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

  Once her office tasks were complete, Kitty locked up shop and started off, rushing around Greenwich to pick up the bridesmaids’ dresses, bridal gown, the groomsmen’s bow ties and cummerbunds, and finally her own dress—a peach-colored silk number that left virtually nothing to the imagination. Again, Sterling came to mind. Darn!

  It wasn’t until two o’clock that Kitty had a moment to herself, which she realized as she unlocked Happily Ever After and stumbled blindly into her store thanks to the mountain of bridesmaids' dresses in her arms.

  She took to task, hanging each dress on a rack in the back and then called each bridesmaid on the list to let her know her dress was ready. She went through the same motions with the groomsmen and then called Contessa about her gown.

  The bride sounded weak through the earpiece and said little.

  When Kitty returned the phone to its cradle, she leaned back in her chair and sighed, but the brief respite did nothing to calm her mind that was now racing with the mystery of Charles, the poison bottle, and poor Charlotte von Winkle’s grave.

  The urge to draw connections kept nagging her, punctuated by Sterling’s unreasonable warning. How dare he forbid her? If anything he should be thanking her. Such a stubborn man! But those lips...that kiss...

  She jumped from her chair as though it would help her escape the thought of him. And it worked, but not entirely.

  Kitty padded off through the store with her purse tucked tightly under her arm.

  She’d never set foot in Town Hall until that afternoon. The grand building sat in the heart of downtown Greenwich on a block that was otherwise bright and sunny. The building itself seemed dark, Kitty observed, and menacing.

  She took a deep breath, smoothed her hands down the front of her pale blue dress, and then entered.

  The Town Clerk’s office was located on the first floor according to the marquee in the lobby so Kitty worked her way down the hall.

  When she came to the Town Clerk’s office, she opened the door slowly and then approached the receptionist with discretion.

  “Yes?” said the young woman behind the desk, whose bright eyes and hip attire told Kitty this girl was on break from college.

  “I’m interested in reviewing the death record for Charlotte von Winkle,” she stated. She was nervous. Could anyone pour over death certificates? Or did one need to be authorized? She’d soon find out.

  The young woman looked unconcerned and began typing the name into her computer and then mentioned Kitty could have a seat.

  “Certainly,” she said.

  Kitty only had to wait a few moments and the receptionist’s gaze snapped from her monitor to Kitty.

  “I have it ready for you,” she spoke up.

  Kitty was at the counter in an instant and took three sheets of paper the receptionist was handing her.

  “Is it okay if I sit here for a bit?” she asked, eyeing the sheets that looked dense with information.

  “Be my guest,” she said.

  Kitty resumed her spot and began to pour over the records.

  Cause of death: undetermined.

  Her eyes locked on the words.

  Undetermined?

  She read on.

  Charlotte von Winkle had been found dead in her bathtub on the morning of May 26th twelve years prior.

  Twelve years?

  Kitty was on her feet, padding over to the receptionist.

  “Pardon me, but could I also see the marriage certificate between Duke von Winkle and Roxanne...oh dear, I don’t know her maiden name.”

  The receptionist clicked away on her keyboard then asked, “Keller?”

  “Well Duke probably only married one Roxanne, so yes.”

  “Just a moment.”

  Kitty waited impatiently as a sheet of paper crawled out of the receptionist's printer. She snatched it leaning over the counter, so as not to waste time and then scurried back to her chair.

  Duke had married Roxanne on June 1st; only four days after Charlotte had died. It was curious.

  Kitty resumed her review of Charlotte’s death, skim reading as fast as she could for the pertinent details.

  Charlotte hadn’t drowned in the bathtub, but her heart had stopped, the cause of which was unknown. A family friend had found her, Charles Astoria, who was noted as Duke’s protégé. Interesting. So they did know each other.

  Why would Charles enter the bathroom? Surely Charlotte had closed the door. Did they have an intimate relationship? Was Charlotte expecting the interruption? Had Duke suspected an affair and killed his wife, thus causing Charles to retaliate twelve years later?

  Kitty did some quick math and realized Charles would’ve been sixteen years old at the time.

  Scandalous!

  Sterling came to mind, but not for the usual reason. He should know about this! She should tell him, shouldn’t she? Or would he only scold and then kiss her if she did?

  Quickly, she folded the records along with the marriage certificate and tucked the square into her purse, as she tore from the Town Clerk’s office as questions for Charles formed in her fast-thinking mind.

  Though it was beyond her comprehension, Charles Astoria lived with his parents—similar to Contessa. When blessed with family riches, why were these young adults still living at home?

  When she arrived at the Astoria’s home she gleaned the reason. Just like the von Winkle estate, the Astorias lived in a majestic mansion, but theirs looked like a French castle. What a gorgeous location for a wedding, she mused, as she walked toward the grand entrance and then rapped a large, round metal knocker against the stone door.

  A maid answered, drawing the door open and fighting for a glimmer of recognition.

  “Oh, the Astorias aren’t expecting me,” Kitty smiled. “I’m the wedding planner, Kitty Sinclair. Is Charles home?”

  “Right this way,” she said, leading Kitty through the castle until the maid deposited her in a handsome lounge room, the walls of which were lined with leather-bound books. It smelled of tanned hide and rich mahogany she noticed as she wandered deeper to where a lofty, leather couch sat in front of a lattice window that let in just enough light.

  “Ms. Sinclair,” Charles said, entering the lounge. He added, “Please don’t get up” when Kitty motioned to do just that.

  He sat in an adjacent leatherback chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “Well, your tuxedo is ready,” she said to ease him into the more disturbing conversation they were about to have. “You can pick it up anytime.”

  He cocked his head at that. “You didn’t think to bring it with you?”

  Kitty all but slapped her forehead. “What a bonehead I am!”

  He chuckled. “It’s fine. I’ll have Rosa swing by.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she went on. “This morning has been an absolute blur. I should’ve brought it.”

  “Really, no worries. Was that all?”

  “No, actually.” She paused, only now just realizing how greatly she was about to overstep her bounds. “I didn’t realize you had a close, personal relationship with Duke.”

  Charles eased back in his chair and then popped up and cross the room to where a small bar of the finest hard liquor was hidden in the wall. “It’s how I met Contessa,” he said over his shoulder.

  He returned a moment later with two stout glasses of golden liquid.

  “Lagavulin 16,” he mentioned, handing her a glass. “Only the finest Scottish whiskey. It’s from the isle of Islay, you know. I traveled there once. Beautiful place, stunning, breathtaking.”

  “How lovely,” she said, drawing the glass to her nose. It smelled of peat and lavender, and in conjunction with this setting, Kitty felt like she was traveling through time. “So you were close?”

  “Thick as thieves.”

  “For some reason I thought the von Winkles and Astorias didn’t know each other well.”

  “Quite the opposite. Our families go back generations. Upper echelons stick toget
her. It’s our way.”

  “So you knew Charlotte?”

  Charles fell into a dark, silent mood and then offered only, “I did.”

  “I hadn’t realized she’d died so tragically,” said Kitty, hoping the groom would open up on his own and divulge all he knew.

  “It was tragic,” he agreed, swirling the scotch in his glass.

  “What do you suppose happened?” she pressed.

  Charles took a deep breath and then stated, “Dark times.”

  It piqued her interest, but did nothing to answer the question.

  “I try not to think about it,” he added. “Especially now with the wedding so close.”

  “Of course,” she grumbled. “I shouldn’t pry.”

  She was staring at him, but forced herself to sip the scotch so as not to seem rude.

  “I never trusted Duke after that,” he said.

  Her breath hitched excitedly in her throat. Was he edging toward a confession? Admittance of revenge? She leaned in.

  “Charlotte wasn’t yet thirty when she passed,” he ruminated. “She was so full of life. She was healthy. It didn’t make sense.”

  Kitty whispered with intrigue, “Do you suppose Duke... did something to her?”

  Charles locked his gaze on her, which spoke volumes.

  “If he did,” she went on, tiptoeing like an elephant. “Well then...his own untimely death seems almost just.”

  He raised his brows at that and studied her.

  “Wouldn’t you say?” she pressed.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Not to overstep my bounds,” even though I am, she thought. “But if it were me, and a maternal figure I was fond of died, and I thought her husband was responsible, I might...well, I don’t know...take matters into my own hands.”

  “Would you?” It was a question that came across like an accusation.

  Kitty shrugged, hoping he’d warmed to her, praying he’d confide his sinful deed.

  “I wouldn’t,” he stated. “There’s no excuse for taking a life.” He held his breath a moment and then his demeanor changed entirely. “My God, Ms. Sinclair! What a horrific thing to say!”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

  “I mean really! At a time like this?”

  She didn’t much appreciate being scolded by a murderer, and soon her own temper flared.

  “Then what, pray tell, were you doing with that bottle of poison?!”

  He was suddenly astounded. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t play the innocent, Charles! I saw you at that cemetery! The bouquet with the poison inside, you placed it on Charlotte’s grave! Explain yourself!”

  He turned white. She had him! There was nowhere he could run or hide and the second he admitted his crime she planned to rub it in Sterling’s smug face.

  “I can explain that,” he said, terrified.

  “Well that’s precisely what I’ve asked you to do. I’m listening.”

  “I found it.”

  It wasn’t much of an explanation.

  “Where?” she pressed.

  “In my parents’ bathroom, upstairs, on the third floor.” He shuttered out a pained exhale. “Suddenly Charlotte’s memory seized me. I knew something terrible had happened to her! I don’t know why that bottle of poison was in my parents' bathroom, but I was in shambles at the thought it might harm my mother or my father so I got rid of it. Placing it on Charlotte’s grave was merely a gesture. My way of acknowledging she’d been killed. You have to believe me! I’d never hurt Duke. I admit I didn’t trust him ever since Charlotte’s passing, but I’d never kill him. Never.”

  “In your parents’ bathroom?” Kitty turned the notion over in her mind. She had a good read on Charles. She honestly believed him. Maybe Astrid had done the dark deed, or perhaps her husband, Gerald. “Why didn’t you alert the police?”

  “I couldn’t bear to think either of my parents could’ve done such a thing. I guess I wasn’t thinking—only reacting, panicking.”

  Kitty drew in a deep breath to digest all he’d said along with her scotch, the remainder of which she knocked back with a sense of victory. She was getting close.

  “Are your parents at home?” she asked, determined to see this thing through. “Oh, Ms. Sinclair, please don’t.”

  He was afraid of her, scared for what she might do. Well, he should’ve thought of that before he tampered with evidence.

  With purpose she rose from the couch.

  “Ms. Sinclair!” he called when she tore through the lounge. “Stop her!”

  As soon as she spilled into the grand foyer, a man in a dark suit grabbed her. Then Charles appeared.

  “See to it that she leaves at once!” he ordered, to which his security guard obeyed, yanking Kitty toward the entrance and then out the door.

  “I’ll see myself to my car! Thank you very much!” She shoved him off, brushed her hands over her hair to compose herself, and then walked toward her Fiat, shoulders back and head held high.

  The last thing she wanted was to meet a strange man in The Good Luck Bar for her third and final blind date, but the fact of the matter was that Kitty could use a stiff drink and the company of a kind man. Not that she had any faith Trudy had found her one. If history repeated itself, she was walking, eyes wide open, into a surefire disaster, but any effort to get Sterling off her mind would be worth it, even if that effort ended in huffs and tears.

  The drive over to The Good Luck Bar was just long enough for Kitty to unwind from the thrill of her conversation with Charles Astoria. The rehearsal dinner was tomorrow, she reflected, and time was certainly running out if she wanted to solve this case before the bride and groom could say I do, but because of the events tomorrow would bring—hours at the chapel rehearsing the ceremony, she’d have plenty of time to sidle up to Astrid and Gerald and find out why that bottle of poison had been in their bathroom for Charles to find, and who, in God’s name, had killed Duke?

  As its name alluded, The Good Luck bar was an upscale Chinese establishment on Olive Street, adorably tucked between a quaint coffee shop that was still hopping, and a florist that was now closed.

  Kitty ran her fingers through her choppy, brown locks and pressed her pink lips together to plump her gloss, as she made her way up the sidewalk. Changing into a more flirty dress would’ve been a nice touch, but she felt attractive enough in her pale blue dress, which swayed and flowed with each step.

  When she stepped inside the bar-restaurant she was immediately taken by the red wallpaper and its black Chinese decals, the oriental furnishings, and the uniform wait staff, all young, lovely Asian girls who wore satin Cheongsam dresses of the most traditional variety.

  The hostess bowed her head ever so slightly when Kitty reached her podium.

  “Hello, I’m meeting someone here,” she said. “His name is Ronald Carver.”

  The hostess scanned the reservation book then smiled.

  “Right this way.”

  The hostess led Kitty through the restaurant that was unusually crowded though it was early, five o’clock. She held her breath as the hostess slowed, moments from revealing the dashing or disappointing Ronald Carver, but when the Asian woman stepped aside, Kitty found herself in shock.

  The man seated before her certainly wasn’t Ronald Carver.

  “Evening, Doll.” Sterling was smiling and taking extreme pleasure in her astonishment.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she nearly yelled, but kept it to a seething whisper. “What have you done with Ronald?”

  “Sit down,” he said calmly, smiling all the while. “You’re making a scene.”

  She slid into the chair across from him, but only because she didn’t feel like embarrassing herself. It certainly wasn’t for his benefit.

  “Well?” She demanded.

  “Hey, ask your friend,” he said casually, as he leaned back in his chair.

  She could feel his feet kick into hers under the table. Did he really require that much room? Ho
w rude! She kicked back, which made him grin like a dog.

  “Trudy set this up?” She asked, furious.

  He shrugged, broad shoulders muscling back and drawing her attention to his strong chest and the tightly fitted gray tee shirt over it.

  “She said you had some kind of thing for me,” he went on, gazing hungrily at her in wait for her response.

  “I doubt that.”

  “She called me up out of the blue, said I must be your type.”

  “You wish.”

  “I’ll have a Sapporo and a Saki-tini for the lady,” he told the waitress when she circled over.

  Kitty would’ve objected, but she loved Saki and the class a Martini glass boasted.

  “You look pretty,” he said, drinking in the sight of her.

  “Oh please.” She wasn’t buying it.

  “Really.” He held firm and gradually she believed him.

  “I do?”

  “Why would I lie to you?”

  “You lie to me all the time,” she pointed out, dryly.

  “Not cluing you into my case doesn’t equal lying,” he countered.

  Her eyes glazed over, hardly amused.

  He leaned forward and took her hand. “Doll face, let’s not fight.”

  The sheer audacity of the gesture made her eyes roll, and she would’ve retracted her hand, but... Well, why didn’t she?

  “How was your day?” He went on as though they were months into dating. It was so brash that it was oddly charming, and quite frankly her other blind dates hadn’t asked.

  “Fine.” She’d stick to one-word answers.

  “Just fine?”

  Darn it, she was itching to share. Then she thought better of it. Sterling hadn’t done much to reward her efforts to find the killer so why reward him with what she’d learned that day? She’d tell him about other stuff. Yes, that’d be best.