BRIDE and DOOM (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 2)

by Jeanine Spooner

He kept his gaze steady and his expression straight.

  “There was a big party here last night,” she began. “I’d organized it. The Maple - Coburn bachelor and bachelorette parties.”

  Paco’s eyes shifted with recognition.

  “Were you working last night?”

  “Yeah, there were a ton of cars to park.”

  “I believe you. We had well over sixty guests. Did you keep any kind of log or record of the vehicles?”

  “Ah, yeah, it’s in the valet stand.”

  “Can I take a look?”

  Paco seemed hesitant. He glanced over his shoulder. Perhaps he had a boss who was overseeing today. He debated then told her to follow him.

  As they walked at a clip to the valet stand in the back of the parking lot, Kitty asked, “Has a man come to talk to you? Gray hair, tattoos? Unbelievably arrogant?”

  He stared at her blankly, which was enough of an answer, and then pulled a black, dusty binder out of the valet stand. Setting it on the trunk hood of the nearest vehicle, Paco flipped through the binder starting from the last page.

  “Here it is,” he said. “Are you looking for a name in particular?”

  “You record vehicle damage, correct? So that no one sues you guys for damage you didn’t cause?”

  “Yeah that’s right.”

  “I need to know if there were any black vehicles with extensive damage to the right-hand side. The car would’ve looked as though it had gotten into an accident.”

  Paco didn’t even have to keep flipping. He remembered.

  “Black Lexus, I wouldn’t forget it,” he said, meeting her gaze. The right side was crushed from bumper to back door. I’m surprised the front wheel could still spin. That thing shouldn’t be on the road.”

  “Can you tell me the owner of the vehicle? License plate? Anything?” Kitty asked, excitedly.

  “I should be able to, hang on.” He went back to flipping through, and then ran his tan finger down a long list of handwritten details—guest name, make of the car, model, color—until finally his finger stopped and he tapped hard against the page. “Right here.”

  Kitty leaned over his shoulder as he read.

  “Black Lexus, the guest, oh wait. Weird.”

  “What?!”

  “Looks like the name was blacked out with a Sharpie and someone wrote Rebecca Motley above it in pencil.”

  “Really...” Kitty eyed the sheet and studied the strange edit. “Where’s the license plate number?”

  Every vehicle listed had its license plate number in the far right column, but the Lexus’ was also blacked out.

  “Who changed this?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t me.” He threw his hands up in surrender.

  “Who has access to this binder?”

  “The other valets, and of course, our boss.”

  “Can you give me names?” she pressed.

  “Hang on,” he said, slipping into the valet stand. When he emerged he had a business card in his hand. “This is the manager, Julio.”

  Kitty took the card and reviewed it for a cell number. It didn’t appear to have one.

  “What’s this telephone number?”

  “That’s the stand here.”

  This wasn’t entirely helpful.

  “When will Julio be in next?” she asked.

  “Ah, it’s the weekend.”

  “It’s Friday,” she countered.

  “Julio doesn’t work Fridays, Saturdays, or Sundays.”

  Julio sounded worse than Sterling Slaughter.

  “When will the other valets be in?”

  “Big party tonight,” he mused. “They’ll be in around seven.”

  He was referring to the rehearsal dinner Kitty had organized. For as forthright as the kid was, he wasn’t much help.

  “Thanks for your time,” she said, tucking the business card into her purse.

  "Hang on," he said, once again debating. "Let me jot down Julio's cell."

  "Thank you!" She waited for him to do just that and hand her the card.

  As she started through the parking lot, Paco called after her, “If you see that woman, Rebecca, tell her she can’t drive that thing. It’s too dangerous!”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell her,” Kitty grumbled. “Right after I get a confession.”

  According to the front desk, Becca’s room was on the first floor, but when the clerk called she didn’t answer.

  “I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” said Kitty, thanking him for his time. “I’ll just have a poke around.”

  Kitty headed straight for the lounge where Becca was most likely to be found, either inside on one of the plush red couches, or outside on the cafe terrace. But when she stepped into the handsome lounge and scanned the breakfast crowd, Becca was nowhere to be found. Kitty padded through to the terrace where a few clusters of guests were sunning themselves and drinking mimosas, but again Becca wasn’t among them.

  Where would she be? If she was smart she’d be at an auto-body shop, but Becca had never struck Kitty as smart.

  She’d have to be patient, bide her time, and hope Becca came traipsing through.

  Kitty stopped at the bar and ordered a mimosa as soon as she had the bartender’s attention.

  “I’ll be right over there,” she added, indicating a red lounge chair near the windows at the far end of the room. She could use a little sun herself, but didn’t necessarily want to sweat the humidity outside.

  As soon as she had a seat, she noticed a stunning gentleman coming her way. He wasn’t especially tall, but his suit was impressive—a camel taupe shade, crisply pressed, with a pale purple tie and matching handkerchief in the breast pocket. The man had style and looks to match, and he seemed to recognize her.

  “Miss Sinclair?” he asked in a deep tone.

  “Yes,” she smiled apprehensively. “Do I know you?”

  “Hank Troy,” he said as though that’d jog her memory. It didn’t. “Bride’s side of the family. May I?”

  “Of course.”

  Hank took a seat across from her and set his Bellini on the coffee table between them after unbuttoning his suit jacket for a little breathing room. Kitty observed and sized him up—her friend Trudy springing to mind.

  His eyes were dark brown and deep set, which gave him a brooding appearance, though his strong jawline and straight nose reminded her of a storybook prince.

  “Terrible what happened to that poor man,” he offered, shaking his head.

  “Yes,” she agreed, wishing the conversation hadn’t turned dark from the get-go. “But Mandy and Erik are determined not to let the tragedy stop their wedding.”

  “I heard. Shocking.”

  A waiter padded over and set Kitty’s Mimosa on the table then left them.

  “What is it about Mandy?” Kitty began changing the subject. “Men fall for her and women want to be her.”

  Hank chuckled and shrugged so Kitty pressed a little harder.

  “Are you among them?”

  “Among the men who fell for her?” he asked, surprised. “I’m her cousin.”

  Splendid!

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, laughing at herself.

  “It’s perfectly fine,” he told her, brushing it off.

  “So are you...” Kitty remembered her use of the word involved had made things messy with Michael Rivett so she paused and selected different phrasing. “Do you have a date for the wedding?”

  “Oh, no, stag all the way,” he smiled. “Weddings are a great place to meet women.”

  “They sure are,” Kitty mused, staring momentarily at her cocktail. “Speaking of, a girlfriend of mine asked me to keep an eye out for her, and I think you’re just her type.”

  “Yeah? How’s that?”

  You’re single, she’s on the prowl, and no one seems all that picky. But Kitty said none of those things.

  “Handsome, successful, single,” she said. It didn’t come out all that much better. Oops!

  “Well,”
he laughed. “Don’t assume I’m successful just because I got dressed up one day.”

  “How presumptuous of me,” she teased. “What do you do?”

  “I’m in real estate.”

  “Then I don’t see how you couldn’t be a thriving success,” she smiled.

  “Touché.” He produced his business card and handed it to her. “Have her give me a call. What’s her name?”

  “Trudy,” said Kitty, happily stuffing his card into her purse. “She’s a hair dresser. Owns her own little shop. She’s doing quite well.”

  Finally, Becca Motley breezed through the lounge.

  “It was so nice speaking with you,” Kitty told Hank in a sudden hurry. “I have to excuse myself. maid of honor stuff,” she added, indicating the redhead on the other side of the lounge.

  Hank smiled and rose when she did.

  “Good morning,” Kitty said when she reached Becca who had just slid onto a barstool.

  Becca glared at her and asked, “What do you want?”

  “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Kitty commented and not nicely.

  “How are you not hung over?” She groaned then snapped her fingers at the bartender, who didn’t seem to appreciate the condescending gesture. “Vodka in soda water,” she snapped then added for Kitty’s benefit. “Hair of the dog, as they say.”

  That or you’re a raging alcoholic.

  “Really, Kitty, what is it? Did I forget to do something for Mandy? You want to rub my nose in what an awful job I’m doing as the maid of honor?”

  “Something like that,” Kitty said with a smile, as she stared the redhead down.

  The bartender set Becca’s drink on the counter then walked off before she could make any more rude demands.

  “Care to take a walk?” Kitty asked. “I think the fresh air would do you wonders.”

  Becca glared at her, but obliged, swiping her vodka off the counter.

  Kitty led the maid of honor through the lounge and out onto the terrace, but didn’t stop there. They continued on, descending a shallow set of stairs that connected to the marina where a number of shiny yachts were docked. After walking a bit further, they came to a bench, which seemed as good a spot as any so Kitty sat, inviting Becca to do the same.

  A warm breeze rolled off the harbor that filled Kitty’s lungs with salty air that refreshed her.

  “I have a good rapport with Sterling Slaughter,” she began, glancing briefly at Becca then returning her gaze to the harbor ahead.

  “I’m not sure I know who that is.”

  “Yes you do,” said Kitty sharply. “You saw me talking to him and you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

  “Is that what this is about?” She laughed. “Kitty, please!” She snorted. “You’ve been paranoid since college.”

  Kitty balked at that, offended.

  “It’s not my fault men you like take sudden interest in me,” she said, dryly.

  “Did you...” she was afraid to ask and acutely aware that her curiosity about Becca and Sterling had virtually nothing to do with the issue at hand, so she trailed off, regrouped, and finally admitted to herself she needed to know. “Did you spend time with him alone?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell.” Becca was staring at the water. She drank her vodka. The woman was incorrigible! Kitty scowled at her. “Oh, for God’s sake, Kitty. No! Nothing happened!”

  “You’re not lying to me, are you?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “I have no problem telling you who I’ve slept with, you know that.”

  Kitty sighed with relief.

  “But I’ll tell you something else. If he’s game, I am. And I won’t feel bad about it.”

  Any relief she felt was now gone. “Well, that’s not why I brought it up,” she began, turning slightly obstinate.

  “Oh really? I find that hard to believe.”

  “I know you told Sterling you saw Erik put candlesticks—candlesticks identical to the murder weapon mind you—in the trunk of his car.”

  Becca stiffened and crossed her legs nervously.

  “Why would you say that, Becca?”

  “Because I saw him.” She didn’t look at Kitty when she made the statement. Liars never can look you in the eye.

  “Where? When?” she pressed.

  “I don’t owe you any explanations,” Becca snapped. “I already talked to Sterling about it.”

  Kitty had had just about enough of this.

  “Well, did you talk to Sterling about your car? About altering the valet records? About how guilty you look for Johnny’s murder?!”

  “Whoa!” Becca said, jumping in her seat. “Whoa, calm down now.”

  “Oh, I’m very calm. I’m also very curious how you’re going to explain all that to the detective once I tell him.”

  “He doesn’t know?”

  “You know he doesn’t know or he would’ve asked you about it.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  It was as close to an admission as Kitty thought she’d get.

  “So you confess?”

  “I didn’t do anything, Kitty!”

  “It certainly looks like you did. Your vehicle had severe damage. I know you sideswiped Johnny!”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Then you didn’t have time to get rid of your Lexus or rent another car so, stupidly, you parked it here at the Delamar. Then after you killed Johnny, you realized the record of your car would be enough to incriminate you, so you used your trollop feminine wiles to work one over on the valets and have the books changed! Then, to create a diversion you put candlesticks in Erik’s trunk to frame him and put yourself in the clear!”

  “You’re insane!”

  “Why did you do it, Becca?! Did you mean to kill Johnny or did you think it was really Erik, you bird brain!”

  “Hey!”

  “Maybe if you couldn’t have him no one could, hmmm???”

  “Stop! Just stop it!”

  “I will not stop it until you admit what you’ve done!”

  Both women were heaving out of breath, staring wide-eyed at one another like wild animals.

  “Look,” said Becca after catching her breath. “I only changed the valet record once I saw what had been done to my car.”

  Kitty narrowed her eyes at Becca.

  “I didn’t have my car, Kitty. I’d reported it stolen that morning. I have the police report and everything.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  Kitty wasn’t sure what to believe.

  “Fine,” said Becca as she opened her purse. She shoved the document in Kitty’s lap. “See for yourself.”

  Kitty read it over in disbelief, but it was official.

  “Your car was found at the Delamar valet parking lot?” Kitty questioned as soon as she read the strange detail.

  “Yes.”

  “What about the candlesticks?” Kitty pressed, not yet willing to give Becca a break. “Did you really see Erik with them?”

  Becca looked her dead in the eye and said, “Yes.”

  “Why don’t I believe you, Becca?”

  She sighed and said, “Because it’s not that simple. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Look, I don’t know who killed Johnny,” she began. “And I don’t know who stole my car. But I was...” she trailed off.

  “Come on, Becca, help me understand this.”

  She sighed. “I slept with Erik.”

  Kitty froze as the admission washed over her.

  “What?” she asked. “When? Why?”

  Tears welled up in Becca’s eyes. “It was a mistake. We both regretted it. He’d been going through a rough patch with Mandy, and I...well, I don’t have a real excuse. He’s a good looking guy.”

  Kitty tried to react sympathetically, but she was horrified. The best she could do was say nothing.

  “It happened a few weeks back. Anyway, I wanted to smooth things
over, make it up to him, you know? I knew Mandy had fallen in love with those candlesticks. She told me. I contacted the decorator for the store and bought three. Then I met with Erik. He was furious I’d contacted him privately, but he softened up once I showed him the candlesticks. I told him to give them to Mandy as a present and I watched him put them in the trunk of his car. I guess he never gave them to her, I don’t know. Maybe he was planning on surprising her tonight or something.”

  Kitty mulled that over. Becca’s anguish—her sincerity—left Kitty with no choice but to believe her.

  “So when did you give him the candlesticks?”

  “About five days ago,” she said, easily.

  Suddenly, Mandy’s accusation that Erik hadn’t come home all of last night surged to the forefront of Kitty’s mind.

  “Was Erik with you last night?” she asked.

  “No,” said Becca, confused. “No he wasn’t. I stumbled to my room alone last night.”

  “You bought him three candlesticks?”

  “Yes.”

  “Only two were found in his trunk,” Kitty pointed out.

  “Wasn’t the third the murder weapon?”

  “No,” said Kitty, trying not to lose grasp on the thread of logic she’d secured. “There were six set out across the mantle and bar. Then after Johnny was discovered there were five set out and one in the coatroom.”

  “There’s a missing candlestick?”

  Kitty was ready to burst she was thinking so hard. “It’s too great a coincidence.”

  “I told you I didn’t do it!”

  “I need to think,” said Kitty, rising from the bench. Becca followed suit and stared at her, as Kitty gazed out across the harbor. “How would the killer know to use the candlestick?”

  She kept turning the question over in her mind, hoping it’d shed light on the killer’s identity or at least his perverse logic, but she was coming up blank.

  “It was convenient, not a coincidence. Convenient.” Kitty went on, sinking into a daze of hard thinking. “Who knew you’d given Erik the candlesticks?”

  “Anyone he told, I suppose,” said Becca, not that it was helpful.

  Kitty milled back down the marina.

  “You’re not going to tell that detective, are you?” Becca called after her.

  But Kitty didn’t turn around and didn’t answer. Ideas were forming in her mind, but they were too thin to grasp. Someone had to have known. Someone close to Erik.