Weddings Can Be Murder

by Christie Craig

  “Just what?”

  “Envious.” That word came a little easier, but she stared at the wall. “Envious that she could move past everything, and I couldn’t.” She felt him looking at her and she glanced back.

  He frowned. “Katie said you and her brother were close. Soul mates, she called it. Losing someone can’t be easy.”

  She set the paperweight back on the table. “It isn’t.”

  But this conversation wasn’t about her. “Katie’s not thinking straight. Tomorrow you guys will go pick out another ring.”

  His jaw clenched. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  “What?” Had she heard him right? No, she couldn’t have.

  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he met her gaze head-on. “Katie’s not the only one having second thoughts, Les.”

  No, this couldn’t be happening. “It’s called cold feet. It’s normal.”

  He ran his hand through his hair and didn’t stop until he squeezed the back of his neck. “I almost kissed you.”

  Hearing him say it aloud gave her an emotional jolt. “But you didn’t.”

  “I wanted to,” he admitted.

  “But you didn’t,” she repeated, and before she used her hands to strangle him, or herself—yup, she blamed herself for this, too—she grabbed the heart-shaped paperweight again.

  “Katie deserves someone who…wouldn’t want to kiss someone else a few weeks before the wedding.”

  Les didn’t know if she could argue with that, but she had to try, because no way in hell was she going to let this happen when it was her fault. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, hurt Katie.

  “It was stress. Our emotions were out of whack. You can’t make this decision based on something that didn’t even happen.”

  “What about right now?” he asked. “What if I’m still wanting to kiss you? Is it just wacky emotions? Or could it be a sign that maybe Katie was right to flush the engagement ring?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Don’t say that.” Les dropped the piece of cold stone back on the desk. “Oh, God. What have I done?”

  “This isn’t your fault. I’m the one engaged here.”

  As if that excused her. “Engaged to my best friend, and I—”

  “You didn’t do anything.” He took one step to the door.

  “Neither did you.” She had to fix this. Now. Right now.

  He turned around. “But I wanted to do something.”

  So did I, Les thought, but she didn’t dare say it. Then, grasping at straws, she started talking. “Look, all men are dogs. They’ll hump anything. What’s important is that you didn’t go hump crazy.” Okay, so her grasping-at-straws talk wasn’t up to par. She grabbed him by the arm and started down the hall toward Katie’s room. He put on the brakes.

  “What are you doing?” He came to a complete stop.

  “You two are going to kiss and make up. Right now. I’d rather eat worms than think I did anything to hurt Katie.”

  He pulled away. When she reached for him again, he held up his hand. “Stop it, Les. Katie and I don’t need to kiss and make up. What we need is to be honest with each other.”

  Les shook her head. “I refuse to be the reason—”

  “Whoa.” He glared at her. “It’s not just you. I’ve been second-guessing what I felt for three weeks now. You were just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

  Straw? “Well, I don’t like being straw.”

  “I’m sorry.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Frankly, it’s not even about you. It’s about Katie and me.” Then he took off.

  Oh, gawd! Les watched him leave. What had she done? And how the hell was she going to fix it?

  Carl stepped up to the front door and knocked. After his dad left, Carl had gone through Tabitha’s files again and typed a report and made two copies. If he was going to wheedle information and a few favors out of Ben, it would help if he had a bargaining chip. Info for info. Most of it could be found on Ms. Jones’s computer, but Carl knew how slow Computer Forensics was at combing through files.

  The door opened, and Ben junior stood there wearing his Zorro costume and carrying his sword. Carl yanked out an imaginary sword and challenged his nephew to a duel. “To the death!”

  Benny, grin in place, started swinging. They fought their way into the living room, dodging moving boxes and making battle grunts and moans and imaginary sword-slamming noises.

  “No roughhousing,” his sister-in-law’s voice rang out.

  “But Mom, were fighting to the death,” Benny whined.

  “Not in the house you’re not,” Tami said from the kitchen. “And go finish unpacking your toys and put them away.”

  Carl swung his nephew up in his arms. “Princess Tami has requested a truce, but we’ll continue this fight another day.”

  Benny patted Carl’s pocket and whispered, “Got any worms?”

  Carl glanced toward the kitchen in time to see the all-hearing Tami frown. “You promise to brush your teeth.”

  “Promise,” Benny said.

  Carl put Ben down and handed him the bag he’d bought. Then, as his nephew ran to hide his stash, Carl went to face the music from Princess Tami—same song and dance every time.

  “You’re taking him to the dentist, and when they find cavities you will feel like scum.”

  Carl gave his sister-in-law a hug. “I’m his uncle. I should be allowed to spoil him.”

  “Not with candy.” She thumped him on his chest before she looked up and frowned. “Heard you had a bad night.”

  “Piece of cake,” he lied.

  “Ben said you’d been in a catfight. He didn’t tell me the cat won.” She chuckled. “Hungry?”

  “Hungry? My stomach’s sucking on my backbone.” Remembering why he hadn’t eaten reminded him why he’d come. “Is Ben here?”

  “He just got out of the shower. How about I heat over some of last night’s spaghetti—that you didn’t show up for.”

  “Spaghetti?” His mouth watered. “I swear, if my brother is stupid enough to leave you, I’m marrying you.”

  “And who says I’d take you,” Tami shot back. “I know your reputation with the ladies.”

  He followed Tami to the kitchen and dropped into a chair.

  “Are you hitting on my wife again?” Ben walked in, wearing jeans and a towel hung around his bare shoulders.

  “Yeah. But it’s your own damn fault,” Carl said. “You should’ve married someone ugly who couldn’t cook.”

  Ben grabbed himself a soda from the fridge, kissed his pretty wife on her neck, then shot Carl a look. “And here I thought you’d have a certain redhead on your mind.”

  “Funny you should mention her.” Carl reached into his coat pocket and laid out the folded papers, his bargaining chip.

  His brother pulled on the towel around his neck. “Why do I get a bad feeling in my gut?”

  “Probably just gas.” Carl chuckled.

  Ben turned a chair around and straddled it. “What’s up?”

  “I thought we might help each other out.”

  “And how’s that?” Ben stared at the papers.

  “The Jones case. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

  “Stan said you were holding back in your statement.”

  Carl scratched his jaw. “Well, Stan’s a smart cop.”

  Ben shook his head. “Tabitha Jones is dead. She’s not your client anymore, so let us take care of it.”

  “I like the scratch idea better.” Carl crossed his arms. As Tami set a plate of spaghetti in front of him, he inhaled the scent of tomato, onion, and garlic. “I love you,” he told her.

  She smiled. “Eat before you pass out.”

  He picked up the fork and Ben reached for the papers. “Not so fast,” Carl mouthed around some pasta and snatched his bargaining chip out of Ben’s reach. “Do we have a deal?”

  “What is it you want?”

&nb
sp; “A rundown on the names I give you. A few answers.” He wrapped more pasta around his fork. “But mostly, check on Red, make sure she knows this is serious. Make sure, okay?”

  Ben eyed him. “Why can’t you check on her?”

  He swirled his fork some more to catch noodles. Then he grabbed a piece of French bread that magically appeared on the table. God, he really did love his sister-in-law—loved all women who could cook. “That’s not my job.”

  “Red’s not your job, but neither is catching this guy.”

  “True, but you know how I feel about people who try to burn me alive.” Carl dipped the bread in the sauce and savored it.

  “Yeah, that always did piss you off, didn’t it?” Ben let out a deep breath and chuckled.

  “Then it’s a deal?” Carl picked up another piece of bread.

  Ben’s brows pinched. “You haven’t said what you’ve got yet.”

  “I’ve got a list of suspects.”

  Ben scowled. “And you knew this when you talked to Stan?”

  Carl used a paper napkin to clean sauce from his chin. “Not really.” He forked another bite of pasta into his mouth.

  Ben studied him. “Should I ask where you got this info?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.” Not when I know you’re going to chew my ass out later.

  “Okay, but you know there’s lines I won’t cross.”

  “I respect lines,” he lied, knowing lines were the reason he’d quit the force. The reason he’d taken a bullet. Carl ate the last bite of pasta. “Who was it you found? Beth Hill or Susie Langs?”

  Ben’s expression hardened. “How did you get the victim’s name? It hasn’t been released.”

  “There were two canceled weddings in Ms. Jones’s files.” Carl set his fork down. “Where was the body found?”

  “In a patch of woods in Northwest Houston.” His brother paused. “So you think Susie is dead, too?”

  Carl frowned. “I’d give those woods a good hard look.”

  “Damn, I hate looking for sick fuckers,” Ben said.

  “And he’s really sick.” Carl paused. “And here’s the thing: All the people who were lined up to work on the weddings—the florist, the DJ, the cake maker, the photographer—they were all working on those two weddings. And they’re all men.”

  Ben’s frown deepened. “So you think it’s one of them.”

  “That’s what I’m betting on. Ms. Jones hinted it was someone working with her. And Red said that Tabitha and the shooter had dialogue.”

  “She told me about that.” Ben ran a hand over his jaw. “So I do background checks on all of them.”

  “And you share that info with me,” Carl said.

  Ben’s brow creased, and he twisted the towel around his neck. “What about other weddings? Other brides? Are any of the men on the list working with other brides now?”

  “Two. I called them and made it clear that they weren’t to contact anyone working on their weddings until they talked to you.”

  “And Red’s one of them?” Ben asked.

  “No.” Carl didn’t mind letting his relief show. “None of the men are listed as working on her wedding. But what would it hurt for you to just talk to her? Tell her to be careful.”

  “And that, brother, brings me back to my original question. If you care that much, why aren’t you talking to her?”

  Carl dropped his fork. “I told you, that’s not my job.”

  Tami set a slice of pie in front of Carl and pressed a kiss on her husband’s bare shoulder.

  Carl flashed Tami a smile. “You’ve got to keep that woman,” he said, as the flaky crust and sweet apples melted in his mouth.

  Ben watched his wife walk out of the room. “I am. Because, let me tell you, her talents don’t stop in the kitchen.”

  Carl laughed, and for a second he wanted this: home cooking, home loving. Then reality struck, and he knew better. But his mind flashed to an image of Red. Could she cook?

  He handed the papers to Ben. “Go see Red today.” The pie melted on his lips.

  “I can’t today.” Ben rose from the chair.

  “We had a deal.” The pie lost its flavor.

  “I said I’d check on her. But if what you say is true, I have two other brides I should take care of first.”

  “Damn, Ben. How long would it take to stop by and see her?”

  “I’ll go, but I’m not promising it’ll be today. And if that’s not good enough, go see her yourself.”

  “Well, it just looks like I’ll have to, don’t it?” He dropped his fork at the same time Ben’s cell phone rang.

  “Yeah?” Ben answered, and a look of disgust filled his eyes. “I’m on my way.” Ben snapped the phone closed.

  “What?” Carl asked.

  “You were right,” Ben said. “They uncovered another body. This one’s wearing a wedding gown.” He snatched up Ben’s papers. “This is getting uglier and uglier.”

  Tabitha’s killer slowed down, then stopped when he saw the police cars parked on the side of the road. He hadn’t intended to get out, just drive by. He usually drove by once a day. Why were the police here? Were they going to take the bodies away? No! They belonged to him. They were his brides. He wasn’t ready to give them up yet.

  He gripped the steering wheel. The tap at his window made him swing around.

  The cop motioned for him to roll down his window. He inhaled, once, twice. Then he did what the officer bade him do. Normal. Act normal.

  “You’ll have to turn around, the road’s closed.” The cop visually searched the car, as if looking for something.

  “What happened?” he forced himself to ask, because normal people would ask. And he worked really hard at pretending to be normal. Even before Maria, as a kid, he’d hated it when people looked at him as weird, when they made fun of him or treated him like a freak. He couldn’t help it if he wasn’t normal.

  As he got older, he’d learned to hide it. People had stopped laughing. Or at least they had until the wedding.

  “Police investigation,” the cop said, confirming his fears.

  He managed to keep a normal expression on his face. Nodding, he turned the car around. They were taking his brides away. He would have to do without them.

  He waited until he got far enough away that the officer couldn’t see him before he started rocking against the car seat. Back. Forth. If someone saw him they would laugh. They had always laughed before he’d learned to control it. Now he only did it in private. Pulling off to a side street, he let himself rock faster. Harder.

  Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

  After a few minutes, the need to feel the rhythm lessened. He would get more brides. Find a new place to keep them. He started humming. Music helped. He knew all the wedding songs. So he hummed. Then he envisioned Katie Ray dressed in white. She was going to make a beautiful bride. But it would have to be soon. Maybe he could drive by her house now just to see her.

  “Katie.” Someone whispered her name.

  Katie forced her eyes open and stared at a puffy-eyed and sleepy Les staring down at her. She smiled, then rolled back over.

  “Katie, some guy’s here, and he says he needs to speak to you. He’s being insistent about it. Do you want me to tell him to come back later?”

  Pushing away the cobwebs of sleep, Katie rose up on her elbow. “Who is it? What’s his name?”

  “His name?” Les repeated in her drowsy voice. “He didn’t give me his name. And I didn’t ask.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Katie sat straight up, the cobwebs gone. “Carl Hades? Was it Hades? Does he look like Antonio Banderas?”

  Les dropped down on the edge of the bed and yawned into her hands. “Now that you mention it, he does.”

  Katie’s heart took up speed racing, but it had no place to go, so it just ran laps around her chest. She jackknifed out of bed, started for the door, stubbed her toe, then glanced down at Papa Smurf smiling up at her from the front of her nightshirt. What was
wrong with this picture? Okay, “Smurfwear” didn’t feel like the proper attire for this situation.

  Question Number One popped into her head: What is this situation?

  “Oh, boy,” Katie muttered and bunched up her hair.

  “Do you want me to tell him to come back later?”

  “No!” She met Les’s eyes. “I just need…a minute.” Her mind would start functioning. Right? Carl was here.

  Question Number Two: Why was her heart doing marathons?

  “Clothes.” She pointed to her closet. She grabbed her hair again. “Ponytail.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, sniffed, and frowned. “Gotta brush teeth.”

  Les squinted at her. “Katie? Are you awake?”

  “Yes.” Katie scurried to her closet and tossed out a pair of jeans and a pair of khakis, followed by a green sweater and tan blouse. Darting back into the room, she held each piece of clothing up and eyed Les. “This one? Or this one?”

  Les blinked. “Green sweater. Dark jeans.”

  “Oh, you’re so good at this.” She tugged Papa Smurf over her head and tossed him on the bed, then ran to grab a bra.

  Les continued to stare. “I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

  Three minutes later, dressed, ponytailed, and minus most of the peach fuzz on her teeth, she stepped out into the hall. She saw him from behind. And heavens, he looked good. Tall, sturdy, and the nicest butt she could ever recall seeing.

  Stop! Oh, gawd! Why was she checking out his butt?

  Because you’re interested in his butt.

  Okay, physically she was attracted to Carl. She could handle that. She wasn’t a prude. But neither was she the type to be stopped dead in her tracks by a man’s butt. Especially when she was supposed to be engaged to someone else’s butt. Supposed to be?

  Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered what she’d told Joe. I’m not sure if flushing the engagement ring was an accident or not. Was Joe here now? Her gaze shot around the room.

  No Joe.

  Katie had planned to get home and finish that discussion, but by then she couldn’t think in sentences, much less talk in them. Then Les had persuaded her to take a sleeping pill, and—

  Her attention refocused on Carl’s backside and instantly Katie wanted to run. Run back to the bedroom, bury her head under the covers. Hide. Hide from what Carl Hades made her feel. Hide from what Joe Lyon didn’t make her feel. Oh, yeah, that sounded like a plan. She had her foot poised to turn when, just like that, like a film going off in her head, she saw Tabitha being shot. Panic curled in her belly.