Dying to be Married: The India Kirby Witch Mystery (Book 2)

by Sarah Kelly

  The India Kirby Witch Mystery: Book 2

  DYING TO BE MARRIED

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission for the publication / use of these trademarks.

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  CHAPTER 1

  “Is that their list?” India Kirby asked, incredulous. “Who writes a shopping list on paper like that?”

  Her best friend Amy Dawson stared down at the thick cream card with her mouth open, then tucked it between her legs as she tugged her short platinum strands into a messy bun. “You don’t know the Hooper-Walcotts, do you? They have to have the best of the best of the best. In everything. This shopping list even has a letterhead.” She retrieved the card, stood up straight, and faced the supermarket entrance like they were going into war. “Let’s do this.”

  Each of them grabbed one of the biggest size of cart they could get their hands on, then entered the store. The air con was a cool relief from the intense Florida summer sun.

  “Well I don’t read trashy magazines like you,” India teased. “So this is the first time I’ve heard of them.”

  “Oh, come on,” Amy said, tossing a few packs of smoked salmon into her cart. “Katriane? Cecelia?... No? They’re like the Kardashian sisters, everyone knows who they are. Oop, grab three packets of those, India.” She pointed to a label that read Smoked Iberian sausage.

  “Who in the heck are the Kardashians?” India said, packing the sausage in the cart. In truth, she studiously ignored celebrities and their ilk. Especially young women who were famous for no reason at all, and built up huge publicity machines to stay relevant.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Amy said. “Anyways, Katriane and Cecelia Hooper-Walcott are—”

  India grinned. “That’s a mouthful.”

  “They are like, Florida’s answer to the Kardashians,” Amy said, then started gabbling. “Cecelia was on that Tyra Banks next top model program, and she didn’t win but got this massive contract with Chanel. And Katriane’s a children’s book illustrator but the real reason everyone likes her is because she’s just so… like… feminine? And sweet? She’s just like your best friend, even if you haven’t met her yet.”

  India had already switched off. “I suppose this means that some massive camera crew’s going to be following them around.” She took a peek at the list as they moved into the alcohol aisle, and picked up a bottle of the most expensive champagne, trying not to gawp at the price tag.

  “Hopefully! They’ve canceled the show after some big fight but I think it was just for publicity and all staged for ratings,” Amy said. “I bet they’ll bring it back quick smart for the wedding. So we’re gonna be on TV! Especially you, since they’re getting married on the beach. You’ll be on lifeguard duty Saturday, right?” She loaded six further bottles of the champagne into her cart and blew out a long stream of air. “And all this is in addition to the massive caviar cooler that’s being delivered on the wedding morning.”

  India laughed. “I’ll try to change my shift. There’s no way I’m going on TV, even just being in the background.”

  “You’re crazy,” Amy said, placing three bottles of cognac in her cart. “I’d give anything to have my own show.”

  “Which one of these bimbos is getting married, anyways?” India asked. “Cordelia or Catriona?” Her memory was sharp, and she remembered their names perfectly, but she couldn’t resist pushing Amy’s buttons.

  “Katriane and Cecelia,” Amy said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. “And they’re not bimbos. There’s no hope for you, is there?”

  India grinned. “I hope not.”

  “And it’s Katriane getting married,” Amy said as they went down the next aisle. “The younger sister.”

  “To whom, may I ask? Some washed up boy band star from the 90s?”

  “No,” Amy said sharply, as she selected a variety of aged cheese from the cooler. “To Will Tremblay. About the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.”

  ***

  From the top of her lifeguard post, India watched as who she assumed must be Will Tremblay wrap his arms around the tiny waist of who was presumably Katriane Hooper-Walcott. He was muscular, with a deep tan and jet black hair cut close to the scalp, and could have walked right out of a topless fireman wall calendar. Though India was now official with cop and aspiring detective Xavier Bradford, she appreciated Amy’s sentiment about Will’s good looks. Katriane had a deep olive skin tone and caramel hair that fell down in curls, but the thing that struck India the most was her fragility. She was painfully thin, with a pointing pixie chin, narrow face, and tiny, delicate arms. Her baby pink chiffon beach dress wafted in the breeze that blew in from the ocean.

  The contrast between his hulking figure and her bird-like frailty was only magnified by the positions they chose – Katriane sunk back into Will’s arms, looking up at him with such vulnerability India could instantly tell they had a deep bond.

  The camera man was snapping away like mad, kneeling on the firm sand close to the shoreline. They’d chosen the golden light that always showed up in the later afternoon before the sun went down for the backdrop of their shoot, and India had to admit it looked spectacular. The sea was calm, while the palm trees made their gentle sway against the sky, which was an intense blue at this time of the day. Everything was cast over with a golden sheen that evoked romance, and enhanced the beauty of the couple’s features.

  India supposed the pictures would end up on the cover of one of the magazines Amy flicked through. And the couple were probably paid tens of thousands for each snap.

  They came closer to her post as the photographer gestured toward the shoreline. The loved-up couple joined hands and walked through the gentle crystal clear waves as they slid up onto the sandy shore, first looking out to sea, then to each other, then to the camera man, as instructed. Soon they were within earshot.

  “Are you sure I look pretty?” Katriane said to the photographer. “Remember I’ll be approving all the shots before they go out.”

  “Of course you look pretty, darling,” Will said, pulling her close and cradling her head in his chest. “You have never been anything but, not for a single moment in your life.”

  “Oh, stay there,” the photographer said, moving around them to get the perfect angle. “Great positioning.”

  Then they went back along the shore away from India, and their voices turned to muffles she couldn’t decode.

  “May I speak with you a moment?” India heard the male, distinguished voice disarmingly close to her. She turned her head to see a tall gentleman with steel gray hair looking up at her. “Down here?” he
asked. “It’s a matter of some sensitivity.”

  “Oh, of course,” India said, climbing down.

  The man was perhaps in his late 60s, and would have been very handsome in his day. He was still trim, and wore an immaculate pale gray linen suit. His tan was ingrained, India could see immediately, like he’d lived in Florida all his life. She was bronzed from all her hours spent out on the beach, sure, but there was a newness to her tan, and if she spent a couple days in the house, it would wash all away in the shower and reveal all her Wisconsin paleness underneath.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” she asked.

  “Are you the lifeguard that is to be present during the wedding?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “My name’s India.”

  He smiled in such a soft way, she couldn’t help but warm to him immediately. “How terribly rude of me,” he said. “My name’s Aleister Hooper-Walcott.” He gestured toward Katriane and Will. At first he looked proud, but then a shadow fell over his face for a split second. It was gone by the time he looked back at India, but she noticed it. “That’s my daughter over there,” he said.

  “Oh, I see,” India said. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hooper-Walcott.”

  “Please call me Aleister,” he said in his kindly way. “Everybody does.”

  “All right. Aleister.”

  Though his voice remained gentle, his face dropped into a serious expression. “I am not sure if you’re aware of what our family has been going through of late.”

  India shook her head. “No, sir.”

  “Well, there have been a number of threats against us. Kidnapping, robbery, and even…” His voice wobbled. “Even murder, if you would believe it. We always felt so safe, but now… well, we’re watching over our shoulders everywhere we go. I am especially concerned about Katriane. She’s of a rather delicate disposition, and all this business is upsetting her a great deal. Privately, I shall tell you that many of the threats have been against her. Consequently, we’ve had to dramatically cut the number of wedding guests. We don’t know who the snakes are that slither amongst our midst, I’m afraid.”

  “How horrible for you,” India said. She looked over to the fragile young woman, who was probably around 25. Will was holding her against his strong chest as they gazed out to sea for another shot. The sun was beginning to dip down into a sunset. The image would be truly beautiful. “At least it looks like she’s got a good protector in Will.”

  Aleister nodded slowly, but his lips were pursed together, as if he wanted to say something but was holding himself back. “Well, at any rate, I wanted you to be aware. We have a private bodyguard to accompany us. Harry, he’s been with our family for a while now.” He gestured back toward a biracial guard who stood by the beachside Creole cottages in a full black suit. India could only begin to imagine how much he was sweating, poor guy. “And we will have a small police presence during the wedding. But please, keep your eyes open, and a cell phone on your person at all times, so that if you see anything suspicious, you can report it immediately.”

  “Of course I will,” India said.

  Aleister looked most relieved. “Your cooperation is appreciated more than you’ll ever know,” he said. “All I want is to keep my daughter safe. Daughters.”

  India smiled. “You seem to be doing a wonderful job, if I may say so, sir.”

  He gave a weary smile, but his eyes lit up with appreciation. “Thank you, darling girl. Thank you.” He began to walk away, but then turned back with a charming smile. “Oh, and you needn’t worry about any pesky cameras or paparazzi. That will be the only photographer present, and we shan’t be broadcasting the wedding, or any further shows, because of the threats. We are trying to keep a much lower profile. In the same spirit, we would appreciate if no recording devices were used to capture any images or video of our party.”

  “Of course not,” India said. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Aleister’s smile was warm and kind. “You’re a thoroughly decent person, Miss India.”

  ***

  “So much food for so few people?” India said, incredulous.

  “Tell me about it.” Amy glanced up from her manic preparations. “Oh, you look nice.”

  “Thanks.” India thought that even though she was just the lifeguard, a little effort for the ceremony wouldn’t go amiss, so had conjured up a hot pink maxi dress splashed with huge white lilies, right out of thin air. One moment it was in her imagination, the next it was in her hand. Just one of the perks of being a witch. She’d parted her hair on the side and pulled it back into a low bun. A second before leaving the house, she’d conjured a lily to stick in the side of it for good measure. A pair of white sandals, and the outfit was complete. She wore her bathing suit underneath, of course, in case she had to dive in the sea and rescue someone, but she wasn’t counting on it. In the two years she’d been in Benton Point, she’d never had to come to anyone’s aid, except to direct them to the bathrooms or the beach bar.

  Amy had a whole team of cooks and servers buzzing around in the kitchen. The Hooper-Walcotts had rented out the entire row of Creole cottages along the beach, including the separate meeting complex with kitchen, and conference room. They were only a party of five, according to Amy – Aleister, Katriane, Will, Cecelia, and bodyguard Harry – but the buildings they’d rented could have easily accommodated 30 or more. India supposed they were taking no chances of having neighbors, given their security problems.

  “Is the quail’s egg barquette ready?” Amy shouted out over the clatter of kitchen utensils.

  “Yes,” someone else yelled back. “Done.”

  “Go take it out to the terrace, then,” Amy said, while frantically piping some green mixture onto tiny pieces of bread.

  “I think I’ll leave you to it,” India said, “since you’re up to your eyeballs in here.”

  “Got that right,” Amy said with a grimace.

  India smiled. “Just think of the money.”

  “Trust me, I am.”

  India left the meeting complex, stepping out onto the pathway between the Creole cottages and the terrace where the pre-wedding nibbles and champagne were being served. That day was the first time she’d been through the area, and she loved it. Perhaps one day she and Xavier would arrange a staycation for a long weekend. A long paved path was flanked on both sides by palms, and hot pink bougainvillea had wound itself around the arches above the path, making for a beautiful walkway. Tiny little trails led off to each cottage, beautiful wooden buildings painted in bright colors. She tried to guess the paint names. One was perhaps Caribbean Pink, while she also spotted a deep red she would call Ablaze. Another was Soft Powder Blue, while Peach Coral and Gentle Violet were her favorites. Her own Key West rental cottage was not too different, but was painted in an understated lemon yellow. These were vivid and warm and bright, and she fell in love with them instantly. She was particularly attached to the Gentle Violet, and turned her head back to look at it as she walked on.

  Then she slammed into somebody, and jumped, her hand on her heart. “Oh my goodness,” she said to the slim woman who towered above her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “So you should be.” The woman had huge sunshades on, with blue lenses and a large section above them that looked like blue marble. Her red lips were pursed and her already nonexistent cheeks were sucked in. India could only guess she was Cecelia, Katriane’s older sister, the model. “Don’t you people watch where you’re going?”

  India had no idea who ‘you people’ were. Perhaps non-celebs? “You also walked into me,” she pointed out.

  The woman’s high cheekbones and pointed eyebrows that rose up from behind her shades gave her an intimidating look. She wore a white lacy playsuit that showed off a lot of long bronzed leg, and a blue slouch kimono. “Don’t get smart,” she snapped. “Now run along.”

  India hated being spoken to in such a way, but didn’t want to start a fight. “I have work to do anyways,” she said, then t
ook off toward the beach, cursing Cecelia under her breath.

  She passed the path to the terrace on her way, and heard raised voices. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t help but pause behind a palm and listen, hoping a server wouldn’t chance to come by. This family was kind of interesting, after all. She guessed she’d have to judge Amy less harshly about getting sucked into the vortex of celebrity gossip.

  “It’s spelled r-u-m-o-u-r, not r-u-m-o-r,” a man said hotly. It was Will, at India’s guess.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” an upper class accent followed. It sounded like Aleister, though it was a far cry from his previous soft, gentle tones. “You’re not in Canada anymore, William, so you’ll have to accept American spelling.”

  “Not when it’s a direct quote from me in a magazine,” Will shot back.

  Aleister laughed a cold, mirthless laugh. “Dear boy, it depends entirely on where the magazine is printed, and not a jot on the origin of the speaker. I’d have thought even you would have known that.”

  “Even me? What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

  “Please stop fighting,” a female voice said tearfully. India’s guess is it was Katriane. “You’re both going to spoil my wedding day. I have to go and get changed any minute now, but I shan’t if you’re quarreling like this.” Her voice was quiet and sad. “And I haven’t any staff to help me anymore.”

  It all went quiet, and India spotted a waitress hurrying up the bougainvillea path with a platter of canapés, so she continued on her way to her lifeguard post on the beach. It sounded like Will and Aleister did not see at all eye to eye. She wondered if they had argued like that on camera in the past. How embarrassing, to have all your family feuds broadcasted to the world.

  As when she started every shift, India knew she’d have a long time to while away. Every hour or so, she’d climb down from her post and take a quick walk along the shore. If there was no one on the beach, she’d read a Miss Marple or a Poirot, or even a Dorothy L Sayers. Ever since she’d solved the killings of a long past her prime pop princess and her spiritual adviser, India had devoured all things murder. And since Xavier was keen to be promoted to a Detective, they binge watched CSI, Columbo and a fun British show called Rosemary and Thyme about two sleuthing gardeners. They both felt so alive when trying to unravel a mystery, and India secretly hoped that in the future they’d form their very own private investigator team. The only problem was, her slowly developing magical powers were a crucial component in her sleuthing arsenal, and she wasn’t allowed to tell him about them.