Weddings Can Be Murder

by Christie Craig

  He scooped up a bite with his fingers. She watched him close his eyes and savor the cake. “Damn, this is good. Even better than the last. You have to go with this one.”

  Katie frowned, remembering Tabitha telling her she shouldn’t use Todd’s cakes. Then she frowned deeper when she remembered, due to Tabitha’s most recent situation—being dead—she wouldn’t be helping Katie with the wedding at all. Katie’s stomach roiled. She wasn’t sure if it was the thoughts of Tabitha being dead or the thought of the wedding that caused it. Then it occurred to Katie that due to the circumstances, maybe she and Joe should postpone the wedding. The thought sent a shiver of relief through her that left her shaken. Why would she feel relief?

  “Try the red worm.” Carl smiled and pointed.

  Katie looked at the bag and frowned. “I’ve had enough.” Then she remembered something he’d said before he’d gone into the bathroom. “Precious?” Katie grinned. “You dog’s name is Precious?” She took the next sample out of the bag.

  “Hey, I didn’t name him.” Carl held up his hands. “I tried changing his name. I even explained to him that no respectable male poodle would go by that name, but it was useless, he refused to answer to any other.”

  “And he doesn’t like the green worms either?” she asked.

  “He won’t touch them,” Carl explained, and he took the Styrofoam container she handed him. “You didn’t try it. You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Glancing down into the bag, she said, “I think that one is white cake with buttercream icing.”

  He continued to stare. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” Leaning over, she looked in the bag. “We still have four more to try.” She met his gaze.

  His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, and he held up his hand. “Actually, we probably should save some for later.”

  Mesmerized by his tongue, a few of those Banderas fantasies came back to play with her sanity. But she didn’t look away from him. He didn’t look away from her. Suddenly, she was glad he wasn’t sitting next to her on the cot. Glad her parents had instilled the “keep your pants on” rule.

  The whimpering sound came at the door again. “I remember Tabitha’s dog’s name is Baby,” she said, hoping to break the awkward moment. “You think it’s hungry?”

  “I don’t know, but if you even try to give Baby some of that cake I’ll have to arrest you. That’s breakfast.”

  The idea that they would be spending the night together made her nervous. “Arrest me? You’re not a cop. Remember?”

  “I’ll make a citizen’s arrest,” he teased.

  Their gazes met and held again. She looked away and tried to think of a safe subject. “I’m sure it has some food set out for him, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah.” He cupped his hands together and breathed into them for warmth. The dog whined again.

  “It sounds scared.” Katie went and sat down beside the door and wiggled her fingers under it. “It’s licking my fingers.”

  “Lucky dog,” he said.

  She cut her gaze back to him and saw the heat in his eyes. Heat she could use right now. His breath caused a puff of steam. She pulled her knees up to her chest and decided it was best to ignore his statement. She wished she could ignore the chill seeping into the butt of her jeans and the thrill his flirtatious remark had caused.

  She wiggled her butt to keep the cold from freezing her buns. “Is it getting colder or is it my imagination?”

  “Definitely getting colder,” he said.

  Neither of them spoke for several moments. She got up from the cold concrete and went back to the cot.

  “Why did you stop being a cop?” She tried not to shiver.

  He stood up and paced across the room—a man who didn’t want to be here. “I tell you what: you tell me why you aren’t wearing an engagement ring, and I’ll tell you why I gave up my badge.”

  The moment the police walked out the door, Les glared at Joe. There were a thousand different emotions running marathons inside her, tangling up her thoughts, playing mind games. Anger. Fear. Helplessness. Worry. Anger. And, oh yeah, anger.

  She drew in a breath. “You’re not going to do anything?”

  “Do what?” He backed up as if he was afraid of her.

  “Anything to convince them to find Katie.”

  “I think I pretty much lost my credibility with them when you called and said I was a serial murderer/rapist.”

  “Like that was my fault.” She stared at him.

  “If you’d listened instead of coming at me like a wildcat with its tail on fire, I would have told you who I was.”

  “Listen to a naked guy who stepped in the shower with me? Well, excuse me—my bad!”

  “I thought you were Katie.”

  “Not at the bar you didn’t. Or are you blind?”

  “Almost, thanks to you.” He pulled at the bottom of his eyelids and showed her his red eyes. “Or do they just feel like they’re the color of blood?”

  “You know what I mean,” she said. He’d flirted with her. Maybe it had only been very light flirting, but—

  “Right now the only thing I know is—”

  The phone rang, and they both ran for it. She got there first and snagged it up. “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  “Hello?” She pressed her ear closer to the receiver and heard music. Just like the phone call earlier.

  Katie watched Carl pace around the room. Every breath he took left a wisp of fog.

  She hadn’t answered the question about her engagement ring. Not only because she didn’t want to talk about it, but because thinking about it made her stomach quiver. After only having a few bites of cake and two worms for dinner, she didn’t want to lose it.

  Slipping the gloves back on, she wrapped the scarf back around her neck and face. She tightened her legs together, seeking warmth. “The news said the cold front wasn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

  “Well, they lied,” he said, sounding annoyed. At her or the situation, she didn’t know, but suspected both. Then, all of a sudden, she remembered the rest of the broadcast, about how four people had frozen to death in Dallas as a result of this front. Surely, it wouldn’t get that cold here.

  She looked at Carl, who’d ripped off a few box tops and was placing them on the floor to sit on. Steam continually rose from his lips. The floor was like ice; her own butt hadn’t warmed yet.

  “Your ears are red from the cold,” she said. “You should wear the scarf.” She picked it up where she’d set it beside the cot and tossed it to him.

  “And with my luck we’ll freeze to death and I’ll be found dead wearing a pink, glittery, fuzzy scarf. I’d rather chance losing an ear to frostbite.”

  “Are you that unsure of your masculinity?”

  “My masculinity is doing just fine, thank you,” he growled.

  “Then put it on!” she challenged.

  Frowning, he snatched up the scarf and wrapped it around his neck. “Happy?”

  “Doesn’t it feel better?” If she didn’t think he’d take it off, she would have laughed at how the pink scarf looked on him.

  Then his words freeze to death rang in her ears. “You don’t think we could really die from the cold, do you?”

  The phone went dead. Les stood there, fighting the sense that something wasn’t right.

  “Was that Katie?” Joe asked, his tone impatient.

  “No. It was…They played music.”

  “Probably the wrong number,” he said.

  “Maybe.” An unnatural chill climbed her spine. “But…”

  “But what?” he snapped.

  His tone sent her mood plummeting down a level. She considered insisting he leave, but remembered Katie was missing. So maybe he had just as much a right to be here at Katie’s as she did. “That’s the second time I’ve gotten a call with someone playing music.”

  “And you think that has something to do with Katie being missing?”

  “I
don’t know, I just think it’s strange.”

  “Everything is strange.” He took the phone from her hands and started dialing.

  “Who are you calling?” she asked.

  “Katie’s cell phone again.” He punched in the number, listened, then dropped the phone back on the charger.

  “Anything?”

  “Voice mail.”

  “Something’s wrong.” Les forced the words out.

  “I know.” He did another pace around the room. “Do you know where she was going today?”

  “Yeah. She was going to the cake maker, the wedding planner, and then—”

  Les bit off her words. To pick up the new ring.

  “Then to where?” he asked.

  “Nowhere.” Lying had never been her specialty, but this time she knew she’d failed at it miserably.

  Suspicion twinkled in his blue, bloodshot eyes, confirming she’d been right. “It doesn’t sound like nothing,” he said, and took a step closer. “What are you not telling me?”

  Tabitha’s killer dropped the phone and listened to the wedding music. The laughter echoing in his mind caused his head to pound. Ha, ha. Throb, throb. He started to rock. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. When things went bad, his migraines got worse.

  He’d almost had Katie Ray. He’d been inside her house, on his way to her bedroom where the shower had been running, when he’d heard someone at the door. He’d barely managed to get out the back in time. Panicked, he’d driven by his other brides’ graves and left flowers. Then he’d come home, but nothing felt good. Nothing felt right. He went into his closet, all the way to the back, and pulled out the wedding album where he kept pictures of his brides.

  Oh, his beautiful brides. Four of them. Sometimes, looking at the pictures was all he needed. He’d gone years without needing to find a new one. But then the laughter had come back. Tabitha’s fault. She’d begged him. He hadn’t done a wedding in three years, but six months ago she’d come calling. She’d been desperate, someone had canceled, and she’d begged.

  His head kept pounding. Something tickled his mind as if he’d forgotten something. When the migraines hit, he had to work hard to stay focused. To act normal. What had he forgotten?

  Then he remembered. Remembered the girl and the cop back at Tabitha’s. He’d had a plan for dealing with them. What had the plan been?

  Oh yeah, he’d been going to burn it down.

  He had to do it. Looking at his watch—almost eleven—he should do that soon. But when everyone was asleep. Midnight.

  If only his head would quit shooting that blinding pain. If only that man hadn’t walked into Katie’s house and stopped him from claiming his bride. He could have added her picture to the others. Setting the album on the floor, he pulled out his digital camera from his coat pocket and set it beside his recorder. Then he set his alarm to go off at midnight.

  Chapter Eleven

  Les walked to the kitchen, more to escape Joe than from needing anything. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the type to let people escape easily. He followed her into the kitchen and pinned her with another accusing look. Les grabbed a diet soda from the fridge and pretended she wasn’t bothered by his look, or by him. But the truth was, Joe Lyon bothered her.

  Bothered her plenty.

  He gripped the back of a wooden kitchen chair. “You said Katie was nervous about the wedding.”

  “Yeah.” She popped the can top and took a sip. The carbonation burned her throat. She swallowed.

  “How was she nervous?”

  “Wedding jitters. No biggy.”

  “That’s all?” He slapped her with another look.

  “Yeah.” Not that Les had believed it then…or now.

  Joe took a deep breath and studied her harder, and she didn’t like the way he looked at her. “Do you think she ran away?”

  “Oh, hell no! Katie would not run away.” Les remembered how Joe had flirted with her. “Even if she should.”

  He stepped forward, so close she could count his eyelashes. “If you know where she is and you’re not—”

  Les slammed her soda down and poked him in his chest. “If I knew where she was.” Poke. “I’d be with her and not here.” Poke. “Katie is my best friend.” Poke. “Since kindergarten.” Poke. “And—”

  He grabbed her wrist. The memory of him holding her hand in the bar hit hard. And her stupid wow voice spoke again. Damn the voice. And damn her for wanting it to come back.

  “Then what are you not telling me?” he asked.

  She snatched her hand back. This was crazy. So freaking crazy. She could not be feeling even the slightest spark for this man. This was Katie’s fiancé. So why had he even given her the time of day at the bar? If he’d ignored her as an engaged man should have done, then none of this would have happened.

  “I’m her fiancé.” His eyes flashed blue fire.

  “Exactly!” she said. “You’re her fiancé. Why did you…?”

  “Why did I what?” he asked, when she couldn’t finish it.

  “You smiled at me.” Oh, God, that sounded so lame.

  “And since when is smiling a crime?” he asked, not smiling.

  “You told that guy hitting on me that I was with you.”

  “Because I thought you wanted to get rid of him.”

  “I could have gotten rid of him myself.”

  “What? You keep a bottle of dandruff shampoo in your purse?”

  For some crazy, unknown reason she wanted him to admit it. Admit that he’d flirted with her. “You held my hand when the lights went out.”

  “You seemed scared.” His voice held a ribbon of guilt.

  Guilt was good. No. Guilt was bad. Guilt had been bouncing around her chest since he’d told her who he was. “You ran your thumb over my hand,” she said before she could stop herself. You made my wow voice speak for the first time in eighteen months.

  Neither of them said a word for a few minutes. Then he spoke. “Instead of accusing each other right now, we should be trying to figure out how to help Katie.”

  The truth of his words sank in. She hated being wrong, but wasn’t above admitting it. “You’re right.” She inhaled. “I’m just…scared.”

  He blinked. “Me, too.”

  She nodded. Their eyes met. “I’m sorry,” she said. Sorry for ever going and sitting beside you. Sorry for the scratches and for squirting you with dandruff shampoo. Sorry for bringing up the fact that we flirted.

  Yep. She was really sorry for bringing up the flirting issue. They were adults, after all. And nothing had happened. Seeing each other naked in the shower had been an accident. Obviously, she was blowing this whole wow-voice thing out of proportion.

  His shoulders fell. And Lord help her, she couldn’t help but notice they were nice shoulders.

  “What are you not telling me, Les?”

  That getting married upset Katie so much that she threw up and accidentally flushed your engagement ring down the john. Les almost told him that, then recalled how determined Katie had been to keep it from Joe. If Les thought she could lie convincingly enough, she’d do it, but she didn’t feel convincing. So she opted for the truth—the truth about not telling the truth.

  “If I’m not telling you something, it’s because Katie wouldn’t want me to. It has nothing to do with her not being here. Nothing to do with how she feels about you or about any other man.” Les threw in the other man part just in case he was the jealous type.

  Not that he needed to worry. Katie, like her brother, was loyal to the core. She would never consider letting a man touch her as long as she belonged to Joe. Never.

  “Just get in bed with me.” Katie watched Carl rip off more box tops to lay on. She remembered how cold the floor was.

  His gaze shot up and he studied her as if contemplating her offer. “Better not.”

  She was freezing. The ski jacket kept her top half warm, a lot warmer than his leather jacket had, which meant he was probably even colder than she was right now. In spite o
f having pulled the sheet off the mattress and draping it over her legs, everything below and above the ski jacket had passed the cold stage and headed to the numb level. She remembered her father talking about a couple who’d been caught in the snow in Colorado and how they’d stayed alive by sharing body heat. “Look—”

  He held up one hand. “Tempting offer, and believe me, I don’t usually tell women no, but I’d better not.”

  “Oh, puh-leeze. It’s for body warmth.”

  “Red, I’m totally aware of how hot your body is. I don’t need to get any closer.”

  She rolled her eyes and, yes, his comment made her happy, but now wasn’t the time to…“We’re adults.”

  “That’s part of the problem. I’m an adult male and you’re an adult female. Did you miss that class in high school?”

  “Nothing is going to happen,” she insisted. “Just come get in the bed. How hard can that be?”

  He shook his head. “That’s the problem, it can get—”

  “Stop that.” She slapped her hand over her ears, but it hurt to touch them, so she pulled away.

  “Stop what?” he asked, and stood up, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

  “Stop talking dirty.”

  “I’m not talking dirty. I’m talking facts.”

  “Facts I don’t need or want to know about,” she lied, and felt slightly disturbed that his dilemma made her want to smile.

  “Which is exactly why this isn’t a good idea. Because if I crawl in that bed with you, you’re going to know.”

  “Are you telling me you have no control over…over it?” Oh goodness, she couldn’t help herself, her eyes lowered. She snapped her gaze up and hoped he hadn’t noticed. But from the smirk in his eyes, she knew he had.

  “Nope.” He grinned and stood a little taller. “It pretty much has a mind of its own.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Then we’ll ignore it.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “We’re in trouble here and you’re thinking about sex,” she accused, and then silently slung the accusation right back at herself.

  “I’m a man, that’s pretty much what we do,” he snapped. “At least the macho types do. The sensitive ones may be different.”