. You said you wished she was dead.”
He winced as if I’d slapped him. “Dead?” The way he said it, it sounded like daid. He scraped a hand through his mane of red hair. “Are you daft, Annie? I’d never in my life say that to a woman, certainly not to one I was trying to impress. Give me some credit, I know the way to a woman’s heart isn’t through threatening her.”
If he was right, someone was lying.
And I was left with more questions than I’d come into the jail with.
IF I WAS GOING TO FIND OUT WHAT REALLY happened in that alley outside of Swallows and how Alex was involved, I had to get closer to Vickie’s life. I mean, closer than just claiming I’d moved into that fabulous Colonial with the brick walk.
This, of course, would have been easier to do if real life didn’t keep intruding.
Not that I’m complaining. When real life means my wedding . . .
I stepped back. Or at least I tried to. In the minuscule dressing room of that big-ticket boutique near Swallows, there wasn’t a lot of room to move. Still, I managed to give Eve a careful look.
She was standing in the center of the tiny dais in front of the full-length mirror, looking like a million bucks in that green cocktail dress with skinny straps and the neckline that was cut low enough to reveal not only some cleavage but, I swear, some of her abdomen, too.
“I don’t know,” I said, and because I knew the instant Eve’s golden eyebrows dipped that she was about to take the comment the wrong way, I jumped right in with an apology. “It’s not that you don’t look terrific. You do. You really do. It’s just that the dress . . .” I gave Eve and the garment in question another look. The dress still had the price tag attached and though I’d promised myself the first time I saw it and gagged that I would not look again, I couldn’t help myself. “It’s awfully expensive. And it’s awfully formal. When I told you to pick any dress you wanted—”
Eve wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t mean it?”
There it was again, that little look, and the tiny catch in Eve’s voice that betrayed the fact that I’d hurt her feelings. Like I had any other choice but to apologize again?
“Of course I meant it,” I said. It was true, even though looking back on the day I’d announced that Jim and I were not going to have a formal wedding and that any dress Eve picked to wear would work just fine . . . well, I guess I should have known then that my offer was going to be taken the wrong way. And that it was going to get me in trouble, to boot.
“My dress is simplicity itself,” I reminded her even though she should have known it since Eve was with me when I picked out the dress. “Sleeveless satin sheath. Little bolero with a bead-trimmed collar. It’s not that I don’t love the dress you’re wearing. I really do, Eve. It’s just that—”
“I get it. Sackcloth and ashes.” I would have been offended—or at least embarrassed—if Eve didn’t laugh.
Instead, I rolled my eyes. “You’d make even sackcloth and ashes look good,” I told her, and by the way she smiled, I’m pretty sure she knew it was true.
“So . . .” She carefully took off the green dress and even though she wasn’t considering it for the wedding, she’d brought another dress into the room with her. It was a cute (and very short) little silk sleeveless number with a gathered waist, tie-dyed in every shade of blue in the crayon box. The dress was too casual, even for my wedding, but in Eve’s book, that didn’t mean she couldn’t try it on.