Love, Laughter, and Murder Ever After (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  In the next breath, she sighed as though she couldn’t do a thing about the destruction he’d caused. That was the depression stage.

  He didn’t think she’d reach acceptance. But surprisingly, she pulled her shoulders back, tossed her dark, choppy hair and forced a determined smile and held it until the genuine sentiment took root in her heart.

  Calmly, she stated, “You aren’t going anywhere until my store looks like it did when I left.”

  Sterling wasn’t the type of man who cared when he’d tossed someone’s world upside down, but Kitty’s stoicism rendered a pang in his chest so sharp he felt immediately terrible and nodded in silent agreement.

  “Messes happen,” he said harshly so as not to admit she’d affected him.

  “Clearly,” she said dryly, but didn’t dwell. Without a moment’s hesitation or a second glance his way, she righted a flowerpot that lay on its side and began grabbing fistfuls of soil off the floor and packing it back into the pot.

  The sight of her on her knees, turned away, diligently focused on restoring her store, made his heart swell and he joined her, getting down on one knee in such a way that had her staring with bright eyes.

  “Bet a man’s never gotten down on one knee for you before,” he teased, but it didn’t come off as a joke the way he’d intended. He’d sounded hard.

  She frowned at that, shook her head as though he was abhorrent then resumed the chore of clearing dirt from the floor. Without facing him she asked, “Are you going to watch or help?”

  “Watching isn’t helping?”

  She glared at him, which only taught him being sarcastic would get that pretty face to turn his way. He hadn’t before noticed how unique her eyes were, but now that she was inches from him with her big eyes gazing into his, he could see streaks of blue and green that were peppered with flecks of gold. Hazel eyes to be certain, but unlike any other he’d seen.

  She paused and drew in a quick breath that reminded him of when a woman expected to be kissed. He shook the fantasy from his mind, as he got to his feet.

  “Fine, don’t help,” she snapped.

  “I’ll get a dustpan,” he snapped right back to her astonishment. There was that mouth again, hanging open. He didn’t mind the sight.

  “In the closet,” she ordered and rose, brushing soil residue from her hands.

  From the corner of his eye, Sterling noticed she was watching as he fumbled through a cluttered closet where no broom and dustpan could be found. He sensed her growing annoyance, and it didn’t help that a stack of boxes came crashing down all around him.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” she exclaimed, stomping over. “You do more harm than good!”

  Kitty pushed him aside then pulled him back by his tattooed arm.

  “It’s right there! It would’ve bit you if it could!” She released him and grabbed the damn thing herself then stomped back over to the mess in an even bigger huff.

  He stole the dustpan from her, which required a tug, and then placed it on the floor and looked up at her as the late afternoon sun poured through the window to her right and illuminated her in its golden glow.

  “I don’t have all the time in the world,” he said when she’d yet to sweep the remaining soil.

  “Of course you don’t,” she grumbled and got to task.

  He watched her, and then realized it was awkward to stare, so he planted his gaze on the dustpan as she muttered under her breath about his rude lack of forthrightness and what on earth had possessed him to turn her store upside down just because on old man had had a heart attack while eating a piece of lemon custard cake.

  “How long have you had the store?” He asked so he’d have an excuse to look at her, but also to shut up her incessant complaining.

  “Not long,” she stated sharply and then held her breath as though she wasn’t interested in making this a pleasant afternoon.

  “I haven’t seen you around,” he pushed. “Did you move here recently?”

  “No,” she said, curtly.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Does it look like I care to elaborate?” she snapped, tapping the broom bristles against the tiles to shake loose the excess soil, which she intended to get into the dustpan come hell or high water. The woman was intense.

  “We could go downtown,” he threatened. That got her attention.

  “What on earth for?”

  “Why don’t you answer the questions I’m asking and be grateful I’m helping you clean up?”

  “Be grateful?” He could see that his arrogance astounded her, but he got a kick out of getting under her skin. “Tell me,” she demanded. “What kind of detective are you?”

  “Leave the questions to me, Doll.” He stood so that he could look down on her and stepped in close. “Did. You. Move. Here. Recently?”

  She smelled like a flower and the heat that was rolling off of her distracted him, but he didn’t back off.

  She shrank a bit, yielded to his pressure, and said, “No, I didn’t move here recently. I’ve lived here all my life and it’s your own fault if you’ve never noticed me. Then again, I’ve never noticed you, but you don’t exactly stand out.”

  He knew it was a lie, but at least she was talking.

  “When’d you open up shop?” he pressed.

  “Not even a month ago,” she said easily.

  “Where do you live?”

  Her eyes popped open wide. She was taken aback, but he held her gaze.

  “What in God’s name would give you the right to know where I live?”

  “Stop stalling.” For all intents and purposes he didn’t actually have a reason to ask. His case didn’t depend on it and she wasn’t a suspect...yet.

  “I live down by the pond, on Orchard Street. The small, blue house, number sixteen.”

  “Sweet sixteen,” he grinned.

  She grimaced. “You’re not going to show up there, are you?”

  “You never know.”

  Kitty gasped. “Are you a homicide detective?”

  It was enough of an answer not to respond. Silence would confirm, and it did. She was breathing heavily now.

  “I knew it!”

  It piqued his interest. “How did you know?”

  “I had a feeling, you could say, when I was at Cherry Blossom.” She pondered the information, and then observed, “You don’t look like a homicide detective.”

  “And you don’t look like a pain in the ass.”

  She glared at him, furious, but it only made him laugh. “Calm down. Learn to recognize a joke when you hear one.”

  He loved telling a woman to calm down. The order had the opposite effect, which he found entertaining. He sobered up from laughter then restated his question.

  “What gave you the feeling?”

  “The way the families—the Astorias and the von Winkles—were talking about Duke,” she offered.

  He pressed when she hadn’t elaborated of her own accord. “How were they talking about him?”

  “Well...” she trailed off, considering. “No one seemed to like him.”

  “Anyone give a specific reason?”

  She looked so innocent in the light. The way she wracked her brain to accurately describe what she’d discerned during her luncheon with the wedding party was not only helpful but cute.

  “His riches,” she stated then clarified when he cocked his head. “Honestly, they seemed resentful that he had a way of holding his money over their heads. They seemed jealous. Well, maybe that doesn’t capture it quite right. I guess Duke never let anyone live it down when he shared his wealth.”

  He digested the information and felt suddenly worried for her.

  “I need you to stay away from them,” he stated.

  “Absolutely not! I’m planning Contessa von Winkle’s wedding! I see them weekly if not daily!” She protested and would’ve gone on but he silenced her.

  “You can and you will,” he barked. “Harry Collins, too.”

  “Never!”<
br />
  “You won’t have a choice.”

  “Try and stop me,” she said in such an assertive tone that Sterling felt a hot wave of anger rise in his chest.

  He knew he shouldn’t say what he did next, but the words compulsively flew out of his mouth, “Duke von Winkle was poisoned.”

  Chapter Six

  “Well, I’ve had a hell of a day!” Kitty declared as she collapsed onto Trudy’s living room couch, which was at least twice as comfortable as it looked. The soft, paisley cushions cradled her splayed and exhausted frame, and soon the tension that had claimed her muscles eased.

  Kitty couldn’t see Trudy from where she sat unless she counted her friend’s beehive coif. The retro hairdo protruded from behind a Chinese folding screen where Trudy was slipping out of her dress and into a leopard-print slip, fluffy slippers and a magenta satin robe to boot. That was Trudy for you. She never said no to a style she liked, and it was the reason her delightfully cluttered apartment was as eclectic as a trip around the world. There were Italian accents and African sculptures, French furniture and Colonial artwork, but because of the sheer volume stylistically, it seemed to work. And then there was Trudy, like a ripple in time, it was as though she’d stepped straight out of the late sixties—bright blue eye shadow, false lashes, red lipstick, perfectly manicured nails, and always dressed to the nines in vintage wear.

  “I’m listening,” said Trudy, as she came back into the living room.

  Kitty was eyeing the bottle of Merlot on the coffee table, but didn’t have the strength to reach for it. Her friend watched the less than halfhearted effort, Kitty reaching and clutching from her sunken repose in the couch that seemed to have swallowed her.

  “You can’t be that tired,” Trudy commented when Kitty hadn’t explained why her day had been so hellish.

  “Every inch of me is sore,” she exclaimed. “It took hours to clean the store, and I had to deal with that terribly arrogant man no less. It only added insult to the injury.”

  Trudy had received the gist of Kitty’s trouble when she’d read a novel length text message an hour ago, so Kitty thought to focus on the most egregious insults Sterling had caused her.

  “He was looking for poison! Can you imagine? In my store! Without my knowledge!”

  Trudy plopped on the couch beside her, stole the Merlot, and poured two very generous glasses. It was tough to hand one to Kitty without spilling, but she managed.

  “You’ll have to sit up, my Dear,” she instructed and Kitty huffed, but obeyed.

  “That’s the other thing! He kept calling me Doll.”

  “I don’t know this Sterling Slaughter,” she mused, sipping her wine before it could stain her robe. “But let’s hope he finds the killer and finds them quick. That can’t be good for business.”

  Kitty felt tears well in her eyes at the thought then fluttered them away and focused on the soothing taste of her wine.

  “I’m honestly flabbergasted,” she said. “And I never use that word. That’s how flabbergasted I am! The bride’s father was killed in my very own store, right in front of me! And I can’t imagine how it could’ve happened.”

  “Such a strange way to take a life,” Trudy pondered, as she sipped and sipped then gulped her wine.

  Kitty and Trudy locked eyes then sighed, and it didn’t release even a fraction of their fright.

  “I don’t put much stock in that Sterling, I’ll say that much.” Kitty could see the brash detective in her mind, those tattoos and his habit of smoking she found off putting…those arms. Well, the last detail wasn’t entirely offensive, but she didn’t like that that part of him had sprung to mind. She shook it away and gulped.

  “Did he find anything? Did he find the poison?” Trudy asked, fascinated.

  “Of course not! The fact he’d been rummaging like that only implied he suspects me. I’m very stressed out about this!”

  “I can see that,” she said, snatching Kitty’s glass before she could ruin the couch. “What are you going to do?”

  “What can I do? Nothing. Proceed as usual. Hope to God Detective Slaughter doesn’t pay me a second visit.” Kitty became momentarily lost in the notion, which both settled and disappointed her.

  “If there’s nothing you can do then let’s get your mind off it,” she suggested.

  Kitty was finally seated upright, a tingle of alcohol burning through her. Her nerves calmed just enough to allow her to turn her attention from Duke von Winkle’s disturbing death.

  And because of it, she remembered Trudy’s contribution to her disastrous day.

  “Grant Peterson?” She asked in an accusatory tone.

  “Oh, isn’t he dreamy?” Said Trudy, eager to receive compliments for her match making and learn all about their budding romance.

  “Dreamy?” She challenged.

  “You didn’t find him dreamy?”

  “If by dreamy you mean an arrogant ass.” She wagged.

  “Oh no!”

  “Oh yes,” she said dryly, taking up her glass now that she’d reason to need more booze. “Let’s just say he thinks I’m a fat failure who can’t dress.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Wish that I were, Trudy.”

  “Well, he has one terribly botched trim coming his way, I can promise you that.”

  “Just tell me the others are gentlemen.”

  Trudy looked uncertain and it did little to restore Kitty’s faith, and yet she couldn’t deny it was still a welcomed distraction over Sterling wandering into her troubled thoughts.

  “Oh, Dear God!” Kitty was on her feet and scrambling for her purse.

  “What?” Asked Trudy alarmed. “Where are you going?”

  “The cake!”

  “What cake?”

  “Duke von Winkle died right after he ate Harry Collins’ cake! Poor Harry!”

  “You think Harry did it?” Trudy was stunned.

  “No, but Sterling Slaughter might.” Kitty flew fast as she could through the door, determined to get to Harry’s before Sterling could.

  The baker lived in an apartment above his bakery, Delectable Desserts, which happened to be within walking distance of Trudy’s shabby chic home, and the crisp night air the five-minute walk provided Kitty was exactly what she needed to clear her head, get focused, and get practical about the dilemma at hand.

  She’d known Harry all her life. When she’d been a little girl, she’d stop off at Delectable Desserts after school where Harry would serve the neighborhood kids sweets and ask about their school day. Kitty had been shy, but gradually she opened up to Harry, and by high school, visiting the jolly baker to boast, dish, or complain had become the highlight of her day. They grew close over the years and Harry never failed to lend an ear even when his business began declining. In fact, he had been the most encouraging person in Kitty’s life when she’d embarked on making the decision to leave her last job at the corporate event planning company to start her own store. He was special to her, and though they got into a tiff here and there, underneath it all they were more than friends. They were family, and Kitty couldn’t bear the thought that Harry might be grilled for a crime he had nothing to do with.

  When she reached Delectable Desserts she rounded the side of the building and pressed the buzzer for apartment #2 then checked her wristwatch. It wasn’t too late, 9:15 p.m., but she knew Harry was in the habit of waking at four in the morning to get a jump on baking the sweets that he hoped would sell by noon. She didn’t want to ruin his night, but it was vital that she understand everything that had happened to those cake samples prior to him having served them to the wedding party.

  She buzzed again.

  A panicked voice came through the intercom.

  “Yes?”

  “Harry! It’s Kitty! Did I wake you? I need to talk to you!”

  The click of the door unlatching told her he’d unlocked it and Kitty quickly tugged it open and stepped inside the entranceway that wasn’t three feet deep before a stairca
se ascended to the second floor.

  She climbed, taking the stairs two at a time, until she reached the landing, rounded the corner, and found his door ajar, his round frightened eyes peering out.

  “I thought you were Slaughter,” he said softly, as he pulled the door inward just enough for Kitty to slip through.

  “Do you expect him?” She asked, keeping her voice quiet, not that anyone else lived in the building, but if Harry was whispering, so would she.

  “I don’t know what to expect,” he said, closing the door and locking it. “When he left he made it clear he’d stop by whenever necessary.”

  “So he was here?” She was alarmed, a million questions turning inside her racing mind.

  “He left not twenty minutes ago.”

  Kitty followed Harry into his living room, which was just as cozy and soft as he was. A long brown couch shaped like an L wrapped the room and Kitty wasted no time tossing her purse on it and plopping down. Harry hung back a moment considering, and then scurried into the kitchen.

  “You have to tell me everything, Harry,” she determined, as she spoke at the wall he’d disappeared behind.

  “I’m sick over this,” he declared, returning with a cookie in his mouth and a plate of them in his hand. He set the cookies on the coffee table in front of Kitty and then rushed off again.

  “Harry, don’t trouble yourself,” she called out. “Please come sit.”

  He did, but with a bottle of single malt Scotch whiskey and two glasses in his arms.

  “That bad, huh?” Kitty asked when she saw the bottle.

  “Worse,” he concluded. “Much, much worse.”

  Harry poured two glasses, devoured the rest of his cookie, eyes widening at the nightmare he found himself in, and then knocked back the brown liquid courage.

  Kitty nursed hers, taking cautious sips as needed, as Harry delved into the interrogation that had turned his life upside down.

  “It was the lemon custard cake,” he stated with shock.

  “I realized that myself,” she said, sympathetically.

  “Slaughter said some kind of forensic team tested all the cake samples for poison, but none except the custard was laced.”