Love, Laughter, and Murder Ever After (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 1) Page 6

  So she did know. Did Contessa? Well, she certainly did if she’d killed him.

  “Is that so?” said Kitty, playing dumb.

  “I’m horrified. But if you ask me...” she glanced over her shoulder and then returned her gaze. “It was Contessa.”

  Kitty gasped for dramatic effect then asked, “How would she have done it?”

  Roxanne shrugged. “I wish I knew. I would’ve told that detective.”

  Roxanne snapped her fingers and the butler appeared, who then led Kitty through the mansion and out into the back gardens once Roxanne had bid her adieu.

  Contessa was seated on a marble bench set deep within a labyrinth of rose bushes. As Kitty rounded the bend to where she was waiting, the fragrant aromas dazzled her senses and for some reason got Kitty thinking about Sterling’s mention of silk. Kitty recalled Roxanne’s story about Duke giving her a silk scarf for their 12th anniversary, a garment Roxanne had been wearing. As far as Kitty knew, that story was the only mention of silk. But what did it mean? And what did Sterling know about it? How could the silk scarf possibly relate to Duke being poisoned?

  Jealousy came to mind, but Kitty couldn’t place who would be jealous or why. Roxanne obviously had it in for Contessa and vice versa. Could Contessa have become fixated on the gift, and in a convoluted effort to punish the man who’d chosen to give his wife a gift and not her, killed her own father?

  It seemed farfetched, but there was something to it. Perhaps the sulking bride would reveal herself in an effort to vent. Kitty resolved to get Contessa venting.

  “Good morning,” she said, approaching the young woman.

  “How do you do?” she said, dryly and with little affect.

  “I’m well. I’m so glad you invited me. Your home is beautiful.”

  She snorted. “It’s her home,” she said, as though Roxanne’s name was a dirty word she wouldn’t utter. “She’s taken everything—stolen it. She never loved my father, you know. Just his money. She wanted him dead.”

  It was time to chum the waters as far as Kitty was concerned. The bride was hungry.

  “Is that why you changed Duke’s life insurance policy? So she’d walk away with a little less?”

  “Did she tell you that?!” Contessa was good and riled up. “The nerve! Daddy approved that! He knew Roxanne was only after his money. He was afraid of her. They had a prenup you know. Roxanne wouldn't get a dime if she divorced him. He’d have to die and she knew it.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Kitty, taking her hand as if they were dear friends.

  “I know he was poisoned,” she stated matter-of-factly.

  “Oh goodness, is that right?” She’d sounded sappy, but Contessa didn’t seem to notice.

  “And guess who studied forensics after college?”

  Now Kitty was genuinely alarmed.

  “Roxanne?”

  Contessa nodded with conviction. “She knows all about how to pull off the perfect murder. If you look at her courses during those years you’ll see she took several on the subject of poisoning.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Daddy found out. He told me. He’d done a background check on Roxanne last month when he began fearing her.”

  Kitty needed to contact Sterling right away. He should know about this. He’d drop his suspicion from Harry as soon as he learned of Roxanne’s history.

  “Why did Duke become afraid of Roxanne? Did something happen?”

  “I’m afraid to live here with her,” she said, disregarding the question. “I begged Charles to take me in, but his family is religious. There will be no living in sin before the wedding.”

  Perhaps that was why Contessa was eager to move forward with her nuptials, not because she didn’t care her father had been killed, but because she was desperate not to live with the killer.

  Then Contessa answered the question Kitty was dying to know.

  “Roxanne bought a gun.”

  “Why on earth would she need one?”

  Contessa shot her an evocative gaze, brows rising and mouth pinching tight.

  “To kill Duke?”

  “That’s certainly what he thought,” she stated. “I did as well. But clearly she’s too smart for that—forensic training and all. So she poisoned him.”

  “Has a man named Sterling Slaughter spoken with you?” Kitty asked.

  “Yes, but he doesn’t care. The only person he wanted to know about was that baker.”

  The only quality that exceeded Sterling’s poor detective skills was his good looks and Kitty was downright sick of it.

  “With your finances,” Kitty began. “Couldn’t you move into a hotel? I mean if you’re truly afraid...”

  “You think I haven’t thought of that?” Contessa snapped. “I tried. I even met with the family accountant yesterday. I don’t have a dime to my name! And I won’t until I marry Charles. Daddy had placed the strangest limitations on my money. It’s all tied up in trust funds I’ve no access to.”

  It was quite a quandary.

  Contessa held her head high and forced a smile.

  “I’ll not let that woman break me!” She declared. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

  Kitty opened her satchel and pulled out several catalogues that featured all the floral options for the wedding.

  “We’ll want to be sure the color scheme matches the bridesmaids’ dresses,” she suggested. “I have a few ideas...”

  Hours passed before Contessa agreed to red roses and white lilies filled with baby’s breath, which to Kitty’s immense frustration had been precisely what she’d first suggested when she’d cracked open the catalogues. But Kitty wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on that. She was pleased enough the morning had been productive.

  She tucked the binders back into her satchel and hugged Contessa goodbye then made her way back through the mansion, but as she approached the grand foyer, Roxanne stopped her.

  “She poisoned you against me, didn’t she? Humph, poisoning... Contessa is good at that.”

  Stunned, Kitty was at a loss for words, but reminded herself reassurance would go a long way.

  “Detective Sterling Slaughter is a smart man.” If she’d eaten lunch, it would’ve crept up her throat, but she pressed on. “He’ll find the person who took your husband’s life. I’m sure of it.”

  Roxanne opened the door for her just as the butler raced over having neglected his duties.

  “Take care,” said Kitty as she left.

  She was afraid of how Roxanne might interpret that. Hopefully she wouldn’t do anything rash to her stepdaughter. But hoping didn’t seem like enough.

  Chapter Eight

  Kitty was ten minutes late and frazzled by the time she reached the restaurant for her noon date—the second of three Trudy had set up in an effort to alleviate Kitty’s epic single-dom.

  When she stopped at the hostess stand, Kitty announced that she was meeting someone named Neil Salsbury, as her gaze darted around the crowded steakhouse.

  The hostess poured over her reservation book, but Kitty didn’t notice. She was scanning for single men, one of which would have to be the successful mortgage broker Trudy had spoken so highly of.

  There was a man seated alone at the far end, but he looked much too old to be Neil. His gray hair and weathered face told her he was upward of fifty, though her thoughts clung to the salt and pepper mop on his head. Few could pull off the look, she mused, and Sterling was the only she’d met. How did he make it look so good?

  She cursed herself for wondering, and then met eyes with another man seated alone. A sandy blond with broad shoulders and good style, Kitty’s breath hitched in her throat. Oh, he is good looking! With any luck, he’d be kind and charming and sparks would fly!

  But as the hostess led her between tables, Kitty soon realized she wasn’t headed toward the handsome blond. The hostess halted in front of her then stepped aside, revealing a stalky, bald man, whose glasses seemed to swallow his otherwise pinched
face.

  Oh dear Lord, she thought. How in God’s name had Trudy given this man a haircut? He didn’t have a single hair on his head!

  “Neil Salsbury?” she asked through a feigned smile that felt more like a disappointed grimace.

  “The one and only,” he said in an alarmingly high-pitched voice, as he stood to shake her hand.

  And there they stood, baldhead to breasts, as Kitty looked down at her date, shook his hand, and prayed for the love of all things holy that some kind of emergency would strike to get her out of this.

  When they sat, Kitty found herself slouching so as not to further insult his petite stature, but it was a real pain in the neck.

  “Trudy tells me you’re in the wedding planning business,” he started excitedly. “How fascinating. Tell me all about it.”

  Well, it wasn’t a bad start. At least he cared to find out about her.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, interrupting her before she could respond.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, smiling. “I favor Riesling on warm days like this.”

  “One Riesling coming right up!” he said, hopping out of his chair.

  How strange. He was hurriedly approaching a waiter who seemed confused and then Neil started demanding, and quite loudly at that, that the waiter fulfill the order at once.

  What an odd little man.

  Neil returned, red faced and heaving, but took a few breaths and calmed down.

  “Was that necessary?” Kitty asked with wide eyes.

  “These people! They make you wait and wait and for what? They’re the waiters!”

  A man with a raging temper... Oh Trudy would get an earful, and this time Kitty wouldn’t be so kind.

  “Can we get a breadbasket over here?!” He yelled to the room at large.

  Kitty had a sinking feeling this was about to be a very long lunch.

  As Neil dove into a long diatribe about mortgage rates, property values, and all the problems he encountered on a daily basis that made his blood boil, Kitty slipped into deep thought contemplating the tumultuous dynamic between Contessa and her handsome stepmother, Roxanne.

  When she took a step back and really looked at the situation, it seemed both women had played two ends against the middle, and Kitty had been dead center. Each had worked hard to convince Kitty the other was guilty, and they clearly understood the other was doing the same. And yet they both demonstrated unwavering love for Duke…at least that seemed to be at the heart of their motivation. Was mere convenience the reason they’d each pointed a finger? Had neither of them done it, but they were trying to take advantage of the situation to spite one another?

  That would be diabolical.

  And yet it was absolutely captivating.

  Roxanne certainly struck Kitty as the guiltier of the two. It was too great a coincidence she’d studied the effects of poison and their use in murders.

  “Excuse me, I just realized I must make an important phone call,” she said, cutting Neil off before he could launch into a raging anecdote about the poor customer service in the lending division of Bank of America.

  Neil stared at her, puzzled, but obliged, rising to his feet in a gesture of good manners as she left the table.

  Once she reached the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, Kitty dialed Sterling on her cell. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Doll face,” he said by way of a greeting.

  “Stop calling me that. What’s wrong with you?”

  “How’d you sleep?” He asked in a smooth, deep tone that reminded her of a man rolling to his side in bed. Ugh, she pushed the image from her mind. “You toss and turn without me?”

  “Would you listen?!” Kitty took a deep breath and waited for his deeply booming laughter to die down. “I spoke with Contessa. Did you know Roxanne bought a firearm last month?”

  “There you go again thinking you can do my job better than I can. What are you wearing?”

  Kitty glanced down at her lavender dress then huffed that he'd sucked her in.

  “Contessa also told me Roxanne had taken forensic courses on the subject of poisoning.”

  “In the biz we call that hearsay.”

  “So you’ve looked into it? It’s not true?”

  “You know I can’t tell you one way or the other,” he groaned.

  Christ, he really was in bed. How in the heck did he expect to solve this case?

  “What happened with those fingerprints?” she asked urgently.

  Again, he laughed then sighed.

  “Arg, you’re no help at all!”

  “Why don’t you let me do my job?” he challenged, but his tone was seductive.

  “Because, as far as I’m concerned, you aren’t. Harry had nothing to do with Duke’s murder and I’m just in pieces thinking you’re trying to pin this on the wrong man!”

  “So, what I’m hearing is, you want me to swing by tonight?”

  “Don’t you dare!” She hung up then kicked herself for being foolish enough to think he’d take her seriously or care.

  Kitty stomped off down the sidewalk in the direction of her car as she completely forgot Neil was still inside, his blood surely boiling with every second that passed.

  She climbed behind the wheel of the most expensive thing she owned, a sporty little red Fiat, and started the engine.

  No sooner than she had, she spotted Charles Astoria holding a bouquet of pink roses in his hands. He was coming out of a flower shop a half block up from her idling Fiat, but when he reached his Lincoln he paused and glanced up and down the block.

  Kitty ducked behind the wheel, but wasn’t entirely sure why until she registered that he appeared anxious. The roses were clearly for Contessa. Why would he be anxious?

  He set the bouquet on the hood of the trunk and then took a small object from his pocket. From her vantage point, Kitty couldn’t see what it was, as Charles worked the object inside the bouquet. Once it was secure, he lifted the bouquet and examined it.

  What he did next was the most curious of all, Kitty observed, as she watched through the steering wheel. Charles popped his trunk open and set the bouquet inside and then closed it.

  What would the harm in keeping the flowers on the passenger’s seat be? She wondered. Unless he didn’t want Contessa, or anyone, to know he’d bought them. But why wouldn't he?

  Kitty acknowledged her curiosity was getting the best of her, and it crossed her mind she was losing it, but when Charles’ Lincoln pulled away from the curb, Kitty pulled out as well.

  She followed him and hoped her red Fiat wasn’t as conspicuous as she feared.

  Charles’ Lincoln wove through traffic heading east, which happened to be the opposite direction from the von Winkle’s estate. Kitty stuck to a safe distance behind him, being certain to leave a car between their vehicles, but when Charles turned off onto a rural road that wound its way through the golden countryside, Kitty’s options for cover were nil.

  Where was he going? She mused. And for whom are those flowers? Does he have some kind of mistress on the side?

  Soon the rolling landscape flattened and Kitty realized Charles was heading straight for the Greenwich Cemetery.

  This was the end of the line. If she followed Charles’ Lincoln into the cemetery she’d greatly risk being caught, so she pulled over just beyond the gate his Lincoln had passed through, and parked curbside.

  She’d have to be quick so as not to lose sight of his vehicle and because of this she sighed, glancing down at her purple heels, as she stepped out of her car. It wouldn’t be easy, but Kitty would grit her teeth and bear it!

  She started off at a clip jogging over asphalt until she passed through the gate. Then when the grassy planes unfolded before her, she kicked off her heels, plucked them up, and took off running barefoot in the direction of Charles’ Lincoln that was disappearing into the distance.

  Goodness gracious she’d have to pick up the pace. She pumped her arms and got her knees up, visions of high school t
rack springing to mind. Soon she was winded, beyond winded in fact, gasping for air and dripping with sweat, but she found the Lincoln.

  It was parked at the bottom of the hill. Thanking God she now had a reason to rest, Kitty hopped behind a headstone and then carefully peered out, as Charles walked, bouquet in hand, toward a grave that had a statue of the Virgin Mary as its headstone.

  With her gaze locked on Charles, Kitty scurried from headstone to headstone, working her way closer to the mysterious groom as he set the bouquet down on the grave. He seemed to be talking to it, but Kitty couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  When she reached a tall headstone she straightened up and once again gasped for breath. Soon her breathing was steady and her heart rate lowered, but when she glanced around the side of the headstone, her heart started pounding hard. Charles was gone.

  Her gaze darted to the rear of his Lincoln as it disappeared down the cemetery road.

  Wasting no time, Kitty walked briskly to the headstone and picked up the bouquet of flowers. Always one to stop and smell the roses, she did, and just then she noticed the name on the headstone: Charlotte von Winkle.

  Duke’s first wife?

  Why would Charles bring flowers to her grave?

  Kitty dropped to her knees then lowered her plump rump onto the grass and worked her heels onto each foot and then carefully spread the roses apart until the object Charles had set within it revealed itself.

  A skull and crossbones caught her eye.

  It was a label on a black bottle.

  She pulled it out from the bouquet and eyed it curiously.

  It was poison.

  She got to her feet in an instant and began rushing through the cemetery, but without warning, she was grabbed from behind.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” said the man, holding her.

  He whipped her around as she shrieked—terrified the killer was on her—but when she came face to face with a security guard, her fears became much worse.

  “Unhand me!” she demanded, but the guard wouldn’t let go. He was attempting to wrestle the bouquet from her grasp, and knowing the poison bottle was in her other hand, she decided to toss the flowers to create a diversion.