Weddings Can Be Murder

by Christie Craig

  “What happened?” She grabbed the officer by the arm and tried to move in front of him to see inside.

  “Ma’am, you’re going to have to step back.” His tone held authority, but in her reporting days, Les had been accustomed to chewing up and spitting that out. “Anything for a story” had been the job’s motto. Now, it was “Anything for Katie.” And Les cared a hell of a lot more for Katie than she ever had for a story.

  Joe came to a sudden stop beside her. “What happened?”

  “Who are you?” The cop’s gaze shot to Joe.

  “Joe Lyon. We’re looking for—”

  With the officer’s attention shifted, Les ran past him. If Katie was in there, she might need her. And except for the last year, there hadn’t been a time she could remember that she and Katie hadn’t been there for each other. From lost lunch money to missed birth control pills, from mono to funerals, they had faced life together.

  “Ma’am!” the cop yelled behind her. “Stop!”

  But it was too late; she’d already gotten far enough in to see the sheet-draped body and the blood-soaked carpet.

  She came to an abrupt halt right inside the door. The cold air froze in her lungs and her feet could have been set in concrete, they were so locked in place. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tear her eyes off the red splotches on the white carpet.

  The cop dragged her out. Another officer, dressed in plain clothes, came hurrying over. “Do you know Ms. Jones?” When Les didn’t answer, he repeated the question.

  Les couldn’t answer. Images of Katie flashed in her head. Kindergarten, the first time they’d met, Katie wearing overalls, her hair in pigtails. Third grade, Katie punching a boy in the nose for calling Les names. Junior high, the two of them standing in front of a mirror stuffing their bras. College, both lying in the bed in their dorm room laughing their asses off as they talked about their unsuccessful attempts at performing oral sex.

  Why those memories, those images, Les didn’t know, but her mind clung to them because they were likely to be all she had left. Tears filled her eyes.

  Joe rushed in, and Les became vaguely aware of him stepping between the officer and her—vaguely aware that she wanted to throw herself into his arms and weep like a baby.

  “What happened?” Joe asked.

  Les looked at him, but the words wouldn’t come. Logic insisted she didn’t know if the body under the sheet was Katie, but the panic clawing at her knew that there was a chance it was. And that chance opened up a chasm of pain.

  “Sir, do you know Ms. Jones?” the older, plain-clothed gentleman asked Joe.

  “Yes. Well, not me, but my fiancée. Tabitha Jones was planning our wedding.”

  “Is this your fiancée?” He pointed to Les.

  “No,” Joe said. “This is her friend.” Then Joe’s eyes widened. “That’s my fiancée’s car.”

  Another man spoke up. “What’s her name?”

  “Katie Ray.” Joe looked at Les, saw her tears, and pulled her against him. Les buried her head against his shoulder and let even more tears fall.

  “Miss Ray is okay,” the cop said.

  Les felt as if someone had removed their hand from around her throat and let her breathe again. She pulled away from Joe. “Where is she?” She swiped at her eyes.

  “They took her to the police station to be questioned.”

  “Why?” Les and Joe asked at the same time.

  “I can’t explain. But if you’d like, I’m on my way over now and you can follow me. I’m sure they’ll keep her for a while, but at least you’ll be there for her when she’s free to leave.”

  Katie stared at the man sitting across from her. Midthirties, and in some way he looked like…Antonio Banderas. Maybe it was a phase she was going through: simply everyone looked like Antonio to her. Ahh, but for her, this Antonio look-alike lacked the appeal that Carl Hades had.

  This cop hadn’t been rude, not really, but from the moment he’d walked into Tabitha’s house, he’d separated her from Carl. It was as if he’d thought that the two of them talking would hurt the case. Well, it was a little late for that: she and Carl Hades had practically spent the night together.

  She hadn’t realized how much she’d grown attached to him until she’d seen them usher him out of the room. He’d glanced back at her and winked.

  She’d almost cried. He’d been her rock for the last fourteen hours, and who wanted to lose her rock?

  And thinking of rocks…She clenched her hands, remembering the diamond she’d flushed. Fighting off another wave of nausea, she met the cop’s gaze and asked again to be allowed to use a phone.

  She hadn’t thought about calling anyone until after the police arrived. Of course, she’d had a lot on her plate. Realizing she’d been shot at and almost burned alive. Seeing Tabitha’s legs.

  Don’t think about it. Breathe. She heard the voice inside her head, and it sounded a lot like Carl, her missing rock.

  It had been after the cops had arrived and after they’d separated her from Carl and his dad that she’d remembered Les. When she’d asked to make a call, the cop had said they wanted to get her statement while it was fresh, that then she could call whomever she needed. And she really needed to call Les.

  “Let’s go over it one more time,” the no-appeal Banderas sitting across the metal table said.

  She went through it again. “And that’s when you guys showed up.” She’d recounted everything for the fifth time. Or at least everything she could remember. Some things didn’t seem clear, like being chased by the man who’d shot Tabitha. She couldn’t recall how she’d gotten to the back of the house. But she remembered being pushed against the wall, the gun at her ear.

  And she remembered Carl—how he’d smelled. How he’d made her feel safe. How he’d made her laugh when laughing seemed impossible.

  “Can I make that call now?” Her patience teetered on the edge.

  “Are you sure you didn’t see his face?”

  “I’m sure.” She felt uncomfortable under his brown gaze.

  “You didn’t recognize his voice?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any way this man could have been there after you and not Ms. Jones?”

  “I…” She hesitated. “No, they were arguing.”

  His eyebrow arched as if he was about to hit her with another question.

  Katie leaned forward and spoke in a calm voice—calm, but with a tone that she used on patrons who tried to wheedle down the price of a piece of art that had no wheedling room.

  “I realize you are doing your job, sir.” She could only remember that his name was Ben, and first names didn’t work well with this tone. “And I appreciate that. I’d really like to help you catch the guy, but I’m going to ask you one more time to bring me a phone. And if you don’t do it, I’m going to walk out. I won’t answer any more questions, and I won’t be nice. And I really like being nice. But I’m running out of nice. You understand?”

  He leaned back in his chair and almost smiled, then stood up. “One phone coming up, Red.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and then the tail end of his sentence vibrated through her. Red? It wasn’t a good vibration. Sure, the other Banderas look-alike had called her that, but oddly it hadn’t bothered her then.

  “My name is Katie,” she said.

  “Sorry. I think…someone referred to you as Red.”

  “I prefer Katie.” She stiffened her backbone and wondered why she hadn’t been more her assertive self from the start. It had to be stress. Because in normal circumstances, she wasn’t the whimpering, tell-mewhat-to-do-and-I’ll-do-it type of female. Cooperative, yes. And she’d even admit that deep down she might be a marshmallow—but she did a good job of covering it up.

  Had to. Life was hard. Just in the last year and a half, she’d taken on and won against the IRS when they’d audited her. She’d lived through losing her entire family. So she wasn’t completely over it, but she hadn’t cratered, and she would get th
rough what happened to night. She was a Ray, after all.

  No question about it: Katie Ray, marshmallow on the inside and occasional fainter, was a survivor. She could take care of herself. Not that she wanted to. Bits and pieces of her conversation with Carl replayed in her mind. Alone sucked. Alone hurt.

  Now all she had to do was to figure out if she was marrying Joe just so she wouldn’t have to be alone.

  Ben returned and held a phone in his hand. “Do you have someone who could stay with you, or somewhere you could stay?”

  “Why?” she asked. “You think…think this guy will—”

  “No, I don’t. From what you told me, I don’t think you’re in any real danger, but being careful is never overrated.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said. Rays were always careful.

  He nodded, then put the phone down in front of her.

  “Thank you.” She dialed Les’s cell phone number.

  It rang twice. “Hello?” The urgency in Les’s voice told Katie that her friend had been up worrying all night.

  “It’s me,” Katie said, and for obvious reasons, marshmallowy reasons, her throat tightened.

  “Oh, God, Katie. I’ve been worried sick about you.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t have my phone. And something terrible happened.” She stopped to swallow. “I’m at the—”

  “Police station. I know. I’m here. We’re here.”

  “We?” Katie asked.

  “Joe’s with me.”

  Katie bit down on her lip. Good Lord, she hadn’t even thought about calling Joe. Exactly what did that tell her?

  “What happened?” Les asked. “All I know is that someone was killed. They don’t think you did it, do they? If they do, I swear, girl, I’ll make some calls. I may have wasted a year of my life in Boston complaining about piecrusts, but I still have connections.”

  “Piecrusts are important,” Katie said. “And I don’t think I’m considered a suspect.” Katie sensed Ben, sitting across from her, listening. “But we’ll talk later. I think they’re about to let me go.” She looked up at Ben.

  “Ten minutes,” he said.

  “Ten minutes,” Katie repeated into the phone.

  “Good. We’re in the lobby waiting on you.”

  Katie hung up and looked at her naked left hand. What was she going to tell Joe? And why, why was she not thrilled about seeing him?

  “Tell him the truth,” she muttered.

  “Tell who the truth?” the man sitting across from her asked.

  She looked up. “Uh…it’s about something else.”

  And right then she knew it was the right thing to do. She had to tell Joe everything. Everything.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Les snapped her phone shut and shot Joe a quick look. “She’ll be out in about ten minutes.” Joe nodded, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

  Les studied the worry lines creasing his brow. He cared about Katie. That much was apparent. Which meant he might make Katie a decent husband. By no means was Les completely ready to give him her blessing, though. Friends looked out for each other like that. But she’d admit, Joe Lyon appeared to be a decent man.

  Les dropped the phone back into her purse. Funny, how quickly things could be put in their proper mental places. For example, how unimportant her silly attraction to Joe became when she’d thought it was Katie under the bloody sheet. How insignificant it was that they’d seen each other naked. And the kiss that almost…but, seriously, never happened. It was simply brought on by the night’s stress. Nope, none of that mattered right now. It was so trivial. Les doubted Katie even needed to know about it. All that mattered was that Katie was alive. Les’s best friend was going to walk through those doors, and together they would make more silly memories. They would laugh at each other’s insecurities, talk about their mistakes, listen to each other whine about PMS and bad sexual experiences, and be best friends forever.

  And if marrying Joe made Katie happy, Les would be there to toss confetti in the air.

  Joe stood up. “I’m going to find a restroom.”

  As Les watched him walk away, she noticed one little problem with the Katie-didn’t-need-to-know-about-it plan: the scratch marks running down Joe’s face.

  Okay, so she’d have to tell Katie about that. But the wow voice thing? That was…trivial. Not important. At all.

  Carl waited with his dad. Ben had rung their dad’s cell phone to let them know that Red would be out in about ten minutes. Carl, having endured his own interrogation, had been relieved to know Ben would be the one to question Katie.

  Oh, sure, he knew his brother wouldn’t spare her any of the grueling questions or stop short of making her repeat the story a hundred times. It was police procedure. He’d done it himself and had seen it work. But Ben knew when to call it quits. And Ben, like himself, had inherited the gentleman gene and wouldn’t cross the line with a woman.

  Red deserved that much. She’d been through enough. He recalled her embarrassment at passing out. But considering what she’d endured in the last fourteen hours—witnessing a murder, being chased by the murderer, being held at gunpoint and locked in a room with a stranger—Katie Ray had spunk. He’d seen men cave faster. Which was why he wanted to make sure she was okay.

  Stopping off at the bathroom, he kept telling himself that seeing Red through the ordeal fell under his job description. As he washed his hands, he glanced up at his reflection. For the past hour, his old co-workers, even his brother, had given him a ribbing over the scratches.

  Who wants to take his shirt off and see if he has ’em there?

  They’d had fun, all right. At his and Red’s expense. He could take the abuse, but he hoped she didn’t get wind of it.

  A man walked over from the urinals and turned the water on at the sink next to Carl. Carl looked at the man’s reflection. On his cheek he wore four scratches, identical to Carl’s. A laugh jumped out of Carl’s mouth before he could stop it.

  The man grinned at the mirror. “Long story,” he said.

  “Mine, too.” Carl touched his cheek. “You know, normally, I might think you were a son of a bitch and deserved those scratches, but I can’t think that right now.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” the stranger answered.

  “Women,” Carl said, and ran his hand over the four marks. Then he grinned. “Mine was worth it. Yours?”

  The man’s gaze glazed over for a second, as if remembering something. “Yeah.” Then he tossed some cold water on his face.

  Carl turned and walked out.

  After visiting with his dad a minute, Carl went to the waiting room to wait for Katie. He hoped she’d feel up to grabbing a bite to eat. The idea that he shouldn’t offer flittered through his mind, but he rejected it. It was just a meal. It wouldn’t lead to anything. No, Red was totally safe…because she was off-limits. Even if he wasn’t avoiding women, he avoided her kind. The marrying kind.

  The waiting room held a crowd of chattering people. The police station was like Vegas: it never closed down. His gaze caught on the blonde sitting with the dark-haired man from the bathroom.

  Carl moved to the other side of the room for coffee. He noticed the body language of the couple. Not overly friendly. Then the man cut the blonde a glance when she wasn’t looking. Male appreciation darkened his eyes.

  As Carl poured his coffee, he checked the blonde out for himself. Pretty, but not as appealing as Red.

  Carl’s focus shifted to the man’s back, and just like his co-workers, he wondered if the man had matching scratches across his back. Had they done the bump and grind? Carl recalled the look in the man’s eyes when he’d asked if it had been worth it. Yeah, the guy had probably sampled his assaulter. Lucky bastard.

  The door opened from the back of the room. Carl’s gaze shot up. Red walked out. Emotion swelled in his chest when he saw the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. If Ben had been too hard on her, he’d answer for it.

  He’d taken o
ne step forward before the man sitting with the blonde shot up. And Red, never looking at Carl, ran into the man’s arms.

  The coffee in his hand nearly slipped. The hot liquid spilled from the cup and burned his fingers. He watched as Red pillowed her head on the man’s shoulder and, just like that, Carl knew this was Mr. Metro-Sensitive.

  Carl had been an idiot not to realize that Red would have called him. This was Red’s fiancé. Pulling the cup to his lips, he sipped at his coffee. The bitter, hot taste matched the feelings crowding his chest. Feelings that didn’t make a damn bit of sense. Emotions he had no right to feel.

  Setting the cup down, he cut across the room to escape. He walked out the door, passing his dad, who studied him with his all-knowing gaze.

  Katie felt people’s eyes on her, and she removed herself from Joe’s embrace and fought the emotion tightening her throat. “Let’s move out of here,” she said.

  Joe led them out into a hall. Once they’d left the curious stares of the strangers in the waiting room, Les grabbed her and she and Katie held each other even longer than Katie had held Joe. “My God, what happened?” Les asked.

  Katie let her arms drop from around Les and gave the two-minute version of events.

  Les grabbed Katie’s hands when she was through. “You must be a bundle of nerves.”

  “I’ve had less stressful days.” Katie tried to smile, but her ability to make light of the situation failed her now.

  “Let’s get you home.” Joe started moving toward the exit.

  Katie took a step, then looked back. Hope swelled in her chest that Antonio Banderas would magically appear. That he would have waited for her to…to what, exactly?

  He wasn’t there. Her chest filled with emotion. She really needed…needed to say thank you. Or had she said it?

  You don’t need to say thank you, Red. I’m just doing my job, she remembered him telling her.

  “Did you leave something?” Les asked.

  My rock. “No.”

  Joe’s hand pressed against the small of her back.

  For a brief second, she relived the moment when he’d pulled her into his arms in the waiting room. He’d held her close. Tight. She’d buried her face in his shoulder. When she’d breathed in his scent, she found it warm, comforting. Like Joe always smelled. But it wasn’t safe.