MURDER at the ALTAR (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  David nodded. “I expect you to keep your word.”

  “I won’t breathe a word of this to Gretchen.”

  “Good, because I’m not playing so well at the moment.” He glared at her as though it were her fault.

  Kitty smirked a brief apology then fled through the casino.

  By the time she reached her Fiat, she was certain of two things. If Sterling knew about the condo, he probably didn’t think it held any connection to Marcus’ murder. And she had just gotten one step closer to rubbing Sterling’s nose in the fact he needed her, because there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in Kitty’s mind that Marcus’ condo had everything to do with his mysterious death.

  Chapter Ten

  “Hello, Ronald,” she scoffed with dry contempt as she shoved past the stocky man into Trudy’s apartment.

  “Kitty! What brings you here?”

  “I’m always here,” she said, dryly. Why couldn’t he pick up on how irritated she was that he seemed to always be here? That was Ronald’s worst quality, fearless trust and optimism. Kitty wondered if that made her bitter. Had she lost her optimism? Was that the price she’d paid for getting involved with Sterling?

  “Wine! STAT!” she demanded when she reached the couch, too pooped to venture further and locate her friend.

  “STAT?”

  “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” Her sarcasm was thick, but she reeled it in, reminding herself that Ronald wasn’t a bad guy. “But seriously, I need a drink.”

  “Trudy!” He called out, diving head first into the refrigerator. “Your friend is here!”

  He emerged with a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio just as Trudy swayed in from the bedroom, drying her hair in a towel.

  “Oh my God, your beehive.” Kitty was more or less stunned.

  She laughed. “I do wash my hair, you know.”

  “I figured that. I’ve never seen it down, though.”

  Ronald popped the cork out of the Pinot then took to pouring three glasses that he set on the coffee table. When he handed Kitty her wine he asked, “How’d it go with the magnet theory?”

  “That’s why I’m here, actually,” she started, and then nervously gulped the Pinot and hoped her jitters would calm. She directed her next statement to Trudy with trembling apprehension. “He slept over...(gulp) He was there all night...(gulp) He said he liked being around me...(gulp) I don’t know what to make of it.”

  Trudy and Ronald exchanged a puzzled look.

  “Sterling did?” Trudy sipped her wine with interest. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “I’m sorry,” Ronald interjected. “What does this have to do with the magnet and Marcus’ pacemaker?”

  “It has everything to do with it!” Kitty exclaimed, which startled Ronald into spilling his wine on his trousers. “He never sleeps over. That’s his thing. He leaves. Then I bring him to the mansion and find the magnet. Then we... well... did our usual thing. But then he comes to my place! And he doesn’t leave! It’s a total 180 flip!”

  “I’m still not seeing the problem,” said Trudy unperturbed by Kitty’s display of near hysterics.

  She glared at Ronald. He did this to her friend. He dulled her empathy, and disconnected her from the admittedly irrational wiles of Kitty’s romance-logic. How dare he!

  “I don’t trust it,” she explained, calming down a touch. “He’s unpredictable. Erratic. One minute he wants a break until he solves the case. The next minute he revokes the break. And here I am, bending to his whims.”

  “You feel like he’s still jerking you around,” Trudy offered.

  “Well, isn’t he?” She contemplated the likelihood. “Maybe he only wants to really be with me when I advance his cases. What if I can’t keep that up? I’m only a wedding planner for goodness sake!”

  Ronald put his hand on Trudy’s leg when she was about to respond so that he could. “Have you ever heard of the boomerang effect?”

  Kitty stared at him, thrown. “No.”

  Trudy locked eyes with Kitty and frowned as though she hadn’t either.

  “Men tend to have a boomerang cycle when they first start dating a woman,” he began. “Sometimes the boomerang effect lasts only weeks, sometimes months, and with some highly-independent men it can last for years.”

  “That’s supposed to be encouraging?” Kitty said, eyes glazing over like get to the point.

  “Basically, the guy rushes at the girl of interest then when he senses her interest he flies away as far as he can get. Then when he senses she’s accepted they probably aren’t headed for a relationship, he rushes back to her, then gets scared, flies away, and so on and so forth, like a boomerang.”

  Kitty gulped her wine and for once in her life truly appreciated Ronald’s insight.

  “That’s exactly what he’s been doing,” she stated. “Only when I pull away and act cold does he rush for me.”

  “Well, there you have it.”

  “But I don’t like being like this!”

  “Try not to get so worked up, Kitty,” said Trudy, trying to seem comforting.

  “It’s a natural cycle,” Ronald went on. “And each time the boomerang’s arc gets smaller and smaller. It won’t last forever. He’s just exercising his independence.”

  “I don’t like being at his mercy,” she asserted.

  “You can’t think of it like that,” he said. “You just have to be strong and solid and have confidence he’ll settle in with you. It sounds like he already is. He’s never wanted to sleep over before, now he’s spending the whole night with you. I’d call that progress.”

  “It was one night,” Kitty corrected. “And his sleeping over isn’t the problem. The problem is I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I can tell he’s in the pulling away stage, or he’s about to be, and I’ll have to suffer through it.”

  “Well, did he pull away?” asked Trudy.

  “He asked me to dinner.”

  Trudy waved her wine glass like there you have it.

  “Should I meet him for dinner?” Kitty hopped to the edge of her seat as if she’d just been struck by an epiphany.

  “Well don’t stand him up for goodness sake!” said Trudy.

  Kitty scrambled for her purse and quickly checked the time. It was just past nine in the evening now. She was already late, but better late than never.

  “Boomerang,” she reminded herself when Trudy opened the door for her and Ronald gave her an encouraging smile. “I can do this.”

  The Black Swan was a rustic bar-restaurant situated between a historical firehouse and library on Sea View Lane that boasted breathtaking views of the Greenwich harbor.

  Kitty took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the fresh, salty air rolling in off the harbor, as she approached the heavy, oak entrance door. According to the clock on her Fiat’s dashboard, it was a quarter past nine. She was later than she would’ve preferred and her heart was in her throat at the prospect that Sterling could’ve left; disheartened or furious she’d stood him up.

  As soon as she entered the bar, she spotted him hunched over it and realized Sterling’s state was a bit of both. He hadn’t trusted she’d come to the extent that he’d staked claim on a table. And yet he was still here, waiting, unwilling to accept she wouldn’t come.

  He turned to her as she came near, ballet flats lightly tapping the polished wooden floor. His face looked drawn at first until their eyes met, and then his expression lifted, hinting at a grin, his eyes turning fiery as though their long night together was lodged in the forefront of his mind.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, sliding onto the bar stool next to him. “I’ll have what he’s having,” she told the bartender, who was in no rush to fulfill the order. He kept turning a whiskey glass around the rag he’d shoved inside it, and milled off.

  “I knew you’d come,” he said softly, as he rested his hand on her leg and squeezed, but the edge in his tone wasn’t entirely confident. He hadn't been certain, she realized. He’d gotten nervous. “
I shouldn’t have asked you to push back the Downey - Cartwright wedding.”

  She took a deep breath and decided that was an apology, and then wondered what he might have discovered—what evidence he’d found to no longer need the date changed to accommodate his investigation.

  “So it’s going well on your end?” she asked, nudging him to disclose any developments. After all, she’d disclosed hers. “Any leads based on the magnet I found.”

  Sterling shifted and narrowed his gaze at the fact she’d credited herself, but it was barely perceptible.

  “Yeah, actually,” he said, rubbing his warm palm up and down the outside of her leg. He scooted his stool in close so his legs splayed around her then leaned in and kissed her cheek. When he drew back he had a faraway look in his eyes as he stared out at the harbor. “The magnet had a serial number we were able to trace. It’s only a matter of time before we know who bought it. We already know the manufacturer and the store that sold it.”

  Kitty wondered if he knew about Marcus’ cheating the Cartwright Casino and the fact that Kip had all but admitted he knew exactly who the killer was, and that in Kitty’s mind, the murder centered on Marcus purchasing a condo across the hall from Gretchen and David.

  As she studied Sterling’s expression—the fading glint in his eyes, his falling gaze, the way he swished his whiskey around in circles and the second it took him to graze his teeth over his lower lip—she reminded herself of the boomerang effect.

  He was gravitating toward her, because she was acting reserved. She had to ignore the impulse she felt to tell him what she’d learned from Kip and David. Instead, she needed to draw what he knew out of him. She had to figure out away to keep pulling away in such a manner that would compel him to spill and also want her.

  But as she started on that effort, Kitty faltered.

  “Last night was a big step,” she said, launching into the complete wrong direction. “I want you to know I don’t think you were trying to pull one over on me. I just... I guess it just seemed to be out of character for you and I didn’t know how to trust it.”

  Sterling was looking at her, no longer lost in the harbor view, and chuckled. “Yeah, it was out of character, alright.”

  At long last, the bartender set a Whiskey Sour in front of Kitty then disappeared before Sterling could voice he’d like another.

  Kitty and Sterling shot each other an acknowledging glance that The Black Swan probably wasn’t renowned for its excellent service.

  “Look, Kitty, I have to tell you something.” Sterling trailed off, the easy smile was gone from his face, and he stared at his empty glass as though meeting her gaze would make it too difficult to say what he needed to.

  He sighed, stammered, shifted on the stool, then held his breath; all the while Kitty’s heart raced faster and faster, her greatest fears surging to the forefront of her mind.

  “Kitty,” he started again, this time managing to look her in the eye.

  “Don’t,” she interrupted. “Please.” His gaze was questioning. “I know what you’re going to say. Just don’t.” She felt tears sting her eyes so she glanced out at the harbor and waited for the threat to subside. “I’ve been alone for a good long while and...” she swallowed hard, determined to sound strong.

  The boomerang, she reminded herself. He can’t push you away if you’ve already fled.

  “Let’s just say I need tonight to myself,” she concluded.

  A strange tension rose between them that Sterling attempted to ease away. “That’s fine. I’d still like to say—”

  “Don’t Sterling! I don’t need to hear it!”

  He stared at her and looked suddenly hurt.

  Without thinking clearly, Kitty hopped off the stool, but he grabbed her arm before she could literally flee The Black Swan.

  “I’m coming to the wedding rehearsal,” he declared.

  “You aren’t invited.” It wasn’t a dig; only a fact and she stated it with much confusion.

  “I don’t want you being alone.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ll be with the Downeys and the Cartwrights—”

  “I mean, I don’t want you to be alone with them. You can’t protect yourself. I need to be there.”

  “Protect myself? From whom?”

  Sterling loosened his grip so as not to scare her, but pulled her close and whispered, “The killer knows you’ve been poking around and I’m worried you’re going to become a target if you keep digging.”

  “But—”

  “Kitty—”

  “You know who the killer is?”

  “I’m building a case and can’t act just yet—”

  “But—”

  “Look, Kitty. I’m not telling you not to poke around. I know you won’t heed my warnings about that. I’ve accepted that you’re incredibly nosey.”

  “Hey!”

  “Oh come on,” he interrupted her interruption. “But if you’re going to do what you seem unable to stop yourself from doing, then I’m going to be there so you don’t get yourself killed.”

  Excitedly, she leaned in even closer. “Who’s the killer?”

  “I told you I’m still building a case.”

  “So you don’t know?”

  “I have a strong, gut instinct for these things and I’m rarely wrong. Can I come to the wedding rehearsal?”

  Now he was asking. Interesting.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He stared up at her from where she stood. Kitty realized his hands were wrapped around her waist and he had a longing look in his eye.

  “Can I please tell you what I was trying to earlier?”

  Kitty turned flush with sudden insult and slapped him across the face.

  “I’ll not be toyed with, Sterling Slaughter!”

  She stormed out of the restaurant and didn’t look back.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kitty had dodged a bullet, or smacked it out of thin air, as it were. Sterling had been edging toward dumping her, or imposing another break, or otherwise putting her off in some hurtful manner, but she’d nipped his intention right in the bud.

  Good for her!

  She’d not be toyed with!

  Though she did find it relatively strange that the same man who’d been gearing up to push her out of his life was also the same man who insisted on attending the wedding rehearsal...

  An odd one, that man. Still, Kitty felt as though she’d made the right decision, or went with the appropriate reaction. In the moment it hadn’t much felt like deciding...

  If Sterling was going to watch her every move tomorrow at the wedding rehearsal which would surely bleed into the rehearsal dinner and a long night of last minute arrangements, getting the ballroom in tiptop shape among other areas of the mansion, then Kitty had to make the most of today.

  She’d made appointments for Gretchen to get a manicure and pedicure at Hard As Nails on Main Street, directly followed by a hair appointment with Trudy at her salon, Beehive. Which meant Gretchen would be out of her condo from 10:00 a.m. to roughly 1:30 p.m. Trudy had already agreed to drag out the hair appointment as long as humanly possible, though she’d objected, grumbling often that Kitty had lost her damn mind. Trudy would also call Kitty the second Gretchen left the salon.

  To cover her bases she’d set up an equal number of mostly-unnecessary appointments for David as well, since the condo Marcus had bought was directly across the hall from the happy couple and Kitty couldn’t risk being spotted by either. David would arrive at the Rugged Stallion, a men’s pampering palace at 10:15 sharp, where he was scheduled to receive a manly mani-pedi (he’d scoffed, but Kitty sold him on the idea that it was perfectly acceptable to lean a little metrosexually for his wedding) followed by a slight trim and then a solid hour-long massage given by a Colombian woman named Cha-Cha, who promised in so many words to keep him entertained until 1:30 p.m. Kitty hadn’t pressed the immigrant for details on how she’d pull that off, but did mention that if all else faile
d, David could lose hours to a little back alley gambling. Cha-Cha had winked at Kitty, taken her cash, and said she knew a place or two.

  Good.

  Kitty had gotten her ducks in a row to secure three and a half hours to get into Marcus Joseph’s condo undetected and rustle up as many clues as possible as to why he had been killed and who might have done the dark deed.

  She was parked across the street from Gretchen and David’s, though inconspicuously, and pressed her binoculars against the driver’s side window.

  After adjusting the focus and scanning the row of windows on the sixth floor, she spotted David walking through his bedroom. He was dressed. He’d leave right on time. She swept her binoculars over until she saw Gretchen drinking coffee in the kitchen. The bride checked her watch then tipped her mug back, downing the last of its contents and hurried to David, who was now pulling a sports jacket over his shoulders.

  They kissed then Gretchen left first.

  Moments later, Kitty watched Gretchen through her binoculars spill onto the sidewalk and walk briskly to her car and drive off.

  She darted her gaze back to the sixth floor where David was standing in front of the bay windows with his hands on his hips.

  Kitty yelped and ducked behind the wheel.

  Had he seen her?

  When she inched up, returning her binoculars to her face, David was gone. Suddenly frantic, Kitty locked her gaze on the building entrance, her breath held, her heart racing and yet somehow also in her throat.

  David didn’t come out the front door as Gretchen had. But after a few moments, the parking garage door beneath the condo building opened slowly and a black Fiat, not unlike her own, rolled out onto the street then drove off.

  She let out a huge sigh then realized she had no way of getting into the building.

  The garage door was slowly closing.

  Kitty sprang from her car, purse in hand, and charged like a maniac across the street, arms swinging and legs pumping and regrets as to what in the hell she was thinking wearing purple heels and a tight skirt swirling through her racing mind.

  Just in the nick of time, she ducked under the garage door and was safely within the complex, though completely out of breath. Keeling over, hands bracing her knees, she fought to get enough air that her heart rate would lower and eventually it did. She straightened up and made her way to an elevator at the back of the garage.