MURDER at the ALTAR (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 3) Page 5

  Though she was hesitant, she also wanted to get this over with so she set her heavy purse on the table, which was metal, evidently. Her purse struck it with a ching, which made her terribly self-conscious. Finally she sat and scooted her chair close to the table.

  Sterling sat as well.

  “Is the break such a bad thing?” he asked.

  “Am I being recorded right now?” She felt paranoid, on edge.

  “No.”

  “Oh.” Kitty took a deep breath and attempted to find an attractive posture, but she felt stiff with nerves. “You wanted a break...so... I knew you wouldn’t let me talk you out of it.”

  Sterling seemed to be studying her. His dark eyes scanned her expression, but Kitty had no way of knowing if it was for personal or professional reasons.

  “Why are you talking to me instead of another detective if we’re on a break?” She challenged, hoping to rouse his deeper feelings.

  “Because I care about you.”

  It was a sweet thing to say, but implied she was in serious trouble.

  “I got an interesting call from Gretchen Downey not long ago.”

  Kitty’s breath hitched in her throat, as she said, “Gretchen?”

  “Yeah, you know Gretchen, right? She’s the bride who hired you—”

  “Yes, I know Gretchen,” she snapped. She didn’t appreciate his sarcasm.

  “Gretchen said you’d just left her condo and that you’d acted suspiciously.”

  “Oh?”

  “And I have to say, Kitty,” he went on, glancing at her purse then returning his gaze. “I happen to agree.”

  Kitty straightened her back and pinched her mouth into a displeased pucker.

  “What’s in your purse?”

  “I thought you said you didn’t want my help.”

  “I don’t. I should add that I said I don’t need your help and then I ordered you to stay out of my investigation, but that’s splitting hairs at this point. Are you telling me that there’s something in your purse you think would actually help me?”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything,” she said, crossing her arms indignantly.

  “You do, Doll face. You definitely do.” Sterling was leaning across the table, green eyes turning dark as he shifted out of the light overhead.

  “So I am in trouble.”

  “Just talk.”

  “Well, if you need a favor, I suppose I could help you out,” she said, pulling her purse in her lap though it clung hard to the tabletop.

  Sterling snorted, leaned back and folded his arms, as Kitty lifted the conjoined magnets out of her purse and let them magnetize to the table with a resonating ching!

  “What in God’s name are you cooking up?” he asked, eyeing the dark metal slabs.

  “You told me Marcus had a pacemaker, which I might add, I took as an invitation to look into.”

  “Of course you did.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

  “After consulting with a cardiologist, which I’m sure you didn’t think to do,” she went on, rubbing a little insult into her explanation. “I learned that a powerful magnet could be capable of breaking his pacemaker and result in killing him.”

  “Doll,” he barked, interrupting her. “Look at yourself.”

  “What?”

  “You’re carrying around the murder weapon!”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you have any idea how bad this looks?”

  “Oh!” Kitty tried not to get alarmed, as she fished her Home Depot receipt out of her pocket. “Here.”

  “What’s this?”

  “The receipt. It has the date and time I bought the magnets, which shows I bought them after Marcus was killed.”

  “Okay,” he said, sarcastically. “Now show me the policy that says a person can only buy magnets on one day—never before and never after.”

  Kitty fell silent.

  “See where this is going?”

  “Oh, please, I’d never kill Marcus. I didn’t even know the guy! In fact,” she went on, falling into a hush-hush tone as if she were about to divulge a very juicy detail. “Gretchen told me Marcus owed money to some very bad men.”

  Sterling cocked his head at that, but not in a good way. “And you’re offended when I call you a gossip?”

  “Just admit you hadn’t gotten this far on your own.”

  He said nothing, only glared at her.

  “You didn’t. Did you? You had no clue about the magnet.”

  “My Lieutenant knows about you,” he said, which seemed random until he elaborated. “He knows about Duke von Winkle’s murder as well as Johnny Gibbons’, and he’s starting to make connections you don’t want him to make.”

  She furrowed her brow, not quite following.

  “You’re now associated with three murders, Kitty. It doesn’t look good—”

  “I didn’t kill any of those people—”

  “But you’re drawing attention to yourself by meddling in the investigations and people here are starting to wonder.”

  “That’s crazy. Did you tell them I’m helping?”

  He moaned, exasperated. “You aren’t helping!”

  “You seem stressed.”

  “I am stressed! You’re stressing me out!”

  “Because I’m helping—”

  “You aren’t helping, Christ!”

  “Or because you’ve cut me off and the tension is building inside you?”

  It was a forward question and his brain shot right to the insinuation, causing his eyes to soften and lip to curl with sudden longing for her.

  “Come to the mansion,” she suggested. “Let’s go now, together.”

  “I’m supposed to apprehend you for interfering with an investigation, Kitty.”

  “But I have an idea,” she pressed. “Besides, you don’t really want to arrest me for that.”

  “Do you get that I’m not the one making the call? Do you understand how mortified I am that the entire homicide department has their eye on my nosey girlfriend?”

  Kitty’s heart skipped a beat. “Girlfriend?”

  He groaned a sigh at the fact she was constantly focused on the wrong thing. “It’s a turn of phrase. That’s what they think you are. Don’t read too much into it.”

  “Oh.” It stung a bit, but she perked right up. “So the mansion?”

  It was the last thing he wanted to do, but the glint in his eye told her she’d worn him down.

  “We’ll take my car,” he stated.

  She nearly objected that she was pressed for time and would need to drive from the mansion directly back to Happily Ever After, but she held her tongue, thinking it best to be grateful she wasn’t sitting in a jail cell.

  Outside, Sterling opened the passenger’s side door for her, a gentlemanly gesture that gave her hope. He’d said he cared about her. He’d referred to her as his girlfriend even though he tried to take it back. He might not be as committed to this break as he was to needing to be with her. As Kitty climbed into Sterling’s Jeep, she felt confident that he’d cave, confess his undying need for her, and maybe just maybe thank her for her unparalleled brilliance.

  She drank in the sight of him, as he closed her door. By the time he opened the driver’s side door and climbed in, she’d hiked up her skirt to tempt him with as much bare skin as she could get away with.

  And he definitely noticed.

  When they reached the mansion, Sterling parked directly in front of the portico and was quick to round the Jeep and open her door.

  “Thank you,” said Kitty softly, as her right heel clicked, meeting granite stone.

  He was smoldering for her, good. The mansion had many bedrooms, she thought, as she padded up the stone path then keyed into the entrance, fantasies of a long afternoon with Sterling Slaughter swirling through her mind.

  “You have a set of keys?” he asked, as they passed through the marble entryway.

  “Yeah, the owners are out of town
and permitted me to come and go as I please.”

  “I see,” he said, mulling that over. “When did they give you keys?”

  “I few days ago, right after the Downeys signed the contract,” she supplied.

  “So before or after Marcus died?”

  “After,” she told him, eyes widening. “You don’t think I had anything to do with this?”

  “Stop asking me that,” he barked, but didn’t explain himself further.

  Kitty pulled her heavy purse off her right shoulder then threw it over her left so she wouldn’t get a knot in her back, and soon they were coming into the ballroom.

  The police unit had left several plastic tags throughout the space, yellow and numbering what they’d presumed to be key pieces of evidence. Kitty stepped carefully around them, as she held her purse out and systematically scanned the ballroom.

  “What are you doing?” asked Sterling, watching her from the doorway, intrigued.

  “According to the cardiologist, the magnet would’ve had to have been very large, like mine are. At first my plan was to visit everyone: Gretchen and David, Roberta and Cliff, Elizabeth and Kip, and see if my magnets could pick up the killer’s magnet. Then I thought about it, and I didn’t see how any of them could’ve had a magnet this size on them that day. The men were dressed nicely and didn’t have any bags. The women had relatively small purses.”

  As Kitty elaborated, she slowly approached the roundel where she’d decided the altar would be.

  “Which means...” she went on.

  Without warning her purse dropped forcefully out of her grasp and smacked the marble floor. If she hadn’t jumped back it would’ve crushed her right foot.

  “The killer’s magnet is in the floor.”

  Her gaze snapped up to Sterling and their eyes widened as he rushed to her, pulled her purse from the marble, which took some effort, and examined the marble floor.

  “Look!” She said, pointing excitedly to a thin seam in the marble. She traced it slowly with her index finger and they realized the seam was a square, about two feet by two feet.

  “Holy crap,” said Sterling under his breath.

  He tried to pry his fingernails into the seam and lift, but the tile of marble was too tight, his fingers too thick.

  Kitty got down on her hands and knees beside him and tried as well. Using her long fingernails and petite fingers, she was able lift the heavy sheet of marble just enough that Sterling could wedge his fingers under the lip and properly lift the square.

  Once they got it vertical, they worked together to drag the marble square away then stood over the hole in the floor.

  A giant, round magnet the size of a hubcap was lain inside.

  The next thing she knew, Sterling was embracing her, swinging her around, as she squealed in victorious delight. When he set her down he gazed into her eyes, gently cupped the back of her head, and guided her in for a slow, soft kiss that Kitty hoped would last forever.

  Then he eased her back.

  “What now?” she asked in a whisper, expecting their break was now officially over.

  “It means you don’t tell anyone about this. You don’t take credit. I need to call the team back.”

  Her brows knitted together confused.

  “You’ll look guilty if they know you were the one who led me here.”

  She stared at him for a long moment then asked, “What about us?”

  “What about us?”

  Chapter Seven

  Kitty nearly careened into a parked car, as she swung toward the curb and came to a screeching halt in front of Happily Ever After, where one very annoyed Kip Cartwright had been waiting with the prospective officiator, Christopher Marlowe.

  “I’m terribly sorry to be so late,” she said, hurrying around the back of her Fiat and hopping onto the curb, keys in hand, eager to get them inside.

  “You said three-thirty,” barked Kip. “It’s four o’clock.”

  It was true, she had told him she’d be here a half hour ago when she was leaving the mansion with Sterling, but the man had refused to drive her here, and she’d lost time racing through crosstown traffic.

  “My apologies,” she said out of breath, as she held the door open.

  Christopher was at Kip’s heels and Kitty realized that in her haste she hadn’t properly introduced herself.

  “I’m Kitty Sinclair,” she stated, offering her hand. “The wedding planner.”

  Christopher looked all but amused as he glanced around her store. “Yeah, I got that.”

  She shook his hand none-the-less, sizing him up and hoping her faux pas wouldn’t turn him off from the duty of marrying Gretchen to David.

  At first blush, Christopher appeared to be Marcus Joseph’s polar opposite. Highly masculine with a meathead’s build, it was hard to picture him presiding over a matrimonial ceremony when he seemed better suited to check ID’s outside of a selective nightclub. His hair was buzzed short to his scalp and his eyes looked flat, dead if you will, though they were piercingly blue.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said, drawing back her hand. “Can I offer you Perrier or coffee? Champagne perhaps?”

  “Why don’t you offer us the details and requirements so Christopher can decide if he can commit?” Kip suggested, but not kindly.

  Why is he so curt about all this? It had been his idea to bring Christopher in. Why is he acting inconvenienced?

  “Well,” Kitty began, bucking up. “The wedding is in four days, so we’d need you in three days time for the wedding rehearsal. We’ll rehearse at the mansion, as I’m sure Kip mentioned.”

  Kip glared at her, causing her to stutter through her next point.

  “We generally reserve three hours for the rehearsal with a number of bathroom and snack breaks throughout. Are you comfortable running the rehearsal? Have you officiated many weddings?”

  Christopher shot Kip a sly look then shrugged at Kitty.

  “Sure,” he said, sounding remarkably Italian.

  Kitty wondered if he’d offed anyone recently—he was that Italian.

  “How do you two know each other?” she asked, suddenly curious.

  “We’re business associates,” he said, picking a piece of lint off the arm of his suit.

  It was just vague enough to raise questions.

  “At the casino?” she pressed.

  “What’s it matter?” asked Kip.

  Sensing his rising irritation, Kitty said, “You know, I don’t mean for this to be an inconvenience, Mr. Cartwright. You really don’t need to be here if it’s a bother.”

  Kip said nothing and stalked around the floral display as though it was more interesting than Kitty’s suggestion.

  “I think we’re all in shock over Marcus’ death,” she offered as a means to excuse Kip’s rude and bizarre attitude.

  “That guy,” he snorted. “Gretchen always sees the best in people and not what’s really there.”

  “How do you mean?” she asked, rounding the floral display so that she was facing him, while Christopher hung his head, becoming invested in the wedding cake table. He began flipping through one of the binders as though that’d be enough to give them privacy.

  “Marcus...” he trailed off, shaking his head in disgust. “He was a schemer.”

  She furrowed her brow at that. If she could convey her confusion perhaps he’d elaborate.

  But Kip didn’t. Instead, he thumbed a rose then sighed and turned to Christopher. “Get the details. We’ll talk.”

  And with that, Kip passed through the glass door and disappeared down the sidewalk.

  “You’ll have to excuse him,” said Christopher, tossing the cake vendor binder on its display. “Marcus screwed him.”

  “Did he?” she asked, intrigued. “How?”

  “At the casino,” he supplied. “He counted cards.”

  “Counted cards? Like Rain Man? As in cheated?”

  He gave her an affirming raise of his left brow. “Wouldn’t admit i
t, of course. They never do.”

  Kitty remembered Gretchen’s mention of Marcus owing bad people money and wondered if the bride had any clue her soon to be father-in-law could’ve been among them.

  “I take it you work at Kip’s casino?”

  “In security,” he clarified. “I helped him catch the guy.”

  “When was this?”

  “Months back. We banned Marcus. It was all we could do.”

  “So Gretchen happened to be friends with a guy who bamboozled Kip’s casino?”

  “You could say that,” he shrugged. “That’s the extent of it as far as I know.”

  “And the consequence was only that he was banned,” she stated, but it was really a question.

  “Apparently,” he said. “Kip doesn’t usually go so easy on these types, but with David’s engagement to Gretchen...you know...he wanted to keep it clean and friendly.”

  Maybe he had, but changed his mind, Kitty pondered.

  “How does Kip usually deal with those types?” she pressed then quickly added off his shifting glare. “Forgive me, I find it interesting. This is a whole new world for me. I’ve never been to a casino.”

  “Ah,” he smiled. “You should. It’s a hell of a good time so long as you don’t bring more cash than you’re willing to lose. The house always wins, you know. At the end of the day, we always win.”

  Indeed. But was Christopher referring to a winning hand or taking lives?

  “Find the weak spot,” he went on. “Then use it against the guy.”

  “So for all intents and purposes, Kip probably felt like Marcus owed him money,” she suggested, gauging his expression for any sign she was right.

  “I don’t know about that,” he said easily. “But it’s safe to say my boss isn’t that torn up over the guy’s death.”

  “So when did you get ordained?” she asked, changing topics, though it was very much the same line of questioning.

  “Maybe a week ago,” he said, sheepishly. “Kip thought it’d be a good idea.”

  Since he’d been planning to snuff out Marcus?

  “This’ll be my first wedding,” he added.

  “Then we have a lot of work to do,” said Kitty, thoughts turning to her first priority: making sure this wedding would be an absolute success.