A MATCH MADE IN MURDER (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 5) Page 3

  Sterling stroked her hair, as he gathered his response. “I try not to think about her.” He drifted into silence and Kitty didn’t press. “It’s too painful.” Silence again then a deep breath. “I have you now. This is my second chance at happiness. I’m not going to waste it.”

  “Do you feel like you wasted your first marriage?”

  Sterling snorted a laugh. “Nosey as ever.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I don’t know if I wasted it. But I didn’t appreciate it like I will now. When you’re young, you take things for granted. You don’t understand how rare love is until you can’t find it again for years and years.”

  “Sterling?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why were you on edge earlier?” He said nothing. “When I got home you seemed troubled, more troubled than I’ve ever seen.” She waited for an explanation, but he only stroked her hair. “We can’t keep secrets, not if we want this to work.”

  “It’s nothing. Trust me,” he cooed softly against the top of her head. “Don’t weddings make people act somewhat out of character? The grooms especially?”

  “I suppose you’re right. We haven’t gotten into nearly as many fights as I thought we would.” Kitty lifted up so she could look him in the eye again. “Brides and grooms always fight as their weddings approach.”

  “Is there much left to do planning wise?” He asked, as he gently urged her back so he could get up.

  He gave Kitty his full attention as he went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.

  “Everything’s on schedule,” she assured him then her tone dropped a bit. “I made a to-do list…oh, I should’ve brought it home with me. It’s going to be tricky decorating the yacht—”

  “Why would it need decorating?”

  Sterling tipped his beer back with one hand and worked his slacks down with the other then stepped out of them and let them rest where they lay on the kitchen tiles.

  “Speaking of not getting into a fight.” She eyed the slacks with irritation and he groaned, swiped them off the floor, and tossed them over his shoulder then padded back in his boxer-briefs, causing Kitty to forget his question entirely. “What were we talking about?”

  “I like the yacht as it is.”

  “So no decorations? It’s going to look medieval.”

  “I like that.”

  Kitty widened her eyes.

  “What else?”

  “The cake, the seating arrangement, um... I really need my list.”

  “Ok,” he said, considering. He tipped his beer back. “Cake, vanilla.”

  “That was easy,” she said, dryly. “You’re not going to rattle off a proposed seating chart, are you?”

  “I want Grady at our table, right next to me,” he stated.

  When he didn’t say more, Kitty wondered how seriously he was taking this. Men could be so decisive, but it rarely helped. They acted as if a fast decision was an act of strength when really it was an excuse to avoid weighing options and making hard choices.

  “Thank you, Sterling. That’s very helpful.”

  He beamed a smile having completely missed her sarcasm.

  “I’m going to hit the shower.” He started for the bathroom then turned back with a smirk. “No one died today,” he winked. “That’s a good day in my book.”

  She looked around for some wood to knock on.

  As Sterling showered, Kitty tidied up, changed into a nightgown, and then poured a glass of chilled white wine. There was a nice spring breeze blowing through the open windows, but she felt a bit warm and restless. She took a few sips of her wine.

  Sterling called out that he was turning in, which she acknowledged, listening to him pad up the hall and into the bedroom where soon the lights turned off.

  It was then that she noticed the kitchen window. It was open, but not more than a few inches and its pane looked crooked. She examined it, but not closely, and then attempted to lift it. It seemed stuck. When she eyed it carefully she discovered that the wooden, bottom edge had been damaged and there was a small crack in the glass.

  Had someone forced the window open?

  She peered out, but the glare from the kitchen lights made it impossible to see into the darkness. There were woods out there, public hiking trails that merged into her property, though the residents of Greenwich were generally respectful not to trespass into her yard. If someone had, they certainly wouldn’t attempt to break in for opportunistic reasons. That’s when she realized this had been done intentionally. But why? She had nothing of value here and Sterling was in the habit of carrying his gun on his person. To her knowledge he’d never left it behind in the house.

  Her instincts told her to shut and lock all the windows before bed, but then she reasoned that with Sterling here she’d be safe. So she resolved to shut and lock them tomorrow before leaving the house. Better to be safe than sorry.

  Kitty jumped and a little shriek escaped her when she heard a loud knock on the front door. Her hand slapped to her heart to steady its beat and she forced a deep breath. Whoever was out there knocked again.

  She couldn’t very well ignore it. Both her Fiat and Sterling’s Jeep were out front. They were clearly home. If anything, this was probably a police matter and the precinct couldn’t reach Sterling so they’d had no choice, but even that prospect filled her with dread. The last thing they needed was for Sterling to get sucked into a case.

  Reluctantly, she started for the door. Sterling was already snoring. It crossed her mind to grab the derringer pistol he’d insisted she have with her always, and then she thought it ridiculous and opened the door.

  “Kitty!”

  It was her cousin, Layla.

  “My God! You’re here! What are you doing here?” Kitty released her from the giant hug she’d trapped Layla in and ushered her inside.

  “I couldn’t wait to see you! I hope you don’t mind. I know it’s late.”

  “Not at all! Please come in! Sterling’s asleep, but I have wine.”

  “I felt terrible missing the dinner,” she said, following Kitty into the kitchen where Kitty grabbed the bottle of white from the counter and an extra glass. “I was exhausted. Now I’m wide awake. It’ll be days before I shake this jetlag.”

  Kitty poured her a glass when they sat on the couch then had a good long look at her cousin as she sipped. They hadn’t seen each other in years and the moment was a bit surreal, but Layla looked the same as ever, brown hair that hung just above her shoulders, big hazel eyes not unlike Kitty’s, a button nose and curvy figure that boasted the family resemblance.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I have a rental for the week,” she said, taking another sip of her wine. “This is really good.”

  “Riesling.”

  “God, it’s so good to be back. And I’m so happy for you. You’re successful and now you’re getting married.”

  Kitty took a moment to really absorb the compliment. She didn’t often do that—slow down enough to recognize she really had done well for herself. The perfectionist in her always pushed her to do more, do it better, and never repeat the same mistakes.

  “I’ve kept up with the local papers,” she went on. “The online editions.” Layla shook her head with concern. “I was so worried about you, Kitty. All those murders.”

  Attempting to assure her cousin, she said, “I was never in danger. And I have Sterling now.”

  “No, I know.” Layla was acting as though she didn’t want to alarm her cousin by admitting how worried she’d been, but downplaying it only made her anxiety more obvious. “If anything, I was nervous for you emotionally. That can’t be easy. And I read what people in town were calling you. It must have been hard.”

  “It was,” she admitted. “But all that is behind me…behind us. Sterling and I haven’t had a murder since last winter.”

  “At Trudy’s wedding,” she supplied.

  “That’s right.”

  “That must have been h
orrifying.”

  Kitty drew in a deep breath hoping this conversation would veer into a more pleasant topic.

  “The reality is that if Mr. Von Winkle hadn’t been killed at my first wedding, I never would’ve met Sterling,” she concluded.

  “That is a silver lining, I suppose.”

  Sterling appeared in the hall and leaned against the wall when he reached the living room. Thank God he had the good sense to put on sweatpants, but he hadn’t been keen on wearing a shirt.

  “Holy hotness,” Layla said, snorting out a sip of wine then laughing.

  “Did we wake you?” Kitty asked Sterling.

  “It’s fine.”

  “This is my cousin, Layla.”

  Layla hopped off the couch and gave him a hug that seemed to fully embrace his nude upper half. She lingered a bit, which Kitty found comical more than anything else, then returned to the couch.

  “You guys look a lot alike,” said Sterling. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Kitty and Layla exchanged a look then burst out laughing.

  “Only everyone,” said Layla.

  “When we were growing up people thought we were twins,” Kitty tacked on.

  “I can see that about you,” he stated. “You’re more tan, though.”

  “I’ve been in New Zealand,” said Layla.

  “I don’t want you to get suddenly tired on the road,” said Kitty before she addressed Sterling. “What if she sleeps over?”

  “Sure,” he shrugged.

  “The couch pulls out into a bed,” Kitty told her. “It’s very comfortable.”

  “Great, that gives us a chance to catch up.”

  “All right, ladies,” he said, shoving off for the bedroom. “Have fun.”

  “Night!” Layla said enthusiastically. When she heard the bedroom door close she mentioned, “That’s a good-looking man you got there.”

  Kitty’s brows shot up in complete agreement. “Don’t I know it.”

  Three hours and two bottles of wine later, they’d caught up on every area of each other’s lives from Layla’s beach life on the southern coast of New Zealand to her digs to all the ways in which her boss annoyed her; Kitty shared about her rocky road to romance with Sterling, all the challenges of running her own business, and she even detailed the blow-by-blow that occurred during dinner earlier that night.

  It wasn’t until two in the morning that they were sufficiently exhausted and out of things to discuss. Kitty collected blankets and pillows then pulled the bed from the couch with Layla’s help and made it up.

  When Layla was settled, Kitty slid into bed next to Sterling, wrapped her arms around his waist as he slept on his side, and drifted off into a deep sleep, never having given the window a second thought.

  Kitty woke with the warm morning sun on her face. A breeze blew through the bedroom carrying with it the scent of cut grass and the cooler woodland chill. Her first thought was that she couldn’t wait to take Layla for a hike and introduce her to the natural beauty of Greenwich. They’d planned on a full day together, and since Layla had volunteered to chime in regarding the many aspects of the wedding that Kitty had been struggling with, her advice would help get Sterling off the hook. She couldn’t wait.

  Sterling grasped her hip just as she was lifting up. He wasn’t about to let her sneak off. These lazy mornings were his favorite part about living with her.

  “Layla’s in the next room,” Kitty whispered as though that would deter him.

  “I’ll be quiet,” he grinned.

  “I won’t,” she teased. “When am I ever quiet?”

  He got a doggish smirk on his face, but she kindly shoved him off.

  “If we’re gone by the time you get out of bed,” she mentioned. “We’re just on a hike.”

  “Bring your pistol.”

  Kitty groaned an exasperated sigh, but agreed, as she wrapped a pink robe around her and fit each foot into her fluffy slippers.

  When she got to the living room, the bed was still pulled out from the couch, but Layla wasn’t in it. The covers were a tangle and at first Kitty assumed her cousin had hopped in the shower or was in the bathroom for other reasons, but when she glanced up the hall she noticed the bathroom door was open.

  A very bad feeling came over Kitty. She couldn’t seem to move and realized she was gripped by fear. Layla probably drove back to the Delamar, she told herself. She never had been the best at cleaning up after herself.

  Eager to confirm the best-case scenario, Kitty padded toward the front door and noticed it was open. Her heart sank again then beat hard, jarring into a galloping rhythm.

  She rushed to the door, flung it back, and saw Layla’s rental car beside her Fiat.

  The sight of it sent Kitty into full-blown panic.

  She raced down the driveway, her gaze darting this way and that.

  “Layla?”

  Nothing seemed unusual or out of place so she ran back to the door, but something kept her from going back in the house.

  That’s when she noticed the gravel and loose stones of the driveway had been scraped away, exposing packed dirt beneath. It looked as though feet had shuffled over the gravel or as though something or someone had been dragged.

  Kitty gasped at the thought then followed the long streak around the side of the house, but when she reached the back yard Layla was nowhere in sight.

  The yard was grassy and clear. The rolling hills behind the house were equally empty. Then Kitty stared at the tree line and into the woods.

  “Oh God!”

  She began running. She wasn’t sure why or what she’d find, she only surrendered to the impulse, the gut instinct, that her cousin was somewhere in those woods.

  “Layla?” she called out, though she could barely catch her breath. “Layla!”

  She’d reached the mouth of the hiking trail. Deep in the forest, covered by shadows, Kitty saw her cousin’s bare feet poking out from the brush. Panic rolled through her, causing her knees to buckle. She screamed. Then ran to her cousin.

  Layla was lying on the forest floor. She wore the white nightgown Kitty had supplied last night. Her hands had been neatly folded on her chest, the fingers laced. Her eyes were closed.

  She looked so peaceful, so still, but that’s precisely what jarred Kitty.

  This made no sense.

  Cautiously, she stepped closer and closer until she was standing over her cousin. That’s when she noticed an intricate, antique necklace was wrapped around her neck.

  Kitty kneeled. Confusion and panic and grief were a storm inside her. She placed her fingertips against Layla’s throat, desperate to feel a pulse.

  But there wasn’t one.

  Her cousin was dead.

  Chapter Four

  Sterling felt the urge to pace. He paced. Pinecones and twigs crunched under his boots. He was compelled to stand still. He tried. It didn’t last. He felt Kitty’s eyes on him, felt her devastation. He couldn’t look at her. He focused on Layla’s body, or tried to. All he could see was the necklace around her neck, its antique brass finish that seemed to absorb what little sunlight hit it, the pearls and opals and onyx that spanned its triangular shape in an alluring pattern.

  It was the exact same necklace. Not similar. Not a duplicate. The same one.

  “What’s taking them so long?” Kitty asked from yards away.

  She was holding herself together, literally and spiritually. Her arms were crossed. Each hand grasped her upper arms as if to protect her from impending blows. Her eyes were red, her cheeks tear-stained. And her eyes kept pleading. It was his job to make sense of this, and he could, but he couldn’t tell her. Not when he knew the necklace hadn’t been meant for Layla.

  He returned to the body, though it pained him to turn his back on Kitty. He tried not to hear her sniffling, sobbing at times, and sighing to the heavens as if that might calm her.

  Sterling blamed himself. He had been the only connection between his mother’s murder and his wife’s, a
nd now he had another death on his head.

  He should’ve made his lieutenant aware of the break in.

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  He hadn’t wanted to believe it. But that had been a coward's reaction, easier to deny his worst fears coming true than to face them, go on the offense, and do something.

  He’d told himself he’d kept mum for Kitty’s benefit. He hadn’t wanted to scare her. And there would’ve been no way to get a handful of officers in the house along with his partner to investigate the window without Kitty knowing.

  He’d told himself if she meddled at all this time, it would cost her her life.

  Staring down at Layla, he didn’t want to think to himself Thank God, but that’s how he felt. Thank God it had been Layla and not Kitty.

  But whoever had done this was still out there. It would only be a matter of time before they realized they’d killed the wrong woman. And with that realization would come a second attempt.

  A crunching pinecone stole his attention and he realized Kitty had stepped up beside him.

  In a small, trembling voice, Kitty asked, “The killer thought that was me, didn’t he?”

  Sterling met her gaze. Her hazel eyes turned dark and flat, and her mouth that had been quivering went suddenly straight, as though rage was taking hold.

  “Yeah.” It was less than a whisper. His throat felt raw and dry.

  “Why?” The question was so much bigger than the word and Sterling wished like hell that he had an answer. “Who hates you so much that they’re dedicated to killing off all the women in your life?”

  He didn’t know.

  “And over decades,” she added. “They don’t care how much time goes by. They have their eye on you. As soon as you’re happy, they strike.”

  He’d never forced himself to do the hard work of contemplating these questions. He’d always turned his back on it, ran off, kept moving forward, changed his surroundings so he could trick his dread-filled mind that it was all behind him and nothing could touch him. But that was a lie.

  And this time there was nowhere he could go. He wasn’t willing to leave. Kitty was his world now and his life.