For all the fears he had about Kitty changing him into a man he didn’t recognize, the fact of the matter was that she already had. There was no undoing it. There was no turning back. All he could do was make it work. If he lost her, if this was a deal breaker for her and she walked away because of it, he’d never forgive himself. That’s when the unthinkable struck him clear as a bell.
Sterling was in love.
Chapter Five
Kitty woke up with a pang of remorse. She’d never ignored his call before. She’d always gotten back to Sterling as soon as she realized he’d reached out. Why hadn’t she answered?
Pride, maybe.
She wasn’t about to let him dictate the relationship.
The fact that he thought he could control what she did or didn’t do rubbed her the wrong way. She’d have an equal relationship or none at all.
It wasn’t lost on her that she was being strategic about this. She didn’t actually want to break up with him. She wanted the opposite, all things considered.
Kitty wondered what he'd wanted last night, but then stopped herself from making excuses for him. She wasn’t about to fantasize about Sterling confessing his love for her, or him recanting his declaration that they were on a break—his decision not hers.
She reminded herself that Sterling was a man and probably only wanted one thing.
I want you to come over.
No reading between the lines required.
She knew exactly what he’d wanted, and it wasn’t to apologize or admit that she’d helped him in two other cases. His interest in her wasn’t deeper than the width of the two sheets he’d probably hoped to get her between. She’d been right to ignore his call. She needed to be strong and accept his decision. It didn’t mean things were over. It only meant they wouldn’t see each other until the case was solved. Well, that gave her all the motivation in the world. She’d solve it. End of discussion.
She hopped in the shower and lathered up then washed that man right out of her hair, scrubbing and shaving and turning the hot water faucet up further and further until the heat consumed her and Sterling was gone from her mind.
As she wrapped a towel around her, she longed for Trudy’s couch. What a way to add insult to injury, she thought. Ronald had stolen her best friend. She let the animosity build in her heart as a means to ensure Sterling wouldn’t creep in. Yes, she couldn’t stand Trudy’s new boyfriend. He was the absolute worst.
Go with that, she told herself.
But did she despise Ronald, or was she really jealous of their relationship? Ronald had declared his interest in Trudy right off the bat. Exclusivity had been discussed a week in. He had no problem introducing her as his girlfriend. He liked spending the night. Trudy had the luxury of waking up in his arms. And there Kitty was, fighting for a man who refused to carry any weight, exercising her patience every time he slipped out of bed in the middle of the night because he couldn’t bear to spend it with her, hoping and praying he’d come around. And for what? To be ordered to stay out of his cases? They concerned her!
She stopped herself from going down that road since it’d only get her worked up and angry. Maybe the break would be a good thing.
She couldn’t wait to discover the killer and rub it in Sterling’s face.
Payback was a hell of a motivator.
When she rifled through her closet and Sterling came to mind she didn’t beat herself up over it. Instead, she chose the sexiest dress she could find and fantasized about running into him. She’d ignore him. She’d make him sweat. Maybe she’d flirt with the nearest guy and get him thinking. She admitted this wasn’t her most mature fantasy, but she was enjoying it, as she slipped into a slinky, red dress, which wasn’t meant to be worn unless the sun had gone down.
Kitty styled her hair into a voluminous puff then solidified the shape using half a can of hair spray. Thank you, Trudy! She took painstaking measures to give her eyes dramatic shape with shadows and eyeliner and then drew red lipstick over her mouth until her pout was pure perfection.
Oh, Sterling could eat his heart out!
She made it out to her Fiat, hips swaying and red heels clicking over asphalt, as her black purse hung heavy with the weight of the strongest magnets Home Depot had had for sale.
Gretchen Downey and David Cartwright lived in a condo on the Greenwich harbor not far from the Delamar hotel where Mandy Maple and Erik Coburn had suffered the strangest bachelor-bachelorette party in the history of all such debaucheries.
Kitty pressed the buzzer, as the autumn sun warmed her skin. It was hot today, a throwback to early August, and she hoped things would cool in five days time when the lovebirds tied the knot. For all the luxury the mansion had to offer, it was much too big for the few AC units it contained to really cool the place off, and the last thing Kitty needed was for the guests to feel parched and faint.
“Kitty?” Gretchen’s voice came through the intercom and the mere mention of her name helped her realized a camera was shooting down on her.
She looked up at it and smiled.
“I’d like to go over a few things in light of Marcus’ tragic death,” she stated.
Then the door buzzed, announcing Gretchen had unlocked it from six floors above. Kitty yanked the glass door open and padded through the tiled lobby to the elevator banks.
When one of the cars opened, Kitty motioned to enter, but her purse magnetized to the doorway. She gasped then glanced over her shoulder to be sure the doorman hadn’t taken notice. He hadn't, thank God, so she pulled, heaving and tugging and muscling her purse off the metal door. Once it was free, she held her purse against her chest tightly so it couldn’t whip from her grasp and magnetize to anything else.
She’d bought two magnets at Home Depot last night, one north and the other south, since she couldn’t be sure which polarity could’ve scrambled Marcus’ pacemaker. Whether it was good news or bad, the two magnets where clamped together in her purse, north and south pulls joining tightly. She made a mental note to steer clear and keep her distance from any metal appliances in Gretchen’s home, then realized that might be a tall order.
Gretchen opened the door the moment Kitty knocked.
“Kitty, come in. David isn’t home, but I’m more than happy to go over any details with you.”
Cautious for any metal that might be in her path, Kitty stepped carefully after Gretchen down the hard wood hallway until they reached the expansive living room, which had a Buddhist feel: minimalist black leather furniture surrounded by Bonsai trees and Onyx sculptures of the Guru in meditative repose.
Kitty took a seat on the leather couch when Gretchen indicated she ought to have a seat.
“Can I offer you anything? Water? Coffee? Wine—”
“I’ll have wine,” she cut in with no sense of shame. It was barely ten in the morning, but a little loosening up would do the wedding planner wonders in terms of making her bold enough to ask questions she had no business knowing. “Riesling if you’ve got it.”
Gretchen smirked at that and mentioned she just might, and then returned a few moments later with a bottle and two glasses.
As she poured, Kitty made a mental review of the best way to bring this conversation to a head without revealing her ulterior motive.
“How are you holding up?”
Gretchen sighed and handed her a glass, which Kitty nursed in her lap, though she wanted to knock it back.
“I’m in shock,” she said, shaking her head and falling into a daze of sorts. “Did the police discover anything about the tea?”
Kitty froze and tried not to laugh at herself. My God, mouse droppings. She’d been way off.
“Forgive me for that,” she said. “My concerns were misplaced. Have you given any thought to Kip’s suggestion about Christopher Marlowe?”
“Ugh,” said Gretchen, drinking her wine, which gave Kitty permission to do the same. Finally! “It’s so hard for me to think about replacing Marcus. But sure, Christopher sounds fine. Why no
t? I’m not about to be choosy.”
Wow, she really was in shock.
Suddenly and without warning, a metal-rimmed ashtray that was resting on the coffee table in front of Kitty flew off and magnetized to her purse with a thunk!
Kitty wrestled it off, as Gretchen looked on with alarmed confusion.
“Here you are,” said Kitty, handing her the ashtray. She then cut in with a question so Gretchen wouldn’t have a chance to ask what in the hell just happened. “Did you know Marcus was in poor health?”
Gretchen turned cross, which made Kitty’s heart skip a beat. She hadn’t meant to offend the bride.
“His health was fine,” Gretchen corrected. “Are you referring to his pacemaker?”
“It would seem the device malfunctioned,” said Kitty, attempting to explain the line she’d crossed. “Tragic.”
Gretchen turned momentarily dark and glared at her.
“Marcus was a mysterious man,” she said, easing into her take on the matter. “I was close with him. We’d known each other for many years, but he had his secrets.”
Kitty leaned in hoping she’d divulge all that she knew.
“He’d gotten involved with the wrong people,” she went on. “Not that he said that to me outright, but when you know someone, you start to understand when they're on edge. They have little tells, you know? They fidget. They get snippy at you in a way that you just know it isn’t about you.”
“What do you think he was doing? What had he gotten involved in? Do you know?” Kitty didn’t mean to press, but she couldn’t help it, all notions that Gretchen could’ve been the killer flying from her thoughts.
Gretchen drew in a deep breath then let it out on a long shuttering exhale. “I can’t say for sure, but I know he owed money. To people, that is. To very bad people.”
“He said that?”
“Well, no. Not in so many words. But I’d seen him panicked and scrambling for cash on more than one occasion. A person doesn’t act like that because they miss a credit card payment. They act the way Marcus had when they’re terrified someone’s going to break their kneecaps.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“Tell them what? It’s not like I have proof of anything. Besides, I’ve seen enough cop dramas on TV to know that when a person suggests reasons a man was killed all they’re really doing is casting suspicion on themselves.”
She had a point.
But the only person that could’ve killed Marcus with a magnet had to have been in that ballroom. What bad person could also be a member of the immediate families?
“Was he close with anyone besides you?”
“Who knows,” said Gretchen, sounding defeated.
“Anyone in your family? Or David’s?”
“Excuse me?” she snapped, offended. “Are you insinuating that someone in our families did this?”
“No! Not at all!”
“Really? Because that’s what it sounds like.”
“Gretchen, I’m sorry. This is puzzling. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have asked that.”
Why is she getting so defensive? Kitty wondered.
“I’ll get in touch with Kip and reach out to Christopher to officiate,” Kitty suggested, rising to her feet. “That’s all I needed to discuss.”
“And you couldn’t do this over the phone?” Gretchen was suspicious. It wasn’t Kitty’s finest hour, that’s for sure.
She smiled anyway and made her way across the living room when she spotted Gretchen’s purse resting on the stand where a large Onyx Buddha sat.
Now or never, she reminded herself.
As she passed Gretchen’s purse, she held her own out to see if there was a magnetic pull, despite the fact that the bride was at her heels seeing her out.
But there was no pull. None at all.
Chapter Six
If Kitty wanted to stick to her plan then she’d have to swing by every family member’s home to see whether or not her magnets picked up a strong charge. It would be a tedious, time consuming, and also a risky endeavor that wasn’t entirely sound. Just because someone didn’t have a magnet in his or her purse or satchel, didn’t mean they weren’t hiding it under their bed, and so forth. She still felt her strategy was smart, but it wasn’t fool proof.
She decided to couch the strategy at least for the next few hours so that she could get in touch with Christopher Marlowe to see if he would be available to officiate the Downey - Cartwright wedding.
As she drove from Gretchen’s back to Happily Ever After she grabbed her cell then scrolled through the contacts until the Cartwright’s home number came up, figuring she could get the ball rolling, while on the road.
No one was picking up at the house so she left a brief message then tried Kip on his cell. It was ringing.
Kip Cartwright owned a casino two hours east of Greenwich near New London. Given that it was a weekday, that was probably where he was, so if she suggested he meet her at the store with his acquaintance, the backup non-denominational minister, in two and half hours that should work provided he didn’t have any pressing business to attend to at the Cartwright Casino.
But again, he didn’t pick up her call.
“Kip, hi, it’s Kitty Sinclair,” she said, speaking after the beep. “I’d like to meet with Christopher Marlowe, so if you could give me a call back with his number, I’d really appreciate it. I’m heading to my store now, so you’re also welcome to stop by whenever it’s convenient for you, Christopher as well. Hope to hear from you.”
She pressed end and set her cell on the passenger’s seat and squeezed the brakes for a red light. As she waited for it to turn green, she wondered if David had Christopher’s contact information, so she grabbed her cell and scrolled through to find his number.
Someone behind her honked, so she gassed it with her gaze locked on the street ahead. Her cell vibrated in her right hand so she swiped the LCD screen, assuming it was Kip returning her call.
“Kip?”
“Who’s Kip?”
“Sterling?” Kitty quickly glanced at her phone to confirm it was him.
“Yeah, where are you?”
“Driving to my store, why?”
Sterling sighed.
“Sterling, I’m driving so I can’t be on my cell. What do you want?”
“Come to the precinct.” He sounded drained.
“What? Why? I have an appointment,” she lied.
“Cancel it,” he ordered. “I need you to come straight here.”
Kitty groaned as a means to agree then hung up and pulled into a gas station where she turned around and headed south toward downtown.
The precinct was buzzing. Police officers and detectives swarmed the ground floor, juggling cases and hustling to catch bad guys, Kitty imagined, as she rested her hand on the front counter where the police receptionist was typing away.
“Sterling Slaughter called me in,” said Kitty, who was holding her purse tightly against her chest as a means to prevent the magnet from clinging to the counter top as well as conceal her racy dress. It was one thing to fantasize about Sterling eating his heart out, but it was quite another to look like a high-class call girl when visiting the homicide department of a police station.
“I’ll let him know,” the woman said, lifting a chunky phone to her ear.
Kitty stepped back and eyed the room until she saw Sterling.
He was talking with a portly man in a cheap suit, who was probably the Lieutenant or Sergeant or some other superior. His back was to her. His hands were on his hips and he was standing in a stance that enhanced the muscular lines of his shoulders and arms, the strength of his legs, gray tee shirt and rugged jeans fitting him tightly.
In response, she loosened her death grip on her purse and experimented with letting it hang casually from her shoulder like Louis Vuitton intended.
Shoulders back, head high, chest broad, sink into one hip, she reminded herself,
straightening into a confident pose that best flattered her curves.
He turned her way and their eyes met, and then Sterling said something to his boss to conclude the exchange, giving him a pat on the arm.
As Sterling wove through the hustle and bustle all around him, Kitty tried to steady her breath. She wasn’t sure if it was Sterling who was making her nervous or the fact that she was here at all, but seeming agitated would only be misconstrued as guilt and she couldn’t allow that.
“What’s today?” he asked, glancing down at her slinky, red dress.
“What do you mean?”
“Wedding rehearsal? Rehearsal dinner and all that?”
“That’s three days from now,” she stated. “The wedding is the day after.”
“Then why are you all dolled up?”
Sterling stepped in and immediately her purse whipped down to the badge on his hip, but she caught the bulk of it and pulled it up over her shoulder. Sterling eyed her with suspicion, but she smirked innocently.
“Let’s have a talk,” he said when it was clear she wouldn’t answer his question.
Sterling took hold of her arm and led her around the perimeter of the station until they came to an interview room.
“This is an interrogation room,” Kitty pointed out. “Am I being interrogated?”
“It’s an interview room,” he said, correcting her, but didn’t address her greater concern. “Have a seat.”
They both hovered in the doorway. Kitty stared at the dismal table, the drab walls, and the dingy folding chairs. She’s much rather turn to Sterling, wrap her arms around his waist and be held.
“Come on, Kitty. Have a seat. I could have another detective talk to you. I’m doing you a favor this time.”
She wasn’t sure what to make of that, or what she’d done, but took a step forward anyway.
Then in a soft, trembling tone she asked, “Are we still on a break?”
Somehow she felt that being questioned by him wouldn’t be so bad if they were still actively dating.
Sterling rounded the table and pulled out a chair. It scraped noisily across the stained floor. He didn’t sit in it. He wanted her to.
MURDER at the ALTAR (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 3) Page 4