BRIDE and DOOM (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 2) (3 page)

              But her attention was stolen when she spied Johnny through the crowd. He was stumbling drunkenly down the corridor and then disappeared into the coatroom.

              Kitty managed to extricate herself from between the gyrating strippers and barreled after him, but from out of nowhere, Trudy blocked her path.

              “Hell of a party!” Trudy yelled over the booming music. “I love this song!”

              It wasn’t until Trudy grabbed her hand and started dragging her toward the dance floor that Kitty realized Michael Rivett had his grasp on her friend’s behind. What began as thrilled dancing quickly turned into heated making-out between Trudy and Michael, which put Kitty in a terribly awkward position, though it occurred to her she might not feel that way if she was drunk like they were.

              Suddenly, she heard glass shattering.

              “Not another sliding door!” She panicked, but when she looked in the direction of the sound she saw Erik and Mandy in the furious throes of an argument.

              Kitty pressed through the crowd, which seemed joyfully oblivious to the fight, and made a solid attempt to separate the arguing couple.

              “Calm down!”

              “She wanted this!” Erik screamed. “She always gets her way!”

              “Everyone’s having a good time!” Mandy yelled back.

              “I’m not! I wanted to have this night! Just me and the guys!”

              “And you had it! For the last four hours you’ve had it! It’s time to merge the parties!”

              “Mandy!” screamed Kitty. “Erik, just calm down! The parties are merged, there’s nothing anyone can do about it!”

              But Erik wasn’t calming down. He grabbed another bottle of Cristal and smashed it on the floor. Kitty shoved them apart again.

              “Go to the coatroom!” she ordered, pushing Erik in that direction.

              “This isn’t over!” he said, as he stomped off.

              Kitty held Mandy by her loose shoulders. The woman was soggy with booze and Kitty was sure this argument wouldn’t have escalated if either of them had had the good sense to drink less.

              “Let him cool off,” she instructed. “I’ll go check on him.”

              “He’s always like this when he doesn’t get his way!” cried Mandy.

              “Try to have a good time,” she suggested. “I’ll be back in a minute!”

              Kitty bounded off down the corridor where the pounding music eased into muffled booms. As she crept toward the office where she’d heaped the coats, her eyes were glued to the door and the light that trickled out into the darkness.

              Her heart started beating hard against her sternum and she didn’t know why until she pushed the door open and found Erik standing as still as a statue with his back to her. Something was wrong.

              “Erik?” she asked, shutting the door to ward off the music.

              He didn’t respond. He didn’t turn. She realized as she came beside him that he was staring at the floor.

              Then she saw what he was looking at in stunned silence.

              Johnny Gibbons was dead on the floor. His forehead was bloody. A candlestick was on its side a few feet from his head. One end looked dark with blood.

              Finally, Erik looked at her with wide eyes and said, “I didn’t do it.”

              Sterling Slaughter was still dripping wet from his shower when he returned his cell to the porcelain sink counter, the call had been that fast and Kitty Sinclair’s name had been at the center of it.

              He wiped his hand across the mirror, clearing away condensation in an arching streak until he was met with his own reflection, darkly green eyes staring back at him, the windows to his soul that had been marred beyond repair by a woman he’d hoped to forget: Kitty.

              She was bad for him, but that hadn’t made it any easier to leave.

              Sterling hadn’t liked the man he was turning into because of his attraction to her. His strengths had always been rooted in his profound detachment to everyone and everything except the cases he aimed to solve. He was a man who loved and left with the kind of cool indifference that only made women want him more. Too bad. His heart had been closed before Kitty cracked through. And soon it had scared him. He didn’t want to soften, to care, to be made a fool of, and he wouldn’t, he told himself.

              He’d been told to return to Greenwich during that phone call, instructed to drive back tonight, though dawn was only a few hours away. But until he was certain he could work the murder scene without distraction—or worse, longing for the woman he'd left—he wouldn’t get in his car. He couldn’t. He wasn’t willing to lose himself.

              Sterling pulled a cigarette from his soft pack of Camels when he reached the bedroom, and dropped his towel to light it as the cool air conditioning hit his damp skin. He sucked hard, listened to the tobacco crackle, and wondered what Kitty Sinclair thought about him.

              If she hated him, then good.

              If she didn’t, it would be a dangerous situation for both of them.

              He pulled on jeans and then a black tee as he rushed around his bedroom, collecting his keys, wallet, cigarettes, badge and gun. It took only minutes to get on the road. Greenwich wasn’t far and at this hour the highways would be empty. All he could hope was that the police and first responders hadn’t touched his crime scene or his body in any way, shape or form.

             
Clubbed in the head with a candlestick
, he thought.

              It reminded him of the board game, Clue, like a child’s idea of how a murder went down. Ridiculous, yet effective. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe the killer had a child’s mind and left fingerprints all over the weapon. Then Sterling could close the case fast and get the hell out of the danger zone.

              Sterling whistled long and loud, as he pulled up to the Delamar Hotel. It was practically a mansion. Its twinkling lights sparkled against the harbor. He rarely set foot in places like this, to work a case or otherwise. No wonder someone had been murdered. The rich breathed hate like air. Petty jealousies and an inflated sense of entitlement could lead to foul play, and easily. He couldn’t stand wealthy people.

              A uniformed officer was standing in the lobby and identified Sterling right away. He motioned that Sterling come with him and then led the brash detective to the elevators where they rode one to the penthouse floor.

              When he stepped out of the elevator and started after the officer through the quiet hall, he realized his heart was pounding and he couldn’t seem to get a handle on his racing thoughts. It wasn’t the case that threatened to put him in a tailspin. It was knowing Kitty Sinclair would be among the guests.

              “The body’s in the office of the bachelor suite,” the officer informed him as he swung the stately door wide open.

              Sterling stepped through and was confronted by at least sixty guests, all eyes on him, as he stalked past the lounge. On the whole, everyone looked exhausted. They were seated where they could. Some ladies had wrapped themselves in blankets the medics had provided. The lights were bright and the room was trashed.

              He didn’t let himself really take in the sight. He couldn’t risk his gaze locking with Kitty’s, and thankfully he wasn’t aware of where she was. He’d like to keep it that way if he could.

              “When can we go?” a woman shouted, assuming he was in a position of authority to release them.

              He paused and addressed the entire room. “You’re all considered suspects at this time.”

              Gasps and murmurs and shouted objections broke out, so Sterling raised his hand to silence them, but the uproar didn’t die out easily. Unwilling to shout above them, he shook a cigarette from his soft pack of Camels and lit up.

              That’s when he felt her glare, piercing and unmistakable. But she wasn’t in the lounge. She was standing behind him, up the corridor.

              He glanced at her over his shoulder and their eyes locked, as he sucked hard on his cigarette and then squeezed it between his fingers, lowering it and exhaling a thick stream of smoke.

              “There’s no smoking in this suite,” she stated coldly, but her eyes were alive, wide, hurt, and pleading as if to ask
what happened between us
?

              He had no choice but to disregard her entirely. He faced the crowd.

              “I want everyone to form a line at the five officers. Once you give them your full legal name, home and cell numbers, address, and your statement, you can go. Do not leave town.”

              The murmuring objections lifted into relieved grumbles. No one wanted to line up if it required standing.

              “You,” he said, locking eyes once again with Kitty. “Go first. See Officer Davidson back there.”

              She leveled her eyes on him, turning stern, arms folding and brows knitting tightly together. “I’ll be the last to go, I can promise you.”

              He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t press the issue without getting sucked into her obstinate charm.

              She snorted a disgusted laugh and mumbled, “Won’t even use my name.” Then she turned up the hall and milled off toward the yellow caution tape that blocked the office door.

              “Hey.” He went after her and grabbed her arm, whipping her around. “Go wait in the lounge if you insist on being here.”

              “I have a right to know what happened,” she sneered.

              “No, you don’t,” he said, though softly. His grip relaxed as well, but he didn’t release her.

              “Slaughter,” an officer called from within the office. “You ready to take a look at this poor bastard?”

              “Yeah,” he shouted and dropped his hold on Kitty. He was still staring her down though. He couldn’t seem to tear himself away.

              Finally, he stepped through, but Kitty grabbed his arm with her thin, delicate hand. “You had to disappear like that?” she whispered.

              “Yeah, I did,” he said coldly.

              “Why?” It wasn’t so much a word as a breath.

              “You’d change me,” he said, surprising himself to be so honest. “I don’t want to be changed.”

              She cocked her head at that, confusion and understanding competing within her, but she let him go.

              “Wait in the lounge,” he said, though kinder than the last time he’d ordered her.

              As Sterling pulled the yellow tape up to step under it, he saw a redhead out of the corner of his eye. She was standing at the mouth of the lounge, staring at him. He wondered how much of his exchange with Kitty she’d seen. He wondered how intimate it had looked.

              He didn’t think Kitty had returned to the lounge after he’d closed the office door, but he couldn’t concern himself with her any longer. He stepped carefully toward the body of one Johnny Gibbons and then kneeled beside him.

              “Well, we’ve got some good news,” he said, pointing to the gash on the right side of the man’s head. “Looks like our killer’s left handed.”

              After working with the crime scene photographer to document the body, the office, and the candlestick from every possible angle, Sterling had one of the officers bag the murder weapon and then invited the coroner and medical examiner in to bag the body and get it over to the morgue for a full autopsy.

              “Anyone admit to being the last person with Johnny?” he asked the two officers, who were now helping direct the gurney through the door.

              “Talk to that wedding planner,” said Officer Garrison. “And the groom.”

              Sterling sighed. He’d talk to the groom.

              “Erik Coburn?” he shouted to the lounge full of guests.

              A man rose from one of the leather couches and took a few paces forward when Kitty rushed to his side. It was then that Sterling noticed the dress she was wearing. It was insane...in a good way...in a good way that was bad for him, that is.

              Sterling eyed the man for a long moment, ignoring Kitty as best he could.

              “What happened?” he asked, addressing Erik and Erik alone.

              Kitty answered.

              “I told him to go in the office—the coatroom—to cool off.”

              “I’m not talking to you.”

              “Well, he’s not talking to you,” she countered.

              “And why would that be?” He snapped and looked at Erik. “You lawyering up? Because that won’t look good either.”

              “When I went in the coatroom, first I turned on the light, and then after taking a few steps I saw his legs on the floor. I didn’t know it was Johnny until I rounded the coffee table where the coats were piled up high. I had nothing to do with this.”

              “Sure,” he said with no affect. “Are you right or left handed?”

              Kitty spoke up. “What does that have to do with anything?”

              “Don’t interrupt.”

              “Left handed,” said Erik.

              “Lots of people are left handed,” Kitty objected. “I’m left handed.”

              “You are?” he asked, interested.

              “What does it matter?” she pressed, getting angered, but also scared.

              “He’s my best man,” Erik pleaded. “I’d never hurt him. He was like a brother to me.”

              “Would you be willing to submit your fingerprints?”

              “Absolutely not!” yelled Kitty.

              “I’m not asking you, Doll face!”

              He shouldn’t have called her that. It just came out. She eased back and Sterling thought he caught her working hard not to smirk. Her eyes seemed to smile and then she calmed herself.

              “Look,” she said in an even tone to show she could be reasonable. “Erik has been in this suite for the past five hours. He probably touched everything in here.”

              “So we can assume his prints are on the candlestick?” Sterling challenged.

              “No, I didn’t say that!”

              “Did you notice there are no candlesticks in the office?” he pressed, aiming to prove her uselessness in order to get her to shut up and back off. “Did you notice that the candlesticks are a decorative detail from the fireplace mantle to the bar over there?”

              Kitty huffed. Yes, she knew that. She’d been the one to set them out.

              “That means the killer snatched one in plain sight with all these guests watching, and then either lured Gibbons or followed him into the office.”

              “Ok,” she said eagerly. She was misunderstanding. He wasn’t working with her. He was trying to get her to go away. “So then someone here probably saw the killer do that. That’s good news.”

              Sterling sighed. “Submit your prints, Coburn.”

              “Erik, would you excuse us?”

              The groom looked momentarily unsure whether he should listen to Sterling and stay or oblige Kitty and give them a few minutes.

              “It’s fine,” the detective told him then turned to Kitty. “What?”

              “Someone wanted Johnny dead,” she said, speaking low as if she’d just relayed highly confidential information.

              “Ya think?”

              She glared at him.

              “I mean, earlier today someone tried to run Johnny off the road with their car,” she explained. “Johnny only saw the color of the car and didn’t catch the make or model, but there’s a police report. The driver hit him and drove off.”

              “That explains the sling around his arm and facial bruising,” he pondered.

              “Maybe there are traffic cameras along that route? Maybe there’s a way to trace the vehicle! It has to be the same person! Oh, God and to think they’re a wedding guest.” Kitty’s knees buckled, and Sterling was quick to grab her arm.

              “You need water.”

              “I’m not drunk!” she snapped, offended. “Let go of me.”