Kitty hoped she could get the woman on the phone. She had a number of questions that no one but Harriet could answer.
“Hello! Mrs. Smalls?” Kitty said excitedly when she heard Harriet’s shrill voice cut through with an exuberant greeting. “It’s Kitty Sinclair!”
“Kitty, good morning,” she said, revealing they were likely in the same time zone. Kitty couldn’t remember where Harriet had traveled to this time. New York or Florida and Brazil, her cell number hadn’t changed. “How’re things going over there at the estate? No problems, I trust?”
“I wanted to ask you about Kip Cartwright—”
“Ah, yes. How’s he doing?”
“Fine,” said Kitty so as not to rouse suspicion. She couldn’t be sure how close Kip and Harriet were and the last thing she needed was to tip her hand and cause Harriet to clam up out of loyalty to the casino-man. “I was just curious if you’d given Kip a set of keys to the mansion.”
“No, I hadn’t. Why? You aren’t locked out are you?”
“No, I still have my keys.” Kitty took a moment to assess the best way to come at this. “Did you happen to let him in before you gave me the keys?”
“Well, I gave him a little tour. You know how picky Gretchen is. Kip thought my place might make a good spot for the wedding.”
“And it does. When did you give him a tour?”
“Oh, about a week ago.”
“And were you with him the whole time? Or did you leave him alone?”
“I was with him, but he made arrangements to come back and check it out a second time. He said he needed to take photos for Gretchen’s review. So I coordinated with my housekeeper, Rosa.”
“I see. Do you remember what day that was?”
“Why, it was the morning you got there and showed the place to Gretchen.”
“Interesting...” Kitty mulled that over. “Can I have Rosa’s number?”
Harriet rustled through her address book on the other end of the phone then read out the ten-digit number.
“I do hope everything’s okay over there,” said Harriet, sounding concerned.
“It is, really,” Kitty assured her. “Thanks so much!”
She dialed Rosa’s number at once and prayed the woman spoke English.
“Hi! Harriet Smalls gave me your number,” she said the second she heard Rosa pick up. Then, thinking fast, she said, “I’m renting Harriet’s estate and wanted to see if you were available?”
“When?”
“Now.”
“To clean?”
“Sure,” she said, because that sounded better than her plan, which was to invite the woman to coffee. “It doesn’t need much, if you’re pressed for time.”
Rosa sighed. “I can squeeze you in but have another house at ten.”
“Perfect! That’s more than enough time! I’m heading over there now!”
She risked running into Sterling, but it was the only way. Kitty grabbed her purse and hopped into her Fiat in a jiffy.
She beat Rosa there by a solid five minutes and chose to wait for the housekeeper outside so as to minimize her chances of crossing paths with Sterling. His car was already parked out front. He and his team were inside, no doubt rummaging through the decorations she’d worked so hard to put up with the decorator.
The sun was shining bright. The sky was blue and birds were chirping in the distance. Kitty fanned her sundress, hoping to get a little breeze going. It had to be at least 85°, a hot autumn indeed, and she didn’t want to be a sweaty mess by the time Rosa arrived.
Finally, the housekeeper pulled up close to the portico and immediately began wrestling an industrial-size vacuum cleaner out of the trunk of her rusty Volvo. Kitty rushed to her and assisted, but once the bulky appliance was securely set on the granite ground, Kitty wasted no time with her inquiries.
“Before you get started, Rosa—and thanks by the way for coming on such short notice—I wanted to ask you about the day Kip Cartwright came to take photos of the mansion.”
A small woman who, to Kitty, looked like she'd crawled out from under a storybook bridge, Rosa scrunched her face to recollect. Then her eyes popped wide.
“Yes, Mr. Cartwright. He didn’t take any photos.”
“He didn’t?”
She shook her head.
“He didn’t even go inside,” she went on.
“He didn’t?” she asked, surprised.
“No,” said Rosa, definitively. “The other man was here and when he come out they start yelling.”
“The other man? What other man? Christopher? Did he look like a bouncer?”
“No,” said Rosa. “He thin, and fruity.”
Fruity?
“He like men,” she clarified.
“Marcus? Marcus was here that morning?”
“Yes, Marc. That’s he name.”
“And they were yelling at each other?” Kitty asked, intrigued. It had to have been about Marcus’ cheating, the card counting at the casino, and the money Kip probably felt he was owed.
“Oh, they yell and scream. The man, Marc kept saying Mr. Cartwright wasn’t allowed there.”
“Why wouldn’t Kip be allowed here at the mansion?”
“Not the mansion,” she said, struggling to find the English explanation. “Near him. He not allowed near Mr. Marcus.” Rosa grew excited to remember the details. “He kept yelling fifty feet.”
Suddenly, Kitty understood. There must have been a restraining order between them that mandated Kip stay away from Marcus by at least fifty feet.
“What was Marcus doing here? Do you know?” Kitty pressed.
“He paranoid.”
Kitty waited on baited breath for more, finally blurting out, “How so?”
“He said he heard Mr. Cartwright was coming and he didn’t want him in the mansion alone.”
“Really?”
Kitty wondered how Marcus could’ve possibly known Kip had planned to come, especially since Gretchen hadn’t been aware of the mansion as a possible location at that point... Or had she?
“Then Mr. Cartwright, he pay me. He tell me don’t go nowhere. He come back. Marcus didn’t see him pay me. Kip drove away then Marcus left then Kip came back.”
“Then what happened?” Kitty was on the edge of her figurative seat.
“Then I don’t know. I had to clean another house. I let him in and then I come back in three hours, but by then Mr. Cartwright was gone.”
There was no question in Kitty’s mind that Kip Cartwright had used his time alone to lay the magnet under that square of marble in the ballroom. She had him!
Rosa began dragging the vacuum cleaner up the granite path, but Kitty stopped her.
“You have another house to clean,” she said, handing the woman a generous stack of bills. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
Rosa glanced at the cash in disbelief and thanked her.
After helping Rosa hoist the vacuum back into the trunk of her Volvo, Kitty watched the woman drive off, all the while turning her attention to the best way to expose Kip for his crime.
She had to get to that casino.
Behind her the mansion door sprang open, startling her to jump and glance over her shoulder.
Sterling halted, jarred to see her standing there.
“I was just leaving,” she stated, though she lingered holding his gaze.
He softened, and then approached her.
“What about The Black Swan?”
“What about it?” she challenged.
“Would you meet me there at nine?”
“What for?”
“For dinner, Kitty. I’m not lying when I say I like being around you.”
“I can’t make any promises,” she told him, though it pained her to be so cold.
“All right,” he said, backing down. “I’ll be there at nine. Come if you can. I’d like to see you.”
Sterling stalked angrily to his Jeep, popped the passenger’s side door open, and grabbed a black ba
g then retraced his steps and disappeared into the mansion after giving her one last long look.
She realized she was getting lost in the prospect of sitting across from him at the cozy, Americana restaurant, then she shook the notion from her head and started off for her Fiat, thoughts locking on the Cartwright Casino and nothing else.
The casino stretched along the water’s edge, which shimmered, reflecting the afternoon sun as Kitty walked briskly up the boardwalk, rounding the front of the gambling mecca.
When she passed through the revolving glass doors she was met with a refreshing gust of cold air that dried the glimmer of dewy sweat across her arms and chest.
She had to pause and get her bearings. The expansive casino was a sea of gamblers. Some sat in intense repose at the Black Jack tables. Others flitted about with stacks of chips in their hands. She spotted a sign for the ladies room and then the men's, but kept scanning the perimeter until she found a sign for management.
She hurried toward it, veering this way and that to avoid clipping shoulders with the rush of customers, most of which milled slowly from one table to the next.
“How do you do?” she asked the security guard when she reached the manager’s closed door. He stared down at her with dead eyes. “I’m an associate of Mr. Kip Cartwright. I’m planning his son’s wedding. May I speak with him?”
The security guard, a tremendous black man dressed in an even blacker suit, lifted his cuff to his mouth and said something and then pressed his finger to the device in his ear, listening to the response.
Without a word, he opened the manager’s door for her.
Inside, Kitty was met with a mousey, young woman who was seated behind what appeared to be bulletproof glass.
“Yes?” she asked, which threw Kitty momentarily. Hadn’t this been whom the security guard had just spoken with?
“Kitty Sinclair for Kip Cartwright,” she stated.
“When the door buzzes, go down the hall to the elevator and take it to the fifth floor. Mr. Cartwright’s office is the last on the left, after the bay windows. His name’s on the door.”
Following her instructions to the letter, Kitty found Kip’s office easily and knocked, which she soon realized wasn’t necessary. The door opened into an anteroom where Kip’s receptionist sat behind a desk, her bored eyes trained on the nail she was filing.
“Good afternoon—”
“Yeah, I know,” said the receptionist, smacking her gum. “Have a seat. He’ll be with you shortly.”
Kitty did, and soon realized she felt greatly intimidated. The anteroom breathed riches and she could be certain Kip’s office would exude the kind of wealth and power that had always set Kitty mildly on edge. Waiting only served to build her anxiety about confronting the casino tycoon. Was this really such a good idea? Maybe she should’ve told Sterling what she’d learned from Rosa. He should be here not her. Her palms were clammy and her heart rate quickened. Thinking fast, she produced her cell and cued up Sterling’s number. If anything went wrong, she’d call him.
Deciding that made her feel a touch better and soon Kip’s door popped open and he sauntered out, brow furrowed, mouth pinched. He was a formidable man.
“Kitty,” he barked. “Come in.”
“It looks like Christopher is all set to officiate,” Kitty said, lightly easing in to her interrogation.
“I knew he would,” he said without affect as he sat at a large mahogany desk with bay windows illuminating Kip from behind.
“Thanks so much for recommending the mansion to be, by the way,” she added. “I don’t think I thanked you before.”
Kip’s gaze narrowed on her until Kitty felt herself shrink.
She swallowed hard, mustered up as much confidence as possible, and then started in on the hard questions.
“Funny thing,” she said through a nervous frown. “I ran into Rosa, the housekeeper. She mentioned you had some time alone in the mansion.”
“I needed to be absolutely certain Gretchen would like it before I suggested it to you,” he said, brushing her off.
“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. “Yo
ur 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?”
MURDER at the ALTAR (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 3) Page 7