MURDER at the ALTAR (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 3) (9 page)

              “Though you were actually there alone
after
you’d recommended it to me. You were there the very morning I showed it to Gretchen.”

              She let that hang, but he didn’t seem rattled, only annoyed.

              “What are you getting at?”

              “Well, Mr. Cartwright, and please know I’m only bringing this up because I’m concerned for your welfare. I happen to know the detective working Marcus’ murder and he tends to jump to conclusions... But since you were alone in the mansion, you might seem, oh I don’t know…like a person of interest.”

              He sneered at her over his desk. “And why would that be?”

              “Well,” she went on, trying to sound like his ally. “Apparently, Marcus was killed with a magnet, which was found under the marble floor at the altar. Detective Slaughter is going to be looking into people who had access and time alone in the mansion. See my concern?”

              “Are you accusing me of killing Marcus?” He laughed. “And with a magnet no less? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

              “Marcus counted cards here,” she stated firmly. “He cheated you. And from what I gleaned from Christopher, you are not a man who stands for being crossed.”

              Kip stopped laughing and his expression fell deadly serious. It chilled her to the bone.

              “You keep this up, young lady, and you’ll be out of a job, I promise you.”

              Kitty held his gaze, but found herself speechless.

              “Now,” he said, shifting gears toward friendly. “I don’t want to have to fire you. Lord knows it’d throw off the wedding and Gretchen would take months to find another wedding planner. But tread carefully.”

              “I thought I was.”

              “There's a lot about that man you don’t know. I barely knew him. Yes, he cheated me, but if you had any idea how much I profit on a daily basis, you’d know that Marcus walking away with thirty-thousand dollars is a drop in the bucket comparatively.”

              “But he had a restraining order against you,” she boldly pointed out.

              “So what? If you want to play Nancy Drew then you better get smart about it and start asking yourself what he did with the thirty grand. I didn’t kill him. I could’ve. I wanted to, but I didn’t have to, because I knew there were others out there who wanted him dead more than I did.”

              “Like who? Who else had access to the mansion?” she challenged.

              “Are you familiar with the expression
let sleeping dogs lie
?”

              She was, but wasn’t sure what he meant in this context.

              “Focus on planning the wedding,” he suggested, though it came across like a warning.

              “Do you realize there might not be a wedding until the killer is caught?”

              “I’m not sure you’re right about that,” he countered.

              “Slaughter will shut it down on the spot to arrest the killer. I think it’s in everyone’s best interest to find that person now.”

              “You’ll back off, Sinclair,” he sneered. “Unless you want to be the next dog to be put to sleep.”

              Kitty was thoroughly stunned by the time she crossed through the crowded casino. She’d never been threatened like that. It alarmed her. Her thoughts were swimming and she felt dizzy from the adrenaline surging through her veins.

              If Kip wasn’t guilty, then he knew who did it. What was so vital about covering for the killer? The killer had access to the mansion and was very close with Kip, she summarized. Who would he want to protect more than his own family?

              Kitty found her gaze locked on a man at one of the Black Jack tables and realized it was David. He was sitting in profile, cursing under his breath, as he hunched over the table.

              She padded over and he did a fast double take when she entered his periphery.

              “Kitty!” David straightened up as though decent posture would cure his embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”

              “Getting things squared away for Christopher to officiate,” she lied. “Your father suggested him, after all.”

              “Oh, right.” David looked worried. “Don’t tell Gretchen, okay?”

              “That you’re here?”

              “I told her I stopped gambling.”

              “What would it matter?” Kitty asked in an easy tone. “It’s your father’s casino. I’m sure if you lose he doesn’t hold you to it, right?”

              David went suddenly pale.

              “He holds you to it?”

              “Of course.” He forced himself to make light of the situation. “It’s a bad habit. I slipped up coming here.”

              “I won’t tell her...on one condition.”

              David cocked his head at that.

              “Tell me what Marcus did with his earnings.”

              “It had nothing to do with his murder,” he assured her, but that only piqued her interest.

              “How would you know?”

              The Black Jack dealer dealt another hand, but Kitty slapped her palm over David’s cards before he could touch them.

              “How would you know, David?”

              He sighed. “I got to know the guy, alright? Through Gretchen.”

              “Meaning?”

              “Meaning I know how he spent that money and there’s no way it provoked someone to kill him.”

              “I’ll be the judge of that.”

              “You have no authority here.”

              “Do you want to get married in three days? Or do you want to be in a month long fight with Gretchen because she found out you’re gambling again?”

              That shut up his time-wasting objections.

              “I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time—”

              “Spill it!”

              David sighed, as Kitty ignored the Black Jack dealer’s exasperated shoe tapping.

              “He used it for a down payment on a condo.”

              “A condo? What’s the address?”

              David stared at her for a long moment then said, “It’s across the hall from mine.”

              Wracking her brain, Kitty guessed, “Number 608?”

              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.

              “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!”