“Cate is a private investigator,” Rolf said. He sounded amused. “Apparently she’s doing some investigating.”
Cate held up the screwdriver and studied it as if baffled. “Which end of this is it you’re supposed to use?”
Rolf laughed. “Kim wants to know what’s in the saddlebags of her ex-husband’s bike?” he asked. Before Cate could mumble an ambiguous reply, he added, “I put the keys in the house. I’ll go get them.”
Maybe she should have enlisted Rolf’s help to begin with. He seemed cooperative enough.
“I thought we were going to watch Spiderman,” the woman complained.
“This won’t take long,” Rolf said. “You can go on inside and get the DVD set up.”
Rolf headed for the door to the house, but the woman looked undecided about following him. Finally she planted her boot-clad feet in the dirt floor of the carport, crossed her arms, and studied Cate suspiciously.
“I’m Melody Ketchison,” she said. “You two seem to know each other.”
“Hi, Melody. I’m a bridesmaid at a wedding tomorrow night, and the rehearsal dinner is tonight.” Cate motioned toward the bright lights of Lodge Hill filtering through the trees as if that explained everything. “There seem to be problems with both the minister and the buffet.”
Cate had found that a barrage of irrelevant information was a useful PI technique, and it seemed to work now.
“I’ve heard it’s really nice but awfully expensive to have a wedding there,” Melody said.
“I think it’s the man you’re marrying that matters more than where the ceremony is held or what it costs,” Cate said.
“Yeah, that’s true.” Melody glanced toward the door again as if evaluating Rolf’s qualifications in that area. Personally, on a list of Would I Want to Marry This Guy?, Cate’s list would have the No Way box checked by Rolf’s name. But she didn’t say that. The woman turned her suspicions back on Cate. “How do you happen to know Rolf?”
Rolf came out of the house dangling a key ring from a forefinger like a trophy, so Cate didn’t have to answer the question. He fitted one of the keys into the lock on the saddlebag. With his left hand, Cate noted.
“You haven’t looked in here already?” Cate said.
“I wasn’t curious enough before.” Rolf smiled as if they were in some conspiracy together. “But if you and Kim are interested, so am I. I’m thinking you both figure Travis was up to his ears in murder, don’t you?”
“The guy who owns this bike is a murderer?” Melody took a step backward, as if the motorcycle might reach out and grab her.
Rolf turned the key and lifted the lid on the saddlebag. In doing so, the sleeve on his left arm pushed up.
Cate reeled and had to catch the back fender of the bike for balance. Because at that moment, all that had been hiding in her subconscious since that night at the Mystic Mirage popped into Technicolor memory.
A left arm bursting through a beaded curtain. An arm with a multicolored tattoo of swirled lines, and in the center of the lines a malevolent dark eye.
The same dark eye she was seeing right now.
Rolf looked up. “You okay?”
Their eyes met, and she desperately willed hers not to give away any hint of recognition. Or to find any recognition in his.
“I-I’m just a little shaky, I guess. I fell over some piece of a motorcycle and hit my face in the dirt just before you got here.” She ran her fingers across her squashed nose. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to put things away?”
“My mother never put her things away. Beer bottles and cigarette butts all over the house.” Rolf reached over and brushed a finger over Cate’s cheek. There was an odd intimacy to the touch that made her shudder. Oil and dirt smudged the finger when he took it away. He wiped the finger on his jeans. She wiped her face with both hands.
“I suppose you’re going to sue me now,” Rolf said. “Stress, pain and suffering, brain damage, warts, flat feet, et cetera.”
Cate tried to match his teasing tone. “Probably more money in that than in being a PI.”
“Sorry to have to tell you, but my entire fortune is tied up in bike parts. But maybe we could work out some other deal.” Cate heard the suggestion of some risqué double meaning in his banter, but she was relieved. Because it meant Rolf was still being Rolf, confident any woman within range was smitten by his masculine charms. He hadn’t caught her shocked moment of recognition, and he still hadn’t recognized her.
It didn’t escape Melody’s attention that something was going on, however. She wrapped a possessive hand around Rolf’s arm. “C’mon, let’s go watch this DVD. She can look in the saddlebags by herself.”
“No, I’m interested too.” Rolf impatiently shook off her hand. “Maybe Travis keeps his gun in here. The one he shot Kieferson with.”
What Cate wanted to do was get out of there. Run, run, run. Before Rolf somehow did recognize her, and his playful teasing turned deadly.
But she forced herself to watch Rolf pull the contents out of one saddlebag and dump them on the motorcycle seat. No gun. Just more dirty clothes. Plus a couple of Styrofoam cups, a Sonic hamburger wrapper, and an empty Dr Pepper can. One thing to be said for Travis. Not a litterbug. Travis dutifully packed his trash away in his saddlebags.
The other saddlebag held a scrunched-up leather jacket with a carton of garbage bags on top. Cate almost smiled. She knew what those were for.
She also knew something else now. Travis was a lousy husband, a blackmailer, and probably a burglar. But he wasn’t a killer.
Cate’s almost-smile turned to a shiver.
The killer was right here beside her.
She studied him furtively as he dug to the bottom of the saddlebag. He dragged out a bottle of cologne, opened and sniffed it.
“Try this. Does Travis really think women go for a smell like this?”
Rolf thrust the open bottle under Cate’s nose. Rotten roses.
Cate’s nose automatically wrinkled. “Maybe he figured dabbing on cologne was easier than washing his clothes.”
She managed the snarky comeback even as the thought that filled her mind was that Rolf might have better taste in cologne than Travis did, but Rolf was the killer. She’d abandoned her first suspicions about Rolf in favor of Travis as murderer, but she’d been right the first time. Nerves prickled her body and trickled icy sweat down her ribs. She had to go to the police and tell them she’d remembered the tattoo on the arm that night at the Mystic Mirage. And that she knew who the arm belonged to.
Would they believe her? Or scoff at this miraculous return of memory? She had no explanation to offer for why Rolf had killed Celeste. Or what he was searching for when he trashed her apartment, which he must also have done. Or if he’d killed Ed too.
Cate swallowed. The thoughts in her head suddenly seemed so loud that Rolf surely must hear them. She covered them with a white noise of chatter.
“Well, I’d better be getting back to the rehearsal dinner. Mr. K’s restaurant is doing the buffet. They do all Lodge Hill’s food, you know. But I think they’re having problems there since Mr. Kieferson died. You two enjoy that DVD. Spiderman, you said it was, didn’t you? I’ve heard it’s good.”
“Hey, you could stay and watch it with us,” Rolf said. “We’ll pop some popcorn to go with the wine.”
“She could watch it with us?” the woman echoed with appalled indignation.
“Sounds like fun, but I am a bridesmaid. I guess it takes practice, that’s what this rehearsal dinner is all about. So we won’t make a mistake and all go down like a line of falling dominos during the ceremony.”
Cate backed away as she chattered. She wondered about leaving Melody here alone with Rolf. But Melody was a girlfriend, no threat to him, so surely safe enough.
“Thanks for finding the keys,” Cate called back from outside the carport. “I’ll tell Kim that it was just more of Travis’s dirty clothes in the saddlebags. Maybe they’ll teach him how to do laund
ry in jail! See you later,” she added with a perky wave as she headed for the driveway.
Behind her, she heard Melody ask suspiciously, “What does she mean by that?”
Good. Rolf would have his hands full placating her. As soon as Cate got back to the lodge, she’d call the police. No, she’d go right to the station after the rehearsal. That way she could do a sketch of the tattoo for them. Once it had been only a shadow out of reach in her mind, but now it felt scorched on her brain.
But no need to panic right now. Rolf hadn’t recognized her from that night at the Mystic Mirage, and he hadn’t caught her shock when she recognized his arm.
Back at the entrance to Lodge Hill, Cate rushed inside and upstairs to the Chapel Room. There, bridesmaids in gowns and men in tuxes, along with Aunt Carly and a few other people Cate didn’t know, milled around the table set up at the rear of the room with hors d’oeuvres and a crystal bowl of punch. She spotted Mitch, indeed looking like a best man, the best man ever, and nothing to do with the wedding. She wanted to tell him what she’d just found out, but Robyn rushed over and grabbed her.
“Where have you been? We’re about to start the rehearsal. And what happened to you? Your nose is all red. And your face is filthy!”
Cate covered the offending nose with a hand. “The minister got here?”
“No, we’ll have to manage without him. Just go get your gown and wig on.” Robyn shoved Cate none too gently toward the dressing room.
Cate washed the smudges of oil and dirt off her face, sloshed more cold water on her nose, and pulled the gown over her head. Robyn had zipped it up easily the one time Cate had tried it on, but now she had to twist into pretzel contortions to do it herself. Thankfully, a glance in the full-length mirror showed that the dress still looked great. She piled her hair on top of her head and anchored it with a few pins. She yanked the round box open but stopped short when she pulled out the new brown wig.
The clerk at the hair salon had been half right. The wig was longer. But “a little longer” was an understatement. When she got it on her head, the brown hair swung somewhere in the vicinity of her tailbone. She stared at herself in the mirror.
This wig, like the original one, transformed her. But it was not that sultry-smoky-sophisticated glamour transformation. Were there somewhere five horses bereft of brown tails because all those appendages were now hanging from Cate’s head?
And no flattering sidesweep of bangs here. These bangs enveloped her forehead like some fungal growth crawling through her eyebrows.
Maybe no one would notice. She shut out the cynical Yeah, right that followed the hopeful thought.
She slipped into her high-heeled wedding sandals and thumped out to the Chapel Room.
Little frown lines gathered between Robyn’s brows when she saw Cate. “The wig looks … different than I remember.”
“I feel so glamorous.” Cate whirled, and the long hair swirled around her shoulders. In the other wig, the flying hair would have looked dramatic, even romance-heroine lush. In this wig, it was more like the five horse tails were trying to find a fly to swat.
Robyn opened her mouth as if she were going to say something more, but she had problems other than a horse tail wig at the moment. She turned away and started arranging—and rearranging—bridesmaids and groomsmen. The woman photographer scooted here and there photographing everything until Robyn growled, “Not now!” at her. Cate found herself at the end of the lineup without a groomsman partner.
The bridesmaid ahead of her also lacked a groomsman. “Two of them didn’t show,” she whispered to Cate.
Robyn, ears apparently tuned to dog-whistle sensitivity level tonight, overheard. “They had car trouble, that’s all. That’s all,” she emphasized, as if trying to convince herself the two hadn’t deserted like the proverbial rats from a sinking ship.
But so many car problems—the buffet van, the minister, and now the groomsmen—did seem odd. A virulent car plague going around?
“They’ll be here tomorrow night,” Robyn said. The determination in her voice had an “or else” lurking at the end of the statement.
It was an odd rehearsal, with Robyn both a participant and director, and no minister, but Robyn staunchly managed it like a general preparing troops for battle. Three times they went through it, Lance and Mitch entering from a side door with an invisible minister, the march down the aisle between the rows of chairs, Aunt Carly giving Robyn away, and the triumphant recessional. Always Robyn found some detail unacceptable.
Until finally even usually amiable bridegroom Lance balked at a fourth rerun, for which Cate was grateful. Her feet were cramping in the sandals with higher heels than she ever wore, her bumped nose felt as if it were turning bulbous on her face, and her nerves screeched as if Octavia had them in her claws. As soon as she could get out of here, she was going to the police with what she knew about Rolf. She’d ask Mitch to go with her and along the way explain to him what she now knew.
After the end of the rehearsal, everyone tromped downstairs to the Reception Room, grumpy moods lifting with the prospect of food. But the long table where the buffet should be was empty as the cupboard in that Old Mother Hubbard nursery rhyme. Robyn stared at it as if this were the disaster to end all disasters.
Jo-Jo, unexpectedly smiling, rushed out of the kitchen and up to Robyn. She whispered something, and Robyn unexpectedly smiled too. She freshened like a wilted plant just watered.
“Good news, everyone! The food will be on its way shortly. So everyone just relax.” She turned to Jo-Jo. “Perhaps you could bring the punch bowl down and refill it so we’ll have something to drink while we wait? It is marvelous punch.”
“Well … uh, certainly.”
Cate followed as Jo-Jo headed for the kitchen. “Is something wrong?” she whispered.
“Only that I used every bottle of ginger ale in the kitchen to fill that bowl the first time. There’s plenty of fruit juice in the freezer to make punch, but not a drop of ginger ale. The punch is flat as old pond water without it.” Jo-Jo glanced back over her shoulder. “And the natives are getting restless. To say nothing of the bride herself.”
“Okay, you start mixing fruit juice. I’ll go find ginger ale.”
Cate followed Jo-Jo to the kitchen, by unspoken agreement their steps calm and unhurried so as not to give any hint of panic. But once in the kitchen, Cate dashed up a narrow back stairs to get her purse and keys from the dressing room. She didn’t like running off to the store in her bridesmaid gown, but she hadn’t time for the unzipping contortions.
Downstairs, Jo-Jo held the door open for her. “Get some oranges too,” she called as Cate took off across the parking lot. “They’ll look nice sliced thin on top.”
Cate picked up the skirt as she ran so it wouldn’t drag on the asphalt. Then she had to stop. Stupid sandals! She hopped from foot to foot as she snatched the sandals off, and then sprinted barefoot to her car. At the door, she thrust the key in the lock, got the door open, tossed purse, sandals, and herself inside, and jammed the key in the ignition.
And listened to the engine grind uselessly. R-r-r-r, r-r-r-r, r-r-r-r, hopeless as her computer showing that blue screen of death. Maybe there was some virulent car plague going around tonight. She’d have to go get Mitch.
The car door opened just as she reached for the handle. She looked up in relief. Mitch had followed her!
Not Mitch.
Rolf.
26
Cate froze as she looked up at him. Was he seeing her as Cate? Or as the dark-haired woman he’d tried to choke at the Mystic Mirage? And why was he here?
“Oh, Rolf! You startled me.”
“You startled me.” He said it with a peculiar little smile that made Cate’s scalp prickle under the wig.
She glanced around him. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“She’s a jealous freak. She got it in her head that you and I have this hot romance going and took off like that well-known bat out of you-know-where.�
�
“That’s ridiculous!”
“She’ll be back.” Rolf sounded as if he didn’t care one way or the other. Right now, his focus was only on Cate. A focus that made her hands clutch the steering wheel as if it might try to escape. Which is what she wanted to do.
“Great dress,” Rolf added. “Though I can’t say as much for the wig.”
Great. Now she was getting fashion critiques from a killer. Yet it wasn’t that flip thought that made her stomach churn and her palms slicken. It was the raw knowledge that this was real, that this man standing beside her car had held a sword and rammed it into Celeste’s chest. A killer.
Yet she couldn’t acknowledge she knew that. If she could just make Rolf think she didn’t know anything or that he’d made a mistake—
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m really in a hurry. We’re in the middle of a ginger-ale emergency, and I have to run to a store.”
Cate grabbed the handle to yank the door shut, but Rolf obviously recognized that as illogical, because he’d heard that r-r-r-r too. The car wasn’t going anywhere. He jerked her to her feet, but his body trapped her between the car door and the driver’s seat.
“You’re trying to lock me out? Now, Cate, that’s rude, don’t you think?” He kept a steely grip on her shoulder with one hand and lifted a hank of brown hair with the other.
Think! Jab him in the eyes with her car keys? That was supposed to be an effective technique. Right. And whose agile body was going to twist around to the other side of the steering wheel and grab the keys? Not hers.
“Like I said, you startled me when I first saw you there in the carport. I was almost sure then, when all I could see was your face in the little light from your flashlight. So I had to wonder what the woman from the Mystic Mirage was doing in my carport. Then I saw that unmistakable red hair, and I was confused.”
He said the word with a hint of reproach, as if his confusion were some fault of hers. He smoothed the brown hair of the wig in a way that made Cate shiver. Almost a caress. Almost a threat.
“I really do have to go after that ginger ale—”
Dolled Up to Die Page 25