Love, Laughter, and Murder Ever After (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 1) Page 3

  “I’m going to invite the von Winkles and Astorias to tea,” she devised. “I know they won’t accept. They’re probably making arrangements to head to the coroner, but I think it’ll be a nice gesture. I think you should come and I think we should gather the remaining samples for them.”

  He nodded begrudgingly, but then smiled when she handed him the check.

  He tucked the check into the breast pocket of his white smock and said, “If only there were more sweets at funerals.”

  “Harry!”

  “Business has been slow!” He said as though she’d offended him.

  “My goodness.” Shaking her head she padded back through the store, feeling Sterling’s cool, calculating eyes on her all the while.

  He was standing with his hands on his hips, which only made the lines of his body appear more chiseled.

  Ugh!

  But he was also listening with heightened concentration to what a uniformed officer was telling him, none of which Kitty could hear.

  Suddenly her hip struck the sharp, wooden corner of the flower display table and the next thing she knew her palms smarted and her nose was an inch from the floor.

  “Kitty!” Harry exclaimed, and took to grasping her arms.

  Her temper flared when she heard chuckling. He’d distracted her and now he was finding this funny?

  Harry helped her up. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, thank you,” she said, but she was glaring at Sterling.

  “Watch out for the table there,” he called out.

  In a huff, Kitty dusted off the front of her sundress, shot Sterling one last flaming glare, then stomped off, being sure to keep her eyes ahead.

  “Contessa.” Kitty stole the bride’s attention as she passed through the doorway. Contessa was conversing with her stepmother, who seemed in better spirits, though not by much. “I wanted to invite you all to tea,” she went on. “That is if you aren’t heading off to the coroner’s office.”

  Overhearing the invitation, Astrid Astoria’s jaw dropped open and her cheeks flushed with anger. “The family cannot think about the wedding at a time like this!”

  Gerald was holding her back. The woman looked inconsolable then burst into tears, which her husband helped bury in his shoulder as he pulled her into him.

  Roxanne’s eyes glazed over. She didn’t appreciate being upstaged or out-grieved by a woman who wasn't her husband's wife—that was her for God's sake. “What would you like to do, Contessa?” she asked her stepdaughter. “I can go to the coroner and make arrangements, but there’s no need for your special day to be spoiled.”

  It was a strange thing to say, and Kitty expected the bride would be just as offended as Astrid was, but she wasn’t.

  “Really, Step-Mommy?” She asked with hopeful eyes before she turned to Kitty. “Will there be champagne?”

  “Of course,” said Kitty, as she glanced proudly at Harry, who stood beside her. “And cake.”

  “We’d like that,” said Charles, ever ready to do whatever his fiancée required.

  Gerald seemed willing as well.

  It was then that it occurred to Kitty how bizarre their willingness was, but she smiled anyway.

  “There’s a beautiful cafe just up the block called Cherry Blossom. They have a patio in the back with fountains and dogwood trees in bloom. Ask for Jasper. He’ll know what to do. I’ll meet you there with Harry in fifteen minutes.”

  Kitty watched as the families started up the block, and then she rushed back into the store for her purse, Harry at her heels.

  “Jasper! It’s Kitty Sinclair!” She spoke with urgency into her desk phone, as she riffled through her purse, searching for her lipstick and travel size perfume. “Can you have three bottles of chilled champagne ready for the von Winkle - Astoria party, who will probably arrive any second?”

  “But of course,” she heard Jasper reply in a thick, French accent. “How many in the party?”

  “Five, but I’ll be joining with one other man, so a total of seven. You’re the best, Jasper!”

  “You must let me set you up with mon ami, Henri,” he mused. She could hear his smile come through every word, but rolled her eyes at the notion, though Jasper’s pronunciation of Henry tickled her. The French had quite a way.

  “I’ll think about it,” she obliged, aiming to put off another blind date as long as possible. “I’ll see you soon, and thanks again for taking care of them!”

  When she set the phone in its cradle Kitty heard Harry arguing with Sterling. The detective was barring him from the table, though Harry persisted in his effort to snatch back his cakes.

  “I have every right!” Harry exclaimed, pushing his belly into the bemused detective. “They’re my cakes!”

  “You can’t take them. Why is that so hard to understand?” said Sterling, who eyed the baker with the kind of intensity that everyone but Harry registered. Even the cop seemed intimidated, but for Harry it was as though Sterling was trying to take the cash out of his wallet. He felt robbed.

  “What seems to be the problem here?” Kitty demanded when she reached the table.

  “This man—”

  “Sterling,” the detective supplied, which Harry didn’t seem to appreciate or even acknowledge.

  “—won’t let me take my cakes!”

  “Why can’t we take the cakes?” she asked. “We need them.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Too bad?” How dare he. “I am trying to salvage this day,” she went on. “And those cakes are a big part of it.”

  “Then you won’t be salvaging the day,” he quipped. “Not my problem.”

  “Not your problem?” Kitty was irate. She huffed, “Not his problem! Unbelievable.”

  “Believe it, Doll,” he said, tone dropping firm, but Kitty was consumed by the sarcastic endearment that made her blood boil.

  “Kitty,” she snapped. “In case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I hadn’t.” He smirked.

  Exasperated, Kitty threw her hands up and paced away then turned back with even more determination.

  “I have to go over to Cherry Blossom and I’ll not have you wandering around my store, poking into my business.” Her fists were planted on the curves of her hips and her brows shot up like a rocket. “Chop, chop,” she added.

  “Your store will be safe with me,” he stated. The implication drove her heart rate through the roof.

  “He had a heart attack!” she exclaimed.

  “Did he?” Sterling challenged.

  “Didn’t he?” she asked, as the possibility of foul play swept through her. “Why are you really here?”

  “Have fun at Cherry Blossom,” he chided then tacked on, “When can I expect you back?”

  It was a casual, jarringly domestic question, and Kitty couldn’t tell if she was furious or intrigued at the thought she’d bookend her day with the likes of Sterling Slaughter.

  She pressed her mouth into a frustrated grimace then said, “Come on, Harry. Let me buy you a drink.”

  “But—” the baker objected.

  “Shhh, come,” she ordered, taking him by the elbow and escorting him through the store.

  Before they passed through the doorway, Kitty glanced over her shoulder to glare at Sterling, but his fiery eyes stirred her with an entirely different reaction: curiosity and perhaps, just maybe, interest.

  Chapter Four

  The sun shined overhead, warming Kitty in a bath of tranquility that seemed to mock the tumultuous anxiety that had her on edge.

  The patio at Cherry Blossom was a broad, cobblestone terrace that overlooked rolling hills and offered only the most picturesque view of Greenwich’s natural beauty. Beyond the stonewall that wrapped its perimeter, dogwood trees sat in full bloom, emanating the sweetest scent that mingled deliciously with the smell of freshly cut grass and crisp air.

  Having just arrived, Kitty stood at the mouth of the terrace and observed the wedding party. Everyone was seated around a large, circular
table topped with a floral centerpiece and three handsome and decorative bowls in which the champagne bottles chilled in ice. She noted the flutes in everyone’s hands, indicating the first bottle had been popped and her goal that the families relax, regroup, and enjoy themselves was already under way.

  How odd.

  She couldn’t blame them. It had been her idea, but watching them as she was, Kitty couldn’t help but feel awkward that they’d taken her up on it.

  She thought of her own father, an amiable man with tender eyes and a heart of gold. Being raised by two mild-mannered librarians had filled Kitty with all the wonder and knowledge that books could provide, though it hadn’t been without its disadvantages. Often Kitty had been expected to know much more than she did and get stellar grades even though she struggled in several subjects, but overall she embraced the fact that she wouldn’t be who she was: self-respecting, ambitious and uncompromising in her personal passions, had it not been for the people who'd raised her.

  If her father were to pass away, she’d be crippled with grief.

  How on earth were these people seated so casually around that table, drinking champagne as though the day and the world was their oyster, when a loved one had abruptly died?

  And why had a detective gotten free reign over her store?

  Admittedly, Kitty really didn't understand the internal goings-on of how a sudden death worked from a police standpoint. The coroner retrieving the body made sense, as well as the uniformed officers arriving. Surely there was strict protocol to file the death certificate and the city of Greenwich was fulfilling its duties. But was it the case that a detective would be assigned to oversee?

  She had to assume so. What choice did she have?

  Kitty smoothed down the front of her pink sundress and resolved to make the best of it at the very moment Harry stepped up beside her.

  He patted his damp hands against his smock and thanked her for having waited while he used the men’s room.

  “Come on,” she said kindly. “Let’s get you that drink.”

  Once Kitty reached an empty chair and Harry stood to her left, she smiled at the party, making an effort to touch eyes with each person.

  “I’m glad to see everyone’s settled in,” she commented.

  Gerald looked sternly uncomfortable, but that was to be expected. In a lot of ways, comparing his demeanor to Contessa, who seemed relaxed for once, and her stepmother Roxanne, who seemed unconcerned, Kitty felt the father of the groom was perhaps the only one who’d properly absorbed the tragedy. In fact, Charles and Astrid appeared to be enjoying themselves, mother dotting on son as easily as the day was warm.

  Kitty motioned to pull out her chair, as did Harry, and as the baker sat, she realized someone had taken command of her chair.

  “Mademoiselle,” said Jasper from behind as he helped her slide into her seat. “Can I offer anyone appetizers?” he added, brows raised on Kitty. “Perhaps a few plates, fruit and cheese, and shrimp with caviar? We also have a wonderful selection of oysters, blue shell and Atlantic jumbo.”

  “One of everything,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “Excellent,” said Jasper, who then glided off into the restaurant.

  Kitty plucked a fresh flute from the table and took to pouring a glass for Harry then one for herself. She then raised her glass, fought off a strange wave of morbidity, and then proceeded to give the most convoluted toast she’d ever made.

  “To Contessa and Charles,” she began. “To your love. You’ve found one another in this chaotic and often terrifying world and the fact that you have is nothing short of a miracle. Love is hard to find especially in these troubled times, but you have.” She realized she was repeating herself so she cleared her throat and took another stab at it, but it came out even worse. “Death is its own kind of miracle.”

  Harry choked on his champagne then coughed it up.

  “But I digress,” she added as if that would smooth things over. Roxanne looked alarmed and Astrid’s eyes glazed over in a steely glare. “I believe in Heaven,” she went on, turning a hard left into religion. “And I feel that’s where Duke is now resting. There are several wonderful passages from the Corinthians that address both love and death, which could be a nice touch at the wedding.”

  Did I just propose a funeral speech for the wedding? Kitty begged herself to shut up and sit down, but she kept going.

  “Contessa and Charles,” she raised her glass even higher. “May this day shine with your mutual love and carry you through the shock of Duke’s unexpected death.”

  Everyone stared at her, but she kept her chin up and clinked her flute against Harry’s then worked her way around the table, and hoped like hell she hadn’t sounded as offensive as she feared.

  When she finally lowered into her seat Harry offered her a reassuring smile that came across more like a pained grimace. She drank her champagne entirely too quickly in response.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone,” said Roxanne as she drew her flute to her red lips. “He was such a decent man.”

  “Decent?” Astrid blurted out as though the description didn’t do him justice.

  “Well, you know,” said Roxanne, endeavoring to explain herself. “He did his best.”

  “Daddy was a stern man,” Contessa added in her stepmother’s defense, which Kitty found interesting. Ordinarily, Contessa and Roxanne were at each other’s throats, the jealous rivalry of a daughter and the young woman who had stolen her father’s heart, as well as his finances. Roxanne stood to receive Duke’s fortune as well as every business he owned, which surely in Contessa’s mind was her own birthright. “He was feared more than loved.” Contessa sipped her champagne. “But I loved him.”

  “Did you?” Astrid challenged.

  “How dare you? Of course I did!” Contessa protested.

  Astrid rolled her eyes.

  Kitty wondered how Astrid would know enough to question the daughter of the deceased when she herself hardly knew the man.

  “He was hated,” said Gerald, helping himself to another glass of champagne. “Where the hell are those oysters?”

  “I’m sure they’ll be coming any minute,” Kitty assured him. Kitty had half a mind to go check on them herself, but the conversation at hand fascinated her. Cunningly, and in an effort to stir the pot, she asked, “Why was he disliked?”

  She was staring at Gerald so that’s who responded, but he only said, “Don’t look at me. I avoided him except for this wedding. But I will say, and I’m sure no one will argue against me, that Duke liked to rub his money in everyone’s noses.”

  “He was generous!” Contessa combatted.

  “To you, Dear,” said Astrid, “to you, and only because you’re his daughter.”

  “He was generous,” Gerald admitted. “But I maintain my point.”

  Kitty piped up, “Does anyone have anything nice to say about Duke von Winkle?”

  The table fell silent.

  It wasn’t a good sign, but perhaps it was good news for Kitty. It meant that the wedding would surely go on as planned. Contessa would keep the date.

  Then Roxanne drew in a sharp breath, which garnished everyone’s attention.

  “We had twelve wonderful years,” she began, a fond smile appearing on her face, as memories seemingly swirled behind her big blue eyes. She took a moment to run her delicate hand over her blonde coif just as a warm breeze swept through. “Duke was a man of tradition,” she went on, but the statement came with a hint of tension. She stiffened in her chair. “He was old fashioned for sure.” Her eyes widened in such a way that told Kitty Roxanne’s life with Duke might not have been a paradise behind closed doors. But the handsome woman quickly composed herself. “One of the traditions I appreciated the most was that Duke was a stickler for anniversary gifts. We always exchanged the traditional gift.”

  Astrid snorted with contempt, though it seemed random from Kitty’s point of view.

  Roxanne eyed the woman with equal contempt, and t
hen went on. “This past March we exchanged silk gifts. Silk is the traditional gift for the twelfth anniversary.”

  “What’s the first year?” Contessa asked, already dreaming of what Charles would be obligated to purchase.

  “Don’t interrupt, Dear,” said Roxanne brushing over the inquiry. “Duke gave me a stunning silk scarf.”

  “Oh please,” Contessa rolled her eyes. “It was an Hermes. I have seven.”

  “That’s because you’re a brat,” Roxanne chided.

  Contessa turned cross and huffed, but it only proved her point.

  “For months I wouldn’t take it off,” she went on. “It was gorgeous. Purple and blue in the most exquisite, swirling pattern.” Roxanne punctuated the sentiment with a far off glint in her eye. “I’ll miss him.”

  “You’ll miss his money,” Astrid corrected her. “I’m sure we all will.”

  Gerald looked like he was about to eat his plate out of anger—or hunger—Kitty couldn’t be sure.

  Luckily, Jasper arrived with two waiters who placed the appetizers on folding stands then took to setting the dishes across the table.

  “Bon appétit!” said Jasper, overseeing his staff.

  But the unbridled animosity the families held toward Duke von Winkle had left Kitty without a shred of appetite.

  She had a hunch about Sterling Slaughter’s mysterious presence at her store, and it set her teeth on edge.

  Chapter Five

  He knew she’d be mad when she returned, but the look on Kitty Sinclair’s face when she stepped through the glass door and saw the utter disaster Sterling had created was priceless.

  Well, captivating. Before his very eyes, Kitty’s expression launched into the five stages of dying: She went blank with denial, her pretty features grew long and slack, though her eyes widened at the sight of her display tables turned on their ends, flowers and brochures and catalogues strewn across the floor. Then her cheeks brightened as anger took hold. She didn’t rest there, however. The next stage was bargaining, though it happened entirely in her head. Sterling imagined she was groveling with a higher power for a means to kill him. Her eyes locked on his when she received the answer, and from where Sterling was standing, it wasn’t one in his favor.