BRIDE and DOOM (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 2) (6 page)

BOOK: BRIDE and DOOM (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 2)
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              “I don’t think Johnny put them there, no. But I don’t think Johnny was supposed to get killed.”

              Sterling cocked his head at that and shot her a sideways glance.

              “I think someone’s out to get Erik,” she stated with her nose in the air. “They failed at killing him so they’re framing him, and you’re playing right into their trap!”

              “I’m not playing into anything,” he said, leaning forward and sliding his hand over the sheet until his fingertips were met with her thin, mauve dress, and her warm thigh underneath.

              Kitty’s breath hitched in her throat, as she stared at his advance, his subtle, sneaky advance that he could easily dismiss as unintended. She told herself to cross her legs so he wouldn’t be touching her, but for some reason she remained.

              Then she asked in a soft, nearly trembling voice, “Do you want me or not?”

              Tension sprang between them that turned suddenly electric when Sterling’s expression shifted with dark interest.

              “I want you in a way you wouldn’t like,” he said in a low, deep tone that matched her softness. “And you want me in a way I wouldn’t like.” Then he shrugged and leaned back against the headboard. “As soon as I solve this case, I’m gone.”

              It was like a knife to her heart. Her eyes suddenly stung with tears, but she blinked them away before they could appear glassy. She wouldn’t let him see her upset. She refused to admit she cared.

              Kitty sprang to her feet and declared, “Erik didn’t put those candlesticks in the trunk of his car and he didn’t kill his best friend.”

              “Prove it,” he challenged.

              “Oh, I intend to.” Her hands were on her hips and she glared down at him. “Push your questioning back a few days.”

              He snorted a laugh. “Bring me something I can use
before
eight o’clock when Erik’s supposed to come in and he won’t have to.”

              “Eleven,” she countered.

              “Ten.”

             
Darn it!
“Ten thirty.”

              “You’re lucky I’m negotiating with you,” he pointed out.

              “Three hours isn’t much time,” she chided as though she could make him feel bad.

              “You amuse me,” he said, turning on her with sudden interest. “It’s a shame you’re not my type.”

              “It’s a shame you’re hell bent on lying to yourself.”

              Kitty tossed her hair and stalked toward the door then turned.

              “Why are you so certain Erik put those candlesticks in his trunk if the car was in Johnny’s possession?”

              Sterling held her gaze for a long moment then said, “Rebecca Motley saw him.”

              It took every ounce of patience Kitty had not to fly into a hysterical rage. She pressed her mouth into a furious line instead so as not to utter one word then padded off through his apartment and left without glancing back.

Chapter Six

              Oh, that Becca Motley was too much!

              Kitty was still fuming when she rolled up to the valet in front of the Delamar Hotel. The ten-minute drive to the harbor had done little to calm her nerves, and it seemed her mind was racing with worry over when and how and why Becca had told Sterling such a wild tale.

              She’d
seen
Erik place those candlesticks in his trunk? Kitty doubted that, but why would Becca envy Erik if in fact envy had been the primary motivator for the tragically misguided attempts to take Erik’s life? What did Becca stand to gain by ending or ruining Erik’s life?

              It was true Kitty wouldn’t put much past Becca Motley, but Becca generally sought to steal men, not destroy their lives.

              Kitty hopped out of her Fiat as the valet, a college-aged kid, whose flashy jewelry and Latino swagger made her wonder if parking cars was a front for darker means. His eyes were clear, however, and he smiled easily as he reached for her keys.

              “What’s your name?” she asked. “I’m Kitty Sinclair, a wedding planner.”

              The valet shot her a sidelong glance as though no one had ever bothered to learn his name before.

              “Paco,” he said, cautiously.

              “Paco,” she echoed, being sure to pronounce it correctly. “Yes, I recall seeing you here over the past few weeks.”

              “There isn’t a problem, ma’am, is there?” He was nervous. Of course misplaced items were often blamed on the valet.

              “No, not at all, but I’m wondering if you can help me with something.”

              He kept his gaze steady and his expression straight.

              “There was a big party here last night,” she began. “I’d organized it. The Maple - Coburn bachelor and bachelorette parties.”

              Paco’s eyes shifted with recognition.

              “Were you working last night?”

              “Yeah, there were a ton of cars to park.”

              “I believe you. We had well over sixty guests. Did you keep any kind of log or record of the vehicles?”

              “Ah, yeah, it’s in the valet stand.”

              “Can I take a look?”

              Paco seemed hesitant. He glanced over his shoulder. Perhaps he had a boss who was overseeing today. He debated then told her to follow him.

              As they walked at a clip to the valet stand in the back of the parking lot, Kitty asked, “Has a man come to talk to you? Gray hair, tattoos? Unbelievably arrogant?”

              He stared at her blankly, which was enough of an answer, and then pulled a black, dusty binder out of the valet stand. Setting it on the trunk hood of the nearest vehicle, Paco flipped through the binder starting from the last page.

              “Here it is,” he said. “Are you looking for a name in particular?”

              “You record vehicle damage, correct? So that no one sues you guys for damage you didn’t cause?”

              “Yeah that’s right.”

              “I need to know if there were any black vehicles with extensive damage to the right-hand side. The car would’ve looked as though it had gotten into an accident.”

              Paco didn’t even have to keep flipping. He remembered.

              “Black Lexus, I wouldn’t forget it,” he said, meeting her gaze. The right side was crushed from bumper to back door. I’m surprised the front wheel could still spin. That thing shouldn’t be on the road.”

              “Can you tell me the owner of the vehicle? License plate? Anything?” Kitty asked, excitedly.

              “I should be able to, hang on.” He went back to flipping through, and then ran his tan finger down a long list of handwritten details—guest name, make of the car, model, color—until finally his finger stopped and he tapped hard against the page. “Right here.”

              Kitty leaned over his shoulder as he read.

              “Black Lexus, the guest, oh wait. Weird.”

              “What?!”

              “Looks like the name was blacked out with a Sharpie and someone wrote Rebecca Motley above it in pencil.”

              “Really...” Kitty eyed the sheet and studied the strange edit. “Where’s the license plate number?”

              Every vehicle listed had its license plate number in the far right column, but the Lexus’ was also blacked out.

              “Who changed this?” she asked.

              “It wasn’t me.” He threw his hands up in surrender.

              “Who has access to this binder?”

              “The other valets, and of course, our boss.”

              “Can you give me names?” she pressed.

              “Hang on,” he said, slipping into the valet stand. When he emerged he had a business card in his hand. “This is the manager, Julio.”

              Kitty took the card and reviewed it for a cell number. It didn’t appear to have one.

              “What’s this telephone number?”

              “That’s the stand here.”

              This wasn’t entirely helpful.

              “When will Julio be in next?” she asked.

              “Ah, it’s the weekend.”

              “It’s Friday,” she countered.

              “Julio doesn’t work Fridays, Saturdays, or Sundays.”

              Julio sounded worse than Sterling Slaughter.

              “When will the other valets be in?”

              “Big party tonight,” he mused. “They’ll be in around seven.”

              He was referring to the rehearsal dinner Kitty had organized. For as forthright as the kid was, he wasn’t much help.

              “Thanks for your time,” she said, tucking the business card into her purse.

              "Hang on," he said, once again debating. "Let me jot down Julio's cell."

              "Thank you!" She waited for him to do just that and hand her the card.

              As she started through the parking lot, Paco called after her, “If you see that woman, Rebecca, tell her she can’t drive that thing. It’s too dangerous!”

              “Yeah, I’ll tell her,” Kitty grumbled. “Right after I get a confession.”

              According to the front desk, Becca’s room was on the first floor, but when the clerk called she didn’t answer.

              “I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” said Kitty, thanking him for his time. “I’ll just have a poke around.”

              Kitty headed straight for the lounge where Becca was most likely to be found, either inside on one of the plush red couches, or outside on the cafe terrace. But when she stepped into the handsome lounge and scanned the breakfast crowd, Becca was nowhere to be found. Kitty padded through to the terrace where a few clusters of guests were sunning themselves and drinking mimosas, but again Becca wasn’t among them.

              Where would she be? If she was smart she’d be at an auto-body shop, but Becca had never struck Kitty as smart.

              She’d have to be patient, bide her time, and hope Becca came traipsing through.

              Kitty stopped at the bar and ordered a mimosa as soon as she had the bartender’s attention.

              “I’ll be right over there,” she added, indicating a red lounge chair near the windows at the far end of the room. She could use a little sun herself, but didn’t necessarily want to sweat the humidity outside.

              As soon as she had a seat, she noticed a stunning gentleman coming her way. He wasn’t especially tall, but his suit was impressive—a camel taupe shade, crisply pressed, with a pale purple tie and matching handkerchief in the breast pocket. The man had style and looks to match, and he seemed to recognize her.

              “Miss Sinclair?” he asked in a deep tone.

              “Yes,” she smiled apprehensively. “Do I know you?”

              “Hank Troy,” he said as though that’d jog her memory. It didn’t. “Bride’s side of the family. May I?”

              “Of course.”

              Hank took a seat across from her and set his Bellini on the coffee table between them after unbuttoning his suit jacket for a little breathing room. Kitty observed and sized him up—her friend Trudy springing to mind.

              His eyes were dark brown and deep set, which gave him a brooding appearance, though his strong jawline and straight nose reminded her of a storybook prince.

              “Terrible what happened to that poor man,” he offered, shaking his head.

              “Yes,” she agreed, wishing the conversation hadn’t turned dark from the get-go. “But Mandy and Erik are determined not to let the tragedy stop their wedding.”

              “I heard. Shocking.”

              A waiter padded over and set Kitty’s Mimosa on the table then left them.

              “What is it about Mandy?” Kitty began changing the subject. “Men fall for her and women want to be her.”

              Hank chuckled and shrugged so Kitty pressed a little harder.

              “Are you among them?”

              “Among the men who fell for her?” he asked, surprised. “I’m her cousin.”

              Splendid!

              “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, laughing at herself.

              “It’s perfectly fine,” he told her, brushing it off.

              “So are you...” Kitty remembered her use of the word
involved
had made things messy with Michael Rivett so she paused and selected different phrasing. “Do you have a date for the wedding?”

              “Oh, no, stag all the way,” he smiled. “Weddings are a great place to meet women.”

              “They sure are,” Kitty mused, staring momentarily at her cocktail. “Speaking of, a girlfriend of mine asked me to keep an eye out for her, and I think you’re just her type.”

              “Yeah? How’s that?”

             
You’re single, she’s on the prowl, and no one seems all that picky
. But Kitty said none of those things.

              “Handsome, successful, single,” she said. It didn’t come out all that much better.
Oops!

              “Well,” he laughed. “Don’t assume I’m successful just because I got dressed up one day.”

              “How presumptuous of me,” she teased. “What do you do?”

              “I’m in real estate.”

              “Then I don’t see how you couldn’t be a thriving success,” she smiled.

              “Touché.” He produced his business card and handed it to her. “Have her give me a call. What’s her name?”

              “Trudy,” said Kitty, happily stuffing his card into her purse. “She’s a hair dresser. Owns her own little shop. She’s doing quite well.”

              Finally, Becca Motley breezed through the lounge.

              “It was so nice speaking with you,” Kitty told Hank in a sudden hurry. “I have to excuse myself. maid of honor stuff,” she added, indicating the redhead on the other side of the lounge.

              Hank smiled and rose when she did.

              “Good morning,” Kitty said when she reached Becca who had just slid onto a barstool.

              Becca glared at her and asked, “What do you want?”

              “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Kitty commented and not nicely.

              “How are you not hung over?” She groaned then snapped her fingers at the bartender, who didn’t seem to appreciate the condescending gesture. “Vodka in soda water,” she snapped then added for Kitty’s benefit. “Hair of the dog, as they say.”

             
That or you’re a raging alcoholic.

              “Really, Kitty, what is it? Did I forget to do something for Mandy? You want to rub my nose in what an awful job I’m doing as the maid of honor?”

              “Something like that,” Kitty said with a smile, as she stared the redhead down.

              The bartender set Becca’s drink on the counter then walked off before she could make any more rude demands.

              “Care to take a walk?” Kitty asked. “I think the fresh air would do you wonders.”

              Becca glared at her, but obliged, swiping her vodka off the counter.

              Kitty led the maid of honor through the lounge and out onto the terrace, but didn’t stop there. They continued on, descending a shallow set of stairs that connected to the marina where a number of shiny yachts were docked. After walking a bit further, they came to a bench, which seemed as good a spot as any so Kitty sat, inviting Becca to do the same.

              A warm breeze rolled off the harbor that filled Kitty’s lungs with salty air that refreshed her.

BOOK: BRIDE and DOOM (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 2)
5.94Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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