Powdered Murder

"You don't have to explain yourself, hun." I raised my eyebrows as she stepped past me and flipped on the lights. "I've been wondering what he's hiding myself." She thumbed through a stack of gossip magazines on his nightstand, each marked with pink Post-its. I pulled one of the pink tabs and the magazine opened up to a page with a picture of Lila shopping in L.A. the week prior. I watched Lila glance at the photo and then turn her head.

"What makes you think he's hiding something?" I asked. She hadn't glared at me or even studied my choice of late night attire with a critical eye. Clearly, she and Patrick hadn't had a conversation yet. Tomorrow's wedding was still happening.

"Same reason you're up here." She chuckled and ran her fingers over a half empty bottle of bourbon on the mini bar. Franco's room was smaller than Lila's room, and tidier. His closet was color coordinated, and his bed wasn't made the usual way the maids made the beds with the sheets folded down twice and complimentary leaf-shaped chocolates on the pillow. Franco must have made the bed himself.

"You think he had something to do with Do

"Who knows?" She opened the drawer to her nightstand and picked up a ratty, torn copy of A Tale of Two Cities. "A die hard Dickens fan," she commented, dropping the book back in the drawer. "He re-reads that stupid story every year."

I followed her lead and opened a few dresser drawers. Folded socks and underwear. Colognes lined up alphabetically. I pulled open the third drawer and found a black leather briefcase. As soon as Lila's eyes caught sight of it, she threw it on the bed. It required a number combination to be opened.

"There's the little Devil," she muttered. She tried a few numbers, but the briefcase remained locked. "He purposefully tried to hide this from me when we arrived." She tried another number combo followed by two more. She sighed and closed her eyes. "His birthday … his mother's birthday." Her eyes blinked open. She hurriedly tried another set of numbers. The briefcase made a distinct clicking noise and the lid rose. Lila anxiously peered inside, finding a stack of papers.

"What is all this?" I grabbed a paper and began reading it.

"That dirty snake," Lila murmured, lowering her voice. The expression on her face changed. She scowled, but it wasn't the sort of face that my dad made when he found out Joy and I had been cheating at cards. It was the sort of face Joy once made when she came home to find that Wade had totaled her car. "He'll pay for this."

"Pay for what?"

Lila tossed a few pages aside and neatly folded them so they would fit in her hand. She looked up at me and almost immediately tears streamed down her face. Her silk nightie fluttered against her chest as she jumped up and handed me a title page that read Life with Lila: A Woman on Edge.

"He's writing a tell-all book about me," she sniffled. "I knew he couldn't afford that Rolex on the salary I pay him." She threw the papers back into the briefcase. "Essie, we have to destroy it. This'll ruin me!" She paced back and forth, rubbing the side of her head. Her chest rose up and down, her breathing becoming heavier and heavier as if she was on the brink of a panic attack. She shoved the case towards me.

"I'm sure this isn't the only copy," I pointed out.

"No," she blurted out. “No. No. No."

"Calm down," I said softly. Lila leaned against the dresser like she was fighting a dizzy spell, and I reached out to help steady her. "Can't you have your lawyers put a stop to all this?" I spotted a box of tissues next to the television and handed her one. She dabbed at the corner of her eyes.

"Maybe," she gulped, looking down at the tear stains on her nightie. "I'm a mess, aren't I? All I want is a nice, quiet wedding, and this is what I get. Maybe the universe is turning against me? Do you ever feel like that?"

I felt like that all the time, especially when Patrick showed up at my place of work una

"Did Patrick tell you I used to be…?" I pinched a roll of skin from my cheek, attempting to make her feel better. "Heavier?"

"No," she quietly laughed. "He never mentioned that. You're joking."

"Nope."

"I knew that bod had to be years-in-the-making." She did a once-over of my physique, almost back to her snobbish self. "No offense."

"None taken," I lied. "Being thin doesn't come easy to everyone."

"Well, at least every time I nibble on sweets it doesn’t go straight to my thighs like Bebe," she said quietly. She took a deep breath. "Thanks, I feel do feel better." She headed towards the door. "Don't worry, this'll be our little secret okay. You are right. I'll get my people on this right away. This is a total invasion of privacy."

"And tomorrow?"

"We act like nothing is wrong," she replied. "For now." She smirked before leaving me alone to do some more snooping. The way her soft, i

I placed the briefcase back in the dresser drawer and continued looking through Franco's luggage. Everything was neatly pressed and not a crumb or wrinkle was in sight anywhere. His tell-all book was the only thing hiding in his room.

I quickly left his suite, disappointed I didn't find something that pointed to Do

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I woke up Sunday morning to the sound of my phone ringing and glanced at the time. I hadn't fallen asleep until way past midnight so I could barely keep my eyes open.

"Hello?" Patrick's wedding was hours away and I hadn't caught Do

"Essie," the voice on the other end whispered. "It's Murray. I sent Dad out for the coffees, but he'll be back any minute." I sat up immediately and rubbed the drowsiness from my eyes. I might have to break my no-stimulants rule and down a coffee before the ceremony. "I have some information for you."

"Is this about our little visitor?" I eagerly asked.

"John Slagger," Murray answered. "Yes. I thought you should know he spent the last three years at a place in Northern Washington called The Cove."

"The Cove?" I repeated. "What's that?"

"I knew you would ask me that so I looked it up," he said proudly. "Are you ready for this one?" He paused for dramatic effect. I rolled my eyes, feeling a headache begi

"Come on, Murray."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "It's a prestigious recovery center for the mentally impaired. Or in other words, it's a classy looney bin."