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most and had the easiest access to him.”
    â€œBut who would benefit the most from his death?” Leatrice tapped her chin. “The killer has to have a strong motive.”
    â€œTrust me, Leatrice.” I patted her on the arm. “Anyone who knew the victim had a strong motive.”
    â€œThe only time I saw the chef that day, he was dead.” Ian sidestepped around the chair he’d been leaning on and sat down. He propped his feet on my coffee table, then noticed Richard shooting daggers at him and dropped them back to the floor. “So I guess that leaves me out.”
    Leatrice folded her arms across her chest and her frogs let out a chorus of squeaks. “Not necessarily. You could have a secret motive.”
    â€œOh, please,” Richard mumbled, then pointed to the unidentifiable spot on my sofa and whispered to me, “What on earth have you been doing on here?”
    â€œNothing.” I could feel my face warm. “I probably spilled something.”
    â€œA secret motive would make you the perfect killer.” Leatrice raised her voice to talk over us.
    â€œYou do have a dining table, you know.” Richard looked behind him at the wooden table covered in paperwork then let out a long breath. “Forget I said anything.”
    I glanced at Ian and he caught my eyes, then winked at me and grinned. Richard cleared his throat and I looked away.
    Don’t even think about it, darling, Richard mouthed to me. I didn’t have to be an expert lip reader to understand his meaning.
    â€œWhat if you had a connection to the victim that no one knew about?” Leatrice ignored us and continued. “If no one knows your motive, then you wouldn’t even be a suspect.”
    â€œI suppose that’s true.” Ian shifted in his chair, clearly humoring Leatrice. “But the chef was dead when I saw him.”
    â€œAh ha!” Leatrice pointed a finger at Ian. “You knew he was a chef, though.”
    Ian gave me a panicked look. “He wore a chef’s hat and a jacket that said ‘Chef Henri’ on it.”
    â€œOh.” Leatrice sounded deflated.
    Richard stood up and brushed trace amounts of lint off his pants. “I’m going to excuse myself before you get out the stretching racks and make this a proper inquisition. I’ve had quite enough questioning for one day, thank you.”
    â€œDo you really have to go?” I motioned to Leatrice and Ian with a jerk of my head as I followed him to the door and gave him a desperate look. Leatrice could continue like this for hours.
    â€œIt’s nothing you can’t handle, darling,” he assured me, visibly stifling a laugh. “Anyway, I have to prepare for the bridal open house tomorrow afternoon.”
    I smacked my forehead. “That’s tomorrow?”
    â€œYou and Kate told me you were coming a week ago, so don’t even think of backing out.” Richard wagged a finger at me.
    â€œWhy are you doing this again?” The thought of a roomful of prospective brides and their mothers sent a chill down my spine.
    â€œSimple. The brides come to the showroom, they taste the food, ooh and aah over the stunning linensI’ve chosen, and then realize they absolutely must have me to cater their wedding.”
    I sighed. “It’s in the afternoon, right? I have yoga in the morning.”
    Richard raised an eyebrow. “I already see problems with this new Zen quest of yours.”
    â€œWe’ll be there,” I promised, making a mental note to call Kate as soon as he left. “It slipped my mind with all of this murder business. It’s not every day I’m a suspect in a police investigation.”
    â€œWelcome to my world,” Richard grumbled, picking up his briefcase from beside the door.
    â€œOh, please,” I groaned. “You were a suspect for about half a second and that was months ago.”
    Richard pressed his hand to his chest.