Milo took it and scanned. “Who’s got the family?”
Reed said, “Me. Time to deliver the good news.”
Chapter 4
Binchy went to corral the staff, Alicia beelined for Leanza Cardell, and Reed headed for a table just left of the dance floor where the family waited.
The chosen few; standby travelers watching morosely as everyone around them boarded the flight to freedom.
I took a look at the printed list. Flimsy white paper, computer-generated italics.
A bevy of bridesmaids. No ushers.
Then, in a darker, twice-as-large font:
No kids meant no flower girl or ring bearer. Two sibs for the groom, none for the bride.
A woman everyone called Baby.
The only child.
Leanza Cardell was added to the family table, where no one greeted her. She brought a Martini glass with her, unpinned her red hair, shook it out, and turned her chair to face the stage.
Milo said, “We’ll be taking people two at a time, any voluntee—”
“We’re the bride’s parents, we’ll go first.” A thin brunette around fifty stood and tugged at her dress. Everyone at the table stared at her, including her husband. She said, “Let’s go, Denny.”
Gold-chunk cuff links glinted as the father of the bride got to his feet, suppressing a burp. He followed his wife several paces behind, sat down leaving a chair between them.
Corinne Rapfogel was her daughter grown to sinewy middle age. The dress was a body-conscious black tulip. Spray-tanned and Botoxed as smooth as a freshly laundered bedsheet, she sported a diamond-and-gold mesh choker, four-inch gold hoop earrings, and a flower tattoo on her right wrist. Eyes under architecturally sculpted eyebrows were dark and guarded.
Some women seek mates who remind them of their fathers. If looks meant anything, Baby hadn’t. “Denny” Rapfogel was bald, broad, and heavyset with a ruddy, meaty face that might’ve taken some college football punishment.
He said, “Helluva thing on a day like this. When Cor and I tied the knot, we had a nice ceremony, nothing crazy happened. But that’s how it was back in the Jurassic era.”
Corinne said, “You’re making it sound ancient. Thirty-one years ago.”
“Feels like ten minutes.”
His wife nudged his arm. “Aww.”
Denny Rapfogel winked at us. “Ten minutes with my hand held over a flame. Heh.”
Corinne Rapfogel drew back. Had her husband been looking at her, he would’ve absorbed a nuclear-powered glare. “Let’s get this show on the road, Dennis. I’m sure these nice policemen don’t have time for your humor.”
“Just trying to lighten things up,” he said. To us: “This is pretty freaky, no? Even for you guys.”
Milo and I said nothing.
Rapfogel tugged at his tie. “The girl who’s dead, Baby and Gar say they don’t know her and from what I’ve heard, no one else does. So it’s obvious this was something bizarre that has nothing to do with us.”
Milo said, “We’d still like to ask a few questions.”
Rapfogel threw up his hands. “Sure, evening’s blown to shit anyway, talk about money for nothing and chicks for free.”
“Chicks?” said his wife.
“It’s a song. Dear. The Stones.”
Dire Straits, but why quibble?
Milo showed both of them the picture of the woman in red.
Corinne Rapfogel said, “We already saw it and told you and that hasn’t changed, why would it?”
Denny Rapfogel said, “If you want to get a move on, cooperate, Cor.”
She frowned.
Twin rapid head shakes. “No, I don’t know her.”
“Ditto,” said Denny.
Milo said, “I’m sure this terrible thing has nothing to do with you but I have to ask: Can you think of anyone who’d want to harm you?”
Corinne Rapfogel said, “Why would you even ask that?”
“Disrupting a wedding seems like a personal thing, ma’am. So we need to—”
“Disrupting? That’s an understatement. Baby’s special day is ruined.” Sudden moisture in her eyes.
Denny said, “That’s why they’re here, they need to get to the bottom of it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Obvious.”
Like mother...
Corinne looked over at her in-laws. “If it’s anything personal, it has to be from their side. He’s a veterinarian out in the sticks. You know what that’s like.”
Milo said, “I’m not sure I—”
“We’re talking Hicksville,” said Corinne. “Probably rubes like that movie... Deliverance. He doesn’t even do dogs and cats, he does farm animals. Who knows what kind of people he gets involved with?”
Denny said, “Honey, I don’t think a horse with the runs had anything to do with—”
“Oh, shut it, Denny.”
Rapfogel colored, most intensely in the nose, now a cartoon thermometer bulb.
I said, “Dr. Burdette is a vet.”
Corinne said, “A farm vet.”
“What about his wife?”
“Housewife.” As if that were a disease. “She says she works in his office part-time.”
“Ah,” I said. “So what do you guys do?”
“We run an agency,” she said, sitting up higher. “VCR Staffing Specialists. The V’s for Vanderbeek, that’s my maiden name. The R’s him.”
Denny said, “The C’s for cum. That’s Roman for ‘with,’ not—”
His wife’s throat clear stopped him.
I said, “Your agency manages...”
“Personal assistants for celebrities and people who matter,” said Corinne. “Brett Stone and Kyla Berry have been our clients. They were supposed to be here but they got caught up in Europe. We booked both their P.A.’s two years ago and they say no one’s ever been better.”
Denny said, “Two years is like infinity for actors. They’re—”
“Like everyone else, only prettier,” said Corinne. To us: “Baby did some commercials when she was little. She was a gorgeous baby.”
“Coupla diaper commercials,” said Denny. “Kid gets paid for being a baby, we get to set up a college fund. Cool deal.”
I said, “Where’d she go to college?”
Corinne said, “She considered art at Otis but decided on The Fashion Academy where she studied marketing. Sometimes she works with us. Consulting. It’s helpful having someone in touch with her generation.”
Denny said, “Millennials relating to millennials. We call that demographic synchrony — so do you guys have any clues, yet?”
Milo said, “It’s early in the investigation, sir. With all those personalities you deal with at work, can you think of anyone who’d want to do damage to—”
“Definitely not, capital N,” said Corinne Rapfogel. “This has nothing to do with any aspect of our lives, our wheelhouse runs smoothly.” She glanced at the dead woman’s face. “She’s cute, could be one of our clients but she’s not. Okay?”
“Got it, ma’am. Sorry for—”
“I get it, you’re doing your job. You catch the m.f. who did this, I’ll be in court when they sentence him to the gas chamber. After I collect on a massive lawsuit for pain, suffering, and emotional damages!”